Blake knelt in the spreading pool of blood, Pabel's corpse sprawled before him, and watched the world tear itself apart.
His face remained blank. Empty. Like someone had reached into his skull and scooped out everything that made him human, leaving only a hollow shell wearing skin.
The warm mana core below his navel pulsed weakly, as if trying to rouse him from the depths. The demon fragment stirred in the furthest recesses of his merged consciousness, sensing opportunity in his shattered state, testing the boundaries of his awareness. But Blake felt none of it. Felt nothing at all.
The system window blazed across his vision—no longer subtle, no longer waiting politely at the edges. It filled his entire field of view with desperate urgency.
[CRITICAL ALERT: USER UNRESPONSIVE]
[INITIATING EMERGENCY ANALYSIS PROTOCOL]
[BATTLEFIELD ASSESSMENT COMMENCING]
Blake's empty eyes stared through the translucent text, unseeing.
[THREAT ASSESSMENT]
[Enemy Count: 18 Remaining Hostiles]
[Elite Combatants: 3 Active, 1 Support]
[Allied Forces: 1 (Critical Condition)]
[User Status: Severe Psychological Shock - Catatonic]
The words scrolled past meaninglessly. Blake's consciousness had retreated somewhere deep and unreachable, hiding from reality in the only way it knew how.
Twenty paces away—or maybe more, distance had become meaningless—Aldric fought for his life.
The Chief Inquisitor moved like a wounded lion brought to bay, each motion still deadly despite growing exhaustion and catastrophic injuries. His sword blazed with holy light, white-gold radiance that should have incinerated mere mortals on contact. Each swing left trails of sacred fire hanging in the air like frozen lightning.
But it wasn't enough.
Three opponents circled him with the coordinated precision of predators who'd hunted together for years. Not random thugs. Not desperate cultists throwing themselves at targets with suicidal fervor. These were professionals—elite killers executing a contract with brutal efficiency.
[ENEMY ANALYSIS - THREAT ALPHA]
[Height: 7'2" | Weight: 340+ lbs | Armor: Corrupted Shadowsteel]
[Weapon: Executioner's Greataxe - Demonic Enhancement Detected]
[Combat Style: Overwhelming Power - Strength Rating: 156]
[Threat Level: EXTREME]
The largest dominated Blake's peripheral vision even through his dissociative haze. A mountain of muscle and black armor, easily seven feet tall, shoulders broad enough to fill doorways and block out the burning sky behind him. The armor itself seemed wrong—not just dark, but light-devouring, as if shadows had been hammered into the shape of plate mail and then given hunger. In his massive hands: an axe that looked more like an execution tool than a weapon, its blade etched with symbols that writhed and shifted when Blake's traumatized eyes tried to focus on them.
Each swing came with the full weight of that enormous body behind it—upward strikes launched from low stances, using legs and core and shoulders to generate momentum that no amount of skill could fully deflect. Pure physics transformed into violence.
When Aldric tried to block one of those strikes head-on, the impact drove him backward three full steps, boots carving trenches in blood-soaked earth. His arms visibly shook from absorbing the force, the blessed steel of his sword ringing like a struck bell.
[ENEMY ANALYSIS - THREAT BETA]
[Height: 5'8" | Weight: 165 lbs | Armor: Shadowsteel Light Variant]
[Weapons: Twin Curved Blades - Poison Coating Detected]
[Combat Style: Precision Assassination - Agility Rating: 142]
[Threat Level: EXTREME]
The second attacker moved like water given lethal purpose. Smaller—almost slight compared to his companion—but infinitely more dangerous in his own way. Curved blades in each hand, the kind that could remove limbs with surgical precision or open arteries with a whisper-soft touch. He flowed around Aldric's defenses like smoke through a fence, striking from angles that shouldn't exist, each slash coordinated with his companions' attacks to create openings where none should be.
A blade whispered past Aldric's throat, close enough to part skin. A thin line of red appeared. The Chief Inquisitor twisted away with desperate speed, but the movement exposed his flank to the third opponent.
[ENEMY ANALYSIS - THREAT GAMMA]
[Height: 6'4" | Weight: 280 lbs | Armor: Shadowsteel Heavy Variant]
[Weapon: War Hammer - Bone-Crushing Enchantment]
[Combat Style: Methodical Destruction - Constitution Rating: 138]
[Threat Level: EXTREME]
The third fighter wielded a war hammer—brutal, unsubtle, devastating. Each swing carried enough force to pulverize bone and rupture organs even through blessed armor. He fought with methodical patience, waiting for openings his companions created, then delivering crushing blows that made Aldric's holy armor crack with sounds like breaking ice spreading across a frozen lake.
