CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
Dark Metamorphosis
----------------------------------------
ALERT! [????] has reacted to the presence of a demon!
Bram’s fear was intensified by a sound only he could hear.
I see you now…
A voice, low and guttural, reached his ears, though there was no one close enough to whisper to him apart from The Impure who’d been hurt by the touch of Bram’s left hand. It couldn’t possibly have spoken though since the demon was too busy feeling pain.
I see you now…o’ child touched by darkness…
Bands of dark energy raced across the length of Bram’s arm to snap against The Impure’s body like black lightning. It trailed along the mouth that split the demon’s stomach in half, causing it to elicit a horrible shriek that was echoed by the mouth on its bulbous head.
“Phoebus’ cock!” Vicomte Conrad cursed. “What sort of magic makes demons scream like that?”
Despite the commotion inside of him, Bram’s ears seemed attuned to the chatter of his surroundings. It wasn’t just the exclamations of his spectators he could hear, but also the disembodied voice whispering into his ears.
Brushed by fear…
“It’s more like devilry instead of magic!” replied Lady Petra.
She wasn’t wrong…as the Loom would confirm.
ALERT! The presence of [The Impure] has affected [????]!
ALERT! [????] is changing!
Bathed in hate…
The Impure lashed out at Bram with a fist as large as the prince’s head. It struck him right in his shoulder, but once again, he was protected by the power of his items.
ALERT! The [Ring of Three Protections] senses the danger to its wielder. [Barrier] has been activated [2/3].
Consumed by rage…
Unlike before, the golden aura that usually wrapped around Bram was replaced by a shield of dark energy, which, instead of breaking like glass and repelling the demon’s attack, exploded into dozens of dark bands that snapped against The Impure’s fist. Black lightning raced across its arm like whips lashing against flesh, causing both mouths to utter that horrifying scream again.
Now you must show me…
“His Highness’ hair!” Ser Aveline yelled. “It’s turned black!”
Despite the horns on Bram’s mask having grown so long that they now curved around the prince’s head like an obsidian crown, the change in his hair was what his spectators noticed most. It had lost its golden sheen, replaced by hair as black as a raven’s feathers. Fortunately, Bram had his mask over his face so his spectators couldn’t see that his eyes were now black and smoldering like burning coals.
Show me…you are worthy to wield Wrath!
CONGRATULATIONS! The truth of [????] has been uncovered. You can now use [Dark Metamorphosis]!
Once this hidden power’s name was revealed, several more notifications appeared around Bram, though he could only read one before his maddening rage burned through the fear that had kept him frozen.
ALERT! [Dark Metamorphosis] changed the conditions for [Rage of the Angry Ghost]. Duration of [Berserker] will increase to thirty seconds.
Whatever other conditions or boons this ‘Dark Metamorphosis’ gave him would remain unknown for the duration of ‘Berserker’ because he could barely think past the cloud of red enveloping his vision.
‘Wham!’
Another heavy blow struck Bram in the side of his face. The Ring of Three Protections didn’t activate this time though, and he was knocked to the ground.
“Ill-Fated—”
Bram getting right back to his feet caused The Impure’s curse to die in its throat.
In truth, the demon’s attack had caused Bram to lose consciousness, but his berserker’s rage snapped his mind back into gear, allowing him to slide out of the way of the forked tongue lashing out at him. He then pivoted to the left and swung Dusk’s violet-orange blade down. Like lightning racing toward the ground, Dusk bit deep into the demon’s forked tongue, cutting this disgusting appendage in twine.
Dark ichor splashed onto Bram too, but it no longer hurt him.
He had just enough wits left to recognize that his new power must have given him a constitution that didn’t flinch at the touch of demon blood. Either that or becoming a berserker had made him immune to pain.
If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
“I told you”—Ser Aveline’s voice cut through the anger clouding Bram’s mind—“that sword’s damn good.”
“It’s not just the sword,” Ser Edwin replied. “Our prince is showing us the kind of mettle and talent we thought he lacked.”
“Aye,” Ser Lief agreed. “We can’t call him the Ill-Fated—”
Someone coughed loudly as if to stop the Dane from uttering Bram’s hated monicker.
It seemed strange to Bram that he could hear their commentary despite his focus on his battle against The Impure.
Rowan…
It was the only conclusion his addled mind could come up with.
Rowan knew how important Bram’s image was to him. Somehow, she made it possible for him to hear the changing views of those who’d come to witness his ‘Show of Mettle.’ He had no time left to think about his changing image though, because his ‘Danger Sense’ was tingling in alarm.
Bram dove for cover, helping him narrowly avoid the bloated hand that would have crashed into his chest had he been a second slower. His dive to safety switched into a donkey roll, which, though spurned by many knights for being a shameful move, helped him quickly rise to his feet. Then, glancing over his shoulder, Bram saw a sight that would have made anyone else run for the hills.
Using its thick, trunk-like legs, The Impure launched itself upward and forward, its massive size falling on Bram like a meaty boulder.
Again, Bram dove to avoid its attack, but with his brain’s inner cogs hampered by his rage, he failed to realize that something as heavy as The Impure falling so quickly would cause the kind of impact on the ground that required more than simple avoidance. Instead of death by crushing weight, Bram was sent reeling backward, falling to one knee while the earth rumbled beneath him.
He barely had time to fix his stance before The Impure—which had jumped out of the shallow crater it made in the bastion’s inner courtyard—was charging at him like a tri-horn bull in heat. Bram hefted Dusk in front of him like a shield, and though it seemed too small a protection compared to The Impure’s size, the greatsword proved itself strong enough to withstand the demon’s head-on charge.
