Chương 99

The three seconds of Restraint ticked down instantly. Malacus regained his freedom. Then he appeared in front of Grid in an instant. It wasn't a dash type skill, but the manifestation of high-level magic that allowed him to leap through space itself.

"Eh?" Grid was stunned to see Malacus appear in front of him.

"G-Ghost?"

"Do you think I will let you escape?" Malacus sneered, his bizarre, overlapping voice dripping with malice. Malacus raised his hands. Dense, violent dark magic gathered at his fingertips, forming three massive, jagged black spears. He aimed them directly at the heavily armored Grid and the exhausted Regas, fully intending to skewer them both. Before the dark magic could launch, a heavy boot crunched against the dirt.

"Take a seat, guys," Rudra said casually, stepping right between the two players and the 6th Servant of Yatan.

"You look tired." Grid fell backward onto his rear, gasping for air. Regas wiped a streak of blood from his lip, looking up at the unmasked, black-coated player with a bright, appreciative smile. Rudra reached over his shoulder and pulled the Staff of the Fire Lord from his back. The dark bone shaft was heavily cracked down the middle, glowing with an unstable, fiery heat. Malacus halted his spell, his eyes narrowing at the interruption. He looked at Rudra's bare face, totally unimpressed.

"Another foolish dog stepping up to die?" Malacus laughed.

"Your presence is completely insignificant. I will tear you apart and—" Malacus stopped. His eyes drifted past Rudra's boots and locked onto the half-gold, half-black beast standing a few feet away. Kratos bared his sharp teeth. The divine cub let out a low, guttural growl, the fur on his back standing straight up. The ambient light and dark mana in the air began to violently spark around the cub's body. The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Malacus's arrogant expression vanished. His eyes went completely wide. The sheer shock quickly melted into a twisted, greedy smile.

"That beast," Malacus breathed, his voice trembling with dark excitement.

"The dual-attribute cub. The child of light and darkness!" Rudra frowned. He didn't like the way the cultist was looking at his pet. Malacus threw his head back and let out a hysterical, booming laugh.

"So you are the Heretic! The Third Servant, Aliburn, tore the northern logging trails apart looking for that creature! He mobilized half our forces to find the thief who ruined his masterpiece!" Rudra's casual posture stiffened.

"Masterpiece?"

"It was a glorious experiment!" Malacus boasted loudly, spreading his arms wide.

"Aliburn personally orchestrated the ambush on the Imperial Light Lion. He injected the holy host with pure Yatan essence, forcing her to incubate the ultimate demonic weapon! We watched the beast slowly rot from the inside out just to birth that cub!" The forest went completely dead silent. Grid and Regas didn't fully understand the lore, but they felt the sudden, suffocating drop in temperature. Rudra looked at Malacus.

The memory of the pregnant lion, covered in black sludge and breathing in agonizing, shallow gasps, flashed vividly in his mind. He remembered the mother pushing the tiny, shivering cub toward him right before she dissolved into dust. His light-hearted demeanor completely vanished.

"Aliburn," Rudra said. His voice was flat, totally devoid of emotion.

"The Third Servant. He's the one who did it."

"Yes!" Malacus grinned wickedly.

"And bringing that cub back to him will guarantee my ascension within the Church! Your death will be my greatest achievement, Heretic!" Kratos let out a furious, deafening roar. The beast remembered the scent of the dark magic that had tortured his mother. He planted his paws in the dirt, entirely ready to tear the dark priest's throat out.

"Stay back, Kratos," Rudra ordered quietly. Rudra gripped the cracked bone shaft of his staff with both hands. He gripped it so hard the staff actually groaned under the pressure. His base stats, with all his item's effects soared well past the 1, 500 mark, flared up, radiating a heavy, utterly murderous intent. He didn't draw his sword. He didn't chant a spell. He didn't drop a cool one-liner. Rudra just pointed the tip of his staff at the dirt behind him.

"[Minor Tidal Push]." BOOM! The pressurized water blasted against the earth, violently launching Rudra forward like a fired cannonball. He crossed the distance between them in a literal blink, his black trench coat snapping wildly in the wind. Malacus's eyes widened. The speed was completely incomprehensible for a magic user. Rudra didn't aim for a clean, elegant martial arts strike. He brought the heavy, fiery bone staff directly overhead, dumping every ounce of his massive Strength into the blow.

"[Crushing Strike]." The fight wasn't going to be a duel. It was going to be a fucking execution.