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As the Malachor group approached the border between their territory and that of the Kragmir Clan, the leader\'s lips curled into a dark, satisfied smile.

His Nether Puppet followed him like a silent shadow, its dark-red skin shimmering faintly in the moonlight, as though the mana coursing through it was alive and waiting to be unleashed.

"This will be the perfect test," the leader said, his voice low but filled with a cold confidence that resonated through the still night.

He glanced at the elders flanking him, their expressions a mix of anticipation and eagerness. "For too long, we\'ve been seen as equals with the Kragmir. Tonight, that changes. We\'ll show them what true power looks like."

One of the elders, a grizzled warrior with scars tracing his face, chuckled darkly, gripping the reins of his own Nether Puppet. "About time, Leader. I\'ve been waiting for the day we could crush those arrogant fools. Let\'s make sure they never forget this night."

The other elders nodded in agreement, their Nether Puppets moving silently beside them, each step precise, controlled, and exuding an unmistakable aura of strength.

These creations were far beyond the traditional corpse puppets they had wielded in the past—stronger, faster, and more sinister.

The dark-red hue of their skin, paired with the subtle pulsating glow of their mana, made them seem almost alive, like restless spirits bound in flesh, waiting for a command.

"I still can\'t believe how fluid they are," one of the younger elders remarked, his voice tinged with awe as he watched his Nether Puppet move. "It\'s almost as if they\'re anticipating our orders."

The leader glanced at him, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "That\'s the beauty of the Nether Puppet. Not only are they stronger, but they react faster. Tonight, you\'ll see what that means in battle."

The younger elder swallowed hard, his eyes flicking to his own puppet. A flicker of excitement mingled with apprehension danced across his face.

"I\'ve never seen them tested against the Kragmir puppets," he admitted, his voice quieter now, as if the magnitude of what they were about to do had finally dawned on him. "Do you think—"

"Don\'t think," the leader interrupted sharply, his gaze focused straight ahead. "Just watch. And when the time comes, strike."

He raised his hand, signaling for the group to halt. Their boots crunched softly in the dust as they stopped just shy of the massive gates that marked the entrance to Kragmir Clan territory.

The gates stood tall and foreboding, forged from dark iron and carved with grotesque images of the Kragmir\'s undead puppets. Beyond the gates, shadows shifted, and a faint chill hung in the air as if death itself lingered just behind those walls.

Standing guard were several Kragmir warriors, their faces grim and hardened. Behind them loomed their Earthbound Death Puppets—hulking, golem-like figures that seemed to be part stone, part decayed flesh. Their bodies were thick and rigid, built for raw power rather than finesse.

One of the Kragmir guards stepped forward, his cold eyes narrowing as he glared at the approaching Malachor party.

His armor clinked as he gripped the reins of his Earthbound Death Puppet, the giant figure standing like a monstrous sentinel at his side. The puppet\'s body crackled with a faint aura of earth mana, its skin looking more like weathered stone than decaying flesh.

"State your business, Malachor scum," the guard spat, his voice laced with disdain and contempt. He made no effort to hide his hatred for the Malachor Clan, his lips curling into a sneer as he eyed their leader. "Or do you enjoy making death wishes?"

The Malachor leader, unbothered by the insult, merely smirked. There was a coldness in his eyes, a quiet malice that simmered just below the surface. He let the silence linger, enjoying the discomfort it caused the Kragmir guards. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, dangerous, and edged with amusement.

"We\'ve come to show you something," he said, his tone carrying the weight of certainty and menace. His smirk widened slightly as he glanced toward his Nether Puppet standing motionless at his side, its dark-red skin pulsing faintly as if eager for what was to come.

In a blur of motion, the Nether Puppet lunged forward, its speed so swift that the Kragmir guards had no time to react.

One moment it stood still, the next, its dark-red fist was driving into the Earthbound Death Puppet with terrifying force. The sound of impact echoed like a thunderclap, and cracks spiraled across the stone-like surface of the Kragmir puppet\'s body.

The Kragmir warriors froze, their eyes wide with disbelief. The Earthbound Death Puppet, their clan\'s pride, built to withstand the strongest blows, was crumbling—its once-impenetrable shell fractured by a single devastating strike.

"Impossible..." one of the Kragmir guards muttered, his voice shaking with fear as he stared at the shattered remnants of their golem-like puppet.

The leader of the Malachor Clan chuckled darkly, his voice filled with cold amusement. "Do you see now?" He stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. "We are no longer equals. The Malachor Clan has surpassed you."

His words dripped with menace, and the Kragmir guards felt the weight of his confidence pressing down on them. Desperation flashed across their faces as they scrambled to react, barking hurried commands to their remaining puppets.

"Send them in!" one of the Kragmir warriors shouted, his voice cracking under the tension. "Crush them before they—"

But his words were cut short as the Nether Puppets of the Malachor elders moved in with frightening precision. The contrast between the two sets of puppets became immediately apparent.

The Earthbound Death Puppets lumbered forward, their movements heavy and slow, like ancient boulders struggling to gain momentum. In stark contrast, the Nether Puppets were swift and agile, darting through the battlefield like shadows, their strikes landing with deadly accuracy.