Chapter 128: Feathers of Despair

The air crackled with magical energy as the brothers activated their artifacts. The green-gemmed brother's forehead split open, revealing a third eye with two glowing emerald iris that pulsed with latent power. His expression twisted with newfound awareness as the eye flicked from side to side, scanning his enemies like a predatory beast in fidgety movements.

The pink-gemmed brother extended his hand, where a grotesque mouth appeared on his palm—its jagged teeth glistening as thick saliva dripped onto the forest floor. The maw snapped eagerly, exuding a dangerous, primal hunger.

Meanwhile, the yellow-gemmed brother’s nose glowed like molten gold before stretching into a long, ethereal tail that coiled and twisted before his face, twitching like a living weapon. In a flash, its form shifted into the shape of a wickedly sharp yellow axe-head, shimmering faintly with magical energy.

Lena’s eyes widened—not with fear but exhilaration. Her monstrous arm tensed, veins pulsing under her skin as she prepared for combat. In a blur of motion, she pulled out a set of throwing knives and hurled them toward the transformed trio. The blades cut through the air like shadows, too fast for the untrained eye to follow.

The green-gemmed brother grunted in surprise as one of the blades struck deep into his abdomen, causing a spurt of dark, viscous blood. He was obviously in pain and there was a hit of panic in his gaze. He crouched, went into his robe grabbed a small bundle of strange grey leaves, and stuffed it in his mouth, hoping that using the leaves would stop the bleeding momentarily like it had in the past. But his time was running out and he had to make this quick. His glowing third eye locked onto Lena, seething with vengeful intent. “You’ll regret that,” he hissed, his green iris flaring brighter.

Without warning, a beam of concentrated green energy erupted from his forehead. Its speed was blinding, tearing through the air like a scorching lance aimed directly at Lena and the enforcement team.

Burt shouted a warning, but Lena was already moving. With a snarl of determination, she threw herself forward, her monstrous arm raised defensively. The green beam collided with her mutated limb, producing a deafening bang as the energy ricocheted off at a sharp angle, exploding with destruction against a distant tree.

BOOM!

Simultaneously, the yellow-gemmed brother let out a guttural roar as he leaped into the air, his transformed tail-axe nose glinting in the dappled forest light. He twisted mid-air, aiming a brutal overhead strike at Burt, hoping to catch him off guard after the energy blast from his green-gemmed brother.

Burt spun on his heel just in time. His bracer flared with vibrant blue energy as he punched forward, releasing a shockwave that smashed into the airborne opponent with bone-crushing force. The brother was hurled backward, crashing through tangled undergrowth. His axe-like tail nose twisted violently, flailing as he struggled to regain balance and in the process, he twisted his ankle causing a pained look to show on his face. The nose was heavier than people expected, which helped slice through flesh easier but it made movement unpredictable at times as the weight caused limitations..

Before the team could catch their breath, the eerie figure known as the Pseudo Apostle finally moved. His twisted crow-tongue twitched eagerly as his dead eyes fixed on Abel. His lips curled into a wide, toothy grin, hunger gleaming in his predatory gaze.

The twisted wings of the Pseudo Apostle spasmed with unnatural intensity, scattering razor-sharp black feathers in a chaotic arc toward Abel. They shimmered with dark magic, leaving streaks of violet energy in their wake. Abel’s eyes narrowed as he twisted his body with calculated precision, his enchanted knife flashing in tight arcs. Sparks of magical resistance crackled where the blade met the oncoming feathers, sending jagged shards spiraling into the forest floor.

"You’re faster than you look," the Pseudo Apostle rasped, his voice distorted like grinding metal. His crow-tongue writhed hungrily as if tasting Abel’s magic through the air. "That blade must make you quick... but let’s see how long you last."

Abel’s face remained unreadable, a thin, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "Maybe you're just slow," he retorted smoothly, though his gaze stayed locked on his opponent’s every twitch.

The Pseudo Apostle’s eyes gleamed with predatory malice. His grotesque tongue whipped forward, the crow-head screeching with bone-chilling intensity. Purple sigils blazed to life behind him, forming jagged shapes crackling with raw magical energy. Shadows coalesced into monstrous, talon-like claws, spectral and sharp, hovering ominously in the air behind the Pseudo.

With a twisted command, the claws lunged, tearing through the air itself as they raced toward Abel in a murderous frenzy.

Abel's breath steadied as he raised his knife, not as a defensive reflex but with deliberate intent.

His fingers tightened around the hilt, and his ethereal star within pulsed in resonance. He willed his mana forward, weaving it with deadly purpose. Starry energy blossomed from the knife's edge, brilliant and celestial, shimmering like fragments of a shattered night sky.

This sort of advanced manipulation felt like it was unlocked after the first rune, as manipulations this advanced felt difficult and would probably consume a lot of the energy reserves in his mana pool.

