Of course, Omen hadn't been complacent with his status. He couldn't let himself be tied down by this flow of things. Whenever he had a chance, he'd intentionally release as much malicious beast summoning aura, making them go wild and suddenly attack him as long as they were in the vicinity. Finally, after so long, he was able to draw something capable of giving the group pause.
The colonel stood a few feet away, her eyes ablaze with anger and something else—excitement, perhaps? She had always seemed at ease amid chaos, her demeanor never wavering. Her sword dripped with the dark, congealed blood of the wyvern she had just slain, its body crumpled and lifeless at her feet. She glanced at Omen and his companions with a mixture of disdain and urgency.
"Listen up, slaves," she barked. "You want to live? You fight. You run, and I'll gut you myself before the beasts do."
Omen turned to Virgo. "You still have enough strength to fight?"
Virgo nodded, though her face was pale. "I'll manage," she said, her voice steadier than before. "Just tell me what to do." She assumed Omen was concerned with her because she wasn't at full strength, but Omen simply needed to know how long she could survive before dealing with the finishing blow himself. Her power was strange and a little bit similar to his, they could both go stronger quickly but by different means. What then would happen if he kills her, would he be able to use one of her many current abilities?
Dahlia swallowed hard, glancing at the colonel, then back at Omen. "I can help, too," she said quietly. "Just… tell me where to go."
Omen nodded, the formerly wide and arrogant girl had been defiled by most of the knights here and had been quiet from her trauma. But before she was a slave she was a warrior, what can meagre trauma do to her?
Another wyvern swooped down, claws extending, heading for a group of knights striving hopelessly to assemble themselves. With a tremendous bang, it ploughed into them, dispersing corpses like ragdolls. The colonel leapt into action, her movements blurring as she charged toward the beast, her sword flashing in the sunlight.
'why is she using a sword instead of her insidious soul manipulation ability', Omen thought in confusion but soon decided to ignore her, he had his own problems to deal with— one of which was coming towards him now. He ducked low as the wyvern's tail lashed out, the spiked tip whistling through the air where his head had been moments before. He felt the rush of air as it passed, but he was already moving, darting to the side.
Dahlia, meanwhile, was circling one of the hovering wyverns She danced with fluid grace, her figure flickering in and out of sight as she took advantage of her agility.
Omen's focus however remained on the giant wyvern in front of him. The beast snapped its jaws, lunging forward with terrifying speed, for something so massive it was incredibly fast. Omen sidestepped, bringing his fist down in a swift arc, aiming for the creature's exposed neck. His empowered fist struck true, smashing through scales and flesh, but not deep enough to be fatal. The wyvern reared back, its tail swinging around in a wide arc, forcing Omen to leap backwards to avoid being impaled.
He landed in a crouch, eyes never leaving the beast. Omen charged forward, his movements blur. He closed the distance in an instant, his fingers aimed directly at the beast's exposed throat. He drove his arm in with all his strength, the tip of his fingers piercing through to the other side.
The wyvern let out a gurgling roar, its body convulsing as blood poured from the wound. Omen twisted his hand, severing the cervical vertebra. Tog, and with a final, shuddering gasp, the beast collapsed to the ground, lifeless.
He ripped his arm free, the huge flexible bone still in his bloodied grip, turning to see how the others were faring. Virgo had succeeded in slicing off a portion of another wyvern's wing, sending it crashing to the ground. She moved in swiftly for the kill, her dagger plunging into the creature's eye, ending its life in a single, precise strike. Sensing his gaze on her Virgo looked over at Omen, her face a mixture of awe and shock. The spell she had cast had drained a considerable amount of her exogene reserve, her legs trembling slightly from the exertion. But seeing Omen tear through the wyverns with such brutal efficiency reminded her of why she feared and admired him in equal measure. His power was raw, unrefined, and terrifyingly effective. No matter how misleading his small body looked compared to the typical bulk of a warrior.
'Where the fuck did she get a dagger! Was this like the situation during the purge, does he need to see one of the maids or guards to be given a weapon', Omen thought enviously and then turned to face Dahlia— 'What!'
Even amidst the chaos and bloodshed, there was a savage joy in her eyes, a thirst for the thrill of combat that was never truly sated. She had been a warrior her entire life, bound by chains or not, and the feel of her clawed hands cutting through flesh, the visceral satisfaction of besting a mighty foe—these were her truest joys.
With a powerful swipe of her arm, she deflected the wyvern's snapping jaws, the force of the blow sending a ripple through her arms. The beast retaliated, its spiked tail whipping toward her. Dahlia ducked low, feeling the rush of air as the tail sailed over her head. Her reflexes were sharp, her movements precise.
The colonel observed them all and watched them with a cold, calculating gaze, her expression giving nothing away. The general, still perched safely atop his carriage, looked on with a satisfied smirk.
