Level Up The Colony
Chapter 63: Spear Art

Chapter 63: Spear Art

The lady scoffed.

"Then you’re useless. Why’d you even come here?"

With that, she shoved Miriam hard, sending her sprawling onto the floor.

The blow wasn’t lethal, but it was humiliating.

Miriam gritted her teeth, biting back tears of frustration and helplessness.

She stared at the floor with gray, her mind swirling.

’Am I really this useless?’

Then, without warning, Dike let out a thunderous roar from across the room.

The sheer force of his shout pulled everyone’s attention.

With raw fury burning in his eyes, he charged slowly at the bride, spear gripped tightly in his right hand

"Spear Art: First Form...!"

His voice echoed with terrifying conviction as a silvery aura burst from the tip of his weapon, spilling like liquid starlight.

Power surged through him, and the spear in his hands pulsed with divine-like energy, glowing brighter by the second.

Miriam looked up from the floor, heart pounding.

Timothy grinned, adrenaline flooding his system as he activated his machete’s skill: Kinetic Pounce.

Blade-aura erupted with each swing, sending out bursts of concentrated energy toward the towering bride.

They weren’t meant to kill, just distract, soften, and force her to respond.

But to his surprise and the shock of everyone watching the bride completely ignored his assault.

Her attention was fixed on the charging Dike, who hadn’t moved an inch, still holding his spear in a poised, coiled stance.

Timothy didn’t stop.

His strikes, though beginning to fade in power, still nicked her white gown, leaving shallow wounds that sewed themselves up almost instantly, stitched together by some uncanny force.

The bride was regenerating.

Her dress wasn’t just ceremonial, it was protective.

Then Dike moved.

Faster than before.

Almost too fast for Timothy’s eyes to follow.

But his trajectory, sharp and clean was predictable.

Timothy blinked.

Literally.

He activated Dash, chaining it with instinctive precision.

In a blink, he was behind the bride, machete in hand, ready to strike.

As he closed the distance, the bride’s head twisted, somehow sensing him.

Yet she turned back, focusing entirely again on Dike.

With a piercing shriek, the bride spun her massive spear one-handed to meet Dike’s charged attack.

The resulting clash was thunderous, a concussive wave shook the chamber, boots scraping against the stone floor.

For a moment, they seemed evenly matched.

Until it happened.

A sharp metallic screech tore through the air.

Dike’s spear, his pride, and weapon of choice, began to fracture.

Its edges were warped, chipped, and unable to withstand the sheer force of the collision.

He faltered, his stance buckling.

"Keep pushing!" Timothy shouted, his own body lunging forward like a missile.

The bride turned her head again, registering his charge even though she was blindfolded.

Timothy had no idea how she was tracking them.

But he didn’t care.

His machete, now glowing a vivid green with Armament, slashed forward.

At the last second, the bride lifted her free hand, massive, pale, cold aiming to snatch him from mid-air.

But Timothy twisted, bones straining as he bent unnaturally, using Dash again to slip beneath her arm.

His machete arced wide and viciously

CHUNK.

Her right shoulder split wide open.

The entire arm, her dominant one severed cleanly and dropped to the stone floor with a sickening thud.

Before she could react

"Spear Art: First Form – Power Thrust!" Dike roared.

What remained of his spear exploded forward, surging with every last bit of mana he had.

It pierced straight through the bride’s torso, tearing a gaping hole in her side.

The force was so immense it sent ripples through the air, like an aftershock.

Silence fell.

They’d done it.

The room held its breath.

Timothy dropped back, rolling away and deactivating Armament, surprised he wasn’t more injured.

Dike, on the other hand, collapsed to his knees, panting hard.

His spear now looked like nothing more than twisted scrap metal.

But the silence didn’t last.

A pale hand still attached to her remaining arm lashed out with violent speed and snatched Dike from the ground like a doll.

She slammed him down, hard.

Once.

Twice.

Over and over, until the stone cracked beneath him.

And then a Stomp.

A deep crater formed where his body vanished into the ground.

Everyone stared in horror.

This wasn’t a death throe.

This was vengeance.

Then her head turned, blindfold and all toward Timothy.

Their eyes didn’t meet.

But he could feel her gaze.

The bride let out a scream, piercing and soul-rending.

Hunters stumbled back, clutching their ears.

It wasn’t just a sound.

It was inside their heads like glass shattering in their thoughts.

And that’s when the real horror began.

