Capítulo 66: Crushing Victory
(A.N- Sry for the delay, microbiology test.)
-Songs for this chapter:
The Phantoms - Warrior
We are fury - Nightmares
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In the chaotic expanse of the hall, a surreal atmosphere hung thick in the air as if the laws of reality were bending to accommodate the unfolding spectacle. The pyromancer, entrenched in the relentless clash, found himself caught in a desperate struggle against the assassins.
Blades flew like shadows, each aimed with deadly precision to exploit any vulnerability. The air crackled with the hiss of knives slicing through the darkness.
The nun moved with ethereal grace, a phantom in the dim-lit hall, her lithe form a blur of swift, evasive motion. Twisting like a wraith, she wielded her dragonglass blades with unparalleled dexterity, a dance of death that defied the laws of mortal limitations. The fiery whip of the pyromancer, seeking to ensnare her, found only the emptiness of air as she elegantly sidestepped and spun away. Each attempted strike became a futile endeavor against her otherworldly agility, rendering the once-menacing weapon a mere flicker in the void.
And yet, akin to ethereal serpents, the pyromancer's flames twisted and coiled, seeking the elusive figures hidden in the shadows. The eerie glow of the greenish fire cast fleeting silhouettes against the stone walls...and the hall seemed colder than ever...
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"𝗘𝗻𝗼𝘂𝗴𝗵!" The intruder's thunderous bellow suddenly reverberated through the hall, a primal proclamation that fractured the tense air. Determination burned in his eyes as he puffed his cheeks, summoning forth a colossal, searing fireball that emerged from his mouth like a radiant meteor. The fiery orb, a swirling vortex of intense heat and ethereal flames, burst forth with a forceful expulsion. It was like a missile launched at point-blank range towards the nun.
Despite her agile attempt to employ her dragonglass daggers as a makeshift shield, the explosive impact was overwhelming. The resulting detonation hurled her through the air, a graceful yet catastrophic flight that spanned dozens of meters. In the aftermath, her upper torso bore the scars of burns, and the once-menacing daggers scattered chaotically, akin to celestial debris dispersed in the wake of a cosmic collision.
The other three assassins, momentarily caught off guard by this audacious maneuver, quickly reassessed their strategy. Seizing the opportunity, the pyromancer charged toward the closest assailant, capitalizing on the temporary disarray within their ranks.
The pyromancer surged forward with an unstoppable momentum, a blazing force of nature closing the distance to the nearest assassin. Unyielding in his advance, he resembled a furious tempest, eyes ablaze with an inner fire. The targeted assassin, recognizing the impending clash, swiftly prepared to stand his ground. In a swift, practiced motion, the assassin withdrew two throwing daggers, their deadly glint trailing through the air as he hurled them toward his enemy. The calculated move aimed not only to wound but to potentially slow down the fiery assailant, creating a momentary disruption in his relentless charge.
To the assassin's surprise, though, the pyromancer endured the bite of the daggers instead of putting up his invisible shield. As the deadly blades found their mark, one plunging into his shoulder and the other into his abdomen, the assailant could almost taste the satisfaction of success. Yet, to his bewilderment, the pyromancer pressed on, unyielding.
The poison-laced blades, embedded in the intruder's flesh, should have incapacitated any ordinary foe. However, the madman seemed to defy the norms of battle, displaying a resilience that defied explanation. The assassin's momentary triumph turned into disarray as the pyromancer, seemingly unfazed, closed the distance between them with an unsettling determination.
The Faceless, desperately trying to put some distance between himself and the relentless pyromancer, found his efforts futile. His foe closed in with an unnatural speed, reaching a point where evasion seemed impossible. In a last-ditch attempt at defense, the assassin brought up a short sword, hoping to parry the impending strike.
However, the ordinary metal sword proved no match for the intruder's fiery whip. With a swift and precise motion, the whip cut through the sword as if it were made of paper, its fiery tendril continuing their course unabated. The deadly arc severed through the assassin's neck like a knife through butter.
For a brief moment, a haunting silence blanketed the hall, broken only by the distinct echoes of two thunderous thuds as the lifeless body crumpled to the ground, a chilling punctuation to the pyromancer's deadly display.
