Chapter forty-five
Along cos a devil
Penelope, feeling a spark of inspiration ignite within her, eagerly took her place behind the workstation, her fingers itching to create. She chose a blue vital, envisioning a powerful torrent. With a flick of the magipen, she conjured water that surged forth from an ethereal river, flooding the only upward path in the arena. The chilling waves lapped against the sides of the screen as they glittered, reflecting the magic she wielded.
Not stopping there, Penelope shifted the scene, isolating the teleportation bathtub that had been set to whisk opponents away. She halted its magic with a precise stroke of the pen before turning her focus to a nefarious plan. With deliberate concentration, she drew out another multicolored vital, the vibrant hues igniting her imagination.
Ti seed to stretch as she carefully maneuvered her creation, awaiting the mont when her victim—a dwarf guarding the gates of the dwarf kingdom—would be caught off guard. As the dragon stirred restlessly, Penelope's heart raced with anticipation. She awaited the opportune mont to awaken the beast just as her target was perilously close, ensuring that her masterplan would unfold perfectly.
The thrill of the battle lood on the horizon, and Penelope could hardly wait to see what chaos would ensue.
Elizabeth spread her wide, majestic wings, and as if by magic, she soared and swooped overhead.
Emily, Percy, and Victoria were clapping and running below, their eyes shiny.
She saw Datura standing near Morris, who had his arms tied against a tree trunk, threatening him with sothing by slicing his forearm using a bloody dagger, and using exsanguination to interrogate him.
A slight thought that maybe, sohow, it was Datura who was behind all of this, and Morris was simply a pawn that had already lost its worth, yet it didn’t matter to her anymore.
Flapping her wings gently, Elizabeth dived toward Morris at such an incredible speed that it almost knocked him down.
Elizabeth landed beside him, quickly followed by her friends, all of whom drew their weapons and glared at Morris with causticity.
Morris sneered softly, twirling his sword casually, and a gloating smile erged on his face.
"Revenge, eh? Idiots." He muttered.
"Why do you kill her? She is your friend, she is your fiancée!" Snapped Elizabeth, her face burning in fury.
"Chill out." Said Morris nonchalantly, "Veronica de Angelo's the real traitor, leading you guys, all too young to spill blood, to a battlefield; she's betting your lives upon her own glory."
Elizabeth withdrew her dagger and advanced aggressively, determined to protect Veronica—at least from Morris’s words—that’s all she could do now.
Her stomach tightened with the feeling—a knotted twist surging through her inside.
Elizabeth's dagger slashed across Morris, scattering loose grass throughout the clearing. Morris snarled, leaping from a rock, his sword slicing through the air, sparks emanating from its polished blade.
Elizabeth instinctively evaded, her dagger colliding with the mist-enshrouded blade with an earsplitting clatter. The impact reverberated through her arm—the cursed blade was colder and heavier than any she had previously encountered.
Elizabeth felt her arms vibrating violently over her, as if her arms were split open, raw in half. Her nerves were on fire, as the excruciating feeling overwheld her.
Simultaneously, the Cursed Blade clutched in Morris's hands radiated a violet glow as a beam of greenish light seeped uncontrollably from Elizabeth’s palms and shifted gradually toward Morris’s hilt.
Elizabeth felt an exhaustion stretch over her; her brain was buzzing so madly that she couldn't concentrate.
Without further warning, Morris, snarling in delight, lunged toward Elizabeth with his sword.
Ignoring the searing pain in her arms, Elizabeth ducked, narrowly avoiding the sharp tip of his weapon. She retaliated with a hard punch to Morris's injured leg, making him gasp in pain.
Nevertheless, Morris pressed the attack, his silvery hair flowing like a banner of war behind him. The nacing glint in his eyes sent shivers down Elizabeth's spines.
With a swift motion, he struck his sword against a nearby rock. The sound echoed like thunder, and the stone fragnted into jagged shards, sending debris skittering across the ground. Elizabeth's heart raced as she drew her dagger, its sharp edge gleaming in the dying light.
She prepared to charge, but before she could make her move, Morris unleashed a gust of wind, tangible and fierce.
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It hit her like a wall, knocking her flat to the ground, the breath forced from her lungs. Gritting her teeth, she struggled to her feet, shock coursing through her veins as she suddenly found Morris towering above her, his sword glinting ominously as it pointed directly at her throat. In a mont of pure instinct, she rolled away, her body twisting just in ti to avoid the biting edge of his blade, which sliced cleanly into the earth re inches from where she had been.
The fury in Morris's roar shook her to her core, echoing through the clearing. He lunged forward, a blur of silver hair and steel. His speed and ruthlessness far beyond what Elizabeth rembered; he was no longer the kind-hearted man Elizabeth knew anymore.
Each of his attacks was infused with a desperation that both frightened and angered her. As he clashed his sword against her chest, she barely managed to dodge—his blade grazing her cheek, leaving a burning sensation in its wake.
She staggered back, gasping for breath, her heart pounding furiously in her chest, yet instinct scread for her to brandish her dagger with renewed determination and drove Morris back
As the fight intensified, the world around her darkened, shadows creeping in, feeding on the last light of day. Morris's movents beca a furious dance of aggression, each strike fueled by a rage that seed to consu him entirely.
Elizabeth's mind raced; the mories of their shared past clashed violently with the reality of their present.
