Chapter 321: Wilted Grace

Then Azriel moved—vanishing, leaving behind a curling trail of black mist that blossomed into roses of shadow.

In an instant, he was in front of the demon. Its ape-like features twisted into a mocking huff, as if to say:

Don’t bother.

The club came down in a blur—so fast that it was already a breath away from smashing into Azriel’s bloodied face. At the very last moment, he dropped low, the weapon whistling over his head. The demon snarled, switching grips with impossible speed, and brought the club down in a vertical arc that would fuse Azriel and the road into one smear.

It never connected.

Azriel slid between its legs in a low pivot, turning on his heel to face its massive back. Void Eater slashed down in a vertical line.

Black blood burst forth.

From the wound, dark tendrils writhed to life, burrowing inward, draining strength from the creature. The demon’s roar shook the air—only for the abyssal to lunge, its jagged blade aimed for Azriel’s ribs.

But Azriel exploded into a cloud of black petals.

The blade stabbed through empty air. Wind tore the petals away, revealing nothing behind them.

Both void creatures turned at once—only to find him standing atop a rooftop, staring down coldly. Red lightning crackled around him, black mist coiling like a serpent at his feet.

’Alright... let’s see how this one works.’

Azriel shifted his stance—left foot forward, right back—gripping Void Eater in both hands, raised above his head. His eyes never left them.

The black mist vanished.

’[Blooming Veins]’

He swung once.

A single black arc, honed to a razor’s edge, screamed from Void Eater’s blade. It cut through the air toward the two creatures with lethal speed.

They dodged aside in unison.

The arc struck the ground—and exploded.

When the dust cleared, the scene stole the air from their lungs. From the gash in the earth bloomed roses. Not black, but deep, blood-red—thriving in the wound like beauty feeding on violence.

’...Well, damn.’

A spark of excitement danced in Azriel’s eyes.

He swung again—another black arc ripping toward the demon. But before it even landed, he moved faster, his arms blurring. Horizontal. Vertical. Diagonal. A storm of black arcs rained down.

The demon roared, choosing not to dodge. Its club moved in furious sweeps, shattering arc after arc into dissolving mist. But each time it did, roses sprouted along the surface of the weapon, blooming defiantly.

Azriel’s eyes narrowed.

’That club... a soul weapon, huh.’

Then the demon hurled it.

Azriel’s instincts flared—eyes widening. He twisted right, landing on the roof’s edge—

—just as the abyssal appeared beside him, blade thrusting for his heart.

A wall of ice surged into existence, the sword piercing through and shattering it. But by then, Azriel was gone, the trail of black mist betraying his new position. The abyssal spun just in time to see Void Eater lunge toward it—

—and the annoying feather strike from behind.

Trapped between the two weapons, the abyssal looked as though it had no choice but to accept death.

Only... it melted.

Its body dissolved, flowing like molten stone into a pool at Azriel’s feet.

The feather froze midair, its tip flicking left and right in confusion.

A warning screamed in Azriel’s skull. He turned—just in time to see the club he’d dodged earlier hurtling back through the air.

’What the—’

He leapt from the rooftop, landing on the dirt as the club obliterated the house behind him, then whipped back into the demon’s hand.

In front of him, a molten pool shivered, rising, twisting—reshaping into the abyssal’s warped feminine form once more.

The demon’s heavy steps shook the ground as it moved to stand beside her, their dark silhouettes looming together.

Before the three of them could resume their clash, a sound tore through the world.

A horrible, piercing, unholy scream—inhuman in its pitch—ripped the air apart.

Every single one of them turned, their eyes drawn toward the distant place where their battle had begun.

Clouds began to gather, swallowing the stars. They churned and groaned like some furious god drawing breath, and thunder cracked, rolling through the night.

A drop of water struck the bridge of Azriel’s nose.

He frowned, looking up.

The rain followed—heavy, relentless—pouring down in sheets so thick it felt as though the world itself were drowning. Blood washed from his face in crimson rivulets.

It didn’t end there.

Another thunderclap roared, this one deep enough to rattle his chest. The sky split open—literally—clouds torn in half to reveal a straight, starry path between them. The rift stretched on without end, a clean cut in the heavens.

’It’s like the sky itself has been severed... just what the hell is going on there?’

How absurd could a fight between masters become? Against a monarch? Azriel wanted to see it...

But he had no time.

The two void creatures were already facing him again.

He exhaled slowly, shifting into a piercing stance—Void Eater angled forward, its hilt drawn close.

Both soul echos felt it: a shift in the air. For creatures born to hunt humans, their primal urge was always the same.

Kill.

Now, that instinct whispered something else.

Run.

’[Wilted Grace]’

The downpour became meaningless. The cold, wet weight of the rain vanished from sensation entirely. It felt like the world stilled.

