Damon’s hands trembled on the hilt of his sword, knuckles white with the force of his grip. His eyes, wild and bloodshot, darted frantically, trying to predict the boy’s next move.
Instead of retreating, Elysian surged forward, his previous hesitance replaced by fluid, purposeful motion. Each step was calculated, each movement precise. The change was sudden, and Damon found himself instinctively backing away.
Warren, noticing his ally’s hesitation, growled, “Let’s go!” He pushed Damon forward, and the two advanced in parallel, their men moving to flank Elysian.
But Elysian was ready. As Warren’s blade sliced through the air, the boy ducked with preternatural speed, his body barely a whisper beneath the arc of the sword. In the same motion, he pivoted, facing Damon. The older man's attack came next, but Elysian was already moving, his smaller stature allowing him to slip past Damon’s guard.
With a burst of speed, Elysian darted in, his blade finding Damon’s leg with surgical precision. Before anyone could react, he was already moving as if nothing had happened, using the moment of surprise to launch himself at Warren.
Warren, caught off-guard by the boy’s speed, managed only a clumsy kick. It connected, but Elysian rolled with the impact, using the momentum to propel himself towards the approaching men.
In a display of acrobatic prowess, Elysian used one of the men as a springboard, launching himself high into the air. He twisted mid-flight, his blade singing as it arced towards Damon. The older cultivator, still recovering from the leg wound, barely managed to block the overhead strike.
Warren saw an opportunity and lunged, aiming to skewer the airborne boy. But Elysian’s body seemed to defy gravity itself. He corkscrewed in mid-air, the blade passing harmlessly beneath him. Landing lightly behind Damon, Elysian’s food lashed out in a perfect roundhouse kick, sending the man sprawling. In the same fluid motion, his sword found Damon’s shoulder, opening another precise cut.
Damon scrambled to his feet, fury replacing anxiety in his eyes. “I’ll f*cking kill you, brat!” he roared, mistaking Elysian’s incessant attack on him for an insult to his abilities.
“Try if you can,” Elysian taunted, his voice ringing with dangerous intensity.
Enraged, Damon charged forward, his blade wreathed in aura. The air itself seemed to warp around the sword as it cleaved towards Elysian, promising to slice him in half.
In that split second, time seemed to slow. Elysian’s eyes narrowed, irritated by the situation he was in as his lips softly cursed. Just as the blade was about to connect, he vanished—melting into the shadows.
Damon’s eyes widened in shock, his momentum carrying him forward. Suddenly, a searing pain exploded in his foot. Elysian had materialized beneath him, driving his blade up through Damon’s foot.
Damon crashed to the ground with an agonized howl. Elysian, seeing his chance, lunged for a killing blow. His blade gleamed, hungry for the final strike.
But Warren was there, moving with unexpected speed. His sword sliced through the air, forcing Elysian to abort his attack and leap backward. The boy’s eyes flashed with frustration—victory had been within his grasp.
Seizing the moment, Warren barked an order, his men swarmed towards Elysian. The young noble’s blade became a blur of motion, parrying and deflecting a storm of attacks from all sides while dishing his own. Steel rang against steel in a frenzied symphony. Elysian spun and weaved, his movements a deadly dance as he fended off the onslaught.
It seemed the nonstop fight had finally taken its toll. Elysian’s movements appeared slow, his breath coming in heavy gasps. Though outnumbered and surrounded, he was far from defeated.
Warren, sensing an opportunity, prepared to join the fray. But before he could act, Damon staggered to his feet, his body radiating an ominous aura as rage consumed him. The wounds on his shoulder, leg, and foot bled unnaturally, with blood flowing like angry rivers.
“Hey, calm down!” Warren called out, reaching to restrain him. But Damon was beyond reason, his mind clouded by fury and humiliation.
With a guttural roar, Damon charged towards Elysian like a maddened bull. The boy’s eyes flashed, a hint of a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. At the last possible second, Elysian sidestepped, positioning one of Warren’s men directly in Damon’s path.
The result was catastrophic. Damon’s wild swing, meant for Elysian, instead cut down two of his own allies.
Elysian continued his deadly dance, always staying just out of Damocc’s reach while ensuring the enraged man’s attacks found only his own comrades. With each miss, Damon’s fury grew, making his swings wider and more reckless.
