CHAPTER 45: CHAPTER 45 — BRIGHT VS LARKIN I

The night didn’t merely darken—it thickened.

The very air around the grain silo vibrated, carrying the taste of metal and the looming certainty of death. Bright stepped out of the ruined entrance, dust settling across his shoulders like ash. His chest rose and fell, not from fear, but from the weight of the realization settling into him.

The silo was saved, but there would have to be an inventory on what was left.

The outpost on the other hand was still wailing from the cries of its members being slaughtered.

Bright heaved with a thought that if they were to survive this midnight ,as he assumed it was, because every other time was night, he was going see the degeneracy of man come morning when bellies start rumbling for rain and debris in their gut.

Thirty paces away...

Larkin waited.

The handler of the Umbral Covenant stood perfectly still, a dagger of condensed black matter forming and dissolving between his fingers like dripping ink. His eyes—deep pits of lightless void—held no reflection. No flicker of torchlight. No trace of humanity.

Just intent.

Bright’s danger sense pulsed like a heartbeat, slamming warnings into his skull.

Larkin was smiling.

Hailen—blood staining his coat—struggled to stay upright several paces behind the cultist.

Bright didn’t look away from Larkin.

Not for a moment.

"Teacher," Bright said quietly, "stay back."

Hailen tried to rise. Failed. "Bright... his abilities... he—"

"I know."

His danger sense was vibrating so fiercely it felt like it was scraping the inside of his skull.

Larkin tilted his head.

"Bright Morgan or should I say private Morgan . I read your file. Splendid work surviving the tier-2 anomaly. I can see your spirit has already been tested and found unbroken but what we are going to be doing here, right now is tasting it."

Bright tightened his grip on his weapon.

"Don’t make this dramatic."

Larkin’s smile widened.

"Oh, but I must. You shine so terribly. An initiate already, so fast. A fresh bloom. Untainted. It makes the Great One hungry. Don’t you realize you can’t be given the other soldiers hope of getting stronger, we want you all buttered up like cattle ready to be butchered not raging like bulls. Well, shall we get this show on the road"

The moment the final word left his lips—

Larkin blurred.

It wasn’t speed.

It wasn’t teleportation.

It was his presence folding into itself—his mental dampening ability erasing the lines where his body SHOULD have been.

Bright’s danger sense shrieked.

LEFT!

Bright pivoted, blade raised—

Larkin’s dagger scraped across the flat of Bright’s sword, the contact ringing like a distorted bell. The blow was strong but Larkin had little experience fighting someone who could actively track him.

Bright pressed forward, slashing in a tight arc—

Larkin bent backward unnaturally, evading without moving his feet, his spatial awareness which was also an ability core he got as an initiate mapping Bright’s angle of attack with surgical precision.

But then—

Bright twisted his wrist.

His fused blade which was reinforced and had a little tinge of unnaturally durability —cut downward in a follow-through motion that should have severed the cultist’s arm.

Larkin blinked—

—too slow.

A shallow cut opened across his forearm, ink-black blood dripping sluggishly like oil.

Larkin’s smile faltered.

Bright’s heart hammered. He can be wounded.

Larkin stepped back, his presence temporarily stabilizing. "Hmmm...Your weapon... it is not as fragile as it should be."

"It’s mine," Bright said simply.

His danger sense buzzed again—

UP!

Bright ducked instinctively.

His squad members at the rear watching the spectacle not knowing where to butt in.

Larkin had thrown something.

In the dim light, it was nearly invisible—threads of ink, sharpened by his corrupted ability. They sliced through the air with a whisper like pages tearing.

But Rolf took this chance to strike a fireball at the projectile.

Bright rolled, feeling the cut of air where the threads missed him by inches. His enhanced reflexes from initiation made his movements fluid—almost graceful.

He came up on one knee, blade raised—

Larkin was already behind him.

Bright didn’t think.

His danger sense flared—

A blow from behind was about to connect to his spine, till lira flicked on of her daggers shifting the momentum of it.

Bright twisted, swinging his blade in a tight horizontal slice—

Larkin leaned away, but Bright’s elbow smashed into his ribs with enough force to send a shockwave up his own arm.

