CHAPTER 130: CHAPTER 130 | INTERFERENCE

With a resounding

*bang!

Venedix burst forward like a streak of lightning, the ground beneath her cracking in her wake.

Though her current speed was noticeably slower than when she had wielded her glaive-like weapon earlier, it was still far beyond what most could react to.

It was fast enough to dodge even the massive, sluggish swing of Malgareth’s corrupted blade.

She angled her body low and to the side, narrowly slipping past the descending weapon as it slammed down with brute force, sending debris and dark mist scattering into the air.

The pressure of the swing alone could’ve shattered weaker warriors, but Venedix pressed on without hesitation.

In one fluid motion, she ran up the length of Malgareth’s grotesque armored arm, her boots clanking against the warped and twisted plating with every step.

Each contact echoed like metallic thunder, steady and precise, as if she were sprinting on solid ground rather than a living monstrosity.

Malgareth bellowed, his roar piercing through the air like a wounded animal.

His void-like eyes spilled even more black tears, the thick liquid trailing down his deformed face as his voice warped into something no longer human.

It wasn’t the roar of anger—it was of pain.

Of agony.

Of something still alive deep within that beast... crying out.

But Venedix didn’t stop.

She paid it no mind.

There was no pity in her gaze—only purpose.

Her grip tightened on both swords, the blades crackling with crimson and golden eidra as she spun around his shoulder, her form a blur of red and gold.

She struck with every rotation, each slash tearing through Malgareth’s armor and the corrupted flesh beneath it with violent precision.

*Slash! *Shhk! *Crack!

One after another, the cuts piled up, leaving trails of burning eidra across the beast’s body as the execution continued—methodical, merciless, and unrelenting.

Venedix then kicked off from Malgareth’s massive shoulder plate, her body launching upward like a bolt of crimson lightning.

She rose high into the air, her swords humming with growing energy, their blades gleaming with the power of both crimson and gold eidra.

Below, Malgareth’s twisted head creaked upwards with a sickening crack, and from his gaping maw, a vile torrent of black bile surged up toward her—thick, rotten, corrupted.

*SHHRRRGHHHH!!

The bile exploded upward in a pressurized column, aiming to engulf her completely.

But Venedix was already preparing her counter.

With one fluid motion mid-air, she crossed her swords in an X-shape and unleashed a criss-cross barrage of crimson eidra waves.

Each wave sliced through the air with sharp precision, slashing into the bile and instantly disintegrating it.

The putrid stream never reached her—shredded and vaporized by the sheer heat and force of her crimson assault.

The air shimmered.

Then—

*crack!

She kicked off the sky itself, a technique only possible with absolute eidra mastery.

A thunderous boom echoed above as she descended like a meteor, her swords still crossed in an X-shape as she aimed for the corrupted monster below.

Malgareth reacted with primal instinct.

With a guttural roar that shook the ground, he swung his enormous blade upward in a wide arc.

The sheer force of it howled through the battlefield like a massive guillotine, flipping through the air in a desperate attempt to intercept her.

But it was too slow.

Too heavy.

Too predictable.

Pathetic.

Venedix didn’t change course.

She burst both of her swords outward at the last second, breaking the X-formation into a wide double slash that collided straight into Malgareth’s chest.

*CRACK! *SHHHK!

Her blades tore through the front of his chest plate and deep into the blackened, writhing flesh beneath.

Chunks of armor split open.

Corrupted flesh peeled and burned under the lacerating strike.

Malgareth’s roar turned into a shriek—one not of rage, but of pain.

From there, Venedix continued the one-sided onslaught.

Each of her movements were clean, precise, and brutal—never wasting time, never hesitating.

She didn’t give Malgareth any chance to recover.

Not even a moment to breathe.

Her twin blades danced like wild lightning, cleaving through corrupted flesh and armor as if it was paper soaked in oil.

Jinn saw it all.

Clearer than ever before.

The way Venedix moved... how she spun her blades in perfect rhythm, how her eidra formed and surged through her weapons like veins of living thunder.

She wasn’t just fighting—she was completely overpowering Malgareth’s monstrous form.

Before, he wouldn’t have been able to follow her movements.

She used to be too fast, too sharp—her strikes almost invisible to him.

But now, his eyes could track it.

