Chapter 69 - What was that technique again?

"Oh…?" Damian muttered to himself as he raised an eyebrow. "Curious…" 

Alita, however, didn't seem surprised by any part of his appearance. She glared at him venemously. "Now I get it!" she snarled, pointing at him accusingly. "It was you who sabotaged my CyberStrap and gun, you little weasel! Well, I'm not going anywhere with you!" 

Anger and insanity mixed in Isac's eyes when he snarled helplessly, and Alita looked at him with surprise and disgust. "What the hell? You were always a little weird, but this is something else!" 

"No need to try and interact with him, Alita," Damian suddenly said, appearing in thought. "He's not exactly himself right now. Although… if you're not surprised by those pink hues in his eyes, then perhaps he never was." 

"Pink hues…?" Alita muttered as she looked back at the seething Isac. "He's always had those… some kind of birth defect, I think he said." 

"Total bullshit," Damian immediately denied with a lazy, confident smile, his sword still trained on Isac in anticipation of a continued assault. "I'm afraid this man's been some kind of infiltrator from the start. Those hues are a clear sign that one of my— our kin, has sunken their claws deep into this one." 

"Our kin…? You mean… whatever you've turned me into…?" Alita muttered thoughtfully. "So, is he one, too?" she continued, now indicating towards Isac, who was obviously becoming increasingly frustrated and confused. Erik immediately realized this man had no idea what they were talking about. 

"Enough!" Isac snarled furiously. "None of this matters!" He pointed his weapon at Damian with narrowed eyes. "I don't know who you are, but I'm not here for you," he growled. "Step aside and let me take Alita. Maybe I'll forgive you for defiling her!" 

A mocking smirk appeared on Damian's lips. "Man, you clearly weren't a particularly stable person, even before my kin got to you. But that's alright," he continued, while flourishing his weapon. "I'll put you out of your misery soon enough!" 

Behind him, Alita looked at him strangely. Had she expected him to give her up? No… Somehow, Damian's manipulations truly had built quite a bit of trust inside her. But it still felt strange to be protected by someone other than her sister for once. 

It was a novel feeling… although she'd still prefer to protect herself. Unfortunately, Damian hadn't given her a catalyst yet. 

He didn't even consider giving Alita up, not after all the work he'd already put into her. 

Damian stood near the center of the room, positioned between Alita and Isac. His stance was casual, almost lazy, but his sword was held firm, angled slightly downward as if he were merely humoring Isac's aggression. The air around him hummed with unseen energy, as he held Nox Aeternum with one hand, and lingering traces of myst crackled along the fingertips of his other hand. 

At the same time, he muttered thoughtfully in his mind. 'Now… what was that technique again…?' 

Before he could figure it out, Isac growled and attacked again. Sighing, Damian moved to meet him, seemingly sluggish compared to his opponent. 

Isac was a storm of motion. He paced in a semi-circle around Damian, trying to maneuver him into a disadvantageous position. His blade—sleek and unnervingly sharp—was coated in a faint shimmer of myst, a sure sign he was ready to carve through anything in his path. His breaths were heavy, his muscles taut, but his pink-hued eyes glowed with something deeper than mere rage—obsession. 

With a sudden burst of speed, Isac lunged. 

Damian's sword barely came up in time to parry the strike, the clang of metal-on-metal ringing throughout the apartment. Sparks danced from the point of contact, but Isac was already pressing forward. His footwork was aggressive, forcing Damian to step back toward the seating area, where a half-shattered coffee table and an overturned couch restricted his movements. 

A high arc. A low cut. A deceptive feint. 

Isac was relentless, forcing Damian further into a corner. Every strike came faster than the last, the momentum of the fight shifting entirely in his favor. He was obviously favouring physical engagement over using myst, which was a disadvantage for Damian. 

His smirk remained, but his stance was losing its effortless confidence. His parries were becoming desperate, and his back finally pressed against the cool steel of a support beam. A disadvantage. Isac had him pinned. 

With a triumphant growl, Isac faked a downward strike—Damian moved to block, but the real attack came from the side. The blade sliced into his upper arm, deep and precise, severing a major artery. A spray of blood hit the floor. 

"Hah!" Isac exclaimed with murderous enthusiasm as he backed away a few steps to watch his work with wicked pride. "I told you to stay out of it! If you leave now, maybe you can make it to a first aid post in time!" 

Damian exhaled sharply but didn't stumble. Instead, he glanced down at the wound as though it were little more than an inconvenience. His blood, thick and dark, flowed freely for only a moment before something strange happened—an itching sensation spread from the wound, followed by rapid regeneration. 

Alita smirked, arms crossed. "That's gotta sting, huh?" It was unclear who she was talking about, the man who'd just had his flesh sliced into, or the one who had to look on as his victory vanished in an instant. 

Isac took another step back, watching with widening eyes as Damian's flesh knit itself back together at an unnatural speed. "You—!" His voice wavered between rage and disbelief. 

Damian rotated his arm experimentally, cracking his neck before tilting his head at Isac. "That was cute. You had a whole moment there. What were you saying again?" 

Isac's shock was instantly replaced with unrelenting anger. "You—! I don't know how you did that, but let's see how long you can keep it up!" he roared before resuming his assault as he swung his sword with both hands. 

His sword became a whirlwind, arcing toward Damian in a relentless flurry of blows meant to overwhelm him. The force of the strikes sent vibrations through the floor, scattering dust and broken furniture. 

Damian, however, engaged him with only one hand, a fact that quickly compounded his obviously lesser skill in swordsmanship. His other hand was wreathed in myst as a focused frown appeared on his brows. 

'Come on, come on… If only mystic techniques could be memorized by an AI,' he grumbled in his mind as he tried desperately to remember that technique his mother thought him. Unfortunately, techniques like these were too esoteric for an AI to be any help in remembering them, so Nova could offer no assistance here. 

At the same time, he couldn't use his myst to attack Isac while he tried to cast that one technique. 

His swordsmanship faltered further. Isac, sensing the weakness, capitalized on it. A slice across Damian's ribs. Another nick along his thigh. A cut to his shoulder. Blood spattered onto the broken remains of a nearby chair, yet Damian didn't seem alarmed. 

Alita, meanwhile, became increasingly worried and confused. Damian had already seemed like an invincible presence to her, but why did he seem like he was struggling? 'Is he playing with Isac?' she pondered to herself. 

"Ah," he murmured as realization dawned, a grin stretching across his lips. 

Crimson mist coalesced around his left hand, swirling in thick tendrils. It pulsed with energy, radiating a sharp, ominous light that made the air vibrate with tension. 

"There it is." 

His grin widened as he thrust his palm forward. 

"Take this!"