Chapter 606 A Weakling (1)
As the tension in the room reached its peak, an eerie transformation began to take place. The Priest and his deacons, consumed by their allegiance to the Cult of Cosmos, underwent a grotesque metamorphosis.
Their forms contorted, their bodies elongating and contorting in unnatural ways. Horns sprouted from their foreheads, their skin turning a sickly shade of grey.
Their eyes glowed with an otherworldly light as they completed their transformation into humanoid demonic creatures.
The onlookers gasped in horror and disbelief as they beheld the twisted visages before them. The air grew heavy with an oppressive aura, the very essence of darkness seeping into every corner of the room.
The transformed Priest's voice dripping with malevolence, taunted Ashton and his allies.
"Do you see now the true power of the Cult? We are the harbingers of chaos, the agents of darkness. Prepare to be consumed by the infernal flames of our wrath."
As Ashton stepped forward to confront the transformed Priest and his deacons, the air crackled with anticipation. The once-human figures now towered above him.
"Go handle the sidepieces; I'll take care of the Priest," Ashton instructed his summons, who wasted no time obeying him.
As the summons left to do their job, Ashton observed the twisted forms of his adversaries, with a smirk playing on his lips.
"Well, well, looks like you've embraced your inner demons," he quipped, his tone laced with amusement. "At least now you'll have an easy passage to hell."
"Your witty replies won't save you now!" The Priest roared in rage.
With a bone-chilling roar, the transformed Priest unleashed a scorching torrent of fire from his gaping maw.
The searing flames surged forward with destructive intent, aimed directly at Ashton, intent on reducing him to ashes. But in a twist of fate, the flames halted mid-air, as if frozen in time, before abruptly reversing course.
The fiery onslaught, now redirected, engulfed the Priest's face in a searing blaze. His demonic features contorted in agony as the flames licked at his charred flesh.
As he stumbled backwards, writhing in pain, Ashton's laughter echoed through the chamber, filled with amusement and triumph.
The glow of the crystal embedded in Ashton's arm intensified, its radiant red hue pulsating with power.
"You really should have done your research," he taunted, his voice laced with smug confidence. "Fire is nothing to me. In fact, it's quite the opposite."
Ashton's mastery over fire, bestowed upon him by Seraph's crystal, granted him immunity to its destructive force. The crystal, a conduit of otherworldly energy, acted as a shield against the very element the Priest had foolishly employed.
The charred visage of the Priest contorted with fury and determination. Despite the setback, he refused to yield, his voice dripping with defiance. "You may resist the flames, but you cannot escape your fate!"
In a swift, fluid motion, the Priest raised his hands, summoning a swirling vortex of dark energy. Tendrils of darkness crackled and writhed, poised to ensnare Ashton within their grasp.
But Ashton's smile remained unyielding, a beacon of unwavering confidence amidst the encroaching darkness. With a grace that belied his true strength, he sidestepped the surging tendrils, evading their malevolent clutches.
His scythe materialised in his grasp in an instant, gleaming with an ethereal light. With a decisive strike, he cleaved through the swirling darkness, his blade tearing through the veil of animosity. The tendrils recoiled, dissipating into nothingness.
"I've faced darkness far greater than your feeble attempts," Ashton declared, his voice a steady, unwavering cadence. "Your reign of terror ends here."
[Cringe Alert!]
'Not now.'
As his connection with darkness was severed, the Priest staggered back. His plan had been to strike fear into the heart of his opponents, to overpower them with his mastery of manipulation. But he had underestimated the tenacity and strength of his adversary.
Ashton, his smile unwavering, advanced with calculated steps, his scythe hoisted on his shoulders.
The Priest's heart raced with desperation as he frantically scanned the battlefield for a way to turn the tide. His mind raced, searching for a solution, but his fighting abilities were sorely lacking.
However, he wasn't someone known for his fighting prowess. Instead, the Priest was more of a mastermind, letting others do his dirty work for him. That was also why he had the most Deacons under him, as he lacked the strength to defend himself.
A sense of panic washed over the Priest as he realised that his usual strategy of delegating tasks to his Deacons had left him vulnerable in this face-to-face confrontation. His Deacons, preoccupied with the relentless assault of Ashton's summons, were unable to come to his aid.
At that moment, the Priest felt the weight of his own inadequacy. He had put all his faith in his underlings, relying on their strength to shield him from direct combat. Now, faced with Ashton's relentless assault, he was exposed and defenceless.
As Ashton pressed forward, his attacks precise and unrelenting, the Priest's movements grew increasingly desperate. His lack of combat skill became painfully apparent, his attempts to counter or evade Ashton's strikes feeble and ineffective.
The Priest's mind raced, desperately seeking a way to escape the dire situation. But his options were limited, his usual tactics of manipulation and deceit useless in this face-to-face confrontation.
A surge of frustration and anger welled up within the Priest. How had he found himself in this position? How had he underestimated Ashton's strength and resolve so severely? The answers eluded him as Ashton's onslaught continued.
Every strike from Ashton brought the Priest closer to realising his defeat. His defences crumbled, his strength waning.
He fought to keep his focus, to find a glimmer of hope amidst the chaos, but it seemed to slip further from his grasp with each passing moment.
In a final, desperate attempt, the Priest mustered all the strength he could summon. He conjured a burst of dark energy, hoping to create a distraction or weaken Ashton's resolve. But his power fell short, dissipating before reaching its intended target.
With a resounding strike, Ashton's scythe connected with the Priest's weakened defences. Pain surged through the Priest's body as he was sent sprawling to the ground, his defeat inevitable.
"I thought you would be stronger than this..." Ashton scratched his head. "I guess I went overboard by calling the entire mercenary tower to deal with you... well, I'll apologise to them later. But first, time to end this farce."
This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