Although he had felt deeply connected to the stars and their mystical mana, true mastery still eluded him. His mana pool had expanded and evolved since acquiring the Voidborn Stellar Feaster Rune, granting him greater control over the starry energy coursing through him and within his mana pool. He could now manipulate it with far more precision and efficiency during combat.

Much of this insight stemmed from observing how Ronald skillfully commanded water mana. The fluid grace with which Ronald shaped his element had sparked something within Abel—a longing for that same seamless control. Yet, starry mana was inherently different. Unlike water, which flowed and obeyed with natural fluidity, the energy of the stars was distant, celestial, and volatile.

Moreover, Abel lacked the innate affinity of a gifted, those born with elemental ties etched into their very souls. His path required discipline, understanding, and willpower—a battle fought in both body and mind. Absolute control might be out of reach... but mastery through relentless effort was something he could still claim.

With a flick of his wrist, he unleashed the gathered mana in a dazzling crescent arc, radiant with cosmic intensity. The slash roared forward, trailing luminous stardust in its wake as it collided with the incoming spectral claws.

BOOM!

The impact erupted with a thunderous detonation, sending shockwaves ripping through the clearing. Blinding bursts of starlight and twisted shadow exploded outward, tearing foliage and scattering shattered earth. The blast’s force howled like a vengeful wind, causing even the combatants locked in their brutal struggles nearby to falter momentarily and glance toward the source.

The air reeked of scorched magic and burned leaves as the smoke began to settle. Abel emerged from the settling haze, unscathed, his knife still faintly aglow with residual star mana. His expression was calm, almost bored, though his eyes gleamed with focused intensity. Maybe some of these Pseudos were one step ahead of the lesser recruits in the tower.

From the other side of the blast zone, the Pseudo Apostle staggered but remained upright, his crow-tongue twitching furiously in response. His pallid face twisted with something between amusement and rage.

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"You’re… interesting, or maybe it's that knife of yours, it might be something more special than I thought, almost making you fight on par with a Pseudo Apostle like me" he hissed, black ichor dripping from cracked skin along his exposed arms where the backlash had struck. "But how much longer… will that light of yours shine... before it’s snuffed out?"

Abel tilted his head slightly. "You’re welcome to try," he said, his voice steady, a challenge wrapped in icy confidence.

The Pseudo Apostle’s face twisted into a malicious grin, his black claws gleaming with lethal intent. Without warning, he lunged forward in a blur of motion, his claws slicing through the air with deadly precision.

Swoosh! Swoosh!

Clang! Clang!

The razor-sharp strikes came fast and relentless, each slash aimed to tear through flesh and bone. But Abel was faster.

He bobbed and weaved, narrowly evading each vicious swing with uncanny agility. His movements were precise, and calculated—a deadly dance of survival. The forest floor beneath them was torn and scarred by missed strikes as they moved with blinding speed, circling one another like predators locked in mortal combat.

From a distance, several Enforcement Officers stood frozen in awe, their mouths agape. They couldn’t comprehend the inhuman speed of the battle unfolding before them. It took every ounce of willpower to tear their gaze away and refocus on the Mendez Brothers, though the clash of claws and steel still rang in their ears.

Abel, ever watchful, began to counter. His magical knife flashed in deadly arcs as he struck back with precise, measured blows. Each slash came faster than the last, forcing the Pseudo Apostle onto the defensive.

Their expressions couldn’t have been more different. The Pseudo Apostle fought with desperation, his mind reeling in disbelief. He was giving his all—and still losing.

Abel’s gaze remained cold, analytical—already searching for weaknesses.

After narrowly dodging one of Abel's lightning-fast strikes, the Pseudo leaped back, claws raised defensively, his breath ragged. Abel’s eyes narrowed. He’d noticed something—a faint gleam on the Pseudo's forearm emanated a faint mana...

A carved wooden bracelet, which Abel had noticed a while ago. It was the Pseudo's magical artifact.

The Pseudo smirked, channeling power into the bracelet. With a guttural snarl, he thrust his claws upward, and in a pulse of dark energy as if going for a strike, a twisted wooden longsword materialized in his grasp instead. Its jagged edges were carved with ancient, menacing marks, emanating malicious intent.

With a snarl, he hurled the blade.

The longsword hurtled through the air, spinning like a deadly wheel of dark energy, aimed straight for Abel’s chest.

But Abel had already anticipated the move. He twisted his body in one fluid motion, dodging low as the sword whizzed past, embedding itself into a distant tree with a resounding thunk.

Before the Pseudo could react, Abel struck.

His leg shot out in a brutal kick, slamming into the Pseudo’s exposed midsection with bone-crushing force.

Ungh!

The Pseudo stumbled back, gasping for breath as he struggled to regain his balance. His eyes burned with fury and disbelief, realizing that Abel had been in control all along.

The battle was far from over.

The fight raged with visceral intensity as chaos erupted on all fronts. The air reeked of scorched earth, blood, and raw magic as combatants clashed with reckless desperation.

