Each day after classes and training, Maxwell returned to his room, only to be met by Nihil. Their battles became a grim routine, a relentless dance of survival and strategy. Day after day, Maxwell pushed himself to his limits, but Nihil was always one step ahead. Whenever Maxwell seemed on the verge of landing a hit, Nihil would unveil a new attack, shifting the balance of power.
One day, Nihil sprouted crimson wings from his back, each feather inscribed with the word "flight." When he unleashed them, they transformed into deadly projectiles, the word “death” etched into each one. They tore through the air with terrifying precision, forcing Maxwell to defend with everything he had. But Nihil wasn't finished. The next time Maxwell closed in, tendrils erupted from the ground, made of the word “trap,” binding him in place. They coiled around him with unyielding strength, pulling him down as if the very floor sought to devour him.
Despite his relentless efforts, Maxwell's attacks seemed futile. He managed to land a single blow, but the feather passed harmlessly through Nihil's shapeless form, as if striking at a mirage. The realization that he was likely fighting a mere replica of Nihil haunted him, raising unsettling questions about the true power of the entity he faced. With each passing day, the gap between their abilities seemed to widen, leaving Maxwell to wonder how he could ever hope to stand against the real Nihil.
On the twelfth, the tension between Maxwell and Nihil reached its peak. The room, once a place of repetitive battles, now felt like the calm before an inevitable storm. Maxwell stood firm, his eyes burning with determination despite the weight of his impending fate. Nihil's form, made of swirling crimson runes, seemed more solid, more present, as if the entity itself was gearing up for something monumental.
“Tomorrow is the day,” Nihil began, his voice a haunting melody of certainty and mystery. “After our battles, though I have been holding back, I believe you're ready. Should you become overwhelmed tomorrow, use the key around your neck. You'll know when to use it.”
The cryptic nature of Nihil's words did little to quell the fire within Maxwell. He clenched his fists, the memory of every failed attempt and near miss pushing him forward. “I've only landed a hit on you once so far,” Maxwell replied, his voice resolute. “But if I can hit you, I want to see your real face.”
Nihil's form flickered, the runes that made up his body swirling faster as if reacting to Maxwell's challenge. “Five hits, and I'll grant your request,” Nihil agreed, but there was an edge to his voice, a hint of irritation. “I won't be going as easy today.”
The room seemed to pulse with the energy of their impending battle. This was no longer just another skirmish; it was a final test, a moment that would determine whether Maxwell was truly ready for the horrors of the 13th. Nihil's words echoed in Maxwell's mind, a reminder of the thin line between victory and annihilation.
As they prepared to clash, Maxwell knew this fight would be different. Nihil wouldn’t hold back, and neither could he. The countdown to the 13th had begun, and this battle would decide more than just the outcome of their duel, it would determine Maxwell's survival.
The atmosphere in the room crackled with anticipation as Maxwell and Nihil squared off for what would be their most intense battle yet. Maxwell's six angelic wings unfurled behind him, each feather shimmering like blades of pure light. His hypercognition was already in overdrive, mapping out countless scenarios and calculating every possible move Nihil could make.
Nihil, on the other hand, stood in stark contrast. His body, a swirling mass of crimson runes, pulsed with dark energy. His wings, formed from the word "flight," extended outwards, each feather glowing ominously. Between them, the room was a battlefield, a confined space where reality itself seemed to bend under the pressure of their clashing wills.
The battle began with a burst of speed from Maxwell. In an instant, he launched a volley of feathers towards Nihil, each one a razor-sharp projectile aimed at vital points. The feathers cut through the air with deadly precision, but Nihil was ready. With a flick of his hand, a barrier made of the rune for “shield” materialized in front of him, the glowing words forming an impenetrable wall. The feathers struck the barrier and shattered into sparks of light, unable to penetrate the defense.
Maxwell didn’t hesitate. He knew he had to keep the pressure on. In a blur of motion, he surged forward, his wings propelling him with incredible speed. Nihil countered by summoning spears made from the rune for “death,” each one radiating a lethal energy. The spears shot towards Maxwell, their tips aimed to pierce through him.
