章節 28: Henrik vs Alfred
The storm brewing below reaches a fever pitch, the swirling mix of Alfred's crimson aura and Henrik's radiant blue blaze creating a tempest that sends everything not bolted down flying across the hall. Those of us too curious—or too awestruck—to flee remain at the railing, braving the chaos, while others retreat to their posts, unwilling to risk being caught in the magical crossfire.
Alfred moves first, his massive axe becoming a red blur as it arcs through the air with blinding speed. The sheer force behind it sends shockwaves rippling through the room. Henrik counters without hesitation, slamming his warhammer into the ground. A roaring wave of blue flames erupts forward, colliding with Alfred's charge in a deafening explosion that shakes the very foundation of the keep.
Dust and debris rise, obscuring the combatants in a haze of destruction. Those of us above shield our eyes, coughing as the choking air fills the space. More spectators scatter in panic, leaving only the bravest—or perhaps the most foolish—to continue watching.
Laura, standing beside me, remains frozen in place. Her unwavering gaze is locked on the battle below, her sharp focus unbroken. She hasn't blinked since the fight began, and for the first time, I see something beyond fear in her expression: fascination and hunger—to understand, to learn.
Dust scatters, and the view below clears up. Henrik remains standing, while Alfred is nowhere to be seen. Me and Laura shift to the other side of the railing. We see Alfred, his body encased on the metal door.
With a couple of exaggerated grunts, Alfred dislodges himself from the rubble, brushing off debris with dramatic flair. He begins stretching, his movements deliberate, a smug grin tugging at his lips. It's clear he wants everyone to see that the ferocious display of power left him largely unscathed.
"You're looking a bit rusty, old man," Alfred mocks, his tone dripping with derision.
Henrik wastes no time responding, his expression cold and resolute. Without hesitation, he slams his warhammer into the ground once more. The resulting shockwave unleashes a devastating burst of blue flames that roars across the hall, obliterating the giant metal doors and spilling outward. Screams echo as the inferno claims those unlucky enough to be standing outside.
The sheer destruction leaves the room in stunned silence, save for the crackling of flames. Alfred sidesteps the blaze, his smug smile never faltering.
The remaining Blue Claw mercenaries in the hall scatter in chaos. Some scramble to the second floor, joining us at the railings; their faces pale with fear. Others bolt outside, their boots crunching over the charred remains of fallen foes in their desperate bid to escape the escalating destruction.
Alfred stands firm, his chest rising dramatically as he takes in a deep breath. His lips curl into a sly grin before he exhales forcefully. The expelled air transforms into an icy gale that howls through the room, carrying a numbing chill we can feel even from our perch above. The gust slams into Henrik, forcing him to brace himself against the onslaught, his boots sliding slightly on the scorched stone floor.
Henrik steadies himself, narrowing his eyes as his grip tightens on the warhammer. With a powerful swing, he arcs the hammer from one side to the other. A surge of blue flames erupts, not only countering the frost but illuminating the now dim room with a brilliant, mesmerizing hue. The flickering light dances off the walls, turning the chaotic battleground into a scene both beautiful and terrifying.
In a flash, Alfred glides toward Henrik, his movement fluid and unnervingly swift. The stone beneath his feet glistens with frost, transformed into a slick sheet of ice. He circles Henrik with alarming speed, his footwork graceful and predatory, like a spider weaving its web. The floor is his domain now, and he moves upon it with a mastery that seems almost effortless.
Henrik raises his warhammer high and slams it down with unrelenting force. The impact sends a radiant ring of flames rippling outward, the heat melting sections of the frozen stone in its wake. Steam hisses and rises as the clash of fire and frost intensifies.
Alfred stumbles momentarily, his balance faltering as the ice gives way to pockets of jagged stone. Henrik takes the opening, surging forward with a ferocious burst of speed, flames trailing in his wake. The stumble, however, appears either calculated or deceptively exaggerated. Alfred recovers in an instant, swinging his massive axe to meet Henrik's hammer in a thunderous clash. The sound reverberates through the keep, shaking the very walls and sending cracks spidering across the floor.
As their weapons lock, Alfred inhales deeply, his chest swelling with intent. Henrik mirrors him, their synchronized movements almost ritualistic. Then, with primal force, they exhale. Alfred's breath, a freezing gale, collides with Henrik's scorching blast, creating a vortex of opposing elements. The clash of air currents whistles so fiercely that it feels as though my eardrums might burst.