Larkin staggered.

Satisfaction flashed in Bright’s chest—but only for a breath.

Larkin’s presence dimmed again.

His entire body... thinned.

Like a hazard in the dark.

Like a thought fading.

Bright’s vision doubled. Tripled.

The world around Larkin smeared—

This was no mere illusion nor stealth, this was the power his used to sneak into the outpost at full display.

A mental dulling field.

His danger sense strained—pushed—fought through the haze.

Then—

STRAIGHT AHEAD—thrust!

Bright lunged.

His blade stabbed forward—

—and Larkin barely dodged, his spatial awareness saving him again with a stumbling, awkward motion.

"You’re not a fighter," Bright said coldly.

Larkin froze.

For the first time, there was no smile.

Only irritation.

"You presume much."

Bright stepped forward again.

"No. I see it."

Larkin’s eye twitched.

"You rely just on your infiltration ability. Maybe it’s because you haven’t been tested by the sharp edge of a blade yet or maybe it’s because you’ve been here so long, on a desk, reading files, you don’t realize how bent out of shape you’ve become."

Another step.

"You’re strong—but raw. You read space well, but you don’t threat track.

You react fast, but you don’t flow.

You have strength—but no foundation. I may have been here for just over some months but damn, you look like your in your early thirties, so why are you so weak, I should be dead by now."

Larkin’s jaw tightened.

"I do not need foundation to kill a child."

Bright’s danger sense screamed—

Perhaps trying to induce rage in a man wasn’t the best way to go about this fight.

Larkin moved.

This time, he moved with all three abilities layered:

Spatial awareness shifting his balance

Presence-reduction blurring his edges

Strength enhancement growing his shadow

Bright’s mind burned with warnings.

RIGHT!

NO—LEFT!

UP!

DOWN—ROLL—STOP—MOVE—GAH—

He forced the inputs to slow.

Breathed once.

Forced his initiate-enhanced perception to tighten like a lens.

Larkin’s blur became a smear.

The smear became a shadow.

The shadow became a direction.

Bright moved.

Steel met ink-dark metal with a ringing impact.

Sparks burst outward.

Bright pressed the advantage, feet sliding across gravel as he struck three times in rapid succession—

Diagonal. Lateral. Vertical.

Larkin blocked the first.

Dodged the second.

Took the third to the shoulder.

He hissed, staggering.

Bright’s blade had bitten deep.

"You..." Larkin’s voice trembled, "you are not like the others."

Bright didn’t smile.

He stepped forward, blade ready.

"No," he said simply. "I’m better."

Larkin’s pupils narrowed.

"...then die with that confidence."

He slammed his foot into the ground.

Ink burst outward in a ripple.

Bright’s danger sense erupted like a volcano

Bright dropped flat as a spike of hardened ink shot across the space where his head had been. The spike was razor-thin, nearly invisible in the dark.

Bright rolled back to his feet—

Larkin was already above him, descending like a shadow with a dagger poised to pierce Bright’s throat.

Bright raised his blade—

The weapons clashed.

The force drove Bright’s boots six inches into the dirt. His ribs creaking from the pressure, blood spewing from his lips.

Initiate strength clashed with corrupted enhancement.

Bright gritted his teeth—

Larkin snarled—

And Bright realized something:

Larkin wasn’t used to resistance.

He wasn’t used to being matched physically.

Bright pushed back.

Larkin’s eyes widened as he was forced off balance.

Bright rotated his hips—

—threw Larkin over his shoulder—

—and slammed him into the ground hard enough to crack the earth.

Larkin’s breath left him.

Bright didn’t hesitate.

He stabbed downward—

Larkin rolled—barely—Bright’s blade carving the ground beside his head.

The cultist scrambled back, panting.

"You... you shouldn’t be this strong."

Bright stepped forward.

"I trained. You... hid."

Larkin’s hands shook. His presence flickered. His abilities clashed with each other in panic.

He was unraveling.

Bright’s danger sense pulsed—steady—like a beacon.

This fight was winnable.

He tightened his grip—

And advanced.