Chapter 347: Barbarism as the Synonym of Combat

The sacred sword tore through the air, slicing into the Dark Elf King's body. The stench of burnt flesh mixed with ozone filled Solomon's nostrils. Every time he inflicted a massive wound, the crimson Aether would instantly refill it, regenerating new flesh and bone. No matter how Malekith dodged, the judgment of the sacred sword always found him.

Step forward, slash, parry the counterattack, rotate the blade, and thrust at the throat.

Swing, sidestep outward, sever the enemy's hand.

Horizontal slash, retreat step, cleave the back of the neck.

The Meyer swordsmanship flowed effortlessly from Solomon's hands. With the fluid Aether weapon neutralized by golden flames, Solomon abandoned his shield, relying solely on his swift swordsmanship to end the battle.

Malekith laughed wildly in the darkness, arrogance etched on his face. Despite Solomon's attacks growing faster, the blade heating up, and golden flames intensifying around him, Malekith remained unfazed. He found the onslaught weak and futile, convinced he could end Solomon swiftly.

Though confident in his eventual victory, Malekith aimed to finish the fight quickly. Every instance of his body repairing itself drained the Aether's capacity for corrupting the Nine Realms. Every moment wasted risked missing the celestial alignment's peak.

Malekith's connection to the Aether was absolute. His soul had merged with the essence of this fifth-dimensional element. As long as his spirit remained intact and bound to the Aether, it would repair his body, transforming the consumed life force into new flesh and bone, much like the alchemical creation of a homunculus.

In a blink, Solomon was enveloped in a silver mist, vanishing from sight and reappearing behind Malekith. His sword pierced through the thick crimson curtain, severing the bone in Malekith's arm. The detached limb was immediately devoured by a crimson beast lurking around Malekith, its matter repurposed to regenerate the lost arm.

Solomon's sword slashed through Malekith's torso, its intense heat cauterizing the massive wound. Yet, in an instant, the Aether surged like blood vessels and sinew, filling the missing tissue. Souls and lives devoured over countless eons were ground down, releasing miracles beyond human comprehension.

The essence of the Infinity Stones was infinity itself. There was no greater power in the universe.

The Aether was Malekith's soul, life, and weapon.

Though he had yet to fully master the Aether's insatiable greed, it didn't matter. Possessing the Aether ensured that primordial darkness would once again engulf the universe. Smiling, Malekith welcomed Solomon's attacks, viewing them as trials necessary for ascending the cosmic hierarchy, just as he had endured in the past.

Solomon was a hammer, and Malekith was the anvil of the Aether. Each strike weakened Malekith's physical form but strengthened his connection to the Aether. His soul was being absorbed, becoming part of the whispering will within the stone. Malekith's intellect, spirit, and essence were crushed and fused into the miracle engine known as the Infinity Stone.

The knight roared as he raised his sacred sword. The Dragon Wings propelled Solomon downward, driving Malekith into the crimson ocean. Flames clashed against the Aether's bloody waves as a brutal and bloody battle unfolded.

The proximity of their combat triggered the Aether's predatory instincts. Tendrils of the substance latched onto Solomon, attempting to drain his life force. However, this act had severe consequences. Solomon's blood, ignited by the golden flames surrounding him, caused a series of explosive reactions between him and Malekith.

Discarding his shield, Solomon drove his sword into Malekith's shoulder, twisting the blade to carve out a massive, excruciating wound. Malekith howled in agony, the gushing blood either evaporating in golden flames or consumed by the Aether.

Malekith retaliated with a powerful punch to Solomon's helmet, snapping his head to the side. Yet, in a heartbeat, Solomon turned back, his fury burning brighter. He retaliated with a devastating punch to Malekith's pale, venomous face.

The Aether repaired Malekith's pulverized nose, shattered teeth, and broken cheekbones, only for Solomon to strike him again. Amid the exchange of brutal blows, Solomon never stopped twisting the sword embedded in Malekith's chest, tearing open his ribcage repeatedly.

Repair, tear, repair, tear again.

Malekith's once-pristine armor was now in tatters, his skeletal, pallid body riddled with grotesque crimson wounds. These wounds writhed and extended tendrils, attempting to siphon life from Solomon's body.

Solomon, his lips moving beneath his helmet, uttered an incantation. Crackling with lightning and fire, his gauntleted hand gripped Malekith's neck. Sharp claws pierced flesh, muscle, and blood vessels, ripping out sinew and viscera. At the same time, Solomon's heel crushed Malekith's knee, forcing the Dark Elf King to kneel.

Brutality and savagery defined the battle. Solomon endured the searing pain of Malekith's blows against his armor and the relentless pull of the Aether draining his vitality. Gripping Malekith's chin, Solomon forced him to kneel, preparing for the final strike.

Before he could deliver the killing blow, the Aether surged, forming a colossal war hammer that collided with the raised sacred sword. The resulting explosion hurled both combatants apart.

The golden flames surrounding Solomon extinguished abruptly. Deprived of their fuel, the stigmata went dormant, and Solomon's emotions began to resurface.

Solomon staggered to his feet, finding no trace of Malekith. In his hand remained a grotesque trophy: half of Malekith's face, torn away during the chaos.

Unsure of his location in the Nine Realms, Solomon deactivated the stigmata. His nerves relaxed, and the sudden buildup of lactic acid left his muscles burning. He dropped to the ground, breathing heavily through the filtered air of his armor.

"Damn it," he muttered, his trembling fingers rummaging through his dimensional pouch for a restorative potion. Even before drinking it, his strength began returning unnaturally quickly. Moments later, he stood again, though his steps were awkward and pained as he retrieved his shield.

This unnatural recovery was so routine to Solomon that he barely acknowledged it. Without such endurance, he mused, he wouldn't have survived countless battles—or certain more intimate escapades.

As he rested briefly, Solomon reflected on the surge of power he had just experienced. He doubted that the Vishanti had granted it freely. He remembered hearing hymns and roars during his berserk state, leading him to suspect external interference.

Something—or someone—from the higher planes or lower realms was meddling with him.

This realization infuriated Solomon. He loathed the thought of extradimensional beings tampering with his mind.

Shaking his head, Solomon resolved to find a way back to Earth. A third-circle divination spell, Analyze Portal, could lead him home—provided no one interfered before he located a portal.

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