****************************
Lennon "Bladed Monster" Hull
Leveraging my body on my blade, I stumble forward through the forest. Blood trails from the vast majority of the area on my skin, but I can only ignore it for the moment. The damned beast of the Estates came for me, led by a thousand hounds of war.
Eli...
"You bastard! I just wanted to save Marshall!"
My cry rings out to the forest, but I get no reply. Spitting blood to the earth, letting it soak up my life, I continue trudging forward. From what I've managed to garner, this man should be from the Shaw Estate. That method of combining shadows and gemstones is far too familiar. Colton Shaw? No... Myriad got him a while back. Serenity Shaw? I doubt she'd be able to become an Angel with that careless attitude. Shryde Shaw? No... that man disappeared five years ago. Wait... yes. It must be him.
But then... he vanished on a mission into the Frozen Wastes with two other Estatesmen, right? Elfega Harvey and Joaquinn Clayton. Are they...? Probably.
Damn... Eli. You, indeed, are quite the director.
With every step I take, the blade I only recently acquired from a dead Damned trembles from overuse, threatening to break. It's probably what Shryde is waiting for. Fucking hell. Stumbling a bit further, I slam my back against a tree, pulling out a map. My hands shake and slide along the paper from my lost blood, but I keep my focus.
Where am I?
I've been run down and chased from the innermost regions of Vallens all the way to...
Looking up, I see the setting sun, connecting the dots of the faintly visible beads in the sky. Then, I check the bark of the trees near me. Light gray bark, brown wood, reddish leaves. A white oak. Big one, too.
I'm in the forests beyond Pridestead. Hmm... That's what his plan is. They want to lead me into Clarence. Fucker. I can probably take a one-on-one with the man, but definitely not a two-on-one in this state. If only he'd show his damned self!
Dammit!
Pivoting around, I twist my blade toward the tree but cease my movement at the penultimate moment. The edge bounces in anticipation a tenth of an inch from the tree's bark. I can't waste my anger.
I hoped I could outrun or outlast these pursuers, but I don't think that's the case anymore. The last town I ran into told me the news of Marshall's passing.
The Unyielding Wall, even in death, did not fall. Standing, even days later, is a colossal gale, one that nears the waste that the Prime left in the deep south of the Flats. No one knows when it will end. Some guess a week, some propose a year, but I think otherwise.
Because along with the news of the gale, trickles of casualties came in. And we even learned about some of the enemies he was facing. Marshall Travis, in his final moment, traded his life for ten Angels, one of which was a Virtue.
The damage he dealt is severe, shaking the Pygmies and demons, not quite to the core, but grimly enough for them to formally create an alliance.
Unfolding the letter I picked up from an old buddy in the Barghests, a powerful Hunter group in Qune with two Forerunners, I read the critical words once more, skipping the start of the letter, to beat them into my head.
The Creator and Leviathan reached an accord. We only know because Judas captured and tortured a Skinwalker until they told us the deal. I've refrained from telling Sylvia, but I will soon. Two Virtues, along with six Powers each and an army of lessers, will come to ruin Blackreach, Gravecross, and move onward to provoke the Prime in Onyx Gate. They believe that Marshall's act was meant to throw suspicion off the Prime.
Lennon, I know not where you are, old friend, for I can only send this letter to where I usually do, but be careful. In my sixty years, I have never seen such turmoil. This Alliance, they seek to tear to our core, ripping through Blackreach, Gravecross, and Onyx Gate. Judas is going to Onyx Gate to investigate to see if the Prime has been seen recently, but hope is slim.
I would say to get away from Blackreach, but I know you better. Just... Give 'em hell, boy. I'll be on my way soon, and so will anyone I can gather. I'm unsure what Eli, Ed, and Maddox are doing now with all these rumors and oddness, but I worry they will help.
If worst comes to worst, we'll just have to dine with Death. I'm sure the old lady will be accommodating to the two of us. I ain't willing to let 'em take our home. The missus will kill me if they do.