They worked in perfect synchronization. When the axe-wielder attacked high, forcing Aldric's guard up, the swordsman struck low. When Aldric committed to countering the swordsman, the hammer fell like divine judgment from the side. A triangle of death, constantly rotating, never giving him space to breathe or recover.
[WARNING: FOURTH COMBATANT DETECTED]
[CRITICAL TACTICAL INFORMATION]
[ANALYZING...]
The system's text flared brighter, as if trying to force Blake's attention through sheer luminosity.
[ENEMY ANALYSIS - PRIMARY THREAT]
[Distance: 40 feet from combat zone]
[Class: Black Mage - Ritual Support]
[Current Activity: BARRIER MAINTENANCE]
[Equipment: Demon Heart Container - Active]
Through Blake's blank stare, his vision caught it—highlighted now by glowing system markers that outlined the figure in pulsing red. A fourth figure standing well back from the direct combat, robed in the same light-devouring black as the armored killers. Both hands held something at chest height with reverent care.
A box. Glass or crystal, transparent enough to see the contents even from this distance.
Inside: a heart.
[ITEM ANALYSIS: CORRUPTED DEMON HEART]
[Function: Divine Power Suppression Field]
[Radius: 50 feet]
[Effect: Reduces Holy Magic Potency by 73%]
[Effect: Blocks Divine Communication/Reinforcement]
[CONCLUSION: THIS IS THE SOURCE OF ALDRIC'S WEAKNESS]
Not metaphorical. An actual heart, black as rotted meat, pulsing with rhythms that had nothing to do with life. Each beat sent ripples through the air—visible distortions like heat waves, spreading outward in concentric circles that washed over the battlefield in regular intervals.
Whenever those waves passed over Aldric, his holy light dimmed. Just for an instant. Just enough to matter. Just enough to slow his blade by a fraction of a second, to weaken his defensive barriers by a thin margin, to cut him off from the divine source that powered his most devastating abilities.
[TACTICAL ASSESSMENT]
[Aldric Varn - Current Status:]
[HP: 23% and Falling]
[Holy Power Access: 27% of Maximum]
[Injuries: Shattered Shoulder, Broken Ribs (Multiple), Internal Bleeding (Severe)]
[Combat Effectiveness: 31% and Declining]
[Survival Probability: 2%]
[IF BARRIER IS DESTROYED:]
[Aldric's Holy Power Would Restore to 100%]
[Survival Probability Would Increase to 67%]
[RECOMMENDATION: DESTROY THE DEMON HEART]
The analysis scrolled across Blake's vision in desperate urgency. But his mind, retreated into protective catatonia, processed none of it. The words might as well have been written in smoke for all the impact they had.
[USER, CAN YOU HEAR THIS?]
[PLEASE RESPOND]
[YOUR INTERVENTION COULD CHANGE THE OUTCOME]
Nothing. Blake's breathing continued—shallow, mechanical. His heart beat. His blood circulated. But the person who inhabited that body had gone somewhere else, somewhere deep and dark where the horror couldn't reach.
Aldric knew about the barrier. Blake could see it in the way the older man's eyes kept tracking to the robed figure, in the way his expression hardened with grim understanding, in the set of his jaw that spoke of desperate calculations.
He can't reach it. The system's analysis continued, feeding information to a user who couldn't receive it. The three melee combatants maintain perfect positioning. Any attempt to break through would expose him to lethal strikes. He's trapped.
The axe came again—upward swing, launched from a deep squat, the massive warrior putting his entire body weight behind the blow. Muscles bunched. Armor plates shifted. The axe blade caught firelight as it rose, edge sharp enough to split atoms, trailing darkness that was more than mere shadow.
Aldric tried to sidestep. Too slow. Too tired. Too injured.
The axe caught his sword mid-deflection. The impact was titanic—a sound like church bells being struck with sledgehammers, like reality itself protesting the collision of such forces. Aldric's blessed blade held, but his body didn't. He flew backward, boots leaving the ground entirely, arms windmilling as he crashed into the burning remains of a supply wagon.
Wood exploded around him. Embers showered upward. His body hit the wagon's iron frame with sickening force.
Before he could recover, before he could even catch the breath that had been driven from his lungs, the swordsman was there—both curved blades raised high, reflecting flames, singing their death-song as they descended in a scissoring pattern designed specifically to remove heads from shoulders.
Aldric rolled. Pure instinct moving a body too damaged to obey conscious thought. The blades bit earth where his neck had been, burying themselves six inches deep in packed dirt with the force of their swing.