However, this spectacular display of prowess didn't come at a cheap price. The pyromancer's back bore the weight of four wickedly embedded daggers, plunged deep into his flesh by the other two assassins, undoubtedly in an attempt to distract his attention enough for their comrade to regain his footing.
Undeterred by the lethal poison coursing through his veins, the pyromancer shifted his focus to the remaining assassins, swiftly closing the distance towards the closest one.
His steps echoed with an ominous resonance through the hall, each footfall a testament to the relentless pursuit. The fiery whip extended from his hand, casting flickering shadows that danced along the walls. Eerie green hues emanated from his eyes, a fiery glow reflecting the intensity of his resolve. A manic smile played upon his lips, unnerving even the frozen hearts of the faceless assassins.
The targeted assassin gazed upon the oncoming threat with a mask of stoic calmness, his countenance betraying no emotion even in the face of impending danger. Learning from the fate of his fallen comrade, he wasted no time, swiftly seizing the nearest stone spire adorned with thousands of hollow faces, each displayed in its own stone box-like structure.
These stone spires, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, showcased a macabre array of visages. The assassin, disregarding the damage caused to the fragile faces in his ascent, began climbing with swift determination, creating distance between himself and the relentless pursuer.
Each calculated movement displayed an uncanny calmness and methodical precision, the assassin steadily ascending higher and higher, leaving the pursuing flames below.
The pyromancer's sprint screeched to a halt as he neared the spire, eyes holding a calculating look while he casually swung his fiery whip to deflect the projectiles thrown by the last assassin on the ground. The ascending assassin continued his methodical climb, maintaining distance while the final assailant dutifully continued his assault with thrown daggers.
However, the Pyromancer's eyes suddenly widened as they locked onto a specific face on the stone spire. A plain-looking teenage girl's face with open eyes, exuding unbridled rage, captured his attention. In the blink of an eye, the pyromancer's head jerked backward, narrowly dodging the stab of a dragonglass dagger held in a burned hand. The strike left a deep gouge on his face from the corner of his mouth to underneath his eyes.
Indeed, the poison coursing through his veins slowed his reactions. Although he managed to evade the lethal blow, the dexterity he displayed before was now compromised. His wide eyes tracked the burned hand holding the dagger, seemingly emerging from inside the spire through a hidden hole.
The nun's voice echoed through the hall, dripping with disdain. "You couldn't possibly think getting rid of me would be quite so easy." As she emerged from the wall, slithering through a hidden crack, the spire opened just enough for her to pass through. Both of her hands bore severe burns, with flesh charred and blackened. Despite the horrific pain, she clutched a dragonglass dagger in each trembling hand.
Her face, once beautiful and otherworldly, had been exchanged with a plain visage, easily overlooked. However, the manic glint in her eyes intensified, adding a terrifying edge. She gazed at the deep gouge on the pyromancer's face, bleeding profusely and swelling.
With relentless precision, she attacked once more, wielding her dagger as the pyromancer attempted to fend her off. The last assassin on the ground continued to throw daggers, leaving the pyromancer with no room for error. His fiery whip clashed against the dagger again and again, but the nun pressed on.
As the struggle unfolded, the Pyromancer found himself at a growing disadvantage. His strength seemed to wane, the pain of the poison most likely seeping deeper into his body making him more sluggish. Small cuts appeared on his torso, arms, and legs, turning him into a visage resembling a man straight out of hell's deepest torture chamber.
And slowly, the vibrant glow of the fiery whip began to dim, casting flickering shadows that danced around the wounded pyromancer. The diminishing light mirrored his fading strength, and the encroaching darkness seemed to swallow the fiery brilliance.
In the fading radiance, the assassin perched atop the stone spire moved with the grace of a predator, shadows clinging to him like a cloak. Choosing the precise moment when the fiery whip dimmed to almost complete darkness, he melded seamlessly with the shadows.
With calculated precision, the assassin sprang into action, leaping from the spire with a deliberate and careful descent. Pushing off the ceiling with both legs, he accelerated his downward trajectory to a speed that seemed almost unreal. Like a silent harbinger of death, he fell through the darkness, daggers pointed downward with lethal intent. The assassin, a blade cutting through the abyss, aimed to skewer the pyromancer from above while the nun engaged him in the deadly dance below.
