"How dare you…" Eamon's voice trembled with rage, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
The moment the words left his mouth, both men lunged at each other, colliding like beasts in the wild.
Fists flew. Flesh struck flesh.
Eamon was no longer fighting like a man—he was fighting like a savage creature cornered and desperate. Every punch he threw was fueled by fury, every strike by the weight of his curse. His eyes burned with a wild fire, and his teeth were clenched as though he wanted to rip his enemy apart with his bare hands.
Winston, still badly wounded from earlier, could not match the speed or ferocity of Eamon's attacks. His body wasn't healing fast enough. He staggered with every blow, unable to anticipate the onslaught coming his way.
"Damn you—" Winston tried to throw a punch, aiming for Eamon's face.
But Eamon ducked beneath it, his movements sharp and unpredictable. With a roar, he drove his fists into Winston's abdomen—once, twice, three times. Each strike made Winston cough up more blood, his body buckling under the impact.
Finally, Eamon wound back his arm and unleashed a brutal punch straight into Winston's chest. The force sent Winston crashing backward. His body slammed against a huge stone, and the crack of impact echoed through the burning forest.
Winston groaned, slumping to the ground.
Eamon's chest heaved. He turned, his eyes softening for the first time as he ran to where Arthur and Skarn lay unconscious. Arthur's body was limp, blood soaking through his clothes, and Skarn lay unmoving, his small frame trembling.
Eamon dropped to his knees, scooping Arthur up and carefully hoisting him over his shoulder. With his other arm, he reached down and gently lifted Skarn into his grasp. His eyes burned—not from rage this time, but from sorrow. A single tear escaped and fell onto Skarn's fur.
"No," Eamon whispered, shaking his head fiercely. He wiped the tear away with the back of his hand. "Not now. I can't break. Not yet."
Gritting his teeth, he carried them both a little distance away, placing them gently on the ground, far from the fight. He lingered for just a moment, staring at their fragile forms. His heart ached at the thought of losing them. But then, with renewed fury, he rose to his feet and turned back toward Winston.
The vampire was already staggering upright, blood trickling down his face. His lips curled into a snarl. In a desperate move, Winston formed a blade from his own blood and hurled it at Eamon with terrifying speed.
The crimson dagger cut through the air—
But Eamon caught it in his bare hand. His grip crushed the weapon, and it dissolved back into liquid blood, dripping between his fingers before vanishing into the flames around them.
Winston's eyes widened in shock.
Eamon's voice boomed, heavy with wrath. "Eternal Pyre Prison."
At once, the ground shook. Flames erupted around them, spiraling upward to form colossal walls of fire. The field blazed with eternal heat, flames that regenerated every time Winston's blood magic tried to suppress them.
Now, the two men stood enclosed within an inferno, their world reduced to fire and ash.
Winston's face twisted in panic. His body trembled; sweat poured down his already injured form. "No… no… this can't…"
Then, in that moment of chaos, Eamon's locket slipped from his neck. It hit the scorched earth with a faint clink—
And the dark cursed energy that had been sealed within it burst forth.
The ground trembled. The flames swirled violently as an aura of shadow and death surrounded Eamon.
Winston froze. His single good eye widened in terror. "What… what are you? You're cursed, aren't you? But this… this isn't just any curse. This is something far darker. Far stronger. What did you do, human? What did you do to be punished with such a curse?"
Eamon said nothing. His silence was more terrifying than words.
With a roar, he surged forward, his kick aimed for Winston's face. Winston blocked it with his arm—but Eamon's other fist came crashing into his jaw, snapping his head to the side.
Eamon didn't stop. He seized Winston by the throat, lifting him with frightening strength, and slammed his face into the burning wall of flames.
Winston screamed. The sound was guttural, animalistic. His flesh sizzled against the fire, the smell of charred skin filling the air.
But Eamon pressed harder, his eyes devoid of mercy.
"No! AHHHH!" Winston roared, gathering every ounce of strength he had left. With a violent shove, he broke free of Eamon's grip. He stumbled backward, his face half-burned, his right eye melted shut. Only one eye remained to glare with hatred at his opponent.
His rage boiled over.
With a scream, Winston crouched low, slamming his palms to the ground. A torrent of blood magic surged outward. Explosions of blood and energy detonated around him, tearing through the flaming prison. The walls of fire shuddered, then broke apart, dissipating into the air.
"How dare you!" Winston bellowed, his voice hoarse. "How dare you, human!"
