Chapter 323: Red Rose
When Azriel swung down, a black arc of mist surged forward. At the same time, thirteen blue arcs rained toward him from the sky.
He bent his knees, muscles coiling as mana streamed into his tendons. His aura wrapped around him like a second layer of armor. His expression was sharp and unwavering.
’Alright—just like back in the Forest of Eternity.’
Even if that had been inside a dream, this was also a dream.
Red lightning coursed across his body, streaks of ice still clinging to his skin, the tips of his hair pale as frost. Gradually, the crimson lightning shifted—its color fading into white. Something new was happening this time: instead of spreading across his entire body, the lightning drew inward, condensing around his feet until it formed a pair of gleaming boots. White lightning wrapped them like armor.
The black arc clashed with the blue. For a heartbeat they locked together, spraying black and blue sparks in every direction, before exploding into a cloud of mingled color—like fireworks in the night sky.
’Now!’
Azriel moved.
The explosion had left a narrow opening straight to the abyssal, and he took it without hesitation. In an instant, he vanished from sight—erased from existence. The very next moment, he was in midair before the abyssal, Void Eater raised high to cleave her in two.
A beat later, the ground where he’d been standing erupted with ice. A streak of white tore upward through the black-and-blue haze, leaving a smoking hole in its wake.
A sudden cramp seized his legs—it didn’t hurt him, but it was strange enough to unsettle him. He ignored it, gritting his teeth as he swung down.
To his dismay, the abyssal slipped aside, narrowly dodging. He followed immediately with a horizontal slash, but one of her tails snapped toward him, the stone sword in its grip intercepting his blow. He shifted Void Eater, meeting the strike head-on. Resistance flared for a heartbeat—then white lightning snaked along the blade, splitting it in two. The severed fragment smoldered with a frost-like burn.
Another tail whipped at him, but this time he didn’t cut. Before gravity could drag him down, Azriel twisted unnaturally in the air, planting a foot on the incoming blade. He kicked off it, buying himself precious seconds aloft.
Instantly, dozens of tails lashed out at once, each wielding a jagged stone sword. Azriel’s jaw tightened as he deflected them in rapid succession—cutting some, parrying others. A few slipped through, slicing into his armor but failing to break it.
Then, as another tail struck, he caught the blade in his gauntleted hand and used it to propel himself upward. Now above the abyssal, gravity began to take hold, but Azriel acted first—conjuring a chain of ice that coiled around his free arm.
He hurled it downward.
Too slow to evade, the abyssal was bound, the icy links wrapping around both her body and her tails. Azriel yanked hard, tightening the hold, then desummoned Void Eater. Like a madman, he threw his arms around her before she could break free.
With a savage pull, he dragged her down with him.
Azriel grinned.
"Well... this is certainly romantic, isn’t it?"
White lightning surged over his entire body. His hair lifted, crackling with static as arcs of electricity leapt to the abyssal, jolting her. Ice began to spread across her body, freezing over cracked patches in her stone-like shell.
From the jagged split where a mouth should have been, black blood oozed, making Azriel’s stomach twist. A monstrous, guttural scream ripped from her, the sound so piercing it sent blood trickling from his ears.
Then they struck.
They crashed headfirst into the ground with a violent detonation of ice and dust, the shockwave tearing through nearby buildings, shattering walls of frozen stone.
Azriel rolled over, groaning.
’I definitely felt that one...’
Planting his hands against the ground, he conjured a fresh layer of ice, flooding it with lightning. But the abyssal was already hovering again, her feet never touching the earth. Cracks spread wider across her body.
The moment before she could strike, a shiver of dread passed through her. She jerked aside—just narrowly—as the feather shot past, piercing straight through her body and emerging on the other side.
Azriel clicked his tongue inwardly.
’Narrowly missed the mana core. Dammit... even weakening her body, she’s still fast.’
A fresh hole gaped in her form, black blood spilling from it. The feather darted again, but this time she caught it—her remaining hand snapping up with a stone sword, parrying the attack. Tails bristled around her, flinging more swords toward the feather, forcing it to retreat.
