CHAPTER 110: THE MAN IN WHITE

She lunged again, claws whistling past my throat close enough to part the air with a hiss, drawing a thin line of blood that stung like salt in a wound. But this time I was ready. I relaxed my body down to every last nerve before flickering sideways, activating Salem’s sonic burst.

The dispersed energy exploded through my limbs in a violent ripple that tore at my muscles from within.

It wasn’t the overwhelming power it had once once been when I was guided by that mysterious women—just a flash, a concussive wave of speed that made the air crack like thunder—but it was enough to bend the moment in my favor, time seeming to stretch as I moved.

My arm blurred, pen darting out like a viper’s strike aimed straight for her collarbone. The tip nearly connected—but then she bent back at the last split second.

Damn it!

Pain rippled throughout my arm, steam hissing from my sleeve as my flesh began blistering and screaming in agony.

I stumbled back, wheezing, clutching my arm as waves of nausea crashed over me, my vision swimming with the effort to remain still.

She stood unharmed, triumphant, before bolting toward me again.

However, I twisted into her momentum, hand seizing her wrist before yanking her forward straight into my rising knee. The crunch was obscene, a wet snap of cartilage as I drove it into her ribs.

She coughed blood in a spray of crimson flecks across her chest, staggering, vulnerable—gods, actually vulnerable—and I lashed out, pen flashing like a dagger, hungry for her throat.

Victory seemed to spark at the edge of my reach—until her arm snapped up in a blur, swatting mine aside with the disdain of a queen brushing away an insect.

The shock jolted through my wrist, numbing my fingers, and before I could recover her leg came whipping up. The heel of her foot buried itself into my stomach with bone-rattling force. Air exploded out of me in a strangled bark, my ribs folding like wet parchment as I was launched backward, body bounding across the pavement.

And then—

The blood from her wound before didn’t just disappear this time—it hardened, twisting and elongating into a jagged crimson blade jutting from the stains coating her dress, sharp as forged steel and dripping with venomous promise.

"Oh, now that’s just cheating," I muttered, eyes wide with horrified awe.

"Do you like it?" she purred, flexing her new weapon with a flick of her wrist, the blade humming through the air. "I can make anything I desire. Chains to bind you, spears to impale you, knives to flay your skin... perhaps a leash for your throat, to drag you begging at my feet?"

"Tempting," I said dryly, sweat stinging my eyes and mixing with blood from my cheek, blurring my sight. "But I usually prefer to be the one holding the leash, thank you kindly."

She lunged again, her blade shrieking as it cut a lantern pole clean in half with a metallic twang, the top half clanging to the ground in a shower of sparks. Fire caught along the spilled oil, flames leaping up hungrily.

I twisted sideways at the last possible heartbeat, the motion more instinct than thought. The edge of her conjured blade kissed me close enough to shear a lock of hair, the black strands drifting past my eyes in slow motion before the weapon slammed into the cobblestone.

A deep gouge carved its way through the pavement where I had been standing not half a second before.

My heart rattled against my ribs, the vibration of her strike shivering up my legs even from a glancing distance. One inch slower and I’d have been a crimson smear in the street.

As we continued, her strikes came twisted with the weight of inevitability, me suffering more injuries than I would like to admit. Alongside this, the street, slowly but surely, was reshaping itself into an inferno of shadow and flame, heat baking my skin, smoke choking my lungs with every desperate breath.

My body screamed for respite, exhaustion weighing like lead, but no—I had to land those marks. I had to turn the tide.

So I cheated, drawing upon the depths of the pen’s power.

"Velvet Aura," I whispered, the words barely audible over the roar of flames.

The world shifted, a subtle haze enveloping me. My body glimmered with faint, seductive heat, my presence bending, curling, whispering promises that dripped like honey into the mind—visions of pleasure, surrender, ecstasy.

Her eyes flickered, golden orbs widening in confusion, wings faltering mid-beat with a spasm. For the first time since this nightmare began, she staggered, her breath hitching audibly, pupils dilating as she stared into me, raw hunger rising to the surface, warring with her fury.

