Chapter 63: ｢Nameless｣
Amidst the thick, choking smoke, the clash of metal against metal echoed like the drums of war, each strike reverberating through the suffocating air. The smoke, dense and impenetrable, covered a hundred meters in every direction, transforming the battlefield into a nightmarish labyrinth where sight was almost useless, and only the sharpest instincts could guide one's actions. The acrid scent of burning debris mingled with the metallic tang of blood, creating a nauseating atmosphere that clung to the skin and stung the eyes.
Within this chaotic maelstrom, two figures moved with the deadly grace of predators, locked in a brutal dance of death. One of them, a tall and slender man, had long, silver-white hair that cascaded down like a shimmering waterfall, the strands glinting eerily in the faint light that managed to penetrate the smoke. The man's eyes, a striking shade of crimson, flickered with a cold, calculated intensity, their every movement precise and measured. His silver hair, though disheveled from the ongoing battle, maintained a sense of ethereal beauty, starkly contrasting with the violent scene around them. His pale skin was smooth, almost porcelain-like, with a chilling air of perfection that made him appear almost otherworldly. Dressed in a tight, form-fitting black outfit that seemed to absorb the light, the white-haired man moved with a fluidity that defied the chaos of the battlefield, every step deliberate, every action premeditated.
In stark contrast, the other figure was a whirlwind of ferocity and rage. Emerging from the smoke with a maniacal grin plastered across her face, the woman had short, spiky purple hair that framed her face, the tips of her hair almost reaching her eyes, casting dark shadows over her features. Her eyes, dark and filled with malice, gleamed with a sadistic pleasure as she swung her weapon—a wickedly curved blade that seemed almost too large for her slender frame—with ruthless intent. Her skin was a dusky shade, marred by numerous scars, each one telling a tale of battles fought and won, of a life steeped in violence.
The woman's clothes were a patchwork of leather and metal, a makeshift armor that bore the marks of countless skirmishes, torn and frayed at the edges from prolonged exposure to the brutality of combat. The purple-haired woman exuded a raw, primal energy, her every movement erratic and unpredictable, driven by an insatiable bloodlust that made her a force of nature on the battlefield.
With a snarl, she lunged at the white-haired man, her blade cutting through the smoke with a deadly hiss. "Now you die!" she screamed, her voice filled with venomous hatred as she aimed a vicious slash at her opponent's head. The strike was fast, almost too fast to follow, but the white-haired man moved with a speed that seemed almost supernatural, sidestepping the attack with an effortless grace.
"Is that so?" the white-haired man responded, his voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Let's see… who will be the first to die." His crimson eyes locked onto the purple-haired woman's, unblinking, as if daring her to make the next move.
The battle that ensued was a whirlwind of strikes and counterstrikes, a symphony of violence played out in a world shrouded in smoke and shadow. The white-haired man's movements were fluid and precise, each strike perfectly timed, each dodge executed with surgical accuracy. He wielded a long, slender sword, its blade gleaming with a dull, almost ominous light. The sword moved like an extension of his body, a tool of death in the hands of a master. In contrast, the purple-haired woman fought with wild, untamed fury, her attacks coming in a relentless barrage of slashes and stabs, each one fueled by a burning desire to kill. Her blade was a brutal weapon, heavy and unwieldy, but in her hands, it became a blur of motion, a whirlwind of steel and death.
As the battle raged on, the white-haired man remained on the defensive, his movements measured and controlled, as if he were merely toying with his opponent. The purple-haired woman, however, was relentless, her attacks becoming more and more frenzied with each passing moment. She threw herself at the white-haired man with reckless abandon, her blade crashing against his with a force that sent shockwaves through the air.
"Die! Die! Die!" she screamed, her voice a cacophony of rage and desperation. Her eyes were wild, almost feral, as she poured every ounce of her strength into each strike, her body moving with a frenzied energy that bordered on madness. But no matter how hard she tried, no matter how fast she moved, she couldn't land a single blow on her opponent. The white-haired man seemed almost untouchable, his movements so fluid and precise that he seemed to glide through the battlefield, dodging and deflecting every attack with an almost effortless grace.
Finally, with a grunt of frustration, the purple-haired woman overextended herself, her blade missing its mark by mere inches. In that moment, the white-haired man struck. With a swift, fluid motion, he spun around and brought his sword down in a vicious arc, aiming for the woman's exposed flank. The blade sliced through the air with a deadly hiss, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stand still.
The woman's eyes widened in shock as the blade connected, slicing through her side with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed from the wound, staining the ground beneath her a deep crimson. She staggered back, clutching at her side as pain exploded through her body, her vision blurring as she struggled to stay on her feet.
"What… does it feel like?" she gasped, her voice barely above a whisper as she stared at the white-haired man with a mixture of fear and desperation.
"What does what feel like?" the white-haired man responded, his voice calm and measured, as if he were discussing something as mundane as the weather. His crimson eyes bore into the woman's, unblinking, as he took a step closer.
