The blade glinted menacingly in the dim light of the tavern, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. With lightning-fast reflexes, he grabbed onto the dagger before it could plunge into Braun’s neck, his palm closing tightly around the blade.
The sheer force contained within the woman's attack sent them both hurtling backwards, and Achylys didn’t resist the momentum. There was no point in doing so, and this worked better for him anyway. The tables between them toppled over with a crash, and the patrons moved out of the way.
As they fell, Achylys twisted his body and used the momentum of the attack to launch the woman into the air. The woman soared upwards, crashing into the chandelier. The ropes of the chandelier tied her up messily, leading her to get stuck in the ceiling.
Achylys couldn’t help but raise his eyebrows at how high she’d gone, feeling rather surprised.
Host, your current strength has returned to ¼ of your past strength. Please remember this.
Right. Achylys remarked. It seems I’ve gotten used to being powerless. But no matter.
Thinking so, Achylys removed the dagger from his palm, not bothering about the blood that leaked down his palm freely like a faucet let loose. His senses were on full alert as he scanned his surroundings, taking in every single detail- the absolute confusion on the faces of Braun and his two other friends, how countless other patrons were getting up, how some were wearing masks…
Wait, masks?!
And that was when he noticed it - around a dozen of the patrons had donned half broken black masks at some point in time. The masks were old and tattered, with the occasional missing piece here and there, giving them a sinister and foreboding appearance. It was as if the masks were somehow imbued with a sense of darkness, an ominous presence that seemed to fill the room.
As Achylys looked closer, he realized that every single one of the masked patrons had weapons in hand. Some held swords or katanas, while others had daggers. The weapons glinted ominously in the dim light, and Achylys could feel a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead as he realized the true extent of the situation.
Well fuck. It seems I’ve fallen into a good old ambush trapo.
The scene was a chaotic blur of movement and action as the twelve assailants suddenly converged on Achylys with remarkable synchronization. It was as if they had been trained by some master tactician to move in perfect unison, striking at their target with deadly precision. Each of the attackers brandished a different weapon, but they all moved with the same fluid grace, their motions perfectly timed to avoid colliding with one another.
If not for the dagger Achylys had taken from the woman, a sharp and gleaming piece of steel that had been honed to a razor's edge, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would have already been skewered like a piece of meat put on a barbecue. However, decades of experience went nowhere; not even going into a new body could change that, unless he’d lost his memories.
And he hadn’t. He had all his memories perfectly nestled right in this beautiful brain, or soul, in this scenario, of his.
With each swift movement of his wrist, he expertly parried their attacks, the clang of steel ringing out through the air. And as they drew closer, Achylys struck back with deadly precision, targeting their vital points with ruthless efficiency.
Throats were nearly slit, nerves were fully severed, and blood flowed freely as Achylys carved his way through the throngs of his foes that repeatedly attacked him. And yet, even as he fought, he remained cool and collected, his mind constantly analyzing and adapting to the changing circumstances of the battle. However, he was not worried about winning; if there was one thing he was confident in, it was his ability to outlast his enemies in a battle.
However, these enemies of his were relentless.
Even as the battle raged on and Achylys could feel his strength waning, slowly but steadily, his enemies seemed to have an endless reserve of energy, despite the obvious injuries they had sustained. Their sheer determination and relentlessness was something to behold, and it filled him with a sense of awe. He’d faced many suicide warriors, but he had to admit—these twelve beat even the technological terrorist cyborgs in his past life in terms of tenacity.
The woman who he had sent flying towards the ceiling was back on her feet, and she was coming at him with not a single hitch in her step. He could see the shards of glass embedded in her flesh, but it didn't seem to bother her at all. It was as if the wounds had no effect on her, but it seemed more like she was just too obsessed with killing him that she didn't even notice them.
However, she was not the only one he had to focus on; even the other twelve were still pressing forward, their irises turning… red…? What the fuck?! Wowie, magic in this world is dope. I mean, DMHA’s pills could probably simulate the same effect, but still.
Sadly for them, though, his dominance was just too supreme. He was able to repel all thirteen of them, even though they were on steroids and he wasn’t, and he gradually cut their numbers down. They were human too, apparently, and collapsed once he beheaded them or chopped off literally half of their body off.
Achylys, however, was not too gleeful at his wins. Not because they were weak opponents, or that he was too used to fighting, which he indeed was, but he digressed. It was because of an energy, a presence that seemed to be gathering all around him, coalescing into a force that he could feel in the very marrow of his bones. And his gut was going bonkers due to this energy.
There was going to be danger. Danger he could not escape from in this Tavern.
Your gut is always on point, Host. I recommend trying to escape this Tavern no matter at what cost. You’d really love to see what might happen next.
Achylys raised his eyebrows at the system’s notification, rather surprised. No matter what cost? Was this going to be something like the white cracks on the Forest King? Hm.
He fought off the remaining ten, ones that were a bit too slippery to behead, even more fiercely, wanting to find a gap to escape. His mind inevitably drifted to Sole Thunder. It wasn’t that he didn’t remember it, it was just that he knew that even a single other action besides parrying would lead to countless blades sinking into his flesh. But he trusted the System. It was worth going on a borderline suicide run if it meant he could get some more juicy information. About what? He wasn’t sure, but still.
Besides, he could just go back in time if he died, so like… there was no reason to even ponder this much.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Thus, he lifted his right hand and made a finger gun, aiming at one of the ten who he’d just parried before screaming in his mind, Sole Thunder! Just this split second was enough for the others, for seven of them sunk their blades into countless parts of his body. He, however, put his focus on the two that went for his neck. Even Achylys didn’t think he’d be able to survive while headless, so he parried their attacks with fervor.
