With each passing moment, Findir's movements became more precise and fluid, adapting to the Demon Lord's relentless attacks. He used his remaining dagger to create openings by targeting the Demon Lord's hands and forearms, causing him to momentarily lose his grip on the scythe.
Seizing this opportunity, Findir moved in with a flurry of strikes, aiming at the Demon Lord's legs and torso. He struck with lightning speed, the curved dagger slicing through the air. The Demon Lord, wounded and disoriented, struggled to defend himself, but his scythe remained a formidable barrier.
Both combatants were visibly fatigued and wounded, but the arena echoed with the clash of steel against steel. The Demon Lord, realizing that Findir's agility and martial prowess posed a significant threat, unleashed a devastating shockwave of dark energy, sending Findir tumbling backward.
With his last ounce of strength, Findir regained his footing and charged forward, dagger poised for a decisive strike. The Demon Lord attempted to counter with a sweeping scythe strike, but Findir's agility allowed him to dart beneath the blade, closing the gap.
"Got you."
…
(Mammon POV)
(15 Years Ago)
There were only two conditions to evolve into his desired evolution. I had no influence in picking it, but I still supported him in whatever endeavors he harbored. I wanted to see just how far I could take him.
'Condition One: A connection to the shadow realm. I have already fulfilled that with the help of Beelzebub," Findir explanation rang in my mind. "Condition Two: Death.'
As I stood in the dimly lit chamber, filled with only the most powerful and trustworthy of dark elves, I bore witness to a transformation unlike anything I had ever seen before. Before me lay the remains of a dark elven body, cold and lifeless. The air was heavy with otherworldly energy, an aura of anticipation that sent shivers down my spine.
At the center of the chamber, an ancient, obsidian altar radiated an eerie, pulsating darkness. It seemed to draw the shadows in from every corner of the room, converging upon the lifeless form. As the minutes passed, the very essence of darkness seemed to coalesce, swirling around the fallen elf.
The room was filled with a haunting silence, broken only by the distant echoes of whispers in an eldritch tongue. These whispers emanated from hooded figures who encircled the altar, their faces concealed beneath obsidian masks. Their presence exuded a sense of solemnity and reverence.
Gradually, the stillness was shattered by the first signs of change. The dark elven body began to stir, a subtle tremor coursing through its limbs. From the very core of its being, tendrils of shadow reached out, weaving together flesh and spirit. The form that emerged was a hybrid, a fusion of dark elven characteristics and the newfound essence of voidborne power.
The skin of the reborn dark elf bore a dusky, midnight hue, reminiscent of their heritage. Yet, it also seemed to shift and ripple with an ever-changing, inky pattern, a reflection of their newfound control over shadow. Their hair, once ebony, now flowed like liquid darkness, cascading down their shoulders in mesmerizing tendrils.
Their eyes, however, held the most captivating transformation. They were a deep, bottomless void, absorbing all light and reflecting the mysteries of the cosmos. Those eyes now held the power to peer into the very heart of the void and draw upon its ancient wisdom.
As the reborn voidborne took their first steps, it was evident that their movements were both fluid and ethereal. They walked with a grace that was distinctly elven, but there was an eerie quality to it as if they were both here and elsewhere simultaneously.
The onlookers, myself included, could feel the resonance of the voidborne's power. It was a fusion of dark elven heritage and the untapped potential of the void, a force that had been harnessed and embraced. In their presence, the room seemed to warp and twist, shadows dancing in response to their will.
As the reborn voidborne dark elf continued to take shape, I couldn't help but be entranced by the intricate details of their transformation. The room, once filled with whispers, now echoed with a haunting melody, as if the very air itself sang in harmony with their rebirth.
Their features, while still retaining the elegant and sharp contours of the traditional dark elven visage, bore an otherworldly quality. The fine lines of their face were adorned with delicate, glowing runes that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of the void, marking them as a being of exceptional power.
As the transformation progressed, their body seemed to blur at the edges, occasionally fading into a wisp of shadow before solidifying once more. It was as though they were in a perpetual dance with the shadows that surrounded them, merging with the darkness and emerging anew, reborn and rejuvenated.
The reborn voidborne's attire was a seamless blend of dark elven tradition and the ethereal grace of the void. Draped in a flowing cloak that shifted between shades of black and deep purple, it seemed to absorb the very light around them. Their garments were adorned with shimmering gemstones that refracted the faint glow of the room's enchanted crystals, casting prismatic patterns across the chamber.
Their presence exuded an aura of both mystique and power. With a mere gesture, they could conjure tendrils of shadow to dance around them or summon voidborne energies that swirled like miniature galaxies within their grasp. It was a testament to their mastery over the forces of the void, a power that still bore the echoes of their dark elven ancestry.
Their voice, when it finally broke the silence, was like a gentle whisper from the cosmos itself. It held the weight of ancient knowledge and the mysteries of the void. As they spoke, it was as though the very words carried a hypnotic resonance, drawing all present into their aura of wisdom.
The reborn voidborne's emergence marked a new era for their kind, a fusion of their dark elven roots with the enigmatic potential of the void. Their journey was one of rebirth and transformation, a testament to the ceaseless evolution of a race that had long thrived in the shadows. It was exciting. Incredible. Spectacular… and then all of a sudden, his new features were sucked back in and he took the form of a simple dark elf once more.
"What happened?" I asked and as his eyes lay on me, I felt a shiver of excitement rush down my spine. Clearly that same power was there, just not present physically.
"It would be bad to frighten the other students. I still plan on attending school."
"There's no need for that now. I would like to personally train you from now on-" His eyes were cold and merciless… just how I liked it. "Fine…"
…
(Present Day)
As his dagger approached my face, I knew damn well he was going to kill me. Unlike my lats, there was no coming back from this if a dagger went straight through my face… but it wasn't time yet. No, it wasn't time for him to unleash that form. I needed to rile him up more into an unhinged monster. Only then will I see its full potential.
"You risk too much… Pay more attention to his surroundings."
He was only focused on battling me, while I on the other hand was playing defense with a bit more offense than I planned. But that didn't really matter as I was slowly eating away at his throne world from behind. And once I kicked the battle up a notch, he was fully immersed in the one-on-one.
"Shit!" He cried out, but it was too late. My throne world had already devoured his from behind and grazed him ever so gently.
Even though it was a small touch, he still fell for the properties of my all-powerful skill. In an instant, the dark elf's world shattered into chaos. His senses, those precious instruments that had always guided him through treacherous battles, were abruptly and mercilessly ripped from him. Sight, sound, touch, taste, and smell, all vanished simultaneously, leaving him in a horrifying void of sensory deprivation.
It was as if he had been cast into an endless abyss, where time and space lost all meaning. Panic coursed through his veins, his heart racing in the inky blackness that now enveloped him. His thin cloth armor felt like a prison, and he clawed at it desperately, trying to find something, anything, to hold onto.
But there was nothing. No point of reference, no sense of direction, no reality to grasp. His mind, which had always been sharp and cunning, now teetered on the precipice of madness. It was as though his very identity was unraveling in the absence of sensory input.
The dark elf's screams of terror and despair echoed fruitlessly in the void, unheard by any living being. His thoughts spiraled into a maelstrom of confusion and dread, and he desperately clung to the vestiges of his sanity. But my throne world was relentless, an unyielding abyss that seemed determined to consume him whole.
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter