Varzak drew his ashen blade from its sheath. A twisted grin carved across his face as he swung the weapon, the air splitting with sharp, metallic echoes.
His single eye fixed on Ren, no, it pierced through him, as if seeking the door beyond, searching for its prey.
Then his gaze returned to Ren: a frail-looking figure, slim, even short, hardly resembling the image of a dangerous warrior.
He stared at Ren's jet-black armor, then at the sapphire-blue eyes that glimmered beneath it.
"You're brave, kid." His unblinking eye remained locked on Ren's doll-like face. "But I wonder, what will you really gain by staying behind for your friends?"
"Will it be the worried glances they cast… or their indifference when you fall?"
"Looking at you reminds me of my own face when I was young. It makes me want to rip that face apart." Varzak leaned forward, vanishing within a single breath.
His form blurred, reappearing right before Ren. He was fast, but his ashen sword was faster.
The blade traced a cruel arc toward Ren's face. Every nerve in his body screamed. Instinctively, Ren raised his sword to block.
A deafening crash rang out. The force behind the strike blasted his arm back with overwhelming power.
Before Ren could even process the impact, Varzak's boot slammed into his stomach. The blow sent him crashing across the stone floor.
He tumbled and skidded on the cold rock, his breath stolen, as if his organs were about to be crushed.
His grip nearly failed, the sword slipping as his vision spun. But before he could recover, Varzak was already upon him again.
A diagonal slash came crashing down, roaring like thunder tearing the skies. The gray steel howled, the sheer pressure shaking the air as though the space itself were being crushed.
Ren gritted his teeth, his body trembling under primal reflex. His right knee hit the stone while his left foot braced hard against the ground.
He tightened his grip on Windslash. Blue light burst along the blade, cutting a sharp arc.
In a life-or-death heartbeat, he darted left, thrusting his blade toward his foe's side. The Sword Skill [Stab] ignited.
A piercing blue streak shot forward like an arrow loosed from its string.
Varzak's strike missed, his blade cleaving only air, gouging a scar into the stone floor.
Yet he showed no surprise. His gaunt arm twisted with unnatural flexibility, his ashen sword snapping into an impossible angle.
In the blink of an eye, it redirected, screaming straight toward the very spot Ren had lunged into.
Ren felt the danger crash over him before he struck. His jaw clenched, and the name of a skill burst in his mind.
[Phantom Arc]!
A faint violet gleam flared like an illusion, tracing a reverse diagonal.
Ren's and Varzak's blades collided. The impact thundered like exploding steel.
Sparks erupted, scattering in a rain of light across the icy stone floor.
The recoil hammered into Ren's body, throwing him back. His feet scraped deep trails across the ground, smoke rising from the friction. Even through his blackened armor, his legs burned as if plunged into fire.
His hand went numb. His wrist trembled violently, drained of strength to even hold his sword.
Ren's breath grew ragged. He knew it too well: no matter how hard he pushed himself, no matter how refined his technique, the gap in strength and level was a wall that loomed beyond reach.
Varzak stood unmoving. Not a step back. His corpse-pale face twisted into a grotesque grin, the scar across it twitching like a living centipede.
"Not bad…" His voice rasped, eyes blazing in the darkness. "Dodging one strike with a skill, then blocking another with a different one… you've got some talent. But this isn't nearly enough, kid."
"You seem fond of those petty sword skills…" Varzak scoffed, laughter rasping between clenched teeth. He raised his curved blade, the steel's edge casting half his face in shadow.
One half scarred, grotesque, the centipede-like wound writhing across his eye. The other half gleamed with a deranged passion, warrior, executioner, and artist, poised for a dance of death.
"But a true warrior doesn't use such clumsy tricks. Let me show you what real Sword Skills look like."
The ashen blade quivered, cloaked in a murky, twisted aura like the breath of restless spirits.
[Severing Symphony]
The air detonated with a shrill, slicing scream. In an instant, Varzak vanished, leaving only the sound of a ghostly gale.
"Behind you…" His voice hissed, dripping venom in Ren's ear. "Never turn your back on a predator."
Before Ren could react...
Agony tore down his spine. The blade carved a searing line, blood bursting from the wound, then shattering into crimson pixels like withered petals.
–220
Ren hadn't even regained his composure before the ashen blade exploded into a storm of afterimages, like countless demonic claws lunging all at once.
One, two, three… eight consecutive slashes, from his shoulder, ribs, thigh, all the way to his forearm. Each cut was a shrill note in the symphony of damage Varzak was orchestrating.
-92
-112
-113
-120
-...
Ren roared, struggling to tighten his grip on Windslash, but his body staggered, the pain crushing each breath. In the span of a heartbeat, his HP had dropped by nearly two-thirds.