He was no longer the gentle soul who had once guided her; this was a man transford, lost to darkness.
Then, just as her resolve began to waver, Elizabeth's vision blurred, soothed into chaos by a rush of reddish glows. Her surroundings beca a swirling haze.
She had to fight back, not only for her own survival but for the man she hoped still lingered sowhere inside Morris.
She could feel her energy slipping away from her fingers; her strength drained from her, parts of her fading away.
Flas rose and quietly evaporated from her palms. The world around her twirled and swirled madly; her insides were coiling and twisting frantically as blood heaved to her head, blinding her sight as she collapsed to the ground, her jaw clenched tight.
However, Morris didn't allow her a mont to catch her breath.
He laughed coldly, sending chills down her spine. The tip of the blade was cold, and her breath hitched—she could feel the tal digging into her skin—just enough to draw a tiny trickle of blood.
No, this was no ordinary weapon—it was the cursed blade, and anyone wounded by it would lose their magical power, energy, and even the will to live.
Before Morris could inflict further harm, which he probably would have if he hadn’t tripped over that rock in his way, Elizabeth struck again, piercing his wounded forearm with the sharp blade of the frost dagger.
And Emily, who was scribbling poison on her arrows, seized the chance. She drew her bow and released a poisonous arrow, aiming for Morris's shoulder.
Morris ducked; the arrow flew right on and eventually embedded itself in a rock beside him. Morris hurled around, snarling in rage, and he swung his sword toward Emily. She flinched as the blade cut through her clothes. Morris then seized Emily by the collar, yanked her head over, and dragged her backward.
For a brief yet chilling mont, a harrowing thought pierced through Elizabeth's mind like a sharp blade: this was precisely how Veronica de Angelo had t her tragic end. The weight of that realization pressed heavily on her heart, igniting a fierce determination within her. She could not—she would not—allow Morris to inflict such devastation upon another dear friend. No, this was a line she refused to let be crossed.
Elizabeth had ntally braced herself for the ultimate sacrifice, ready to lay down her life if it ant protecting her friends, her trusted allies, and Veronica—who had sacrificed her life for Elizabeth's survival.
With a steely resolve burning in her chest, she vowed that Veronica’s death would not be in vain. Elizabeth would not falter; she wouldn’t let Veronica down, nor betray the trust of anyone she held dear.
Gradually, Elizabeth shut her eyes, and suddenly, imnse power washed over her body. Her vision cleared, and her palms were filled with energy.
Without warning, Morris lunged forward, the glint of his blade catching the fading light. Elizabeth, fueled by her anger, sidestepped deftly, narrowly avoiding the deadly swing. She ducked behind a thick tree trunk, her heart racing, knowing she had to think fast. Morris, his frustration mounting, slamd his weapon into the ground, wood splintering under his fury. Elizabeth seized the opportunity, snatching up a sturdy branch, and erged from her hiding spot. With a fierce yell, she swung at Morris with all her might. The branch struck his shoulder, but he quickly retaliated with a powerful backhand that sent her sprawling. Yet, Elizabeth rolled to her feet, her determination unwavering as she executed a kick that connected squarely with his side, causing him to stagger.
Elizabeth leapt onto a nearby rock, gaining height. From this vantage point, she launched herself forward, aiming both feet at Morris's chest. The impact knocked him off balance, but he got up quickly, grabbing her ankle and pulling her down. In an impressive display of agility, Elizabeth flipped backward, landing gracefully on her feet once more.
She picked up a jagged shard of glass from the ground and hurled it toward Morris. It worked; he turned just in ti to see it shatter against a stone, giving Elizabeth the second she needed.
Morris swung his blade, but this ti Elizabeth was ready. She pivoted, using his montum against him and swung the branch like a bat, knocking the weapon from his hands.
With a feint to the left, she drew Morris in and swiftly rolled past him, preparing for a final maneuver. As he turned, visibly frustrated, she seized the mont and landed a decisive blow—a powerful kick that sent him sprawling to the ground.
Then, without hesitation, Elizabeth lunged, anger burning inside her chest. Grabbing a loose rock on the ground, she hurled it at Morris's back, hitting him square between the shoulders. Morris grunted, spinning around. He tossed Emily onto the ground in a crunch and advanced on Elizabeth, his blade glinting with malicious glows.
Percy Harrison, who was watching the fight worryingly in the vicinity, saw his chance.
He looked at Victoria unsurely, but she smiled,
"Go, Perce, go save her, leave here, I can manage my way out."
Percy grabbed the sword, which was tilted behind him, and charged toward the battlefield. His sword aid at the hilt of the cursed blade just before it slashed into Elizabeth. He slamd into Morris with all his might; the thunderous vibration sent them both crashing to the ground. The Cursed Blade slipped out from Morris's fingers, skittering across the ground.
Elizabeth reached for it at once, while Percy retaliated with a fist to Morris's stomach to stop him from going after the blade.
Then, when Elizabeth got the blade, Percy rolled over and stood up, shoving Morris off.
Just when Morris got the balance, Elizabeth charged, piercing Morris's shoulder with the Cursed Blade.
Morris scread, and the blood running out from the deep cut had soaked his shirt. He stumbled back, staring at the wound in disbelief.
But instead of whimpering, he smirked.
Before anyone could react, he took off.
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