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Chapter 79
The Enslaver''s Gambit
This...
<i>This isn’t fun.</i>
Oh, the molten trickle of blood spilling over my
fingers—that’s familiar, a pleasure so sharp it’s almost holy. The searing
ecstasy shivers down my spine, coiling in the pit of my stomach.
<i>But this?</i>
This
is an insult. A sick, cosmic joke at my expense.
My grip tightens. My claws sink deeper, parting
flesh with a wet, gluttonous squelch. the man chokes, breath rattling through
blood-slicked lips. His body sags, heavy and broken. He gasps, eyes wide, chest
hitching in short, shallow bursts.
<i>Foolish man.</i>
I twist my wrist—slow, deliberate. Bone grinds
against bone, sinew tears like damp parchment. A shudder rips through him, his
face twisting in agony. And yet, even now, even with my talons buried deep,
that ember in his eyes refuses to die.
He still thinks he’s something. He clings to the
delusion that he matters.
<i>Nah, mate... </i>
He’s just a man.
"And ''ere I thought you were Arthur’s
double, tryin’ to cock up me day."
A chuckle rumbles low in my throat, curling like
smoke between the trees. The enchanted forest hums in response, roots pulsing
with latent power, feeding the storm in my veins. The scent of damp earth and
sap clings thick to the air, laced now with the copper tang of blood.
<i>Intoxicating.</i>
They... No, we all thought he was something special. Something
beyond mortal limitations. As it turns out, well.
Look at him now—trembling, sagging, useless. Not
even close. Not even ascended. Not even on my level.
Funny, innit. How time stretches, thick and viscous, like honey
sliding off a blade.
<i>Why won’t he just die?</i>
I can feel it—his agony, sharp and electric,
crackling in the air like the charge before a storm. His body is failing, his
life unraveling thread by thread. But...
Those eyes.
<i>Those damn eyes.</i>
They still burn.
There’s something there—something I can’t place.
A flicker of defiance, of refusal. He isn’t done. He isn’t broken. He’s
waiting. Calculating.
<i>Why?</i>
He must feel it—the chasm between us. The weight
of my power pressing down like an executioner’s blade. The slow creep of death,
curling its fingers around his heart. He should be fading. He should be gone.
And yet…
<i>He isn’t?</i>
His heart still beats. His fingers—weak but
steady—clamp around my forearm. And his eyes, narrow and unyielding, still
watch me. Cold. Sharp. Dangerous.
<i>Stubborn bastard.</i>
I ignore it.
He’s just a man. Just a man. <b></b>
<b><i>JUST A MAN.</i></b>
"This," I snarl, voice thick with
venom, "is for the portal that bleedin’ daughter of yours wrecked."
And the bastard smiles. Even now, even as his
body betrays him, he smiles.
"All me years of graft, all me careful
stitchin’ together of plans, all cocked up by a demon Sheila and her... hairy
little gits."
The forest trembles. The air itself thrums,
charged with power, thick with the pulse of ancient magic. It slithers through
the roots, through the stone, through me. My veins hum with it.
Camelot will
belong to me. I will claim it. And soon, the dungeon will be mine.
Those foolish magistrates. They thought they had a weapon, didn’t they?
Merlin—the ghost in their precious war machine. But she’s gone. Like all the
others. Like Arthur. Like the Dragons.
"I planned the bleedin’ works!" My grip
tightens, and with a single, savage motion, I haul Grant’s battered form from
the ground. He dangles before me, swaying like a torn banner in the wind.
"The timin’ was bang on, ripe for the
nickin''... and you—" My claws dig in, blood welling hot around them. <b>"You
just had to cock it all up, didn’t ya?"</b>
He gasps—a wet, broken sound, barely more than a
whisper. I can’t make out the words, but his lips shape them anyway. Stubborn.
Defiant. Blood pools at the corners of his mouth, staining his teeth as he
grins through the pain.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
<b><i>Stupid. Stubborn. Bastard.</i></b>
In the end, he’s just a man. Just another pawn
waiting to fall.
I raise my hand, fingers curling into a fist,
heavy with the weight of finality. The air thickens, charged, waiting.
<i>Erskine the Enslaver.</i>
The name coils in my mind, heavy and dark, a
whisper of something greater. That is who I am.
<i>This is it. The end.</i>
Then—<b>agony.</b>
Fire rips through my arm. A blinding flash of
red. Bone, blood, flesh—<b>gone.</b> My forearm detonates into mist and
splinters, nerves screaming, my mind lagging behind the loss. The pain is
white-hot, sharp enough to steal my breath. I stagger back, a roar tearing from
my throat, raw with fury and disbelief.
