“Hello, boss,” Darius responded with an amused tone, followed by a cacophony of laughter around them. “I intended to kill you before you even knew I was involved but… Tsk, I couldn't resist upon seeing your confident face.”
“How does it feel to be betrayed by your own man, little Thomas?”
Thomas' eyes narrowed, recognizing the voice. “I will have your hide for this, old man. You and the entire Savage Fiend!”
“Stop teasing the boy, Damon.” A voice tinged with gloom and disapproval.
“Why are you doing this Warren?” Thomas demanded, his expression falling upon realizing the opponent they now faced. “You’re the last person I expected to see partnering with this old b*stard and the outsiders.”
“I don’t have a choice, my boy,” Warren responded, his voice tinged with a mixture of regret and resignation. He ran a weathered hand through his thinning hair before continuing, “It’s just business. No hard feelings, my boy. Also, you’ve been expanding at a breakneck pace lately. I’m afraid you're going to swallow us too.”
“We already talked about this,” Thomas stated, his voice low and taut with restrained anger. His eyes glinted dangerously, embers of long-harbored resentment flaring to life. “I’ve made it crystal clear that I won’t lay a finger on what’s yours. My beef,” he paused, each word deliberate and sharp, “is solely with that old man. No one else.”
“I want to believe you, boy. I truly do,” Warren responded, his voice a blend of regret and world-weary cynicism. He paused, swallowing hard before continuing. “But in our line of work, trust is a luxury we can’t afford. The only person you can truly rely on is yourself.” His eyes, clouded with conflicting emotions, briefly looked at Thomas’ through the darkness before darting away. “As I've said before,” Warren added, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth, “This is just business. No hard feelings. I saw an opportunity, and I… I had to seize it. That’s the game we play.“
“You’re no different than that b*stard, Warren!” Thomas snarled, his voice a mixture of venom and raw betrayal. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles white with suppressed rage. “Mark my words,” he continued, each syllable dripping with cold fury. “I’ll carve this day into my memory. And I swear on everything I hold dear, I’ll make you—all of you—pay for this betrayal.”
“If you survive,” Damon retorted, bursting into laughter that echoed through the dark and cold ruins. “You seem not to realize your situation, little Thomas,” he drawled, his voice dripping with derision. “None of you will get out of here alive.”
Growing bored of the emotional exchange, Elysian sighed, stepping forward. “Are you all done with all this melodrama?” he asked, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. His eyes flickered between Darius, Warren, and Damon, clearly unimpressed with what he’d seen. “Why don’t we get started?” he asked, his tone cold and impatient.
“Master, what are you doing?” Sybil asked anxiously, his eyes darting nervously toward the darkness as he tried to pull the noble back.
“Listen to your bodyguard, boy,” Thomas said, annoyed at the sudden interruption and arrogance of the noble. “Stay back. I don’t want to be responsible for your death.”
Elysian, however, refused to budge, his gaze fixed intently on the darkness. Sybil, desperate, looked to Bran and Osric for help, but they only glanced around, ignoring his plea, their faces expressionless and focused on the unseen threats lurking in the shadows.
“Sybil, go back there and protect Amara at all costs,” Elysian commanded firmly. Before the young soldier could reply, he turned his attention to his two companions. “Bran, Osric—your duty is to protect Amara. Do you hear me?”
“Yes, young master,” Bran responded, nodding. Osric mirrored the gesture, both acknowledging the command with solemn determination.
“All of you, form a circle with the women in the middle,” Elysian instructed, his eyes still scanning for danger. “Kill anyone who gets close.”
“Wait, wait, what the hell are you doing? Our sole duty is to protect this b*stard here and no one else!” Sybil, irritated at being ignored, looked between Bran and Osric before turning to the noble. “Young master, listen—”
“Who the hell is that brat there? He’s talking like he’s some big shot,” Damon muttered with humor in his voice. “Hey, Thomas! Don’t tell me you’re pinning your hopes on that brat?”
The Iron Claw’s leader was about to give an angry retort when Amara grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. “Be quiet and just follow everything that the young master commands.”
Thomas opened his mouth to object but met Amara’s stern glare. The intensity of her gaze silenced him. He sighed and nodded. “Okay.”
“Young master—” Sybil began angrily, but his words died in his throat when he saw the sharp, dangerous look in the noble’s eyes.
“I know you think this is crazy, but our lives are at stake here. I don’t have time to explain now. Just believe in me, okay?”
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Sybil looked exasperated but fell silent, his jaw clenched in frustration. After a tense moment, he nodded, taking a defensive position next to Amara, his eyes scanning for threats, ready to follow Elysian’s unexpected leadership.
Elysian’s gaze remained steely and resolute. “Stay sharp, everyone, and be ready,” he commanded, his voice steady. He glanced around, noting the tension in the air and the readiness of his allies. Despite the dire situation, the fire of hope burned in their eyes, fueling their determination. His calm demeanor contrasted with the palpable anxiety surrounding them, but he found solace in their resolve. “Good,” he nodded, satisfied with what he saw.
In the darkness, Damon’s mocking laughter echoed again. “I never thought I’d live to see this. Little Thomas is being led by a boy like a b*tch!” he sneered, drawing derisive laughter from his men and allies. “Light the torches! Let them tremble at the sight of their hopeless struggle.”
