Rise of The Abandoned Husband

"A Martial Saint's power?" Clara's voice trembled beside me. "That's impossible!"

I couldn't respond. Blood filled my mouth as I struggled to breathe through the pain radiating from my shattered chest. My golden light had dimmed to barely a flicker around my fingertips.

"Look at his eyes," the Man with the Mustache whispered, his usually carefree demeanor completely gone. "That's not Broderick anymore. That's... something else."

Broderick—or whatever he had become—stalked toward us, each step leaving scorched footprints in the stone. The blue markings pulsed across his scaled skin in hypnotic patterns.

"Little Black, finish him!" Ms. Hayward commanded from the sidelines, her voice dripping with cruel satisfaction. "Make him suffer before he dies!"

Little Black. The name echoed in my mind as I forced myself to move despite my broken body screaming in protest. So this was the mysterious champion they'd been hiding.

"You should have stayed down, Knight," Little Black said, his voice layered with that otherworldly undertone. "Now I'll make an example of you."

I managed to stagger to my feet, swaying precariously. Blood streamed from multiple wounds, but I refused to fall. "I'm not... done yet."

"Liam, don't!" Clara grabbed my arm. "He's too strong!"

The Man with the Mustache pulled her back. "The kid's right. He can't back down now."

Little Black laughed, the sound sending chills down my spine. "A Martial Saint's power flows through me. Do you understand what that means? I'm beyond a Martial Marquis now!"

I spat blood onto the ground. "I don't care... what power you're borrowing. I need to find Isabelle."

Isabelle. Her name gave me strength. Somewhere in this cursed city, she was suffering, waiting for me to rescue her. I couldn't fail here.

Little Black's expression darkened. "The Ashworth girl is none of your concern anymore. Once I've dealt with you, she'll serve her purpose for the guild."

Rage surged through me, momentarily dulling the pain. I reached into my spatial ring and retrieved the Venerable Fifth Mountain—the small mountain-shaped artifact I'd acquired from the ancient tomb. It was meant for emergencies only, and this certainly qualified.

"Buying time with toys?" Little Black mocked.

I didn't respond. I channeled what little energy I had left into the artifact, and it began to glow with a deep green light. Suddenly, it expanded, growing to the size of a small hill in the blink of an eye.

Little Black's eyes widened as the mountain crashed down toward him. He raised his hands, catching the enormous mass, but even with his borrowed power, the sheer weight forced him to a knee.

I didn't waste the opportunity. While he was occupied, I pulled several pills from my pouch—the highest grade healing elixirs I'd created. Swallowing them in one desperate gulp, I felt their potent energy spreading through my body, mending broken bones and sealing wounds.

"Impressive," the Man with the Mustache admitted. "But it won't hold him for long."

He was right. With a roar that shook the very air, Little Black hurled the mountain aside. It crashed into the distant cliffs before shrinking back to its original size.

"A clever trick," Little Black snarled, his white eyes blazing with fury. "But your pathetic artifacts can't save you."

The healing pills had worked fast, but not fast enough. I was still nowhere near full strength. But I couldn't retreat—not with Isabelle's life at stake.

"Liam," Clara whispered, "maybe we should run."

The Man with the Mustache nodded reluctantly. "For once, I agree with the kid. We're outmatched here."

I shook my head. "You two go. Find the guild's stronghold. Look for Isabelle."

"And leave you to die?" Clara protested. "No way!"

Little Black watched our exchange with amusement. "None of you are going anywhere."

I squared my shoulders, feeling the healing pills continuing their work. My ribs had mostly mended, though my energy reserves were still dangerously low.

"Clara," I said firmly, "this isn't a request. Go."

The Man with the Mustache grabbed her shoulder. "The kid's made his choice. Come on."

As they reluctantly backed away, I focused on my opponent. The markings on his skin seemed to pulse more erratically now, as if the power he channeled was unstable.

"It's burning you up inside, isn't it?" I observed, stalling for time as the pills continued their work. "That's not your power. Your body can't contain it for long."

