Bab 7: Solo Mission
The cold night air clung to Hadrian's skin as he stood at the edge of the abandoned church, his breath coming in quiet, controlled bursts. The darkness wrapped around him like a second cloak, the moonlight casting eerie shadows on the building's cracked stone walls. The church, once a place of sanctity, now stood as a crumbling relic in a forgotten part of the city, corrupted by the foul magics that tainted the air around it.
This was his first solo mission. No Dante, no Sirius, and even Hedwig had been left behind. This was Hadrian's chance to prove himself—a test not only of his strength and skill but of his ability to walk the fine line between darkness and light. It wasn't just about killing demons; it was about facing the human monsters that hid behind twisted rituals and dark intent.
His hands instinctively tightened around the hilts of his dual enchanted longswords. The blades, taken from the Peverell Vault, gleamed in the moonlight, their edges humming with barely restrained power. In his holster rested his Desert Eagle, an enchanted firearm that had been modified to channel magical energy as well as sheer firepower. He didn't feel nervous, exactly—his demonic blood hummed in excitement—but there was a weight to this mission, a gravity that had his pulse thrumming in his ears.
He could feel it. The darkness inside.
"Don't hesitate, Redgrave," he murmured under his breath, using his new surname. "It's just another job."
He had taken Dante's surname for missions like this. The world of the supernatural was large, volatile, and unpredictable. The last thing he needed was for someone to recognize the name Peverell and connect him to his family's dark legacy. Better to stay under the radar, at least for now.
Besides, Redgrave suited him. It was clean, and simple, and tied him to Dante without revealing his full heritage. He wasn't hiding from the world, but he wasn't eager to flaunt his past either. There was too much blood attached to the Peverell name.
He rolled his shoulders, adjusting the weight of the swords on his back. This was it. His first solo job.
The church doors creaked as Hadrian pushed them open, the sound reverberating through the empty hall. The interior was as ruined as the outside—dusty pews sat crookedly in rows, and the stained-glass windows were long shattered, replaced by a faint magical hum that buzzed with dark energy. At the far end of the room, an altar stood, but it was not for any god. Runes were carved into the stone, glowing an ominous red.
As he approached, he heard voices—murmurs at first, then rising into a chorus of chants. The cultists.
His grip on his swords tightened as he approached the source of the noise, his footsteps silent. He didn't need to see them to know what they were up to. They were trying to open a Hell gate, and he wasn't about to let that happen. His heart beat faster, but his mind remained sharp and focused.
In the main chamber, they came into view. About a dozen robed figures surrounded a large, flickering portal in the air. Their chanting filled the room, their bodies swaying rhythmically as they prepared for the ritual's climax.
Hadrian moved quickly, his body a blur of motion. He closed the distance between himself and the first cultist in a heartbeat, his enchanted blade slicing through the air. The first-robed figure didn't even have time to react as Hadrian's sword cleaved through his neck, his body crumpling silently to the ground.
The others turned, their eyes wide with shock as Hadrian stepped forward, his gaze cold and unyielding.
"End the ritual," Hadrian ordered, his voice low, but commanding.
The cultists snarled in response, several of them drawing wands, while others raised their hands, their fingers crackling with dark magic.
The fight was brutal and fast. Hellbats, summoned by the cultists, shrieked from the shadows, their leathery wings flapping as they descended on him in droves. Hadrian moved with precision, his swords slicing through the air as he cut the demons down, their bodies disintegrating into ash. But the cultists were relentless, throwing curses and hexes at him from every direction.
He had expected demons.
What he hadn't expected was how it would feel to kill humans.
The first cultist to fall by his sword had been easy—an enemy, like any other. But as his blade took down the second, then the third, a part of him faltered. His hands trembled for a moment as he looked down at the blood-soaked floor. Human blood, not the sickly green ichor of demons. Real lives, ended by his hand.
Hadrian shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. He didn't have time for doubt. This wasn't the time to be sentimental. These weren't innocent people; they were murderers, sorcerers who wanted to summon a demon and tear open the fabric of reality. They had chosen their path, and if they stood in his way, he would cut them down.
He would never enjoy killing humans, but he wouldn't hesitate either.
Peverell blood runs cold, after all.
Hadrian's blade whistled through the air, cleaving through the last of the cultists just as Death Scissors emerged from the shadows—twisted, floating apparitions wielding enormous scythes, their hollow eyes glowing with malevolent intent.
They moved with eerie grace, swinging their blades at him with precision and speed. Hadrian ducked, narrowly avoiding the deadly arc of the scythe, then rolled to the side, his sword catching the ghostly figure by surprise. With a swift motion, he thrust his blade into its chest, the enchanted steel crackling with energy as the creature disintegrated into nothingness.
More Death Scissors followed, their skeletal faces contorted in silent screams as they lunged at him, but Hadrian's movements were fluid, his instincts sharp. His Desert Eagle roared as he fired off a round, the enchanted bullets tearing through the ghostly forms with ease.
But the portal… it was still flickering. The gate to Hell was still opening.
Amid the chaos, Hadrian spotted the wizard, the leader of the cultists, standing at the base of the portal, chanting faster and faster. Dark magic swirled around him, his eyes glowing with madness.
"You're too late!" the wizard jeered, his voice echoing through the chamber. "The gate will open, and Hell will claim this world! There's nothing you can do, boy!"
Hadrian's lips curled into a snarl, his muscles tensing as he prepared to strike the wizard down. But before he could move, a monstrous sound erupted from the portal—a deep, guttural growl that shook the very foundations of the church.
The wizard froze, his mocking laughter dying in his throat as something huge emerged from the Hell gate.
A BEHEMOTH, towering and grotesque, burst through the portal, its massive jaws wide open. In a flash, it lunged at the wizard, its teeth sinking into his torso. The wizard's screams were cut short as the Behemoth bit him in half, blood spraying across the altar in a gruesome display of gore.
Hadrian didn't hesitate. This was it. The real challenge.
The Behemoth roared, its massive bulk shaking the ground as it charged at Hadrian with wild, unpredictable movements. The creature wasn't fast, but its sheer size and power made it a terrifying opponent.
Hadrian dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the beast's gaping maw as it slammed into the wall, sending chunks of stone flying. His swords flashed, striking at the creature's thick hide, but the Behemoth's defense was incredible. Each strike barely left a mark, the demon's body seemingly impervious to normal attacks.
Hadrian grit his teeth. Fine. If brute force wouldn't work…
He waited, watching the Behemoth's movements carefully. It was wild and frenzied, but there was a pattern—a brief moment when it opened its mouth wide after every charge.
That's my opening.
The next time the Behemoth lunged, Hadrian was ready. He darted forward, his blade raised, and as the Behemoth opened its maw to bite, Hadrian thrust his sword deep into the creature's mouth, aiming for the soft flesh inside.
His enchanted blade crackled with electricity, the power building inside the Behemoth until it could no longer contain it. With a final roar, Hadrian unleashed the energy, the shockwave coursing through the demon's body, frying it from the inside out.
The Behemoth let out a final, pitiful cry before collapsing to the ground, its body twitching as the life drained from its form. The portal flickered, then sealed shut.
Hadrian stood over the body of the fallen demon, his chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. His arms ached, his muscles burning from the effort, but he couldn't help but feel a surge of pride.
His first solo mission.
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone