Chapter 92 — The Blade and the Smile
The silence silence in the halls was thick as John and Blake were sleeping.
It pressed against the walls of the corridor, turning every drop of water, every whisper of sand, into something distant and unreal.
John stirred first. His breath came slow, ragged but steady. The faint glow of runes pulsed across the floor, painting the air in a dull red rhythm that matched his heartbeat.
He rubbed the crusted blood from his face and blinked.
Blake lay a few paces away, head resting against a pack, poison mist faintly seeping from his pores like he was exhaling dreams.
John pushed himself upright, rolling his shoulder with a wince.
The ache was still there, but it felt different—obedient, contained. The power inside him had finally stopped thrashing and was now sitting quiet, like a beast waiting for its master's next order.
He sat for a moment, letting the silence breathe.
Then the faintest sound touched his ear.
A tremor.
A clash of steel on steel.
He lifted his head. The noise carried through the corridor like thunder rolling through a hollow mountain. Distant, but close enough to taste the echo.
Blake's eyes opened at once.
He pushed himself up, pupils narrowing. "You hear that?"
"Yeah," John murmured. "There's someone fighting."
Blake wiped a sleeve across his mouth, tasting dust and venom. "Could it be the others?"
John rose to his feet. "Let's go find out."
Ember stirred on his shoulder shedding a faint amber light that danced against the walls.
Blake smirked. "Well, it looks like nap times over."
John's expression didn't change. "Seems like it."
They packed what little they had left and started moving.
The corridor wound forward, narrow at first, then widening into a hall of stone ribs. The air shimmered with trapped heat and the faint buzz of energy. Each step echoed like a drumbeat, carried forward by the hum of the pyramid itself.
Alaric's voice surfaced in John's skull, cool and measured.
"You feel that pressure ahead?"
"Yeah." John replied.
The hall trembled again—this time with a shockwave so strong dust fell from the ceiling. The sound of screaming followed.
John's jaw tightened. "Let's move."
Tamara's sword split another corrupted warrior in half.
The blade burned blue, frost blooming along its edge, but the heat of battle melted it as fast as it formed.
They had been fighting for what felt like hours.
The small, twisted tribe that filled the village fought like an infection that refused to die.
The once-peaceful huts of stone and reed were now blackened husks. Shadows crawled over every surface, whispering with faint, distorted voices. The smell of blood mixed with scorched sand hung thick in the air.
Mara stood at the front, shield raised high. Her barrier pulsed with earthen light, doubling her defense, every block sending a quake through the ground.
Vulgrat was behind her, throwing potion after potion—bursts of flame, smoke, acid. His hands shook from exhaustion, but he didn't stop.
Sera darted between them, light spells flickering across her hands as she tried to keep the team buffed. Her magic made them faster, stronger, but each cast drained her pale.
Tamara fought at the center, her sword humming with frozen light. She'd lost count of how many Step Fives she'd cut down, or how many Step Sixes had nearly gutted her.
And still they came.
From every alley. Every rooftop. Crawling and hissing.
Creatures that had once been human—now corrupted beyond reason.
Her boots scraped across the blood-slick ground. "We're being overrun!" Tamara exclaimed.
"I noticed!" Vulgrat shouted, hurling another potion. It detonated in a flash of green flame, sending three monsters tumbling back. "That was my last explosive!"
Sera gasped, clutching her side where black venom burned through her robes. "Tamara, something's—"
The ground shook.
The corrupted paused, heads tilting toward the great hut at the far edge of the village.
The structure's roof split open from within, and the leader stepped through the dust.
Chains hung from its shoulders like trophies.
A crimson cloak dragged behind it, torn and soaked with darkness that steamed where it touched the air.
Its head was encased in a massive metal pyramid, plates welded together and leaking thick black smoke from every seam.
The smell of rust and rot rolled across the battlefield.
It carried a sword that wasn't a sword—just a slab of corroded iron wider than a man's chest, etched with runes that pulsed sickly red.
Every corrupted creature dropped to its knees as the leader's voice rippled through the air:
"Intruders… will bleed."
Mara gritted her teeth, stepped forward, and slammed her shield into the ground.
Golden light flared around her, doubling the glow of her defensive skill. "That's definitely something we can't fight."
