Newfear

Aqua stood there, rigid, yet there was something in his expression... something inhuman. A presence that sent a shiver down the spine. It was as if the scream that had just echoed moments ago was not merely a cry of anger but the awakening of something deeper, something long shackled within him, now breaking free.

His heart pounded wildly, but this heartbeat was not a sign of life... it was the sound of war drums echoing from the depths of a dark abyss, heralding the arrival of death.

He was not standing… He was a force pulsing between reality and oblivion.

His sword was raised high in their direction, its edge gleaming as if thirsting for blood, crying out for destruction, demanding devastation.

That gesture… That signal…

It was not merely a challenge, but a deadly prophecy known to all. The moment Aqua raised his sword in that manner... this was no longer a battle between warriors.

It was a declaration that one of them would not leave this place alive.

On the other side of the battlefield, amid the chaos, a dance of death unfolded... performed by a single woman.

'Silvia Blackmirth,' the Viscountess, clad in a black robe embroidered with silver threads, moved among her enemies like a deadly shadow. She was not merely a warrior; she was the embodiment of agility, grace, and brutality combined.

Her silver eyes, cold as the night, showed no fear or hesitation. They were like mirrors reflecting the fate of all who stood in her path.

She wielded a long, slender sword, designed to pierce joints and cut with deadly speed. Every step she took was measured, every movement a blend of elegance and lethal precision.

A strike… A dodge… A slash… Blood sprayed… A body fell… then she turned again to face another opponent.

Three heavily armored knights surrounded her, their thick hands gripping massive swords, believing their weight alone would crush her… But they did not realize that the very weight of their weapons would be their downfall against the speed of the cursed Viscountess.

The first knight charged forward, shouting, his sword raised for a vertical slash. But she bent backward, making his blade pass mere centimeters above her. Then, she spun like a black whirlwind, her sword flashing with lethal grace, severing his leg at the knee. He screamed as his heavy body crashed to the ground, but he had no time to suffer... Silvia plunged her blade into his neck without hesitation, ending his life before he even realized what had happened.

She gave the others no time to react. She dashed toward the second knight with blinding speed. Instead of parrying his strike, she sidestepped and circled around him, her sword darting like a viper's fang, striking with deadly precision. He barely had time to turn before he felt a burning pain in his side... her blade had found a weak spot in his armor. She wrenched it free with force, sending him stumbling backward, crashing into the third knight.

The last knight, witnessing the brutal downfall of his comrades in mere moments, hesitated, stepping back. But hesitation was his final mistake. In a single heartbeat, Silvia leaped into the air, twisting her body as her sword descended like a falling meteor, cleaving his head in two before he could even raise his weapon.

A brief silence… then Silvia moved again, leaving behind three corpses, their fresh blood staining the scorching earth.

The surrounding knights were beginning to grasp the truth... this woman was no ordinary fighter. She was a storm of death moving through them, unstoppable. Some immediately retreated, while others... the reckless or the foolish... charged at her, clinging to a desperate hope that they could stop her.

But they had yet to understand… that no one could stop her when she was in the midst of this deadly dance.

Amid the chaos, where the clash of steel intertwined with the screams of the fallen, Marchioness Atris Starkov carved her path through the enemy lines, her slender sword striking with unexpected agility for a woman who had spent years buried in treaties and golden negotiations. She was not a warrior by nature, but she was no stranger to battle either. Beside her, Sir Variss Sathray fought with his usual sardonic grin, laughing amidst the carnage.

Variss, dodging a deadly strike with a smirk: "I didn't know you were still this agile, Lady Atris… I thought life in the palaces had made you soft."

Atris, driving her sword into an enemy's heart before yanking it free: "If I had known I'd die here, I wouldn't have wasted my years chasing gold and political nonsense!"

Variss chuckled as he sliced off an attacker's arm and kicked him aside. Atris turned to face another foe, giving him no chance to strike. Her sword moved like an arrow, slashing his throat with lethal precision.

Variss, flicking his sword to rid it of blood: "Ah, but imagine… at least you could have bought yourself a golden coffin instead of bleeding out here in the mud."

