sarbie let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as he glanced at the destroyed escape route. "Oh boy, we are fucked now. Escape's off the table. So, Lord Heron, what's the plan? Time to engage?"
Ralph gritted his teeth, stepping forward with his sword drawn. "He's alone. We'll fight and stall him—Lord, take Lila and go!"
Heron held Lila tightly against his chest, his hands trembling. He wasn't a man who begged, not once in his entire life. Yet, now, with his empire crumbling around him, with fire and blood swallowing his power, he whispered:
"Give me just five minutes, Ralph. I beg you."
Jim's crimson eyes scanned the kitchen, taking in the battlefield—the terrified noble, the trembling girl, and the two warriors ready to die. He didn't act immediately. Instead, in his mind, he sent a message.
"Master, I've found Heron. What are your orders?"
A voice echoed in his head, cold and commanding:
"That took you long enough. Fine, for starters, capture him alive. Install fear in him—by any means."
Jim's gaze flickered to the small child in Heron's grasp. "Master, there is also a child. What are your orders for her?"
A pause. Then the voice responded.
"Share your vision with me. From now on, I will instruct you directly."
Jim's pupils burned a deeper shade of red as his sight became one with his master's. Everything he saw, his master saw. Everything he heard, his master heard.
sarbe placed a firm grip on the hilt of his sword, watching Jim with wary eyes. "Who sent you? This might be your last battle… or it might be ours. Won't you at least reveal your name?"
Jim remained silent.
sarbe sighed. "How many of you are there?"
Still, Jim didn't answer.
Ralph took a step forward, mana swirling around him like a coiling serpent. "If you back down now, we might let you live. You could still walk away and tell the tale."
Jim let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "Quit worrying about me. You should be worrying about yourselves."
As his words left his mouth, a foul sensation swept through the room—disgust, malice, and an overwhelming sense of horror. It wasn't just killing intent. It was something worse, something primal and suffocating.
It was a warning. They were at his mercy.
Jim tilted his head, his voice calm yet dripping with venom. "Give me the one you call Heron, and I'll grant you two a painless death."
Ralph didn't hesitate. "Heron, now! Run!" He filled the room with his mana, casting multiple defensive spells around Heron and Lila before launching himself forward. His sword blazed with fire, a fireball spell woven into his strike as he slashed at Jim.
Jim sidestepped the fiery slash, his body blurring like a shadow. Ralph pressed forward, his sword a flurry of calculated slashes, each one precise and deadly.
Jim twisted his body, barely avoiding a deep cut to his ribs. He retaliated with a swift palm strike to Ralph's gut, sending him skidding back. But Ralph recovered instantly, summoning a wave of water to crash over Jim, drenching him.
With no pause, Ralph leapt forward, his sword flashing like lightning as he stabbed Jim—once, twice, thrice.
Each strike hit its mark. One to the shoulder. One to the gut. And one straight through the side of his neck.
Jim staggered, his head tilting downward. Ralph, breathing heavily, narrowed his eyes. "Did I get him?"
Then—Jim moved.
A sickening sound filled the air as his flesh began to mend instantly. The stab wounds sealed themselves, as if time had rewound. Blood-stained skin knit back together in mere seconds.
Before Ralph could react, Jim's left arm twisted and transformed.
A monstrous, beast-like claw erupted from his sleeve, black as night and crackling with dark energy. It moved faster than Ralph's eyes could track—before he knew it, Jim's clawed hand had punched through his chest.
And with that, he hurled Ralph across the kitchen. The impact shattered his armor, sending cracks through the stone wall. Ralph coughed up blood, body trembling from the sheer difference in power.
That day, Ralph felt true terror and fear.
The kitchen was a ruin—walls crumbling, stone tiles blackened, the air thick with smoke and the metallic stench of blood. The corpses of unfortunate souls lay scattered, their bodies twisted, burned, or partially melted from Jim's presence alone. The room itself had become a battlefield of despair and death.
Yet, amidst the carnage, two monsters faced each other.
Jim stood motionless, his red eyes glowing, taking in Serbie's every movement. His claws twitched, flexing in anticipation, the air around him warping from sheer malice. The very presence of his decomposition ability made the ground rot beneath his feet, the stone cracking, blackening—dying.
Serbie… just grinned.
He rolled his shoulders, sword resting on his shoulder like a lazy beast.
"You're one crazy bastard, huh?" he mused, voice light despite the suffocating pressure in the air. "No army. No backup. Just you tearing through everything like a storm."
Jim remained silent.
Serbie's eyes glimmered with amusement. "Heron and that idiot Ralph don't understand." He took a slow, deliberate step forward. "They're small fish in a pond—they've never seen the ocean."
