Faker rejoined the group just as they crossed the threshold into the heart of the city, controlled by the Fafnir family. The streets were unnaturally silent, and the air was taut with impending doom. It was as if the city itself recognized the presence of these notorious criminals, and every citizen, hidden behind windows and closed doors, felt the chill of death brushing against them.
City guards spotted the infamous figure in the plague doctor mask at the head of the group, and their training took over, spears snapping into position. They knew who he was. Blank, leader of The Crows, moved with a disturbing calm, his dark attire blending seamlessly into the shadows. A quiet chuckle escaped him, distorted beneath the beak of his mask.
“I admire your bravery,” he said, voice dripping with a mockery that sent shivers down the guards’ spines. “So willing to die for a duty you barely understand.”
Blank removed his gloves without another word, revealing unnaturally pale hands pulsing with a dark energy. In a blur, he lunged forward, his hand slipping beneath the armor of the nearest guard and brushing against exposed skin. In seconds, the man’s skin turned a ghastly shade of purple, blistering and bubbling until his entire body collapsed, reduced to a gelatinous, horrifying pool. His armor hit the cobblestones with a hollow clatter, like the sound of a funeral bell.
Blank wiped his hand on a cloth with practiced indifference. “I do hope the rest of you put up more of a fight,” he sneered.
Inari, silent as a shadow, moved among the guards like a specter of death. His fox mask concealed his expression, but his katana gleamed with cruel intent, cutting through armor and flesh with terrifying ease. Each strike was swift, and elegant, a deadly dance of steel and blood that left the guards broken in his wake, their bodies crumpling into pools of scarlet.
Meanwhile, Faker’s laughter rose above the chaos, cold and sharp. Wielding his blade aglow with an intense emerald light, he tore through the guards, severing limbs and lives with brutal efficiency. Blood splattered against the cobblestones as Faker’s eyes gleamed with sadistic pleasure, reveling in the symphony of death and destruction surrounding him.
“Look at them, dropping like flies,” he taunted, stepping over the fallen with casual disdain. “This is almost too easy.”
The surviving guards, faces drained of color, tried to hold their ground, but The Crows were an unstoppable force. One by one, they fell—dissolved, slashed, or torn apart in a gruesome display that transformed the once-peaceful city square into a blood-soaked battlefield.
Watching from behind shutters and cracked windows, the citizens held their breath in terror. They’d heard the whispered rumors of The Crows, but witnessing their arrival in person was a nightmare none could have imagined. Hope was a fragile thing, slipping away as Blank’s group pressed forward, leaving a trail of death and despair.
At the center of the group, the young Labyrinth clung to Blank’s shadow, her small frame trembling. Her wide eyes darted between the fallen guards and her monstrous allies, fear freezing her in place.
“Faker, enjoy yourself,” Blank ordered, his voice as cold as ice. “Kill and devour to your heart's content.”
“When can I get a new vessel?” Faker muttered, running a hand along his blade, his voice laced with irritation. “This one is already falling apart.”
“Soon enough,” Blank replied smoothly. “There’s a mission for you in the capital. Claim your new vessel there.”
Labyrinth whimpered softly, clutching Blank’s cloak, as if hiding from the carnage she couldn't escape. “Boss… why did I have to join this?” she whispered, her voice quivering.
“Your abilities are too valuable, my dear,” Blank reassured her, his tone oddly gentle despite the brutality unfolding around them. “Don’t worry. I won’t let you be harmed.”
As Faker’s laughter echoed down the darkening streets, he set fire to the surrounding buildings, the flickering flames casting a grotesque light over the bodies left in his wake. With no mercy or remorse, he watched as the fire consumed the lives he had stolen, all while The Crows advanced toward the Fafnir family manor, leaving terror in their trail.
“He’s so scary,” Labyrinth whimpered, clinging to Blank’s cloak, her voice barely audible over the crackling flames.