The ghostly brides, dozens of them began phasing through the cathedral walls, drawn to their queen.

Each one merged into the central bride’s body, healing her rapidly.

Her massive wound reformed itself slowly.

Her tattered veil slipped away.

She was... human.

Or once had been.

Pale skin, ancient beauty, and blindfolded eyes.

A bride lost to time.

She opened her mouth once more and screamed.

This time, it wasn’t just a sound.

It was emotion-triggering

Raw, overwhelming guilt.

A tidal wave of regret and sorrow flooded Timothy’s chest.

He staggered, nearly collapsing.

Behind him, even Gray quivered.

Some of the other hunters had tears streaming down their cheeks, not knowing why.

Others dropped to their knees, crippled by an invisible weight on their soul.

Timothy clenched his jaw.

His mind raced.

’What... the hell is this?’

An ability that allowed her to trigger emotions was weird.

Gray, however, was the first to recover.

In one swift motion, the termite leaped from Miriam’s limp arms, hitting the water with a soft splash.

Timothy still disoriented, barely processed the high-pitched scream that had now faded into an oppressive silence.

His thoughts were fogged, his senses scrambled, but not Gray’s.

The termite scuttled forward with frantic purpose, weaving through debris and kneeling figures like a possessed puppet. Timothy squinted.

His blurry vision couldn’t track it properly, but something about Gray’s movement was wrong, it wasn’t random.

It was going for the bride.

Timothy’s eyes widened.

He struggled to rise, body sluggish and heavy, brain thrumming like a broken drum.

He managed to get to one knee, panting hard.

Around him, most of the hunters were still reeling, holding their heads, or collapsed entirely.

Miriam was unconscious. frёeweɓηovel_coɱ

The cameramen and healers were down too.

Only the hardier warriors and mages remained upright, and even they were barely clinging to awareness.

Through his hazy perception, Timothy saw it, the bride had moved.

Just slightly, but unmistakably.

She had been limp a moment ago, but now She was healing. And Gray was heading straight for her.

"No, no, no, no..." Timothy mumbled, stumbling forward with shaky steps.

The bride’s hollow eyes locked on Gray.

Timothy gritted his teeth.

He couldn’t make it in time.

Gray reached the massive, severed arm that still gripped the spear and, with determined mandibles, began dragging it away slowly but steadily.

The bride turned, limping forward, her shattered hips reforming with eerie fluidity.

She didn’t rush.

She didn’t have to.

She was closer.

Timothy’s limbs screamed.

Every muscle begged him to stop, to collapse, to give in.

But he kept moving.

He didn’t need to get to Gray just close enough.

The moment the bride’s pale hand reached for the termite, Gray vanished in a flicker of light along with the arm and the black spear.

A beat of stunned silence.

Gray reappeared at Timothy’s side, clutching the loot like a prize.

Across the room, the bride halted and slowly turned.

Her stitched eyes fixed on Timothy a second time he interrupted her.

And for the first time, her face contorted into a frown.

Timothy staggered upright, clenched his jaw, and faced her fully.

His eyes slowly turned black until they were completely black.

No hesitation Nor running.

She charged.

So did he.

They collided like two forces of nature.

Timothy dove at her waist, ramming her, but her size dwarfed his.

He couldn’t push her back, only stop her momentarily.

She elbowed him hard in the back, knocking him to a knee. When she lifted her leg to kick, he rolled aside and struck at her other leg.

She lost balance and crashed forward.

The impact sent her tumbling face-first into the wet floor.

Timothy winced but didn’t stop.

He lunged again, only for her to lash out with a brutal kick, sending him sprawling backward, straight toward the throne.

Then she jolted.

The scarf.

It had wrapped around her ankle when she wasn’t paying attention, still loosely tied from earlier.

Now it yanked her toward him.

Timothy didn’t waste the opportunity.

With one fluid motion, he summoned his machete into his right hand.

The force of her kick was multipurpose and pulled her towards him; it also gave him the perfect opening; he shoved the machete forward, driving it through her throat.

"No more screams," he muttered.

She grabbed his arm just before the blade could finish the job.

Timothy grunted, feeling her iron grip tighten, trying to crush his bones.

In response, he activated Armament, reinforcing his arm and machete with shimmering mana.

The dark green aura surged, hardening his flesh and sharpening the weapon’s edge.

Their eyes met, hers burning with hatred, his with ruthless resolve.

And then, he pushed it even deeper.