Yet what chilled him more than the wounds, Varzak had deliberately avoided the vital points. Neck, head, heart… he didn't touch them, like a cat gleefully toying with its prey.
If he wanted, even a basic strike could triple the damage. But no… Varzak chose to torment.
Only thanks to his black armor was Ren still standing after that storm of blows.
The absurdly high defense stats of the equipment had dispersed most of the damage, though the wounds still leaked pixelated red motes, scattering like ruby dust.
"Oh… truly enviable…," Varzak curled his lips, his cold eye flickering with amusement.
"That armor… I recognize it. A rare piece. You can only obtain it as far as the tenth floor, and even then, not every Dark Elf can possess one."
He licked his lips, his gravelly voice dragging low:
"This just got more interesting, kid. That means our game will last longer."
Exhaling heavily, Ren tilted his head slightly, as though searching for balance in his battered body.
His burning breath clouded the frozen air, yet his eyes still gleamed, locked onto the enemy before him.
Sweat mixed with blood at his wounds, stinging even sharper, but Ren did not falter.
He had been fighting nonstop, against Forest Elf soldiers, against the Fallen, then rushing here in desperation. His stamina was drained, his arm numb, but his eyes had not wavered.
Varzak clenched his teeth. The twisted scar across his face spasmed as though alive, his whole body trembling with warped, incomprehensible rage.
"Those eyes…" he growled, each word scraping like metal. "They drive me mad. I want to rip them out… and crush them under my heel."
No warning.
A chilling "whoosh" tore the air.
Varzak lunged, vanishing like a phantom, then reappearing directly before Ren.
The jagged gray blade thrust toward Ren's sapphire eyes. It was not a calculated strike, but raw, unfiltered fury.
His crimson eye burned with hatred, as if that calm gaze alone denied his very existence.
Ren tightened his grip. His body screamed with pain, his legs nearly refusing to obey, but instinct forced him to raise his blade.
Steel clashed in a deafening crack, sparks bursting bright between their locked gazes.
One, a predator driven insane.
The other, a fragile human who would not retreat.
The ashen blade drove straight toward his sight.
Ren gritted his teeth, body taut, twisting his wrist to drag his sword up to block.
CLANG!
His weapon intercepted the strike just in time, but the angle was skewed. A flash of steel swept across his left cheek.
Instantly, a stream of crimson pixels burst out, scattering into glittering motes before vanishing.
Ren froze, skin searing as if burned. One fraction slower, and his eye would have been pierced.
Varzak's lips twisted, his scar stretching grotesquely with his grin. "That was close, wasn't it, kid?"
Ren exhaled sharply, heart pounding wildly in his chest, but his sapphire eyes did not blink.
It wasn't indifference, it was focus sharpened to its utmost. He had noticed, in Varzak's movements, in those lightning strikes, that just before vanishing, his right shoulder dipped, his wrist lowered before shifting the blade's path.
A gap. Small. Tiny. But Ren had seen it.
His breaths grew heavier, yet steadier. The pain compressed into pure concentration.
In that moment, Ren was no longer fighting on instinct.
He was learning.
Ren remembered… the battle against the Mirror Beast.
Every move of his back then had been reflected, smoother, sharper, perfected. That flawless image had etched itself in his memory, driving him to cut away every mistake, every wasted motion in his own style.
But practice alone, without reference or guidance, had left him stagnant.
Now, through Varzak's feral fighting style, it was as if the lesson had returned. A savage, beastlike approach, shedding everything, every thought, every hesitation, focused only on tormenting the foe.
It wasn't the same as the Mirror Beast's reflection, but still...it was something to learn from.
"..."
Ren tightened his grip on Windslash, and his slender body vanished, in the same ghostlike flicker as Varzak.
The air shook with the sound of slicing wind. Ren's speed still didn't match Varzak's, but his movements had grown sharper, refined like a honed blade.
He reappeared at Varzak's left flank. Windslash swept upward in a curved arc, from belly to throat.
Varzak tilted his head, lips curling. "Too slow."
The ashen blade twisted, ready to deflect as before.
But in that instant, Ren twisted his wrist.
The sword's path shifted cutting across in a reverse arc.
[Phantom Arc]!
A violet flash erupted, carving a brilliant trail through the dust.
The blade howled, slashing across Varzak's chest. Crimson pixels burst out, scattering like shattered glass.
Varzak staggered half a step. The old scar on his face twitched violently, his twisted grin warping further.
"..."
He looked down at the fresh wound on his chest, then back up at Ren. In his lone eye, for the first time, glimmered a spark of twisted delight.
"Not bad… kid…"