Sincerely,
Phineas Caton
Crinkling the paper back into my pocket, I assemble my resolve. Phineas... the old man, is one of the last friends I got left that isn't dead, though he retired over five years ago. If he's coming out of retirement... I wonder what other old monsters will, too. Not everyone is like our current Virtues and Marshall. Many seek calm lives after their service and years of dancing with the Pale Mistress.
He's not an Angel, but he, Judas, and at most one other Forerunner could take one down. I'm relatively confident of that. The me before my ascension alongside the two of them could kill the me of now. The duo of Phineas' rope and Judas' needles is terrifying. I only hope their wives don't kill 'em for running out.
But there are bigger fish to worry about. Shryde should still be watching me, and he ignored even the opportunity to attack me while I was reading. What will it take? I can't keep doing this.
Behind him is a legion of Hunters, and in front is Pridestead, with Clarence silently coiled to strike. If I don't take one out now, I won't live to regret it. So how? How will I make him finally ambush me and try to place that gemstone spike into my heart?
Sighing internally, I know the only answer to that question.
I need to give him an opportunity where it is guaranteed that he will.
Good thing I've practiced with Monster far more and have created ways to synergize it better with Brandish, my Power. The Dzil and Power work nigh effortlessly together, almost as if they were meant to be one skill in the first place.
When I first created Niska, the skill lasted for four seconds and paralyzed me afterward. By the time I gained my Absolution, it had lasted sixty and granted a far superior boost that I could shrink for heightened effects. Though, it still paralyzed me afterward.
Monster, however, the Dzil, is concise and controlled. It lasts sixty seconds as well, but I have learned to shorten, cut and, with my tremendous amount of practice, break it up. If I cut the time in half, the effect is doubled. If I cut in in fourths, it is quadrupled, and so on. My current limit is reducing a use to seven seconds or so, meaning eight times the effect.
Yet, I can also break it up, allowing myself to save uses for later.
I haven't yet shown this to the world, and that is how I will draw Shryde out to kill him, as all those worth their salt know the difference between my build with Ether running through it and without. I wanted to wait, to hold off on revealing this strength, but I can't. It needs to happen, or I will likely die before I even do anything of import.
Shifting around, I face my rear, looking at the vast forest that encompasses the way I came.
My eyes gradually rise as I stand resolute amidst the majestic White Oaks around me that tell me of my exact locale, their branches reaching towards the heavens, casting dappled shadows upon the forest floor. The sun's warm rays filter through the foliage above, painting the scene with a remorseful glow. September's gentle touch brings forth a cascade of leaves, drifting gracefully to the ground, a prelude to the changing season. I wonder... will I, too, fall like these leaves?
My hand tightens around the sheathed sword, its weight a comforting reminder of my purpose. As I do so, I find my pursuers not far behind. Tapping footsteps and broken branches decorate the air as I begin to accelerate toward them. I need to give Shryde a 'guaranteed kill.' As I sprint towards the encroaching army, my footsteps disturb the fallen leaves, stirring a flurry of motion. The rustling symphony, dyed by the red blood I dripped earlier, follows in my wake.
Blood courses through my veins, a potent reminder of the escape I had narrowly evaded moments before. Its metallic taste lingers in my mouth, fueling my determination to face my pursuers head-on. Ether flows through my body, a lesser form of Monster, as a simple Adrenaline Rush fuels my body toward my many attackers, with Shryde in wait.
The sun's golden rays pierce through the dense canopy, illuminating the path before me and casting fleeting shadows into my eyes. With each stride, I grow closer, feeling my heart amp up in force with every footfall.
Before I confront the army that seeks my demise, I turn my gaze back to face the crimson stain of blood in my wake. In the middle of a stride, I lock my eyes on a blood splatter. Then, shaking my head, I lunge forward, catching my pace as I meet my attackers.
The first one, a man with a black towel covering his head and a dagger in each hand, dies before he can even make a splash. Unsheathing my blade, I remove his torso from his head and pivot my wrists to deflect an arrow. Stepping forward, I slam my heels into the ground and twist my blade, flickering the air to the nearest man. It digs deeply into his chest, hurtling him to the ground.
