HP: god of potions

Chapter 86

The murmurs of doubt spread quickly through the armies. Some soldiers and mages faltered, their confidence shaken by Gray's words, but none moved. The air hung heavy with tension as the hour ticked away, the fate of the mountain and all those gathered teetering on the brink of destruction. The hour passed, strangely quiet, with everyone waiting. Yet, the moment the mark was reached, chaos erupted, and all forces attacked. The mages were the first, unleashing catapults that hurled massive fireballs toward the icy castle. Following them, the Nilfgaardians fired a relentless rain of arrows, darkening the sky with their sheer number. The Northern Kingdoms joined in, launching their own volley of arrows, creating an oppressive cloud of death. The elves then fired dimitrium-tipped arrows, designed to disrupt magic, while the dragons rained down fireballs as powerful as the mages'. The sheer force of the combined attack was enough to topple entire kingdoms and reduce mighty castles to rubble.

However, this was not the case here. Far from it. Gray, seated atop the glass dome of his castle, suddenly brought his hands together. Moments later, an icy air colder than absolute zero expanded outward, a testament to the peak of his ice powers—powers only matched once before when he faced Trigon. Fueled by purpose rather than anger this time, Gray increased the intensity of the cold. The result was a massive dome of ice encasing the entire mountain. The dome was so thick that no fireball, no dragon's flames, nor the dimitrium-tipped arrows of the elves could pierce it. Their assumption that Gray's powers were magic—a mistake—rendered their attacks ineffective. Undeterred, the combined forces launched another wave of assaults, this time alongside a horde of monsters that attacked the dome with unrelenting ferocity.

Inside the castle, Yennefer, Ciri, and Geralt had already departed through a portal, leaving Gray alone. As the horde smashed against the icy barrier, Gray stood within the castle, observing the final condensation of the dew he had been waiting for. The monstrous horde battered the dome ceaselessly, their combined force beginning to create cracks, giving them hope. Encouraged, they intensified their attacks. But Gray remained undisturbed, catching the dew in a special flask as it floated gently down. "Finally, it's done," he muttered with a mixture of relief and satisfaction. Yet, an uncertainty gnawed at him, a sense that what lay ahead was beyond his comprehension. He hesitated momentarily before deciding to continue. With calm determination, he began to brew, pouring every ounce of his preparation over the past weeks into this singular moment. This was the culmination of his efforts, and failure was not an option.

Chunks of ice fell from the dome as it began to give way, but Gray ignored the chaos. His focus remained solely on the brewing process, his hands steady as he performed each step with precision. "I can finally wake her up," he whispered, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips—a smile tinged with madness. At the exact moment he finished the final step, the castle's rooftop collapsed. The forces outside had broken through, flooding the castle with mages, soldiers, monsters, and non-humans alike. They all stormed inside, only to find Gray standing amidst the ruins, holding a vial of shimmering liquid. "Hand over the Tears of the World, human," demanded the golden dragon leading the monsters. The leaders of every faction stepped forward, echoing similar demands, their eyes filled with greed and desperation.

To their shock, Gray burst into laughter, the sound echoing eerily through the ruined castle. "Oh, this is a joke," he said, clutching the vial tightly. Francesca, the leader of the non-humans, stepped forward. "Hand it over, human," she commanded. Gray's laughter subsided as he calmly replied, "Well, since this will be the last time I use these powers, might as well." Turning to face them, he pocketed the flask. Then, without warning, everything within the castle responded to his will.

A pulse of star energy radiated outward, blasting everyone—soldiers, monsters, and leaders—out of the castle with unstoppable force. The leaders, of course, did not die as they protected themselves, but the same could not be said for their subordinates. Monsters, men, and non-men alike perished, their lives snuffed out in an instant. Yet this massacre seemed like a drop in the bucket compared to their vast numbers. As the leaders stabilized themselves, they stood and exchanged glances before looking upward. The icy castle, already in ruins, suddenly burst apart like an overripe watermelon—except the explosion was far more violent.

Shards of ice from the catastrophic blast rained down like a deadly hailstorm. The leader of the mages, Tissaia, exclaimed, "What the hell are we fighting?" Factions scrambled to protect themselves, conjuring shields of magic and steel. Though the leaders managed to survive, their lesser soldiers were not as fortunate; cannon fodder fell by the dozens, impaled by razor-sharp fragments. The devastation was immense, leaving the battlefield littered with the remains of the fallen. But this was not the end. The moment the deadly shards ceased their descent, something leaped from the mountain's peak, plummeting with terrifying speed to their level.

When it landed, the ground shook violently, sending a deafening rumble across the frozen wasteland. A storm of dust, ice, and snow erupted into the air, obscuring everything in a swirling haze. Gray stepped forward as the debris began to settle, his figure emerging from the chaos like a specter of vengeance. In his hand, the Sin of Solace gleamed with an otherworldly light, its edge pulsing faintly with energy. His expression was steely, unyielding, as he advanced toward the gathered factions. Monsters growled, mages prepared their incantations, elves summoned their elemental magic, and Nilfgaardian soldiers raised their swords in a united charge. Their war cries rang out, mingling with the crackle of spells and the metallic clang of weapons.

The battlefield erupted into chaos. Fireballs and ice shards flew through the air alongside arrows that whistled like deadly whispers. Yet, Gray moved with precision and raw power, meeting the unrelenting torrent head-on. His impossibly superhuman body withstood the onslaught as if he were impervious to pain. A swipe of his blade shattered a mage's staff; a single kick sent a heavily armored soldier crashing into a group of his allies. Gray weaved through their coordinated efforts with a speed and fluidity that made him seem untouchable, his form a blur of destruction. Spells exploded harmlessly around him as he dodged and countered with an almost supernatural awareness of his surroundings.

Every movement was deliberate. Shields splintered, weapons shattered, and bodies were thrown aside with effortless strength. An elf, wielding a staff crackling with lightning, struck at him, but Gray disarmed her with a calculated strike, breaking the staff in two. He turned to face a towering monster that lunged at him, its claws aiming for his chest. With a single motion, he swung the Sin of Solace, its blade cutting through the creature's defenses, sending it sprawling to the ground. The force of his blows left craters in the ground, the echoes of battle ringing in the air. Despite the overwhelming numbers arrayed against him, Gray stood like a force of nature, unyielding and indomitable.

Yet, amidst the chaos, Gray's intent was clear—he did not kill indiscriminately. His strikes, while devastating, were precise, incapacitating his enemies without delivering fatal blows. Nilfgaardian soldiers groaned in pain, mages clutched their broken staves, and monsters lay stunned, unable to rise.