The Serpent and the Sword

Lior's eyes darted left and right, assessing the situation.

The horde of mages had split up and surrounded him. Four groups, each boasting a similar number.

Not ideal, but doable.

His tense muscles eased slightly.

Still, the question is how?

His gaze fell on the injured knight, kneeling behind Eadda.

"Hey, you," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "If you don't plan on using that weapon, throw it here."

Elijah stared at Lior in disbelief. After a few moments to process the request, he glanced down. The sword in his grip was soaked in blood. Pain made his hold waver.

He grit his teeth.

How could I give away my sword—my pride?

Seconds passed before he finally spoke.

"I can't do that."

His voice was quiet but firm, conviction ringing through it. He had chosen to keep the blade by his side until the end.

Lior clicked his tongue, clearly irritated.

"Tch… fool."

Running a hand through his hair, he pierced Elijah with a cold glare.

"You'll die, with or without that sword. Stop complicating things and just throw it here."

Elijah didn't look up. He simply shook his head.

Lior's eyes narrowed. His usually calm expression slowly began to crack.

This maggot... Who does he think he is?

A soft chuckle sliced through the tension.

"It's useless," Eadda said, a smug grin on her face. "Velgrynd warriors live and die by their weapons. They wouldn't give them up even in death."

Silence settled over the ruined battlefield. Lior stood still, his gaze fixed on Elijah, paying no mind to Eadda's remark.

Eventually, he stretched out his arm, a faint, warm smile tugging at his lips.

"I understand how you feel," he said gently. A rare softness in his tone—warmth that could melt the snow beneath their feet.

Elijah's eyes widened. He slowly lifted his head and met Lior's gaze.

"I'm the same," Lior continued. "I couldn't bear to part with Ashrender."

"It might seem crazy to others, but I understand—the bond between sword and wielder."

Elijah looked down at the blade in his hand. His unwavering determination trembled.

Sensing that, Lior sighed.

"That sword helped you through many battles. It protected you. Your bond is real—I can see that."

"It's obvious. Just look how happy it seems."

Elijah's instincts told him not to believe him. But there was something in Lior's voice—calm, resolute, absolute. Like he spoke a truth that couldn't be denied.

Eadda, growing impatient, signaled her mages to attack.

Almost instantly, they began their incantations. Some raised their arms, others chanted in unison.

Shit, almost there. Lior thought, already crafting a backup plan.

Elijah still stared at his weapon, silent. His resolve continued to falter.

Then, Lior's voice pulled him back.

"So, why not let it protect you once more?"

Startled, Elijah turned back to him.

"What?" he whispered.

Lior's expression didn't change.

"With that sword—protect not just yourself, but your people."

"Wouldn't that make it... even happier?"

Elijah's heart thumped louder with every word.

Protect me? My sword...

It... makes sense.

Panic rose in Lior's chest, though he didn't show it.

Hurry up and decide already.

Then, a shift in the air—multiple changes at once.

A wave of uncomfortable heat surged from the right. Cold pierced in from the left. In front, a flurry of wind raged. And behind—something unknown brewed.

"Fine. I'll entrust it to you," Elijah said, uncertainty still in his voice.

With a grunt, he flung the sword through the air. It spun cleanly before falling into Lior's grasp.

He examined it. A simple, double-edged sword. Shorter than Ashrender—it felt more like a dagger in comparison.

Still, it would do.

He gave Elijah a brief nod of thanks, then turned his attention to the incoming barrage.

Fireballs, ice spikes, wind blades—rushed toward him in a chaotic blend.

"Watch out!" Elijah shouted.

But before they could land, the dark energy returned—thicker, heavier.

The second sword's steel deepened in color until it turned pitch black.

Perfect.

Without hesitation, Lior swung both blades.

Ashrender devoured the fireballs like a ravenous beast. The blackened sword slashed through the ice and wind, dark smoke trailing from each precise strike.

What attacks he couldn't block, he dodged—leaping, ducking, weaving between them.

To the onlookers, he looked less like a man and more like a serpent in human skin—slithering through chaos.

"Crap..." Eadda muttered.

With Lior engulfed in a storm of attacks, she couldn't pinpoint him long enough to use her power. Every time she tried, he evaded—just barely.

"It's like he knows..." she whispered, anxiety creeping in.

Elijah stared in awe.

"Incredible..." he breathed.

Amid the flurry, Lior still counted his enemies. Fifteen to the left. Thirteen to the right. Thirteen in front.

That means... it's behind.

With a clean sweep, he batted away more ice spikes.

A breath later—he turned and pounced.

He launched into the air, Ashrender raised above his head.

Mid-flight, he brought the blade down.

Inky tendrils streamed behind him.

"Pit Eater."

Ashrender hissed in hunger as the slash tore space itself.

From the tear, a mouth formed—its maw filled with slithering, snake-like shadows that surged toward the mages.

Panicked, they conjured magic shields.

"It's useless," Lior murmured, still in midair.

Eadda could only watch.

"What is that power..." she whispered.

The ground trembled as the shields cracked. Each one broke like shattering glass. Darkness consumed them all.

With nothing left to stop it, the attack reached the mages.

A loud crash. Dust and snow surged outward.

Lior landed gracefully, clutching his chest in pain.

Shit. It's leaking again.

As the smoke cleared, one mage remained—plopped on the ground, barely alive.

The others stood no longer. Some were torn clean in half. Others were missing entire limbs or torsos.

One by one, they collapsed.

The survivor flinched each time a corpse hit the ground, his face twisted in horror.

"I... M–monster," he stammered.

Lior sighed, disappointed.

"Well, damn... I guess their defense wasn't completely useless."

He strode toward the last mage. Each step made the man tremble harder.

"S–stay away!" he screamed, voice cracking. "Someone, help!"

But no one moved. The others only watched in dread.

That's when he realized.

I'm dead...

He tried to stand, but his legs gave out.

"Don't be afraid," Lior said as he approached, tone disturbingly calm.

"My Ashrender doesn't cut."

Now face to face, Lior raised Ashrender high. A childlike smile crept across his lips.

"It devours."

The blade came down, slicing the mage in two like a hot knife through butter.

Blood splattered. Lior didn't flinch.

He spun casually, facing the rest of the mages.

"Well, that's that," he said, wiping the blood from his cheek.

Then, glancing at Ashrender, that same smile returned.

"Now... who should we eat next?"