They aren't dead, not yet, but I have more to worry about. Another comes, firing a lever action at me. And with the gunshot, I'm forced to use Monster. Time slows, and I remove all senses that I do not need in favor of those I do. Colors fade. Pain vanishes. Smell burns away. Taste falls into my stomach. Internally, I begin the clock. One.
My cracked blade taps each bullet to the side as they come at me, narrowingly moving them off their path and entering the trees behind me with a slurred thud. Shunting myself forward with a step, I meet the shooter, and before he can even blink, I remove his arms.
Next, I consume a fraction of a second to find all the gunmen and archers, my greatest threats. Then, I proceed to remove them all as I burst toward them.
With each swing and clash of steel, I become a whirlwind of precision and agility. This unknown Claymore, unwieldy in my grasp, dances through the flesh of a dozen gunmen and half a dozen archers or similar fighters, none of which even a 6th Sigil. But, by the end of killing them, the Claymore shatters, unable to keep up with me. It's crumbled steel falls into the body of the last man who meets it.
I take a short reprieve to breathe, and for a brief instant, I find myself bereft of opponents, the Damned and Estatesmen, stepping back from me. It's hard to tell whose stronger, but the Damned are definitely more willing to die, unlike the Estatesmen sent here to die by their elders. I glimpse fear in the eyes of the nearest, his pupils red and shaky. Stepping forward, he retreats, but another from behind him pushes him forward.
With the swiftness of a gale, I remove the Claymore from the young man's hands and his head with another movement before continuing to the one who pushed him.
This time, the elder steps back in apprehension.
Five.
My heart sings with calm despite the brutality of this short battle. I could have done this much earlier, but I held it off in hopes I wouldn't have to kill more people. Yet, I have no choice. I move with the grace of my teacher, my body only capable of copying his fluidity as an Angel. As my adversaries converge upon me, their attacks aimed with deadly intent, I navigate the chaos with a calculated finesse, one born of endless nights of pain. Their strikes come at me from all angles now that the gunmen are dead, but with slick weaves, I deflect their slowed strikes effortlessly.
I sidestep a lunging assailant, their blade whistling through the air where I once stood. With a swift counter, my blade finds its mark, cleaving through their flesh as I twirl, ending the ambusher who sought my spine.
Ten.
Determined not to be overwhelmed by their sheer numbers as over a hundred remain, I weave through the battlefield, my movements seeking to never stop. Ether flies through the air, from shards of gemstone that try to entrap me to shadows that attempt to unravel my actions and a dozen other methods I struggle to evade. And yet, I outspeed a force a hundred my number. Each dodge reminds me of my years of swinging steel, never stopping, just as Edmund told me, as I anticipate their attacks and slip through their defenses unscathed.
Fifteen.
They are dying, but not fast enough. I can spare fifteen more to try and draw Shryde out. How about I turn that to three or so?
Time slows further as I concentrate the seconds of Monster, my muscles, veins, and skin bulging to the point that I look inhuman. And with a single step, I fade away from their sights.
First, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth... twentieth. Twenty bodies fall before I reach one second.
One.
Screams elucidate my surroundings as all things are dyed an even darker gray from my colors removed by a Sigil skill. Not enough. Seventy remain.
Gritting my teeth, I force the Ether roaring through my body to flow to the edge of my blade, the Sigil skill from my 7th Sigil, Merciless Massacre. It is difficult to do so as few skills listen to my call. Even Monster often is a hurdle to get going.
The edge of my blade, this flimsy Claymore, gathers the blood on its steel and soaks it in. Then, the steel of the blade elongates, heightening my reach yet not the weight. Bloodied Edge does wonders, even if it is curious how it came from a Rogue Sigil. Regardless, it is a pain to use, and I can't see any amount of training making it easier despite its deadliness.
