NOVEL WEB Chapter 253: Destroy The Cursed (69)
Meanwhile, on the cursed island, the battlefield had grown eerily quiet. The tide of beasts had been slain; their corpses littered the ground in grotesque heaps.
Yet this silence was not peace—it was only the prelude to something far worse.
For now, the true enemies had arrived.
The Dark Emissaries—the elite warriors of the Cursed—were stepping into the fray. Their presence twisted the very air, and each movement carried a weight that pressed down on the souls of those who stood against them.
In one corner of the battlefield, a single emissary stood tall. His lips curled into a grin, his eyes glowing with cruel amusement as he faced four battered figures: Silver Wing, Shae, Shin, and Bron.
All four heroes were pale and trembling. Their lungs burned, their limbs heavy, their energy nearly depleted.
Moments earlier, they had combined everything they had in a desperate all-out assault—a storm of silver blades, enchanted arrows, crushing gauntlets, and blinding blue sword strikes. But it had been useless.
The emissary had devoured it all.
Every spark of energy, every ounce of power, he had swallowed greedily into the void of his palms as though it were nothing more than a sweet nectar.
"This… this is bad. Really, really bad," Silver Wing muttered, his silver armor cracked and dented. His usually calm eyes were filled with unease.
Shin's hands hovered near his bowstring, his body trembling. The glowing arrow he had been preparing flickered dangerously, its power unstable. "What do we do?" His voice cracked under the strain.
He knew all too well the truth—if he released his arrow, the emissary would simply consume it and grow even stronger. Worse, Shin's reserves were nearly gone; a single shot might collapse him entirely.
Silver Wing grit his teeth. He forced his exhausted wings to unfurl, two silver blades materializing in his grip. "We stop relying on energy. No techniques. No blessings.
Just steel." His tone carried no room for argument. He glanced toward Shin. "Keep your bow ready. Wait for the right opening—one chance, no mistakes."
Shin nodded, swallowing hard.
"Bron. Shae. Are you with me?"
Bron slammed his white gauntlets together, the resounding clang masking the uncertainty in his eyes. His jaw clenched. "Always."
Shae raised her long blue sword, but this time she let its glow fade. No energy would flow through it—only steel and her own skill. Her lips pressed into a firm line as she whispered, "I'm ready."
"Then let's end this," Silver Wing said, his wings stretching wide. He launched forward like a silver comet, Bron and Shae charging at his sides.
The emissary—Garvin—watched their desperate rush with a twisted smile that widened unnervingly. His voice was mocking, playful, dripping with malice.
"So, you've given up your tricks. That's fine. Makes it more entertaining." His grin deepened, his shadowed eyes glowing crimson. "Since your free trial is over… don't expect mercy."
In a single movement, Garvin blurred.
One instant, he was yards away. The next, he was in Silver Wing's face. The air cracked like thunder.
"You look like the leader," Garvin said coldly. "Then I'll start by breaking you."
His fist struck.
Silver Wing barely saw it coming before the blow smashed into his face. The impact was monstrous, launching him from the air like a ragdoll.
He plummeted to the ground with a devastating crash that tore through stone and soil alike, a thunderous explosion of dust and rubble.
"Silver Wing!" Bron roared, rushing forward just in time to catch his comrade's battered body before it hit again. But Garvin was already moving, his form a blur of predatory speed.
He lunged toward Bron—yet Shae intercepted, her sword slicing in a clean arc aimed at his side.
For a heartbeat, hope surged. The blade was true, her timing flawless.
But Garvin's body shifted unnaturally. His torso twisted, his neck snapping aside, his waist rotating with inhuman precision. It was as though every joint and muscle in his body bent perfectly to avoid her strike.
Before Shae could even process what had happened, Garvin's counterattack came.
A seamless strike—fluid, precise, merciless. His movement flowed from the twist of his torso down to his legs, a chain of motion so flawless it was almost beautiful.
Shae had never imagined such footwork was possible. The Dark Emissary's movement was terrifying—too fluid, too sharp, like water turning into a blade.
It was as if Garvin's body bent and twisted along some secret rhythm that she could never hope to mimic. Compared to that inhuman grace, her own stance felt clumsy, fragile… laughable.
And then the kick came.
It cut through the air like a guillotine. Shae's instincts screamed, but her exhausted body betrayed her. All she could do was shut her eyes, grit her teeth, and brace for impact, silently vowing to counter with her blade once the strike connected.
She hadn't understood—she couldn't understand—just how devastating it would be.
The kick smashed into her neck with bone-rattling force.
Pain unlike anything she had ever known ripped through her spine, her bones shrieking in protest as her vision went white. For an instant her world went blank, her mind suspended in nothingness.
By the time clarity returned, she was already airborne, her body flung aside like a doll. She struck the ground with a violent crash, skidding across the dirt as her sword spun uselessly away.
Garvin scoffed, dusting his knuckles casually. "Tch. No fun at all. I'm already bored."
Before his words faded, a white-gloved fist came flying at him. Bron's punch, fueled by desperation and rage, tore through the air with enough force to shatter boulders.
Garvin's hand rose lazily to meet it. Clap. The strike stopped cold. He didn't even budge an inch.
"Pathetic," Garvin muttered, his tone dismissive. Bron's muscles bulged as he poured everything into the clash, but the emissary's hand was unyielding. Then, slowly—deliberately—Garvin's fingers began to curl inward around Bron's fist.
The pressure was unbearable. Bones cracked under the strain. Bron's face twisted, veins bulging on his neck as a guttural groan escaped him. His knees nearly buckled from the pain.
Garvin leaned closer, smirking. "Tell me—what business do weaklings like you have in a war like this? You can't even protect yourselves." His grip tightened mercilessly, the sound of creaking bone echoing in Bron's ears.
His vision swam red with agony, and he knew—one more squeeze, and his arm would be nothing but shattered ruin.
To be continued....
AUTHOR'S NOTE
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– Ultra