Realm Lord
Chapter 64: The Reaper of the Roses (3)

Chapter 64: The Reaper of the Roses (3)

Arthur was fighting tooth and nail, his muscles burning with each swing of his blade. One grimhound after another fell before him. Yet for each beast he felled, another scar was added to his ever-growing collection—a tapestry of pain etched across his skin in crimson lines.

The rain had plastered his hair to his forehead, rivulets of water mixing with blood as they tracked down his face. The storm above continued its furious symphony, providing a grim soundtrack to what might be his final battle.

But Arthur couldn’t hold out much longer. His movements, once fluid and precise, were becoming increasingly desperate. He was getting caught more frequently, dealing fewer killing blows and simply defending against the onslaught. His breath came in rapid, shallow gasps as his stamina drained like water through cupped hands. The initial rush of adrenaline was fading, and the pain of his accumulated injuries built with each passing moment, threatening to overwhelm him.

’It won’t be much longer now,’ he thought grimly, gritting his teeth against a fresh wave of agony that shot through his wounded thigh.

Arthur parried another beast’s attack, the impact sending jarring vibrations up his arm. He pivoted on his good leg and turned around just in time to shove his blade through another grimhound that had attempted to flank him. The creature’s otherworldly howl was cut short as steel pierced through corrupted flesh and bone, its glowing eyes dimming as death claimed it.

Every once in a while, he’d catch sight of the Reaper in the chaos. It was drawing closer every second, menacingly inching forward step by step. Its patient advance was perhaps more terrifying than any rapid attack could be; it knew the outcome was inevitable.

Arthur’s attention lingered on the Reaper for slightly too long and paid for his momentary lapse in concentration. Razor-sharp claws gashed across his back, tearing into the flesh beneath his tattered robes. He yelped in pain, the sound escaping unbidden from his lips as he stumbled forward before managing to turn around to face this new threat.

The grimhound that had wounded him lunged again, jaws snapping for his throat. Arthur, drawing on reserves of strength he didn’t know he still possessed, sidestepped the attack and brought his sword down in a powerful arc. The blade sliced clean through the creature’s body, separating it into two twitching halves that collapsed to the sodden ground.

Arthur took a moment to survey the battlefield, his chest heaving with exertion. He’d probably killed about seven or eight hounds by now, their remains scattered across the muddied terrain. Aziel was dealing with the creatures less swiftly than Arthur without his ability, but between the two of them, there were probably still no less than twelve grimhounds left.

To be honest, Arthur didn’t even know how he’d made it this far. Most new Chosen would have been killed by the first couple of beasts—perhaps it was luck, or Arthur’s uniquely strong ability making him so formidable at night. But either way, luck was running out, trickling away like the blood from his numerous wounds.

Arthur was given a moment to breathe as, for some reason, the remaining grimhounds that had been attacking him seemed to become... preoccupied. Their attention shifted elsewhere, drawn by some unseen signal or promise of easier prey.

Arthur’s heart dropped like a stone as his head whipped to where Aziel was fighting. The realization hit him.

"Oh no," Arthur let out lightly under his breath, the words barely audible above the rumble of thunder.

In the not-too-far distance was Aziel... he was struggling, and the hounds sensed it like sharks detecting blood in water. They were ganging up on him, abandoning their assault on Arthur to concentrate on the weaker target.

Aziel dodged a lunge and sliced its head off with his spear, the weapon moving in a graceful arc that belied his fatigue. He immediately spun around to stab another incoming hound, his movements becoming increasingly desperate but no less skilled. He pierced it clean through, and for a moment, the monster hung on the spear tip, impaled but not yet dead... for a moment, Aziel was left vulnerable... a moment was all it took.

Aziel was tackled from the side by another grimhound, the impact knocking him off-balance. He rolled with the monster and ended on top where he managed to free his spear and kill it with a quick thrust to its skull. But then, while he was busy on the ground, they took their chance. Another one jumped on him as he attempted to rise.

Aziel spun and managed to get the handle of his spear between himself and the hound but ended up on his back with the beast on top, its slavering jaws inches from his face as he struggled to keep it at bay. The strain showed on his features, illuminated by another flash of lightning that cast the scene in stark relief.

Arthur looked on as his throat turned dry, a cold dread seeping into his bones that had nothing to do with the rain soaking him to the skin.

"NO, AZIEL!" Arthur’s scream tore from his throat, raw and desperate, but his words were swept up into the chaos, unheard by his companion as another beast jumped on top of him... and another and another. Soon there was a mountain of undead grimhounds atop Aziel, and he was nowhere to be seen beneath the writhing mass of corrupted flesh.

Arthur was already in a sprint, ignoring the protests of his battered body as he tried to make it there before it was too late. Each step sent fresh agony through his wounded leg, blood rapidly trickling down to soak into his boot, but he pushed through the pain. The closer he got, the grimmer the situation looked.

Arthur gripped his sword tighter, knuckles white against the hilt. "NO!" The word escaped as both denial and battle cry. His feet bounced off the ground with renewed determination, forcing his failing body forward through sheer will.

He was getting closer with every stride but was also losing hope with each passing second. Aziel was already dead; he had to be. Under a mountain like that, no one could survive the crushing weight, the tearing claws, the gnashing teeth. But Arthur wouldn’t just stand by without trying; he refused to abandon his friend, to surrender to despair. He wouldn’t lose hope while breath remained in his body.

He got closer and closer when suddenly everything felt... off. The clouds above began to grumble more intensely, the sound different from the previous thunder—deeper, more purposeful, as if the sky itself was drawing breath for something momentous. The rain seemed frozen in air, droplets suspended in an impossible moment of stillness.

Arthur’s dark sense was overflowing with an awkward, unknown feeling he couldn’t explain. It prickled along his skin, raised the hair on his arms, and filled the air with crackling potential.

Arthur did not stop running but slowed his pace as this feeling consumed him, wrapping around his senses like a suffocating blanket.

"What th—" His words were caught before they could escape when suddenly he was sent flying backward.

Lightning struck the mountain of dead hounds that covered Aziel—not just any lightning, but the biggest bolt Arthur had ever seen. It descended from the heavens with divine fury, a pillar of blinding white-blue energy that connected sky to earth. The thunderclap that followed was deafening, a physical force that pounded against Arthur’s eardrums.

The lightning killed, dispersed, and burned all the monsters instantaneously, their bodies disintegrating into ash. The ground ruptured from the impact, chunks of earth and stone exploding outward in a devastating shockwave that sent Arthur flying through the air like a rag doll.