∼ Indulgent Slaughter ∼

Chapter - 074

Stumbling around, the bandit knocked over a couple of crates of apples, the green orbs tumbling everywhere. But he simply laughed, rolling around in the mess of stolen items and trying his damndest to get back up. Noticing something interesting in the pile of random things, a goofy smile split his flushed face.

"Oi, Marty! I found ya a boot!" He guffawed, lifting it high from his crash landing.

However, no response came from his jolly fellow. The man frowned, brows creased. "Did ya pass out already y'damn dullard?" He grunted, attempting to get out of the tangle. "-Gah, damn cheap-drunk."

When he finally did manage to extract himself, stumbling back to his feet, he realized only halfway there to the cot, that his friend wasn't by the fire. That was at least where he had left him last... if he remembered right. His mind briefly touched on the possibility that Marty might've just gone for a piss, but as his blurry vision saw something most disturbing, his mind sobered up. Or as much as he could with being that hammered. Blood. A streak of it, stretching from the cot to around back at some other old crates and junk.

"Marty...?" He called out hesitantly. Shuffling over, he peered around the crates only for his eyes to widen with horror. He stumbled back, terror and shock written across his weathered face, only to realize the absolute chaos of his surroundings. Screams echoed through the valley and the roar of flames tore at the air above like the veil of hell had just opened on a clam starry night.

"W-w-what?!" Was all he could manage in his drunken state, the blur of his vision only partially sparing him from the massacre unfolding before him. The sound of death came with each scream that was no longer there. One by one. Until no one was left but total, and utter, death. Blinking, something was suddenly in front of the bandit. Trailing up, craning his neck, the bandit was met with his last sight in this world.

Two, terrifying orbs of glowing yellow and a smile so wicked it made him plead for darkness.

With a content sigh, Nyx looked around at the bloody and battle-torn camp. No human had been left alive to tell the tale of this slaughter. Being drunk out of their minds, Nyx had no issue dealing with this lower-rung band of bandits. Weak, all of them. Drunk or not. But even despite the lack of a challenge or retaliation in this one-sided ambush, it had rubbed his itch for violence and blood all the same. With it, both he and his familiar had even gained a level. He looked over his status, wondering where he should allocate his attribute points.

Sorely tempted to put it all into Strength, Nyx had to take a moment to consider. Ultimately though, he put one point in Vitality and Endurance as those were sorely lacking, bringing them both to five. While of course, Intelligence was his main attribute, having understood its importance in augmenting the power of his magic, enhancing his ability to form and cast conjurations, and its ability to help him manage tricks such as dual-casting, he had long since understood he wasn't going to go down the road of any ordinary spell slinger. To what exactly though, he hadn't the faintest idea.

As much as he loved the feeling of incinerating his foes in magical fire - so did he love the feeling of bones snapping underneath his hands and the warm spatter of blood that spurted across his body as he took their lives up close and personal.

Feeling the pleasure of new strength surging to his muscles, his ligaments loosening up, and life saturating every inch of his body, Nyx suddenly froze. His mind nearly tumbling over itself, he rushed back to the notification he had gotten.

A new skill! He had completely missed it, not expecting one.

Hurriedly, he pulled it up with glee.

A wide, impish smile split his face from ear to ear. He could heal himself now!

Now, he had to be careful he didn't get ahead of himself. It stated that the transfer would only be a low amount, and whether or not it'd be as efficient as Aria's incredible healing skill, was still to be seen. With his great intelligence, even Nyx suspected it wasn't so. But still, any healing, surface or comprehensive, was beyond useful in the aftermath of battle.

Curious if the spell worked on the dead, Nyx thought; why not try?

He had just regained another mana point, being left with two, so he'd have enough. Moving over to the nearest corpse, Nyx centered his being. Turning inward, towards the new magical runes etched into his mind by the [Codex], Nyx called upon [Drain]. A stream of purple and red tendrils that intertwined with each surged forward from his hand, latching onto the corpse and creeping around the torso. There was only a brief moment of pause before the stream began turning black from where it had latched on.

Instinctually, he knew that color wasn't supposed to be like that. Apparently, draining corpses, even recently slain, did not work. Nyx reasoned it to probably be because it had no health points left, despite the vitality of the body still being somewhat intact. Still, he didn't stop the spell. He was curious to see what would happen as he didn't feel any immediate danger.

As the black reached him, he wasn't hurt, but he felt a sense of hollowness. There really was nothing to reap. But before he could cancel the spell though, enamored in the moment, he hadn't realized his mana was being continuously drained. His pool nearly hit zero as agony tore at his head and the spell dissipated under the disruption.

Apparently, the continuous use of the spell had drained his mana beyond just the base cost of one mana. Cursing under his breath, Nyx nursed his throbbing head, the mana-loss making him nauseous for a brief moment as he centered his being back into a state of semi-meditation.

The thrasher, coated in blood and grime was ruffling through the bandit's stolen goods, at least offering Nyx some peace to sort out his migraine. It was only a little time later that he got back to his feet, the promise of more slaughter and experience egging him on. For there were bandits aplenty still out there. Just waiting for him.

...

Running under a labored breath, having nearly lost the tracks multiple times over, Liam and his lieutenant made their way through the impassable expanse of Cragspire. The gnome warlock had gotten far ahead, him and his demon bounding through the landscape as if they had been born in it. Whilst the armored humans had to squeeze in and out of narrow passes and rocky slopes, their padded armor and chainmail making it hard for them to keep up.

All he hoped was just that the damned warlock hadn't run ahead and gotten himself killed, ruining this perfect opportunity for an ambush now that they know where they are.

The closer they came, the more signs of other people could be seen. They were getting close. Liam realized, his heart thudding his chest with anxiousness and anger.

He would be the one to kill that traitor. To show what it meant to betray his people. To betray the one who looked up to him. To betray him. "Father..." Liam muttered, fire in his eyes.

However, Liam slowly came to a halt, his mad dash faltering as a certain smell hung in the air traveling through the valley. The smell of burnt flesh and blood spilled - death-

What Liam and his men came upon as they turned a bend in the valley made them pale. There were no other words for it.

It was a massacre.

Konge

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