He could see the arcs, the slashes, the exact way she released her eidra mid-strike.

Even the way her feet shifted ever so slightly for balance—he could read it now.

"This is probably the Muradryn’s power," Jinn muttered to himself, low and quiet under his breath.

Yet as if something had heard his thoughts, he suddenly felt it.

The Muradryn stirred within him.

It wasn’t loud or overwhelming—but subtle.

Like a warm current rushing through his body, rising gently through his limbs.

Familiar.

Powerful.

Reassuring.

His fingers curled slightly, and he felt that strength return again—the strength that had first awakened when he had fought Verkaryon.

It was Muradryn.

He was sure of it now.

It wasn’t just some foreign power anymore.

It was his.

Seconds passed.

Then a full minute.

And by then, Venedix had completely dominated Malgareth.

His monstrous form—once towering, unstoppable—was now a pile of wreckage.

She had cut off all of his limbs, torn through the black flesh, broken his mutated body until nothing remained but his torso and head, squirming on the ground like some dying animal.

But still... he screamed.

He still cried, black tears pouring endlessly from his hollow eyes, thick and tar-like, dripping onto the broken ground beneath him.

He refused to stop.

Refused to die.

As if something inside him just didn’t want to give up.

As if his pain would somehow change what was already done.

Venedix stood above him, unmoved.

Her boots crushed against the cracked shell of Malgareth’s helmet, her balance perfect as always.

She stared down at him coldly, both of her swords already raised in her hands—poised for the final strike.

The blades glowed with raw power, each humming violently.

One pulsed with golden eidra—the essence of prime energy.

The other flared with violent crimson, the destructive thunder of her power.

Together, they weren’t just swords.

They were executioners.

Instruments of finality.

She knew where the corrupted core was—it always sat deep inside the center of the chest.

Malgareth’s was no exception, but his core, unlike others, pulsed with unstable energy, like a bomb waiting to detonate.

If left unchecked, it could explode and take everyone with him.

But Venedix didn’t fear that.

She raised both swords higher.

This was it.

One blade to pierce the flesh, the other to obliterate the core.

She drew in a breath, calm and focused.

And then her arms snapped forward.

But before the strike landed—

A scream echoed through the air.

"WAIT!"

It rang out clear.

Familiar.

Urgent.

Venedix completely halted her arms, both swords still cracking with power—mere inches from Malgareth’s screaming, broken head.

The golden and crimson blades vibrated dangerously, humming in the air like waiting judgment, their sharp edges hovering over the final blow.

Silence filled the battlefield for a moment.

Then Venedix slowly turned her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she peered toward the source of the voice.

One brow raised, the air around her still sparking faintly with eidra.

"Mhm," she hummed with quiet intrigue, her posture shifting as she slowly straightened herself.

The weight of the execution she was about to deliver still clung to the atmosphere.

"You better have a good reason to stop me from killing a corrupted blight..."

Her voice dropped slightly, calm yet sharp.

"Jinn."

The name rang across the ruined ground like a bell.

Jinn stepped forward without hesitation, his brows furrowed deep with seriousness.

The others behind him exchanged glances, confused and unsure of what he was about to do.

Even Zendrell’s expression shifted ever so slightly, curious but quiet.

But Jinn... he didn’t waver.

He was sure of his decision.

Sure of what he had heard.

Sure of the message that had been given to him, that only he seemed to understand.

He took another step forward, the sound of his boots pressing down on the cracked ground echoed faintly.

His grip tightened around the hilt of his sword.

It responded to him instantly—whirring with renewed strength, dark yet steady, as golden flickers and black streams of eidra coursed around its blade.

The power of Muradryn pulsed inside it.

Alive.

Listening.

And it was waiting—for what Jinn would do next.

He could feel it, humming not just in the weapon but within his veins, as if the spirit of Muradryn itself was watching through his eyes.

It wasn’t a whisper or a voice anymore—it was presence, pressure, a subtle weight behind his thoughts, pushing him forward without force.

Not commanding him.

Guiding him.

His breaths slowed.

His heart didn’t race with fear but with something sharper—clarity.

He wasn’t just stepping forward as a swordsman.

Not as a slave, nor an oprhan.

He was stepping forward as the one chosen to carry Muradryn’s will.

And whatever came next... it would be his choice.