Crimson Overlord-Chapter 302: Berserkers

The air hung heavy with a sickly sweet scent, the aftermath of the berserk pill twisting the atmosphere. The assassins, no longer men but twisted parodies of their former selves, roared a challenge that echoed like a death knell through the Blood Hall. Zargon, a grotesque caricature of his former stature, led the charge. His single eye, now a burning ember in his monstrous head, seemed to lock onto Orpheus with a single-minded ferocity.

Gone was the grace of their earlier attacks. Now, fueled by the pill’s dark energy, their movements were a chaotic storm of flailing limbs and brute force. They had become abominations, neither human nor beast, fueled by a primal rage that stripped away any semblance of reason or skill.

But the most unsettling aspect wasn’t their monstrous forms – it was the chilling silence that accompanied their charge. The roar that had initially filled the hall had dissipated, replaced by a guttural symphony of growls and snarls. Their humanity, their capacity for even primal screams, seemed to have been devoured by the dark power coursing through them.

Yet, amidst the grotesque spectacle, Orpheus remained a stark contrast. He stood calm, almost statuesque, his crimson eyes gleaming with an unnerving curiosity. A hint of a smile played on his lips, a smile that wasn’t cruel, but held a chilling edge of anticipation.

Perhaps, for the first time, he wasn’t simply toying with his prey. Perhaps, in these monstrous figures fueled by desperation, he saw a challenge worthy of his attention.

The clash was about to begin. The berserk assassins, fueled by a borrowed and volatile power, were a far cry from their fallen comrades. Whether their newfound strength would be enough to overcome Orpheus’s enigmatic power, however, remained to be seen.

Orpheus unleashed his arms from their crossed position, a graceful movement that stood in stark contrast to the berserkers’ frenzied charge. As the first monstrous being lumbered towards him, grotesquely enlarged in size, Orpheus brandished his weapon. It wasn’t an extravagant, ornamental blade, but a simple longsword that emitted a faint, ominous glow in the crimson light.

The clash erupted into a brutal symphony of steel and bone. The berserker’s colossal fist, infused with unnatural power, collided with Orpheus’s sword in a thunderous clang. The sheer force of the blow should have sent Orpheus staggering, yet he remained steadfast, the ground beneath him scarcely trembling. With fluid grace, he twisted his body, utilizing the berserker’s momentum against it. In one swift, economical swing, the longsword sliced through the air, meeting the berserker’s arm at the elbow.

The berserker’s roar abruptly transformed into a horrified gurgle, followed by a bloodcurdling scream. The arm, severed at the point of impact, sprayed a grotesque fountain of crimson across the obsidian floor. The monstrous creature staggered backward, momentarily replacing its single-minded rage with a primal shriek of agony.

However, this respite was short-lived. Fueled by the dark magic of the berserk pill, the creature disregarded its gaping wound, its remaining arm blindly lashing out. Orpheus, a whirlwind of controlled movement, evaded the attack with inhuman agility. The berserker’s rage, devoid of strategic thought, rendered it predictable, though still perilous.

Orpheus, his movements imbued with lethal grace, continued his deadly ballet. He deftly maneuvered through the berserkers’ wild swings, his longsword a blur of silver in the crimson light. Each strike was precise, calculated, akin to a surgeon’s scalpel dissecting flesh and bone. Another berserker, its face consumed by mindless fury, lunged at him, claws extended. With a swift sidestep, Orpheus was behind the creature in an instant. The longsword sang a deadly melody as it sliced through the berserker’s spine, severing it in a clean, horrifying display of power.

The berserker crumpled to the floor, a twitching husk. The metallic scent of blood permeated the air, a sickening contrast to the gurgling moans of the fallen creatures. The remaining berserkers, their initial frenzy dampened by the swift carnage they witnessed, faltered momentarily. However, their veins surged with dark magic, denying them the option to retreat.