As the assassin fell towards his enemy, the light from the fiery whip suddenly faded, plunging the hall into momentary darkness. Just as he anticipated feeling his dagger's bite into the pyromancer's flesh, the assassin prepared to break his fall, ready to use the intruder's body as a cushion. However, instead of meeting resistance, his daggers found nothing but empty air as he continued his descent.
In midair, instantly furrowing his brows, the assassin drew upon years of relentless training in the darkness. Realizing the unexpected turn of events, he released his daggers to free his hands, tucked his head to his chest, straightened his arms, and braced for impact. Prepared to roll upon hitting the ground, he sought to dissipate the extreme kinetic force of his descent.
Hitting the ground with practiced precision, the assassin initiated a diagonal roll, striving to distribute the force along a longer path and mitigate the impact on any specific area. Despite executing the motion flawlessly, a surge of intense pain shot through his body. Finally, he concluded in a crouched position, still feeling the lingering echoes of pain amid the darkness.
Eyes closed, he strained his senses, attempting to form an image of the unfolding events within the confines of his mind. The faint clash of steel meeting steel echoed in the oppressive darkness, giving him an idea of the position of the combatants. With cautious movements, he began to retreat, fingers fumbling for another of the small knives concealed within the folds of his garments.
As he readied himself to stand, the assassin was abruptly jarred by the nun's urgent cry, "Watch out!" In that fleeting moment, he first caught sight of a blinding spark before recognition dawned – the pyromancer's fist, ablaze with fire hurtling toward his head. Despite his attempt to sidestep the impending strike, it was far too late. The spark transformed into a searing impact as the pyromancer, undeterred by the thrown dagger, unleashed a devastating punch that shattered the assassin's head in a gruesome conclusion.
A moment of eerie silence enveloped the hall before two distinct thuds resonated through the air. The first, a resounding collision between the lifeless assassin and the unforgiving stone floor, echoed with finality. However, the second thud, quieter but laden with consequence, marked the arrival of the severed wrist—the pyromancer's own, cut by the thrown dagger.
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Death had indeed taken it's toll...
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The pyromancer stood, his once defiant posture now slumped, blood-soaked hair obscuring his gaze as he remained eerily still. The crimson pool beneath him seemed unnatural, an excess beyond mortal limits. His unmoving form painted a haunting picture against the cold stone floor. In tandem, the nun maintained her stoic stance, her sole dragonglass dagger clutched tightly, radiating an aura of seething anger. As the man's remaining hand began to emit a faint glow, illuminating the darkened hall, the remaining assassin, depleted of daggers, remained elusive—lurking in the shadows, awaiting the opportune moment for a cautious ambush. The aftermath bore witness to a deadly dance, a silence pregnant with anticipation...
The silence shattered as the nun's voice cut through the air, an icy calmness enveloping her words. "You will pay for what you've done," she declared, the cadence devoid of emotion, echoing with a chilling threat. With each step forward, her blackened knuckles tightened around the hilt of the dagger, the very air pulsating with an ominous power. The surroundings seemed to respond, as if the hall itself recoiled from the presence of the man. The faces on the walls seemed to gaze upon him with disdain, silent witnesses to a reckoning unfolding in the darkness.
The man stood for a moment, his movements deliberate, before slowly raising his gaze, locking eyes with the nun. A blaze of otherworldly fire flickered in his eyes. "What I've done..." he murmured, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "𝗬𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗶𝗻'𝘁 𝘀𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗲𝘁..."
His battered and cut body trembled as he attempted to take a step forward. Each movement seemed a struggle, a testament to the toll the battle had taken on him. As the light around him grew brighter, he gathered the strength to attempt a second step. The nun took a deep breath, preparing for the continuation of the fight. Yet, in an unexpected turn, the man suddenly lost his balance...
He fell forward, his body crashing against the cold tiles of the floor. Every wound, his missing limb, every ounce of poison coursing through his veins, was vividly displayed in this descent. His eyes remained open, the faint smile etched on his face. And as the light slowly dimmed from his palms as the nun watched with bated breath.
Tensely observing, she witnessed the man's breathing gradually come to a halt.
Darkness enveloped the scene, and in the stillness, the nun knew there was no returning from the abyss.
In the end, the man's light died out completely, and only darkness remained.
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𝗢𝗻𝗹𝘆 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸𝗻𝗲𝘀𝘀.
Status de energia semanal
-- Ranking de
Poder 
-- Pedra de
Poder