Bulkathos faced Death from another world, his heart surging with the thrill of battling a true powerhouse.
Though this lady known as Death showed no outward signs of being battle-hardened, as Death incarnate, her strength could never be feeble.
"Oh, you're here to reclaim those souls?"
Death's skeletal face betrayed no expression, yet her voice hinted at a strangely good mood.
Bulkathos said nothing more, positioning Oath's Pride before him as he pondered his second weapon.
In this environment, the Ninety Barbarians' favored tactics might suit best—they excelled in focused, one-on-one slaughter.
Here in this otherworldly space, wide-area attacks could harm the frail mage.
Shattering this realm might devastate the peaceful world outside.
Bulkathos drew a heavy weapon resembling a cleaver.
"Oathkeeper," a blade that hastened the swing of both arms, seemingly bending the rules of time.
He lowered his head—not in submission, but to charge more fiercely!
A red glow erupted from Bulkathos—the manifestation of rage!
Under Death's influence, his fury was heavily suppressed.
At least the Berserker's Wrath stance was beyond reach.
But that didn't matter!
Having already unleashed his war cry, Bulkathos stamped his feet like drumbeats against the earth.
In an instant, he closed in on Death! The moment his crossed blades were blocked by her jade-like arm bones.
His barbaric weapons rained down savagely upon her!
Death stood frozen, like a novice who'd never seen combat!
Crimson light sprayed from the blades, streaking the air like a meteor shower trailing sparks!
Oathkeeper slammed into Death's shoulder with a grating screech.
Her black robe tore instantly, exposing bare bone!
Death rarely manifested flesh; she was mostly skeleton.
The shrill sound echoed like Harrogath's warriors sawing through an ice behemoth's tough bones.
Death's power was indeed beyond imagination!
But barbarian might was unstoppable!
A narrow gash appeared on her scapula!
"Ah!"
Death let out a soul-piercing shriek!
The agony struck the immobile Ancient One, wounding her soul and leaving her dizzy.
"Tch!"
Bulkathos spat in disdain, his blades unrelenting, yet it didn't stop him from scorning Death's empty power!
Oathkeeper hacked repeatedly at her sturdy shoulder bone, while Oath's Pride targeted the fragile joints of her arm!
Bulkathos aimed not to end Death eternally, but to reclaim that innocent family's souls!
Finally, Death reacted—like a bullied schoolgirl, she clutched her round, pale skull with both hands, heedless of everything.
This baffled the barbarian; he couldn't fathom defending by crouching and hugging one's head.
In that moment, the fierce blade storm halted!
"Are you really Death!?"
Even with her aura matching Malthael's and the immense pressure she exuded.
Death's skeletal form lacked tear ducts, or she'd be sobbing.
Bulkathos's towering battle lust extinguished at her childlike cower, twisting strangely into guilt for bullying a kid.
"Come on, you're Death."
Bulkathos grumbled, hooking his blades at his waist in frustration.
"With your attitude, in my world, the Witch Doctors would snatch you for experiments."
Bulkathos couldn't grasp how a supreme deity acted worse than him on his first battlefield.
His rage fully dissipated.
"Hand over that family's souls, and I'll let you go."
Bulkathos waved impatiently, urging her.
Death peeked warily from her hug, then her body began fading.
Clearly escaping—though her status dwarfed the Time Stone alone, full immunity was wishful thinking.
Faced with this unprecedented savage foe, Death's instinct was flight.
As Death itself, no entity of this rank should lack combat prowess.
But this world's Death seemed overly sheltered.
"You dare run!"
Bulkathos's blades struck her wrist before his words finished!
Not that he avoided lethal spots; only one arm remained solid.
The rest had vanished.
Crack! Oathkeeper lodged in her wrist bone, followed by Oath's Pride smashing its broad back!
Bulkathos faintly heard a sharp cry of pain, but his focus locked on the ivory hand bone.
Would this maim Death?
Bulkathos doubted it.
Even Tyrael, as a humanized archangel, could regenerate limbs beyond mortal ken.
Let alone Death, whose status surpassed Justice.
Bulkathos slowly picked up the jade-like hand bone, shaking it twice.
A boy's soul fluttered down like lint.
The sole survivor of that innocent family.
"Death, next time I see you, I'll grind your bones to dust and feed them to dogs!"
Bulkathos roared in irritation.
Nearby, the Ancient One teetered on unconsciousness.
She maintained the otherworldly space, containing Death and Bulkathos's powers.
Death's wail had scarred her soul; she was near collapse.
"Mage, I owe you another favor!"
Bulkathos felt a flicker of fondness for this mage persisting despite near-faint, but shook it off, grabbing the child's soul to return outside.
"Use that potion—it restores sixty percent of one's max state. As long as they're not fully dead, it'll help."
Death's arrival had frozen the Time Stone's power just before Bulkathos charged the crowd.
Outside, those scum—worthy of death a hundred times—revived oblivious, resuming their fight.
The family's souls, save the child's in Bulkathos's grasp, were taken by Death.
The Ancient One followed Bulkathos to the family's bodies, murmuring softly: "Is this what you faced?"
She referred to Bulkathos confronting Malthael; she'd glimpsed his memories via the ruby, but lacked true sense of death's tier.
Now, having touched Death, she grasped his resolve deeper.
(End of Chapter)