Generals

Icarus stepped forward, essence igniting beneath his feet as he soared past the countless Soul Eaters charging toward the town, leaving them in Jonah's care. 

His body blurred, cutting through the darkened air like a streak of silver light, arriving before the three towering generals in mere moments. Their presence was oppressive, malevolent, their soulless eyes radiating an ancient hunger. Yet, as if he did not notice, Icarus swung without hesitation.

The air tore as his blade sliced through space, its momentum heightened by an implosion of raw essence along its edge. His strike whispered through the void, severing flesh and shattering bone before the generals could react.

A scream erupted—a shrill, earsplitting shriek. Toxic purple blood sprayed into the air as one of the generals reeled, its maw stretching unnaturally wide as it roared in agony. 

Its two companions moved instantly, their bodies surging forward as they threw their fists toward Icarus, the black bone of their armor twisting and shifting, protruding into lethal spikes.

Icarus remained calm. 

With terrifying speed, his leg snapped forward like a whip, essence flooding through his muscles as he drove his foot into one of the generals' guts. 

The force sent it flying, its body carving a trench into the earth. In the same motion, he twisted, weaving beneath the punch of the remaining general. His blade rose with him, carving an upward arc that severed its throat in a single motion.

Before the body even had a chance to collapse, Icarus moved again, using its weight as a shield between himself and the remaining general—the one he had first injured. 

Still shrieking, the monster lunged toward him, swinging wildly, but too late to realize—its own companion's corpse was in the way.

The impact ripped through the dead general's body, its fist piercing straight through its fallen ally. Icarus took advantage of the moment, gripping its outstretched arm from the other side of the corpse and twisting, breaking its balance. His blade streaked once more through the air, its silver sheen blinding under the moonlight—

Another head fell.

The two lifeless generals collapsed with a heavy thud, their heads rolling to a stop at Icarus' feet. With a flick of his wrist, he freed his blade of their foul blood, his eyes lifting toward the sole surviving general—the one he had kicked away.

"By the gods," Icarus muttered under his breath. "You truly reek."

WHOOSH!

The bodies of the fallen generals began to liquefy, their flesh dissolving into a writhing mass of darkness. Like a tide rushing toward its master, the corrupted remains surged toward the final general, merging into its body. 

Around them, countless other Soul Eaters suffered the same fate, turning into liquid essence, converging upon their leader.

Icarus wasn't surprised. He knew that unless a Soul Eater's core was destroyed, they were functionally immortal. 

And generals—those of higher intellect—rarely placed their cores in one place. They fragmented them, spreading them among the hive, sacrificing immediate strength in return for near-invulnerability.

This was exactly why he had isolated this one so early. He needed it to assume its true form quickly, so he could end it before it could recover.

The transformation was rapid. Dark essence gathered, its body convulsing and morphing, muscle and bone twisting grotesquely. 

In a mere blink, it expanded, standing tall—a behemoth clad in blackened bone armor, its muscles grotesquely layered beneath thick plates of living obsidian. In its colossal hands, a greatsword emerged, its blade rippling like a tide of dark purple blood, pulsing with unnatural energy.

At the center of its chest, a golden core shimmered, drawing in atmospheric essence at an insane rate, feeding the monster's endless hunger.

Icarus exhaled through his nose, annoyed. It was expected, yet still troublesome. Speed and skill were his greatest weapons, while size and brute force were his greatest weaknesses. And, naturally, the general had chosen the bulkiest, most cumbersome form possible.

But in the end, the result would remain the same.

BOOM!

The air collapsed in on itself as the general lunged forward, its foot planting into the ground before it glided with terrifying speed.

Its greatsword ripped through the air, a horrifying slice that sent the atmosphere itself shaking.

BANG!

Icarus dodged, stepping backward just in time—yet his body still shuddered as if something had struck him directly. A wave of compressed air exploded from the sheer force of the swing, violently tearing the breath from his lungs, cracking multiple bones in his ribcage.

His body was flung backward, tumbling across the bloodstained hills. But the general was relentless. Its hips torqued, its blade rising once more—

Dark essence poured into the sword, its mere presence rotting the ground beneath it. The corrupted steel fell again, sending dozens of arcs of condensed death soaring toward Icarus.

Icarus gritted his teeth, rolling, stumbling, and then pushing off the earth, still gliding backward as he regained control. Blood dripped from his lips, yet he remained focused.

The hilt of his blade shrank, the length of his sword extending as white runes erupted across its surface. He straightened his posture, his golden-red eyes burning with clarity.

The general swung again, its monstrous power sending a relentless storm of compressed air and dark essence at him.

Icarus lifted his sword.

The flames of Sword Essence—yet another fundamental of essence control— ignited along its edge, burning so brightly that his blade seemed to disappear in a dazzling white blaze. With a single, almost lazy swing—

SHING!

The incoming arcs of energy shattered.

The general let out a guttural roar, stumbling back as a massive gash opened across its chest, golden essence spilling from the wound.

Icarus swung again. This time, the flames thickened, his arm bulging as he exhaled sharply. The very fabric of atmospheric essence twisted under the weight of his strike, forming a cascading wall of burning sword essence that collapsed onto the general like an avalanche.

BANG!

He appeared before the monster in an instant, his blade carving through the aftermath, streaking forward for a decisive blow—

CLANK!

The general reacted, bringing its sword to meet his own. Sparks exploded between them, the impact so intense it cracked the earth beneath their feet. But Icarus pressed forward.

Their weapons clashed again, and again, and again, their movements blurring, their forms becoming a devilish dance upon the edge of death itself.

Icarus, small yet swift, weaved through the general's brutal strikes with the fluid grace of a phantom, his blade a whisper of silver light, carving methodically, breaking down its defense with each calculated strike.

The general, in contrast, fought with primal brutality, its swings ancient, wild, ruthless—each movement designed not to win, but to destroy.

Every near miss sent gales of razor-sharp wind cutting across Icarus' skin, yet his heart remained serene, his mind as still as a lake at dawn.

BANG!

Their blades clashed once more, sparks flying into the night. Icarus' grip tightened.