flying swordsman

Belial's legs shifted against the Crystal-bitten earth, each step a deliberate defiance of the oppressive silence that cloaked the land.

The Blind Witness was in front of him, somewhere behind the rubble, its presence a weight that pressed against his chest.

He didn't have to care how strong it was...not now, not when his blood was up, not when his instincts screamed for motion.

His leathery armored wings twitched at his back, eager to unfurl, to carry him into the fray.

The creature lunged, a grotesque silhouette of jagged limbs and obsidian plating. Its elbow clipped Belial's shoulder with a bone-rattling thud, the force sending him stumbling backward. Pain flared, sharp and electric, but Belial didn't falter. He used the momentum, twisting his body with the blow, letting it propel him upward. His wings snapped open with a deep, resonant whoosh, the membranes stretching wide as they caught the air. The cold bit at his face, the acrid scent of blood and damp earth fading as he ascended. For a moment, he was weightless, the world below reduced to a blur of shadow and frost.

He rose.

Then he vanished into the trees.

The forest embraced him. Dark, dense with crystalline, and familiar. The gnarled branches formed a labyrinthine canopy, a sanctuary where he could move unseen. If there was one thing Belial had over the Hollow's haunted creations, it was air control. None of them could match his flight—not yet. His batlike wings, strong and supple, gave him a freedom the ground-bound monstrosities couldn't touch. The Blind Witness might be fast, its movements eerily precise, but from above, Belial could dictate the tempo of this deadly dance.

He wove between the branches, his wings slicing silently through the air. Below, the clearing lay still, the Blind Witness motionless at its center. It didn't chase him—not immediately. It was listening, waiting, its eyeless head tilted as if tasting the vibrations in the air. That was its trick. The Blind Witness didn't see its prey; it felt them—through sound, through movement, through the subtle ripples of existence itself.

Belial dipped lower, just enough to glimpse the creature through the canopy. It stood like a statue, its skeletal frame gleaming faintly under the moonlight, all sharp angles and unnatural stillness. Almost patient. Almost knowing.

Perfect.

He drew his sword, the blade glinting with a cold, hungry edge. Then he dove.

The wind roared in his ears as he plummeted like a spear, his wings tucked tight to streamline his descent. The Blind Witness didn't move, didn't react. It couldn't react. His blade arced downward, aimed at the creature's exposed spine, where the black plating was thinnest. The strike landed with a sickening crunch, the sword biting deep into the monster's back. Ether poured from the wound, a smoky cascade of violet and black that writhed like a living thing.

Belial didn't linger. With a powerful beat of his wings, he shot back into the trees, disappearing into the shadows before the creature could retaliate. His heart pounded, adrenaline singing in his veins. The technique was flawless—dive, strike, vanish. It had worked on other Hollow beasts, mindless drones that couldn't adapt to his hit-and-run tactics. This one would be no different.

He circled back, his eyes locked on the clearing below. The Blind Witness staggered, its head jerking as if trying to pinpoint him. Belial grinned, a feral edge to his expression. He dove again, faster this time, his blade flashing as it carved another gash across the creature's shoulder. Ether sprayed, and he was gone before the monster could swing its jagged claws.

Again.

He struck its arm, the blade skimming off the plating but drawing more of that smoky essence.

Again.

A slash to the thigh, deep enough to make the creature lurch.

Each dive was a calculated risk, each strike a taunt. Belial's laughter bubbled up, low and reckless, as he looped back into the canopy. "This is too easy," he muttered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. They echoed in his mind, sharp and dangerous.

Too easy.

Something in him loosened—a flicker of pride, a spark of overconfidence a slight grin painted across his face. Something he hadn't felt in some time...He'd fought Hollow beasts before. He'd danced this dance, perfected this rhythm. Dive, strike, vanish. The Blind Witness was just another target, another trophy to claim. He didn't need to fear it. Not when he was untouchable in the air.

He dove again, blade angled for a killing blow. The creature's back was exposed, its head still tilted as if searching for him. This would end it. One clean strike to sever the spine, to shatter the core that kept it moving. His wings flared, guiding his descent with lethal precision.

But then it moved.

The Blind Witness's head tilted, a subtle shift, almost imperceptible. Its arm was already rising, claws splayed like a trap springing shut. Belial's blade connected, but the strike was shallow, glancing off the creature's reinforced plating. Before he could pull back, its hand snapped up, closing around the hilt of his sword with a grip like iron.

Belial froze.

His wings beat frantically, trying to wrench him free. He released the sword, instincts screaming to retreat, to vanish into the trees. But something had shifted. The air felt heavier, charged with a malevolent awareness. The Blind Witness didn't just grab his weapon—it had caught him. Not his body, but his presence. His rhythm. His predictability.

In his arrogance, in the cadence of his repeated dives, he'd given himself away.

The creature's head tilted further, its eyeless face seeming to stare directly at him. Belial's heart slammed against his ribs, panic clawing at his chest. He twisted mid-air, wings straining as he tried to climb, to break free of the invisible tether that now bound him to the monster below.

"Fuck," he whispered, the word barely audible over the pounding of his pulse.

He heard it before he saw it—a low, resonant hum. Not from the creature, but from the system. The cursed system that haunted him, that fueled the Hollow, that watched from the shadows of this twisted world. It was always there, a silent observer, feeding the monsters, orchestrating their hunt. And now it was awake.

The Blind Witness tilted its head again, its jagged maw parting to release a sound that wasn't sound—a vibration that crawled under Belial's skin, cold and invasive.

"Found… you…"

The voice wasn't mimicry. It wasn't a hollow echo of his own words, like the lesser beasts used. It was recognition. A declaration. The creature had locked onto his essence—his voice, his scent, his fear. It had tasted the pattern of his attacks, the rhythm of his arrogance, and now it had him.

Belial's wings faltered, a spike of terror hitting harder than gravity. He twisted again, forcing himself higher, but the air felt wrong, thick with the system's presence. The forest, once his ally, now seemed to close in, the branches clawing at his wings like skeletal hands.

"Shit Shit—" His voice cracked, desperation bleeding through.

The Blind Witness moved, its body uncoiling with a grace that belied its grotesque form. It didn't charge blindly like the others. It stalked, its steps deliberate, each one sending tremors through the earth that Belial could feel even from above. It was no longer reacting—it was hunting.

He darted through the canopy, his wings brushing against leaves as he wove between the trees. His sword was gone, left in the creature's grasp, but he still had his claws, his speed, his will to survive. He just needed to think, to outmaneuver it. The Blind Witness couldn't see him. It relied on sound, on vibration. If he could stay silent, unpredictable, he could—

The hum grew louder.

Belial's skin prickled, his instincts screaming that he was no longer the hunter. He was prey.

He risked a glance back. The Blind Witness was moving faster now, its limbs scything through the undergrowth, its head tilted as if tracking an invisible thread. It wasn't guessing. It knew where he was.

Belial's breath hitched. He'd screwed up. One mistake—one pattern too many—and the creature had turned the tables. It wasn't mindless. It was never mindless. It was designed, engineered to haunt, to exploit weakness, to punish arrogance.

And now it had locked onto his essence.

His voice.

His scent.

His rhythm.

His fear.

The forest seemed to pulse with the system's hum, the air growing heavier, the shadows deeper. Belial's wings burned with the effort of keeping him aloft, but he couldn't stop. He couldn't hide. The Blind Witness was coming, and it wouldn't stop until it claimed him.

He was prey again.

He had screwed up.

He knew it now.

This creature wasn't just a mindless mirror monster.

It was a hunter.

And it was designed to haunt.