Takamura laughed. "You don't think I'm a match, do you?! Then why are you hiding, you piece of shit? Show up!"
"Child..." The being's voice echoed from above.
The being descended like a hawk, wielding a heavy staff. The vertical blow was overwhelming. Takamura instinctively crossed his sword in front of his face to defend himself. The impact was so violent that the ground under Takamura's feet collapsed, creating an instant crater in the swamp mud.
"Raaaaah!" Takamura roared, pushing the baton with all his might, throwing the being back.
Without giving it a rest, Takamura opened his hands. A wave of force pulled the being back, dragging it directly into Takamura's reach. The Lord did not hesitate: he delivered a brutal elbow to its skull, followed by a dry punch from one side and another from the other. He finished with a double uppercut, using his remaining arms with frantic speed.
To finish, Takamura reached out his hand. A black and red fire formed around the being, compressing in a second of silence before imploding and exploding soon after.
BAM!
The light from the explosion lit up the swamp as if it were daytime, pushing away the rain and vaporizing the surrounding water. But as the flash faded, Takamura froze. That fire did not dissipate; it began to spin, being sucked in and gathered again in the center of that being's chest. The symbol on its chest glowed, digesting the attack.
"Again..." thought Takamura, sweat mixing with the cold rain.
The being began to descend slowly through the air. It looked at its own chest and then at Takamura, with a look of boredom.
"That amount of chaos..." it murmured, "...isn't even enough to make me fly."
The being began to move its hands as it floated in the slow descent. Under Takamura's feet, the mud revolted. Grotesque beings, like giant snakes made of mud with wide-open human mouths, emerged from the swamp. They moved with supernatural speed, trying to swallow everything that had life.
Takamura cut the first one in half, but felt his feet sink. It wasn't just mud; the ground was draining his aura.
"The wind..." Takamura grunted, trying to jump. But the air above him became heavy as lead, an invisible pressure that pulled him back into the mud jaws.
The mouth snakes came from all sides.
"Ahhhhh! " Takamura yelled, executing a perfect circle of cuts. The blades cut through the mud, but for every one he destroyed, ten appeared.
From above, the being's voice fell like a sentence:
"For centuries, I hibernated like a convict... like an extension of Tyr's stomach! "
Takamura's red aura began to falter, flickering like a lamp about to burn out.
"Fuck the limit! I'll die without the aura…" he thought, feeling the energy core cool. In an act of final desperation, he stuck his sword into the ground. An eruption of flames exploded from the bowels of the swamp, a column of black fire that rose to the skies.
But the result was the same: the fire, instead of hurting, was bent by a magnetic force and sucked directly into the being's chest. The enemy was using Takamura's fury to recharge.
Takamura saw the breach. He focused the rest of the flame from his red core directly on the chest. But the swamp would not allow it. The surrounding trees writhed, their branches turning into wooden arms that whipped toward the Lord.
Everything attacked him: the earth, the air and the flora. At an absurd speed, Takamura dodged, cut, and defended, but his body was reaching its limit. He was no longer a match for that cadence of attacks.
Black wooden spikes pierced his thigh, then his shoulder. Takamura's blood splashed in the mud, being instantly drunk by the ground.
"But today..."continued the being "... I gained traces of the hunger for chaos greater than my father! A "living fissure". The key to my freedom. "
The speed of the attacks increased. As he fell, the being clasped his hands in a closing motion. The mud and the roots of the swamp obeyed, rising around Takamura like the walls of an organic coffin that closed abruptly, leaving only the Lord's head out.
A thick, black root sprouted from Takamura's cocoon and dug directly into the being's chest. It was absorbing what was left of Takamura.
For the first time, immobilized and on the verge of death, Takamura saw the being in detail:
Tall and slender, with skin the color of wet ash. Its face was framed by a hooded cloak made of rags that looked like fossilized roots. The being's eyes changed color constantly.
Upon absorbing some of Takamura's essence, the being's eyes widened. He felt the link, the trail of blood and the deep bond that united the Lord to his master (the pact), Afro.
"Your essence!" hissed the being, tasting Afro's lust through Takamura's essence.
In the distance, shouts and the smell of sweat brought the warning: groups of Daoists and other opportunistic demons were approaching the crash site.
"Zephyr. My name is Zephyr," said the being, suddenly releasing the cocoon.
Takamura fell to his knees in the mud, his body trembling, devoid of almost all its strength.
"Your master will have a crucial role. Go," Zephyr ordered, retreating into the mist. "Tell your master that Zephyr, the one who freed the blood, will uproot the remaining roots of the order."