'These three battle slaves are going to be my elite of the elite', Arthur thought with a sly smile as he finally resealed the slaves after seeing a fraction of their true strength. Omen, however, had no idea what he was thinking.
Omen wiped the blood from his hands with the wyverns' feathers, his eyes meeting the colonel's. He scoffed after taking one glance at his soul, he got absolutely nothing but the standard sustenance soul exogene with the additional layer to his speed. He turned to the rest of the dying wyverns.
The wyverns thrashed on the ground, their massive bodies convulsing in a last-ditch attempt to fight against the encroaching darkness. Blood poured from their gaping wounds where Omen's hands had phased through them, leaving their scales wet and slick with gore. The beasts' roars, once fierce and mighty, now turned into guttural cries of agony, echoing across the battlefield.
"Finish them!" the colonel shouted, her voice slicing through the chaos. "Leave no survivors!" She was speaking to the surviving knights, it was quite embarrassing that if the battleslaves hadn't stepped in they would never be enough to protect the rest of the carriage. Still, one of those slaves went ahead with the knights and swiftly ended almost all the wyverns. While the other knights hacked at their hardened scaled skin with various weapons, the boy called Omen simply lunged his l hand into the creature's neck and with swift movement the Vertebrae would follow his hand out.
The silence was soon broken by the distant thundering of hooves. Arthur's eyes narrowed, shifting his focus from the carnage to the approaching figures. The emblem of a dragon's head became visible on the banners of the riders, though, unlike the blood-red symbols on the fallen knights, these were green. The Fourth General's men.
The horses slowed to a halt just before the blood-soaked earth, about fifteen riders staring down at the devastation. The lead head rider was a man of medium height, sitting upright with an air of grim composure. His long green hair fell loosely around his face, which was deceptively youthful despite his years. Dark eyes scanned the scene coldly as if already calculating the costs of the slaughter. His face, clean-shaven save for a thin moustache of the same green as his hair, remained calm, though there was something dangerous simmering beneath the surface of his expression.
"Is this how you return, dear Arthur?" The man's voice was smooth, laced with venom, though he spoke with a kind of restrained amusement. "By killing my men?"
Arthur turned slowly, meeting the man's gaze without a trace of remorse. His own eyes, cold as stone, reflected nothing of the bloodbath around him. "Your men," he said, his tone measured, "weren't exactly helpful."
The man on the horse, the Fourth General, let out a soft, mocking laugh, though there was no humour in it. His gaze flicked to the bodies of his fallen men, their red armour gleaming with blood in the fading light. "No," he replied softly. "It seems they weren't."
For a minute, there was nothing other than the sound of the wind blowing through the foliage, bearing the aroma of death. The green-haired general's features twisted into a wry grin, but it did not reach his gaze. He dismounted slowly, his boots crunching on the blood-soaked earth as he approached Arthur. His men remained on their horses, watching in tense silence.
The Fourth General stood before Arthur, their eyes locked in an unspoken battle of wills. "You've always been reckless, Arthur. This isn't the first time you've left destruction in your wake, tell me how is it that migrating wyverns would leave their migration path far north just to deal with you-"
Arthur smirked slightly. "-And yet, I'm still standing. As are you. So perhaps it's best not to lecture me on destruction."
The green-haired general's smile widened; his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "Perhaps. But it seems your recklessness has cost you more than you're willing to admit." His gaze drifted to the surviving members of Arthur's party. "Eleven, is it? From thirty. Hardly the glorious return one might expect from a general of your stature."
Arthur's jaw tightened, though he didn't respond. The losses were significant, yes, but he had seen worse. He wasn't about to let the Fourth General's taunts get under his skin. Not now.
"Tell me," the Fourth General continued, his tone dripping with false curiosity. "What happened here? Was your leadership just that poor, there's no way a great General such as yourself would suddenly be overwhelmed by mere wyverns right" His eyes glinted with dark amusement as he stepped closer to one of the fallen beasts, nudging its lifeless form with the toe of his boot. "Quite the surprise attack, I imagine."
Arthur's gaze darkened. "The wyverns were not the problem," he said, his voice low and dangerous. "It was your men's incompetence that made it worse."
The general chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Always quick to blame others, aren't you, Arthur?" He straightened, his expression turning more serious. "But let's not dwell on that. What's done is done. My concern now is what you plan to do moving forward. You've been gone for days, I won't ask where you've been but the kingdom cannot afford more... carelessness."
Arthur's aura flared briefly, a ripple of dark energy radiating from him. "Carelessness?" he echoed, his voice cold. "Do not forget, I am the one holding the front lines. Your concern is unnecessary."
The Fourth General's eyes narrowed, his smile fading into something far more sinister. "Don't mistake my patience for weakness, Arthur. You may hold the front now, but power in this kingdom shifts as easily as the wind. I would hate to see your recklessness tip the balance against you."