A close-range roar burst like a drum in her ear; hot spittle rained from that gaping maw, yellow teeth like old parchment flashing through a gutter-stench as he aimed a filthy bite at Alicia.
“Tsk!”
Disgust iced her spine; the maw yawned like a bloody cave, and Alicia knew he meant to clamp down on her—never mind consent, that reeking mouth wouldn’t touch her for more than 0.00001 seconds.
She snapped into an extreme back-step, distance stretching like a drawn bowstring; the ram-headed brute’s “Bite Attack” cut air like a passing shadow, leaving him stiff for one heartbeat, his twice-sapped mind a congealed porridge that couldn’t chain a claw follow-up.
One second—enough; a window like a lightning blink for Alicia’s combo.
“Nape Strike!”
She sprang like a swallow to his back; her hand flipped, the Demonblade’s spine becoming edge; she dropped like a needle, aiming for the universal weak point—the little bump on the nape, whatever that bone’s called.
Light hit stuns, heavy hit kills; rules etched like scars, and she knew a light tap wouldn’t even daze this brute.
THUD!!
The sound landed heavy as a tombstone; his body jerked, then toppled like a hillside losing its frame.
Her estimate had been true; a light strike would’ve left her on a cliff edge, and she’d have paid for mercy.
As the ram-headed monster fell, Alicia’s breath drifted out like mist; she hopped down, the Demonblade whirled twice like a red moon and bit the ground like a fang.
She didn’t relax; her nerves held taut like a bow. Leave an enemy breathing, and disaster rolls in like a tide—she didn’t plan to kill him, but a safeguard carved in stone was easy, so she’d do it.
Palm pressed to earth; fire-red sigils bloomed like living vines, spreading until a huge ring covered the beast.
“Flame Cage!”
The ring flared like sunrise; long flames speared up, pillars forming a forest of fire to prison the brute at the center.
Between those pillars, smaller tongues knotted like ropes, binding limbs and head. Two layers of restraint should hold; now she could find that guy called… Et Roland, and play a little like a cat with a mouse.
…Hm? Et Roland? That name chimed like a bell, oddly familiar.
She shook her head like a dog shedding rain; shelve the name, handle the problem in front.
Think, then move. He hadn’t run; the pen still scratched like a cricket. Scientists, huh? Even death can’t stop the hand that writes.
She lifted the Demonblade, a crimson spine rising; her steps stalked like a shadow toward the scribbling Et—but—
Why do my steps feel heavy, like wet sand in my boots?
She tapped her forehead, trying to clear the fog like damp cotton; chalk it up to fatigue. First the sea of corpses, then this fallen tree of a brute—she wasn’t Ling, that perpetual-motion engine spinning like a top; she’d be tired.
She wasn’t wheezing after two steps; just a shade slower, wind steady like a low breeze. The distance to Et wouldn’t cost her minutes.
“Hey! Time to focus, yeah?” Her voice snapped like a whip. “Your ultimate weapon’s down. What makes you think you can fight me?”
He stayed silent; then the notebook shut like a clamshell. He’d heard her, no doubt.
“Why no answer? Do I carve up this cursed hive, drag you out, and give you a five-way dissection? You killed so many—if I kill you now, it’s Heaven’s cold justice.”
“…Heh-heh. If you want, do it~”
Finally, a reply; his tone was oily as lamp smoke, begging for a fist.
Courtesy can be sharp as steel; since he asked, she’d answer.
She raised the Demonblade side-on; mana surged like spring water; the swing came down.
CLANG!!
The recoil slammed back like ice up her arm; pain stung, and her grip loosened.
“What?! What’s going on?”
The Demonblade, which made iron taste like mud, met a wall; the rod looked plain as kitchen iron, yet it didn’t cleave, it bounced, and her hand throbbed.
She looked at Et—same face, a crescent smile like a sickle, the same eyes full of intellect; but now those wells held moonlight she couldn’t read.
Et didn’t care about the doubt flickering in her gaze; he watched her, smile steady.
“How? You ask what lets me face you.” His words fell like stones into a still pond. “Here’s your lesson—the truly strong don’t shout ‘I’m gonna kill you.’ The moment that thought sparks like lightning, their bodies have already moved.”