Maxwell’s hypercognition kicked in, allowing him to anticipate the path of each spear. He twisted and dodged, his movements fluid and precise. Several spears missed by mere inches, while others were deflected by feathers that Maxwell willed to create a temporary shield. But Nihil wasn’t done yet.
As Maxwell closed in, Nihil's wings beat once, propelling him backward as tendrils made of the word “trap” erupted from the ground. The tendrils lashed out, seeking to bind Maxwell and hold him in place. Maxwell responded with a flare of his wings, sending a wave of feathers that sliced through the tendrils. But more appeared, the word “trap” glowing ominously as they wrapped around his legs and wings, pulling him down.
With a burst of energy, Maxwell transformed the feathers of his wings into swords of light, their radiant blades cutting through the tendrils in a single sweep. He pushed forward, his focus unyielding as he slashed at Nihil with his newly-formed swords. Nihil barely had time to raise his shield before the swords struck. The impact sent a shockwave through the room, shattering the shield and forcing Nihil back.
For the first time, Maxwell saw an opportunity. He pressed the attack, his swords blazing as he aimed for Nihil’s core. Nihil retaliated by summoning another spear, thrusting it forward with the intent to impale Maxwell. But Maxwell was faster. He sidestepped the attack, his wings flaring as he delivered a swift slash to Nihil’s side. The blade of light cut through the runes, causing Nihil’s form to flicker and distort.
A hit. Maxwell had landed a hit.
But there was no time to celebrate. Nihil’s form stabilized almost immediately, and with a wave of his hand, he unleashed a barrage of feathers, each one laced with the word “death.” Maxwell countered by forming a shield with his own feathers, deflecting the deadly projectiles as he moved to close the distance again.
Nihil’s eyes glowed with a dark light as he summoned more tendrils from the ground, these thicker and faster. Maxwell cut through them with his swords, but the tendrils kept coming, each one trying to ensnare him. Nihil’s wings beat powerfully, and he soared into the air, gaining distance as he prepared his next move.
Maxwell refused to let him escape. With a burst of energy, he flew after Nihil, his wings cutting through the air like blades. He caught up quickly, slashing at Nihil’s back with both swords. Nihil twisted in midair, raising another shield to block the attack, but Maxwell’s swords shattered the barrier with a single strike. A second hit landed, slicing through the runes that made up Nihil’s form.
The room was filled with the sound of clashing energy as Maxwell and Nihil exchanged blow after blow. Maxwell's hypercognition allowed him to keep up with Nihil's relentless attacks, dodging spears and cutting through tendrils with precision. But Nihil was relentless, summoning barriers and launching counterattacks with a speed that kept Maxwell on the defensive.
Finally, Maxwell saw his chance. He feinted to the left, drawing Nihil's attention, and then surged forward with all his strength, aiming a powerful strike at Nihil's chest. The sword of light cleaved through Nihil’s defenses, striking his core and causing his form to ripple and distort once more.
Three hits.
Nihil's voice echoed through the room, dripping with contempt. “I proposed five hits, thinking you wouldn't be able to do it. I'll squash your determination now.”
As his words faded, the runes that composed Nihil’s body began to shift violently, rearranging themselves into a new form. The word “rage” pulsed across his being, each letter burning with a crimson light that seemed to grow darker with each passing second. The once-fluid figure that had been Nihil’s form began to solidify, morphing from a swirling mass of runes into something far more fearsome.
In an instant, the floating cloak that had shrouded Nihil’s body was gone, replaced by the imposing silhouette of a dark crimson knight. His new form was massive, towering over Maxwell with an aura of pure malevolence. The runes that once flowed loosely now clung to Nihil’s form like armor, dense and impenetrable, giving him the appearance of a warrior forged from the very essence of rage itself.
Nihil’s wings expanded, growing larger and more menacing. The feathers, now thicker and more jagged, were etched with the word “flight,” but their edges shimmered with the same deadly glow as the runes that spelled “death.” The wings flared out, casting a dark shadow across the room as they beat with a power that made the air itself tremble.
