Chapter 283: Endless Fang
[Cursed Coating]
[Cursed Serpent]
[Endless Fang]
Three serpents materialized beneath them, coiling around their bodies with heads resting on their shoulders. I was about to back them up with an attunement they didn’t have.
Cursed energy.
While I did that, I also blotted the skies, whatever skies this place had, with demonic swords, turning our single strike into a full barrage that even the archmage shouldn’t be able to dodge.
"Master... when did you get so—"
"Strong? I’ve always been strong, Kevin."
"You’re joking, right!? This isn’t normal!"
Vivianne yelled out next, struggling to focus on her wind spells. She was distracted both by the serpent buffing her magic with dark energy and by the sheer number of swords beginning to eclipse the sky.
"Aren’t you feeling lightheaded from all that?"
Evelina blinked twice, as if unsure she could believe her own eyes.
"Don’t worry about me," I said, though the strain was already starting to show. My vision blurred at the edges, and a dull ache throbbed behind my eyes. The hydra was doing most of the heavy lifting, but even its borrowed minds had limits.
Above us, the demonic swords hung like a second sky, their edges gleaming with cursed light. Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. They stretched across the false stars, blotting out the darkness, waiting for the command to fall.
The archmage tilted his head upward, his blind eyes somehow tracking the blades anyway.
"Impressive," he said, and he sounded almost sincere. "You’ve been holding back."
"Wouldn’t you?"
"Of course." He smiled, sharp and thin. "But I’m not the one about to face the consequences of my own restraint."
Evelina’s serpent hissed against her shoulder, coiling tighter. Her crimson eyes were fixed on the archmage, her hands already raised, threads of fabric magic spinning between her fingers like spider silk.
Kevin’s serpent had wrapped around his torso, its head resting against his collarbone, whispering something I couldn’t hear. His expression had gone cold, focused, the exhaustion from yesterday burned away by adrenaline.
Vivianne’s was the most restless, slithering across her shoulders, down her arms, curling around her wrists like living gauntlets. Her wind magic flickered at her fingertips, unstable but growing.
The archmage observed, but I could see the way he looked at the swords. "Whenever you’re ready."
I knew he was smart, but there was no way he could know that, whatever these swords were, they definitely weren’t normal. Beelzebub, much as I hated him now because of his stupid deal. I still definitely can’t deny he had powerful artifacts.
Very powerful ones.
The archmage’s smile didn’t waver, but something flickered behind his blind eyes. Recognition, maybe. Or the first stirring of genuine interest.
"Those aren’t your swords," he said. "Those belong to something else. Something older."
"Beelzebub has a habit of collecting things," I replied, the strain evident in my voice. Sweat beaded on my forehead, but I kept my hands steady, kept the spell circles spinning. "He also has a habit of giving them away when needed."
"You’re quite close with a demon prince."
"I made a deal with a demon prince who happens to get attached quickly. There’s a difference."
The archmage’s laugh echoed through the chamber, sharp and genuine. "I like you more and more, boy. Too bad I still have to test you."
He settled into a stance, not aggressive, just ready. His royal cloak settled around him like folded wings, and the torches along the walls dimmed further, their flames bowing toward him in deference.
"I’ll warn you once," he said. "Those swords won’t hurt me. Not really. Whatever demonic power you’ve infused them with, I’ve seen worse. I’ve survived worse. I’ve forgotten worse."
"That’s fine," I said. "You aren’t the first overconfident person I beat."
The archmage’s blind eyes narrowed. "Overconfident?"
"You heard me."
I raised my hand.
The swords in the sky shuddered as one, their edges catching the torchlight, gleaming with something that wasn’t quite reflection. The cursed energy coating them rippled, darkened, twisted into something denser.
Beelzebub’s collection wasn’t random. He was a hoarder, yes, but a purposeful one. Every artifact he’d ever stolen, every weapon he’d ever claimed, had been taken for a reason.
And every single one of them had been designed to kill immortals.
The archmage’s smile faded.
"I don’t recognize them," he said quietly. "Those swords."
"Of course you don’t," I agreed.
He’d been alive for centuries, had seen empires rise and fall, had watched the world change around him while he stayed the same. He’d heard the stories. The weapons forged to end the unending. The blades that could cut through immortality like a knife through silk.
Of course, I didn’t have one of those artifacts. But this sword was the closest thing I had.
"You’re saying Beelzebub gave you those?"
"For free, yeah."
The archmage’s blind eyes tracked the swords above us, and for the first time since we’d entered this chamber, he looked uncertain. Not afraid, I wasn’t sure he could feel fear anymore, but uncertain.
"Those swords..." he said slowly. "I could sense an old friend’s energy within them... Ebonheart, am I correct?"
"You know him?"
"From ages past, yes, but I never knew he colluded with demons."
"He didn’t, I just happened to combine his own artifact with Beelzebub’s."
"You... what? I don’t care how skilled you are, child. But that’s a huge claim."
"Believe what you want to believe, old man."
"You... what?" For the first time, genuine surprise flickered across the archmage’s elegant features. "I don’t care how skilled you are, child. That’s a huge claim."
"Believe what you want to believe, old man."
The archmage’s blind eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made the air in the chamber grow cold. The torches along the walls sputtered, their flames shrinking to bare embers. Even the swords above us seemed to pause, as if the sky itself was holding its breath.
"Ebonheart was a legend," he said slowly. "Not the kind of legend you tell children to make them behave. The kind you whisper about in the dark, hoping he isn’t listening when you badmouth him. An emperor beyond renown, and a name now forgotten."
"I know."
"His artifacts were buried with him. Hunted by kings long dead, dragons as huge as a mountain, everything of the like, and you’re telling me you found his secret vault?"
"Yes."
"And you’re telling me you just... combined one with Beelzebub’s demonic power?"
I didn’t answer. I just let the swords spin overhead, their edges catching the dying torchlight, their cursed energy pulsing in time with my heartbeat.
The archmage was quiet for a long moment. Then he laughed, not the mocking chuckle from before, but something rawer, almost admiring.
"You’re either the most reckless fool I’ve ever met," he said, "or you actually have no idea what you’ve done."
"Maybe both."
"Probably both."
He straightened, rolling his shoulders like a fighter preparing for a bout. The uncertainty had faded from his face, replaced by something that looked almost like eagerness.
"Fine," he said. "Show me."
I didn’t need to be told twice.
"Now!" I shouted.
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