Warren watched in horror as his plan unraveled. “Damn it, you fool!” he shouted at Damon, but his words were lost in the chaos.
Elysian, despite his apparent fatigue, moved with purpose. Each dodge, each feint was precisely calculated to turn Damon’s strength against his own forces. The young noble was like death himself, finding satisfaction in watching the enemy ranks thin at their own hands.
As the carnage continued, Warren gritted his teeth. He had thought the boy was near his limit, but now he wasn’t so sure. The display of tactical brilliance, turning a desperate situation to his own advantage, proved Elysian was far more dangerous than they had anticipated.
‘Now that I think about it, the boy seems to have been just playing with us since the beginning. Who the hell did we just fight?
Tsk, this cannot continue like this; otherwise, our death would be a certainty.’
Warren's hand trembled on his sword hilt, sweat beading on his brow. Retreat meant certain death, but pressing on seemed equally fatal. For a heartbeat, he wavered, doubt gnawing at his resolve.
‘No. I can’t falter now.’
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Drawing a deep breath, Warren channeled his aura, feeling it surge through his veins. He charged forward, blade flashing in the dim light. Unlike Damon's wild swings, Warren's strikes were precise, each movement calculated and lethal.
The air crackled with tension as Warren and Elysian clashed again. Steel met steel in a furious dance, sparks flying with each impact. The boy's movements now carried noticeable fatigue.
Warren pressed his advantage, searching for an opening. There—a slight hesitation in the boy's defense. Warren's blade darted forward like an unsuspecting tiger.
Time seemed to slow. Warren felt the resistance as his sword met flesh, tearing through the ominous cloak. Elysian's eyes widened in shock, a gasp escaping his lips.
The boy stumbled backward, crimson blossoming across his abdomen. He hit the ground hard, blood pooling beneath him.
Silence fell over the ruins. The thugs stared, mouths agape, scarcely believing what they'd witnessed. Even Damon, his face still contorted with rage, froze mid-swing.
Warren stood straight, looking over Elysian's prone form, his chest heaving. Relief warred with disbelief in his eyes. Had they finally done it? Had they brought down this monstrous child?
As the reality of the moment sank in, a collective shudder ran through the group. The impossible had happened. The demon child was finally struck with a fatal blow.
Warren's victorious grin faltered as Elysian's fingers twitched, then curled against the blood-soaked ground. The boy's body trembled, muscles tensing as he struggled to rise.
"No... No!" Warren's eyes widened, his voice rising to a frantic pitch. "Kill him! Kill that monster now!"
Before the others could react, Damon surged forward with a guttural roar. His eyes blazed with unhinged fury as he raised his sword high.
The blade came down with a sickening thud, biting deep into Elysian's flesh. Again and again, Damon struck, each blow fueled by pent-up rage and humiliation. Blood sprayed with every impact, spattering Damon's face and clothes.
"Die! Die! DIE!" Damon screamed, his words dissolving into incoherent howls as he hacked at the prone figure.
The other thugs watched in horrified fascination, unable to look away from the gruesome spectacle. The sound of metal cleaving flesh echoed through the ruins, punctuated by Damon's ragged breathing and manic laughter.
Warren stood frozen, his earlier panic giving way to a numb shock as he witnessed the feral display of violence. Elysian's body jerked and twitched under the relentless assault, until finally, mercifully, it lay still.
Damon's arms trembled from exertion as he finally stepped back, his chest heaving. A manic grin split his face, blood and sweat mingling as they dripped from his chin. The beast inside him, so long caged, had been unleashed.
----------------------------------------
Bran's anguished cry shattered the stunned silence. He lunged forward, eyes wild with desperate hope. "No! Young master!"
Osric's arm shot out, catching Bran mid-stride. The servant whirled, face contorted with grief and rage. "Let go! We have to—"
"We can't," Osric's voice cracked, his grip tightening. "Our duty... Lady Amara..."
Bran's shoulders slumped, the fight draining from him. Tears streamed down his face as he choked out, "But the young master... he's..."
Osric swallowed hard, his own eyes glistening. "I know. But we honor him by following his last order."
