Osias grunted heavily. Six out of the sixteen have died under the Black Warden’s hands.
After the first time, the warden used his black veil to strike and kill instead of protect, Osias couldn’t find the chance to relay someone to retreat and inform Uron. Not only did all of them have to engage, but Osias couldn’t spare a single second away from the battle — so all he could do was hope Uron was able to figure out the right opportunity himself.
Warden was monstrously powerful. True enough, he was of high standing in the military, an elite.
After trading blows and exchanges, Osias found that the warden’s essence control followed a sort of rhythm, a delicate cadence of his control woven into his weapon style.
“I was looking for the opportunity to strike down that House of whores… although you’re an Ordinary, you serve the Head Mistress. This offense is enough to bring their audacity down for years.” The Black Warden suddenly hissed, likely probing Osias for his relation with the House of Silk.
Hefting his light sword in the air, Osias maneuvered around his followers before delivering a crushing slash past the assault of the flurry of steel.
The Black Warden staggered as Osias unleashed as much weight as he could muster from his essence resevoir before disengaging to wait for his tattoos to fill him once more.
“Kill!” The prisoners bellowed as several of them lashed their blades against the veiled armor.
“Back!” Osias commanded from behind, bracing for another attack from the veil or a swift lunge to strike down Osias in the brief time he needed to recover.
His followers obliged, but just as Osias prepared for another round of this same sequence, he noticed one who remained inside the pooling darkness below the warden.
“Wai—”
Suddenly, the prisoner who wielded a great hammer with a bloody spike at its end screamed, “Vislaros!” before slamming it against the Black Warden’s temple with enough force to knock off the unveiled helm.
“Cretin!” The Black Warden suddenly bellowed, immediately severing the arms of the prisoner a little too late then raising a black blade that impaled the back of the prisoner’s head in an instant.
‘Is it because he didn’t expect one of us to attack in his pool after evading it so many times?’ Osias quickly wondered as he looked at the crazed, but satisfied bloody face of the fallen prisoner.
The prisoner’s body fell limp, crashing to the dusty stone floor with a sickening thud. Blood pooled quickly beneath him, a stark reminder of the Black Warden's lethality… It was a shame that they were slowly being shaved down in numbers — people he came to know for years as they struggled to the very end.
‘To the very end.’
Osias growled under his breath, his eyes flicking to the fallen hammer as the Warden stood tall, the dark blade still lodged in the prisoner’s skull. The Warden, helmetless now, exposed his snarling face, contorted in rage and painted with streaks of blood. His silver saber gleamed in the torchlight, the same cruel glow that had ended so many lives under his command.
The Warden sneered but said nothing, his breathing heavy, and Osias seized the moment. His tattoos pulsed once more, sending a flood of essence surging through his limbs. Every muscle in his body coiled, ready for one final push.
He charged.
The Warden swung his blade wide, the silver arc cleaving the air as he tried to catch Osias mid-stride. But this time, Osias was ready. He ducked low, feeling the wind of the saber’s swing pass just above his head, and rolled beneath the Warden’s guard. In an instant, Osias was behind him.
With a feral roar, Osias swung his blade with all his might, aiming for the Warden’s exposed back. His sword connected a little past the black veil, shattering it against his edge — the force reverberating through his arms as the blade bit deep into the armor.
‘Blood!’ He screamed inwardly, before immediately relishing in the rapture of Blood Reave.
Finally, the Warden howled in pain, staggering forward, but Osias and his followers didn’t relent.
“Kill!” They roared, joining their immortal leader in fury and steel.
But their bodies couldn’t match their zeal… they were Ordinaries not of the Path of Blood like Osias. It was a foregone conclusion the moment they had to face a Second Ordeal — their essence control albeit on the levels of elites couldn’t match the difference in Ordeal levels. They were bound to fall.
Osias himself would’ve run out of essence in the first few exchanges without his Innate Ability… even the only sure way of damaging the warden aside from chipping away was through the immense amount of essence his great sword could take.
Now, every time Osias had to disengage to have his reservoir filled he done so at the cost of dire wounds appearing on his followers. Severed fingers, cleaved limbs, lacerated torsos… death.
But Osias could only swallow down whatever feelings that arose, he couldn’t be distracted from killing the source of the unfathomable pull gnawing on his mind and soul.
‘Anytime now Uron…’ Osias noted through gritted teeth. It’s clear — the Black Warden couldn’t use his veil in both defense and offense simolteanously.
Although many have died to figure this out, it saved them from sure death… because if this monster was able to, Osias couldn’t hold back the warden from slaughtering them in a wave of black.
Exhaling sharply, Osias lowered his body and rushed into a feral dash towards his men and the warden.
However, just as he came close, the warden wildly spun his great saber in a vicious arc to clear away his immediate surroundings before planting it on the ground as the darkness pooled beneath him before they could blink.
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‘Agai—’
Osias’s ears perked up, and knowing what would ensue, he darkly smiled before he barked out, “Split his head apart!”
His band of prisoners hesitated at his abrupt change… all this time they were avoiding the black veil the moment it spread on the ground, but it was Visalros calling the order.
But before they could even step foot into the field of black, piercing screams and wailing sounded from behind them.
And on cue as though they all shared one mind with Visalros… their faces twisted into a wicked sneer with bared teeth.
“Visenya!” The Black Warden’s eyes opened in shock. All this time he was planning on settling the futile uprising himself to save face… but to think his daughter was truly in such a state.
She was in such a poor and miserable state, even from far away he could tell each detail. His mind raced as rage seeped into every thought following what he saw.
But his wrath clouded everything for just a second as the leader of these savage prison rats who ravaged his daughter so miserably somehow appeared right behind him.
