Chapter 56: Attack (3)
The moment their eyes met again, the air between them turned heavy. There was no need for words. Both moved at the same time.
The cloaked man stepped forward, his blade once again engulfed in thick, writhing darkness. It coiled around the sword like a living serpent, dense and suffocating, distorting the air around it. At the same time, Azael pushed forward as well, his body screaming in protest, his muscles torn, his blood still dripping onto the broken street, but his will refused to break.
Their weapons met again.
CLANG!!!
The impact exploded outward like thunder, sending a visible shockwave through the air. Dust lifted from the ground. Loose stones cracked. The nearby flames flickered violently from the force.
This time, Azael did not hold back.
He attacked fiercely.
His movements were rougher now, less controlled but far more aggressive. His blade carved through the air again and again, each swing faster, heavier, fueled not just by mana, but by raw anger. The red-golden flames flared wildly along his sword, brighter than before, burning hotter with every clash.
Slash!
Clang!
Thrust!
Clang!!
He forced the man back a step. Then another. For a brief moment, it looked like he was gaining ground. But that moment did not last. The cloaked man’s eyes sharpened. He adjusted instantly.
A slight shift in footing. A subtle change in his grip on the sword.
And then he countered. Once again, he was faster, sharper, and deadlier.
Azael’s next strike was deflected effortlessly, his blade pushed aside, and in that same breath—
SLASH!!!
A deep cut tore across Azael’s side.
"GH—!!"
Before he could react, another strike followed.
SLASH!!
This one cut across his arm.
Then another. And then another.
Each hit landed cleanly on Azael. Each one opened his flesh like paper. Blood sprayed into the air, staining his already torn clothes even darker.
His movements slowed. His strength began to fail. Yet he still swung his blade. Still stepped forward. He continued to fight.
The cloaked man vanished from his sight.
Azael’s eyes widened. He was too late to notice him. A crushing kick slammed into his chest.
BOOM!!
His body flew backward violently, as if struck by a cannon. He crashed straight into the wall of a nearby building.
CRACK!!
The impact shattered the stone behind him, cracks spreading across the surface as his body sank into it for a brief second before falling forward.
THUD!
He hit the ground hard. His sword slipped from his hand, clattering uselessly across the stone. Blood poured from his wounds, running down his arms and chest, dripping steadily onto the ground beneath him.
His mask cracked slightly at the corner.
But it did not break.
His breathing became uneven. He was at his limit.
The cloaked man walked toward him slowly, his blade resting at his side.
Before he could say anything, heavy footsteps approached from behind him.
The other cloaked man, tall and broad-shouldered, appeared. His battle axe rested against his shoulder, stained with fresh blood. He glanced briefly at Azael lying on the ground, then spoke in a rough voice,
"Let’s go. It’s time to meet the others and destroy the remaining parts of the city. We should move before the Knights of Ignivar arrive."
The scarred man clicked his tongue slightly.
"Tch."
His gaze lingered on Azael for a moment. Then he turned slightly, as if ready to leave. On the ground, Azael heard every word. His fingers twitched. His body screamed at him to stay down. To stop. To give up. He could survive this without much trouble. There was no need to push himself this far.
But something inside him.
No...
His thoughts were slow, but burning. Azael... no, Ethan could not let it go. He was someone who had fought far deadlier battles, faced countless life-and-death situations. He could not run away from something like this. Not because it hurt his pride, but because situations like this were what had made him stronger in his past life. Facing stronger opponents, fighting them on the brink of death, and becoming stronger.
That was how Ethan rose to become an S-rank hunter. This was not much different. He needed to fight. "There’s no way... I’m letting them walk away..."
A faint tremor ran through his body. His empty core started pulling mana.
Not slowly like before, but far more violently.
Mana from the surroundings began to rush toward him, drawn in like a whirlpool. It entered his body forcefully, flooding through his veins, filling the emptiness inside him.
His core started compressing.
Layers of thick mana condensed, tightening, thickening, forming something denser than before. The layer began to compress his core, trying to become part of it—no. It was trying to transform the core. To evolve it.
It hurt too much. It burned. But it was still bearable. He could handle it.
So it did not stop at all.
And then something else awakened inside his body. Something unknown that had been hiding beneath his skin, or perhaps within his soul.
Beneath his torn clothes...
On his chest...
A mark began to glow.
A deep purple, flame-shaped mark appeared on his skin, just above where his heart was.
It pulsed faintly at first, then began to glow brighter. His body started to grow hotter.
Heat spread through his entire body. Not like his Phoenix Fire. The Phoenix Fire was warm and gentle, filled with life for its user.
But this was different.
This felt heavier than before. Darker. Wilder.
His heartbeat accelerated.
Thump!
Thump!!
THUMP!!!
His breathing turned erratic.
His will shifted. That burning determination grew stronger. The desire to kill the two men in front of him intensified.
Azael’s fingers dug into the broken road.
He tried to stand once more. He pushed himself up.
His body trembled violently as he stood. His legs shook. Blood continued streaming from his wounds. Yet he did not give up. Mana surged uncontrollably around him, swirling like a storm.
The two men turned back. They sensed something dangerous from behind, as if something terrible had just awakened.
Their eyes widened slightly as they saw the masked man standing once more.
"...Still standing? I thought you might have died from those cuts and blood loss," the scarred man muttered, irritation flashing across his face.
Then his expression hardened.