CHAPTER 280: DESTROY THE CURSED (97)

Chapter 280

Han moved away from the battlefield where he’d just fought Madi. The ground behind him would never be the same.... torn, ripped, a landscape of bruised earth and broken stone. As he walked, familiar faces emerged from the smoke, limping toward the cursed base.

"Isn’t that the Fire God?" Little One mouthed as Han landed before them.

Han’s face twitched. The nickname had been funny once. Now it was just a nuisance. He’d rather be called by his name. Still, he calmed himself quickly.... that was easy for him. He scanned the group. They were battered. Not good. They’d been through hell.

Ronan pushed through the muck to meet him and filled Han in on the situation. Relief loosened something in Han: Aiden and Clara were alive. When he’d been fighting Madi he’d had a bad premonition.... one of them might die. Knowing they lived eased the knot in his chest.

"You mean that guy from the Tournament of Power is on this island?" Han asked, eyebrow arching.

Ronan nodded. Word had traveled fast. Han grunted. "So the battle’s almost over. Let dusk fall, then we deal with the rest. We might face that red lightning bastard too." The fight with Striker still sat like a bruise in his memory; Striker would be troublesome, but Han could handle him. The real target was clear: Drake.

They entered the tunnel and emerged into a vast facility.... corridors, walkways, doors stacked like a city inside rock. There, tired but unbroken, Aiden and Elexa waited. Both looked drained, but neither looked defeated.

Aiden offered a crooked grin. "Well, would you look at that. We all made it out alive. Killed our opponents even." He said it loud enough to sound ridiculous.

Elexa gave him a flat side-eye. So shameless. Aiden had run off during the fight for reasons none of them understood. Ronan gave a short shake of his head. "He didn’t kill his opponent," he said as they moved. "He killed himself."

Aiden raised an eyebrow, but no one argued. If the worst was true, then it was a stupid, tragic end and every one of them had no patience left for foolishness.

They pushed deeper, passing more corridors until every step grew heavier. Then they stopped at once, faces lifting in unison.

A figure stood several meters ahead, chest forward, eyes burning with raw indignation. His voice cut the air like a blade. "You damn heroes. You think you’re above everyone else?"

Han and the others stared. The red armor confirmed it before the man spoke again: this wasn’t just any Vanguard. This was the leader.

Ferris.

His gaze locked on the ten heroes. A grin spread across his face .... cold, hungry. "So there are ten of you," he said. "Maybe I’ll survive this after all."

He didn’t wait for them to strike. Ferris raised the great red blade and the moment the hilt left his palm he felt it: the sword drank. Fast. Relentless. It pulled at his blood like a hungry maw.

"Die.... all of you, damn heroes!" he spat, and swung.

A condensed slash of red aura sliced the walkway. It moved like a living thing.... cold, precise, and impossibly fast. Han’s stomach dropped. He’d seen power before, but this... this was beyond anything he’d measured.

"Terragon!" Han barked. The earth spirit erupted from the soil, hulking and brutal, throwing its body up as a shield. At the same time Han slammed out a lightning dome and a fire dome to wrap the group in a crackling, burning cocoon.

For a heartbeat it looked like it might hold. Then the red aura struck Terragon. The spirit shuddered, held then shattered. The remaining wave smashed through the domes and slammed the heroes like ragdolls. They flew end over end, bodies hitting hard, air knocked from their lungs. Internal damage hit them like a cold blade; one by one they coughed up bright red blood.

Han felt his mind stutter. He remembered how long Thunderwrath and Ifir had taken to fell their targets, how brutal those fights had been and he used that as a scale. This single slash had done what armies could not. The red aura’s power dwarfed everything he’d expected.

If he hadn’t thrown both the lightning and fire domes up... if he’d hesitated then even the residue of that slash would’ve been enough to erase them. He pushed himself up, hands trembling, scanning the wrecked walkway for survivors.

Moments later, one by one, the others crawled up. They were alive.... wounded, broken, but breathing. A ragged cheer of relief wanted to leave Han’s chest, but it died in his throat when Balor pointed.

They all turned.

Ferris lay on the floor. The great red blade idled beside him, its glow gone... dim, like the dying of a star. It wasn’t the sword’s faded light that stole their breath. It was Ferris: the man looked hollowed out. His skin pulled tight over bone; his eyes were sunken. He looked as if the blade had sucked him dry.

Ferris weakly scanned them with a hissed whisper, the last thread of his voice raw. "Damn you heroes... why do you always have the last laugh?" The words dissolved into a croak. He collapsed, motionless.

Han stepped forward, checked the blade with the Analyzer Eye. The device hummed.

Item analyzing...

Analysis complete.

Item type: Weapon.

Name: King Killer.

Description: "During the Era of the Death War, while all other Blood Kings fled, the Sixth Blood King... the wielder of the King Killer stood his ground against a million wolf packs."

Han’s brow tightened. He’d never heard of the Death War. He didn’t know the old Blood Kings. None of that mattered. The sword was real. Dangerous. And it had a cost.

With a flick, the great red blade vanished into Han’s system storage. He felt the weight leave the room and settle behind his ribs anyway... like the echo of a thing that demanded blood.

He straightened, shoulders aching, voice low and hard. "Come on. It’s time we meet the leader of this damned organization."

To be continued....

AUTHOR’S NOTE

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– Ultra