The battlefield stretched before Sebastian, a gruesome tapestry woven from blood.
Crimson rivulets streamed down the cracked and scarred earth, a chilling reminder of the carnage that had transpired. Strangely, amidst the devastation, a sense of oppressive silence reigned.
The wind, once a participant in the chaos, had died down, leaving an unsettling stillness in its wake.
Those cocooned by the enigmatic 'Sverdnik' emerged unscathed, a stark contrast to the broken landscape surrounding them. Yet, a sense of unease lingered. The 'Sverdnik' itself, once a majestic construct, now stood defaced and broken. Its lustrous shell bore the scars of battle, its scales chipped and its mace dulled – a monument to shattered justice.
Sebastian, bathed in the fading glow of his celestial power, sank to his knees.
His once immaculate white hair hung limp and disheveled, clinging to his sweat-drenched brow. His pale face, streaked with crimson, testified to the brutal struggle he'd endured. Exhaustion gnawed at his very core, a deep weariness radiating from his trembling form.
The battlefield lay silent, a desolate graveyard littered with the remnants of the vanquished.
Sebastian's opponents, mere moments ago a formidable force, had vanished like bubbles – a chilling testament to the raw power unleashed. He, too, felt the aftershocks of that power coursing through him. Like an ancient, weathered tree clinging to life in a harsh storm, Sebastian crumpled to his knees. His celestial aura, once a beacon of hope, flickered and dimmed.
A single, choked whisper escaped his lips, "Young prince..." It was a plea, a desperate attempt to ensure the safety of the one he'd sworn to protect.
Exhaustion, a relentless tide, threatened to pull him under. He clawed at the blood-soaked earth, his body a broken twig straining against an invisible force. His vision swam, the world blurring into an indistinct haze.
The metal shell that had encased the carriage dissolved with a hiss, revealing the occupants unharmed. Relief flooded the faces of the soldiers in white and gold. Their pristine armor, now marred with blood and battle scars, bore witness to the fierce struggle. Yet, their posture remained unwavering, their loyalty a steel rod running through their hearts.
"Young prince!" one of them bellowed, his voice rough with concern. A weak cough answered him, a faint, "I... am well..."
With renewed purpose, the soldiers surged forward, forming a protective circle around the carriage. Despite their own injuries and the fatigue etched on their faces, they stood tall, their resolve mirroring the unyielding mountains themselves. Meanwhile, another group rushed to Sebastian's side, their faces etched with worry as they began to tend to his wounds.
The battle was over, but the victory tasted bitter. Sebastian, the once-imposing figure, lay vulnerable, a stark reminder of the heavy price paid for this fragile peace
Their monstrous clash above had ended, leaving behind an unsettling silence.
But for Brimeborg, trapped in his crimson purgatory, the torment continued unabated. A relentless barrage of blades tore into him, each strike a searing reminder of his helplessness. Yet, amidst the agony, a flicker of defiance remained in his bloodshot eyes. He locked his gaze on the oppressive blood-red sun, a silent challenge to the very heavens.
"Is this all I am capable of?" A bitter question echoed in the desolate landscape of his mind. "Am I truly limited by this curse of untalented mediocrity?"
He had defied fate once, rising from the ashes to become a formidable warrior. He'd acknowledged his limitations – the knowledge that the coveted Core Condensation Realm would forever be out of reach.
Yet, through sheer grit and determination, he'd carved his own path, conquering those stronger through unwavering will and honed skill.
But here, in this nightmarish prison, his strength felt like a child's toy against an unstoppable force. Despair gnawed at the edges of his defiance. He wouldn't – couldn't – let this happen again. He had sworn an oath under the very heavens he now defied, a vow to never lose another precious soul.
But how?
How could he break free from this blood-soaked cage?
The heavens remained silent, offering no answer, no miraculous intervention.
Only the relentless rain of blades and the echoing screams of his own torment filled the crimson void.
Mathias's maniacal laughter echoed through the blood-red world, a cruel melody punctuated by the excited shrieks of the carrion birds. "This realm, Sebastian, is beyond your reach! Look at this power, this magnificent world I command! You, with your paltry talent, could never achieve such heights! HAHAHAHA!" His voice boomed, a taunt laden with sadistic glee.
His voice dripped with sadistic glee. "Speak to me, Brimeborg, the Ironclad Fist! Acknowledge my superiority!"
But Brimeborg, a broken doll pinned by countless crimson blades, remained silent. His gaze, vacant and devoid of defiance, stared fixedly at the blood-red sun, as if seeking solace in its oppressive glow.
Suddenly, the world lurched. The carrion birds, frozen mid-flight, hung suspended in the air. Time itself seemed to stutter to a halt. With a casual flick of his wrist, Mathias dispersed the remaining blades, the crimson rain ceasing abruptly.