Azriel loosed a bolt of white lightning. In response, she hurled every remaining sword at him.
His eyes widened.
’Oh no.’
He leapt toward the rooftop of a nearby house, but not fast enough. A tail caught him midair, whipping into his stomach.
His soul armor cracked. The blow launched him like a ragdoll, tearing a deep furrow through the street before he came to a halt. Blood spilled from his stomach as though the strike had ripped it open.
Azriel rose quickly. The abyssal shifted as if anticipating his next move—
And Azriel ran.
Yes, he ran.
Swords hurtled toward him, and the ground shook beneath the whip-like strikes of her tails, shattering the ice wherever they struck. But Azriel was fast—fast enough to vanish from her line of sight with little effort.
The annoying feather drifted after him, circling lazily overhead. Its barbs were now slick with black blood, the stain so deep it seemed the feather itself had turned black. Droplets pattered onto the frozen ground, each one darkening the ice like ink.
Azriel glanced at it.
"Make sure to warn me if she’s coming."
He summoned Atropos’ Elegy into his hand and exhaled softly.
"Well... I suppose I should use it while Mirius isn’t here."
He sat down, pressing a small button on the Desert Eagle’s frame. The magazine dropped partway free.
Yes—a magazine.
That was one of its many, dangerous little secrets.
Azriel slid the magazine out completely, revealing its contents: white, shimmering bullets. These weren’t just charged—they were stored.
His gaze lingered on them for a moment before he looked down at his stomach wound.
"Oh. Right."
Blood was still seeping through. He froze it shut, then returned his attention to the magazine. He plucked the first bullet out, rolling it between his fingers. A faint, crooked smile touched his lips.
"...Hello, trump card."
This single bullet—this was the one meant for Mirius. The one he would never see coming.
Azriel had spent days pouring his entire mana reserves into the creation of two such bullets. The first had already been used on Mirius, exactly as planned. It was never meant to kill him outright—only to make him believe Azriel’s trump card was spent. The real trick had been in the order of the shots: the deadly first bullet, followed by a deliberately weak one that could barely harm an Expert.
If Azriel had fired Atropos’ Elegy again after that, Mirius would believe he was out of aces. That was when the third bullet—the one still in his hand—would be fired. The one that could finish him.
Mirius didn’t know the bullets could be stored. Azriel had made sure to give that impression.
But he couldn’t waste it now. Not until Ranni had weakened Mirius enough that he couldn’t dodge.
The kill would be stolen cleanly from her hands.
Azriel pulled out the rest of the bullets—strong enough to harm an Expert, and likely enough to injure an abyssal. He loaded them in deliberate sequence, placing the master-killer last, then slid the magazine back into place.
A frown creased his brow.
"Now... why in the gods hasn’t she attacked me yet?"
There was a trail of blood leading right to him. Sure, he was fast—but he hadn’t gone far.
The ground began to shake violently. Ice cracked in every direction—some shards splintering apart, others collapsing in chunks from tall frozen spires. Azriel backed away a step, summoning Void Eater into his right hand while keeping Atropos’ Elegy in his left. The annoying feather hovered above his head, then tilted upward, staring into the sky.
Azriel followed where it looked—and his expression darkened.
"Ah... of course. I forgot you could do that."
The abyssal hung in the air once more—though not as before. She wasn’t floating in the traditional sense.
Instead, she was suspended by dozens of tails, each one anchored to the ground like monstrous limbs. More tails jutted from her back, chest, legs, and her single remaining arm, all brandishing jagged stone swords. She loomed at least thirty meters above the ground, the starlight spilling over her shattered yet eerily beautiful frame.
Azriel took a slow step back, scowling.
The tails with swords drew together, pulling back as if winding up to throw.
Azriel’s eyes widened.
They swung.
He dropped instantly, flattening himself to the ground. The swords screamed past inches from his face, pulverizing everything in their path. Dozens of buildings were reduced to nothing in a single, sweeping strike.