Above Nihil's head, a halo of runes materialized, spinning slowly and marked with the word “retribution.” The halo radiated a terrifying energy, signifying that Nihil's transformation was not just about raw power, but also about exacting vengeance for the hits Maxwell had landed.
Finally, Nihil raised his hand, and with a commanding gesture, summoned a weapon to his side. A massive war scythe materialized out of the crimson runes, its blade long and curved, glowing with the words “death” etched along its edge. The scythe crackled with a dark energy, a weapon designed not just to kill, but to obliterate.
Nihil’s new form exuded an overwhelming sense of dread, the transformation complete. He stood as a crimson knight, wings spread wide, halo spinning with the promise of retribution, and the war scythe ready to bring death to all who dared oppose him.
Maxwell could feel the weight of Nihil’s presence pressing down on him, the sheer power of this new form threatening to crush his spirit. But he knew there was no turning back. The battle had reached its peak, and he would have to muster every ounce of his strength to survive the wrath of this dark knight.
If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.
Nihil's voice reverberated through the room, dripping with disdain as his dark form loomed over Maxwell. “Come at me, you wretch. If you can survive this, there's no way anyone will come even close to killing you tomorrow.” His laugh was cold, a horrifying sound that sent shivers down Maxwell’s spine, yet Maxwell refused to back down.
With a sharp intake of breath, Maxwell launched himself forward, his wings unfurling as he soared towards Nihil. His hypercognition kicked in, time seeming to slow as his mind raced to calculate every possible move, every counterstrike Nihil might make. But even with his enhanced perception, Nihil’s new form was a monstrous puzzle. The dark knight was faster, more precise, and infinitely more dangerous than before.
As Maxwell closed in, Nihil’s wings beat once, propelling him back with blinding speed. He swung his massive war scythe, the blade crackling with deadly energy. Maxwell barely managed to twist his body out of the way, feeling the scorching heat as the scythe passed mere inches from his face.
“Is that all you’ve got, Maxwell?” Nihil taunted, his voice echoing with mockery. “This is the best you can do after all our battles? How pathetic.”
Maxwell gritted his teeth, frustration gnawing at him. He flung a volley of his knife-like feathers toward Nihil, each one aimed with deadly precision. But Nihil was already moving, his wings creating a whirlwind of movement that deflected the feathers effortlessly. The words on the feathers flickered as they clashed with the crimson knight's form, but they failed to penetrate the dense runes that now composed Nihil’s armor.
“Predictable,” Nihil sneered, swinging his scythe again in a wide arc. Maxwell had no choice but to fall back, dodging the deadly edge that cut through the air with terrifying speed.
But Nihil wasn’t done. With a snap of his fingers, tendrils erupted from the ground, each one made of runes that spelled "trap." They lashed out at Maxwell, seeking to bind him, to crush him under their relentless force. Maxwell twisted and turned, his wings propelling him into the air as he narrowly avoided the tendrils. But Nihil was relentless, and more tendrils surged upwards, ensnaring Maxwell’s leg and yanking him downwards.
Maxwell’s mind raced, his hypercognition desperately seeking a way out as the tendrils tightened around him. With a burst of determination, he slashed at the tendrils with a feather, transforming it into a sword of light. The tendrils recoiled, the light searing through the runes, but Nihil was already on the attack again.
“Pathetic, you call yourself an Awakened? You’re just a weakling trying to play hero,” Nihil spat, raising his scythe high.
Maxwell’s wings flared out, creating a barrier of light that barely managed to catch the scythe’s deadly swing. The impact sent shockwaves through Maxwell’s body, his barrier flickering as he struggled to hold it together.
“Is this the extent of your power, Maxwell? You’ll die a pitiful death tomorrow if this is all you can muster!” Nihil’s voice was like a hammer, pounding down on Maxwell’s resolve.
But Maxwell wasn’t finished. As Nihil pressed the attack, Maxwell’s mind found a narrow opening. He spun away from Nihil’s relentless assault, his wings propelling him upwards. Summoning every ounce of strength he had left, Maxwell launched himself at Nihil from above, his feathers transforming into a blade of pure light.
