Saint Varrin's Monastery, once a revered sanctuary, has now beco a re shadow of its glorious history.
The cracked pillars stand like tired guardians, their sacred carvings nearly erased by the relentless passage of ti, as if decay itself has devoured their spirit.
What was once a beacon of hope is now a doorway to despair. Beneath the decaying floor lies an extensive network of catacombs, releasing a noxious air into the night,ho to one of Black Thorn's major base.
Jarvis erges under the pale glow of the moon. His flowing black coat contrasts sharply against the surrounding decay, lending him an air of pristine elegance. Moonlight filters through the ruins, catching the glint of his hair as he moves.
With an expression of calm determination, he adjusts his gloves, the soft snap of the leather echoing hauntingly in the vast emptiness.
Not a speck of dust dares to settle on him, and even the slightest breeze seems to avoid his path.
As he nears the grand staircase descending into the heart of the monastery, he takes a mont to absorb the foul stench wafting from below,a revolting blend of decay, sweat, iron, and fear.
Behind his glasses, his crimson eyes narrow in irritation.
"Unrefined," he mutters disdainfully before stepping into the shadows.
The catacombs are a twisted maze of stone, pulsating with an unsettling hum from the mana circuits embedded in the walls.
Red sigils flicker like weak embers, casting dim light that dances across the narrow passages. From deep within, a rhythmic chant resonates, like the hushed prayers of assassins as they prepare to strike.
Jarvis strides confidently, each step deliberate and soft. Ahead of him, he can hear heartbeats,hundreds of them, thrumming irregularly as if caged birds were flapping against unseen barriers.
A slight smile tugs at his lips. "They're already afraid."
Turning a corner, he finds himself in a vast hall, once a sacred space for prayer, now profaned: black banners hang over walls marred by blood-filled grooves, and corpses dangle from iron hooks like grotesque trophies, feeding runes that pulse faintly above.
Before him stands a formidable line of assassins in black armor, blades drawn and eyes glowing a sinister red beneath their dark hoods.
At the end of the room towers their leader, a broad figure clad in dark steel, crimson lines etched across his gauntlets.
His commanding presence fills the air, a Tier 7 Grandmaster Knight radiating a potent mix of power and desperation. The scent of burning mana clings to him like smoke rising from ashes.
Jarvis exhales softly and adjusts his tie. "How disappointing," he coolly remarks, his tone bordering on boredom.
"I expected sophistication, but instead, I find only butchers hiding beneath sacred stone."
"Kill him!" the Grandmaster commands, his voice booming through the catacombs like a clap of thunder.
In an instant, five hundred shadows surge forward in unison, their mana flaring brilliantly. Blades shimr ominously, runes ignite with fierce vigor, and the very air seems to fracture under the weight of their wrath.
Yet Jarvis remains unmoved, a solid figure amidst the encroaching chaos. As the first wave strikes, a chilling silence descends for a fleeting mont.
Then… Bang!
A shockwave erupts from Jarvis, reverberating through the chamber. Every attacker within ten ters is reduced to a fine mist of blood.
Bones splinter and armor crumples as if crushed by an invisible force, and the ground trembles beneath him under the impact. The crimson mist hangs suspended for a heartbeat before pouring down like rain.
Jarvis inhales slowly through his nose and steps forward.
"Sloppy," he comnts coolly, unfazed. The next fifty assailants charge from all sides. With a casual flick of his wrist, he raises one hand.
"Crimson Vein Field."
In that instant, reality around him twists. A pulse of red energy radiates outward, slicing through everything in its path.
n froze mid-stride; their bodies convulsed violently as blood poured from every pore. In re seconds, veins ruptured beneath their skin, leaving behind grotesque black-red patterns before they crumpled into lifeless husks.
Screams filled the air while the tallic scent of copper thickened around him. Yet Jarvis remained untouched, his shoes pristine and his expression serene.
"Technique without intellect," he mused softly. "Art without purpose."
Just then, an assassin lunged at him from behind, faster than sound itself, twin blades aglow with compressed mana. But Jarvis didn't even flinch; he simply flicked his finger.
Snap!
The man exploded into nothingness. "Pathetic," Jarvis muttered dismissively.
The Grandmaster snarled in frustration and slamd his halberd into the ground with such force that it sent tremors rippling through the stone floor.
"Enough gas!"
Jarvis turned to face him; his eyes glowed faintly crimson from behind shadowy lenses. "Ah! The conductor of this cacophony."
With deliberate grace, he removed his glasses and tucked them away in his breast pocket. The leader charged forward, a blazing aura surrounding him, as heat distorted the air between them while he closed in at blinding speed.
