"Are you with me," he said, voice low, steady, "or with him?"
Yue didn't answer immediately.
And that silence felt heavier than the clash of blades.
Kael's eyes narrowed behind the red mask, every movement deliberate, every breath measured.
The chaos around him seemed distant, muffled by the weight of the moment.
He didn't fight with reckless fury.
No wild swings or desperate lunges.
Instead, he moved like a predator—calm, calculating, and cold.
Each strike was precise, aimed not to kill outright but to dismantle.
He watched his opponent closely, reading every twitch, every slight shift in weight.
The headless being fought with relentless force, but Kael was patient.
He let the creature waste its strength—overextending, exposing vulnerable angles.
When the moment came, Kael struck with ruthless efficiency.
A quick feint, then a sharp cut to the wrist—crippling the sword hand.
No hesitation. No mercy.
The undead staggered, but it did not fall. Its rotten limbs still moved, driven by something beyond flesh and bone.
Kael's lips curled slightly—not in amusement, but grim acceptance.
This was no ordinary enemy.
And he was no ordinary fighter also.
Around them, the others watched with a mixture of awe and tension.
The clash of sword and bone unfolded like a deadly dance—fluid, precise, but exhausting.
Even beneath the mask, the strain was clear.
Finally, Elara's voice broke through the silence, sharp and commanding.
"What are you waiting for? Finish that headless thing!"
Her words hung in the air.
The group exchanged uncertain glances, then nodded in grim agreement.
Without hesitation, they formed a circle around Kael and the undead knight, keeping their distance.
The air shimmered as they began weaving spells—arcs of crackling lightning, searing flames, and shards of ice shooting toward the foe.
The headless being roared, staggered under the barrage but fought to stay upright.
In the center, Kael moved with lethal intent.
His strikes grew more ruthless—cutting through rotten armor, exploiting every opening created by the spells.
He was the blade between the storm of magic and the relentless undead.
Kael's breath came in ragged gasps, each inhale sharper than the last.
Blood dripped from his arms and stained his coat—his own and the enemy's.
His muscles screamed in protest, limbs faltering, movements losing their once razor-sharp edge.
But the creature? It did not tire. Not truly.
Its rotting flesh hung in tatters, torn and shredded, yet it pressed on relentlessly—unyielding, unbroken. The skull-shielded horror showed no sign of fatigue.
No hesitation.
How? Kael's mind flickered with a dark question, but there was no time for answers.
His eyes flicked to the corner of his vision. Yue stood before the massive dark deity statue, calm and composed. She seemed to be searching—calculating.
'Maybe she's looking for a way out,' Kael thought, bitterness creeping in.
'But who cares?'
'If this thing didn't die, they all would.'
The weight of his exhaustion pressed down on him, threatening to crush his spirit. His sword felt heavy in his grip, the world blurring around the edges.
Kael was the best weapon they had.
Around him, the students—Rank 2 magicians—fired off spells in frantic bursts, desperate to keep the creature at bay. But the headless abomination barely flinched.
It didn't dodge. It didn't evade.
It absorbed.
Mana pulses from their spells crashed against its decaying flesh, only to be swallowed whole, like a black hole devouring light.
Kael didn't know if it was reflecting the energy, absorbing it, or something worse.
And honestly, he didn't want to know.
He only knew one thing:
He had to keep fighting.
The group formed a fragile circle around the unyielding nightmare, voices barely above whispered breaths—each word laced with creeping terror.
"We're going to die, aren't we?"
"This thing… it's not just dead. It's rotting, but still alive."
"What is it even made of? Flesh? Bone? Some twisted magic?"
"I swear its wounds close as soon as we strike."
"If it reaches us… what happens then?"
No one answered.
Because the truth was a dark shadow creeping through their souls:
This was not just death.
This was something worse.
A hunger.
An endless, merciless curse.
Then, in the stillness thick with dread, Yue's voice cut through like a blade.
"Kael. Use this."
He turned sharply toward her. She was pointing at an ancient lantern, its glass worn and covered in cryptic runes—forgotten by time.
Kael didn't hesitate.
His body moved on instinct, fueled by the last reserves of his strength.
With a fierce shove, he forced the undead back, buying precious seconds.
The creature snarled, relentless, but Kael sprinted toward the statue.
Behind him, the students scrambled away, their screams tearing through the air as the undead pursued—driven by some unfinished task, a hunger that would not be denied.
Fear clenched Kael's chest as the sharp sting of a blade struck his back, but he pushed on, adrenaline numbing the pain.
He reached the ancient lantern.
Without hesitation—without even thinking—he hurled the lantern at the undead.
It shattered, releasing a twisted, dark flame that flickered like shadows dancing in the abyss.
The flame clawed at the creature's decaying flesh, searing with a pain it had not felt in millennia.
For the first time, the undead faltered, a guttural sound of agony ripping from its throat.
But that damned thing—relentless, hungry—did not care.
It lunged forward, eyes burning with an unholy hunger, determined to finish Kael.
Kael staggered backward, blood dripping from a fresh wound, his breath ragged.
A dark grin twisted on his lips.
"Let's do this, bitch."
Below the stairs, the group stood frozen—watching, unable to tear their eyes away.
Two figures stood before the dark deity statue.
One was the undead, still burning in the eerie black flames.
The other—a demon clad in a red mask, bleeding but unyielding.
They had never seen anything this insane.
This was no ordinary fight.
This was a dance of shadows and death.