Nihil sneered, raising his scythe to meet Maxwell’s attack. But this time, Maxwell was faster. His blade of light collided with Nihil’s scythe, and for a split second, the two forces clashed, crackling with power. Maxwell gritted his teeth, pouring everything into his strike. The light flared, and with a surge of energy, he broke through.
The blade of light grazed Nihil’s shoulder, leaving a trail of searing energy in its wake. Nihil staggered back, his form flickering for the briefest moment. Maxwell had landed another hit.
“Disappear and die.” Nihil’s voice echoed through the room, cold and merciless, with a weight that crushed the air around Maxwell.
In an instant, the entire room was consumed by runes, each one bearing the ominous word “death.” From every surface, shadowy hands emerged, their fingers curling with malevolent intent. The hands, etched with the same deadly runes, swarmed around Maxwell, dragging him down into a suffocating abyss. He struggled, his angelic wings flaring out in a desperate attempt to break free, but the grip of the death-marked hands was relentless, like the grasp of the reaper himself. As they pulled him deeper into the darkness, the last thing Maxwell saw was Nihil’s cold, unfeeling gaze, a gaze that promised only doom, devoid of pity or remorse.
When Maxwell awoke, he found himself back in his bed, drenched in sweat and utterly drained. Every muscle in his body throbbed with pain, as if he had been through the most grueling battle of his life. His mind raced, the memory of the fight still vivid and haunting, a nightmare he couldn’t shake. As he turned his head, a single white rose resting beside him caught his eye, delicate and out of place against the chaos of his thoughts. Beneath it lay a letter, the familiar cryptic handwriting sending a shiver down his spine.
The letter, written by Nihil, read,
“You did well, though your struggle was barely worth my time. I find a certain grim confidence that you might survive tomorrow, but only if you play your cards right. Should anything unexpected occur, do not hesitate to use your trump card, the key you carry is more than a mere trinket. I’ve invested too much in you to let my pupil die so easily. If you fall without a fight, consider this my final warning, I will be most displeased. And let me remind you, Maxwell, if you die, the world may end. No pressure, you wretch.”
The words on the page seemed to pulse with a life of their own, each stroke of the pen carrying a cold, malevolent promise. Maxwell’s heart pounded in his chest as he reread the letter, the weight of Nihil’s words pressing down on him like a curse. Tomorrow would be the ultimate test, and failure wasn’t an option, not for him, and not for the world.
Maxwell couldn't fight the overwhelming exhaustion and passed out on his bed, knowing he would need every ounce of energy for tomorrow’s ordeal. As sleep claimed him, it brought with it a vivid, haunting dream that left him more disturbed than rested.
In his dream, he found himself in a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with despair. At the center of the room stood a large birdcage, suspended over a pit filled with bones. Inside the cage, a woman was trapped. Though her features were obscured, there was something achingly familiar about her—an inexplicable connection that tugged at Maxwell’s heart. He could feel her suffering, her anger, and a deep, unspoken bond that seemed to transcend the bars of her prison.
Then, the oppressive silence was broken as a figure entered the room. Maxwell’s blood ran cold as he stared at the demon who walked in. His hair was a wild, bloody red, both naturally and stained with the blood of countless others. His gray eyes, devoid of emotion and mercy, were like empty voids, staring through everything as if nothing mattered. Crimson scales covered his arms, and from his back sprouted a long, draconic tail, while menacing horns jutted from his head. He wore black, regal clothing that seemed to accentuate his superiority, as if he floated above everyone else, both figuratively and literally.
Maxwell’s heart pounded as he looked upon the man, he seemed so familiar, and so horrifying. The sight of him filled him with utter horror, a primal fear that shook him to his core. He could hear the demon’s heartbeat, wild and erratic, as if seven hearts pounded within his chest, each one beating with deadly intent. The woman in the cage, her fury palpable, lashed out at the demon with a sword wreathed in flames. Her attacks were as beautiful as they were deadly, a dance of fire and steel that mesmerized and terrified Maxwell. She fought with a grace that belied her rage, and for a brief moment, it seemed as though she might prevail.