Blank looked down at her, a faint smile hidden beneath his mask. “I understand, but that’s precisely his value,” he replied, voice soft yet unwavering. “You’ll grow to appreciate it.”
With a measured glance, he turned to Inari. “Inari, retrieving the child will be your task. I trust there will be no complications?”
“Of course, sir,” Inari replied, dipping his head respectfully. “And where will you be?”
Blank’s voice turned cold. “Killing, naturally. I’ll take care of any who think themselves capable of stopping us.”
Within the Fafnir family manor, the sound of distant screams and the glow of flames caught the attention of the family. The mother, Alicia, clasped her hands over her mouth as she looked out the window.
“Honey, the town…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “It’s burning.”
Hector, her husband, stared at the chaos below with a look of dawning horror. His city—the heart of his territory—lay in ruins, engulfed in flames, their empire crumbling before his eyes.
“Noah…” he muttered, realization hitting him. “He’s still out there. Alicia, stay here and protect Isaac. I’ll find Noah.”
“Be careful,” Alicia said, her eyes wide with fear. She gathered Isaac in her arms, shielding him as best she could. “Go, quickly!”
Hector rushed out, his heart pounding, only to freeze as he encountered the twisted figures of The Crows waiting for him, shadows against the fire-lit night. Recognition flashed in his eyes, turning quickly to fury.
“So, it’s you,” Hector snarled, his voice filled with venom. “The same ones who left Eldenwood in ruin. You monsters—I’ll kill each and every one of you!”
Blank gave a soft laugh, gesturing dismissively to Inari. “Inari, keep Labyrinth out of harm’s way. Allow me to entertain our guest.”
Blank stepped forward, sliding off his gloves as he moved, his hands emanating an eerie energy. Hector braced himself, his muscles tensing as his right arm began to shift. His flesh stretched, transforming into thick, crimson scales, while flames erupted, licking up his arm as he swung at Blank with titanic force.
Blank barely managed to intercept the blow, but the impact reverberated through his bones with a sickening crack, shattering both arms. He staggered back, looking down at his broken limbs with mild irritation. “How annoying.”
A dark aura seeped from his shattered bones, and within seconds, his arms twisted back into place, regenerating with a sinister ease.
“By all means,” Blank murmured with a smirk, “do try again.”
Hector’s eyes narrowed, and he straightened, gripping his arm as a surge of power rippled through his body. “I won’t hold back any longer,” he growled. “Awaken my Regalia… Arthur Pendragon!”
A blinding light erupted from Hector's hands, casting radiant beams that pierced the smoke and shadows around him. As the brilliance began to subside, it coalesced into a magnificent weapon—a sword so grand and awe-inspiring it seemed almost divine. The blade itself was long and elegantly curved, with edges as sharp as judgment, forged from a silver metal that gleamed with an otherworldly luster. Intricate etchings ran along its length, ancient symbols glowing faintly as if infused with a force older and greater than anything mortal.
The hilt was equally stunning, wrapped in dark leather with accents of pure gold. At its center rested a crystal orb, filled with a swirling light that pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat, in perfect sync with Hector’s own. When he gripped it firmly, tendrils of light danced up his arm, fusing man and weapon, amplifying his strength and resolve. The crossguard extended like wings, each side adorned with tiny, engraved runes, which glowed brighter with each passing second, as though absorbing Hector’s willpower and feeding it into the blade.
The sword’s radiant edge seemed to vibrate with restrained power, casting a brilliant aura that banished every shadow in its path. It wasn’t just a weapon—it was a beacon, a challenge, a declaration of war against darkness itself. Every movement caught the light, sending waves of iridescent energy rippling down the length of the blade, while faint sparks crackled at the tip, hinting at the devastating force contained within.
“Impressive,” Blank mused, tilting his head, “though I doubt I’ll require my own Regalia for this.”