With my enhanced blade, I continue my massacre. The once confident faces of the Damned and sons and daughters of the Shaw estate contort with fear and disbelief as I cut down their fellows with ruthless efficiency. The survivors tremble in terror, their eyes wide with horror at the display of my unwavering power. Some attempt to flee, desperation etched upon their faces, but I cannot afford to show mercy. They are all bait for the true threat, anyway.
With a light step, my blade lengthens further from those slain, and I kill the runaways before returning to those that remain. I can't afford to let them live. When my time runs out, I need to be the only one alive. None can slip through. No quarter.
Two.
My strikes are precise and unrelenting, each swing of my blade leaving a trail of fallen adversaries in its wake that elongates the Bloodied Edge furthermore. Their cries of pain and despair fill the air as a grim chorus to accompany the symphony of battle. With each life extinguished, the survivors become all the more terrified, their hope dwindling with every passing second. Yet, most still fight, swinging wildly or using their Ether as best as they can under my onslaught.
And I don't slay them without wounds. Many of these are influential members of their people. Blood boils from my rampaging veins as my broken bones force themselves together from the pressure of Ether. And it's these powerful ones that command high Sigils that slow me enough to leave some remaining, all of which are Estatemen.
Three.
I can hold it longer, but I force the skill off. If I go any longer, I won't be confident in stopping Shryde from slaying me. My veins calm, and my body wavers as Monster falls from me, leaving me shaky and standing using the edge of my blade that digs several feet into the ground.
In the aftermath, silence descends upon the battlefield, broken only by the heavy breaths of those staring at me and the distant echoes of my victory. The survivors who dared to challenge me now lie strewn across the ground, their once formidable presence reduced to lifeless husks, though some groan and moan on the howl, slowly fading into the Underworld. The wounds I gave them will soon deliver them to the Pale Lady.
I stand bent, as the survivors' blood mingles with the earth beneath my feet. The ten remaining Estatemen gaze at me with wide eyes, their legs unable to move them as over a hundred of their kinsmen lie dead or dying behind me.
Coughing, I allow myself to fall, my body weak and useless after the fight, so it's not much of an act. And slamming into the bloodied dirt-turned-mud, I spit out a considerable chunk of my right lung. One of them had a skill that formed a gemstone in my chest, and I barely killed them before it grew into my heart. Voices from the Estatesmen ring out as they fearfully discuss amongst themselves, but as they do, a shadow emerges, the one I have been waiting for.
The only reason I even see Shryde is from the slight glimmer of the gemstone he uses as a weapon, the spike hurtling toward my neck from a nearby shadow on the ground.
The bastard, as a Forerunner, could teleport himself to any shadow in his sight. I'm sure that ability is even stronger now as a Power. That's why I'll get only one chance to kill him.
Ether roars again as I forcibly condense all fifteen remaining seconds of Monster into a little over one, a multiplier of eight. I've never been good at math, but eight of me should be enough, not that I can do any better right now.
Time slows once more, yet the spike still moves at a startling pace, one almost as fast as me. Gritting my teeth, I roll and slam the dirt with my Claymore's hilt, sending me partially into the air as I land on my knee, evading the spike. Then, I hurriedly sheathe my blade as I feel the limit approaching and Brandish it.
The world turns a bright shade of white for a fraction of a second as a thin line encompasses my vision. And when the paleness fades, returning my colored vision to me, I find Shryde bisected. And the White Oak behind him. And the one behind that. And behind that. And behind that. And behind that. For a hundred feet, Brandish caresses the earth, enhanced beyond typical by Bloodied Edge.
Coughing out blood as my vision wobbles, I turn to the remaining Estatesmen, but all I find are their backs as they race away from me. With a soft laugh, I fall to my knees and force my arms to move to bandage my wounds. I'll have to get to my lungs later. Monster doesn't paralyze me, but it does leave me with the strength of a babe.
At least my reputation is enough to keep me alive from those ten. Though, I'd wager it's the blood I spilled before them, not my name, that did it.
Nonetheless, once I heal, I will find Tomas. Surely Marshall got his boy out. I couldn't imagine him not managing that.