A good portion of the village simply ceased to exist.
Azriel rose slowly, his stance tense and wary. Around him, nothing remained but heaps of shattered ice. He exhaled, his breath misting in the frigid air.
This time, it was going to hit him.
Azriel looked at the annoying feather... then sent it away. Far away. Towards Nol.
Instead of dodging, Azriel swung Void Eater into the sweeping tails. He kept swinging like a man possessed, unleashing dozens of black arcs in rapid succession.
The arcs met the tails in a violent clash, holding them at bay for the briefest moment. In that split second, Azriel seized the opening and sprinted forward. The black arcs burst apart, losing the struggle, but not before leaving trails of crimson roses blooming across the abyssal’s tails.
They swept toward him again—but too late. Azriel slid beneath them, their shadow passing just overhead, ice spraying against his back. He didn’t stop. He pushed forward, closing in on the abyssal.
Now directly before its "legs," he slashed—only for the limb to yank upward, dodging the strike, before slamming down with crushing force. Azriel clicked his tongue and jumped back, but another tail lashed at him from behind, forcing him into the air.
Mid-flight, a third tail speared toward him. He twisted unnaturally, letting it graze past, then another came, and another—until dozens were striking all at once.
Azriel evaded each one. Every impact split the ice in violent bursts, shockwaves scattering shards in all directions. The barrage was relentless, but none touched him. He was simply too fast.
’All I need is a single good shot.’
Just one strike to the mana core.
But the abyssal was fast, too. Fast, durable, and intelligent. Against any other Expert, Azriel doubted they could win.
But for him?
There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind. He would win. He knew it.
The real question was when.
Even if his stamina bled dry, even if his mana emptied, even if both his arms were torn from him—he would still win.
The problem was how long it would take.
He could keep dodging, hacking away at the legs, but he already knew the abyssal still held abilities it hadn’t revealed. It didn’t need to—not yet.
Because just as Azriel was certain of victory, so was the abyssal.
It was absurd, almost comical. Neither of them was truly giving their all.
He dodged another tail and severed one of the legs. Then another. Then another. The rain of tails turned into a storm of swords as well, but Azriel continued weaving between them, cutting whenever he could.
If the demon were still in the fight alongside her, this battle would have been ten times harder. But now, locked in this duel, both sides knew the truth: they would fight in stalemate until one of them finally tipped the balance.
And each believed it would be them.
As for why Azriel believed he would win—he had no choice. Victory was the only thing he was allowed; to lose would be a death his body could survive, but his soul could not.
While he moved, slashing and dodging, Azriel’s mind searched for the path to victory. Then, it struck him.
’Oh... of course.’
The difference between them was simple.
Time.
The abyssal was in no rush to kill him. It could afford to wait. It had complete faith that its master would triumph—it believed Mirius’ victory was inevitable.
Azriel was the opposite. He had no such confidence that Ranni could defeat Mirius. It wasn’t that she was weak—it was simply that Mirius was strong.
One of those rare exceptions who could fight void creatures of equal mana core level... and win.
If time was the deciding factor, then the answer to how Azriel would win was just as simple once he realized it.
He would lose.
To win, Azriel had to lose.
Azriel sighed inwardly.
’Ahhh... this is so damn annoying. I really need to get some sleep after this... How many months has it even been? Wait—no, am I not technically asleep right now? ...What a shitty sleep!’
Even as he grumbled to himself, mid-dodge from another tail strike... he began to slow.
Each evasive step took longer than the last. Each time, another piece of his soul armor shattered away. It was as if exhaustion were seeping into his very bones.
Until, eventually, it wasn’t just the armor breaking.
A tail punched clean through his left leg.
Azriel’s eyes widened.
Another—this one gripping a stone sword—drove into his left shoulder blade.
’Ow! Ow! Ow! That... that hurts! That actually hurts!’
For the first time in days... he was truly feeling pain. Real, searing pain.
A third pierced his thigh. A fourth ripped through his stomach. Then two more slammed into both shoulders. Another tore through his other leg—and yet another punched straight through from his back, bursting out the other side of his abdomen.