Little Black's eye twitched—I'd hit a nerve. "Long enough to kill you!"

He charged, moving faster than my eyes could track. I barely managed to shift my weight, turning what would have been a fatal blow into a glancing hit against my shoulder. Even so, the impact sent me spinning.

I recovered mid-air, landing in a crouch. The pills had done their work—my body was mostly healed, though my energy reserves remained depleted.

"You're quick," Little Black admitted. "But speed won't save you."

I straightened, gathering what power I had left. The golden light of my Absolute Beginning technique flared around my fist—weaker than before, but present.

"Let's test that theory."

I launched forward, channeling everything into my Absolute Beginning Sacred Fist. The technique had never failed me before, shattering even the strongest defenses.

Little Black didn't dodge. He simply stood there, palm raised to meet my attack.

Our energies collided in a blinding flash. For a moment, I thought I'd broken through—then I felt resistance, like hitting a wall of solid steel.

Little Black's palm absorbed the impact, the blue markings on his skin glowing brighter as they consumed my golden energy.

"Impossible," I gasped.

His grip tightened around my fist, crushing bones. "Is that all you have, Knight?"

With a casual flick, he sent me tumbling across the arena again. I crashed into a stone column, which crumbled around me.

"Liam!" Clara screamed from the edge of the arena where she and the Man with the Mustache had paused their retreat.

I rose from the rubble, blood flowing from fresh wounds. My right hand hung useless at my side, the fingers twisted at unnatural angles.

"Leave!" I shouted at them. "Now!"

The Man with the Mustache dragged Clara away despite her protests. At least they would be safe.

Little Black approached slowly, savoring each step. "You really thought you could challenge me? Challenge the guild? Your arrogance is astounding."

I reached for my bronze sword with my left hand, the ancient weapon thrumming with power as I drew it. "This isn't over."

"Oh, but it is." Little Black's smile was terrifying. "You're already dead. You just don't know it yet."

I channeled my remaining energy into the sword, preparing my Nine Absolute Beginning Slashes. I'd only mastered three of the nine forms, but the third was my most powerful attack.

The blade began to glow, humming with energy as ancient inscriptions appeared along its length. Little Black watched with mild curiosity, seemingly unconcerned.

"The third slash," I whispered, my voice steady despite my fear. The blade's light intensified, golden energy spiraling around the bronze metal.

"Whatever you're planning, it won't—"

I didn't let him finish. With a roar, I unleashed the third form of the Nine Absolute Beginning Slashes. The golden energy erupted from my sword in a crescent wave, tearing through the air toward Little Black.

The attack was devastating—powerful enough to split mountains. The very air screamed as it was torn apart by my blade's energy.

Little Black's eyes widened fractionally—the first sign of genuine concern I'd seen. He crossed his arms before him, blue markings blazing as he met my attack head-on.

The collision was catastrophic. A shockwave rippled outward, shattering stone and sending spectators diving for cover. For a moment, Little Black disappeared within the golden light of my attack.

Hope flared in my chest—then died just as quickly.

As the light faded, Little Black stood unmoved, his crossed arms slowly lowering. The blue markings on his skin pulsed erratically, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but he was largely unharmed.

"Impressive," he admitted, wiping the blood away. "That actually stung a little."

My sword slipped from my fingers, clattering to the ground. I had nothing left. My most powerful attack, and it had barely scratched him.

"No..." I whispered, disbelief and desperation washing over me.

Little Black raised his hand, dark energy gathering between his fingers. "Now, let me show you true power."

The energy condensed into a sphere of absolute darkness, pulsing with malevolent intent. The air around it warped and twisted, as if reality itself couldn't bear its presence.

Fear gripped me—not for myself, but for what would happen to Isabelle if I died here. Who would save her if I failed?

"Any last words, Knight?" Little Black asked, the sphere growing larger by the second.

I struggled to think of a response, to find some last reserve of strength or hidden technique that might save me. There was nothing.

"Liam Knight!" The Man with the Mustache's voice cut through my despair. He stood at the edge of the arena, Clara still trying to break free from his grip. "Bring out the landscape painting of the masked woman!"

