The bass from the speakers shook the walls, the techno beat pounding like a war drum.
Blue strobe lights flickered over the wreckage; shattered glass, overturned tables, and the cerulean blood of fallen Upiri staining the floor.
Rughton hovered mid-air, his black wings spread wide. His grin was all teeth, sharp and predatory.
In a blur, he shot forward. Faster than the human eye could track and drove his fist into the swordsman's gut.
The impact sent the masked warrior crashing through the wall, bricks exploding outward in a cloud of dust.
"Is that all you got, weakling? I thought you were better than that!"
Two seconds of silence.
BOOM!
The rubble erupted as the swordsman charged back through, his blade gleaming unnaturally bright for a split second.
Rughton's eyes widened. He barely had time to react.
"Nightwall!"
A slab of solid darkness materialized between them, blocking the sword's path.
The clash sent sparks flying, illuminating Rughton's snarling face.
"That sword... where the f**k did you get it?"
The swordsman didn't answer. 'Arcanum... So this bastard has magic too.'
Arcanum—the rare gift of the Upiri elite. Only the strongest could wield it, either by birth or through decades of brutal training.
Rughton's power, Umbra Praesidium, was Imber-tier: the lowest rank, but still deadly.
The swordsman rolled to the right, where the shadow barrier didn't reach, and hurled his sword at Rughton's face. The Upir jerked back, the blade grazing his cheek.
He countered with a spinning kick, his heel connecting with the swordsman's jaw... but the warrior didn't stagger.
Instead, he retaliated with a barrage of punches to Rughton's exposed ribs, each strike cracking like gunshots. A final jumping knee sent Rughton reeling.
The swordsman snatched his blade from the air and slashed upward, carving a gash across Rughton's chest. The wound sizzled... acid in his veins. The sword's glow pulsed brighter.
'It charges with every hit,' Rughton realized, coughing up cerulean blood.
He launched himself backward, putting distance between them. "Curse you, Alterum! You puny bugs don't deserve such power!"
"Wing Striker."
His feathers hardened into black daggers and rained down.
The swordsman deflected some with his blade, but one sliced through his bicep. Then another. And another.
The volley intensified, feathers shredding the walls, the DJ booth, the ceiling... until the entire room was a storm of razors.
'If he's attacking, he can't defend.'
The swordsman feinted exhaustion, letting his grip on the sword slacken... then threw it again.
The blade cut through the feather barrage, but lost momentum at the last second. Rughton caught it, his face twisted in fury.
"AGAIN with this trick?! Do not mock me, filth..."
Trap sprung.
The swordsman yanked his hand back. The sword obeyed, tearing free of Rughton's grip and dragging him forward like a fish on a hook.
Rughton barely had time to scream before the sword was back in the warrior's hand and he was nose-to-mask with his executioner.
"Nightwall!"
A last-ditch barrier erupted between them, thicker this time. The swordsman flipped back just before it could bisect him.
"Try getting past this, insect!" Rughton panted, already priming another Wing Striker.
The swordsman didn't speak. He attacked. Each slash chipped away at the shadow wall, the sword's glow intensifying with every hit.
Cracks spiderwebbed across the darkness.
Rughton's wings twitched... ready to flee, to regroup.
CRACK!
The barrier shattered.
And the sword blazed like a miniature sun.
"Ludicium Divinum."
The world changed.
One moment, they were in the ruined nightclub. The next... a majestic cathedral.
Rughton stumbled, his wings limp. The air was cold, the scent of incense thick.
Twelve faceless statues lined the walls, their hollow gazes fixed on him. The floor was a mirror. And in it, his sins played on loop.
The factory. The screams. The women he'd broken. The children he'd drained.
"Make it stop!" Rughton clawed at his head, but the visions wouldn't fade. He felt their pain... their terror... as if it were his own.
The statues raised their hands.
The swordsman stepped forward, his blade now a column of white fire.
Rughton didn't resist. He smiled, tears cutting through the blood on his face. "Thank you."
A single slash.
Light swallowed everything.
Silence.
The cathedral vanished, leaving only the ruined club. Rughton's body hit the floor, already gray with death.
The DJ bolted for the exit, his sneakers slipping on spilled blood...
THUNK.
An arrow speared through his skull.
The swordsman turned, his muscles screaming from the domain's toll, just as a voice sang out:
"Wow! Just one Upir did all that to you, Juli? Man, you're weak as hell!"
A young man strolled in, lollipop in mouth, bow slung over his shoulder.
His outfit was all white... shirt, suspenders, tie, pants, even his shoes. A blinding contrast to the gore around him.
The young man grinned, twirling another arrow between his fingers. "Have no fear baby, when Polo is here!"