“Three years!” Osias snapped behind gritted teeth. He was practically frothing at the mouth with blood and spit as he pulled his blade high and struck dearly, this time cleaving through the back of the warden’s armored knee.
“Uron!” Osias roared, disregarding if anyone outside the Black Warden’s keep and territory in the city could hear… it didn’t matter anymore.
Because without the sturdy black veil… whatever material the armor the warden donned stood no chance at the abuse it took constant battle against Osias’s wrathful edge.
…The Black Warden's scream of pure, guttural rage echoed across the courtyard as Osias's blade bit through the back of his knee, severing the joint. His towering figure buckled, collapsing forward with a thud, the once-mighty saber clattering to the stone ground.
He willed his Ordeal Ability to slaughter the rats as they entered — and tens of agonizingly sharp blades conjured from below their feet began to cut and impale them all in their frenzied rush.
But the real devastation struck when his eyes, wide with fury, flicked behind them all once more.
There, amidst the carnage and chaos, stood Uron —one of Osias’s most vicious men — his face twisted in an animalistic grin, gripping the severed head of the Warden’s daughter by the hair.
The wet, sickening snap of her neck had been drowned out by the battle, but the piercing shrieks that followed lingered in the air. The head, now dangling lifelessly in Uron’s grip, was like a grotesque trophy raised before the slaughter.
"Vi–Visenya..." The Warden's voice cracked, shock and disbelief coloring his words. His rage evaporated for a heartbeat, replaced by a chilling, numbing stillness. But that moment of hesitation, of grief too thick to process, was enough.
Osias stood above him, breathing heavily, his bloodied hand clutching his sword so tightly the knuckles had turned white. His features contorted with an animalistic hunger, eyes wild. His face was no longer that of a man as though the very pull that led him to the warden took away something dear to him.
The screams of battle and the cries of prisoners mixed with the haunting memories of comrades lost, and he leaned closer, his voice closer to a growl than speech:
“Blame your lord for sparing us that day… rat.”
The Black Warden tried to push himself up, but his body was failing him. Blood gushed from his wounds, pooling around him, mixing with the dirt and grime of the courtyard. But before he could fully react, Osias's blade flashed again—a brutal, vicious arc that cleaved through the Warden's arm, severing it cleanly from his body.
The Warden roared in agony, but it was drowned by the cacophony of madness around them. The prisoners, spurred by Osias’s savagery and the death of the Warden’s daughter, descended into a frenzy. Like wolves who had finally cornered their prey, they lunged forward, weapons raised, eyes gleaming with the lust for blood as though they were blood fiends of the Red Sky.
Osias stepped back, letting them take over.
In that moment, the courtyard became a scene of barbaric chaos. The prisoners hacked and slashed at the fallen Warden, no longer a figure of authority but a helpless, broken object of their suffering. They tore into him with the same violence he had meted out for years, their strikes fueled by years of pent-up hatred. Blades, fists, and boots rained down upon the Warden, reducing his body to little more than a bloodied pulp.
Osias stood back, breathing hard, watching as the other prisoners exacted their vengeance. His eyes, sharp and cold as an predator’s, flicked over each face—faces twisted in fury, their teeth bared in savage grins, eyes bloodshot and wild. They were no longer men.
They were beasts, just like him.
He could see it in their eyes, the same unhinged fury he had seen in countless battles, when men crossed the line from soldiers to killers, from men to monsters. That thin, fragile thread of sanity that snapped in the heat of violence. It was something Osias had embraced long ago, but to see it in others, here, now, was a grim reminder of the world he inhabited
Osias simply watched, letting them take their revenge. Blood sprayed across the courtyard as the Warden’s once-imposing figure was reduced to little more than a bloodied mass of flesh beneath the weight of their frenzied blows. His screams, once powerful, were reduced to guttural gasps as life ebbed away.
But something darker stirred in Osias as he saw the Warden’s chest still rise, albeit faintly. A lingering defiance.
Stepping forward, he pushed through the crowd of battered prisoners. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the Warden’s shattered form, a cold determination etched into his every movement. He could feel the weight of his follows’ suffering, of the years of torment they had endured, coiling in his chest like a centipede.
Perhaps it was deserving… they were the furthest from noble and righteous men. But they were prisoners and the warden was the warden, that much was true.
Counting the few survivors… it was but a mere eight not including Osias who was to leave this place.
Sighing deeply, Osias addressed them in a solemn voice:
“The House of Silk will be coming… you’ll be housed and sheltered. If the day comes and the sigil of the Red Feather mounts the walls of Qussai once more, and if they are successful… return the debt to Mistress Seol, my benefactor.”
A wave of narrowed eyebrows and quizzical faces were directed at Osias at his odd tone, but raising a hand, Osias walked towards the barely breathing Black Warden with his great sword raised high.
‘At last…’
With a brutal, final swing, Osias drove his blade deep into the Warden’s chest, piercing through bone and heart. The Warden’s bloody eyes, wide and filled with pain, locked onto Osias’s for one last, agonizing moment before the life drained from them.
Osias twisted the blade before yanking it free, watching as the Warden's body finally slumped lifelessly to the ground, his blood pooling into the stones beneath him until he used Blood Reave to reap the last of the Warden’s stain on his mind.
The Warden was dead. His daughter gone. And Osias, standing tall amidst the wreckage, had once again proven why he had survived when so many others had fallen.
Closing his eyes and letting his great sword’s tip fall onto the ground, Osias felt as though he was being pulled into the darkness he once felt in a time so long ago…
However, just as he let the feeling envelop him whole, a cold shiver ran down his back as though it were an anchor that held him inside this world made from his Ordeal.
His heart froze.
He couldn’t breathe.
He tried to open his eyes just before the pull took him away from this place and through the thin slit, his gaze caught the last sight of his Ordeal before the darkness took him.
…A glorious light of a brilliant gold.