Chapter 9: Two Faces_7
Boom.
The air howled as a shadow ripped through the narrow alleyways, moving at speeds beyond human perception. Shattered stone rained down, the aftermath of his sudden disappearance from the battlefield. His coat whipped in the wind, blending into the midnight gloom of the slums' labyrinthine streets.
The moon loomed overhead, a twisted, silver witness to the chaos unfolding below. Clouds slithered across its pale glow, stretching eerie shadows over decayed rooftops and the jagged spires of abandoned cathedrals.
The scent of damp earth and old blood clung to the air, mixing with the pungent stench of rot and mildew from the forgotten alleyways. Crumbling stone walls lined the streets, etched with scars of battles long past, while puddles of stagnant water reflected the dim glow of dying lanterns. The ghost of a once-thriving city.
And amidst this ruin—
A phantom fled.
A shadow split the wind, closing in.
A whispering projectile—
A blood-red arrow.
The Phantom Slayer barely reacted before—
Squelch.
It tore straight through his chest.
His eyes widened—for a fraction of a second.
Then—
His form rippled—
Dissolving into darkness.
The real Phantom Slayer reappeared a heartbeat later, standing at the edge of a half-collapsed rooftop, his breath escaping in slow, controlled exhales.
But his body—
His body didn't escape unscathed.
A faint, glowing red mark had carved itself into his back, pulsing like a blooming, cursed flower. Blood trickled down, staining the already dark fabric of his coat.
A dull ache burned at the nape of his neck—
Where Argent's blade had kissed him.
His fingers clenched into a fist.
"Tch."
He focused—trying to activate his healing factor, channeling mana to accelerate the process.
Nothing happened.
He sucked in a slow breath.
And then, realization slammed into him like a hammer.
The rumors were true.
Every time his mana tried to mend his wounds, it was simply… gone.
Mana Disintegration.
An ability so rare—so unnatural—it was considered impossible.
It didn't just disrupt mana flow—it obliterated it, leaving only an absence. A gaping void.
And Void—
Void did not exist.
At least, not to humans.
The only beings known to wield true nothingness—
Devils. They are the complete evil of Existence, They weren't seen, but the destruction caused by their slaves, is a testament to their existence, The only beings that could use void would be them. But Argent and Vivienne were not devils, they were demonized humans. They should not be able to use void, even as a forbidden mage.
A bitter chuckle escaped his lips.
"Damn it… I can't believe that bastard was right."
His dark green eyes flickered through his blindfold, narrowed into predatory slits as he pressed his back against the cold stone of the alley wall, forcing himself to think.
He was fast. But Argent was faster.
He was unpredictable. But Vivienne was insane.
And Ken was locked away in that cathedral.
The best course of action? Escape.
But something felt off. No, it's impossible-
A faint, chilling sensation crawled up his spine—
A presence.
His blood turned to ice.
Slowly—
So damn slowly—
He turned his head.
And found himself face-to-face with Vivienne.
Only inches apart.
Her breath was cold, yet sweetly fragrant, alluring, like lilies wilting in blood.
Her head…
Her head was tilted at an impossible angle—like a puppet whose strings had been cut.
Yet—
She breathed.
And her crimson eyes bore into him with a gaze hungry and amused.
"Caught you."
The words slithered past her lips, her voice coated in eerie sweetness.
The Phantom Slayer moved.
No hesitation—no second thought—pure instinct.
The air split apart as he launched himself backward, moving faster than even Vivienne's twisted perception of reality could process.
His feet barely touched the ground before he flipped off a broken pillar, vanishing into the shadows of the ruined district.
Vivienne remained still.
She blinked.
Once.
Twice.
And then—
A slow, wicked grin crept up her lips.
"Something's… not right."
Her voice carried a strange, fascinated hum.
Her gaze flickered toward Argent, who had materialized nearby, standing beneath a half-destroyed streetlamp.
The dim glow barely illuminated his features—yet his silver eyes gleamed with an unreadable expression.
"Is he our target?" Vivienne asked, tilting her head the other way.
Argent was silent for a moment.
Then—he sighed.
"I've made a miscalculation."
A heartbeat later—
He moved.
A flicker of white and red.
Faster than TPS could react.
And then—
Pain.
Not the kind that screamed.
But the kind that stole his breath away.
Something was missing.
Something wet hit the ground.
His vision darkened.
His heartbeat pounded in his ears.
His eyes—
His eyes hit the dirt.
Vivienne gasped.
Her crimson gaze trembled, fingers reaching out—
And gently, almost reverently, she picked them up, with a look of disbelief.
Her breath hitched.
After a moment of silence, Vivienne sped at full speed to Argent.
Then—
Laughter.
A manic, delirious sound, laced with pure, twisted joy.
"A-Ah… Argent… Argent, you… gave me such a beautiful gift—!"
She pressed them against her lips as if savoring a lover's touch, giggling in excitement.
Argent sighed.
Without hesitation—
He grabbed her by the face—
And threw her.
Her body crashed through three buildings, leaving a storm of shattered stone and dust in her wake.
Even as she vanished—
Her laughter remained.
Argent turned his gaze back to The Phantom Slayer.
Without warning—
He grabbed him by the throat.
And dragged him.
The Phantom Slayer's body scraped against the ground, over broken cobblestones and jagged glass, his mind on the verge of shattering.
He was blind.
He was bleeding.
Furthermore, he was dying.
And yet—
His fingers twitched.
His breath shuddered.
And in the hoarsest voice imaginable—
"I… can't… die."
Argent raised a brow.
"Huh. You're still kicking?"
Silence.
Then—
The Phantom Slayer let out a breathless chuckle.
"Sorry… I don't have the luxury to die today."
His fingers clenched into a fist.
"I still have to find my brother."
Argent's grip loosened, just a fraction.
A sigh escaped his lips.
"You never change, huh?"
Then—his gaze darkened.
"But tell me—don't you hear them anymore?"
TPS froze.
His breath hitched.
The whispers—
The smile.
A pulse of something ancient and terrifying crawled beneath his skin.
Argent sighed. "No matter. You'll remember when we send you back."
Vivienne reappeared, brushing dust from her coat.
"What about the opponent back at the church?"
Argent's jaw tightened. "Ken is stronger than both of us."
Vivienne's expression darkened.
Then—
A clap.
The scenery shifted.
And once again—
The ruined cathedral loomed over them.
A familiar voice echoed through the cold, tainted air—
"Kinda rude leaving your guest without a greeting, don't you think?"
A figure stood before them—
White hair floating with grace.
And Ken Ariake smiled.