The Dread of Damned

I looked at the man in front of him—how his usual arrogance was crumbling, how his eyes darted frantically, desperate and cornered, how he recoiled from the groaning, wretched thing writhing beneath my boot.

Ahh, how long I had waited for this moment.

"How did you—" he started, but the words died in his throat.@@novelbin@@

"How did I know?" I mused.

He had made too many mistakes this time. I could taste the fear rolling off him, his false composure crumbling like rotting parchment.

The crime he had committed would not just end him—it would erase his bloodline from history.

He had dared to swap real armor for forgeries. Perhaps he had done it before, relying on his connections to keep him safe. But greed dulls caution, and caution had long since left him.

"At first, you were careful. The first time, you only dared to switch five thousand armors—still afraid of my supervision. But then you noticed I wasn't as strict as you'd feared. You got bolder. Then, when I had the 'accident,' you thought no one would be watching you anymore. You opened your hands fully, fingers grasping at every ounce of gold you could steal."

I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment, savoring his unraveling.

"But what you never realized was that I wasn't trying to tighten my grip. I was letting you slip, letting your arrogance swell until you exposed your throat to me. The accident? That was nothing but a blessing in disguise."

The horror on his face was exquisite.

"Now, you must be thinking, 'But I did it under the cover of Night Veil! No one could have seen those wagons.'"

I laughed. A sharp, hollow sound.

Night Veils—enchantments so insidious they could deceive the mind itself, bending perception, convincing even the keenest eyes that an entire mountain was nothing but empty plains. Making them walk around it. 

"But your greatest mistake—the one that sealed your fate—was choosing the Everdying Forest as your hunting ground."

His breath hitched.

Everdying Forest, the boundary between the inner and outer circle. The land of the Noxveil Academy. The territory of Zephyr Rylan, the Grand Elder himself.

Nothing escaped his gaze in the Everdying Forest.

"Rylan… Kai Rylan," Gunnar spat, his voice trembling, twisting with rage. "How dare he?"

I almost pitied him.

Once, House Rylan had been his safest refuge. The Everdying Forest had been a shield, not a cage. No one had ever dared to question his actions there. He had assumed that even if Kai Rylan warned him, the man would never betray him. 

"Rylan yes, Zephyr Rylan" 

His voice cracked. "The Grand Elder? Impossible. He never meddles in inner circle affairs."

I smiled. A predator's smile.

"Well," I murmured, stepping forward, towering over him, "I became… rather familiar with him during my time there."

I straightened my suit.

"Now, I think I should have some fun."

I had barely spoken before his form blurred—a streak of unnatural speed lunging for me.

I was already moving.

He pounced, his body exploding in size—bulging muscles veined with pulsing white, his eyes pure, seething fury. He struck, his nails like ivory daggers, slashing at my suit. The enchanted fabric flared silver, absorbing the impact, but the force still rattled my bones.

I flashed across the hall, a crossbow of gleaming silver essence appearing in my hands. I fired—one, two, three bolts—each humming with energy. He dodged each one, twisting, his movements impossibly fast for a man of his bulk. But then, just as his foot touched the marble—

Silver chains of essence shot from the ground, coiling around his ankle like a viper.

The doors burst open. Guards swarmed in.

And then—

Lucian moved.

A single sweep of his hand and the room turned to ice.

Spiked frost ripped through the marble, impaling the first wave of guards. The rest barely had time to react before a storm howled to life—a whirling typhoon of razor-sharp ice shards that devoured them, shredding flesh from bone.

The golden wine spilled across the floor, mixing with blood—indistinguishable now.

More than half the guards—the weak ones—were already screaming, dying, or dead, their bodies sucked into the frozen vortex. Then, at the storm's peak, an avalanche of jagged ice formed above, and with a single gesture—

It came crashing down.

Limbs were torn apart like paper, bodies shredded into pulp beneath the crushing weight.

The hall was no longer a hall.

It was a frozen slaughterhouse. A landscape of shattered bodies, ice, and raw, crimson gore.

I turned back to Gunnar. His moment of stunned horror cost him.

I plunged a spear of pure essence through his arm.

He dodged at the last second. I had aimed for his heart.

He roared, ripping free. In a blink, he was on me, fist swinging for my face—

I shifted, an essence shield flaring into existence just as his knuckles cracked against it. My crossbow dissolved, morphing into a sword, and I drove it into his ribs.

He twisted violently, hurling me across the room.

His wounds healed instantly.

I wasn't surprised. Killing him like this was impossible. He had more experience, more raw power, more essence.

And I?

I wasn't even fully awakened yet.

Which is why I had come prepared.

Instead of widening the distance, I closed it. I blurred forward, fists flying, essence laced into every movement. His strength was monstrous—augmented, enhanced—but I had speed. Precision.

His fists slammed into my shields, cracking them, but never quite breaking through. Meanwhile, I blinked—left, right, behind, above—daggers of essence stabbing into his ribs, bullets of pure force ripping through his skull.

A lucky strike—his knuckles smashed into my face.

I flew, my jaw dislocating, skin tearing open. But the pain was fleeting. Essence rushed through me, mending the wounds in an instant.

He appeared before me, ready to finish it.

I sidestepped, letting his strike shatter my shield instead—then I cleaved across his stomach with my sword.

His confidence surged—his arrogance rekindled.

Perfect.

In that moment, my sword shifted, twisting into spiked, writhing vines that coiled around his body, piercing deep, sinking into flesh, drinking his blood.

Chains of essence erupted from the floor, binding his legs. Dark silver chains—alter chains—coiled into my hands.

I wrapped them around him.

And then, finally—he fell.

His grotesquely mutated form contorted in agony, the Alter chains embedding deeper, sinking into his very essence. He still struggled—like a dying beast, refusing to accept its end. But his power was close-range, and with every attempt to break free, the chains burrowed deeper into his flesh, into his very soul. They were the Alter chains after all. 

I exhaled, rolling my shoulders.

"Ahh. Finally."

I stepped over his trembling form.

"Arrogance truly is your bane."

The hall was a masterpiece of ruin—ice, blood, and mutilation.

Lucian stood above, untouched. The guards?

Chunks.

Splintered bones impaled in walls. Shattered limbs frozen mid-spasm. A mountain of ice rising from the carnage, crimson rivers leaking down its sides.

Those left alive, if they could be called that, twitched and tried to reform—only for ice to carve them apart again.

Not enough.

I grabbed Gunnar by the hair, dragging him across the floor. His skin tore against the ice, his screams sweet in my ears.

Not enough.

"Bring everyone out," I ordered.

Gunnar screamed.

And I smiled.