Mag Beast Leveling

What was outside the castle had changed.

Or maybe it hadn't.

Perhaps Vincent had transformed too much to see it anymore.

Above, the sky was black as ink, slashed with red lightning that splayed like veins on a dying body.

The air smelled of blood and rot and something fouler the smell of fear itself, slithering through the ruins.

He stood atop the castle's broken gates, gazing down upon the burning remains of the city below.

His city.

At least it would be soon, however.

A New God Awakens

Vincent took a long, deep breath thick with hunger.

His claws flexed at his sides, covered with the black ichor of whatever he had eaten.

Vira stirred inside his head.

Not separate. Not distant.

Part of him.

He could feel her in his bones, in his blood, wrapped around his very soul like a second skin. She wasn't gone.

She was something else now.

A voice low, dark, and vicious whispered inside his mind.

"Kill them all."

Vincent's mouth twisted into what looked like a smile.

Yes.

And that was precisely what he intended to do.

The First Massacre

The city below was infested.

Humans. Soldiers. Guardians.

Fools who believed they could still resist.

Vincent couldn't be bothered walking down.

He fell.

The instant those boots struck the cobblestone streets, the shockwave burst from there, shattering the ground in an exploding quake.

Buildings crumbled like eggshells, sending plumes of rubble and screaming bodies raining down on the earth.

The first soldier hardly had time to respond before Vincent's talons struck his throat.

He yanked it out with a flick of his wrist.

Blood spattered, steaming in the cold air.

The man's body went slack, his body twitching, his hands weakly attempting to hold the gushing wound closed.

Vincent had already moved on.

A second soldier swung a blade ringed with blue flame, shrieking something about justice, about duty, about ending the monster.

Vincent intercepted the blade mid-strike, gripping the searing steel in his ungloved hand.

The fire didn't even hurt.

The man's eyes opened wide in horror.

Vincent smiled, his rows of serrated fangs on display.

He then broke the blade in half and stabbed the jagged end directly through the soldier's skull.

His body convulsed, then went limp, blood trickling down the steel.

Vincent withdrew the shattered blade and cast it aside, like refuse.

"More."

The voice in his head was louder now.

More eager.

More bloodthirsty.

Vincent licked the blood off his fingers.

He could still taste Xandros.

Pick, still tasting the creature that had wriggled itself free of his own ribcage.

But more than that.

He could taste Vira.

Her rage.

Her hunger.

And it was beautiful.

The Slaughter Continues

They tried to fight.

The city's last defenders the Guardians, the warriors who were once the crème de la crème assembled in the central plaza, standing united as the last, desperate line.

There were hundreds of them.

Vincent approached them alone.

No hesitation. No fear.

Vincent sprang into action the instant the first Guardian lunged at him.

His claws dug through the warrior's armor, skin, and bone.

The guardian bellowed, wrenching himself loose.

Vincent turned his wrist and yanked, tearing his rib cage out all at once with a wet, violent jerk.

The others staggered back.

He tossed the broken bones onto the ground.

"Next."

The Guardians faltered and that was all the weakness Vincent required.

He lunged, quicker than any of them could follow.

His hands, his talons, his teeth.

His hands, his claws, his teeth each turned into an instrument of death.

Vincent slaughtered the Guardians left and right in a storm of flesh and metal. He danced between blades and desperate strikes and screams that barely made it into existence before he cut them off with a rip, a tear, a bite.

One of the Guardians lifted a spear with a tip glowing with divine energy and launched it towards his target with all of his body strength.

Vincent caught it midair.

The force should have been able to gouge out a mountain.

Instead, Vincent gripped the spear tight, crushing the divine metal to dust in his grip.

The Guardian who had thrown it barely had time to stumble backward before Vincent was on him.

He dug his claws into the man's gut and pulled him off the ground.

The warrior writhed, choking on blood, hands clutching Vincent's wrist in a vain effort to free himself.

Vincent bent in close, his fangs tickling the man's ear.