****************************
Lennon "Bladed Monster" Hull
Leveraging my body on my blade, I stumble forward through the forest. Blood trails from the vast majority of the area on my skin, but I can only ignore it for the moment. The damned beast of the Estates came for me, led by a thousand hounds of war.
Eli...
"You bastard! I just wanted to save Marshall!"
My cry rings out to the forest, but I get no reply. Spitting blood to the earth, letting it soak up my life, I continue trudging forward. From what I've managed to garner, this man should be from the Shaw Estate. That method of combining shadows and gemstones is far too familiar. Colton Shaw? No... Myriad got him a while back. Serenity Shaw? I doubt she'd be able to become an Angel with that careless attitude. Shryde Shaw? No... that man disappeared five years ago. Wait... yes. It must be him.
But then... he vanished on a mission into the Frozen Wastes with two other Estatesmen, right? Elfega Harvey and Joaquinn Clayton. Are they...? Probably.
Damn... Eli. You, indeed, are quite the director.
With every step I take, the blade I only recently acquired from a dead Damned trembles from overuse, threatening to break. It's probably what Shryde is waiting for. Fucking hell. Stumbling a bit further, I slam my back against a tree, pulling out a map. My hands shake and slide along the paper from my lost blood, but I keep my focus.
Where am I?
I've been run down and chased from the innermost regions of Vallens all the way to...
Looking up, I see the setting sun, connecting the dots of the faintly visible beads in the sky. Then, I check the bark of the trees near me. Light gray bark, brown wood, reddish leaves. A white oak. Big one, too.
I'm in the forests beyond Pridestead. Hmm... That's what his plan is. They want to lead me into Clarence. Fucker. I can probably take a one-on-one with the man, but definitely not a two-on-one in this state. If only he'd show his damned self!
Dammit!
Pivoting around, I twist my blade toward the tree but cease my movement at the penultimate moment. The edge bounces in anticipation a tenth of an inch from the tree's bark. I can't waste my anger.
I hoped I could outrun or outlast these pursuers, but I don't think that's the case anymore. The last town I ran into told me the news of Marshall's passing.
The Unyielding Wall, even in death, did not fall. Standing, even days later, is a colossal gale, one that nears the waste that the Prime left in the deep south of the Flats. No one knows when it will end. Some guess a week, some propose a year, but I think otherwise.
Because along with the news of the gale, trickles of casualties came in. And we even learned about some of the enemies he was facing. Marshall Travis, in his final moment, traded his life for ten Angels, one of which was a Virtue.
The damage he dealt is severe, shaking the Pygmies and demons, not quite to the core, but grimly enough for them to formally create an alliance.
Unfolding the letter I picked up from an old buddy in the Barghests, a powerful Hunter group in Qune with two Forerunners, I read the critical words once more, skipping the start of the letter, to beat them into my head.
The Creator and Leviathan reached an accord. We only know because Judas captured and tortured a Skinwalker until they told us the deal. I've refrained from telling Sylvia, but I will soon. Two Virtues, along with six Powers each and an army of lessers, will come to ruin Blackreach, Gravecross, and move onward to provoke the Prime in Onyx Gate. They believe that Marshall's act was meant to throw suspicion off the Prime.
Lennon, I know not where you are, old friend, for I can only send this letter to where I usually do, but be careful. In my sixty years, I have never seen such turmoil. This Alliance, they seek to tear to our core, ripping through Blackreach, Gravecross, and Onyx Gate. Judas is going to Onyx Gate to investigate to see if the Prime has been seen recently, but hope is slim.
I would say to get away from Blackreach, but I know you better. Just... Give 'em hell, boy. I'll be on my way soon, and so will anyone I can gather. I'm unsure what Eli, Ed, and Maddox are doing now with all these rumors and oddness, but I worry they will help.
If worst comes to worst, we'll just have to dine with Death. I'm sure the old lady will be accommodating to the two of us. I ain't willing to let 'em take our home. The missus will kill me if they do.