Atris, parrying an attack and countering with a swift strike: "I'll leave it to you if I die first. Seems like you enjoy luxury more than I do."

Variss laughed again, but suddenly raised his sword to deflect a surprise attack aimed at Atris. She spun swiftly, driving her blade into the attacker's gut before he could become a real threat.

Atris, casting him a wry look: "That's twice now I've saved your life, Variss… Do you plan on returning the favor?"

Variss, grinning as he readied his sword for another opponent: "If we survive the night, I'll buy you the finest wine in Novaka. And if we die? Well, at least they'll say I fought beside the most stubborn... and beautiful woman in the kingdom."

In the midst of the blood-soaked chaos of battle, Sir Variss stood shoulder to shoulder with Marchioness Atris, their armor stained and faces set in grim determination. Amid the clanging of steel and the desperate cries of warriors around them, Variss leaned in with a wry smile and said,

Variss: "Your family's words may serve us well now..."

Atris paused, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she drew a deep, steadying breath. Amid the turmoil, her voice emerged clear and resolute.

Atres: "From the stars to the earth, we know only steadfastness, and we do not bow to death."

Her words rang out like a defiant anthem amid the din of war. Varis couldn't help but chuckle... a sound almost out of place in the grim carnage. With a hearty laugh, he replied,

Varis: "Well, my enthusiasm and determination have never been higher than at this very moment!... Hahahaha!"

For a brief, shining instant, the relentless brutality of the battlefield gave way to a spark of levity. In that shared moment of camaraderie, their laughter and words intertwined with the echo of clashing swords, a testament to the indomitable spirit that refused to be broken even in the face of overwhelming despair.

There was no time for more banter. The battle was intensifying, enemies pouring in like an unrelenting tide. But amidst the blood and chaos, Variss and Atris fought as if engaged in a familiar dance... a dance between fate and death, between blades and words.

Where corpses littered the ground and the air crackled with the clash of steel and the glow of fire, Sir Darian fought with relentless fury. Every swing of his sword felled an opponent, every turn of his body shielded his back from unseen dangers. Yet, something was weighing on his breath…

He glanced back for a brief moment, scanning the battlefield. Their forces… had dwindled terribly. They had entered the fight as a unified army, but now? They were scattered, struggling to survive in fragmented groups.

Then his eyes caught sight of something beyond the battlefield… Not far away, Dame Barbara Starkov stood firm amidst the chaos, fending off her attackers with fierce determination. She threw her sword with deadly precision at an approaching foe, but he dodged at the last second. She lunged forward, sinking her blade into his chest before kicking him off her weapon, sending his lifeless body into the mud.

There was no time to rest. As she turned, another knight rushed toward her, soon followed by a second from her flank... like starving beasts drawn to blood.

And in that moment, Sir Darian moved like a ghost, weaving through the battlefield, leaping over corpses, dodging raised swords, and stepping over pools of crimson, reaching Barbara in the crucial instant.

With a swift stroke, he knocked aside her attacker's weapon before it could land. Then, spinning with precision, he intercepted the second knight's strike. Sparks flew as their blades met in a violent clash before Darian delivered a swift, clean cut across his opponent's throat, unleashing a dark fountain of blood.

Barbara, catching her breath, eyeing him with exhaustion: "I could have handled them..."

Darian, wiping the blood from his sword with a lopsided grin: "Of course. But wouldn't it be better to keep you alive until the end of the battle, right?..."

There was no time for a reply. More enemies were surging forward from every direction… The night was far from over, and the earth had yet to drink its fill of blood.

Amidst the roar of battle, Aqua moved without fear, dodging attacks as if his body was sculpted for combat. He struck back with brutal efficiency, weaving through the battlefield like a phantom, his blows as swift and furious as a storm. His body bore countless wounds, but his eyes burned with dark, unyielding madness.