The room trembles as they break apart, only to swing their weapons once more. Their strikes meet with a deafening crash, sending shockwaves through the keep. The vibrations reverberate through the stone, rattling the walls and shaking loose dust from the rafters. This relentless exchange continues, each swing faster and more ferocious than the last, the air around them thick with heat and frost.
The sound is overwhelming, a relentless cacophony that drowns out every thought. Beside me, Laura clings tightly to my arm, her grip firm as if fearing she might be swept away by the chaos below. I grasp the now half-broken railing with my free hand, anchoring myself against the relentless blasts of wind and magic.
It feels as though the keep itself might crumble under the might of their battle.
Henrik spots an opening—or perhaps Alfred makes a rare miscalculation. Either way, Henrik's hammer connects with Alfred's waist in a devastating swing. The impact is cataclysmic, sending Alfred hurtling across the hall into the opposing wall. The collision reverberates through the keep, making the stone structure shudder as though it might collapse.
Henrik wastes no time. With unmatched speed and precision, he follows through with another swing. Before Alfred can recover, the hammer smashes into him again, the force propelling his massive frame straight through the wall. The resounding crash echoes as Alfred is sent sprawling into the courtyard outside, debris raining down around him.
Laura grips my hand tightly, her breath shallow with anticipation. "Let's go!" she whispers urgently, tugging me along. Together, we sprint to the room where the women and children are gathered. The tension in the air is palpable as we make our way through the crowded hallways.
Reaching the room, Laura leads me to a window. From here, we'll have a clear view of the battle continuing outside.
We arrive just in time to spot Alfred coughing up blood. He clutches his side where the hammer hit him; his armor is bent.
Henrik steps through the gaping hole in the wall with a deliberate, almost solemn stride. Despite his relatively small stature, his presence feels immense, magnified by the overwhelming power he has just displayed. Flames flicker faintly around him, casting an ethereal glow on the jagged edges of the shattered stone.
Alfred, sprawled on the ground and coughing up blood, smirks through his labored breaths. "You still got it," he says, his tone equal parts respect and defiance.
Henrik doesn't respond. His face, shadowed by the flickering light, is etched with sorrow. His eyes seem distant, glistening as though on the verge of tears.
Alfred's smirk fades as confusion washes over his expression. "Are you... sad?" he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief.
"Despite everything, I still love you, son," Henrik says, his voice trembling. Tears stream freely down his face, his sorrow laid bare.
Alfred's laughter erupts suddenly, sharp and bitter, though it's clear he's still clutching his side in pain. The sound echoes in the open air, more a howl than genuine amusement.
"Just kill me and be done with it, coward!" Alfred shouts, his voice breaking under the strain of anger and despair. His defiance falters as he continues, his tone cracking. "Don't... pity me, human. You..." He pauses, the strength in his words crumbling into something raw. "Please," he whispers, his defiance giving way to a quiet, heartbreaking plea.
Alfred looks shattered, like a lost child seeking guidance from a parent. His expression is a confusing mix of desperation and awe. Whether this is a ploy or a rare moment of sincerity is unclear, but Henrik doesn't seem to care.
Henrik raises his hammer high, flames erupting from his body in an all-encompassing blaze that towers far above the keep. The sheer intensity of the inferno almost blinds us with it's light.
Alfred gazes at Henrik, tears streaking his bloodied face. His voice cracks as he whispers, "Despite everything... I never reached your heights."
Henrik slams his hammer into the ground one final time, and for a moment, it feels as if the world has come to a standstill. Instinctively, I tackle Laura to the ground, shielding her with my body from whatever devastation is about to unfold.
A brilliant flash of blue light fills the air, followed by an earth-shattering explosion that deafens me. My ears ring, my head spins, and for a fleeting moment, I lose consciousness.
When I come to, the world feels distant and muted. Shaking off the disorientation, I stumble to the shattered window and peer outside. Through the dissipating dust and debris, I see Henrik lying motionless on the ground. My heart skips a beat as I scan the area, my gaze locking on a charred, unrecognizable corpse where Alfred once stood.
It's over. The battle is over.
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榜單 
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