Jinn BLADE
Chapter 84 | Gluttonrust

Chapter 84: Chapter 84 | Gluttonrust

"We’ve got company," Garan snarled, his mouth slightly peeling back in a feral expression.

His eyes locked onto the two monstrous entities looming above them—small but winged, the other a towering juggernaut of muscle and steel-like flesh—its arms were giant gleaming blades.

Their corrupted forms radiated a pressure so intense it made the very air feel like sludge.

Biyo pulled free both his axes from both his hips with a practiced flick of his wrist.

Ice began to crackle and form along the blades’ edges, layering them in jagged sheets of blue and white frost.

Mist curled from the blades, the air around began to grow subtly colder as Biyo released his eidra.

"I’ll go for the giant," Biyo said, his voice even and calm.

He tilted his head toward Garan, a small smirk forming as if prodding Garan.

"I’ve dealt with giants before. Frostborn, tundra behemoths... even an ice dragon once. This one won’t be much different."

He then rotated his shoulders, feeling the weight of the moment settle on his muscles—tensing to prepare for a battle.

"You think you can handle the flying one—oh great drakkar?"

Garan spat on the ground, his eyes gleaming as he turned toward the flying beast.

"I don’t like taking orders from you large meat," he growled, "but I never turn down the thrill of hunting worthy prey."

He crouched low, as if sinking into the earth, fingers digging into the dirt.

*ROAR!!

Then, he roared—a sound raw and primal—drawing upon something deep within his blood.

A pulse of primal eidra exploded from him, wrapping his frame in a wild, snarling aura of power.

The air around him shimmered.

It was a terrifying transformation—his form expanding slightly, muscles tightening, veins glowing faintly with internal light.

Drakkar blood.

The hunters of myth.

Predators of predators.

"You need a weapon?" Biyo called out, glancing sideways.

"A Drakkar is the weapon," Garan replied, jamming both hands into the ground, claws digging in as he prepared to launch himself.

"I’ve got teeth," he grinned. "I’ve got claws. That’s all I need to rip that thing out of the sky!"

The ground beneath Garan’s feet cracked slightly under the force of his compressed stance. His back arched, head low, eyes locked on the airborne abomination above.

Every inch of him radiated lethal intent.

Then it began.

Verkaryon extended a hand, his fingers pointing towards the camp, and his voice rang out with mad reverence.

"Forward," he whispered like a prayer. "Kill them in the name of the true king."

The command resounded through the battlefield like a curse.

And the two monsters moved.

*Thud! *Thud! *Thud!

The giant’s heavy footfalls shattered the ground. Each step it took was like a siege engine smashing through a fortress. It closed the distance to the wall, looming over it like a nightmare given form.

Its right arm raised.

It wasn’t a hand—it was a blade.

A grotesque, fused weapon of bone and blackened steel.

And it was coming down fast.

*Fwoosh!

"Shit! It’s gonna hit us!" someone screamed.

"Scatter!"

Panic erupted.

People dove aside, sprinting, stumbling, scrambling to get out of the massive weapon’s path.

"Wait—look! Look there!" another voice cried, awe cutting through the panic.

"It’s that man!"

"It’s Biyo!" Ophelia shouted in realization, eyes wide.

Biyo launched himself forward, frost erupting from beneath his boots.

His leap carried him high—far higher than any normal man could reach—his twin axes clenched tight in each hand.

He landed on the beast’s outstretched arm, his feet slamming down against the corrupted flesh with a crack of impact.

Without pause, he ran along the limb, frost forming with each step.

*ROAR!!

The giant flailed its massive arm, trying to make him fall—but Biyo was already in motion again, leaping just before the limb swung upward.

He soared.

The beast roared—a sound that shook the trees nearby—and met him mid-air with a scream that shattered nearby stones and ruptured several eardrums.

Yet Biyo didn’t flinch.

He twisted mid-flight, raising one axe over his shoulder, veins bulging as he channeled his full strength into a single throw.

*Fwoosh!

The blade sang as it spun—like a howling winter wind compressed into a crescent of death.

*CRACK!

The axe struck dead-center between the beast’s eyes.

Frost burst out instantly, spreading in fractured veins of jagged white ice.

Within seconds, half the creature’s face was a frozen mask of crystalline ice.

Gasps rang from below. Shouts of triumph.

But then the air changed.

Black shimmer.

Eidra.

Biyo’s eyes widened as the corrupted beast began to tremble. Where his axe had struck, the ice began to crack.

Not from pressure—but from something unknown.

Black eidra leaked from the wound—at first as a mist, then a torrent.

The frost of Permafrost—ancient and unyielding—began to melt.

Break apart.

The unthinkable was happening.

It was being erased.

"What...?" Biyo muttered.

Before he could move, the beast retaliated.

Its bladed arm came down fast, aimed directly for Biyo’s side.

He turned just in time, reinforcing his left flank with layered frost. Ice coiled around his ribs and hip like armor—and absorbed the blow.

*BANG!

But not all of it.

The impact sent him flying like a comet, crashing through trees and smashing into the earth hard enough to form a trench.

"Urgh!" he grunted, landing on one knee, his breath caught in his throat.

Frost cracked off his body in sharp flakes. His axes trembled slightly in his hands.

He looked up, jaw clenched.

"This is no ordinary eidra," he growled, ice trailing from his lips. "Nothing... nothing melts Permafrost."

Then his eyes turned.

Verkaryon.

Hovering, laughing softly to himself with reverence.

"Behold!" Verkaryon cried, spreading his arms wide. "The Lord’s Eidra! The pitchest of black—the essence of true kingship! Gluttonrust!"

The name struck like thunder.

Around them, even the air seemed to recoil at the word. The black eidra rippled with new life, coiling like snakes through the battlefield.

"Tch," Biyo clicked his tongue, rising to his feet again. His muscles burned. His frost armor cracked.

But he stood.

He spat blood into the dirt and raised one axe.

His eyes burned with frostfire.

"Damned cult..." he muttered.

Then he charged again.

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