The berserkers’ desperate charge was a last-ditch effort, a monstrous wave crashing against the unyielding presence of Orpheus. Their roars, once primal and chaotic, now carried a hint of desperation – a plea for survival twisted by the dark alchemy flowing through their veins.

Orpheus, previously detached and curious, finally acknowledged the shift. A glimmer of respect danced in his crimson eyes. With a sigh that reverberated through the vast hall, he raised his hand, causing the longsword to vanish in a puff of crimson smoke.

The berserkers faltered, their momentum shattered by this unexpected turn. In its place, the longsword was replaced by something far more chilling – a gauntlet of pure darkness, swirling with an ominous energy reminiscent of the depths of space. ƒгeewebnovёl.com

The air crackled with unseen power as Orpheus clenched his fist. "No more games," he growled, his voice shedding its smoothness and resonating with raw might.

With a flick of his wrist, a wave of pure darkness surged forward. It wasn’t a physical attack, but a tendril of crushing force that crashed into the berserkers. They didn’t scream. They didn’t even have time to comprehend the assault before their monstrous forms crumbled, collapsing into nothingness, leaving behind only a shower of gore and bone dust.

A profound silence followed, broken only by the ragged gasps of Zargon, the remaining vice leader. He stood alone, his monstrous shape a grotesque mockery of his former self, his single eye wide with a terror surpassing even the primal fear of the berserkers.

The obsidian floor reverberated with each deliberate step Orpheus took, each one signaling the demise of Zargon’s dwindling hope. The gauntlet of darkness pulsated with a menacing rhythm, a sinister accompaniment to the ragged gasps escaping the former Vice Leader’s throat. Zargon, a grotesque mockery of his former self, cowered against the crimson banner, his lone eye bulging with a terror that surpassed mere pain.

"Tell me how you wish to meet your end,"

Orpheus murmured, his voice dropping to a low growl that resonated in Zargon’s bones. It was not a question to be answered; it was a grim offer, a distorted form of mercy.

Zargon’s bravado, the rage that fueled his berserker transformation, had dissipated entirely. Now, only a whimper escaped his lips, a pitiful sound that reverberated through the vast hall. He could feel the tendrils of Orpheus’ power entwining around him, a suffocating pressure that threatened to crush him even before death’s embrace.

However, Orpheus seemed to hesitate. A flicker of something resembling curiosity flickered in his crimson eyes. Perhaps he relished the fear, the pitiful display of a shattered man before him. Perhaps he saw something else entirely – a twisted reflection of his own past, a glimpse of how desperation could transform even the most hardened assassin.

The silence stretched, heavy with Zargon’s ragged breaths. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the inevitable. But it never came.

Instead, a different sound filled the Blood Hall. A low chuckle, devoid of mirth and laced with a coldness that sent shivers down Zargon’s spine. It was the sound of a predator toying with its prey, savoring the fear it instilled.

"No," Orpheus finally spoke, his voice a silky whisper that made Zargon’s blood run cold.

"Your death will be far too swift, a mere release for one who served such darkness."

He tightened his grip on Zargon’s neck, and a tendril of inky blackness pulsed outward, coiling around Zargon’s monstrous figure. The berserker transformation had taken its toll, rendering Zargon feeble and vulnerable. He screamed, a raw, primal sound torn from his throat as the darkness began its consumption.

But unlike the berserkers who disintegrated instantly, the darkness surrounding Zargon seemed to whisper promises. It spoke of forgotten secrets, of rituals performed in the bloodstone chamber, of a power far greater than the one Zargon had served. Desperate for any escape, any respite, Zargon clung to these whispers, his screams transforming into choked sobs.

As the darkness fully engulfed him, Zargon’s monstrous form seemed to diminish, his screams fading into a whimper that eventually dissipated into silence. Orpheus’s hand pulsed once more, and then Zargon was no more, leaving behind only a faint echo of despair that lingered in the air.

Orpheus stood alone in the Blood Hall.

"How long do you intend to observe?" He demanded, his gaze fixed in a specific direction.