With a disturbing calmness, he reached to his own hand, grasping a finger as though it were an ordinary object to be discarded. In a grotesque, chilling display, he tore it off with a sickening snap. The severed digit writhed in his grasp, the bone elongating with a visceral crack as it twisted and contorted into a thin, jagged blade. Flesh stretched and darkened, melding seamlessly with sinew and veins that wove together to form a twisted shaft. The finger transformed, piece by piece, into a sinister scythe, its blade gleaming with a wicked, predatory sharpness that seemed to drink in the surrounding light.
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The scythe pulsed with dark energy, as if born from his own life force, resonating with an unnatural, almost malicious hunger. And as he lifted his new weapon, his hand regenerated with horrifying precision, the skin, and bone knitting back together effortlessly, leaving him whole once more, and armed with a weapon born of his own flesh.
“Let’s dance, shall we?” Blank said, his voice a low, dangerous whisper.
Hector tightened his grip on his radiant blade, its light blazing like a star in the darkness surrounding him. He took a deep breath, his chest swelling as embers flickered from his mouth, before unleashing a torrent of scorching flame toward Blank. The fire roared forward, consuming the distance between them with searing heat and blinding light.
Blank, however, merely smiled beneath his mask, his grip tightening on his grotesque scythe. He swung it in an arc that seemed to cut through the very air, creating a shadowy barrier that deflected the surrounding fire, the flames bending away as though afraid to touch him. Yet Hector pushed forward, his fire breath intensifying as he closed the gap, his blade crackling with power. With a fierce cry, he brought it down toward Blank’s head.
Blank parried with his scythe, the clash sending a shockwave that rippled through the air. The force cracked the cobblestones beneath them, but Blank didn't falter. Instead, he twisted his wrist, forcing Hector back and countering with a vicious slice aimed at Hector’s side. Hector barely dodged, feeling the dark blade scrape against his armor.
Seizing the moment, he raised his hand, conjuring flames that danced along his arm before launching a blazing fist toward Blank's face. Blank's own hand darted up, catching Hector’s wrist mid-swing. The dark energy pulsing from Blank’s grip countered the fire licking at Hector’s skin. Hector roared, yanking his arm free, then slamming his scaled claw into Blank's chest.
The impact shattered bone, the sound of ribs cracking like snapping branches, but Blank merely grinned wider, an eerie glow consuming the fractures as they mended themselves almost instantly. Hector’s eyes widened in horror.
“Oh, Hector,” Blank cooed mockingly. “I did warn you to try harder.”
Blank drove his scythe forward, the blade slicing into Hector’s shoulder. Hector gritted his teeth against the pain, countering with another burst of flames, but Blank moved faster, sidestepping the fire and slashing low, his scythe biting into Hector’s thigh. Blood spattered onto the stone, and Hector staggered, but he retaliated with a wide swing of his sword, forcing Blank back.
Wounded but determined, Hector lunged again, pouring everything into a final attack. He raised his blade, light erupting from it in a radiant glow, and brought it down with all his strength, aiming to split Blank in two. Blank met the strike head-on with his scythe, a brutal clash of light and shadow, but even as Hector strained, his opponent remained unyielding. Blank’s mask cracked slightly from the force, but his laughter only grew louder.
Hector drew back, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, but before he could react, Blank’s scythe cleaved into his chest, deep enough to make his vision swim with pain. He stumbled back, his vision blurring, until he felt a cold, relentless grip close around his neck.
Blank’s hand tightened, lifting Hector effortlessly off the ground. He dangled there, powerless, the blazing sword slipping from his grip and clattering to the cobblestones below. Blank tilted his head, his masked face inches from Hector's, his voice a cruel whisper.
“Tell me, Hector,” Blank murmured, his voice dripping with venomous mockery. “Do you have any last words? Perhaps something I can tell your wife before I kill her?”
With what strength he had left, Hector snarled, “Go to hell.” Then, summoning the last of his inner fire, he spat directly at Blank's face. The spit sizzled into molten lava, scorching through the cracked glass of Blank’s mask and into his left eye. A sickening hiss filled the air as the lava melted through flesh and bone, leaving a charred, hollow socket.