"Enough," he declared, a hint of grudging respect tingeing his voice. "For now. After all, you are kin, Brimeborg. Sharing the Reysmith blood, I wouldn't want to incur the wrath of the Patriarch."
The blood-red world dissolved, replaced by the familiar battlefield. Brimeborg, free from the chains but burdened by a storm of emotions, found himself face-to-face with Mathias. His heart hammered against his ribs, a conflicting mix of fury and despair
Brimeborg remained kneeling, a statue sculpted from pain. His body, a leaden weight, refused to respond to his frantic commands. Inside him, a storm raged. Yet, as Mathias turned his back, a flicker of defiance sparked within Brimeborg's shattered form.
A trembling rose through his battered frame. Bone creaked in protest as he lurched to his feet, a dying ember struggling to regain its flame. A primal roar ripped from his throat – a desperate "No!" that echoed across the bloodstained ground.
A surge of azure energy erupted around him, the last vestiges of his power. Greatsword clutched in his hand, he charged at Mathias, a wounded beast driven by a primal urge to protect.
Mathias, however, only met this desperate act with a dismissive shake of his head. "Pathetic," he muttered, his voice devoid of emotion. In a blur of movement, he vanished from sight.
Brimeborg's charge continued, fueled by a mixture of agony and fading hope. Then, a sickening spray of crimson. His sword arm, severed at the shoulder, clattered to the ground. The azure flame that had briefly rekindled within him sputtered and died.
Like a felled giant, Brimeborg crashed to his knees, his scream cut short by a strangled gasp.
"Magnanimity wasted," Mathias's voice echoed, his bloodstained blade reflecting the dying sunlight. "Is this your thanks, Brimeborg?"
A single, choked plea escaped Brimeborg's lips, barely a whisper. "Mathias... please..."
Mathias continued his deliberate march towards the carriage. Abel, trapped within, watched with a heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. His blood boiled, not with fear, but with a strange, unfamiliar anger. His eyes, usually a soft gold, now glowed with an eerie white light.
The soldiers guarding the carriage, their faces grim with determination, formed a protective wall. "Stay back! Or face the consequences!" their leader bellowed, his voice laced with a desperate hope.
Mathias responded only with a chilling smirk. Then, in a blink, he vanished. A horrified gasp escaped one of the soldiers as a crimson stain blossomed on his chest. One by one, the valiant defenders fell, their armor offering no protection against the impossible power at work.
Abel witnessed this horrifying spectacle with a surge of raw emotion. His white-hot gaze darted towards Mathias, searching for the familiar tendrils of code that had haunted his vision before. But to his astonishment, he saw nothing. It was as if an invisible barrier shrouded Mathias, obscuring him from Abel's scrutiny.
His gaze flickered to the writhing code worms still clinging to his surroundings. A surge of power, fueled by a desperate need to protect, erupted from within him.
"Don't come any closer!"
he roared, the words imbued with an otherworldly command.
A violent gust of wind answered his cry, a whirlwind of compressed air that ripped through the battlefield. Mathias, caught off guard by the sudden assault, was flung backward. He tumbled through the air, a look of surprise etched on his face.
Mathias, who was flung back by the unexpected gale, managed to right himself in midair. A flicker of surprise crossed his face, replaced by a hint of grudging respect. "So, this is the power that momentarily incapacitated the second prince? Impressive. Even I, a Core Condensation realm cultivator, failed to notice it initially. But alas, your defiance ends here."
His voice echoed with a chilling finality
. Back in the carriage, Abel, still on his knees, clutched his head. A wave of excruciating pain, like a thousand minds crushing against his, threatened to consume him. He crumpled to his knees, his vision blurring at the edges.
But just as quickly, the world lurched, and he found himself suspended in mid-air.
Mathias, his face devoid of emotion, held him aloft. The crimson blade gleamed ominously, inching closer to Abel's dantian – the core of his being. Just as despair threatened to consume Abel, a thundering roar split the sky.
"Asveldor!"
A colossal golden bell materialized from thin air, engulfing Abel in a protective dome. The force of its descent sent tremors through the ground. But Mathias remained unfazed. "Futile!" he bellowed, his voice laced with disdain.
With a single, brutal swing, he cleaved through the seemingly impenetrable barrier. The golden light shattered like glass, raining down in shimmering shards.
Sebastian, bathed in the fading golden light, struggled to rise, a strangled cry escaping his lips. An invisible pressure slammed him back to the ground, pinning him there like a fly caught in amber.
Inside the fractured bell, Abel's vision swam back into focus. He found himself staring into the emotionless depths of Mathias's eyes, the crimson blade poised to pierce his dantian.
A horrifying crack echoed through the air
a sound that resonated deeper than bone – a fracturing of fate, of potential, of life itself.
The world held its breath as the blade descended