CHAPTER 355: JUDGEMENT (3)

The impact cracked the cavern floor. Dust and stone erupted upward. For a moment, all was smoke and shadow and screaming echoes.

When it cleared, both still stood, but Maeven now bore a shallow cut across his cheek. A line of blood, thin but real, trailed down his pale skin.

Lindarion’s lips curled into something between a grin and a snarl.

Maeven touched the blood with his fingers. He looked at it like a scholar studying an artifact, then slowly brought his hand to his mouth. His tongue licked the crimson smear away.

His pale eyes lifted, brighter now. "Yes," he whispered. "This will be fun."

The cavern groaned around them. The humans pressed further back, some whispering prayers, others vomiting from the sheer pressure pressing against their bodies. The mutants trembled, caught between hunger and instinctive fear.

But Lindarion heard none of it. Only the thrum of the blade in his hand, and the blood rushing in his ears.

Maeven raised his hand again. Lindarion tightened his grip.

And the fight began anew.

—

Dust still hung in the air, thick enough to taste. It bit like ash on Lindarion’s tongue, metallic, acrid. His chest heaved, but his grip on the blade never loosened. Across from him, Maeven wiped the blood from his cheek with the back of his hand, that same unnervingly faint smile curling his lips.

It wasn’t arrogance now. It was interest.

"You’ve tasted flesh," Maeven said softly. His pale hair clung to his cheek in the sweat and blood. "A pup gnawing bones. But—" his head tilted, that faint smile sharpening like a knife "—let us see if you can devour."

Shadows convulsed behind Lindarion. They weren’t waiting anymore; they writhed and clawed against the cavern walls, eager to leap. His lips peeled back, teeth faintly red from the blood that hadn’t stopped dripping from his mouth.

’Keep smiling. I’ll carve that expression off your skull.’

He charged.

The cavern floor cracked under his step. Darkness burst outward, a jagged line splitting the stone as he swung. The blade howled through the air, arcs of void ripping space as if the world itself recoiled.

Maeven caught it.

Not with a weapon. Not with a shield. His bare hand shot up, pale fingers closing around the shadow-edged steel. For a heartbeat, Lindarion thought the sword would cleave through bone and sinew alike.

But it didn’t.

The void screamed, sparks of black fire hissing where Maeven’s skin touched the blade. Yet his fingers held fast. The smile never broke.

"Strong," he murmured. "But strength alone is a child’s tantrum."

Lindarion snarled and shoved forward, shadows surging with him. Maeven was forced back, feet grinding trenches into the stone as he was driven toward the cavern wall. For the first time, strain tugged at his features.

The humans pressed further against the far wall, wide-eyed, shields trembling in their hands. No one dared move closer.

Maeven’s palm smoked, skin blistering where it touched the blade, and then the blisters smoothed, flesh knitting itself together as though time reversed.

Lindarion’s breath caught.

"You..." His voice cracked like stone under weight.

Maeven’s grin widened, bloody light glimmering in his pale eyes. "You thought mutations only ate the weak. But no, they adapt. They learn." He shoved, and the force blasted outward, flinging Lindarion back across the cavern.

Stone shattered where his body hit. He slid down the wall, grit grinding against his teeth.

[Warning: System synchronization at 82%. Cognitive strain increasing.]

The words flared across his vision. He spat blood onto the ground and pushed himself up, the sword vibrating violently in his hand. The shadows hissed, louder now, clawing against his arms, wrapping his legs. They wanted him to let go. To stop holding back.

He stood.

Maeven flexed his fingers, unburned, whole. He regarded Lindarion with quiet amusement. "You carry a weapon of hunger. But you haven’t fed it properly."

The sword’s edge pulsed crimson for an instant, as if mocking the truth in Maeven’s words.

Lindarion’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward again. Each motion was heavier, not from exhaustion but from the weight of the shadows dragging with him. His heartbeat thundered like war drums.

Maeven gestured casually with his hand, as if beckoning a servant. "Come then. Let me see how deep you are willing to sink."

Lindarion obeyed.

He vanished in a blur of black and steel, reappearing at Maeven’s side, blade already carving downward. Maeven twisted, the edge grazing across his ribs, leaving a burning line of darkness that smoked against his flesh.

Maeven hissed this time, not in pain, but in delight. "Yes."

Lindarion spun, blade whipping again, faster now, the shadows slashing outward in jagged arcs. Each swing carved gouges into the cavern, spraying stone dust into the air. The humans couldn’t even track the strikes, only the aftershocks, the ringing air, the shockwaves hammering their shields.

Maeven deflected with his bare arms, each impact sending ripples of corrupted mana outward. His skin tore, his bones cracked, yet moments later they mended. His laughter rose between the clashes, sharp and fevered.

"More! Yes, bleed for it, little prince!"

Lindarion roared, the sound tearing his throat raw. Shadows exploded from him, not in arcs but as tendrils, whipping and stabbing at Maeven from every angle. For the first time, Maeven faltered. One spike punched through his shoulder, another tore across his thigh. His laugh cracked into something harsher.

The sword pulsed.

[Critical synchronization: 90%. Warning — vessel integrity unstable.]

Lindarion’s eyes blurred red. His own blood seeped from his gums, from his nose, but he didn’t stop. Couldn’t. His blade crashed against Maeven’s chest, forcing him back against the cavern wall.

Stone cracked. Dust fell in thick curtains.

Maeven slammed against the rock, pinned by the sheer pressure of Lindarion’s swing. The shadows stabbed deeper into him, black veins spreading across his pale skin. He writhed, body tearing, knitting, tearing again.

And still, he smiled.

"Good," he gasped, blood spilling down his chin. "You’re closer. Almost—" His head jerked back as Lindarion pressed harder, the blade biting into his collarbone. "Almost there."

Lindarion’s teeth ground until his jaw ached. His vision flickered with warnings and blood, his breath sawed ragged in his chest.

’Die. Just die. Why won’t you—’