Sincerely,
Phineas Caton
Crinkling the paper back into my pocket, I assemble my resolve. Phineas... the old man, is one of the last friends I got left that isn't dead, though he retired over five years ago. If he's coming out of retirement... I wonder what other old monsters will, too. Not everyone is like our current Virtues and Marshall. Many seek calm lives after their service and years of dancing with the Pale Mistress.
He's not an Angel, but he, Judas, and at most one other Forerunner could take one down. I'm relatively confident of that. The me before my ascension alongside the two of them could kill the me of now. The duo of Phineas' rope and Judas' needles is terrifying. I only hope their wives don't kill 'em for running out.
But there are bigger fish to worry about. Shryde should still be watching me, and he ignored even the opportunity to attack me while I was reading. What will it take? I can't keep doing this.
Behind him is a legion of Hunters, and in front is Pridestead, with Clarence silently coiled to strike. If I don't take one out now, I won't live to regret it. So how? How will I make him finally ambush me and try to place that gemstone spike into my heart?
Sighing internally, I know the only answer to that question.
I need to give him an opportunity where it is guaranteed that he will.
Good thing I've practiced with Monster far more and have created ways to synergize it better with Brandish, my Power. The Dzil and Power work nigh effortlessly together, almost as if they were meant to be one skill in the first place.
When I first created Niska, the skill lasted for four seconds and paralyzed me afterward. By the time I gained my Absolution, it had lasted sixty and granted a far superior boost that I could shrink for heightened effects. Though, it still paralyzed me afterward.
Monster, however, the Dzil, is concise and controlled. It lasts sixty seconds as well, but I have learned to shorten, cut and, with my tremendous amount of practice, break it up. If I cut the time in half, the effect is doubled. If I cut in in fourths, it is quadrupled, and so on. My current limit is reducing a use to seven seconds or so, meaning eight times the effect.
Yet, I can also break it up, allowing myself to save uses for later.
I haven't yet shown this to the world, and that is how I will draw Shryde out to kill him, as all those worth their salt know the difference between my build with Ether running through it and without. I wanted to wait, to hold off on revealing this strength, but I can't. It needs to happen, or I will likely die before I even do anything of import.
Shifting around, I face my rear, looking at the vast forest that encompasses the way I came.
My eyes gradually rise as I stand resolute amidst the majestic White Oaks around me that tell me of my exact locale, their branches reaching towards the heavens, casting dappled shadows upon the forest floor. The sun's warm rays filter through the foliage above, painting the scene with a remorseful glow. September's gentle touch brings forth a cascade of leaves, drifting gracefully to the ground, a prelude to the changing season. I wonder... will I, too, fall like these leaves?
My hand tightens around the sheathed sword, its weight a comforting reminder of my purpose. As I do so, I find my pursuers not far behind. Tapping footsteps and broken branches decorate the air as I begin to accelerate toward them. I need to give Shryde a 'guaranteed kill.' As I sprint towards the encroaching army, my footsteps disturb the fallen leaves, stirring a flurry of motion. The rustling symphony, dyed by the red blood I dripped earlier, follows in my wake.
Blood courses through my veins, a potent reminder of the escape I had narrowly evaded moments before. Its metallic taste lingers in my mouth, fueling my determination to face my pursuers head-on. Ether flows through my body, a lesser form of Monster, as a simple Adrenaline Rush fuels my body toward my many attackers, with Shryde in wait.
The sun's golden rays pierce through the dense canopy, illuminating the path before me and casting fleeting shadows into my eyes. With each stride, I grow closer, feeling my heart amp up in force with every footfall.
Before I confront the army that seeks my demise, I turn my gaze back to face the crimson stain of blood in my wake. In the middle of a stride, I lock my eyes on a blood splatter. Then, shaking my head, I lunge forward, catching my pace as I meet my attackers.
The first one, a man with a black towel covering his head and a dagger in each hand, dies before he can even make a splash. Unsheathing my blade, I remove his torso from his head and pivot my wrists to deflect an arrow. Stepping forward, I slam my heels into the ground and twist my blade, flickering the air to the nearest man. It digs deeply into his chest, hurtling him to the ground.
