Previously, on Sword Of Vengeance
Elena plummeted violently into the earth's crust, the impact shaking the ground beneath her.
Her body tumbled uncontrollably across the scorched terrain, jagged rocks tearing at her flesh as she rolled.
Her momentum came to a brutal halt as her head collided with a sharp boulder, a sickening crack echoing through the air.
A crimson stream bursts out front of the gash of her temple, painting the rugged ground in vivid streaks of blood.
Gasping for air, her chest rose and fell in desperate uneven heaves as she struggled to draw air into her battered lungs.
Her limbs trembled uncontrollably, her body writhing as she fought against pain and fatigue that threatened to consume her.
Gritting her teeth, she pressed her palm into the hot, unforgiving earth, her fingers clawing at the dirt in a desperate attempt to rise.
Her frame convulsed on the strain, but still, she willed herself to get back up.
A massive shadow crept over her, dark and oppressive as the towering figure of a Golmor closed in.
Its grotesque form blocked out what little light remained and a faint sound of guttural growl filled the air.
The weight of its presence pressed down on her, suffocating and inescapable.
Elena's body lay battered and broken, her strength drained from the violent fall.
As the Golmor raised its colossal axe high above its head, ready to deliver a death blow, something deep within her stirred.
Helpless but not defeated, her trembling hands began to move, driven by a reflexive, primal will to survive.
They crawled slowly, painfully across the dirt, her fingers stretched out towards the sword lying just inches away.
Every movement sent pain coursing through her body but she couldn't stop.
Her breathing was shallow and erratic as the shadow of the descending axe loomed closer.
Although she knew the weapon would strike her before she could reach the blade, her efforts were likely in vain.
Her desperation and instincts still guided her hands, inching her fingers closer to the hilt.
As the hum of the axe slices through the air, reaching her ears, her fingers graze the cold steel, gripping it tightly in a final, defiant act.
But the Golmor sneered down at her; it voiced a guttural echo of malice before driving its boots into her ribs with cruel precision.
The force of it sent Elena sprawling. Her body crumpled hard against the sunbaked earth.
A cloud of dust rose around her as she hit the ground, choking the air from her lungs.
Pain flares through her chest, sharp and unrelenting. She gasped for breath, the sound ragged and wet.
She clung to the fragile thread of consciousness, her vision swimming as she fixed her gaze on the blade lying inches from her outstretched fingers.
Its polished steel gleamed faintly in a dim light, a glimmer of hope just out of reach.
Is this her end?
The thought clawed at her mind as the heavy, deliberate thuds of the Golmor's approach echoed closer.
Each step reverberated through her, a harbinger of an end she feared yet could not escape.
Defeat weighs on her as her trembling hands drop to the dirt, the strength to fight draining from her battered body.
Elena turned her neck to the side. Her vision blurs with unshed tears.
Blood dripped down from the corner of her cracked lips, pooling in the dust beneath her cheek.
The metallic taste was bitter on her tongue, mingling with the bitterness of failure.
Her breaths came shallow and uneven as she waited for the inevitable, her battered body betraying the fight still burning faintly in her heart.
The Golmor loomed over her, its grotesque form casting a long shadow as it raised its massive axe high above its head,
the weapon gleamed wickedly in the dim light, poised to deliver the final, fatal blow.
Time seemed to slow as the axe began its deadly descent. Then a sudden, sharp hum cut through the air, vibrating like an invisible force that sent ripples through the battlefield.
His hand intercepted the blow just in time and the impact of force reverberated through his arm as steel clashed against steel.
The mark on his wrist flared to life, glowing with an intense, searing brilliance that eclipsed the sight of his grip on the blade. The intricate symbol pulsed rhythmically, each throb flooding his body with a surge of raw, untamed energy.
His muscles tensed, veins bulging as the newfound power coursed through him, burning like molten fire in his blood.