At that moment, Count 'Diablon Volmar' noticed him. His pitch-black eyes reflected the flames of war, his lips curling into a sly smile as he withdrew his sword from the corpse of an Arkadian knight. He strode forward with unhurried confidence, thrusting his blade into another foe's chest without so much as a glance. He moved across the battlefield like a predator, and when his gaze met Aqua's… the outcome was set.

Diablon lunged toward Aqua with terrifying speed, his sword raised high, descending in a killing strike.

But just as Diablon's blade was about to tear into Aqua's flesh, Count Yukron appeared out of nowhere... like a falling meteor... intercepting the attack with immense force. The impact sent both men stumbling, their balance lost as they crashed onto the blood-soaked ground.

Both struggled to rise, but Yukron was faster. He surged to his feet first, driving his sword straight toward Diablon. The count barely managed to deflect it. They stepped back for a breath... then charged at each other once more.

The swords clashed, sparks flew, and hell erupted between them.

Yukron pressed forward, striking with relentless force, each attack carrying the weight of an entire battle. But Diablon was no easy opponent.. he countered with precise strikes, calculated parries, and a smirk that never left his face, as if the battle was nothing more than an amusing game to him.

Behind them, Aqua watched the scene, his breath heavy, his eyes darting between the two. This was no time to stand still. He knew the decisive moment was approaching, and that he, too... had to move.

The swords continued to collide, sparks scattering, the ground trembling beneath the force of their blows. Count Yukron Windsword and Count Diablon Volmar were engaged in a brutal struggle. This was not a duel of honor or a noble contest... it was a battle for survival, one where mercy had no place.

Yukron pressed fiercely, his strikes like an unrelenting storm. His body was drenched in sweat and blood, yet his eyes never lost their sharpness. As for Diablon, he simply smiled, as if relishing this hell. He moved like a serpent, deflecting smoothly and retaliating with sudden, hammer-like blows.

In a fleeting moment, Yukron lunged forward, catching Diablon off guard with a swift sideways slash. His sword nearly tore through his opponent's flank, but Diablon leaped back. At the same moment, he swung his sword toward Yukron's face.

A thrust... but merely a feint.

Yukron dodged, but that was exactly what Diablon wanted. In the fraction of a second before Yukron realized the trap, Diablon twisted with blinding speed, his entire body rotating with the momentum of his strike. In a devilish motion, he gripped his sword with both hands, aimed directly at Yukron...

And drove it violently into his chest.

"AAAGGHHH!"

A scream tore through the sky. The blade pierced flesh and bone, slicing through all the way to the spine, its tip emerging from the back.

Aqua froze. His eyes widened in sheer horror, his body trembling as if a nightmare had come to life before him.

Yukron staggered, his lips parted as if trying to breathe... but there was no air. Only blood... gushing from his mouth, dripping down his chin, and spilling onto his torn chest.

His eyes... dimmed slowly.

Diablon grabbed his shoulder and whispered into his ear, his voice as cold as hell itself.

Diablon: "You were strong... but not strong enough."

Then, he wrenched the sword out of Yukron's body. The sound of tearing flesh was sickening. Blood spewed from the gaping wound as Yukron coughed up another mouthful, his body swaying... then collapsing.

His lifeless body hit the ground, his eyes still open, staring at the sky as if his soul had yet to grasp that it had left his body.

Diablon stood over him, his sword dripping with blood. Then, his gaze shifted... directly toward Aqua, who remained paralyzed. His body trembled, his hands clenched so tightly around his sword that his knuckles turned white. His heart pounded violently.

Yukron was dead. Right before his eyes.

And he had died in a way he was never supposed to.

Aqua's world began to shatter. The monster within him began to awaken.

The scene was nightmarish... blood soaked the ground, bodies collapsed, and screams mixed with the clash of steel.

Marchioness Atris Starkov was still in shock, her body unmoving, her mind struggling to process that Count Yukron Windsword had just been slain before her very eyes.

But a thunderous voice shattered her spiral of thoughts.

"Lady Atris! Watch out!!"

It was the voice of Sir Variss Sathrai, shouting hoarsely, his eyes wide with terror.

There was no time to think... A sword was hurtling toward her with blinding speed.