The sword in his hand hummed. Mana rippled around his body, his very presence vibrating the air.
"But me? I've seen it. I've lived it. And after experiencing true power…"
His grip tightened.
"I can tell you this—you don't scare me."
And then—he moved.
Jim's eyes barely registered the shift.
In a blink, Serbie was gone.
A blur of silver and lightning tore through the air. Jim twisted—too late.
SCHLUK!
His leg flew off.
The severed limb hit the ground, twitching, before black tendrils of flesh writhed, twisted—regenerating instantly.
Serbie clicked his tongue. "Tch. Again."
His blade flashed—slashing the same leg off again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, it regrew. Each time, Jim's smirk widened.
Then, he countered.
Jim matched his speed.
His left claw ignited, flames writhing like living snakes, licking hungrily at the air. The veins in his right arm darkened, the flesh twisting into jagged rock, while lightning cracked across his knuckles.
The moment Serbie's sword came down again—
Jim struck.
Serbie barely dodged, twisting at the last second, but Jim's right claw—imbued with lightning and earth—slammed into his ribs.
CRACK!
His bones snapped from the sheer force.
Electricity ravaged his body, locking his muscles, while the earth attribute sent him hurtling through the air—
—Straight into a stone wall.
BOOM!
Dust and rubble exploded around him. His back screamed in pain, but he was already moving.
"Woodpecker Sword Style—Fifth Form: Thunder Gale Barrage!"
The moment his foot touched the ground, he exploded forward.
His blade became a blur of lightning, striking a dozen times in a single heartbeat. Each slash carried the force of a thunderclap, the sheer impact sending shockwaves through the ruined kitchen.
Jim blocked—
But he wasn't fast enough.
Blood sprayed into the air as deep gashes ripped across his arms, chest, and shoulders.
Jim staggered.
For the first time, his smirk wavered.
Serbie didn't let up.
With a twist of his wrist, his sword spun in his grip.
"Second Form: Drilling Peck!"
He lunged, his blade rotating like a spiraling drill, aiming to skewer Jim's heart.
Then, he retaliated.
Jim used decomposition, and the air changed.
A black miasma burst from his body, consuming the space. The stone tiles melted, the remaining furniture disintegrated into dust.
Serbie leapt back, but the mist was everywhere.
It wrapped around him, clawed at his skin, whispering promises of decay and death.
Jim watched.
Waiting.
Expecting his opponent to rot away.
But—
Serbie was fine.
Jim's eyes narrowed.
Serbie grinned.
"Surprised? Your little 'one-shot' ability doesn't work on me." His voice was mocking, but his mind was screaming.**
(Shit. Shit. This energy is messing with me if it wasn't for my blessing iron defense my body would have been long gone.)
His skin didn't rot. His body didn't break.
But his mind felt like it was peeling apart.
The whispers in the mist gnawed at his thoughts, his instincts screamed at him to leave.
He didn't like this.
He wanted to get away—NOW.
Jim's expression darkened.
Serbie exhaled slowly. Outwardly calm.
Inside? Panic.
(This is bad. If I stay here too long, I might go crazy.)
He let out a fake chuckle, stretching his arms.
"By the way…" He turned toward Jim with a smirk. "I have no interest in protecting Heron."
Jim stiffened.
"He can go fuck himself."
Jim's claws twitched.
Serbie rolled his shoulders. "I was just making an exit for myself."
Then—
He ran.
Jim reacted instantly.
A clawed hand lashed out—
But Serbie was already gone.
His body became a blur, mana surging through his legs.
With one final powerful leap—
He shattered through the glass window.
Vanishing into the night.
Jim stood still, watching.
No Escape
Heron ran.
His legs burned, his lungs felt like they were collapsing, but he didn't stop.
He **couldn't.
Lila's small body was trembling in his arms, her unconscious form limp against his chest.** He clutched her tighter, his breath coming out in ragged gasps as he sprinted down the dimly lit hallway.
The mansion was dead silent.
No voices.
No footsteps.
Just the distant, eerie sound of something dripping.
Blood?
Heron didn't care. His only focus was on reaching the library—his last hope.
His heart pounded against his ribs, the echo of his own footsteps ringing in his ears.
He turned a corner—almost there.
The library doors stood tall before him. He reached out—his fingers just inches away from the handle—
And then…
Everything went cold.
A sudden, unnatural stillness filled the air.
Heron's body locked up.
A feeling like a thousand needles pressed into his skin. A pressure so thick it wrapped around his throat like an invisible hand.
His breath hitched.
Slowly…
Dreadfully…
He turned his head.
Jim was there.
Standing right behind him.
He didn't make a sound. He didn't breathe.