“Again~~n!”
Bram dug his feet and braced against Dusk’s violet-orange blade.
The prince and the demon pushed against each other, neither giving an inch to the other’s might.
15 seconds…
Bram felt The Impure’s hands touch Dusk, and he realized that his moment to counter had come. Once the demon’s fingers latched onto the sides of the violet-orange blade, Bram let Dusk go. With his weight on the blade suddenly disappearing, The Impure was able to raise Dusk high and out of reach—and that’s when Bram’s trick was finally revealed. Instead of dodging, he slid to the demon’s left side and wrapped his arms around its leg.
I know how to bring giants down now, was what he wanted to say, though, instead, the only word to escape his lips was, “Die!”
Bram pulled the trunk-like leg toward him so he could secure it between his legs, freeing his right arm up to grab a handful of sagging flesh around The Impure’s back.
“What foolishness—”
The demon noticed its new shackle too late.
With his berserker's strength fueling him, Bram arched up and backward, lifting the oversized blob into the air.
“I’d heard tales of his monstrous strength, but I didn’t know my nephew was this strong!” Vicomte Conrad exclaimed.
With this adaptable ‘Single-Leg Freestyle Throw,’ Bram flipped the demon over his shoulder, sending it crashing back into the shallow crater it had created with the prince landing conveniently on top of its chest where the demon’s other mouth couldn’t reach.
13 seconds…
The Impure shook its head to escape its daze, but Bram wouldn’t give it even a second’s respite.
‘Wham!’
‘Wham!’
‘Wham!’
Once, twice, and a third berserker’s fist rocked The Impure’s face, sending its bulbous head knocking back against the ground, causing cracks over its surface.
Faster…
With each blow, his punching speed increased, and his arms became a blur in their efforts to penetrate past the demon’s thick flesh to bludgeon the human within.
“How…savage,” Ser Severin spoke up, the shock clear in his voice.
“It’s the Ground-and-Pound style, Brother. It’s supposed to be brutal to keep one’s opponent pinned down,” Lady Petra replied, coming to the prince’s defense.
‘Wham!’
‘Wham!’
‘Wham!’
Stronger…
Four, five, six—with each new blow, Bram’s fists got heavier and heavier, until at last, he could hear the wind roaring in his ears. Every one of his punches was like an explosion detonating on The Impure’s face.
‘Wham!’
‘Wham!’
‘Wham!’
“Indeed, there are few martial arts that can compare to Lotharian Wrestling when it comes to unbalancing and controlling the movements of one’s foe,” Ser Anthony pointed out.
The seneschal’s statement wasn’t wrong. With each savage swing of Bram’s fist, The Impure was knocked back into the ground, keeping the larger demon immobile long enough for the prince to perform his finishing moves.
Shatterstone! was what he wanted to say aloud, but a different word escaped Bram’s lips, “Die!”
Still, the Loom correctly interpreted the prince’s intent, and with ‘Ability Replication’ aiding him, Bram cast Hajime’s favorite spell just like he’d done against those men who’d ambushed him and Ravi.
Rock and dirt flew up to form a large fist floating next to Bram’s raised right hand. This fist was different from Hajime’s magic too, for it was larger and more jagged, and shone with the same crimson aura often emitted by Bram’s borrowed power.
“Die!”
With a wide grin hidden by his demonic mask, Bram hurled the stone down onto The Impure, crushing a bulbous head already bloodied and bruised from the earlier pummeling.
Shards of jagged rock flew out, many of them biting into Bram’s flesh, though he didn’t feel an ounce of pain…only more rage.
“Impossible,” came Lady Petra's surprised voice, “His Highness is talented enough to cast a chantless spell?!”
7 seconds…
Bram raised his left arm to the side, his hand reaching out for something unseen. There came the sound of something hurtling through the air, and then Dusk was in his hand again. Fortunately, it hadn’t shattered yet, though there were now significant cracks along its gold-orange blade.
One borrowed power left…
He couldn’t see him, but Bram believed Ser Anthony was watching.
It’ll be enough…
Despite the rage making his ears ring, he could still hear them; the shouts of encouragement coming from all around him. It wasn’t just Ser Anthony’s voice, but a cacophony of voices from the knights and guests who’d arrived to watch his duel to the death. Here was proof of his changing fate. Bram, once called the Ill-Fated Prince, now had people cheering for his victory.
‘Ba-dump.’
With both hands, Bram raised Dusk high over his head, perfectly replicating the stance Ser Anthony taught him.
‘Ba-dump.’
“Die…” Bram felt the now-familiar stickiness of blood beginning to coat his fingers. “Die…”
‘Ba-dump.’
The greatsword shook as blood began seeping into its violet-orange blade.
‘Ba-dump!’
“Pallas’ breath!” Ser Aveline exclaimed. “His Highness is using our sword!”
Something slimy latched onto Bram’s neck, wrapping itself around his throat like a python.
Finally, the momentary lull in Bram’s attacks had given The Impure the time it needed to launch its counter. A wide, grotesque grin stretched across the corners of a devilish face already partly caved in.
“You should have kept hitting me”—The Impure’s severed tongue, which had lost its barbed tip, yanked Bram back—“instead of attempting to—”
“Death from above!” yelled all the knights from the Order of the Peerless Heart, leaving Bram without a catchphrase to finish this battle.
Indeed, the demon regained its footing too late for the prince’s spell was already cast.
‘Ba-dump!!!’
Then, at that moment when The Impure’s tongue lifted Bram off his feet—with life and death hanging in the balance—Dusk came crashing down to draw a vertical line of crimson and violet against the demon rising from the ground…and cut The Impure in twain.