"Ukh..."
Blood poured from him, hot against the frozen air. His vision flickered.
Void Eater slipped from his grip, Atropos’ Elegy clattering onto the ice before vanishing as he dismissed them both.
He coughed blood.
Then his feet left the ground.
Slowly, inexorably, he was lifted into the air—dangling like a marionette on the abyssal’s tails, utterly unable to move.
He hung there, crimson spilling down in rivulets, his body suspended before her.
The abyssal’s form was fractured now—cracks running through her entire body, tails jutting from every limb, her torso, even her back... everywhere except her face.
At first, that face had been smooth, featureless stone. Now, cracks had formed there too. The most jarring of them were the ones shaped like eyes and a mouth.
And as she looked at Azriel... the mouth crack deepened.
It spread into the hideous semblance of a smile.
Her jaw opened against the stone, tearing wider—then came a sound.
A scream.
Not merely a scream—an eruption of mana, a shockwave of sound. It slammed into him, rattling his skull, setting every bone vibrating. His vision swam. His eyes rolled wildly as vertigo swallowed him whole. A piercing, high-pitched ringing drowned out all other sound. Blood trickled from his ears, his eyes, his nose, his mouth.
Then the screaming stopped.
His vision darkened. His hearing faded into nothing. His body grew still, his lips turning a chilling shade of blue.
The abyssal regarded him silently, letting him hang in her grasp.
His pulse slowed... weaker... fainter.
Then it stopped.
Azriel’s heart no longer beat.
Azriel Crimson was dead.
As it regarded the corpse of the Crimson Prince, the abyssal’s tails began to retract—shorter and shorter, until they were gone entirely. Before long, it stood on two feet once more.
The tails that held Azriel’s limp body withdrew into her frame. Around them, the ice began to dissolve into nothingness.
She walked forward, stopping over his body.
Then... a red rose appeared in her remaining hand.
Crouching, she placed it gently upon his chest.
She stood again and looked at him one last time.
Then... the abyssal turned and began walking toward the place where Nol and the demon fought.
The stars illuminated both her and the still body she left behind.
The abyssal had won.
The entire village lay in ruins—rubble everywhere—yet there were no villagers’ corpses.
As she moved, a sudden, dreadful premonition seized her. She froze mid-step. A chill ran down her form, her instincts screaming warnings she could not understand.
She turned—
And in that instant, a white bullet tore through her chest.
She staggered, only for another round to punch through her left knee.
Then another through her right.
The abyssal collapsed.
She screamed.
She screamed loud.
She screamed in pain.
And then, she cried.
Black blood spilled from her wounds, dribbling from the crack where her mouth should be.
She looked upward, and where her eyes might have been, black tears streamed.
And there she saw him—
The Crimson Prince.
Azriel, on his knees, panting heavily, sweat dripping from every inch of him. His soul armor was shattered in dozens of places, blood pooling beneath him. In his right hand, aimed unwaveringly at her, was Atropos’ Elegy.
His lips were still blue, yet he was breathing.
His heart was beating.
Azriel Crimson was alive.
He fired again.
The last thing the abyssal saw was the white bullet leaving the barrel—far too fast to even think of dodging. Her mana core was already shattered. Already doomed, the shot punched through the place where her eyes should have been, tearing through her head.
She collapsed.
Moments later, her body fractured into a hundred white motes, drifting upward like fragments of fallen stars returning to the sky—until they vanished entirely.
All that remained was an empty mana core lying on the ground.
Euphoria coursed through Azriel’s every soul vein.
Slowly, he rose. His wounds were dire—his body swayed with each breath—but his gaze, vacant yet fixed, turned toward the forest, where Nol and the demon clashed amid the trees of the Forest of Eternity.
He took a step in that direction—then stopped.
His grip on Atropos’ Elegy tightened.
The ground beneath him trembled.
Azriel turned toward the source.
And then... he began walking.
Toward where the Masters were fighting.
For Azriel Crimson had won against the abyssal.