Near the decrepit house, the brothers fought like cornered beasts. The pink-gemmed brother surged forward, leaping toward a tall and lanky enforcement officer with predatory speed. The officer swung his short sword in a desperate arc, but the brother twisted mid-air, narrowly evading the lethal edge with good agility, to his surprise, another officer, a muscular woman rushed right in with her short sword slashing at the brother and by the length of a hair he evaded the attack jumping backward..

Landing in a crouch, the pink-gemmed brother thrust his grotesque palm forward. The mouth embedded in his hand snapped shut with a sickening crunch before spitting out a glob of viscous pink liquid. The gelatinous mass sailed through the air before detonating on an officer sending him back as the gelatinous mass exploded with a loud PHOOMPH, releasing a cloud of shimmering pink powder.

The Enforcement officers staggered, coughing as the insidious cloud engulfed them. Their limbs grew sluggish, knees buckling as their eyes fluttered with creeping drowsiness. The pink-gemmed brother sneered, his expression twisted with bloodlust. “Sleep you fools.”

He sprang toward the nearest dazed officers, the mouth on his hand agape awaiting ready to rend flesh— but fate had other plans.

Burt surged into action, adrenaline, and training taking over. With practiced precision, he hurled his sword like a deadly spear. The pink-gemmed brother twisted instinctively to dodge, but Burt was already closing the distance.

WHAM!

Burt’s enchanted bracer roared to life, glowing with fierce azure light. His fist struck with devastating force, the impact sending a concussive blast through his opponent's chest. Blood erupted from the brother’s mouth as his body crumpled, crashing into the dirt in a broken heap. His lifeless eyes stared skyward, frozen in shock.

“NO!”

The green-gemmed brother howled in rage, his emerald third eye blazing with unchecked fury as his sudden shout for his fallen brother caused the injury on his abdomen to flow with blood once more as if the plant he had consumed had jut lost its effect. Magical power surged, distorting the air with emerald static as he charged another deadly beam. He aimed directly at Burt, ready to annihilate the man responsible for his brother’s death.

But Lena was faster.

With a savage snarl, she closed the distance, her monstrous arm a twisted blur of sinew and pulsating veins. Her clawed fingers almost latched onto the green-gemmed brother’s skull with brutal finality.

He pulled his head back and his eye flared brighter—desperation overriding reason—as he released the charged beam point-blank. But Lena’s enchanted arm absorbed the blast, redirecting the searing energy into the forest behind her, where trees exploded into flaming splinters.

CRACK!

Boom!

Her monstrous fingers reached once more for his head and clenched with unstoppable force, crushing his skull like an overripe fruit. Bone fragments and viscous brain matter splattered across the shattered forest floor. His body fell limp, twitching once before stilling forever.

The battlefield fell momentarily silent—except for the sound of labored breathing.

The last surviving brother, adorned with the yellow gem, stumbled backward, his face pale with terror. His gaze darted toward the Pseudo Apostle, desperate for salvation— but what he saw drained the last vestiges of hope from his trembling body.

Abel stood towering over the Pseudo Apostle, his fingers clenched around the writhing crow-tongue like a vice. The grotesque appendage squirmed and snapped, but Abel’s grip remained unyielding. His expression was devoid of mercy, cold and clinical, his eyes glinting with something ancient and predatory.

“Please… mercy… I have only ever killed criminals…” the Pseudo Apostle rasped, voice breaking with genuine terror. His wings twitched weakly, feathers falling in disarray.

Abel tilted his head slightly, as if considering the concept of mercy like a foreign subject. “Mercy…?” he echoed softly—mocking, thoughtful—before shaking his head with finality. He was sure this man had been behind many atrocities in the past, the vile aura he carried was almost like repugnant even for Abel.

Before Abel could end the wretch’s life, the Pseudo Apostle shrieked in a last, desperate gambit. “THEN WE DIE TOGETHER!”

His mangled wings snapped upward with unnatural speed, stretching toward the heavens in a grotesque, skyward salute. Every last feather ripped free with brutal force, propelled into the sky like cursed arrows aimed at oblivion.

Abel’s eyes widened—danger sang through the air like a funeral bell. He hurled himself backward just as the feathers began their deadly descent. They fell in a vicious rain of death, tearing through the Pseudo Apostle’s flesh like barbed knives. His shrieks turned to gurgles as his body was ripped apart, torn into a grotesque mess of meat and shattered bones.

Abel hit the dirt and rolled again, narrowly avoiding the lethal hailstorm. Dust and ichor rained down, coating the forest floor in a grim tapestry of violence.

The Pseudo Apostle was dead.

Abel rose slowly, breathing steadily despite the carnage surrounding him. He wiped black ichor from his face, his knife still clenched tightly in his hand, glowing faintly with the remnants of starry magic.

The battlefield had gone still—only the distant crackle of burning wood and the groans of the wounded broke the unnatural silence. Abel exhaled slowly, eyes scanning the blood-soaked clearing.

It was over. For now.