His weapon roared through the chamber like a dragon unleashed, trailing molten energy in its wake.
Jarvis raised one hand calmly. The halberd halted just an inch from his palm as mana shrieked around them and sparks flew in every direction, the air trembling under pressure.
Jarvis's voice was soft, yet it carried an undeniable weight. "Strength… crude but loud."
With a determined push, he sent the Grandmaster hurtling backward, crashing through a column like it was made of paper.
"Impossible!" the man gasped, blood trickling from his lips, eyes wide with disbelief. "You're not human!"
Jarvis tilted his head slightly, a hint of amusent dancing on his lips. "No, I'm efficient."
In response to this challenge, the Grandmaster roared and surged forward, flas engulfing his body in a fierce display.
"Infernal Charge!"
He vanished in a sonic boom, reappearing right before Jarvis with a downward slash that cracked the ground open beneath them.
BOOOOOOOM!
The explosion reverberated through the catacomb, sending rock and fla spiraling in all directions.
But when the smoke cleared, there stood Jarvis, unscathed and calm as ever. His coat fluttered gently around him.
He looked down at the chaos with faint amusent. "Now, my turn."
With one deliberate step forward, reality seed to warp around him. In an instant, Jarvis materialized behind the Grandmaster. His arm pierced halfway through the man's chest as blood erupted in a violent arc.
"You rely on fire to mask fear," he whispered into the man's ear. "But rember, fire burns out; fear lingers."
The Grandmaster coughed up more blood but swung around desperately with a backhand strike.
Jarvis caught it effortlessly and twisted.
SNAP.
The sound echoed ominously throughout the cavern as the Grandmaster scread in agony.
Jarvis sighed softly. "Noise again."
He released his grip on the man, letting him drop to one knee while nearby assassins hesitated, fear creeping into their bones like ice.
"Do you know what fear does?" Jarvis asked quietly as he stepped closer. "It quickens your pulse… thickens your blood."
A red glow ignited on his forehead, a perfect rhombus of light illuminating the dim chamber.
"Crimson Core: Resonance."
Suddenly everything slowed down, the air thickened with tension as every breath and heartbeat beca painfully deliberate.
Then sothing extraordinary happened: the blood within every assassin began to stir against their will.
They scread as their own bodies betrayed them; crimson flowed upward from their skin like threads of silk drawn toward Jarvis.
Dozens, then hundreds of streams spiraled into him, the very essence of life transforming into his weapon.
He took a deep breath, eyes half-closed in a delirious state of bliss.
"Order amidst chaos… harmony in death."
The catacomb transford into a vivid canvas splashed with crimson hues. Each movent he made left behind strokes of destruction—precise, calculated, and utterly unavoidable.
As he lifted his hand once more, blood began to spiral around it, gathering into a series of glimring blades that floated in the air.
"Symphony of Blood."
The blades sang a haunting tune that reverberated through the hall. They sliced through flesh, armor, and stone alike, twirling gracefully like dancers in a lethal performance. Every movent was executed with precision—no wasted motion, no rcy. When the final note faded away, an unsettling silence filled the space.
The five hundred assassins? They were all gone.
Only lifeless bodies remained, pale and devoid of life. Above Jarvis, their blood swirled gently, orbiting him like a dark halo.
He brought his gaze back to the broken Grandmaster, half-buried under the rubble.
Crouching down, Jarvis tilted his head slightly. "You chased power through murder," he murmured gently. "Yet you never understood its true artistry."
With a purposeful touch on the man's chest, he added, "Let show you."
The Grandmaster's eyes widened as his veins darkened to a sickly shade of red. A scream erupted from his lips, his blood boiling within him. For an instant, he shimred like molten glass.
And then… BOOM!
A surge of crimson light exploded outward, flooding the catacombs.
The entire structure shook violently; walls cracked and ceilings buckled under the sheer force of the devastation. The monastery above succumbed to chaos, a deafening roar drowned in flas and smoke.
And then… once again, silence took hold.
As the dust settled like a shroud over the ruins, Jarvis erged untouched.
Moonlight caught on his coat, appearing immaculate amidst the destruction.
As he adjusted his glasses, a hint of red glinted in them, and he added an air of nonchalance. Behind him lay what was once a catacomb, now a re heap of rubble and ash.
He took one last look back at the devastation before ticulously straightening his cuffs.
"Clean," he whispered to himself.
The wind swept away any lingering scent of blood as Jarvis slipped into the darkness beyond, leaving behind nothing but silence… and five hundred corpses that would never bleed again.
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