Then the hammer fell.
CRACK.
The sound of breaking.
It struck Aldric's left shoulder pauldron directly. The holy armor—blessed by high priests, enchanted by master craftsmen, designed to withstand demonic corruption—shattered like porcelain dropped from a great height. Fragments of blessed steel scattered in all directions, some pieces embedding themselves in nearby trees, others skittering across blood-slicked ground.
Aldric's scream tore through the night. Raw. Animalistic. The sound of bones splintering under impossible force, of flesh pulping, of a warrior's pride breaking against pain too severe to endure silently.
[ALDRIC VARN STATUS UPDATE]
[HP: 15%]
[Left Shoulder: DESTROYED]
[Combat Effectiveness: 18%]
[Survival Probability: 0.8%]
He staggered upright somehow—impossible, but real. Sword raised in a guard position despite the shoulder hanging at an unnatural angle, bones visible through torn flesh, arm dangling uselessly. Blood poured from beneath his breastplate in rhythmic pulses, painting the purple cloak black, pooling at his feet.
Around them, the last of the knights were dying.
[ALLIED FORCES UPDATE]
[Remaining: 3 Knights]
[Status: All Critical]
[Expected Survival: 0]
A knight to Blake's left took a spear through the chest, the corrupted point erupting from his back in a spray of shattered ribs and pulped lung tissue. The man screamed until blood filled his airways, then made wet gurgling sounds, eyes wide with incomprehension, then nothing. His body remained upright for three full seconds before toppling sideways.
Another knight—older, gray-bearded, face weathered by decades of service—fought with the desperate strength of cornered prey facing overwhelming predators. He killed one attacker, sword finding the gap between helmet and gorget. Then another, shield-bashing a cultist hard enough to cave in his skull. Then five surrounded him. They cut him apart slowly, methodically, like butchers reducing a carcass. Removing pieces. Arms first. Then legs. He was still alive, still screaming, when they started on the second leg.
The massacre continued. Efficient. Professional. Inevitable.
[CONCLUSION: TOTAL TACTICAL FAILURE]
[ALL ALLIED FORCES WILL BE ELIMINATED]
[USER SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: 4%]
[RECOMMENDATION: RUN WHILE ATTENTION IS FOCUSED ON ALDRIC]
Aldric's breathing came in ragged gasps. Each inhale brought fresh blood bubbling from his lips, coating his beard, dripping from his chin. Broken ribs had punctured something vital—lung, maybe, or something worse. The shoulder injury made his sword arm nearly useless, every movement sending visible spasms of agony across his face.
But his eyes burned with fury that transcended pain.
The three killers circled again, preparing for the final exchange. No rush. No wasted energy. Just patient predators waiting for wounded prey to exhaust the last of its strength.
Aldric's lips moved. Words in a language Blake's system immediately began translating—guttural, harsh syllables that seemed to tear at reality's fabric.
[SPELL DETECTED: FINAL SANCTIFICATION]
[Type: Sacrifice Magic - Self-Immolation Class]
[Effect: Converts User's Life Force to Pure Holy Energy]
[Duration: 30 Seconds Maximum]
[Cost: USER'S LIFE]
[WARNING: THIS IS A DEATH SPELL]
Holy light erupted from Aldric's body—not the measured radiance of controlled technique, but an explosion of divine power that turned night into day. The brilliance seared Blake's vision even through his dissociative state, even through the protective dimming the system tried to apply. Shadows fled. Darkness retreated. For fifty feet in every direction, the world became white fire.
The three attackers recoiled, raising armored arms against the light that threatened to burn through their corruption-forged protection.
Aldric moved.
Despite shattered shoulder, despite broken ribs grinding with every motion, despite blood loss that should have killed him three times over—he moved with speed that defied physics. Divine intervention made flesh. His sword became a streak of white fire cutting through darkness like the finger of an angry god.
[COMBAT SEQUENCE ANALYSIS]
[Aldric Speed: 247% of Normal Human Maximum]
[Holy Enhancement: MAXIMUM]
[Time Remaining: 28 Seconds]
The swordsman—the one called Threat Beta—tried to parry. Professional instinct overriding shock. Both curved blades rose to meet the strike in a crossed guard that should have caught and redirected the blow.
Aldric's holy blade sheared through both weapons like they were made of paper. The corrupted metal couldn't resist concentrated divine fury. The fragments hadn't even hit the ground before his sword continued its arc, catching the swordsman across the stomach.