Her blade managed to slice his cheek, leaving a small scar. But the victory was short-lived. The demon, enraged, knocked her back with a force that sent her crashing against the bars of the cage. Then, as if sensing Maxwell’s presence, he stopped. His cold, gray eyes locked onto Maxwell, a sneer curling on his lips.
“Soon,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “Please be patient, you worthless trash.”
Maxwell jolted awake, his heart racing, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The dream lingered, the sight of the caged woman, the pit of bones, and the demon's contemptuous gaze seared into his mind. As he glanced at the clock, it read 5:30 a.m. The date flashed in his mind, September 13th. His death date had arrived.
Maxwell sprinted from his room, heart pounding with the weight of the approaching confrontation. He knew he couldn't hide from the onslaught he anticipated, so he sought out the ideal battleground, a place where he could leverage every advantage. He found it in the vast auditorium, its empty seats and stage offering numerous opportunities for tactical maneuvers. The room, used for speeches and occasionally hosting plays, was a labyrinth of variables that Maxwell’s hypercognition could exploit. The props scattered about, though fake, were meticulously crafted and could serve as both cover and weapon.
He positioned himself on the stage, the elevated platform offering a commanding view of the room. The silence was broken by the sudden, jarring sound of an explosion elsewhere in the facility. The blast reverberated through the building, shattering the reinforced doors and allowing a chaotic swarm of invaders to flood in.
The intruders came in waves, a mix of heavily armed operatives, Awakened individuals, and twisted hybrids from the Beta facility. Each individual had their own sinister presence. Leading the charge was a formidable man whose muscular frame was adorned with crimson tattoos, swirling like thorny vines across his body. His left arm was a sophisticated prosthetic, seamlessly blending with his flesh to enhance his mechanical prowess. His head, resembling a black crow with beady, penetrating eyes, was either a mask or his actual visage, an unsettling sight that exuded menace.
Trailing behind him was a woman draped in a flowing black dress that sparkled like a starlit sky. The dress seemed to ripple with an otherworldly grace as she moved, its shimmering fabric catching the light in a mesmerizing dance. Her wings, once black but now painted white, were a stark and eerie contrast to her otherwise dark attire. The halo perched atop her head was wired to a headband. Her long, blonde hair framed a face marked by piercing green eyes, eyes that seemed to hold a mixture of cold calculation and unsettling calmness.
Next to her was a cloaked figure whose maroon cloak swirled ominously with each step. The cloak was a deep, rich color, almost as if it absorbed the surrounding light, creating an aura of secrecy. Their face was hidden behind a smiley face mask, which seemed to mock the very gravity of the situation. Beneath the cloak, a sleek black ensemble clung to their form, with various knives strapped to their belt. Each blade glinted with a deadly promise, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.
On the other side stood a man whose appearance was as vibrant as it was menacing. His hair was a wild, spiky green that seemed to defy gravity, complementing his intense purple eyes that sparkled with an almost feral gleam. His face was adorned with an assortment of piercings, each adding to his edgy, unpredictable appearance. A large scorpion tail, its segmented segments moving with a life of their own, extended from his back, adding an extra layer of menace. He wore a black suit with a purple tie, an irregular choice that did little to diminish the aura of danger he exuded. In his hand, he carried a briefcase, its contents hidden but undoubtedly crucial to his mission.
Finally, completing this disturbing lineup was a girl with long, wavy light blue hair that cascaded down her back like a flowing river. Her striking red eyes were a sharp contrast to her otherwise serene appearance. She wore a long, light blue dress that flowed elegantly around her, with each step accentuated by the click of her red heels. Clutched in one hand was a teddy bear, an inconsistent companion to her otherwise unsettling demeanor, and in her mouth, she leisurely licked a lollipop, the image of innocence juxtaposed with the violence that surrounded her.
The announcement over the facility's intercom only added to the tension: “All students, hide within your dorms. If you are out in the open, proceed to the nearest designated bunker. All agents, intruders have broken in; prepare for combat at the entrance elevator.” Maxwell knew that the time for waiting was over, the storm had arrived, and he needed to be ready for the chaos that would inevitably unfold.