But his breaths were shallow, his body failing. His vision blurred, his immortal pride crumbling with each heartbeat. "No… no… I can't… I am immortal. I can't be defeated…"
The two men now stood apart, facing each other, the battlefield in ruins.
Eamon wasted no time. His eyes narrowed, his hand raised to the sky.
"Arcana Sunfall Judgement!"
The heavens themselves seemed to respond. The forest lit up as though it were day. Above them, a colossal sphere of fire blazed into existence, radiating heat so intense the trees began to crackle and wilt.
Winston stared in horror. His mouth opened, but no words came.
"N-no…"
He raised his hands, firing blood cannons at the descending sun. But the fireball remained unshaken, untouchable.
Eamon's other hand flicked. From his pocket ring, he drew a hidden metal sword and hurled it like lightning.
The blade cut through the air, severing Winston's legs in one clean strike. Blood sprayed. Winston screamed as he collapsed, unable to stand. His regeneration faltered under the weight of his burns and injuries.
"No—!" he cried. But it was too late.
The colossal sun plummeted, crashing down on him.
The explosion was deafening. Fire engulfed everything, swallowing Winston whole. His screams were silenced in an instant as his body was reduced to ash.
Eamon dropped to his knees. His chest heaved. Sweat dripped from his brow. His entire body trembled with exhaustion. But a grim smile crossed his lips.
He had done it. He had defeated his first Obsidian Seraph.
Slowly, painfully, he rose to his feet. His legs wobbled, but he forced himself to walk to where Arthur and Skarn lay.
From his pocket ring, he pulled out his final blood packet. Kneeling beside Arthur, he carefully poured the crimson liquid into his friend's mouth.
Arthur's throat twitched, swallowing instinctively. His breathing began to steady.
Next, Eamon uncorked a small vial. The label read "Pulam Lilies." A powerful medicinal herb, gifted by Arvin. Eamon placed a single drop in Skarn's mouth, then took a drop himself.
Warmth spread through his veins. The exhaustion faded, replaced by renewed strength.
Beside him, Skarn's eyes fluttered open, letting out a weak but joyful bark. "Woof…"
Arthur's body stirred, the hole in his chest slowly regenerating. His eyes blinked open, dazed but alive.
Eamon smiled faintly. "I made a promise to you. I need to fulfill that. Come on. Get up."
He placed Arthur's arm around his shoulder, helping him rise. Together, they limped toward the charred remains of Winston.
The promise was clear—after Eamon completed the curse removal ritual, Arthur would deliver the final blow.
Eamon knelt beside Winston's scorched body, pulling a script from his pocket dimension. His grandfather's notes, detailing the ritual.
He sliced his palm open, blood dripping freely, and pressed it against Winston's chest. His lips moved, chanting the incantation:
"Zhar Voku Trel Mava Sorn Quen Dril Othu Krez Mivo Thal Brak Eshi Dron Kava Frul Omen Vesk Trin Zulo."
Light flared from his hand. Winston convulsed as a cube of solid blood forced its way out of his mouth. The cube hovered in the air, crimson and pulsing with dark energy.
Eamon grabbed it without hesitation and placed it on his tongue.
The blood cube dissolved instantly, sliding down his throat. His eyes turned pitch black.
Visions consumed him.
He saw a graveyard filled with countless skulls. A black castle rising from the earth. A throne of shadows, towering, suffocating. A presence, ancient and terrible, watching him.
"Wake up. Eamon, wake up!"
Arthur's voice pulled him back.
Eamon gasped, blinking rapidly. "I… I don't know. I saw a place. It was like hell itself." He shook his head. "Wait—the ritual…"
Arthur clutched the script, nodding. "It's complete. The light, the blood cube—it worked. You did it, Eamon. You're one step closer to your goal."
Eamon's lips curled into a relieved smile. "Finally!"
Skarn barked happily. "Woof, woof!"
Eamon looked at Arthur. "Now go. Have your revenge. Finish him."
Arthur froze. His fists tightened. He looked at Winston's burnt, broken body, then at Eamon. His voice was heavy, trembling. "No, buddy. I can't kill him. My mother… she always taught me to protect. She never taught me to kill. And ending his life now won't bring justice. It won't bring peace."
He shook his head firmly. "We'll give him to the army. They'll decide what to do with him. I'm just glad he won't be able to hurt anyone else again."
Eamon blinked, surprised. He expected fury, vengeance. But what he saw was strength of another kind.
"You're a good man, Arthur," Eamon said softly. He nodded. "We'll hand him over to the army."