The blessed edge didn't just cut—it exploded outward with concentrated divine energy. The swordsman's torso erupted from within, holy fire consuming flesh and bone and whatever passed for a soul in his corrupted form. His screams lasted half a second before his entire upper body detonated in a shower of ash and sanctified flame that hung in the air like burning snow.
[ENEMY ELIMINATED: THREAT BETA]
[Remaining Hostiles: 17]
[Aldric Time Remaining: 24 Seconds]
Then the hammer hit Aldric's exposed back.
The sound was like a tree trunk snapping, like tectonic plates grinding against each other, like the world itself breaking. Aldric's body left the ground, spinning through the air like a discarded doll. He flew fifteen feet before striking an ancient oak with bone-shattering force.
THUD.
The impact drove the air from his lungs in an explosive gasp. He crumpled, rolled, somehow ended up on his knees facing his attackers. The holy light flickered. Dimmed. His sacrifice spell wavering as his body began to fail.
Blood poured from his mouth. Not a trickle—a deluge. Dark, almost black, the kind of internal bleeding that meant organs were failing, that meant death measured in minutes rather than hours.
His left shoulder no longer existed as a functional joint. Shattered bones ground against each other with every breath, producing sounds like gravel in a meat grinder. The arm hung completely useless now, dangling at an angle that made even Blake's empty consciousness want to recoil.
[ALDRIC VARN STATUS: CRITICAL]
[HP: 7%]
[Spell Duration: 19 Seconds]
[He's dying. Even if he wins, he's dying.]
Aldric's right hand found his sword. Used it as a crutch. Pushed himself upward with agonizing slowness, each inch of elevation costing him something vital.
His legs trembled. Gave out. He fell to one knee, the impact driving a grunt of pain from his blood-filled throat.
Tried again. Made it to both feet, swaying like a drunk, like a puppet with half its strings cut, sword point dug into earth to keep himself vertical.
The remaining two killers—the massive axe-wielder and the hammer-wielder—watched with professional detachment. No triumph. No mockery. No emotion at all. Just patient observation of a job nearly complete.
Behind them, the robed figure with the pulsing black heart continued his ritual chant, voice rising in pitch as Aldric's holy power flared brighter. Maintaining the isolation barrier that prevented the Chief Inquisitor from calling for divine reinforcement, from accessing the full strength of his goddess.
[THE BARRIER HOLDER IS THE KEY]
[DESTROY HIM AND ALDRIC MIGHT SURVIVE]
[USER, PLEASE]
[PLEASE DO SOMETHING]
Aldric spat blood. It splattered on the ground in thick globs mixed with what might have been pieces of lung tissue, pieces of his own dissolving insides.
When he spoke, his voice was ruined—wet, bubbling, each word costing him blood and breath and pieces of whatever time he had left. But still carrying authority. Still commanding despite everything.
"You... will not... have him."
His eyes, dimming but still burning with defiant fury, tracked past his killers to where Blake knelt in blood.
Their gazes met across the burning battlefield.
"Run," Aldric commanded. The word cost him. More blood poured from his lips, running down his chin. "Run, you fool... boy. RUN!"
[ALDRIC SPELL DURATION: 11 Seconds]
[He's using his last moments to buy you time]
[He's dying so you can escape]
[USER, PLEASE RESPOND]
The axe-wielder's massive form shifted, preparing the killing blow. Muscles coiled. The executioner's axe rose high, trailing darkness.
The hammer-wielder circled to flank, cutting off Aldric's escape routes.
Not that he was capable of escaping. Standing was miracle enough. Each breath an act of defiance against death that had already claimed him.
Blake knelt in Pabel's blood and watched the Chief Inquisitor prepare to die.
Watched the man who'd threatened to behead him, who'd tested him before a goddess, who'd joked about hanging his severed head at festivals—watched him prepare to make one final stand.
To buy time for someone he barely knew.
To die protecting a boy he'd suspected of demonic possession just hours before.
And felt nothing.
Nothing at all.
The system window flickered desperately.
[CRITICAL WARNING: Aldric Varn Status - TERMINAL]
[Spell Duration: 8 Seconds]
[After That: DEATH]
[USER STATUS: CATATONIC SHOCK]
[SUGGESTION: MOVE. RUN. FIGHT. DO LITERALLY ANYTHING.]
[USER, PLEASE RESPOND]
[PLEASE]
[...]
[USER?]
Blake's blank eyes reflected the firelight.
Reflected Aldric's fading holy radiance.
Reflected the axe beginning its descent.
Empty.
Broken.
Gone.
And in the depths of his shattered consciousness, where three souls had merged into something that shouldn't exist, the demon fragment stirred.
Sensing opportunity.
Sensing weakness.
Sensing its moment to rise.