Black mist stretched from Azriel in all directions—fine as silk threads—reaching out to weave themselves around the void creatures. Each thread connected to them like lines on a map.

Azriel’s eyes widened.

’...No way.’

He glanced down at Void Eater. Every thread began here—flowing from the blade and branching outward like veins.

’These... they’re pathways.’

Paths to guarantee a hit.

’They... they can’t see them, can they? Only I can...’

His body moved on instinct. Void Eater slid along one thread, and the rest dissolved into nothing.

Visions struck him—clear as daylight. Himself. The soul echoes. Movements they had yet to make.

He saw the flow of the fight before it happened.

When the visions faded, his breath caught.

’...Holy shit.’

A tremor passed his lips. Then a smile. Then laughter—low, growing—until it swelled into something wild, almost unhinged.

The demon lunged.

The rain stopped.

Azriel’s eyes burned with manic amusement. The club came from the left. He slipped right. It swung again—he crouched, the weapon hissing over his head. Roaring, the demon began to batter the air with inhuman speed, each strike meant to crush him to pulp.

Azriel dodged them all. Laughing.

’I can see it. I can see it. I can see every move! It’s like I know the future!’

One cut thread had given him the path to harm his target. He knew where each blow would land before it began.

The ground split beneath their feet, dust swelling, houses crumbling at the edges of the battlefield.

Then the abyssal moved.

Azriel caught the look it shared with the demon—silent communication—just before it appeared at his side, its sword lancing toward him.

He bent backward in an unnatural arch, both feet still planted, and the blade missed by inches. The abyssal sprang back—

—and the demon, now wreathed in flames, was upon him.

Azriel’s instincts screamed. He ignored them. He smiled. He didn’t move.

The club hit his head—passed through him—and the demon itself dissolved into a wisp of fire swirling harmlessly around him. Gone.

The real one came from behind.

It lunged at breakneck speed, fire coiling in hatred around its body, its intent clear: take his head in a single blow.

A white streak flashed in the night.

The demon froze, instincts screaming to dodge. It turned, swinging its club—too slow. The feather pierced the weapon, shattering it into splinters, then drove through both hands. Black blood gushed, pooling on the ground.

Azriel laughed harder, mockery dancing in his gaze.

"I never had to whistle to make it move! I just did it because it looked cool!"

The annoying feather didn’t relent, streaking for the demon again.

Azriel moved with it.

Enraged, the demon’s fire flared hotter, massive orbs of flame swirling above before hurtling toward them. The feather weaved through them effortlessly; each detonation left a smoking crater. Azriel outran the fireballs, closing the gap until he was only an arm’s length away.

The demon’s fist, ablaze, came for him—

"You were never my target."

—and Azriel pivoted, dashing away.

Not from the fight.

Toward the abyssal.

"You were."

It hadn’t expected him to charge at it. It had been charging at Azriel, but now they met head-on.

Azriel, smiling, wreathed in red lightning, thrust Void Eater—

—only for the abyssal to melt into a molten pool, sinking into the dirt.

’Got you.’

While the annoying feather kept the demon occupied, Azriel crouched and pressed both hands to the ground. White mist bled from his lips.

The world froze.

Ice spread in a tidal wave—across the battlefield, over homes, shattered homes, crawling up scorched stone. The air thickened with mist; frost kissed his hair, turning its tips white. Patches of ice webbed across his pale skin as his breath came in heavy bursts.

The fire around the demon guttered.

Then came a horrible scream.

The abyssal erupted from the ground, shattering the frozen earth, its form whole once more. It landed on both feet, no longer hovering, blood spilling from the cracks where eyes should be, from the slit where a mouth wasn’t.

Azriel was already moving.

Void Eater cut through the air.

A black arc roared forth, cleaving diagonally toward the abyssal. The creature, sensing death, looked up just in time to see it inches from its face.

It dodged at the last possible second.

The arc missed the kill, but not entirely—it sheared off its right forearm. The limb hit the ice with a dull thud, black blood gushing in thick streams.

The abyssal screamed again, its voice rattling the bones of the dead.

The annoying feather finally abandoned its harassment of the demon, drifting toward Azriel and circling lazily around his head.

’No roses this time, huh...’

Azriel didn’t spare it a glance. His eyes stayed locked on the abyssal.

"I figured you out."

He leveled Void Eater at the creature.

"The moment you dissolve into that pool, you can phase through anything... anything without mana, that is."

The abyssal moved, stooping to pick up its severed forearm. The moment it touched it, the limb crumbled into dust. Azriel’s smile spread.

