In the empty hall, a dull, unending bombardment echoed.
There were no intact torches left in the hall. Only a few scattered embers embedded near the base of the walls barely clung to life in the cracked stone crevices, casting fragmented and distorted outlines in their faint light.
The reliefs on the stone pillars had long been caught in the aftershocks, shattering into thousands of flying fragments that either embedded themselves in the walls or lay scattered across the floor. The pillars themselves were nearly broken, leaning precariously to support the domed ceiling, looking as though they might collapse at any moment.
The entire space was tinged with a terrifying blood-red.
A bright red, burning, scalding liquid splashed all along the path—that was Erich's blood. It continued to steam upon hitting the ground, giving off white vapor as if every single drop were burning.
Dim, cold, and viscously clinging to the walls—that was Garein's blood, oozing from the newly opened gashes on his bloated body, utterly lackluster, like pools of stagnant mud.
Low-tier undead did not have blood; at least, third- or fourth-tier undead certainly did not.
Garein's flesh and blood were the result of overeating, digesting his meals into his own power to the point where his body grew actual flesh. Such a thing was a mutation. If he were allowed to keep eating, there was no telling what he might evolve into.
But when Erich thought about how many "meals" Garein must have consumed to grow to this state, a surge of pure anger welled up inside him.
With a Sliding Step to the side, Erich let Garein's spiked club graze past his ear, the vicious wind whipping his messy hair. Taking advantage of the opening, Erich closed the distance, pressing himself against Garein's massive frame and throwing a punch straight at his abdomen.
His fist plunged straight into Garein's abdomen, piercing through the unnaturally grown flesh to strike deeper within. Garein's massive body bent sharply, a hoarse, guttural roar squeezing out of his throat. Erich applied a second burst of force, twisting his hips as the strength of his entire arm channeled through his fist!
Garein was sent flying.
The behemoth flew backward, shedding chunks of flesh along the way. His spiked club dragged along the ground, plowing a long trench through the stone slabs and kicking up a trail of debris before he finally managed to steady himself.
But Erich would not give him any room to breathe.
Using Sliding Step once more, his figure was already right in front of Garein. A Rising Dragon Fist shot upward from below, aiming straight for that rigid head.
Yet Garein showed no fear whatsoever. He did not dodge or evade, throwing the full weight of his body forward to meet Erich's fist with his terrifyingly hard skull.
Bone clashed with flesh in a deeply muffled explosion of sound, sending a numbing shock through the web of Erich's hand and robbing half his arm of all sensation.
Garein's weight class was simply too far above Erich's. Moreover, fighting from a higher position, he held a natural advantage over Erich.
With multiple unfavorable factors stacking against him, Erich was smashed directly into the ground by the headbutt.
Garein, too, would not give Erich any room to breathe.
Raising his spiked club high above his head, he brought it down with a gust of foul wind. Again and again, each strike kicked up a spray of blood that splattered across the dim hall, staining the shattered reliefs red.
The pounding echoes reverberated throughout the hall, crashing against the domed ceiling and the stone pillars in an endless din. To anyone listening from outside, it would sound as though the entire tower were trembling.
Yet, the figure being repeatedly battered was laughing.
Erich was laughing. He laughed maniacally, laughing with wild abandon. Countless wounds had been beaten into his body, and blood poured from him continuously, yet his chest shook with laughter, the sound tearing through his throat mixed with bloody froth, echoing through the ruined hall.
This human has gone mad, Garein thought.
But Erich had not gone mad. He was simply boiling.
His body was boiling. The smooth flow of mana inside him was running far faster than usual, surging along his bones like molten lava, so hot that even his breath carried a scorching white mist.
He had never felt so exhilarated. Perhaps this was how he was meant to be—using battle as his language, mana as his medium, and his body to measure the distance between life and death.
Erich felt his entire soul roaring.
Bit by bit, he stood back up. Braving the repeatedly crashing spiked club, he met the heavy blows with whatever part of his body was available. For every inch the spiked club forced him to bend, he stood back up a fraction straighter.
One last time, the spiked club crashed down with full force. Erich raised a single hand above his head.
He caught it.
The spiked club hung frozen in midair, unable to descend. Garein gripped the handle with both hands, throwing his entire body weight onto the weapon, yet the spiked club did not budge in the slightest.
Garein was horrified.
He looked down at the tiny human before him, covered in blood. The boy's clothes had long since been shredded into rags, revealing a dense network of wounds underneath. His shadow swayed in the pool of blood, his slender figure not even half of Garein's size.
Yet, how could such a creature still stand? How did he still possess such staggering strength?
In all his long life, Garein had never seen a prey like this—one that actually began to shine after being beaten to such a state.
On that blood-smeared face, a pair of eyes shone with startling brightness, the fire burning within them hotter than any flame.
Erich began to exert his strength. Garein felt a violent, surging force travel up the weapon, ripping the spiked club from his grip. It spun through the air and slammed into a stone pillar.
While Garein was still reeling from the loss of his weapon, Erich's figure vanished from his line of sight.
That broken body was clearly bleeding from every inch, and by all rights, he shouldn't even have been able to stand. Yet, he moved so fast that he didn't even leave an afterimage behind—so fast that Garein's predatory eyes couldn't keep track of him.
Garein's body tensed as he tried to resist, but an irresistible force struck him right on the chin.
Rate on N.U.