Suddenly, flames blazed to life, illuminating the ruins and revealing the full extent of their dire predicament. Elysian and his companions were completely surrounded, the flickering torchlight casting eerie shadows that danced menacingly on the ancient walls, emphasizing the grim reality of their situation. Escape seemed impossible.
“What are you going to do now, brat? Stand there and pee in your pants? This is ridiculous—” Darius mocked. Before he could even finish his sentence, his headless corpse slumped to the ground. Elysian stood behind him, perched atop a broken pillar for all to see.
Raising the severed head, Elysian asked in a maniacal voice, “What did you say again? You were too far; I couldn’t hear you.” Dissatisfied, he turned to the thugs closest to him. “Did any of you catch what this b*stard said?”
All of them were frozen in place, too shocked to say or do anything upon seeing the severed head of the traitorous b*stard from Iron Claw. When the head did not give an answer, he just sighed and threw it away like some garbage. “Oh well, it doesn’t really matter, right? You’re all going to join him soon enough,” he said with a terrifying grin, his voice carrying an ominous message of the impending doom.
“Seems she was right. Fulfilling the toll of the curse won’t be too difficult. And I might be able to meet some of the requisites for those two costly abilities,” he muttered softly, casting a glance around him and laughing darkly as he saw their terrified faces. Suddenly, the boy enveloped in an ominous darkness that coalesced into a hood, casting a chilling shadow over his face. “Let the reaping begin.”
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“What the hell is that?” Sybil muttered to himself in disbelief, his eyes locked on the hooded figure of the young noble he served. Turning to Bran and Osric, he asked urgently, “Do either of you know what’s happening”
“Let’s discuss it later,” Osric replied, his gaze unwavering on the deadly figure of his liege. “For now, let’s focus on defending Lady Amara as the master commended.”
Sybil sighed, reluctantly conceding to Osric. He could do nothing but watch in awe and fear as the dark figure threw himself into the nearest group of enemies. With each swing of the terrifying knife he wielded, it seemed as if he were the Reaper incarnate, harvesting souls with chilling efficiency.
The enemies fell one by one, their panicked cries echoing in the cavernous ruin. The hooded figure moved with swift and calculated precision, his movements fluid yet merciless. Each strike was deadly, each step deliberate, as if guided by a force beyond mortal comprehension.
“Stand your ground, you cowards!” Damon’s voice cracked, a mixture of terror and rage. HIs eyes, wild with desperation, darted between his faltering men and the whirlwind of retribution—Elysian. “He’s just one boy, damn it! One! Swarm him, you fools!”
Spittle flew from his lips as he bellowed, his face contorted with manic energy. “Anyone who dares retreat will wish for the mercy of his blade instead of what I’ll do to them!” He grabbed the nearest soldier, shaking him violently. “Attack, attack! Don’t let up! We can’t—we won’t—fall to a single child!”
His words were nearly drowned out by the cacophony of screams and the sickening sound of flesh giving way to steel. Damon’s eyes bulged as he watched Elysian cut through his men like a scythe through wheat. “For the love of the Abyss, stop him! Stop him now!”
Upon witnessing the chaotic tide of bodies, Bran’s throat constricted, a bead of sweat tracing his temple. Standing guard beside Amara, he willed his nerves to steel. His weapon, slick in his white-knuckled grip, remained poised to strike at the slightest danger. Bran’s gaze ricocheted between the unfolding carnage and the woman he was sworn to protect, his eyes sharp despite the horror they saw. The acrid tang of blood and fear filled his nostrils, yet he remained steadfast, unwavering.
Amara, together with Nina, Helene, and Timmy at the center of the defensive circle, observed with a mix of horror and fascination. She had seen the young noble fight before, but this was entirely different. His transformation into this dark avenger both unnerved and impressed her. He was terrifying. The memory of how the boy tortured the man who tried to defile her still sent shivers down her spine. She could see insanity in his eyes. Despite this, she trusted Elysian, and witnessing him unleash his madness again upon their enemies made her realize just how deep his resolve ran.
As the skirmish raged on, Elysian’s relentless assault continued unabated. His hooded form moved like a specter through the chaos, leaving a trail of fallen adversaries in his wake. Each clash of steel, each cry of pain, reinforced the grim reality that they were fighting a monster—a being of death and carnage.
Thomas stood with his mouth agape, his face pale with a mixture of fear and awe. He had heard tales of Elysian’s prowess, dismissing them as mere exaggerations of an arrogant noble. However, witnessing it firsthand was entirely different. The boy’s actions were both mesmerizing and horrifying, a lethal ballet of death that left no doubt about his capabilities. Each swing of his blade was precise and deadly, his movements fluid and calculated. The reality of Elysian’s skill hit Thomas like a cold, hard truth, shattering any preconceptions he had held.
Looking around, Sybil realized that he wasn’t the only one who was shocked and awed by what he had witnessed. Even Bran and Osric, who were closest to the young noble, wore expressions of stunned disbelief. Interestingly, he noticed that Amara reacted differently than the rest. While others gaped with mouths open, Amara’s gaze was fixed intently on Elysian. Her eyes, sharp and focused, seemed to dissect every aspect of the young noble. As Elysian’s rampage continued, her pupils dilated slightly with resolve, a hint of interest flickering in their depths before her lips curved into a barest hint of a smile.
Bewildered by what he saw, Sybil wrenched his gaze back to the maelstrom before him. Now that he had time to think, the initial awe at Elysian’s prowess faded, giving way to a starker reality.