Zephyr disappeared before the first arrow or spell from the new intruders struck the spot. Takamura, alone among the dead, looked at the black box that still gleamed in the mud. He breathed with difficulty. He stood up, his body now thin and twisted, staggering over the mud. With his only remaining arm, he gripped the black box. In an act of desperation, he forced himself to use yet another core. The pain was unbearable; Takamura wasn't made to be relentlessly imbued with cores.
Above him, the sky began to cast blue sparks toward the mountain peak. In the distance, Zephyr's eyes gleamed in the twilight, watching the atmospheric ignition.
"Haaa... it's starting!" murmured the zephyr.
Behind Takamura, the swamp erupted in screams and detonations. He didn't look back. He began leaping between the charred logs, each movement costing him his life. "I need to deliver the box to the master!" he repeated his thought like a survival mantra.
In the village, time stood still for a second. All faces, from the youngest to the oldest, were turned upwards. When the first blue rays stretched from the sky and fell on the mountain peak, the signal was given: the Festival had begun.
The reaction was immediate and violent. The Daoists exchanged quick glances and, without a word, took off. The village, which had once been a refuge, became a slaughterhouse. In the narrow exits, bodies were already trampling each other; men stepped on the faces of their equals just to gain a second's advantage in the climb.
The village's protective barriers began to sway. Cracks opened in the air, and the first demons, attracted by the smell of euphoria, invaded. Groups of warriors launched themselves against the demons.
There was a collective cry of joy, a manic exultation vibrating in the air as the crowd rushed towards the mountain. However, the joy was short-lived. They had barely crossed the village boundary when order completely crumbled. Right there, at the foot of the mountain. Swords were drawn, throats were cut in mid-air.
Meanwhile, Afro stood motionless at the edge of the temple. Down below, the mass of pilgrims and Daoists didn't seem human; it looked like an organic blotch being drawn by a magnet. The sky wasn't just sparkling; it was flattening over the mountain, creating a pressure that made it difficult for any living being's heart to beat. But Afro's focus was only on the human mass tearing itself apart. A predatory smile appeared, not out of pleasure, but out of recognition.
"Now I understand better..." Afro thought, his eyes fixed on the blue light emanating from the summit. "I finally understand the cunning of this Sentinel, Tyr, he's not a pious guardian, he's a fisherman. He feeds on this... this hatred, this biological greed."
The words he had just translated on the walls echoed more clearly in his mind with one: Blood for prosperity.
"Tyr created the scenario, cast the bait, and now waits for the fish to kill each other so he can drink the excess. It's an eternal cycle of exchange: their lives at his command."
Afro let out a low laugh. "Hehehe..." his voice came out hoarse. "Holy shit. I'm starving."
The tattoos on his body began to glow. "Kill each other... feed the soil. I'll eat the flesh of these idiots first... and when I'm satisfied, I'll eat Tyr himself. Hehehehe."
[Concupiscence: 8.5%]
"Kael. Tara." Afro didn't shout.
He let himself fall, like a predator plunging into a river of blood.
Kael lunged immediately. Tara appeared right behind him, the metal of her armor creaking as she threw herself, with the expression of someone about to tame a fire with her bare hands.
Zephyr removed his hand from the shattered skull of the last curious onlooker, a soldier from the southern guard who had the bad idea of entering the swamp. The withered body fell into the mud like an empty skin sack. Zephyr was about to advance, but something in the air interrupted his movement. An odor he knew well.
"Order?... " he hissed, his eyes changing color to an icy yellow.
Far away, in the monastery, the Master Monk, with steady hands, applied an ancient paper seal to Himari's forehead. He hurriedly guided her to a hidden cellar beneath the stone foundations.
"But master..." Himari murmured, her voice trembling. "You said the monastery was never attacked during the Festival. Never in centuries."
The monk stopped and looked into her eyes.
"Yes. But this time... this time it's different. You're not afraid, are you?" Himari shook her head in a silent "no." The monk forced a smile, closing the heavy wooden door.
"I'll be back now," he promised.
"This time it's different," he repeated to himself as he climbed the stairs. The monastery wasn't just a temple; it was a brake on Tyr's chaos, and that brake was about to break.
The monk walked to the large gate of the west entrance. The rain lashed against his bald head, but he didn't blink. There, emerging from the swamp, was Zephyr with those bright, sickly eyes.
The Master Monk struck his metal staff on the ground.
Klin! Klin!
The golden discs attached to the top of the staff vibrated, emitting a pure sound that cut through the noise of the rain. A sacred golden glow emanated from the metal, creating a barrier of absolute order between the monastery and the approaching figure.