Her claws twitched and her posture softening against her will, knees buckling slightly as the aura wrapped around her senses like silken chains.

"You—" she gasped, her voice husky and broken, laced with unwilling desire, "what trick is this?"

"No trick," I panted, staggering forward on legs that felt like jelly, the effort draining me further. "Just irresistible by nature. Truly a curse—to make even monsters like you falter and crave."

Her knees trembled visibly, her wings spasming in erratic beats that stirred the hot, smoke-choked air. For a brief, blessed instant she was off-balance, defenses crumbling under the onslaught of lust I’d pumped through her veins, and then I struck like a viper.

With a sharp flick, I tossed the pen skyward, its black lacquer flashing in the firelight as we collided. Then my body twisted into a pivot, all instinct and desperation, the world narrowing to that single glint above us. I unleashed a brutal slash to her neck with my free hand then spun.

The pen fell. I let myself relax again before snapping my hand up using Salem’s sonic burst, catching it in reverse grip, and before she could recover I drove it down with every last ounce of precision and fury into the meat of her thigh.

The mark burned itself into her flesh with a sound like fat sizzling in a pan, ink searing deep as curls of smoke rose from the wound. Her scream tore through the street, half fury, half unholy arousal, a raw animal howl that rattled the windows of every building around us, shattering glass in showers of deadly rain.

I staggered back, chest heaving, skin steaming with overuse. But I grinned anyway, blood on my teeth. "Two down," I rasped, the words barely holding together. "One to go—then you’re mine to command, you winged freak."

"You insolent—" she snarled, voice breaking into a involuntary moan as the aura tangled her senses further, her body betraying her with shudders. "I’ll rip you apart, tear your limbs from their sockets, feast on your heart while it still beats!"

"Well, at least buy me dinner first," I shot back, though my legs were shaking so badly I could barely stand, knees threatening to give way, the world spinning from blood loss and fatigue.

That was when I heard the voice, cutting through the chaos like a lifeline.

"Cecil!"

It was Rodrick. Gods, Rodrick—my battered, loyal fool.

He stumbled into view at the edge of the square, his face pale as moonlight, eyes wide with a mix of horror and determination as he took in the monster before me, wings unfurling once more in a display of dark majesty.

"Don’t just stand there!" I barked, ducking another swipe that sent paving stones exploding into dust and shrapnel, fragments peppering my back like bee stings. "If you’re here to spectate, at least charge admission—or better yet, lend a hand before she turns us both into minced meat!"

But I didn’t have time for more quips, the air thick with tension, every second a razor edge. I darted to him in a burst of last strength, slammed my lips against his in a desperate, bruising kiss that tasted of blood and smoke, and whispered the invocation between gasping breaths, drawing on our bond.

"Velvet Leech."

Power flooded into me, raw and alien, Rodrick’s strength and training sliding into my veins like stolen fire—his warrior’s instincts overlaying my own like a second skin.

He staggered back, gasping with a startled blush, but I surged forward renewed, muscles singing with borrowed vigor, pen burning like a brand in my hand, desperately ready to end this.

She met me with unbridled fury, a tempest of violence. Spears of blood began shooting from her wounds like wicked arrows, razor-tipped and whistling through the air.

I dodged, barely, rolled, twisted with Rodrick’s honed instincts guiding me, every movement a stolen echo of his skill, driving forward with desperate lunges aimed at her vulnerabilities.

But she was immortal, a ceaseless storm. And yet still I fought. Still I lunged, pen flashing in arcs that left trails of ink and pain. Still I laughed—half hysterical, half defiant, a mad cackle bubbling up as sweat and blood streamed down my face—because gods damn me, I wasn’t going to let her win without paying for every inch, every drop of sweat and blood I spilled.

And then the laughter caught in my throat.

Because she stopped retreating.

Her golden eyes narrowed to slits, the playful glimmer extinguished like a candle drowning in wax. "Enough," she hissed, and her voice wasn’t regal anymore. It was hungry, raw and unmasked. "I’ve indulged your little dance long enough. Now you’ll see why they call me Queen."

