Chapter 21 Vicious beings
Words : 393
Updated : Sep 18th, 2025
But as the blade descended, it met unexpected resistance.
The clash of metal on metal rang out, and suddenly the air was thick with an overwhelming aura of power. The grey-clad men stumbled backward, their eyes wide with shock and fear.
Standing between the fallen woman and her would-be executioners was a figure that seemed to have materialised from thin air—Jolthar, his long sword unsheathed and pointed directly at the aggressors. His eyes, usually calm and detached, now burnt with a cold fury.
The leader of the grey-clad men found his voice first. "Who... are you?" he demanded, unable to completely mask the tremor in his voice. As he watched the young man before him, there was undeniable oppressive force emtting from him that made him be wary of Jolthar.
Jolthar's response was cool and measured. "I could ask the same."
Frustration warred on the leader's face.
Finally, anger won out. "What are you watching?" he shouted at his men. "Kill him!"
"Last chance," Jolthar said, his voice low and dangerous. "Walk away now, and you may yet live to see another sunrise."
The leader's response was a harsh, guttural laugh that seemed to emanate from somewhere deeper than his throat. "You have no idea what you're dealing with, boy. Kill him!"
In that instant, the clearing exploded into action.
Three of the grey-clad figures lunged forward simultaneously, their movements unnaturally swift and fluid. Jolthar's sword flashed in the dappled sunlight, meeting the first attacker's blade with a resounding clang. Sparks flew as he deflected the second strike, twisting his body to avoid the third.
The air around Jolthar began to shimmer with a golden hue, the first manifestation of his Voidwrath power. As he parried and countered, each movement became more fluid, more precise, as if the very fabric of space was bending to accommodate his will.
One of the attackers overextended, and Jolthar capitalised instantly. His blade sang through the air, cleaving through the grey cloak and biting deep into flesh. But instead of blood, a thick, black ichor oozed from the wound. The attacker stumbled back, its mask slipping to reveal a face that was decidedly inhuman—pale, waxy skin stretched tight over sharp, angular features, with eyes that glowed an unnatural violet.
"Nynthrals," Jolthar breathed, recognition and disgust mingling in his voice.
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