They aren't dead, not yet, but I have more to worry about. Another comes, firing a lever action at me. And with the gunshot, I'm forced to use Monster. Time slows, and I remove all senses that I do not need in favor of those I do. Colors fade. Pain vanishes. Smell burns away. Taste falls into my stomach. Internally, I begin the clock. One.
My cracked blade taps each bullet to the side as they come at me, narrowingly moving them off their path and entering the trees behind me with a slurred thud. Shunting myself forward with a step, I meet the shooter, and before he can even blink, I remove his arms.
Next, I consume a fraction of a second to find all the gunmen and archers, my greatest threats. Then, I proceed to remove them all as I burst toward them.
With each swing and clash of steel, I become a whirlwind of precision and agility. This unknown Claymore, unwieldy in my grasp, dances through the flesh of a dozen gunmen and half a dozen archers or similar fighters, none of which even a 6th Sigil. But, by the end of killing them, the Claymore shatters, unable to keep up with me. It's crumbled steel falls into the body of the last man who meets it.
I take a short reprieve to breathe, and for a brief instant, I find myself bereft of opponents, the Damned and Estatesmen, stepping back from me. It's hard to tell whose stronger, but the Damned are definitely more willing to die, unlike the Estatesmen sent here to die by their elders. I glimpse fear in the eyes of the nearest, his pupils red and shaky. Stepping forward, he retreats, but another from behind him pushes him forward.
With the swiftness of a gale, I remove the Claymore from the young man's hands and his head with another movement before continuing to the one who pushed him.
This time, the elder steps back in apprehension.
Five.
My heart sings with calm despite the brutality of this short battle. I could have done this much earlier, but I held it off in hopes I wouldn't have to kill more people. Yet, I have no choice. I move with the grace of my teacher, my body only capable of copying his fluidity as an Angel. As my adversaries converge upon me, their attacks aimed with deadly intent, I navigate the chaos with a calculated finesse, one born of endless nights of pain. Their strikes come at me from all angles now that the gunmen are dead, but with slick weaves, I deflect their slowed strikes effortlessly.
I sidestep a lunging assailant, their blade whistling through the air where I once stood. With a swift counter, my blade finds its mark, cleaving through their flesh as I twirl, ending the ambusher who sought my spine.
Ten.
Determined not to be overwhelmed by their sheer numbers as over a hundred remain, I weave through the battlefield, my movements seeking to never stop. Ether flies through the air, from shards of gemstone that try to entrap me to shadows that attempt to unravel my actions and a dozen other methods I struggle to evade. And yet, I outspeed a force a hundred my number. Each dodge reminds me of my years of swinging steel, never stopping, just as Edmund told me, as I anticipate their attacks and slip through their defenses unscathed.
Fifteen.
They are dying, but not fast enough. I can spare fifteen more to try and draw Shryde out. How about I turn that to three or so?
Time slows further as I concentrate the seconds of Monster, my muscles, veins, and skin bulging to the point that I look inhuman. And with a single step, I fade away from their sights.
First, second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth... twentieth. Twenty bodies fall before I reach one second.
One.
Screams elucidate my surroundings as all things are dyed an even darker gray from my colors removed by a Sigil skill. Not enough. Seventy remain.
Gritting my teeth, I force the Ether roaring through my body to flow to the edge of my blade, the Sigil skill from my 7th Sigil, Merciless Massacre. It is difficult to do so as few skills listen to my call. Even Monster often is a hurdle to get going.
The edge of my blade, this flimsy Claymore, gathers the blood on its steel and soaks it in. Then, the steel of the blade elongates, heightening my reach yet not the weight. Bloodied Edge does wonders, even if it is curious how it came from a Rogue Sigil. Regardless, it is a pain to use, and I can't see any amount of training making it easier despite its deadliness.