Her body began writhing in unnatural motions, joints bending too far, spine elongating until her silhouette stretched monstrously against the firelight. Her limbs lengthened, fingers curving into talons, her breasts flattening as her chest caved into something leaner, hungrier.

Then her face sharpened, drained of its false allure, skin paling into a corpse-like hue as her fangs doubled in size, curving wickedly past her lips. A snarling, skeletal grace radiated from her as her veil of beauty cracked apart, revealing what lay beneath.

Gods above... this. This was the truth of her rank.

I had been wondering the entire fight how I’d managed to keep up with a Queen-Class mage at all—how I, mortal, battered, half-broken, hadn’t been dashed to paste in the first heartbeat. But now I knew. She had been holding back. Toying with me. Playing dress-up with her strength while I flailed.

Her voice dropped lower, resonant, carrying weight that bent the very air around her.

She began to whisper, lips curling into a cruel half-smile as the words spilled out—an incantation so heavy and black I swore I could feel the syllables digging claws into my ears, pulling threads of thought loose, unraveling my mind strand by strand.

Rodrick’s voice cut across the roar of blood in my skull, hoarse and terrified. "Cecil! She’s summoning—gods damn it, that’s a Queen-class spell! If it’s not stopped—it’ll destroy this entire block, maybe more!"

"You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me, is that even possible?!"

My question was left unanswered as the air thickened around us, syrupy, impossible to breathe in. My own thoughts slipped out of my control, spinning into nonsense, twisting back on themselves, pulled by her chant.

And then—

Clink.

A sound like metal on stone, sharp and cold, rang from the shadows behind her, cutting through the din like a tolling bell. Her eyes widened, flashing with something I’d never seen in them before: fear.

All of the sudden, the ground began quaking beneath us, a low rumble building like distant thunder. Then the street itself screamed in agony. Buildings groaned as if alive and in pain, timbers snapping with cracks like breaking spines, stone crumbling in cascades of dust and debris.

The bakery collapsed in on itself in slow motion, walls folding inward with a roar, the square fracturing like glass under a colossal hammer, fissures racing outward in jagged lines that swallowed cobblestones whole.

Rodrick shouted my name over the chaos, his voice raw with panic, rubble raining down like apocalyptic hail, dust choking the air in a blinding veil.

The lady didn’t hesitate, her composure shattering in that dramatic pause—wings beating once with hurricane force, propelling her upward in a vortex of wind that nearly knocked me off my feet, vanishing into the smoke-stained sky like a fleeing shadow, leaving only the echo of her frustrated snarl.

I tried to follow, to pursue, to finish what I’d started.

Gods, I tried, but my limbs were jelly now, collapsing beneath me, veins screaming from the sonic burst’s backlash, lungs ragged with smoke that burned like inhaled embers. All I could do was turn to Rodrick, voice breaking in a hoarse cry.

"Run!" I shouted, the word tearing from my throat.

Then the world collapsed, an avalanche of city crashing down from above in a symphony of destruction. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the sweet, crushing release of oblivion, imagining the weight pulverizing my bones to dust, ending the pain in one final, merciful crush.

But death never came.

The roar faded to silence, dust settling in a haze. When I opened my eyes, coughing and blinking through the grit, I was still breathing. Whole. Unbroken. Not even the dust from above marring my clothes, as if an invisible shield had parted the ruin around me.

What the hell?

The sheer absurdity of the situation pulled a laugh out of me, sharp, broken, half-hysterical, echoing in the ruined square like a madman’s defiance.

And then I looked up, heart seizing.

There, standing atop the ruin like a sentinel, framed in swirling smoke and pale moonlight, was a man. His cloak was white as bleached bone, billowing faintly in the dying winds, hood shadowing his face so deeply that only the faint gleam of eyes pierced the darkness.

He stood with the poise of judgment incarnate—silent, still, unmoving—as the city burned around him, flames licking at the edges of his perch without touching him. And then he spoke.

"Quite the spectacle," he mused, his words cutting clean through the smoke. "The city cracked open, its bones laid bare, and yet... here you stand, still breathing and, relatively, intact. Though I must say, you seem to be quiet spent..."

He paused for a moment.

"Tell me, would you care to join me for some tea?"