"To lose…" the purple-haired woman whispered, her voice trembling as she clutched a faintly glowing orb in her hand. Before the white-haired man could react, the woman unleashed a devastating attack. A blinding flash of light erupted from the orb, slicing through the air like a blade and tearing through the white-haired man's body with brutal efficiency.
The impact was immediate and catastrophic. The white-haired man's gut was shredded by the attack, his body torn apart in a gruesome display of violence. Blood and organs spilled out in a twisted, mangled mess, the coppery scent of blood filling the air. The white-haired man fell to his knees, his mouth open in a silent scream as pain wracked his body. His once pristine white hair was now stained a deep crimson, the blood dripping down in thick, sticky rivulets.
But before the purple-haired woman could celebrate her victory, she felt a presence behind her—a warm, suffocating sensation that seemed to press down on her with an almost tangible weight. It was as if someone was right behind her, watching her, their breath hot on the back of her neck.
"I don't know…" the white-haired man's voice came from behind her, low and menacing. The woman's eyes widened in shock as she turned around, only to find herself face-to-face with her worst nightmare. "You tell me…"
Before she could react, a red spike pierced through her stomach, the force of the attack lifting her off the ground. The spike was long and jagged, tearing through her flesh with brutal efficiency. Blood, intestines, and bone spilled out from the wound, her body hanging limp and lifeless in the air. The spike twisted inside her, tearing her apart from the inside out, her screams dying in her throat as her vision darkened.
Blood rained down from the sky, painting the ground beneath her a deep, dark red. The purple-haired woman's body convulsed as the last vestiges of life left her, her eyes rolling back in her head as she slumped forward, her body limp and lifeless. The spike retracted, leaving behind a gaping hole in her abdomen as her body crumpled to the ground in a heap.
The white-haired man stood over her, his crimson eyes glowing with a cold, unfeeling intensity. His body was covered in blood, both his and his opponent's, the red liquid dripping down onto the ground in thick, viscous droplets. The battle was over, and the white-haired man was the victor.
But just before the purple-haired woman succumbed to the fatal blow, her body hanging in the air like a broken doll, blood spilling from her mouth and staining the ground below, she managed to summon the last remnants of her strength. Her eyes, filled with a hatred so deep it seemed to burn through the very air around her, locked onto her opponent, the white-haired figure who loomed over her with an expression of cold indifference.
Her voice, once strong and venomous, now a mere whisper, trembled with the weight of her curse. It was as if every ounce of her remaining life force was poured into these final words, a desperate attempt to etch her loathing into the fabric of the universe itself.
"Curse you... ｢Nameless｣!" she spat, her tone dripping with venom, each syllable a dagger aimed at the heart of her enemy. The hatred in her voice was palpable, a seething, festering wound that would never heal. Her eyes blazed with a fury that defied her impending death, as though her very soul was determined to carry this curse into whatever lay beyond the veil of life.
Her breath hitched, and her body convulsing.
As the last echoes of the dying woman's curse faded into the thick smoke, ｢Nameless｣, standing amidst the devastation, allowed a derisive smile to curl upon his lips. His gaze, cold and unfeeling, swept across the battlefield with an air of supreme disdain.
"So, this is how the last vestiges of a mortal's fury manifest," he began, his voice dripping with condescension. "A pitiful, desperate curse, spewed forth by a dying soul who, despite their final moments, clings to the illusion of significance. How quaint."
He took a languid step forward, his movements as fluid and deliberate as the flow of a glacier. "You see, mortal, your rage and hatred are as inconsequential as the dust beneath my feet. To think that you believed your final words could hold any weight in the presence of someone of my stature. It is laughable, truly."
A look of contempt twisted his features as he continued, "I am ｢Nameless｣, an entity beyond your comprehension, transcending the trivialities of your existence. Your hatred, while fervent and consuming, is but a fleeting ember against the grandeur of my being. Your last attempt at defiance only serves as a testament to your own insignificance."
He raised a hand, a gesture of casual dismissal, as if swatting away an annoying insect. "Your curse, born from the depths of your futile struggle, is nothing more than a brief annoyance, a trivial distraction in the grand tapestry of my existence. It changes nothing. It is but a fleeting whisper in the expanse of my unparalleled supremacy."
With a regal gesture, he surveyed the remains of the battlefield, his eyes gleaming with a haughty light. "How amusing it is to witness the desperation of those who cling to hatred, their final moments marked by a futile gesture of defiance. Your demise was inevitable, your struggle inconsequential, and your curse a mere footnote in the annals of my reign."
A smirk of self-satisfaction played upon his lips as he concluded, "You have given me this final, pitiful display of mortal rage. In your last, meaningless act of defiance, you have only succeeded in reaffirming the breadth of my supremacy. As I move on, I carry with me a clearer understanding of the depths of mortal pettiness—insignificant, transient, and ultimately inconsequential."
With an imperious flick of his cloak, ｢Nameless｣ turned away, his form retreating into the encroaching darkness. The battlefield, now silent, was left in the wake of his indomitable presence, the woman's final curse hanging in the air like a feeble whisper against the grandeur of his being.
This is nameless, the man known as ｢The absolute authority｣.