The man who Sole Thunder hit exploded into pieces, the mush that was composed of his blood and body parts painting the walls. The mush was black instead of the usual red you’d expect, probably because of Sole Thunder scorching his entire body thoroughly. This is quite different from how it was in my fever dream. Achylys quipped to himself. Of course it is, what the fuck am I even saying?
The others’ attacks only went so far into his flesh, partly because of how strengthened his body had become after he reached level twenty five, and Achylys fully used this to his favor. Before the other seven could react, he aimed two finger guns at the two sneaky bastards who’d aimed at his neck and chanted, Sole Thunder!
His right hand’s flesh punctured even further, his finger’s bone visible. His left hand was in a similar state, but it was worth it. The two he aimed for died, their mush painting the walls even more thoroughly. He was bathed in the mush this time, the disgusting scent of iron thoroughly coating his senses.
But that was the least of his concerns at the moment. He had to escape.
However, he could feel his senses getting blurry. Poison, he realized. These fuckers… It’s fine. This isn’t too unexpected.
Danger! Poison detected.
Danger! Poison detected.
Danger! Poison detected!
Body’s automatic resistance turning on…
Body too damaged for automatic resistance to be used.
Body too damaged for automatic resistance to be used.
Host! Use your full hand!
Achylys followed the System’s instruction immediately, opening his palm up and aiming towards the three at his right before muttering in his mind, Overdrive Thunder.
In a burst of intense energy, a massive ball of crimson lightning erupted from his right hand, crackling and hissing as it raced toward the trio. The sheer power of the attack was evident from the way it disintegrated the trio with frightening ease, reducing them to nothing more than a pile of ashes.
But the cost of such incredible power was immense. As the red lightning dissipated into the air, a searing itch shot through his arm, causing him to grit his teeth and clench his fist. Looking down, he saw that the skin on his hand had been completely stripped away, leaving nothing but a mass of red, raw flesh that was barely held together.
The sight was enough to make even the bravest soldier shudder in horror, for it was a testament to the terrible price that must be paid for wielding such an incredible ability. It’s called Overdrive for a reason, hm? Achylys couldn’t help but quip.
He wasn’t too put off by the injuries he was receiving. They were honestly too… minor, compared to the ones DMHA made him go through. Like that time that giant maggot like monster almost ate him whole. Now that. That was something that would make him shudder in horror.
He then lifted his left hand at the other three and chanted, Overdrive Thunder once more, killing them in one shot too.
Achylys's body was running out of sheer willpower at this point, and he was well aware of that. The sweat was dripping from his forehead, his breaths that were coming out in labored gasps, the blood that leaked out of his body with complete freedom. His heart was pounding so hard that it felt like it was about to tear its way out of his chest.
So, he lifted his hand, and with a surge of energy, he killed the last man with a much too overboard Overdrive Thunder. The thunderball crackled through the air, illuminating the Tavern with an otherworldly light as it struck its target. The man was no special, for he too became but a pile of ash, scattered enough that it was barely visible amidst the wooden floor.
Achylys wasted no time in reveling in his victory, though. He knew he was on his last few minutes of aliveness. He wanted, no, needed to find out what would happen if he managed to escape the Tavern. Just what did the System want him to see?!
The door and the wooden wall that surrounded it blew into smithereens, shattered like brittle bones under a giant's foot. The sound was deafening, echoing off the wooden walls of the Tavern and reverberating through the silence that seemed to have set upon the Tavern at some point. Freedom. He’d never known how beautiful of a feeling it was until he saw the light outside. He’d done it. He’d managed to escape.
Honestly, he’d not felt this accomplished even when he’d managed to escape the DMHA. Probably because that was more planned than this one, or probably just because he was a fickle bastard. But either way… he’d done it.
Or so he thought, but fate always fucked him over. Real well, too. It seemed to really like his ass. A lot.
A giant blast of white suddenly engulfed the entire Tavern. The searing white flash seemed to come from everywhere at once, melting the thatch roof into a ruin of flaming tarp and charred timbers. People simply vanished in plumes of smoke and sparks, their screams dying in an instant.
Achylys stumbled blindly and fell onto the ground, pummeled by the force of the explosion. For a panicked moment, he couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. His eardrums may have burst, for an unearthly howling filled his head. Then came the piercing shrieks, as chaos descended upon what was once a lively tavern.
When at last his vision cleared, Achylys found himself stunned. The Tavern was gone, collapsed into a smoldering crater. Twisted metal poles jutted from the ruins like grave markers.
Nothing remained of the patrons - only heaps of ash and cinders, already scattering on the bitter wind. Some were barely recognizable, fused grotesquely to the wreckage. All around, the world seemed cast in shades of black and red.
At his very last breath, what he saw was a person wearing a white mask floating in the air, above the tavern.
Through the haze of smoke and pain, the figure took shape. Pale robes, alabaster skin, a blank white mask covering their face - it might have been beauty, were it not for the malice that seemed to emanate from them.
The masked figure floated leisurely over the crumbling tavern, as if surveying the destruction with idle curiosity. Flames licked at their violet-gloved hands but caused no harm. They seemed untouched by the inferno consuming everything else.
For a brief moment, their gazes seemed to meet. In that chilling glance, Achylys saw beyond deception and into the abyssal depths of the masked attacker. And that was when he realized—this person was also like him. Someone who had gone through unimaginable horrors, someone, who unlike him, had given up on humankind as a whole. There were no rules or limits to their power; no morality or allegiance. Only the pursuit of destruction for its own sake.
They then threw a sword which pierced straight through his heart.
His fading gaze followed the sword as it plunged through his body into the earth, its crimson-stained hilt the only part still visible.
He died.
*