"My ice spread through the dirt itself. Froze everything. And my ice—" he tilted his head, voice curling into mockery, "—is made of mana. You were phasing through mana. Which you can’t. So now, every time you try to slip into the ground, a wall, anything—" his voice dropped to a daring whisper—"I’ll freeze it. Or I’ll electrocute it. Please try me. I bet you didn’t expect me to figure that out so fast, did you?"

His laugh echoed on the frozen air before he turned to the demon.

"And you. You thought I wouldn’t catch on to your little trick? That you could make a fake body with fire and fool me? Too bad. Your dumb monkey brain really thought it could take someone like me by surprise." His grin was sharp enough to cut.

"Don’t use that brain too much next time. You might lose more than your weapon when I outsmart you again."

The demon bared its teeth, eyes blazing with fire.

Suddenly, blood trickled down Azriel’s nose. He coughed crimson onto the ice, his stance swaying for an instant. The aura around him broke as concentration slipped.

’Damn...’

It... seems he was injured.

Still, he kept his gaze on them, calculating, waiting for the next move.

’The first three forms of Dance of Death never hurt me. But the higher the form, the more... insane it becomes. And the more it takes.’

The fourth and fifth forms had let him shatter the demon’s soul weapon, pierce its hands, and sever the abyssal’s arm—all while barely taking a scratch. But the price was steep. The fourth form could burn through his entire mana reserves in an instant if he wasn’t careful. The fifth—cutting just one thread—had drained a quarter of his mana.

’It’s not a guaranteed kill... cutting the thread just shows the path. Following it doesn’t mean the death is certain.’

White mist poured from his breath. The feather had settled into his hair like a nesting bird.

’This is bad. Really bad. I’ve burned too much mana, hurt myself, and I still haven’t killed either of them. And they haven’t even gone all out yet.’

Both lunged.

The demon’s hands burned like furnaces. The abyssal’s one-armed grip clenched its stone sword.

Azriel met them head-on—parries, deflections, weaving footwork. The ice beneath shattered under their combined assault.

Now they were going all in. He could feel it. And he knew they had cards left. Too many.

He didn’t.

’I can’t use the fifth form again. Not with both alive. It’s not even guaranteed to kill.’

The ground trembled—not from their fight, but from Ranni and Mirius, battling somewhere deeper in the Forest of Eternity.

’I can’t let this fight spill further. The tunnels are probably somewhere ahead, my ice hasn’t reached them. I have to end it here.’

The abyssal’s blade sliced a lock of his hair. The demon’s fist slammed down, fire erupting in a blazing line.

Azriel tapped his foot—ice surged forward, drowning the flames, freezing the ground anew. But the abyssal was already behind him. Their blades met; the abyssal’s strength won, knocking Void Eater aside. The sword came for his head—but the annoying feather shot between them, deflecting the strike.

They leapt back just in time for the demon’s strike to crater the ice where Azriel had stood. The abyssal’s gaze found him again.

And then... a blue glow rose from its sword.

Azriel’s expression darkened.

’Shit.’

The first swing unleashed a blazing blue arc—fast. Too fast. He barely dodged, the slash carving through ice, dirt, and stone alike. Then came a storm of arcs, ripping toward him in relentless waves.

He moved through them, forced into a dance he didn’t enjoy.

The demon was suddenly beside him, a flaming punch already in motion. Azriel dodged the final arc—but too late to avoid the fist.

He made a snap choice—he hurled Void Eater toward the abyssal. The annoying feather streaked after it. The abyssal swatted the blade aside and locked in combat with the feather.

Azriel desummoned Void Eater mid-flight, braced, and crossed his arms as the demon’s punch landed.

Heat flared. The impact hurled him across the battlefield—through one ice-coated house, then another, then another—until he skidded to a stop in the frozen street.

He rolled to his feet instantly, summoning Void Eater again—only for the demon to be behind him.

His eyes went wide.

’It’s getting faster with every punch it throws!’

The abyssal was there too, abandoning the feather to converge on him. The demon at his front. The abyssal at his back. And the annoying feather behind the abyssal.

All moved at once.

Azriel’s free arm pointed toward the abyssal, lightning sparking in red arcs. His sword angled toward the demon. He was about to use Dance of Death again.

The world slowed.

Inches. Closer.

They were about to strike—and froze.

Not Azriel. Them.

’Huh?’

The abyssal’s sword dropped from its grip, the annoying feather lodged deep in its shoulder. The demon’s fist hung motionless in the air, fire locked in place.

Azriel leapt back, dropping to one knee, eyes narrowing.

Something shimmered. Fine, gleaming threads crisscrossed the air, catching the light.

’...Strings?’

Then a voice—light, familiar, almost sing-song—drifted from above.

"Master~ I have finally found you~!"

Azriel’s head snapped up to a rooftop.

Silver hair. That face.

His mouth fell open.

"N–Nol...?"