Before I can process it, something else slams
into me—hard, brutal, straight to the chest. The impact sends a shockwave
through my ribs, my breath vanishing in a ragged wheeze.
And then, the voice.
<b><i>"THIS IS SPARTA!"</i></b>
<i>What. The. Actual. Fuck.</i>
The world tilts. One moment, I’m manhandling
Grant’s battered body. The next, I’m airborne.
<i>Flung like a damn ragdoll.</i>
I barely have time to register the flight before
I crash—spine-first—into a tree the size of a house. Bark cracks. Ribs bruise.
Pain flares like wildfire.
Dirt in my teeth. Blood in my mouth. The acrid
burn of sweat fills my nose. My head pounds, vision pulsing at the edges. But I
force myself upright, breath dragging in uneven gasps.
My eyes snap forward.
Damn...
Whatever hit me sent me flying. My HP bar
nosedived. Bones rattled. Sinew screamed. The metallic tang of blood filled my
mouth. My HUD flickered red, warnings flashing.
<b>-374 HP</b>
<b>[Debuff Acquired: Ruptured Organs -3% HP
Regen]</b>
I forced myself upright, vision swimming. The
battlefield was chaos—like some lunatic’s fever dream.
Grant lay sprawled, his HP bar circling the
drain. But he wasn’t alone.
<i>Squirrels.</i>
Not just any squirrels—ninja squirrels.
They moved in perfect sync, their agility stats
absurdly high, kunai glinting under the sun’s warm glow. Enchanted runes shimmered
along the blades. Their beady eyes tracked me with NPC-driven hostility, tails
flicking in eerie unison.
And at the center stood their leader.
<i>A big one.</i>
<b>Elite Unit: Samurai Tank (Lvl 15).</b>
Loose clothing, leathery armor patches, battle-scarred. Once-pristine
fur, now matted with muscles. And, blood.
<i>My blood.</i>
His katana pulsed with residual magic, crimson
dripping from its edge.
Beside Grant, another dwarf sized figure knelt. Radiant
paws hovered over his chest, glowing with soft golden-green light.
<b>Support Unit: Sage (Lvl 16).</b>
<i>A healer?</i>
Of course.
My breath hitched. Then I laughed—a raw, unhinged
sound that rattled through my ribs, echoing through the dense forest like a war
drum. The air was thick with damp earth and blood, the sharp metallic tang of
violence curling in my lungs.
<b><i>"YES!"</i></b>
No system alert. No boss fight notification. But
this?
<i>This was better.</i>
I dragged my tongue across my lips, tasting sweat
and iron. <b><i>"Finally,"</i></b> I hissed, reveling in the charge of
battle thrumming through my veins. <b><i>"A proper fucking challenge!"</i></b>
Power surged through me, raw and unfiltered. My
passive abilities flared to life. My HUD flickered—status warnings dissolving
as adrenaline-fueled magic roared through my system. My pulse pounded against
my skull. A primal hunger clawed at my insides, demanding destruction.
Then—sharp pain. A searing, wet sting above my hip.
A dagger, precise and unforgiving.
<b>CRITICAL HIT!</b>
<b>-524 HP </b>
<b>(Vital Strike: Kidney Laceration).</b>
I staggered, vision stuttering.
<i>A good hit.</i>
My regeneration passive wavered. My arm stopped
regenerating.
<b>[Status Effect: Impaired Regeneration -75%
Healing Rate]</b>
Trolls stored magic in their organs. That wasn’t
just an attack—it was a permanent debuff.
Before I could pivot—another strike. Thin. Cruel.
Sliding between my vertebrae like a whisper of death.
<b>[Warning: Spinal Trauma Detected!]</b>
<b>-601 HP. </b>
<b>Movement Speed Reduced by 30%.</b>
Pain exploded, electric and merciless, locking my
limbs in place with a paralyzing jolt.
<i>That one? That one hurt.</i>
And then, the voice—low, teasing, dripping with
venom.
"Payback’s a bitch… ‘innit,’ love?"
A shiver licked up my spine.
<b>Enemy Detected: </b>
<b>Ember (Lvl ??).</b>
Damn that demon girl!
No.
<i>Damn that Grant.</i>
The bastard had played me. I’d been so consumed
with breaking him, so certain of my victory, that I never saw it.
<i>He was stalling.</i>
I exhaled, slow and measured. My fingers, those that remained,
twitched. Blood slipping between my knuckles. My health bar ticked downward,
flickering at the edge of my vision.
But my grin?
My grin only widened.
<b>[Adrenaline Surge Activated: +25% Attack Speed
| +40% Lifesteal]</b>
<i>“Touché! Love.”</i>