Shauwn was at a disadvantage. The ice spread rapidly, slowing his thought processes. He could no longer let them harass him—they had launched the first offensive, and now it was his turn to strike.
It was a risky strategy, but the more his body tensed, the more his body temperature would rise, countering the freezing effects.
The assassin and the executioner closed in. Shauwn began hopping in place, and in the next instant, he was on the assassin. He kicked, but it was evaded. The attacker grabbed his foot, dagger poised to shred his tendons.
He had no time to carry out his grim intent—because the second attacker struck him violently on the temple.
He fell, but immediately rose again. He could not give them a moment's respite. The assassin seemed momentarily disoriented—an opening. Shauwn launched like a cannonball, every ounce of force from his feet exploding into a calibrated, precise strike.
His fist smashed violently against what must have been the assassin's sternum.
Again.
The impact sent the attacker flying backward, but Shauwn was determined not to let him retreat. His hand caught the assassin's wrist, and his head smashed against his. Blood ran from his forehead to his lips. Satisfaction surged through him—and yet, he wanted more.
I feel like my senses are coming back… who would've thought.
A sudden, unanticipated frenzy gripped the assassin. Shauwn smiled. He wasn't sure if the creature could feel pain, but judging by its condition, the answer was clear. The enraged attacker lunged at him, strikes now wild and brutal, less calculated. Dodging and deflecting them became effortless.
In one final act of desperation, the dagger slashed toward Shauwn's right eye, determined to claim it. He intervened—his own hand took the blow, clutching the adversary's fists.
With both arms immobilized, he jumped, feet together, smashing the assassin's head and propelling him several meters back. Before disappearing, the assassin used his dagger as a projectile, multiplying into several ice swords aimed at Shauwn.
He could predict the trajectory of two of them and, as they entered his range, struck the backs of the blades, flipping the handles upward. He seized them and dispatched the others with his new weapons.
"Magnificent."
He now wielded the assassin's final will, transformed into deadly weapons—and with them, he would end the others. The ice had weakened him considerably. Unfortunately, all previously suppressed wounds would now bleed. He had no choice—the executioner had to be dealt with quickly.
From afar, the executioner assumed an attack stance. Before Shauwn could react, a thrust cleaved through the air, closing the distance in an instant. The red sea shimmered under the power of the strike.
Shauwn felt the violent gust brush past him—a warning from the executioner: no matter the distance, he was not safe. Had the strike been true, a gaping hole would have replaced his torso.
[Antithesis Gene Awakening: 72%]
Both advanced—one calculating his attack, the other strategizing how to resist and finish his target. As they circled, the assault began. The executioner struck first, a swift, precise blow. Shauwn blocked it with both swords, deflecting the giant blade along his crossed weapons.
Seizing the brief opening, he vaulted into the air, bringing his blades down on the executioner's shoulders. A heavy clang resonated, a testament to the defense of the executioner. The strike didn't pierce the armor, but it shook him. Taking advantage, Shauwn spun, transferring one ice blade from one shoulder to the other, aiming both directly at the neck.
Same result. This time, it was the executioner's hand holding the blades back, preventing Shauwn from decapitating him. Not surprising—the executioner himself was nearly two meters tall. His combined strength and size violently pushed the attacker backward.
There was no second chance. Once repelled, the executioner launched his offensive—fast, savage, methodical. Shauwn was forced into a defensive stance. The executioner's great blade struck relentlessly against Shauwn's crossed ice swords, like a blacksmith hammering red-hot steel.
The shockwave from the impact ran through his body. His severely injured leg, freed from the ice effect, began to bleed. When he staggered, disaster struck. One of the ice blades broke under the force.
A golden opportunity the executioner seized, thrusting upward.
Exposed, his chest vulnerable, Shauwn felt terror freeze his blood—the executioner's tip poised to pierce him. He was surprised—he had expected to die after witnessing the executioner's power.
Yet, he was still alive. Injured, yes, but controlled and manageable. What did the executioner truly want? If he had wished, he could have killed Shauwn countless times. So why hold back? Why force him to rise each time, observing his failed tactics?
Anger clouded Shauwn's exhausted mind. His shoulder ached, his leg bled profusely, trembling, and his entire body cried for release. The metallic taste of blood alerted him. No more techniques, no more strategy—Shauwn relied solely on instinct, using every ounce of his remaining strength.
The executioner seemed to understand as well. Both hands gripped the sword's hilt. The two charged at one another. Shauwn roared, ready to strike one final blow.
At the very moment the weapons were about to collide, something descended from the sky, smashing the last weapon he had left.
The second throne had entered the battle.
[Antithesis Gene Awakening: 80%].