He was just there.
His glowing red eyes pierced through the darkness, staring—empty, soulless.
Heron felt like he was staring into a void.
He tightened his grip around Lila's unconscious body, shielding her, wrapping himself around her protectively.
His knees felt weak.
No. No, not now.
Heron forced himself to stay on his feet.
"Y-You…" his voice cracked, breathless. "What the hell do you want from me?!"
Silence.
Jim didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't even blink.
Heron's chest rose and fell rapidly. His body screamed at him to run, but he knew—he knew there was nowhere left to go.
His lips trembled. "Just—just let her go."
His voice was small.
Pathetic.
Jim didn't respond.
The only sound was Lila's shallow breathing.
Heron squeezed his eyes shut for a second, his mind racing.
Think. Think.
There had to be a way—
But deep down, a terrible, gnawing realization settled in.
There was no escape.
Jim was playing with him.
Letting him run. Letting him struggle.
Like a predator waiting for its prey to exhaust itself.
Heron's breathing grew erratic.
The silence was unbearable.
He swallowed hard, his voice coming out barely above a whisper.
"…Why?"
Jim tilted his head.
Like a machine processing something incomprehensible.
Heron felt his stomach drop.
Something inside him shattered.
A laugh bubbled up his throat, raw, shaking.
Jim took a step forward.
Heron flinched violently. His entire body reacted like it had been struck by lightning.
His grip around Lila tightened to the point where his fingers turned white.
"STAY BACK!" He screamed. Begged.
His throat was dry, but he forced out the words, voice shaking.
"…Who sent you?"
No response.
Heron's breathing grew erratic.
"Killing me won't do you any good! Whatever you've been paid, I'll—" He swallowed hard. "I'll pay ten times that. No, twenty times! Whatever you want, I'll give it to you!"
Jim didn't move.
Didn't blink.
Didn't react.
Heron's chest heaved. His mind raced for any possible way out.
But there was nothing.
No doors. No windows. No hope.
His body trembled violently. Terror dug into his bones.
And then—his knees buckled.
He fell.
Groveling.
Begging.
Shame be damned.
He clutched at Jim's boots with trembling hands, his forehead pressing against the cold floor.
"Not her. Please. Just—just leave the child. Please. I beg you."
His voice cracked.
He was weeping.
Tears mixed with the sweat on his face, his breath hitching between sobs.
Jim moved. Slowly, mechanically, he reached down—his hand gripping the back of Heron's head.
With effortless strength, he lifted him off the ground and slammed him into the wooden chair behind him.
Heron barely had time to process before Jim's cold, emotionless voice finally broke the silence.
"Leave the girl on the table."
Heron's blood ran cold.
His hands tightened around Lila's small body.
Jim's fingers dug into his shoulder.
Heron wavered. His breath stuttered.
And then—he obeyed.
With shaking hands, he gently laid Lila onto the wooden table nearby.
She didn't wake.
She was still breathing.
Still warm.
But completely unaware of the horror unfolding around her.
Jim watched.
His lifeless red eyes tracked Heron's every movement like a predator watching cornered prey.
Then, without a word, he turned toward a nearby cabinet.
And picked up a pair of pliers.
Heron's stomach dropped.
Jim held the tool up, its steel surface catching the dim light. His expression remained unchanged.
"You know what is about to happen."
The words were flat. Empty.
Heron's hands clenched into fists.
His whole body trembled, but he forced himself to meet Jim's gaze.
"…Why?" His voice cracked. "Just tell me why. What have I done? Who is behind this?"
Jim said nothing.
Instead, he grabbed Heron's jaw.
And shoved the pliers into his mouth.
The cold metal clamped down around one of his teeth.
Heron's eyes widened in horror.
No. No, no, no—
Jim ripped.
The pain was instant.
Blinding.
A crack. A tear.
Blood gushed down Heron's throat, warm and metallic, as a sickening crunch echoed through the room.
A scream tore from his throat—muffled, broken, agonized.
His body jerked violently against the chair, but Jim's grip was iron.
He couldn't move.
Couldn't escape.
The pliers went back in.
Clamped onto the next tooth.
Heron's vision blurred.
His skull felt like it was being split open.
Why?
Why was this happening?
Another pull.
Another tear.
More blood.
His screams grew weaker.
His body convulsed, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly that his nails bent and cracked.
Jim didn't stop.
Not until tooth after tooth was ripped from his mouth, leaving nothing but gaping, bleeding holes.
Heron slumped forward, choking on his own blood.
His vision faded in and out.
The world spun.
His body twitched.
Through his hazy sight, he saw Jim wipe the pliers clean.
And without a word—he reached for the next tool.