As he advanced forward, Diego studied intently the equipment the guardians of Maru's castle wielded, his mind sharpening with a subtle notion that he would need to understand the characteristics of their weapons before approaching where he was not wanted. He carefully noted not only what the weapons could do, but also the skills, techniques, and devastating moves the guardians could execute if they wielded them with precision, discipline, and the ruthless efficiency of seasoned warriors. The first guardian, apart from the golden regalia of armor plates, braces, leg guards, and helmet, wielded a golden axe—a single‑headed axe, gleaming with menace—which was good for stunning and delivering immense attacks that could fracture bones and cut through the body of an opponent in one decisive strike. Based on its weight, and the fact that it was the only weapon the guard carried, it was clear the axe was immensely heavy, a weapon of brute force and intimidation, and the skeleton knight carried it with unmistakable pride, as though it were an extension of his very soul, a brutal symbol of dominance forged in countless battles.
The second knight wielded a quarterstaff, a regulated weapon that was paradoxically both light and heavy, versatile in its reach and rhythm. It was good for distancing the enemy and dealing stunning attacks; while it could not cut, it excelled in another deadly purpose. Held in both hands, it could guard against incoming blows, and when wielded properly, it could deliver multiple rapid strikes to weaken limbs, rendering parts of the body useless, immobile, and vulnerable. If one could not move, one was already dead, for just a single crushing hit from the quarterstaff could bash a skull in, killing outright or inflicting catastrophic damage. Diego viewed the dangerous duo, who regarded him as their enemy, prepped for attack, and he pondered carefully, weighing his next action with the gravity of one who knew hesitation and giving them time to make assumptions could mean death, so he came forward and spoke openly.
The two guards were somewhat surprised to see Diego—the apprentice soul vampire—approach them. Yet, due to their ingrained sense of wariness, they gripped their weapons firmly, certain that Diego would attempt something reckless, something foolish, perhaps even fatal. And indeed, Diego did not disappoint them. He advanced with deliberate calm, his presence radiating an unsettling aura that made the air feel heavier, oppressive, and charged with a tension that seemed to bend reality itself. Though he spoke first, what he said left the guards uncertain, caught in hesitation. That momentary pause, brief yet decisive, was more than enough time for Diego to unleash a fatal attack, one they could not discern, a move destined to alter the course of the fight and diminish the skeleton knight's efficiency in battle, leaving scars not only upon their bodies but upon their very essence, a corruption that gnawed at their marrow and eroded their will.
As Diego moved forward and the castle guards tightened their grip, bracing for the inevitable clash, he stopped abruptly before them, his expression unreadable, and said with chilling indifference:
[You would do well to clear my path. I mean you no harm—at least, not yet. I have already demonstrated restraint by sparing the chaos lich who defied me earlier. Her disobedience earned her bruises, broken pride, and a few shattered bones, yet I still let her crawl away. That mercy was a choice, not a weakness.]
His voice carried a cold certainty, each word heavy with menace, as though the air itself recoiled from his presence, vibrating with the echo of ancient power.
[Allow me passage, and you remain whole. Deny me, and I will not be so forgiving. A cracked rib, a dislocated joint, a severed spinal column—these will be the wages of your loyalty. You know it already, buried deep within your marrow: you cannot defeat me. Stop me, and you will be broken, yet I will still walk through that door. Your choice is not survival or death—it is humiliation or annihilation.]
The knights guarding the path to the throne room felt the weight of his words press against their resolve. A flurry of mixed emotions surged within them—fear, pride, hesitation—each glance exchanged between them betraying uncertainty. Diego, however, was not known for patience. As their indecision lingered, he moved with sudden precision, slipping between them like a shadow. His strike was merciless, carving grievous wounds into their chest bones. Yet the true horror was not the cut itself, but the curse woven into the attack: a draining force that gnawed at their very souls, weakening them with each heartbeat, unraveling their strength like threads pulled from a tapestry.
The knights staggered, pain and rage twisting their skeletal forms, their eyes darting desperately in search of the weapon that had inflicted such devastation. But when they looked upon Diego, they saw no blade in his hands—only the fading afterglow of energy, dissipating into the atmosphere as though it had never existed. Realization dawned with dread: the weapon was not steel, but pure energy, forged into an ethereal weapon, that dealt devastating attacks as did an ordinary weapon while also inflicting curses on enemies as did an enchanted weapon, a fusion of destruction and sorcery that no mortal defense could withstand.
Sensing the foe they were about to face wasn't any ordinary foe, the skeleton knights stopped hesitating and started attacking. They unleashed their best moves, hoping to pin down the cautious, fast‑moving, and all‑powerful figure of Diego. However, no matter what skills they employed, no matter how they wielded their weapons or enhanced their bodies to keep pace, their attacks only fell on empty air. Diego was always one step ahead, his movements elusive, his strikes precise. Worse still, the more they used their inner energy to enhance their bodies, the more they wasted it, bleeding strength through the wounds Diego had inflicted earlier. Each attempt to recover only deepened their exhaustion, draining them faster than they realized. Recognizing that if they continued this way they would surely lose, the knights ceased their reckless assault. With grim determination, each one moved to the side, aligning shoulder to shoulder, deciding to execute a last stand together, a desperate union of defiance against the inevitable.