The Dread of Damned-Chapter 135: Exhausting Task

Both spears shattered after a minute of deadlock, detonating in a blinding eruption of silver essence and golden energy. The explosion vaporized the ground beneath us and annihilated the surrounding walls. Those too close to the blast were obliterated—flesh, bone, and sinew bursting apart, their remains scattering like grotesque confetti.

Then he was in front of me. His fist hurtled toward my face. I ducked, driving my blade toward his heart. A golden shield flared to life, meeting my strike—cracking, splintering, but holding firm. He lunged for my gut. I parried with my other hand. Again and again, we clashed—each blow met by a shield, silver blocking him, gold obstructing me. A stalemate of raw, unrelenting power.

I conjured a blade of pure silver and brought it down on his head. His arm moved like a phantom blur, a shield materializing just in time to deflect my strike, throwing me off balance. In the same breath, his other hand rose, a golden sword forming in its grasp, lunging for my heart. My suit pulsed with Silver energy, a desperate defense, but I felt the cost—a massive drain of essence just to keep my heart save.

I was running low.

Still, I fought. I spun and thrust my sword at his back. He twisted impossibly fast, blocking the strike and aiming for my throat. I blinked away, reappearing in time to carve a silver slash through space itself, the distortion warping the air around it. He barely managed to raise his shield before it struck. The impact sent shockwaves through reality, the golden shield cracking as the silver energy tore through—his arm was severed cleanly at the shoulder.

He didn't flinch.

Golden fluid surged from the wound, reforming the limb almost instantly, flesh knitting together with unnatural speed. His sword flashed, an arc of death aimed at me. I dodged instead of blocking, preserving what little essence I had left.

He closed in again. I evaded, putting distance between us, summoning arrows of silver light. I loosed them in rapid succession. He either dodged or deflected each one before retaliating in kind. His golden arrows streaked toward me. I avoided most, but one struck my suit. A searing pain shot through me as more of my essence drained away.

If I hadn't been running low, I could have ended him. This was a battle of attributes—two mirrored forces clashing. But he had joined late, while my strength was already spent.

Still, I fought.

Back and forth, relentless and desperate—until my essence was completely depleted. My step faltered. He saw it. He struck.

A predator, moving faster than ever, golden sword gleaming like a star as it drove toward my heart. My suit resisted. It held. Then it shattered.

The blade plunged into my chest.

I could feel his pride, burning in his golden eyes.

Then, all at once, the contraction field trapping Finnian collapsed. His body hit the ground, and the vast sea of silver essence that had enclosed the area surged back toward me—not just my own power, but Finnian's as well. It was raw, unfiltered, desperate energy, and I took it all.

Curved silver horns burst from my head, glowing as they absorbed the influx of power at an unnatural speed. The burning void in my chest vanished as my body reconstructed itself.

seized his wrist—the one still clutching the sword lodged in my chest. Before he could react, silver essence surged to life, coalescing into a spiked whip that lashed out like a serpent, coiling tight around his limbs.

A spiked whip materialized in my grasp, snapping around him like a constricting serpent. I seized his wrist, the same hand that still gripped the sword buried in my heart. My essence burned away the agony. A silver blade formed in my other hand, and I brought it down.

The golden shield flashed into existence. It cracked. It crumbled.

The sword cleaved through his skull, slicing straight down, severing him from head to toe. His golden entrails spilled out in slick, steaming ropes, splattering the ground beneath us. His heart, radiant and grotesque, throbbed in his opened ribcage, still beating.

Golden fluid surged, trying to heal him—but the silver aura I left behind blocked it, corrupting it, poisoning it. I didn't stop.

His arms hit the ground. Then his legs. I drove my fingers into his chest, wrenched his golden heart free, and tossed it aside. The whip uncoiled, slithering away, leaving his body in pieces—nothing but shredded meat and gleaming, viscous blood.

His golden eyes still stared at me.

The contraction field had not only disrupted the essence flow—it absorbed essence of the trapped enemies. When I closed the field, all the energy I had used to sustain it rushed back to me, along with everything it had stolen from Finnian. The best way to absorb it all was through the horns, lest most of it be wasted.

The golden heart twitched at my feet. I pressed my boot against it, savoring the resistance before slowly crushing it. The flesh fought back, pulsating, desperate—before bursting into shredded meat beneath my heel.

Lucian was nearly finished with the others.

While The mages were already reduced to steaming piles of flesh and shattered bone.

Then the winds shifted.

The Damned froze.

Golden fluid oozed from their bodies, slithering across the floor. The pools of blood shimmered, moving with purpose.

Every single one of them exploded.

Their essence, their life force, all of it coalesced, rushing toward the remains of the one I had just carved into mincemeat. Before I could react, the golden blood surged over his body, engulfing him in a shimmering sphere.

And then he was whole again.

No—stronger.

Now I understood why battling the Damned was such a cursed, exhausting task.

He moved.

I barely had time to register it before his fist slammed into my stomach. My half-formed shield shattered. My suit flared, struggling to absorb the damage, but it wasn't enough. My ribs cracked as I was sent hurtling across the hall.

Essence flooded my wounds, knitting me back together before I even hit the ground.

Lucian moved—ice blooming from his fingertips. Frost crept up the golden arm. He looked down and barely hesitated before ripping the limb off himself, letting a new one regenerate in its place.

Arion appeared beside him, sword flashing. The golden Damned met his strike, parrying—only to move faster, slamming him into the stone floor. Arion's body dissolved into mist, reforming at my side. The blow had been a death sentence, and he had barely reconstituted in time.

The Damned tensed, ready to strike again.

Then the air shifted.

The pressure in the room changed, the space itself contracting. A voice, calm and measured, echoed from the entrance.

"I think this is enough for now."

A figure strode forward.

Vasen. The ever-mysterious master of initiates. The Headmaster's right hand.

"What do you say?" he asked, voice serene.

The space around us collapsed in on itself. The force crushed everything, an invisible weight pressing down with the inevitability of death.

The golden Damned dropped to his knees. The pressure increased. Flesh split. Bone cracked.

With a sickening, wet pop, he burst apart.

All that remained was a smear of pulp and gold on the shattered marble.

The golden blood, once writhing with life, faltered. It tried to move—but even it was bound by the crushing weight of Vasen's power.

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Then he turned to me.

"Hope you've been well, Your Highness," he said, bowing.

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders. "Honestly, I thought you'd only show up when I was on the brink of death."

"I would never dare," he said with a small, knowing smile. "The Headmaster sent me. He was... concerned."

"Be sure to thank him for me," I murmured.

I stepped toward Finnian.

He lay there, broken, battered, essence drained. Vasen had left him alive, but just barely. The battle had ravaged him. His body was wrecked. One arm was twisted grotesquely, bone piercing through torn flesh. His other arm had been reduced to nothing but shredded meat. His stomach had burst open, his chest wound still gaping, his face a ruin of blood and viscera.

One of his eyes had been crushed. The other burned with fury.

His once-delicate features were now nothing but a mask of agony.

And I savored every second of it.

I crouched down, meeting his remaining eye with a slow, satisfied smile. My silver fangs gleamed much like my eyes or the silver curved horns above my head.

"How are you feeling, Finnian?"

I couldn't help myself. I was enjoying this.