Generals(II)

Icarus' wrist shattered, and his body was sent flying backward. 

The force of the impact rattled his bones, but before he could even regain control, the general lunged. Its free hand tightened into a fist, dark essence flames igniting along its knuckles before it slammed into him, driving him straight into the ground.

BOOOOM!

A massive crater erupted from the impact, dust and debris scattering like a shockwave across the battlefield. The general loomed above, its twisted form silhouetted against the bloodstained moon. Lifting its hand, it began gathering essence, condensing it into a chaotic, pulsating beam of destruction.

From deep within the crater, a sigh echoed.

"It's unfortunate."

The beam forming beneath the general's palm dissolved, flickering into nothingness. Its gaze narrowed, staring into the crater with cold intent. But then—it realized the space below was empty. Its eyes widened.

Frantically, it turned, scanning the raging battlefield, searching for Icarus' figure among the chaos.

"If I'd had this enlightenment earlier… perhaps I could've saved them."

The general's pupils dilated, its body tensing as it sensed a sudden surge of essence near it. But before it could react—

A palm softly landed on its chest.

Sword essence erupted.

The general's flesh tore apart, agony overwhelming it in an instant. Its golden soul core, embedded in its chest, trembled violently before cracking, fractures spreading like lightning across its surface. A moment later, it shattered entirely, breaking down into motes of golden light that danced along the wind.

BANG!

The towering general collapsed to its knees, its once indomitable presence reduced to ruin. Icarus wasted no time. His essence-coated palm severed the air in a final arc—

The behemoth's head rolled, its decapitated body falling like a felled titan. A spray of blood rained down upon him, but Icarus paid it no mind. The Soul Eater General's head tumbled down a hill, vanishing into the distance.

He did not watch it go.

His focus was elsewhere.

He dove back into the heat of battle, weaving through the chaos, his gaze darting from place to place until he found what he was looking for.

CLANK!

Icarus materialized before a soldier in combat, his forearm raised, blocking a lethal strike from a Soul Eater. With a single motion, his fist shot forward, the force ripping the abomination apart, reducing it to little more than a mangled sack of flesh. He barely glanced at the creature's ruined body before turning to face the wounded man he had just saved.

Jonah.

The burly warrior was on one knee, his breath ragged, his body drenched in his own blood.

His stomach had been torn open, his organs spilling onto the earth, painting the once-green grass in crimson. One of his arms was gone, ripped out at the shoulder, the wound festering with black veins—evidence of the corruption spreading through his body, eating him alive from the inside out.

Icarus knelt down, his hands gripping Jonah's shoulders, his gaze dark with regret and anger.

"Jonah." His voice was quiet, controlled, but edged with something deeper. "Stay with me."

As carefully as he could, Icarus laid him on his back, atmospheric essence gathering around his palms. He moved to begin the healing process—but before he could, Jonah's trembling hand reached out, stopping him.

"…No… The… people…!" Jonah coughed out mouthfuls of blood, chunks of flesh mixed within. But his eyes…

His eyes still burned with defiance.

His body shook violently, yet his voice was iron. "The people! They breached… us!"

Icarus froze. His pupils trembled, his head snapping toward the town. And then—he finally heard it.

The screams.

Horror. Terror. The unmistakable wails of men, women, and children crying out for salvation.

His chest tightened. Pools of fresh blood seeped into the streets, dyeing them a deep, unnatural red.

He looked back down at Jonah, whose body seized violently, black veins spreading faster, blood oozing from every pore.

"…Go…" Jonah rasped, but Icarus didn't move.

"…GO!"

His hands trembled. His jaw clenched. He was hesitating.

Jonah gritted his teeth, forcing his mangled body to stand, using his blade as a crutch. His remaining hand pressed against his open stomach, barely keeping his entrails from spilling further. Yet despite the grotesque state of his body, his back was straight. His gaze was calm.

"Go." His voice was firm, unyielding.

Icarus met his eyes—the eyes of a warrior who had already accepted death.

A warrior willing to stand and fight, even if only to buy a few extra seconds.

"Go."

The word echoed through Icarus' mind, over and over again.

And finally, he made his choice.

Essence coiled around him, and in the next breath, he was gone, his body vanishing into the distance.

Jonah watched him disappear, then grinned—a bloody, mad grin.

He tightened his grip around his weapon and lifted it high, roaring to the heavens.

His men, those who still drew breath, joined him. Their voices echoed through the battlefield, a final song of defiance.

"One last dance!" Jonah bellowed.

"ONE LAST DANCE!" They roared back.

***

Icarus had never been so focused in his life.

The moment his foot touched the stone streets of the town, his mind emptied. There was no hesitation, no distraction—only purpose.

He moved faster than ever before. His blade flickered, cutting down Soul Eaters with merciless precision. 

Survivors he found intact—he shielded with essence barriers. Those who were beyond saving—he granted a swift, painless death.

Yet no matter how fast he moved, no matter how sharp his blade was—

He was always too late.

With each street he cleared, he found more bodies than survivors.

He had only saved one person—a child, barely five years old.

All others were either raging Soul Eaters or dying townspeople, their bodies already twisted by dark essence.

One by one, he was forced to kill the people who had raised him, the people he had laughed with, sparred with, grown up with.

One by one, he failed them all.

Blood—not his own—painted his path, trailing behind him like the ghost of shattered hope.

BANG!

Icarus landed atop the tallest building in town.

He had cleared the streets, saved who he could—but it wasn't over. More were coming.

Brushing his blood-slicked hair back, he exhaled. His crimson pupils swirled, glowing with untold depths as he lifted both hands.

Two white runes flickered in the air, unstable, before searing into the backs of his palms.

He pressed his hands together.

"…[Sword Grave]…"

WHOOSH!

The very atmosphere ignited, sublimating into sword essence. Dozens, hundreds, thousands of flaming swords materialized above him, hanging in the sky like a second, blinding constellation.

More and more manifested, until there were more swords than stars.

Blood leaked from Icarus' nose, his ears, his eyes. But his hands did not falter.

He clenched his fists, his fingers interlocking—and the sky fell.

BANG!