Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Chapter 344 Fear The Night : All-Out

Raising his halberd aloft, Pierre-Ornée found himself to be standing at the point of a triangle formed of only incredibly powerful beings, each of them radiating a domineering presence, capable of crushing the wills and bodies of those lesser than themselves.

Himself, Halbardier Pierre-ornée, who had given up everything in the pursuit of what he viewed as the mightiest of powers, one's own self.

The strongest gravelord, Nosferatu, Of The Foetid Blood, who had done the opposite, taking everything he could, stacking it all using his mastery of his blood, bringing it all together, managing to make a randomly occurring event submit to his will.@@@@

The mysterious being of heresy, the one called, Nameless King, First Of The Hollows, an empty shell, the perfect vessel and thus capable of wielding the defiler's flame without drawbacks, the furnace that was his chest was now fully alit, nonsensical contradictory form blazing with fire that could prove fatal to anyone.

Lightning came striking down, infusing and coated the copper knight's weapon and armour, with finesse and style, the nameless one held out his sword-holding arm straight, a low hum, words perhaps, softly emanating from within what appeared to be the head, a language known only to the hollow.

Nosferatu looked at his two adversaries preparing to go all out, a saucy smile upon his visage, showing his many pointy teeth, running his hands over his perfectly bald head, he had nothing fancy to pull out himself, and unlike Pierre-Ornée, he did not few this fight as a three-way, it was a two on one, for he was not going to let either be free of his crushing blows.

The hollow was not alive, as in he did not possess life force, but he was not undead either, he was thus an enemy, one that could not be made to follow the king's orders, grabbing his own mantle, infused with dust, he ripped it off into an explosion the filthy powder, revealing his muscular body in its full glory to the unwilling adversaries.

This was his way of demonstrating that he too, was ready to go all-out, his body bulging as the corrosive blood circulated at wild speeds, arms spreading.

"Enough exposition! All who oppose death's rightful throne, shall meet with it at the bottom of oblivion, shorn of all is and will be, in simpler terms : The two of you are going to die, show some solidarity as impure creatures, and try to take me down in tandem!" provoking his opponents.

Fire and sword, halberd with winds and lightning, all things the gravelord could handle, it was not a matter of skill, it was not a matter of strength, it was all a matter of time.

Staying silent for a moment as more slashes came for her, Multeamanus vanished from her spot, immediately appearing next to Syklon, grabbing her by the face, throwing her out of the temple, teleporting again, twisting her arms into a particular formation, a rain of ghost flame falling from the bleak sky above.

Catching small bits of the cold fire with her hands, the spectre coated them with the flaming coldness.

Even with simple steps, the undead was quick to get close, clapping every burning hands in unison, launching a veil of flames, gracefully dancing through, parrying the slashes aimed at her, at least most of them, when it came to sheer speed and power, the living had her beaten.

Emerging from the stomach area, a massive, four-fingered hand erupted, not remaining stuck to the lord, throwing itself forward, split into two parts, moving her blade through the air, Syklon gathered the cold flames, dispersing them harmlessly, there was no point in throwing it back at the spectre.

Holding her posture for an instant, the living channelled more arts, infusing her blade with life thanks to their usage, Multaemanus had been wondering why the little swordswoman had not done so from the start, but now she knew exactly why, Syklon had been keeping it under wraps until she was certain it would be effective, and also because she was not messing around with the sort of arts that would be used in this fight, consuming a great deal of her own life force to deeply imbue her blade and all of her future arts.

Grabbing the hilt with both hands, pulling into opposite directions, manifesting a second blade, carrying the same arts as the first one.

Swirling darkness appeared all around, the ghostly spirits in a wide area disappearing from view, presumably wanting to not be caught in the crossfire.

Countless hands from Multaemanus's collection manifested, an enormous mass of bending dark covered the sky, two hands covered in sparks of lightning appeared behind the lord.

"A certain skeleton, with greatly reflective metallic bones, once slayed an idiot god, I only like the hands of women, but it would be stupid to not take advantage of divine hands, would it not?" arching her back as pieces of her collection crowded as far as the eye could see.

"Killing an idiot is nothing to write home about"