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Chapter 102: Fear... Is One’s Greatest Motivator
Elisse was breathing, but barely.
Her skin was pale — no, drained — and her hair had lost its usual shimmer.
It was like the creature had drained her with empty.
Tobias scrambled over, pulling a vial from his pouch. 𝙣𝙤𝙫𝒑𝙪𝒃.𝒄𝒐𝙢
"We’ve got to get her stabilized — her soul energy’s leaking out! Zayn!" he shouted.
No answer.
Zayn lay crumpled against the wall, one leg twitching.
He tasted copper. His ribs felt like someone had played the xylophone on them with a warhammer.
"Still... alive," he groaned, lifting one hand like a guy trying to hail a cab in hell. "Five stars. Very friendly boss. Would fight again."
Bran was keeping the monster busy — barely.
His swings were wide, heavy, and fast, but the monster moved with unnatural fluidity.
It dodged like it had seen everything a second before it happened, ducking under Bran’s blade and countering with sharp, precise strikes.
Black slashes started showing up along Bran’s arms and legs. One by one.
"Zayn," Kara called, now building up a massive earth spike. "We need you. We’re getting overwhelmed!"
Zayn grit his teeth and pushed himself upright, dragging in deep breaths.
His body was screaming, but his witch mark tingled faintly on his neck.
Not with panic. With possibility.
He closed his eyes.
Focused.
Fear licked at the edges of his mind — the taste of death, failure, helplessness.
He leaned into it. Let it coil. Let it build.
The Dreadhorn mark flared pink.
Energy pulsed through his limbs.
He stood.
"Alright, alright," he muttered. "Let’s dance, lake ruiner."
He surged forward — limping, at first, then sprinting, soul energy whipping around him like smoke.
Zayn focused.
His heart thudded against his ribs like a war drum.
His breathing was uneven, but steadying. Every part of his body screamed, bruised and battered from being launched like a ragdoll into a wall minutes earlier.
And yet... he was grinning.
Not because he was winning. No, no — he was losing spectacularly. But the part of him that was curious? That part was thrilled.
He hadn’t forgotten the way the monster killed his golden soul energy earlier — just blinked and poof, gone, like blowing out a candle.
That trick still sent chills down his spine.
Whatever this creature was, it could kill soul energy. That wasn’t a power you just shrugged off.
The pink soul energy, coiled like smoke just beneath his skin, surged with a shudder.
His veins lit faintly as if his blood had become mist. But he didn’t let the horns sprout this time.
No glowing protrusions, no full transformation. Instead, he suppressed it — concentrated it — directing all that energy inward, like he was sealing a pressure cooker behind his eyes.
The system pinged in his mind:
[Partial Transformation Active – Dreadhorn Variant Recognized. Access to Fear] [Channeling Available. Horns: Retracted. Cloaking Field: Enabled.]
"Neat," he muttered, lifting his sword.
He didn’t have the Soulweaver blade with him — something he now deeply regretted as he had wanted to test out the blade but regret could wait.
Right now, Bran was getting the absolute shit smacked out of him.
The big guy stood tall — barely — blue soul energy swirling around him like a storm, his axe gripped tightly in both hands.
He roared, launching forward in a full-bodied swing that cracked the ground beneath his boots.
It should’ve torn the monster in half.
It didn’t.
As the axe neared the boss, that same eerie phenomenon occurred.
The soul energy flickered — then died, like the light had been vacuumed out of it. Bran’s swing slowed mid-air, the aura vanishing like smoke in the wind.
Then the monster punched him in the face.
There was a CRACK, and Bran’s entire body twisted sideways.
He spun mid-air before crashing to the ground with a solid thud, the sound of under armor scraping painfully across rock.
"Oh hell no," Zayn muttered, stepping forward.
Then he vanished.
The pink energy cloaking him surged.
He moved like a blur — no, like a shadow made of muscle and vengeance, zipping across the battlefield.
One moment he was on the edge of the fight, the next, he descended like a meteor, sword first.
The monster had just turned its attention back to Kara when —
SHING!
Its right hand dropped to the ground, severed cleanly at the wrist.
The creature recoiled, black ooze spurting from the wound, its blank face tilting ever so slightly as if surprised.
No hiss. No cry. Just... acknowledgment.
Zayn landed hard, his boots skidding against the stone.
His sword sizzled with pink energy, the partial transformation enhancing every movement. He looked up at the towering creature, then back at Bran.
"You good, big guy?"
Bran groaned. "Can’t feel my face, so... maybe."
Zayn stood between the monster and the others, sword low, eyes sharp.
"Alright, freakshow," he said, rolling his shoulders. "Let’s play."
The monster didn’t hesitate.
With its remaining arm, it lashed out — a strike so fast it blurred the air.
Zayn ducked under it by a hair’s breadth, letting the pink aura pulse to his legs.
His body moved faster than it had any right to, slipping past the follow-up attack and retaliating with a wide slash.
The blade cut into the monster’s side, but it was shallow — like trying to slice through thick, rubbery bark.
Still, Zayn was testing.
Would the Dreadhorn energy last?
So far... it hadn’t rotted away.
The monster turned its head ever so slightly toward his blade, then swung again.
Zayn parried, grunting at the force of it. The Dreadhorn’s eyes widened, seemingly surprised at the development.
It wasn’t just brute strength — the creature was fast, with reaction times that bordered on precognition.
But Zayn wasn’t a pushover anymore.
This form — this half-step between human and fear-fueled abomination — granted him reflexes that came just short of precognition too.
He spun under the monster’s arm, used the momentum to dig his foot into its ankle, and shoved upward with soul-fueled strength.
The creature stumbled.
Kara raised her staff again, channeling a quake that rocked the earth beneath the monster’s feet, unbalancing it further.
Zayn seized the moment.
He stabbed deep — right into the creature’s side, and for a brief, glorious second, the pink aura flared and began to burn the flesh around the wound.
The monster twitched.
It reached for him — no hesitation, no wasted movement — and this time, Zayn didn’t dodge.
He stepped into the grab and grinned.
Because he wanted to know.
The hand touched his arm — and the usual rot didn’t come.
The Dreadhorn aura resisted it.
Not with strength, but with discord. Like trying to short-circuit a power grid with two mismatched plugs.
Zayn saw it just for a split second in the creature’s stance.
Confusion.
"You can’t eat this soul," Zayn whispered. "Can you?"
