Artemis was suddenly filled with a clear resolve, able to piece together his train of thoughts as he deftly wielded the silver blade, dashing away as the blackish-miasma burgeoned, swelling ten-times its size and growing to an abnormal height. This churning liquid took form and resembled the open throat of a terrifying beast, its maw agape and its dripping fangs wavering with each droplet.
"Lark, what is this!?"
The Daemon's true name had been branded into his mind after their Contract had been clearly effectuated.
Now he knew the extent of the abilities he had been offered by the Daemon. There were several he didn't have the time to parse through and wrap his head around, but the most important was his improved mental clarity, physical enhancements, and constant speedy regeneration. The gashes on his leg and cheek had already begun dissipating, steam pouring from the hot wounds as the flesh wove itself back together. At the same time, the cleanly-cut flesh at the edge of his purple-hued severed arm had already begun to twist and writhe, seeking to heal the wound and stop the flow of blood that kept him in his dizzy state.
Damn it!
How could he have known that he really was being tricked? While Spirit Contracts were a common practice in the Blackbaast, particularly among the Archknights of the Palace, he himself had never had the opportunity to be chosen by one. He only assumed that a Daemonic Spirit Contract would be the same as he had heard of in stories and tales!
But a Daemon was a Daemon in the end.
Lark did not reply to him, did not offer any further encouragement. The words branded to his unconscious mind echoed further, causing him to bite blood from his lip and curse with dissatisfaction.
It really didn't matter anymore. Now, they had signed a true Contract with each other, tied deep into his very essence.
Essence was like the innate lifeforce of a person, notwithstanding their own blood. It was like the spiritual mirror of that crimson ichor that coursed through their veins. It was as important to the spirit that lurked inside of them as blood was to their beating heart.
And he could feel his coursing through him right now, blatant, burning like fire, vile and filled with despair.
It was a Daemon's essence.
Just what had Lark done to him?
There was no more time to think about it. The Daemon Knight was already on the move.
The titanic beast lunged at him with a fury, abandoning its graceful demeanor completely. It was now a true monster.
But now he had the strength remaining in his bones enough to dodge. He nimbly twisted away from the cantankerous creature, plumes of ash cloaking the sky above as it crashed into the ground, black miasma splashing around it like sheets of blood reamed from its illusory, phantasmic flesh.
He was no longer weak and pitiful, eeking out his remaining stamina in order to sustain his life.
The question was, how could he kill a Daemon?
Throughout the lives of the people of the Blackbaast, they were constantly warned, from cradle to deathbed, of the ferociousness of Daemonic Spirits. Those terrifying and otherworldly creatures who would die and yet remain in the waking world always sought to inhabit vessels, often dwelling in ancient ruins or abandoned homes.
And then they would wait, hoping for an unfortunate young boy with aspirations of becoming powerful to come along…
…and then they would trick them into forming a Contract.
He chuckled as he considered the irony.
Artemis glanced down at the ash beside the still-rising beast, noticing the faint gleam of a sharp-edged object buried in the white powder. He smirked, pivoting around as he whipped his remaining arm forth, sending the silver blade coursing through the air until it reached the writhing miasmic flesh of the Daemon, burying itself deep into the coruscating figure as it let out a shrill howl.
He dove for the onyx blade beside the beast, his fingers wrapping around its hilt as he entered a roll, bouncing away from the sea of ash with one of his legs as he swung the blade around him in a vile arc of midnight hue.
It cut a deep gash into the blackened body of the Daemon, spilling a foul liquid out onto the ground in a heap of steam and misery.
Artemis was becoming intoxicated by this sense of power that flooded through him, drunk on the wistfulness of the pure grace of his blade, how it could weave as the Knight had demonstrated. He wasn't held back by a lack of stamina, pain, or the loss of his arm.
If I cannot kill a Daemon, I can ensure it cannot be bound to this realm.
I'll shred your vessel to bits and spill what remains of you in this sea of ash.
That was the plan he had come up with in the time it took for the Daemon to whip around and catch his abdomen with the length of its monstrous limb. He felt his bones creak along with the impact, cracking, fracturing under the immense force of the blow. He cascaded across the sea of ash, landing a distance away from the ruins and the ash dune they had been fighting between.