The Step Seven moved like a storm. One moment it stood still, the next it was in front of her.
The impact of their clash shattered the ground.
Mara's shield screamed, light fracturing along its surface.
The second strike sent her flying backward—through one hut, then another—before she crashed into a stone wall and vanished beneath the rubble.
"Mara!" Sera screamed.
Vulgrat's potions streaked across the sky, exploding in waves of fire and acid. The flames wrapped the Step Seven, but it kept walking, blade dragging through the sand, sparks hissing.
"Useless," it growled, voice distorted and cold.
Tamara stepped forward, frost coiling around her sword. "I'll take the front. Stay back."
She dashed in, aura bursting to life. The world slowed. Her blade cut upward, leaving a frozen crescent in its wake.
The corrupted leader blocked with ease, sparks raining across its pyramid helm.
They exchanged three strikes in a blur of motion.
The fourth nearly broke her arm.
Her knees buckled, lungs burning, but she refused to fall.
"You think you can stop me, child?" the creature rasped, lifting its blade. "You are nothing but a breath in the dark."
She lunged again—fast enough to split the air—but exhaustion dragged at her. Her strike landed shallow.
The Step Seven lifted its sword high, both hands gripping the hilt. The darkness around it thickened, spiraling upward into the shape of a descending blade of pure corruption.
Sera cried out, trying to cast another buff, but her spell shattered mid-chant.
Vulgrat was down, blood spilling from a cut across his chest.
Mara wasn't moving.
Tamara was alone.
She raised her sword, frost flickering weakly across the edge. She knew she wouldn't survive the next hit.
The blade fell.
The air cracked.
A sound like thunder rolled through the village.
For a heartbeat, Tamara thought she'd died—everything went white.
Then she realized she was still standing.
And the blade hadn't touched her.
A hand was holding it back.
A single, bare hand.
The massive sword had stopped inches above her head, caught by fingers curled around its edge. Sparks and darkness hissed against the palm that held it in place.
The figure in front of her stood tall, back turned.
Blood streaked his arm, but his stance didn't falter.
John.
He turned his head slightly, enough for her to see the side of his face—blood-stained, eyes glowing faint gold beneath half-shadow.
And then he smiled.
Calm. Familiar.
Almost mocking.
"You really shouldn't pick fights you can't finish," he said.
Tamara's breath caught. "…John?"
The Step Seven roared, twisting the sword, trying to break free.
The metal groaned, and Tamara could see the pressure John was holding back.
With a flex of his arm, he tossed the blade aside.
"How dare you try and touch what I care about."
The shockwave from the break threw sand and ash into the air, scattering the lesser corrupted like leaves in a storm.
From the haze, green mist began to spread—sweet, poisonous, glittering under the faint light.
Blake stepped out of it, daggers dripping venom that shimmered violet-green.
"You miss us?" he said with a grin.
"What," Tamara muttered, still stunned.
A rumble of laughter escaped John's chest as he looked at Tamara. "Just relax a moment I'll be done soon."
John flexed his fist and power pulsed around its pressure. He looked at the giant step 7 corrupted leader.
The Step Seven slammed its blade into the ground, sending a pulse of darkness rippling outward. The sand turned black beneath their feet.
John's aura flared gold in response, Blake's poison rising beside it in mirrored brilliance. The contrast lit the battlefield like dawn breaking through night.
The Step Seven lunged. John met it head-on.
Bare-handed.
The creature's swing carved the air, but John caught the weapon mid-motion and punched.
The impact detonated like an explosion.
Chains rattled, snapping under the force. The corrupted stumbled back, dragging its sword through the dirt to stay upright.
"Step Seven," John said quietly. "This thing is an absolute unit."
Blake blurred past him, cutting through a dozen Step Fives in one breath. Each slash left trails of shimmering poison that curled into serpents before detonating in emerald bursts.
Sera watched from where she knelt, her vision shaking. "They're alive…"
Mara groaned and rose from the rubble, shield reforming in shards of light. "When did they get so strong?"
Vulgrat coughed blood, wiping his mouth. "Thank god that they made it in time."
John stepped forward again, cracking his knuckles. His aura pulsed brighter, each heartbeat sending ripples through the ground.
