Chapter 44

Zee stood frozen in a state of shock, her mind struggling to comprehend the scene before her. The chaotic noise and commotion around her seemed distant and incomprehensible, as if she had been plunged into a surreal nightmare.

Her body felt leaden, refusing to obey her desperate commands. She fell to her knees beside Xain's shattered form, her trembling hands reaching out to touch him. She called out his name repeatedly, her voice quivering with disbelief and despair as she tried to rouse him from this nightmarish slumber.

"Xain?" Her voice cracked, filled with a haunting mix of hope and desperation, as she clung to a glimmer of impossible belief that he might still be saved. But the grim reality of his lifeless body offered no solace, and the weight of the tragedy threatened to crush her spirit.

Amara's fury blazed like an inferno as she hurled two spiraling pillars of scorching flame directly at Eirisse. Her thoughts were a tempest of anger, a relentless storm that refused to be quelled. *How dare she!* Amara's mind seethed with indignation as she watched her fiery onslaught clash with the artifact, only to be effortlessly negated.

Rage fueled her, and she conjured more and more flames, each one roaring to life with her anger. Amara didn't care about Xain's fate, but if anyone were to end him, it would be by her hands and no one else's.

Larkin, driven by grief and anger, summoned every ounce of mana left in his body. He launched a barrage of objects—chunks of the wall, shattered remnants of furniture, anything he could lay his hands on. He was a man possessed, consumed by the need for vengeance. However, Eirisse knocked  aside each projectile with casual ease, regarding him as little more than an annoyance.

Eirisse reveled in the chaos and torment she had sown. The anger etched on her opponents faces only fueled her satisfaction. It was moments like these that she cherished, relishing the sense of satisfaction she derived from causing others to suffer. She had a particular penchant for making sure those she preyed upon knew that their torment was being witnessed by someone close to them. This perverse sense of gratification was what drove her, even amid the bedlam of the battle.

The black knight stood firm by Zee's side, as he guarded both her and Xain's lifeless form. Though he didn't have any connection to Xain, he could sense the impact his death had on most of those around him. In this moment of crisis, he recognized the need to protect Zee, who was in no condition to defend herself.

Sword and shield in hand, the black knight remained vigilant and ready. He understood that his role in this battle was not to launch offensive strikes at Eirisse, unlike the others. Instead, he had chosen to shield the vulnerable and provide a stalwart defense.

Eirisse, on the other hand, had set the artifact for a specific purpose—to shield her from magical attacks. She had little concern for the physical threats her adversaries posed, knowing that they were essentially inconsequential. Clarissa's throwing knives, the old man's improvised projectiles, and even her own brother's futile attempts were hardly a bother.

Yet, amid the cacophony of the battle, one mystery gnawed at Eirisse's consciousness—the lingering presence of the shadow. Eirisse, though not an expert in arcane matters, recognized the fundamentals of magic well enough to raise a perplexing question, *How could the shadow endure when its caster lay lifeless?* It defied the very essence of magic, a spell like Shadow Self should have dissipated upon the caster's demise.

Ercale stood apart from the emotional tumult that gripped the others, his demeanor one of detached observation amidst the chaotic battle. Unmoved by the raging tides of anger and despair, he remained eerily composed, leaving those around him puzzled.

Larkin, driven by his frustration and grief, couldn't fathom Ercale's apparent indifference and confronted him, his voice laden with desperation. "What's the matter with you? Your own brother is dead! Don't you care?"

Ercale's response was calm, almost detached, as he met Larkin's fury with a measured gaze. "No, I don't. But soon, you'll understand why, old bastard."

Before Larkin could unleash another tirade of anger, a bone-chilling symphony filled the room. Audible cracks and snaps, like the rending of flesh and bone, echoed through the space, growing louder with each passing moment. Startled and perplexed, everyone turned their attention from the confrontation to the eerie source of these sounds.

Their collective gaze fixated on Xain's contorted and spasming body. Zee, in particular, felt her heart tighten with a mixture of dread and horror as she watched the macabre spectacle unfold before her. Xain's form seemed to writhe and twist in ways that defied explanation and comprehension.

As the bizarre and grotesque contortions of Xain's body continued, it seemed like some macabre and unnatural mending was taking place, as if defying the laws of nature. His organs were miraculously repositioned, and his fractured bones were inexplicably fused back together.

With a suddenness that startled both Zee and the black knight beside him, Xain's eyes snapped open. Hatred, now even more Extreme than before, With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushed himself up and stood, his body still hunched over, obscuring his eyes from the view of the others.

Ercale, observing the disturbing spectacle, couldn't conceal his surprise. This was far from what he had expected, and yet, he knew without a doubt that Xain was very much alive. If he weren't, Ercale himself would have dissipated.

Xain's hunched-over body heaved with each labored breath, his chest rising and falling like a wild beast preparing to strike. The sudden, unnatural revival had unleashed a fervor within him that defied human comprehension.

In a flash, before anyone could process the bewildering turn of events, Xain catapulted himself toward Eirisse with an astounding burst of speed. His movements were far from fluid; they were primal, untamed, and brimming with an eerie ferocity that transcended mortal boundaries.

As Xain closed the distance between them, he didn't deliver a typical punch or kick. Instead, his hands moved with a savage grace, mimicking the motions of claws as if he had transformed into a predatory beast. Eirisse, recognizing the imminent threat, strained to evade his onslaught with every ounce of her supernatural agility. However, despite her extraordinary efforts, she couldn't entirely avoid the onslaught.

Xain's attack landed with shocking precision, slashing deep into Eirisse's side. The strike was executed with a brutal efficiency, leaving everyone in stunned disbelief. Eirisse staggered backward, clutching the gruesome wound on her side, her face twisted in agony.

Despite the conclusion of the attack, Xain remained hunched over, his right hand still raised menacingly. Blood dripped steadily from his fingers, creating a chilling tableau of violence and malevolence that enveloped him.

Ercale looked at Xain's form in disbelief, particularly the stance he had assumed. *Isn't that...?* Ercale thought, unable to believe his eyes. However, he wasn't the only one taken aback by Xain's stance. The black knight, standing beside Zee, also recognized it immediately. It bore a striking resemblance to the combat style of a monster he had hunted in the past.

In unison, both Ercale and the black knight arrived at the exact same conclusion, *That's the fighting style of a werewolf.*