The Harem of Juicy MILFs

Chapter 43: New Lead [11]

Chapter 43 : New Lead [12]

Without a word more, the Prophet threw himself forward. It was a movement of animal savagery, devoid of the grace one would expect from a herald of the cult. He invoked his first technique.

< Flaming Claws of the Void >

His fingers curled, wrapped in a black and oily energy that crackled with a sinister hiss. His claws tore through the air, aiming directly at Gerhman’s carotid. The latter pivoted on himself with precision. He felt the burning breath of the dirty flames singe the few grayish strands of hair on his nape.

"Slow... much too slow for someone who claims to serve a superior entity," thought Gerhman with feigned weariness.

Taking advantage of his opponent’s momentum, Gerhman concentrated a small amount of stable mana in his right fist. Then struck quickly.

Gerhman’s fist shot out in a lightning counterattack. The impact landed on the Prophet’s forearm as he tried to protect himself. A dull sound of flesh being struck echoed in the silence of the room, immediately followed by a spray of silver sparks where the pure mana collided with the corrupted energy of the Void.

The Prophet was forced to step back. Surprise widened his eyelids, breaking for a moment his mask of fanatical certainty. He had not expected a simple Awakened who refused the grace of superior beings to possess such impact force. However, fervor instantly took over from reason. A dry and demented laugh escaped from his throat knotted by hatred.

"You think your derisory mana can rival the purity of the Void?" he yelled while violently striking the cold stone paving with his heel.

A dark shockwave spread in a perfect circle around him. The stone slabs cracked like glass under the pressure, projecting sharp debris and dust toward Gerhman. The latter did not retreat. Instead, he leaped over the destructive wave, his body bending under the intense physical effort. On landing, he used his momentum to plant his sole right in the Prophet’s chest.

The impact was brutal. The Prophet was propelled backward, his body hitting the central altar with a crash of broken wood. The carved piece of furniture groaned under the shock. Candles toppled over, spilling their hot wax which instantly mixed with the stone dust and the blood beginning to stain the floor.

The Prophet, his face twisted by rage and pain, rose slowly. His hand closed on one of the branches of a solid silver candelabrum that lay on the ground. He brandished it like an improvised mace and brought it down on Gerhman in a whistle of torn air.

Gerhman had no time to dodge. He crossed his two forearms in front of his face, his mana-charged fists forming an unstable shield to absorb the impact.

The impact was deafening. A dull and metallic shock made Gerhman’s bones vibrate all the way to his shoulders. The muscles of his torso tensed as he absorbed the energetic discharge transmitted by the silver. Despite the stabbing pain, his gray eyes did not blink.

"Is that all you are capable of?" asked Gerhman, his voice tinged with icy irony.

The Prophet screamed an unintelligible blasphemy, but Gerhman did not give him time to catch his breath. He immediately countered with a perfectly synchronized left straight. His mana fist sank deep into the Prophet’s belly. The impact was such that the fanatic was lifted off the ground, his feet leaving the broken slabs. The Prophet spat a mixture of saliva and blackish blood, his fingers releasing their grip on the candelabrum which rolled tinkling on the floor.

Gerhman followed without the slightest hesitation with a powerful knee strike, aiming at the sternum to break his opponent’s guard. In a desperate gesture, the Prophet plunged his hand into the gaping wound that had opened on his own flank during his fall against the altar. He withdrew a handful of his own corrupted blood and threw it into the air.

< Blood Needles of the Void >

The blood froze instantly, transforming into a cloud of bright and dark needles that rushed toward Gerhman. Gerhman initiated a lateral evasion movement, managing to avoid three of the needles that planted themselves in the wall behind him with a dry sound. However, the fourth slashed his left arm. The fabric of his white sleeve tore, revealing a superficial gash that immediately began to ooze bright red blood.

The Prophet, seeing that he had finally managed to touch his opponent, let out a triumphant chuckle. Taking advantage of this moment of inattention, he condensed a sphere of corrupted energy between his joined palms before sending it forcefully toward Gerhman.

< Corruption Discharge >

Receiving the attack head-on, Gerhman was violently pushed backward. His soles scraped the stone floor, leaving two dark and deep furrows on the paving. He managed to stop by planting his heels in the gaps of the rock, his silhouette emitting a light steam due to the dissipation of the opposing mana.

The Prophet was out of breath. His priest’s robe was in tatters, revealing pale skin marked by bruises and cuts. His face, once marked by mischievous playfulness, was now only a mask of swollen flesh and pure hatred. He got up by leaning heavily on the broken altar, his legs trembling under the effort.

"You... you are only a miserable lost soul..." he panted, blood flowing from the corner of his mouth. "You cannot understand... the glory that awaits us. Your blood... your blood will serve as a bridge..."

His trembling hand frantically searched for an object hidden under a dark velvet cloth placed on what remained of the altar. His fingers closed on a short dagger, with a blade black as soot, a weapon that seemed to absorb the faint glow of the remaining candles. The moment he seized it, the energy of the Void began to concentrate there, making the blade vibrant and hungry.

Gerhman tilted his head slightly to the side, a thin smile stretching his lips. He slowly lowered his arms, letting his mana circuits stabilize for a moment before the final assault.

"Your speeches bore me, priest," said Gerhman. "Let’s finish this."

The Prophet suddenly planted the dagger into his own left palm with incredible violence. He let out a cry of painful ecstasy as a flood of sacrificial blood nourished the cursed weapon. Under the effect of the blood, the blade doubled, projecting a sharp and solid shadow that detached from the original dagger to rush straight toward Gerhman with an intention of absolute murder.

< Shady Multiplication: Blood Sacrifice >

The shadow split the air at a speed exceeding human limits. Gerhman tightened his fist, his eyes capturing every particle of unstable mana in the trajectory of the attack.

"He uses his own life force to power an intermediate-rank weapon," analyzed Gerhman internally. "It is a tactic of the desperate... but interesting."

Without retreating, Gerhman launched himself toward the shadow, ready to use his Plunder technique to devour not only the attack, but also the soul of the one who still dared to stand before him.