CHAPTER 32: EX 32. THE DEMON II

Steel clashed with claw, echoing through the dim generator room like thunder trapped in a cage.

Leon’s sword met the demon’s jagged talons again and again, each blow sharper, faster, heavier. Sparks flew with every collision, painting flashes of white and gold across the steel floor.

The demon snarled, muscles flexing as it repelled another of Leon’s strikes.

But something was wrong.

’Why is he not dead yet?’

They clashed again, blades grinding against claws, their strength evenly matched for a breathless moment before both were pushed back, boots skidding across metal.

Then they charged again.

’He’s just an F-rank,’ the demon thought, confusion bleeding into its rage. ’How can he keep up with me?!’

Leon’s sword came in low, swift as lightning. The demon barely deflected it, but Leon used the opening, pivoting in close to deliver a finishing thrust.

The demon’s eyes widened as Its wings flared open in panic, lifting it backward just in time to avoid the killing blow.

But Leon’s gaze didn’t waver.

He was already moving again, feet light, blade raised, eyes locked on his target like a predator stalking its wounded prey.

’Was it possible?’ the demon thought. ’That first attack—I thought it missed... but did he dodge it?’

The realization struck like ice.

And then they clashed again.

The steel of Leon’s blade shrieked against the demon’s obsidian claws, sparks bursting like miniature suns. They moved too fast for untrained eyes, a storm of violence in a room too small to contain it.

"Enough!" the demon snarled in its mind.

With a roar, it leapt back, raising both arms high.

"Carnival of Shadow!"

Dark mana erupted from its body like a geyser, consuming the room in an instant. Shadows warped, twisted—and then split.

Dozens. No—hundreds.

One by one, mirages of the demon formed, each a perfect replica, until over a hundred identical copies surrounded Leon, circling like wolves.

They raised their arms in unison.

Magic circles bloomed before them, etched in glowing red.

Their voices overlapped.

"Try not to get burnt."

A hundred fireballs ignited at once.

Leon’s eyes narrowed.

He could tell that one of them was real. But even with his heightened senses, the illusion was flawless.

Picking the right one would be a gamble. A single mistake meant death.

So he didn’t guess.

He acted.

In an instant, Leon burned 300 attack points, flooding his Speed stat with 3000 temporary points.

The world slowed as his body blurred.

The fireballs roared forward but Leon was already gone.

The illusions’ eyes widened in sync.

"Where did he go?!" they shouted, echoing across the room.

Suddenly—one illusion vanished, its form dissipating into shadow and smoke.

"Spread out!" they screamed.

But it was too late.

Another vanished.

Then three more.

Then five.

Leon was a phantom—blinking between the copies, his sword a streak of silver death.

The demon’s advantage had turned into a liability. The mass of clones became Useless. Each fallen illusion made it harder to hide.

The demon screamed, fury cracking its voice.

"How is this possible?!"

One by one, the clones were cut down.

Until only one remained.

The real one.

Leon stood across from it, breath calm, sword leveled. His eyes—cold and unwavering.

The demon stared at him, disbelief warping its face.

"W-what a mo—"

A single, horizontal slash.

SCHLK.

As the sentence was never finished.

The demon’s head slid from its neck, spinning once before hitting the floor with a wet thud. The body stood for a moment longer... then collapsed beside it, lifeless.

Leon lowered his blade, exhaling slowly.

The room was silent again.

The illusions gone.

The demon—dead.

****

Upstairs, the mall’s central floor was chaos.

Shattered tiles, flickering lights, and the bloodied remains of failed zealotry littered the path. At the heart of it all stood Adrian Peer, his blade glowing faintly with radiant energy, his shield raised and scuffed from the constant assault.

The cultists surrounded him like hungry dogs, but his eyes never left their leader—the man draped in jagged black robes, his presence more dangerous than the rest combined.

The followers didn’t fight recklessly.

They flanked, distracted, and debuffed.

But Adrian was no common Taker.

While they came at him with Tier II weapons and petty tricks, he held in his hands the fruits of his first trial as a taker—a Tier V longsword, heavy and precise, and a Tier V shield, inscribed with runes that shimmered with defensive force.

But more than gear... he also had his talent.

[Extraordinary Talent: Full Counter]

Its first effect: reflect any attack with equal force.

The second: amplify that returned force—randomly and without warning.

A gamble.

A blessing.

A nightmare for anyone foolish enough to strike him.

He stood like a wall as the enemies closed in.

The cult leader narrowed his eyes from the back, murmuring an incantation, while his followers made their move.

Adrian’s own eyes burned with calm fury as he stomped forward and activated his Taunt Skill.

"Come face me!" he roared, the power in his voice resonating with force.

The cultists froze for a heartbeat—then turned, eyes hollow, pulled forward by the compulsion.

"No!" the leader shouted. "Don’t engage directly—keep the formation!"

But it was already too late.

The first cultist struck—blade singing toward Adrian’s ribs.

The second followed, fire magic flaring at point-blank range.

A third leapt for his throat with a curved dagger glowing purple.

Adrian didn’t dodge.

As full Counter—activated.

A sharp gleam flashed from his body. The strikes landed—

—then rebounded with twice the force.

The dagger-wielder flew backward, spine shattering against a concrete pillar. The fire mage exploded in his own blaze, screaming as the flames turned inward. The third cultist convulsed mid-air, her own poison blade embedded deep into her chest after a redirected swing.

In the span of a few minutes, Adrian had taken down all the followers.

The air grew still again with only the leader remaining.

Adrian lowered his shield, stepping through the smoke, unfazed.

The cult leader trembled—rage boiling across his twisted features.

"You wretched heretic! May God strike you down!"

Dark, pulsing waves began to rise from the cultist’s body, forming a vile aura of corruption. Shadows licked at the tiles.

Magic seethed in his veins. Adrian’s eyes narrowed, shield rising his mind calculating the threat.

’What is he doing?’

He took a half-step forward, muscles coiled to counter whatever came next.

But then—

His eyes widened.

As the cult leader turned and charged toward the exit.

"...⊙⁠.⁠☉" Adrian blinked. "...Huh?"

This wasn’t a last stand. He was trying to run.

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A/N: Please send power stones and leave reviews.

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