With my enhanced blade, I continue my massacre. The once confident faces of the Damned and sons and daughters of the Shaw estate contort with fear and disbelief as I cut down their fellows with ruthless efficiency. The survivors tremble in terror, their eyes wide with horror at the display of my unwavering power. Some attempt to flee, desperation etched upon their faces, but I cannot afford to show mercy. They are all bait for the true threat, anyway.
With a light step, my blade lengthens further from those slain, and I kill the runaways before returning to those that remain. I can't afford to let them live. When my time runs out, I need to be the only one alive. None can slip through. No quarter.
Two.
My strikes are precise and unrelenting, each swing of my blade leaving a trail of fallen adversaries in its wake that elongates the Bloodied Edge furthermore. Their cries of pain and despair fill the air as a grim chorus to accompany the symphony of battle. With each life extinguished, the survivors become all the more terrified, their hope dwindling with every passing second. Yet, most still fight, swinging wildly or using their Ether as best as they can under my onslaught.
And I don't slay them without wounds. Many of these are influential members of their people. Blood boils from my rampaging veins as my broken bones force themselves together from the pressure of Ether. And it's these powerful ones that command high Sigils that slow me enough to leave some remaining, all of which are Estatemen.
Three.
I can hold it longer, but I force the skill off. If I go any longer, I won't be confident in stopping Shryde from slaying me. My veins calm, and my body wavers as Monster falls from me, leaving me shaky and standing using the edge of my blade that digs several feet into the ground.
In the aftermath, silence descends upon the battlefield, broken only by the heavy breaths of those staring at me and the distant echoes of my victory. The survivors who dared to challenge me now lie strewn across the ground, their once formidable presence reduced to lifeless husks, though some groan and moan on the howl, slowly fading into the Underworld. The wounds I gave them will soon deliver them to the Pale Lady.
I stand bent, as the survivors' blood mingles with the earth beneath my feet. The ten remaining Estatemen gaze at me with wide eyes, their legs unable to move them as over a hundred of their kinsmen lie dead or dying behind me.
Coughing, I allow myself to fall, my body weak and useless after the fight, so it's not much of an act. And slamming into the bloodied dirt-turned-mud, I spit out a considerable chunk of my right lung. One of them had a skill that formed a gemstone in my chest, and I barely killed them before it grew into my heart. Voices from the Estatesmen ring out as they fearfully discuss amongst themselves, but as they do, a shadow emerges, the one I have been waiting for.
The only reason I even see Shryde is from the slight glimmer of the gemstone he uses as a weapon, the spike hurtling toward my neck from a nearby shadow on the ground.
The bastard, as a Forerunner, could teleport himself to any shadow in his sight. I'm sure that ability is even stronger now as a Power. That's why I'll get only one chance to kill him.
Ether roars again as I forcibly condense all fifteen remaining seconds of Monster into a little over one, a multiplier of eight. I've never been good at math, but eight of me should be enough, not that I can do any better right now.
Time slows once more, yet the spike still moves at a startling pace, one almost as fast as me. Gritting my teeth, I roll and slam the dirt with my Claymore's hilt, sending me partially into the air as I land on my knee, evading the spike. Then, I hurriedly sheathe my blade as I feel the limit approaching and Brandish it.
The world turns a bright shade of white for a fraction of a second as a thin line encompasses my vision. And when the paleness fades, returning my colored vision to me, I find Shryde bisected. And the White Oak behind him. And the one behind that. And behind that. And behind that. And behind that. For a hundred feet, Brandish caresses the earth, enhanced beyond typical by Bloodied Edge.
Coughing out blood as my vision wobbles, I turn to the remaining Estatesmen, but all I find are their backs as they race away from me. With a soft laugh, I fall to my knees and force my arms to move to bandage my wounds. I'll have to get to my lungs later. Monster doesn't paralyze me, but it does leave me with the strength of a babe.
At least my reputation is enough to keep me alive from those ten. Though, I'd wager it's the blood I spilled before them, not my name, that did it.
Nonetheless, once I heal, I will find Tomas. Surely Marshall got his boy out. I couldn't imagine him not managing that.
