Strangely, the Hawklings only fell silent.
Not a single one of them even called out worriedly to their half-brother. In fact, one could even sense a faint sense of glee in them.
Eleventh's death ant one less competitor for the throne, after all.
They didn't have the luxury of staying still for long, however, as the fell demon responsible for their brother's death was already on the move again.
This ti, Shye's target was a short young woman wearing a golden mask marked with the number thirteen on her forehead.
The cries of death, agony, and anguish behind him were growing fainter by the mont.
Ti was running out for Shye.
While he was confident in his ability to escape alone, he was currently in a moderate bloodthirsty trance and unwilling to leave before killing three Hawklings in honor of Tigren, Stonecold, and most importantly, Feather—the commander-level figure he liked the most among the three.
It was rather unfortunate that the two bastards he despised weren't among those sent to deal with him, but Dweezel's other offspring would suffice—for now.
Pressed for ti and unknowingly consud by the carnage, Shye relentlessly pursued the slippery Thirteenth, hacking, slashing, stabbing, and unleashing slash marks and spells at the panicking Hawkling.
He was moving too fast for most of the Hawklings to assist their embattled sibling.
While they yearned for one another's deaths, that didn't an the Hawklings would simply stand by.
After all, killing Shye ant securing their claim as heir.
Landing the final blow naturally counted as collaboration with their half-siblings.
One way or another, cooperation was inevitable.
Besides, their sibling was already the target—why not seize the opportunity to strike?
Challenging Shye Crowley to a duel was sheer folly, and letting a despised sibling bear the brunt of the monster-in-human-form's attacks?
That was the perfect chance to strike, was it not?
The Thirteenth Hawkling proved tougher to kill—not only were her reflexes sharper than those of the older half-sibling Shye had just incinerated, but she also possessed more life-saving items and skills.
If she had any weaknesses, it was that her firepower was extrely lacking.
In survival situations, however, she proved a tough nut to crack—conjuring ergency barriers, summoning tailwinds to evade Shye's attacks, and employing countless other tricks to withstand the Black Dawn Hero's demonic onslaught.
Nonetheless, she burned through her life-preservation arsenal at an alarming pace.
Thirteenth knew she wouldn't last longer than twenty seconds against Shye.
Fortunately, so of her brothers and sisters possessed the attributes to barely keep up with the demonic young hero, suddenly materializing behind and beside their foe—their gleaming swords and ghostly daggers flashing in the dim tallic hallway.
"Die, Shye Crowley!" exclaid Seventh Hawkling as he thrust both shortswords at Shye's neck and temple.
Should one of his attacks land cleanly, the position of heir was in the bag.
Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one who seized the pri opportunity—another Hawkling, wearing a golden hawk mask marked with the number six, appeared behind Shye at the sa mont, a pair of sinister crimson katars in her hands.
Sixth Hawkling viciously stabbed both weapons at the back of Shye's neck in a crossing motion, aiming to decapitate him from behind.
Seeing this, Thirteenth Hawkling smirked coldly and summoned her final peak-grade ergency barrier.
She had survived.
Indeed, she did, but what about her sneaky siblings?
Shye, who had been waiting for the mont at least one of them attempted to aid their embattled younger sibling, flashed a cold smile as a translucent golden glow suddenly enveloped his skin.
'Took you cowardly and selfish bastards long enough!'
All four stabbing attacks struck different points on his body, but they only managed to pierce his skin.
None could penetrate deep into his monstrous creature-like flesh.
With inhumanly quick reflexes and reaction ti, he analyzed his situation in re milliseconds, recognizing that the enemy to his left was the easier target—undeniably a tad slower than the one behind him.
Furthermore, that bastard's reflexes couldn't match that of the scout Hawkling at his back.
Shye swiftly turned to his left, seizing Eight Hawkling's wrist.
With his right arm captured, the dual shortsword wielder was now unable to escape or use his other arm—though Shye found himself in the sa predicant.
Shye stabbed his greatsword at the bastard's heart the next mont, a flash of panic visible in his opponent's eyes.
'Stoic!' Eighth Hawkling activated.
A translucent golden glow enveloped his entire body, much like Shye's.
To his horror, however, the terrifyingly heavy greatswords still sank deep into his flesh—almost reaching his heart and forcing him to vomit an alarming amount of blood.
But Eighth Hawkling was no slouch.
The mont he realized he was still alive, he struck back without hesitation, driving his blade toward Shye's head.
It was then that a scene he had never thought of even witnessing happened.
His sword…shattered, bitten to shards by his adversary's inhuman teeth.
Before he could even process what had happened, the shards were already flying toward him, piercing his eyes and forehead.
However, they didn't sink too deeply due to his active [Stoic] skill.
Nonetheless, Eighth Hawkling was robbed of his vision and, soon after, his life, as Shye forced his greatsword even deeper, eventually reaching the older Hawkling's heart.
Eighth Hawkling's death cry rang out eerily, almost in unison with the last of the Hadean Varsa elites behind Shye.
All his comrades were now dead, leaving Shye alone in the midst of tens of thousands of enemies.
But he thirsted for one more Hawkling's death.
Shye, his eyes slightly reddened from the carnage, glanced around and saw only enemies surrounding him.
His brain scread for him to escape—that he had done enough.
But his heart whispered otherwise.
One more… at least one more.
He, too, despite his monstrous stamina reserves, was beginning to feel exhausted.
He had been fighting nonstop for more than half an hour, after all.
The sight of his fallen comrades only further eroded his ntal fortitude.
It was then that he sensed a creeping projectile from behind—silent, nearly undetectable… and extrely lethal.
The attack was also perfectly tid, set to strike his neck the mont the translucent golden glow faded.
He was certain that it ca from an exceptionally cunning bastard—one he knew all too well, maybe even far better than the other Hawklings.
Had his senses been even slightly duller—or rely what they were before he maxed out his attributes in the Level Four system—he would have perished without ever knowing why.
He swiftly turned and swatted the arrow aside, his gaze locking onto the bastard who shot it.
There the bastard was—lightly perched in the corner of the ceiling, a black spectral longbow in hand, high above the vast tallic hallway.
He stared down at Shye, teeth clenched in frustration and disappointnt.
His ambush had failed.
It was Fifteenth Hawkling, Kiin Hawkins.
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