For a brief, glorious moment, Hector saw pain flicker across Blank’s face. But that flicker turned into an even more deranged smile as the empty, ruined eye grotesquely knitted itself back together, sinews and tissue rebuilding at an unnatural speed. In seconds, Blank’s eye was as whole and cold as before.
“Fine. I’ll make sure your wife gets that message,” Blank said icily. With a sudden, vicious twist of his hand, he crushed Hector’s neck. The sickening crunch echoed through the air as Hector's body went limp, his blade slipping from his grasp, its brilliant light fading to cold, lifeless steel before dissolving into wisps of white smoke.
Blank dropped Hector’s lifeless form with cruel indifference, wiping his hands as if he had merely swatted a bug. “Labyrinth, keep an eye on the body,” he commanded. “We’ll feed it to Viper later.”
A faint cry of horror came from within the manor. Alicia stood frozen in the doorway, her hands clasped over her mouth as she watched her husband fall. Her face was pale, eyes wide and rimmed with tears, a sword clutched shakily in her trembling hands.
“No… no…” she choked out, terror and grief twisting her features.
“Isaac, run! Hide!” she managed, pushing her son toward the shadowed safety of a nearby room. As he darted into the dark, he stole a last look through a small crack in the door, watching as the terrible scene unfolded.
The Crows forced their way into the home, each step reverberating through the walls. Alicia faced them, her body trembling yet rooted in desperate resolve. She raised the sword, the blade wobbling in her weak, untrained grip as her eyes locked on Blank, who advanced toward her with a darkly amused gaze.
“Oh, your husband left me a message for you,” Blank said with a mocking smirk. “He said, ‘Go to hell.’ But I suppose that wasn’t meant for you.” He laughed, a cold, hollow sound that echoed through the hall.
Alicia's knuckles whitened on the hilt, her tears glinting in the dim light as she tried to steady her wavering voice. “You won’t touch my children… I swear it.”
Blank’s head tilted, a mocking grin twisting beneath the shattered mask. “I’ve already killed Noah and your husband. What do you think you can do with those frail arms, barely able to hold a sword?” He took a step closer, his tone deceptively gentle. “Give me your son, and I’ll let you live.”
With a burst of desperate courage, Alicia lunged, the sword heavy and clumsy in her hands. Inari intercepted her with ruthless efficiency, his katana flashing as it caught her blade mid-swing, blocking her with ease.
“That wasn’t necessary, Inari,” Blank muttered, sounding almost annoyed.
“Yes, sir,” Inari replied, knocking Alicia back with a quick flick of his blade.
Blank advanced again, his eyes cold. “So, what’s it to be? Will you sacrifice yourself to save him, or save yourself by giving him up?”
“Never!” Alicia’s voice rang through the hallway, fierce but fragile. “I won’t ever hand him over. I’d rather die.”
Blank scoffed, his tone darkening. “Your son will regret your choice. He’ll carry that regret for life, wishing you’d chosen survival over sentiment.” His voice grew almost introspective. “Believe me, I know… I wish my mother had sacrificed me. I’d rather she’d been selfish.”
Alicia’s face was pale but resolute. “If a mother isn’t willing to die for her children, she isn’t a mother at all.”
Blank let out a low, almost appreciative chuckle. “Perhaps. A mother’s love truly knows no bounds. So be it.” His arm shifted grotesquely, his hand transforming into a jagged blade. “Now… die.”
With a sickening blur of movement, Blank swung his arm, severing Alicia’s head in a single, brutal stroke. Her body crumpled to the ground, the sword slipping from her hand as her head rolled across the floor, her expression still marked by fierce defiance. Isaac, watching through a crack in the door, let out a silent, horrified gasp as he witnessed his mother fall.