Sybil's voice trembled, barely above a whisper. "Is he really...?" He couldn't finish the sentence, his gaze darting between the others.
Thomas' laugh was bitter, edged with hysteria. "What do you think, boy? You saw what happened!"
Sybil flinched, his face pale. "I just thought... maybe..."
"Enough!" Thomas' shout made them all jump. His eyes blazed with a mixture of fear and determination. "Grieve later. We need to move. Now."
Amara stood frozen, her eyes fixed on the distant carnage. Her lips moved soundlessly, shock etched into every line of her face.
Osric took a shaky breath, squaring his shoulders. "Thomas is right. We... we have to go."
Bran wiped his eyes roughly, nodding with grim resolve. The weight of their loss hung heavy in the air, but survival instincts began to take hold.
As they prepared to flee, each cast one last, haunted look towards where Elysian had fallen. The image of his final moments would be seared into their memories forever, a wound that would never truly heal.
Damon whirled towards the group, his face a grotesque mask of blood and maniacal glee. "Going somewhere?" he sneered, his tongue darting out to lick crimson from his blade.
His men fanned out, cutting off every escape route. The air grew thick with tension as the reality of their situation sank in.
Damon's eyes locked onto Thomas, glittering with sadistic promise. "I'll take my time with you, boy." His gaze then slid to Amara, a lecherous grin spreading across his face. "And her? Oh, the fun we'll have while you watch."
Thomas' hands clenched into fists, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Hatred burned in his eyes, but beneath it lurked the cold grip of fear.
With theatrical flair, Damon turned back to Elysian's remains. The sickening crunch of blade meeting bone echoed through the ruins as he severed the boy's head. Lifting it high, he bellowed, "See your fate!"
His laughter, wild and unhinged, bounced off crumbling walls. Thomas and his companions stepped back, faces pale, the full weight of their helplessness crashing down upon them.
"Enough!" Warren's sharp command cut through Damon's mirth like a knife.
The change was instant. Damon's laughter died in his throat, his posture stiffening as Warren stepped forward, his presence commanding attention.
His gaze swept over Thomas' group, assessing. When he spoke, his voice was calm, almost reasonable. "We might be rivals, but we don’t have any animosity to resort to such barbarity. Surrender now, and I'll grant you a clean death." His eyes flicked meaningfully towards Amara and the others. "The rest will be spared. That's more than generous, given the circumstances."
Damon's protest died on his lips, withering under Warren's steely gaze. He turned away, a sudden wave of dizziness washing over him. The world tilted, edges blurring. Confusion etched across his face as he glanced down, eyes widening at the crimson river still flowing from his wounds. How had he not noticed?
"Damon?" Warren's voice seemed distant, concern lacing his words. He stepped closer, reaching out.
In a heartbeat, everything changed.
The severed head in Damon's grasp exploded into a writhing mass of tentacles and fangs. Warren's cry of alarm morphed into a blood-curdling scream as the creature latched onto his face, razor-sharp teeth sinking deep.
A shadow flickered behind Warren. A flash of steel.
Thud.
Warren's head hit the ground, eyes still wide with shock. With it, the creature vanished like some illusionary dream. His body crumpled a moment later.
Elysian's feet touched the ground with silent grace, his movements fluid despite the obvious strain on his body.
His blade, a masterpiece of craftsmanship, gleamed wickedly in the dim light. Crimson droplets clung to its edge, a testament to its lethal efficiency.
Elysian's eyes, sharp as the knife he wielded, swept across the scene of carnage. Those eyes held depths of calculation and cunning that belied his youth. Yet, upon closer inspection, one could see the slight tremor of fatigue in his gaze, the barely perceptible slump of his shoulders.
He had faced an army of thugs alone, a feat that would have been impossible for most. The toll of that battle was etched into every line of his body, every labored breath he took.
And yet, a smile played at the corners of his mouth. It was not the carefree grin of a child, but the satisfied smirk of a predator who had just completed a successful hunt. That smile spoke volumes about his true condition—tired, yes, but far from defeated. If anything, the challenge seemed to have invigorated him on a deeper level
"Finally," he murmured, satisfaction coloring his voice. The ruins fell deathly silent, the air thick with disbelief and dawning horror.