"You really thought you could stop me?"

He tore the Guardian in half.

The wet, visceral sound of tearing flesh sent the remaining warriors into total retreat. Panic overtook them. Some dropped their weapons. Others ran.

Vincent let them.

For a moment.

Then he raised his hand.

He saw shadows writhing at his fingertips, pulsing, alive. Expect the dirt to resist, clenching lifeless fingers and sending ebony tendrils out, burning quagmire as wayward warriors fled.

Screaming as the dark enveloped them, pulling them into the maw of the void. Their bodies warped, their bones shattered, their souls torn asunder by the ravenous abyss.

Vincent looked on, his breathing something approaching satisfaction.

Inside his mind, a voice purred in delight.

Vira.

The fusion was deepening.

Their bond is growing deeper.

He could feel the hunger in her blood mixing with his, that endless, needy hunger that would not be denied.

More, she whispered. More.

Vincent sighed heavily, with the smell of blood and death suffocating his breath.

His eyes rose past the battlefield, to the great spires at the center of the city the Citadel, where the last vestiges of defiance surely congregated.

A slow smile spread across his lips.

The slaughter was not over.

It had only just begun.

Before him rose the citadel, a killing ground of stone and steel, once the last remnant of defiance.

Now it was merely a tomb, awaiting a filling.

He strode the shattered halls, boots trampling the husks of shattered bones and torn metal.

Fires blazed around him, throwing long, flickering shadows in his path.

The air was dense with smoke and the smell of burning meat.

He could hear them behind the towering walls of the Citadel.

The last defenders.

The desperate.

The week.

Their hearts pounded like war drums. Quick, frightened gasps were all they could manage.

Some whispered prayers.

Others just shook, their hands trembling around their weapons.

Vincent chuckled.

It would not save them.

In an instant, he was gone his body evaporated into a wisp of midnight mist, slipping like a ghost between the crevices in the walls.

Inside, the vast hall was quiet.

Lines of armored soldiers arrayed themselves, weapons drawn, faces grim.

In the middle of them was a man Matt recognized.

General Aldric.

The last Guardian Lord.

A legend among men.

A warrior who had faced the Mag Beasts for decades, who had killed abominations that could shatter mountains and swallow the sun.

He was strong.

But not strong enough.

Aldric's gaze fixed on Vincent's figure as he appeared at the far end of the corridor.

"Fuske." The general's voice was thick, suffused with sorrow and rage. "You were one of us."

Vincent tilted his head. "Was I?"

Aldric's jaw clenched.

"Whatever you've become, whatever curse you've let consume you, I will not allow you to destroy this city."

Vincent chuckled low, dark, a noise that slithered around the room like poison.

"This city is already dead," he said, stretching his talons.

"You're just too dumb to notice it."

Aldric raised his sword. From its edge radiated light, a burning white flame, ancient and pure.

The kind of power that had once laid low things like Vincent.

Once.

Not anymore.

"Guardians!" Aldric roared. "With me!"

The warriors surged forward.

Vincent welcomed them.

He seemed to evaporate, faster than thought from first to last, ripping through the first line before they even knew the second line had entered the premises.

His claws ripped through metal and muscle alike.

Blood spattered the stone floor, turning it various shades of red and black.

A Guardian clubbed at his head with a war hammer Vincent snatched it out of the air, fingers wrapping around the handle like a vise.

The warrior's eyes went wide in horror as Vincent yanked it from his hand, driving it through his chest, splintering ribs, lung, and heart.

A second Guardian lunged, a spear sparking with lightning Vincent sidestepped, caught the man at the throat, and squeezed.

Bones crunched.

The body went limp.

The massacre continued.

And all the while, Aldric waited.

When the last Guardian fell, Vincent looked at him, blood still dripping from his fangs.

"Is that all?" he asked, his tone bordering on derisive.

Aldric said nothing.

He just lifted his sword, which glowed brighter, the flames rippling out, blinding and racing.

Vincent's grin widened.

Finally. A real fight.