With a sharp exhale, he twisted his body, narrowly evading the axe's edge as he shifted into a low, agile stance. The movement was fluid yet precise, driven by a strength he hadn't realized he possessed.
In one explosive motion, he lunged forward; his hand outstretched, and his palm slammed against the Golmor's coarse, leathery hide with a force that echoed like a thunderclap.
The impact resonated through the Golmor's body, its massive frame jerking backwards slightly as the force radiated outward.
The mark on his wrist blazed even brighter, its fiery glow casting shadows that danced wildly around them, hinting at a power far greater than either of them understood.
A sudden vertical slash of wind erupted in between them, ripping through the air with a deafening roar. The force of his attack blasted the ground, kicking up the thick cloud of dust that hung over the battlefield.
His movements were fluid, each one deliberate and unyielding as he followed through without hesitation.
With a swift upward stroke, his blade carved a deadly arc into the air, its edge glowing faintly from the power coursing through him.
For a brief moment, the world stood still as the arc of his strike burned brightly, tracing the line of fierce, untamed energy.
A sudden pulse of pressure rippled outward, sending a faint vibration into the air.
The Golmor froze, its grotesque twitching as the impact surged through its being.
A guttural, otherworldly hiss escapes the creature's body, carried by fierce gusts of winds that seem to pour out from within it.
Its massive clawed hands slackened, and the heavy axe slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground with a resounding thud.
The weapon struck the earth with such force that it left jagged dents in the soil, as a silent testament to the strength the Golmor once wielded.
Then, with an eerie stillness, the Golmor's torso began to separate.
Its abdomen splits from its waist, the severed upper half tilting forward before collapsing to the ground in a lifeless heap.
A sticky green ichor poured from the wound, pooling rapidly around the remains.
The acrid stench of the Golmor's blood filled the air, mingling with the dust and the lingering tension of the fight.
The entire place became silent, except for the steady drip of green blood and the faint hum of the blade, still charged with the ambience that had killed the Golmor.
The reason why he had chosen to take Austrus and Elena's side was because some big old skulled bastards had interrupted his fun.
Aside from that, he knew they were friends with Cathiana.
It wouldn't be sitting well if she woke up and realised that she had lost any of her friends when he was here.
"If you don't want to die here today, better get up on your feet and fight like the warrior you claim to be."
He said, gathering ambience in his palm and gently placing it on her chest.
Although, in her prime, Elena would have responded to anyone touching her with swift and deadly precision, this time was different.
She was far too weak to muster even the slightest resistance. Her body, usually a vessel of unparalleled strength and agility, now felt like a broken shell, incapable of defiance.
As his hands touched her chest, a surge of unfamiliar energy coursed through her.
It wasn't just a touch, it was as if something ancient and powerful had invaded her very being, slipping into the core of her soul.
Her breath hitched, and her wide, disbelieving eyes locked onto him as she lay helplessly on the cold, unforgiving ground.
Shock rippled through her weakened frame as the sensation intensified.
It wasn't the pain she felt but a strange revitalizing force. To her astonishment, the weakness that had bound her lifted and her strength began to return.
Flowing back like a tide returning to the shore.
The wounds that marred her body knit together as if time had reversed.
Her rapid recovery left her awestruck and uneasy. Her mind raced to comprehend the mysterious force that now coursed through her.
Just who is this guy?
A while ago, he was their enemy and now he has become an ally. What the hell is going on?
Meanwhile, throughout the chaos of the fight, Austrus had been dangling limply from the branches of a tree, unconscious and utterly unaware of the carnage unfolding below. The shockwaves of explosions that had reverberated through the air rattled the branches, which jolted him back to a hazy state of awareness.
A low groan escaped his lips as his eyelids fluttered open. His vision blurred at first, and he blinked rapidly, trying to make sense of his surroundings.
The disorientation was overwhelming—he had no recollection of how he had ended up there, hanging precariously like a forgotten puppet swaying in the breeze.
Suddenly, the branch beneath him gave way, and he tumbled to the ground with a dull thud.
