CHAPTER 356: JUDGEMENT (4)

Maeven’s hand shot up, gripping the blade again. Blood poured down his arm, but he held it still. His pale eyes locked onto Lindarion’s, blazing with hunger.

"You think this is power? No. This—" he yanked the sword closer, shadows screaming as they writhed between them "—is only the beginning."

And with a surge of corrupted force, he blasted Lindarion backward once more.

The elf hit the ground hard, sliding across cracked stone. His lungs seized, blood bubbling in his throat.

[Warning: Synchronization breach approaching critical. Vessel collapse imminent.]

The sword pulsed wildly now, shadows crawling up his arm, across his chest. His skin burned where they touched, like his veins themselves were being rewritten.

Maeven staggered forward, body mangled but mending with each step. His chest still smoked where the blade had struck, the wound refusing to fully close. He pressed a hand to it, blood soaking his pale fingers.

His grin stretched wider, manic now. "Yes. That’s it. Tear yourself apart. Show me what your leash-holder whispered into you."

Lindarion’s breath rattled in his chest. The system screamed warnings across his vision. His body trembled under the weight of the sword, yet he raised it anyway, shadows coiling tighter.

’No leash. No chains. Only this blade. And your throat.’

He spat blood onto the stone and rose again.

The cavern shuddered. Dust fell like rain. The humans could no longer stand; most were on their knees, trembling, choking on fear. Even the mutants had crept back, instincts screaming at them to flee the storm building between the two figures.

Maeven’s pale hair hung wild across his face, his bloodied grin unbroken. "Come then, elf. One more step. Show me what you really are."

Lindarion tightened his grip until his knuckles split. The sword throbbed in his hands, a heartbeat not his own.

And he stepped forward.

The air itself cracked.

Shadows surged to swallow the cavern whole.

—

The air cracked.

It wasn’t just the strike of steel against flesh anymore — it was something deeper, something older, like the world’s bones splintering under strain. Shadows surged outward from Lindarion in waves, crawling like veins across the cavern walls, threading into the cracks of stone until even the torches sputtered and died. Darkness swallowed flame, and only the red glow in his eyes remained.

Maeven laughed. Low, rough, giddy with hunger. His white hair stuck to his bloodied face, his body riddled with wounds that mended and re-opened in the same breath.

"Yes," he crooned, voice warping under the strain of his own changing flesh. "Yes, tear yourself open, boy. Let the weapon consume you. Then I’ll pick through the bones."

Lindarion didn’t hear him. Or maybe he did, but the words drowned beneath the roaring flood of the system hammering against his skull.

[Warning: Synchronization 96%. Vessel instability critical.]

[Warning: Internal hemorrhage detected.]

[Warning: Cerebral pressure—]

He cut the words down, shutting them out with a snarl. Blood ran from his mouth, down his chin, spattering across the hilt of the sword. His fingers were bone-white where they gripped, nails cracking against the steel.

’Not yet. Not while you stand.’

He moved.

The shadows carried him faster than his muscles should have allowed, dragging his body through the air like a puppet on black strings. The blade screamed as it swung, an arc of void ripping forward.

Maeven barely caught it. His hands slammed against the flat of the blade, his arms buckling under the force. Stone cracked beneath his feet.

The cut didn’t just gouge, it split the cavern wall behind him, a wound of darkness searing into the stone that refused to close.

Maeven’s grin faltered for the first time.

"You’ll burn yourself out," he hissed, eyes wide, almost reverent. "And I’ll be here to gather the ashes."

He shoved back.

The impact detonated. Both figures were hurled apart, crashing into opposite walls. The cavern screamed as cracks spidered through the ceiling, dust and rock raining down like a storm.

Lindarion tried to stand. His body didn’t listen. Shadows dragged him upright instead, lifting him like carrion on black hooks. His knees buckled, his lungs shredded themselves with each breath.

Maeven’s laughter rose again, ragged but unbroken. His chest still smoked from the last strike, his skin crawling with new lines of splitting flesh, but he healed, always healed.

"You bleed for power," Maeven rasped, stalking forward. "But me? I am the wound. Endless. You’ll fall before I do."

Lindarion lifted the sword. His arm trembled, not from fear but from the sheer weight of holding the weapon anymore. Shadows dripped from the blade like tar, thick and seething. His vision was fractured, doubled, blood painting everything red.

[Warning: Synchronization 99%. Collapse imminent.]

He didn’t stop.

Maeven blurred forward, claws sprouting where fingers had been, white hair snapping behind him. Lindarion swung. The world split between them.

Impact.

The cavern floor ripped apart, a chasm tearing outward from the point of their clash. Stone shrieked as it collapsed inward, the humans screaming as the ground buckled beneath their feet.

For one heartbeat, Maeven staggered. The blade had pierced him clean through, black shadows spearing out his back, pinning him to the far wall.

Lindarion’s mouth filled with blood. His knees hit the ground. He couldn’t breathe. His vision flickered.

Maeven didn’t die.

His head lolled forward, white hair curtaining his face, blood gushing down his chest. Then the laughter started again, wet, bubbling, broken but still there.

He pulled himself further down the blade. Flesh tore. Bone cracked. And yet he slid closer, until his pale face was inches from Lindarion’s, his grin a ruin of blood and teeth.

"Almost," Maeven whispered. "Almost worth consuming."

The sword shook in Lindarion’s grip. His body gave out. The shadows shrieked, clawing, writhing, desperate to keep moving, but his flesh wouldn’t hold. Blood sprayed from his nose, his eyes, his ears. His body convulsed.

He collapsed, the blade slipping from his grasp.

Maeven tore himself off the sword, flesh knitting as he stood tall, looming over the elf’s fallen form. His grin was ragged, yet triumphant.

"It ends here," he said softly.

He raised his hand, claws glinting, ready to plunge them through Lindarion’s chest.

And then the cavern shook again.