The young warriors closed the distance, reaching Lezschill, who focused all his remaining hands on them, with Burtu's body still serving as their gruesome, regenerating shield, absorbing the brunt of the assault. Marichi then dashed out to the side, his leg creaking, sending a searing bolt of pain from his knee to his brain.
Still, he planted his agonizing leg with grim resolve, pushing through the pain as he continued to dash. He cut terrifyingly close to Lezschill's hulking form, severing several hands as he began to scramble, clawing his way up the monstrous body.
Lezschill let out a sharp, clicking sound, a guttural expression of frustration. He tried to recall his hands, to bring them back to slaughter Marichi on his back, but most of them remained inextricably stuck in Burtu's bleeding, almost blood-drained body.
Marichi, reaching Lezschill's neck, plunged his dagger deep. The blade twisted, burrowing into flesh, black blood gushing in a torrent around it as his dagger pressed on, yet snagged, almost halfway to the Adam's apple.
"Come on!" Marichi roared, pushing with every ounce of his fleeting might. His grip slowly began to loosen, his eyelids growing heavy, the world threatening to fade.
"No!" Marichi groaned, his strength ebbing, blood flowing freely from his countless wounds.
THUD----SPLAT!
Burtu's corpse, finally overwhelmed, collapsed to the ground. Lezschill's hands, freed from their gruesome entanglement, began to pull themselves out, one by one, receding only to surge forward and plant themselves deep into Marichi's weakening body.
But then, a blur of motion. Jorel sliced through the attacking hands with a desperate sweep of his sword, stumbling to the ground as his weak legs threatened to buckle entirely. Lezschill's other hands converged on him, a fresh assault, but Jorel, even on the ground, continued to slash, a defiant whirlwind of steel.
Move! Move!
He inwardly screamed, trying to ignite a flicker of vigor in his exhausted limbs.
I still can't let that peasant overshadow me!
He thought, gritting his teeth, as the hands lunged at him, unyielding, mirroring his own grim resolve.
After all the time I've been protecting us, how I even did it was by the grace of luck.
What will father think if I lose my life here?
Zara?
No… Even worse… If they find out that some no-named peasant saved me.
He gritted his teeth, a fresh surge of adrenaline coursing through him. Strength surged back into his legs, and he cut down every hand that dared to approach.
Then, with a renewed burst of energy, he sprang to his feet as the severed hands regenerated. He bolted towards Lezschill and Marichi, flicking his sword into the air to shed the black blood, then settling into a low stance, the blade held lower than his waist, his back slightly hunched.
Kanma-ryū.
His voice dragged in his mind, almost a whisper, as he continued to flick the sword, the phantom rhythm of the style guiding his movements.
The backing wind!
His heart let out a silent roar. He swung the sword from his waist, a sweeping arc aimed straight for Lezschill's neck, a precise strike designed to bypass Marichi.
His sword sank into Lezschill's neck, heading directly for the Adam's apple, where it lodged slightly. Jorel didn't yield, straining every fiber of his being, refusing to fall.
Marichi, witnessing Jorel's desperate effort, found a hidden wellspring of strength. He applied every ounce of his remaining effort into his hand, forcing his dagger to dig deeper, inching closer and closer to Lezschill's Adam's apple.
Lezschill let out a primordial roar, a sound that seemed to tear at the fabric of reality. He thrashed violently, his hands flailing, striking Marichi and Jorel, and tearing free from Burtu's body.
Why am I worrying myself…
Cutting my head off won't even kill me, it won't kill you.
Countless voices, a dissonant chorus of fragmented minds, all spoke in perfect unison within Lezschill.
But these people… They're the only ones to have given me a fight in years!
Heck, they're the only people that have come here in years.
His usual, deeper voice took control, as more hands ripped free from Burtu's corpse. Marichi and Jorel, their bodies screaming in protest, continued to apply force to their blades.
Their blades moved once more, a final, agonizing push. Both were midway through Lezschill's neck, black blood oozing, mingling.
Why am I this calm here…
He suddenly stopped roaring, his thrashing subsiding.
Is it because I've finally felt something…
Or because I actually have a chance at the release of this place?
Lezschill thought, his gaze drifting to Burtu's corpse, rapidly healing with its grotesque black liquid.
Don't let the seedling be that man!
Another voice, sharp and urgent, screamed from within.
What does it matter?
I'll be free…
He thought, a sense of peace washing over his monstrous form.
But one thing's for sure…
I did want the one on my left to be the seedling…
And I absolutely hate the right one!
He smirked, a final, chilling expression of triumph, as he felt their blades touch within his neck.
Well…
Too bad…
Lezschill's head flew clean off his body, a dazzling spray of black blood painting the air. Marichi and Jorel simultaneously collapsed to the ground, their blades clattering against the stone.
Lezschill's severed head rolled, coming to a stop against Burtu's body, now almost fully healed.
Ahh…
Now…
Continue the suffering in my stead, seedling.
Lezschill's final thought echoed in his dissolving mind as black blood oozed from every pore on his face, and he let out one final, ragged breath.
Burtu, now fully healed, rose to his feet. Pain was etched into every fiber of his being, black veins spiderwebbing beneath his now pale skin before receding. He turned his head, his eyes widening in horror at Lezschill's severed head, which made him recoil instinctively.
"Wait…" He gasped, struggling to control his ragged breathing. His eyes traced the blood trail on the ground, leading back to Lezschill's kneeling, lifeless body.
Jorel and Marichi lay on the ground, their chests heaving with deep, painful breaths, bodies trembling with the aftermath of their ordeal.
Did… I do it?
Jorel thought, trying to push himself up, but the searing pain pinned him down.
I-It worked?
Marichi's inner voice sounded confused, incredulous, as he stared at Lezschill's hands, unmoving, only black blood dripping.
Am I still alive right now? !
Both their minds thought in unison, a tumultuous mix of joy and shock echoing through their blood systems.
Yes!
Marichi let out a faint chuckle.
Now… how about getting out of here…
Marichi thought, forcing himself up. He saw Burtu sitting on the ground, staring at them, his expression unreadable.
"Burtu…" Marichi's throat was raw, his voice weak.
"H-How… did you guys do it?" Burtu huffed, his eyes wide.
Then, memories, sharp and brutal, slammed into his frontal lobe: Marichi and Jorel using him as a shield. He slowly raised his hands to his face as flashes of agonizing pain and the sight of his own insides, torn and bleeding, seared into his mind.
Finally, the relentless playback of Lezschill's hands clawing through his body, the incessant spilling of blood, and his impossible, repeated revivals cemented his fracturing mind. His hands flew to the sides of his head, scratching, pulling at his hair.
"Did… You guys use me as a shield?" Burtu's voice was a ragged whisper, a desperate gasp as he began to ruffle his hair, pulling at the short strands.
The memories continued on repeat, a horrifying loop. His body jerked spasmodically, his fingers scratching his scalp, drawing blood. His breathing became erratic, a jagged, unstable pattern. He gritted his teeth, his eyes sinking deep into their sockets, as he rocked back and forth, a broken figure on the cold ground.
"You guys actually did… There was no other way…" He choked out, remembering Jorel and Marichi's detached comments, the words echoing their cold pragmatism.
"Ahhhh!" Burtu cried out, tears streaming down his face, mixing with the dark blood from his self-inflicted wounds, the blackness swirling with the transparency of his adult tears.
---The end of chapter 38---