The Step Seven steadied itself, dark power swirling around its pyramid helm.
"Blake," John said without looking back. "You handle the small ones."
"Yeah," Blake replied. "Sounds good."
Tamara took a step toward him. "You're hurt."
John looked over his shoulder, smile faint but sure. "I'll be okay. Just sit down and wait for me."
He turned back to the corrupted leader and moved.
The ground splintered beneath his step.
He appeared in front of the Step 7 like a shadow blink, fist cocked back.
When it landed, the sound wasn't a strike—it was an earthquake.
The creature flew backward, slamming into the largest hut.
Wood and stone exploded outward, darkness spilling into the air like tar.
Blake's poison mist swallowed the rest of the corrupted, dissolving them in waves of green fire.
Tamara and the others stood in the center of the wreckage, speechless.
Dust settled slowly, revealing John's silhouette standing amid the ruin—shoulders straight.
The corrupted leader rose from the rubble with a sound like metal screaming.
Its cloak flared, chains rattling wildly as darkness surged from its pyramid helm in thick, rolling waves. The broken sword reformed in its grip — darkness pouring into the shattered iron and stitching it back together with jagged veins of red.
It stepped forward once, and the air buckled.
John braced just as the creature vanished.
It reappeared beside him.
The blade carved downward — faster than anything John had fought before.
He barely twisted aside. The ground where he had stood split open, forming a crater.
John didn't get time to breathe.
The Step Seven was on him again.
The second blow hit him square in the ribs, sending him flying across the village. He crashed through two huts before skidding to a stop, dust rising around him.
Tamara's breath hitched. "John—!"
But he was already standing.
Blood dripped from his mouth. His ribs ached. His arms trembled from absorbing the hit.
And he was grinning.
"Okay," he muttered, rolling his neck. "This might be kind of fun."
The corrupted leader stepped through the dust, dragging its sword in a line of darkness that ate the sand beneath it.
The third clash came like thunder.
John met the blade with his forearm. The force sent shockwaves ripping through the village — huts collapsing, corrupted creatures tossed like leaves. His bones vibrated under the strain. The darkness around the sword burned into his skin like acid.
John punched with his free hand.
The leader blocked with its metal helm — sparks exploding outward — then slammed its shoulder into him. John stumbled, boots gouging trenches in the sand.
"John!" Blake shouted, cutting through another wave of lesser corrupted. "Need help?!"
"No," John replied through gritted teeth. "I've got him."
The Step Seven lunged again, swinging its blade in an arc that bent the air.
John ducked beneath it and drove an elbow into its side. The impact cracked a chain and dented the metal ribs beneath the cloak — but the creature didn't slow.
It drove its knee into John's chest.
He coughed blood, vision flashing. The sword came again — diagonal, sharp, lethal.
John caught the blade with both hands this time.
The darkness ate into his palms. Muscle tore. Skin burned away.
He roared through the pain, aura erupting in a violent golden flare.
The ground shattered.
The corrupted leader pushed.
John pushed back.
For one agonizing moment, the two forces were equal — darkness grinding against raw, physical will.
Then John's foot slid half an inch.
Tamara gasped. "John—"
John's eyes snapped open — blazing gold.
His aura exploded.
He drove forward, step by crushing step. The corrupted leader staggered, metal helm cracking as John's strength overwhelmed it.
With a final shout, John twisted the blade aside and smashed his fist into the center of the pyramid helm.
The entire mask collapsed inward — metal buckling, darkness screaming as it was ripped apart.
The Step Seven creature flew backward, crashing into the great hut with a sound like a dying star.
Silence fell.
John stood in the dust, blood dripping from his ruined hands, breath heavy and ragged — but victorious.
He didn't smile this time.
He just whispered:
"Now you can rest in peace."
Behind him, Blake laughed softly, blades still smoking. "Man that punch was killer."
The corrupted leader twitched once more, darkness crawling over its ruined body—then went still.
For the first time, the village was silent.
Alaric's voice echoed faintly in John's mind.
"So… the leader finally found peace in the end."
John didn't answer.
He just looked at Tamara one last time, smiled that same unbothered smile, and walked toward the next door waiting at the far end of the ruined village—its surface gleaming faint gold through the dust.