Pain radiated through his body, but he ignored it, sitting up slowly and pressing a hand to his chest. His breathing was laboured, and a dull ache pulsed where the attack had struck him.
As his thoughts cleared, fragments of memory began to surface. The sudden, devastating attack. Realization dawned on him—he had fainted in the heat of the battle.
Shame and frustration flickered across his face as he struggled to his feet, his gaze scanning the battlefield to assess the aftermath of the chaos he had missed.
As Austrus fought to clear the haze clouding his mind, the low rumble of another explosion reached his ears, distant yet powerful, and tore through the stillness like an ominous warning.
The ground quivered slightly.
A grim reminder of the destruction spreading miles away.
He had barely had time to steady himself when another explosion erupted dangerously close to him.
The air itself rippled as a blinding light illuminated the sky, followed by a deafening roar.
Its powerful shockwave rolled towards him, carrying with it a torrent of scorching wind and churned-up sand.
The force struck him like a tidal wave.
He instinctively raised his arm to shield his face from the searing debris, his boots digging into the ground as he braced against the blast.
Through the chaos, a sound pierced the cacophony. A sharp agonized cry, distant yet distinct.
It reached him like a dagger to his chest, sending chills down his spine. For a moment, time seemed to freeze as his mind raced.
The voice...it had to be Elena.
His heart clenched at the thought, fury and dread tangling within him.
" Princess Elena.."
Her name escapes his lips in a low growl, his anger flaring kike wildfire.
His jaw tightened, and his fist clenched as his resolve solidified.
Whoever dared to hurt her, whoever that bastard was, they would pay with their life.
Driven by that singular thought, Austrus reached behind him with purpose. His cape swept aside in one fluid motion, revealing the hilt of a long, sheathed sword strapped around his back.
The weapon glinted faintly in a dim light, a silent testament to its lethality.
His fingers curled around the hilt, the cool metal pressing into his palm as he drew the blade with a smooth deliberate motion.
And it emerged with a whispering hiss, its edge catching the faint glow of the smouldering battlefield.
Austrus straightened, his eyes blazing with unrelenting determination.
Without hesitation, he strode forward, each step fueled by the fire of his anger and his unshakable vow for vengeance.
He crouched low, his weight pressing to his feet as a surge of energy coiled around his legs, rippling like a force barely contained. With a sudden burst, he launched into the air, defying the oppressive grip of gravity, a streak of motion that tore through the stillness of the atmosphere.
In mid-flight, Dalbeth's Sword, the ancient weapon that had slumbered for centuries sang a haunting, serpentine note that echoed through the air—a sound like a long-dormant beast stirring from its rest.
Sparks leapt from the blade's surface, scattering like stardust, as a luminous blue glow surged forth, cascading over the weapon in a radiant blaze.
The sword pulsed with life, as though it remembered its purpose and yearned to unleash its power.
Austrus closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, drawing his essence inward.
He fused himself with the weapon, his soul intertwining with its ancient spirit.
His muscles swelled with raw energy, veins bulging beneath his skin as the sword's insatiable hunger fed on his life force.
The air around him began to convulse; a furious cyclone of wind erupted, roaring in tandem with the sword's growing might.
It was a chaotic symphony of power, a storm that blurred the lines between man and weapon.
With his energy now at its zenith, Austrus tilted forward, plunging toward the earth in a controlled spiral, he flipped through the air with inhuman precision, the sword poised for the strike.
The buildup of force radiated outward, creating shockwaves that rattled the heavens.
As he neared the ground, his descent transformed into a deadly arc of motion.
His blade swung downward in a decisive slash, a technique both graceful and devastating: Holy Mantis Grey.
The technique, an ancient, revered sword art lost in the ruins of Mada-Est-Lana, channelled the power of the sword's energy into a singular strike.
The air screamed as the blade descended, splitting the very fabric of space with a blinding explosion of light and wind.