The landscape painting? I'd almost forgotten about it—the strange artifact we'd found in the tomb, depicting a woman wearing an eerie mask. I'd kept it in my spatial ring, unsure of its purpose.

Little Black frowned, his attack faltering slightly. "What did he say?"

There was concern in his voice—the first real hint of fear I'd heard from him.

Without hesitation, I reached into my spatial ring and retrieved the rolled-up painting. As soon as my fingers touched the ancient parchment, a strange sensation washed over me—a connection to something vast and ancient.

"What is that?" Little Black demanded, his confidence suddenly shaken. The blue markings on his skin flared wildly, as if reacting to the painting's presence.

I unrolled the painting with trembling hands. The masked woman stared back at me from within the landscape, her eyes seeming to bore into my soul even through the mask she wore.

"No!" Ms. Hayward shrieked from the sidelines. "Little Black, stop him now!"

Little Black hurled the dark sphere toward me with desperate speed. I held the painting before me, a final, futile defense.

The moment the sphere touched the painting, something extraordinary happened. The masked woman's eyes within the painting began to glow with a deep crimson light. The dark sphere didn't explode—it simply vanished, absorbed into the painting as if it had never existed.

Little Black stumbled back, genuine fear distorting his features. "It can't be... she was sealed away!"

The painting grew warm in my hands, then hot, then scorching. I couldn't release it even if I wanted to. The masked woman's eyes continued to glow, and now the mask itself seemed to lift slightly from the parchment, becoming three-dimensional.

"What's happening?" I gasped, watching as dark energy began to pour from the painting, swirling around me like a protective cloak.

The Man with the Mustache shouted something else, but his voice was drowned out by a sudden wind that whipped through the arena, centered on the painting in my hands.

Little Black backed away further, the blue markings on his skin dimming as if in response to the painting's power. "This... this is impossible!"

Ms. Hayward's face had gone deathly pale. "Retreat!" she screamed to her guild members. "Everyone retreat now!"

Little Black hesitated, torn between his orders and his fear. "But the prisoner—"

"Leave him!" Ms. Hayward was already backing away. "That painting... it's not supposed to be here!"

The dark energy surrounding me intensified, forming patterns reminiscent of the mask in the painting. I felt strength returning to my body, my injuries healing at an astonishing rate.

Little Black made his decision. With one last terrified glance at the painting, he turned and fled, moving so fast he left afterimages in his wake.

The spectators scattered in panic, leaving only Clara and the Man with the Mustache at the edge of the arena, watching with wide eyes.

"Liam?" Clara called out tentatively. "Are you okay?"

I couldn't answer. The painting continued to pulse with dark energy, growing hotter in my hands. The masked woman's eyes seemed to lock with mine, and for a moment, I swore I heard a whisper:

"Found you at last."

Then the painting burst into flames—not ordinary fire, but dark flames that gave off no heat. Within seconds, it had crumbled to ash in my hands, the dark energy dissipating into the air.

I stood alone in the center of the devastated arena, my enemies fled, my body healed, and my mind reeling with questions.

What was that painting? Why had Little Black and Ms. Hayward feared it so much? And most importantly—who was the masked woman, and what did she want with me?

Clara and the Man with the Mustache approached cautiously.

"What... what just happened?" Clara asked, her eyes wide with wonder and fear.

The Man with the Mustache's expression was unusually serious. "Something ancient just woke up," he muttered. "And I'm not sure if that's a good thing."

I stared at the ashes in my palm, feeling the weight of yet another mystery added to my already complicated life.

"It doesn't matter," I said, closing my fist around the ashes. "What matters is that they ran. And now we have a chance to find Isabelle."

The Man with the Mustache nodded slowly. "They'll regroup quickly. We need to move."

"Then let's go," I said, retrieving my bronze sword from where it had fallen. "Isabelle is waiting."

As we left the arena, I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd just stepped into something much bigger than my search for Isabelle—something ancient and terrible that had been waiting for me all along.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, I could still hear that whisper: "Found you at last."