A trail of crimson followed in his wake, spilling from his wounds which were trying desperately to close themselves with Lark's abilities, only falling short from his constant abuse of his body.
He raised his head from where he had landed, gazing adamantly towards the Daemon. He caught a glimpse of the onyx armour from underneath the burgeoned Daemon, a faint and calculating smile playing up his face.
Of course, the Daemon had shattered his ribs. But that didn't matter anymore. Pain didn't matter.
The main problem with fighting the Daemon after it had revealed itself was the simple fact that it had grown far too large in size for the vessel to be damaged. It had become the heart of the creature, hidden deep within its mantle of writhing flesh.
He had first assumed he would need to seamlessly rend the Daemon's flesh away from the armour before he could properly destroy the vessel.
It would be a tall task, most definitely.
He realised that was no longer the case.
When he had been struck by the Daemon, he had been a far enough distance away that to close the gap and make sure he couldn't react and dodge the blow, that the Daemon had shifted its body along the length of its vessel, partially exposing it.
That was what he had seen when he landed, that glimpse of the onyx armour.
So rather than continuing to barrage the monster with attacks in hopes to finally reach the armour before it could close the wounds, he could make it shift itself just enough that he could strike at the armour.
Artemis was exuberant to finally have a sense of direction in this battle.
Standing up, he cracked his neck, each subtle movement of his body making the internal injuries he had suffered react. Lark's countenance was healing it at a quick pace, however.
He had nothing more to worry about.
He flourished the menacing onyx blade, spinning it in a circle at his side as he splattered the mixture of his and the Daemon's blood that had collected on its edge to the ground. It intermingled with the white ash, a stain of malfeasance marking the history of their battle. The footsteps that had been left behind were filled with so many emotions, actions, and the mystery of each person's choices.
It was like they were slowly weaving a portrait into the ground.
Artemis intended to add the finishing touch in that very moment.
He dashed towards the Knight, causing it to do the same. They ran at each other with breakneck speed, the strange twisted limbs of the Daemon burying themselves into the sand, causing the ground to shake as if it were experiencing a dire earthquake.
And when it came time for them to clash, face-to-face, Artemis grinned, and ducked his head.
He slipped underneath the Daemon, sliding in the ash as he dove for the silver blade embedded in the backside of the creature. He pulled it out with a ferocious, bestial growl, jabbing it down into the foot of the Daemon.
This is for taking my arm, you f-cking moron!
Its outcry was brutal and filled with the visceral agony that a living creature would experience, even though it was only a Spirit itself.
How vile could this Bastard Prince be, to make even the dead cry out?
It angrily lashed out at him, but he had already dashed backwards, causing it to lurch forward, extending its mass to the tip of its outstretched gauntlet to close the distance without bothering to remove the silver sword buried in its foot.
The Daemon struck down with a burgeoning arm, pouring all of its mass into the fist as it punched down on Artemis, splattering him against the ash.
And then… it grimaced with a sense of confusion as it raised its hand, staring at the empty fur-laden cloak that had been plastered against it.
Artemis had appeared behind the Daemon, raising the onyx blade before thrusting it into the onyx armour.
It had been a subtle diversion! By abandoning his cloak and slipping through the shadows where he couldn't be easily spotted as the Daemon turned around, he had avoided its notice and flanked it!
With a single twist of his body, simultaneously avoiding the desperate strike of the Knight as it tried to save itself from its impending doom, his foot shot out like a whip and burst into the pommel of his weapon, burying it deep into the cuirass of the exposed armour. With a deafening screech, it pierced through the interior of the backplate. He bent down on the hilt of his blade while simultaneously uplifting it, the intense strain of having only one hand to achieve such a task weighing on him with each passing moment.
His upper arm felt like it was on fire, spasms of agony shooting through his shoulder as he grimaced, forcing himself to endure as the onyx blade began to carve itself into the armour of the Knight.
And as it caught its stride, it glided through the metal as if it were paper. Sliced in two, the onyx blade raised itself into the air, free of its strain as he reeled back, watching as the Knight realised what had occurred.
Its vessel had been sliced in two.
And as sure as Death was, it fell in a heap before him, lifeless and still.