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Chapter 51: Demon and the Splitter – Part III
"What kind of monster doesn’t die?"
---
Frenzy Surge.
The crowd knew the name. The veterans whispered it like an omen. It was the trait that made Torkas unkillable in the Arena-fights.
A bloodline quirk twisted by rage, pain, and willpower.
When Torkas suffered mortal injury, when blood poured like rain and death loomed with a grin—his body rebelled. Adrenaline flooded his system. Mana surged through every nerve.
His mind dissolved into pure war. He stopped feeling pain. He stopped hearing the screams of his body.
Only one thing remained: Kill.
It was a terrifying thing to witness, and yet, for all the awe Frenzy Surge inspired, what came next silenced the nobles themselves.
---
A howl—deep, guttural, otherworldly—ripped through the arena.
It wasn’t human.
Wasn’t beast.
It was the sound of ancient hunger growling beneath the veil of the world.
And then... it emerged.
A tear in the shadows opened behind Ian. Black mist surged outward, boiling with cold. From within the abyss crawled forth a creature that shouldn’t exist—Ashvaleth, Ian’s soul-bound beast.
The whispers began before the crowd even understood what they were seeing.
"...It can’t be..."
"The rumors were wrong..."
"He can summon it again..."
"He’s not human..."
"He really is... a demon."
The beast’s paws hit the ground like thunder. A towering wolf-thing, too big, too wrong. Its body writhing smoke-bound sinew. Spines jutted from its back like a skeletal forest. Its eyes—molten crimson and void-purple—burned into the souls of all who looked upon it.
Even hardened soldiers in the stands trembled.
[Fear Paralysis - Active.]
Men in armor staggered.
Some sat down, eyes wide, unable to move. Others found their legs numb. It was as if the world itself screamed you were prey now.
Torkas—closest to the beast—should have collapsed under the pressure. His instincts screamed. His muscles twitched to flee. But Frenzy Surge had robbed him of that most primal warning.
He felt no fear.
He smiled, bloodied teeth glinting. "That’s a cute dog," he growled. "Guess I’ll have to kill you both."
Then—Ashvaleth moved.
Not ran. Not charged.
Vanished.
A blur of black mist, followed by a thunderous crack as it collided with Torkas. The brute was launched backward, skidding through sand, coughing blood—but already on his feet.
Ian followed, daggers in hand. He slashed once—missed—then Ashvaleth surged again, biting at Torkas’ side. The man caught the jaw with his axe handle and threw the beast aside.
The sand exploded in every direction.
And the real battle began.
---
Steel clanged. Flesh tore. Shadows screamed.
Ian and Ashvaleth moved in perfect sync—beast and master, shadow and steel. Ashvaleth harassed from the flanks, its claws rending metal. Ian danced in the gaps, each dagger slash followed by another from a new angle.
Torkas did not yield.
Despite wounds upon wounds, he fought like a siege engine. His axe swept in arcs that could split boulders. Every swing turned sand into glass. Every roar shook the walls. And in his frenzy, he took hits that would have killed a dozen men—and just kept fighting.
Ashvaleth lunged again—this time, too direct.
Torkas caught the wolf’s neck mid-air and slammed it to the ground with a brutal twist. His axe came down—once, twice, thrice—striking the beast’s torso.
On the fourth strike—
Ashvaleth exploded.
A burst of void-mist and purple lightning swallowed the area. The beast screeched, its body dissipating into ether, retreating back into the binding realm.
Ian’s breath hitched.
That hesitation cost him.
Torkas drove the pommel of his axe straight into Ian’s stomach. The impact caved his midsection, snapping ribs inward. Before Ian could even gasp, Torkas wrenched it free—then slammed him with the flat of the weapon.
Ian’s body bent in half midair.
He flew—crashed into the far arena wall with a sickening CRUNCH. His body crumpled to the sand, limp, unmoving.
---
Silence.
Not the roar of triumph.
Not the hum of tension.
Just... stillness.
Even the wind held its breath.
Velrosa’s hands trembled in her lap. Eli’s gaze narrowed—his jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
Torkas, panting, dropped to one knee. His muscles trembled. Blood oozed from a dozen wounds. The Frenzy was fading.
He was spent.
And as his breath finally began to even, as he began to feel again, he let himself taste it.
Victory.
He looked up—
Movement.
A finger twitched.
Then a hand curled into a fist.
Ian’s shattered body began to... reform.
Bones snapped back into place with audible cracks. The broken cage of his ribs twisted, then aligned. His spine realigned with jerks of unnatural precision. Blood reversed course, flowing back into his body. His pale skin flushed with stolen life.
The hole in his gut closed.
He stood.
Slow. Ragged. But alive.
"Off every opponent I’ve fought till the death..." Ian’s voice was a rasp soaked in blood, "you are the strongest."
Torkas blinked.
"What?"
"Why?" Torkas said, louder now. "Why."
The word echoed in the silence.
"Why the hell... won’t you die?!"
Torkas stood with a roar and raised his axe—
Ian walked forward.
Staggering. Bleeding. But walking.
His daggers shimmered back into his hands.
"Because I’m not finished," Ian whispered. "When the heads of those I seek lie before me... when the blood of those I hate soaks my cloak..."
He exhaled, long and slow.
"Then—and only then—a single dust particle may shatter my existence."
He raised his head. Eyes glowing like dying stars.
"But until that day..."
"...no man born of a woman, no beast, no demon, and no god...can end my life."
Torkas screamed in defiance.
"I’LL KILL YOU!"
Ian’s response was quiet.
"No. You won’t."
[Swift Cut – Activated.]
Time stopped.
Or it seemed to.
In half a breath—less, even—Ian vanished.
A streak of silver light, a whisper of death.
Then—
Torkas’ throat split open.
The cut was too deep. Too fast. It didn’t bleed at first. Just hung there, wide and gaping, as if time hadn’t caught up to it.
Then the blood gushed. His head lolled, barely attached. His knees buckled.
He collapsed, gasping soundlessly.
Ian stood over him, eyes dark, blades dripping.
He knelt.
Placed a hand on the dying man’s chest.
"However," he whispered, "you will kill for me. Now... as my strongest soldier."
A flash of cold light.
[Soul has been Bound.]
Torkas’ eyes widened one last time—then dulled.
The crowd didn’t cheer.
They couldn’t.
Because something ancient and dark had just claimed a champion.
And they had no idea what it meant.
Only that the demon blade hadn’t fallen.
He had risen. 𝖓𝔬𝔳𝔭𝖚𝖇.𝔠𝔬𝖒