Blank’s gaze shifted, and his voice turned coaxing, almost playful. “Isaac, come out now. We’re not here to hurt you, really… we just want to talk.”
“Sir, I believe he’s hiding in that room,” Inari remarked.
“Obviously, Inari,” Blank muttered, his tone irritated. “I’m just playing along with the theatrics.”
Isaac, hearing them grow closer, panicked and burst from his hiding spot, his small frame darting through the halls of the manor as fast as his legs would carry him.
Blank watched, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he called after the boy. “Oh look! He’s revealed himself! However, will we catch him now?” He waved Inari forward dismissively. “Go get him. Hurry.”
“Yes, sir,” Inari replied, disappearing down the hall in pursuit.
Isaac ran through the corridors, his heart pounding, mind racing as he skidded to a halt by the back exit of the manor. A staircase loomed to his left, but something held him there in uncertainty, caught between his instinct to escape and the knowledge that his sister was still somewhere within.
“What do I do… what do I do?” he whispered, tears streaming as he choked back a sob, fear, and helplessness gripping him.
Inari surged toward him with blinding speed, his presence a looming shadow. Driven by sheer panic, Isaac bolted, slamming through the back door and into the night, his heart racing like a wild drum.
Isaac’s small voice wavered in the night air, lost amid the towering trees. “I need to escape?” His face was streaked with tears, his breathing panicked as he forced himself to run, limbs shaking with exhaustion and terror.
Behind him, Inari’s calm but relentless footsteps closed in, swift as death itself. Isaac heard the rustle of leaves and dared to glance back, a chill running down his spine as he saw Inari draw his katana, muttering softly, “A quick slash should be enough. Sword technique: Wind Blade.”
Inari’s blade gleamed under the sunlight as it sliced through the air, releasing a powerful arc of wind that cut across the forest like an invisible scythe. As Isaac looked, back he felt a sting at his neck, and blood trickled down his skin, hot and sickening. He stumbled, clutching his neck in desperation, but still, he forced his legs to keep moving, his vision blurring as he pushed deeper into the forest.
Then, as his strength waned, he saw a figure standing just ahead, illuminated by a faint, otherworldly glow. The man was unlike anyone Isaac had ever seen, dressed in a pristine white suit with a matching top hat, a purple eye gleaming from behind a monocle. His purple hair flowed down against his dark skin, catching the soft glow of sunlight. As Isaac collapsed at his feet, the man bent down, a calm smile on his face.
“Ah, it seems I didn’t need to search for you, after all.” The man’s voice was soothing, rich with a strange promise. “Fear not, Apostle of Calamity. I’ll not let them harm you.”
With a sweep of his hand, the stranger touched Isaac's shoulder, and in a flash of violet light, they vanished, leaving the forest silent and still.
Inari arrived moments later, scanning the empty clearing. He frowned, his shoulders slumping as he realized his target had slipped away. “The boss is going to be furious,” he muttered, sheathing his blade.
Back within the forest, miles away, another quiet scene unfolded. There, lying motionless among the twisted roots, was Noah’s body, his face pale and eyes closed. Footsteps broke the silence, a young boy stepped into view, cloaked in black robes that contrasted starkly with his pale, almost ethereal face. Golden-blonde hair spilled over his shoulders, and a mask covered the upper half of his face, lending him an eerie yet angelic aura. Small, feathered wings unfurled delicately from his back, gleaming faintly under the starlight.
He looked down at Noah’s lifeless form with mild curiosity, as though appraising a rare artifact. “A shame…” he murmured, his voice soft, laced with a strange sadness. “You weren’t the one I intended to make a hero. But I suppose you’ll have to do.”
Raising a hand, he whispered, “Ability activate… Miracle.”
From his fingertips, a single droplet of golden water formed, hanging in the air before it fell onto Noah’s forehead. The liquid shimmered with a divine radiance as it absorbed into Noah’s skin. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, filled with a mixture of confusion and wonder as they adjusted to the dim forest light.