I Became A Zompirewolf-Chapter 607 A Weakling (2)

607 A Weakling (2)

Deep within the heart of the battle, amidst the chaos and clashes, two formidable figures clashed violently.

Sven, the shadowy summon of Ashton, materialised with an air of mystery and darkness. His form was shrouded in ethereal shadow, his eyes glowing with an otherworldly intensity.

Opposite him stood one of the Priest's deacons, a formidable adversary with a demonic visage.

The Deacon's once-human form had twisted and contorted, taking on a monstrous appearance. His skin was charred and smouldering, flames licking at his fingertips as his fists crackled with fiery energy.

The Deacon sneered, his fiery eyes fixated on Sven. "Hah, you're quite good with that sword. But you can't fare well against my fists!"

Sven remained silent, his expression hidden beneath the depths of his dark helmet.

The thing the Deacon referred to as a sword was merely Sven's aura that he had sued to cover his hand, as Sven didn't deem it necessary to unsheathe his sword to deal with a minor nuisance.

However, after seeing his opponent gloat about his strength against his sword, Sven decided to give the Deacon a real taste of metal.

He unsheathed his gleaming sword, a blade crafted from pure shadow, and assumed a defensive stance. Shadows writhed around him, coiling like living tendrils of darkness, ready to defend and strike as needed.

"Huh, you think a different sword would be of any help against my fists? Pathetic!"

The Deacon lunged forward, his fists wreathed in flames, as he launched a relentless assault. Fire erupted with each strike, searing the air and leaving trails of scorch marks in its wake. Sven swiftly dodged, his shadowy form gliding effortlessly through the onslaught.

Watching Sven effortlessly dodge his strikes frustrated the Deacon as he slammed his fists on the ground in a rage. However, it turned out to be the wrong move.

As the Deacon's fists collided with the ground, causing flames to erupt in a shower of sparks, Sven seized the opportunity. He lunged forward, his sword cutting through the air with precision. Shadows trailed behind the blade, following its every movement.

But just as Sven's sword was about to connect, the Deacon kicked him backwards, saving his neck in the process.

"That was a close one," The Deacon whispered.

He finally understood that his opponent wasn't one to be underestimated, and if he didn't fight properly, he would lose without much effort from Sven.

Deacon, his fiery fists blazing, leapt into the fray yet again. His movements were a blur of speed and precision.

He launched a barrage of flaming punches at Sven, each strike carrying the weight of his demonic strength. Sven parried, dodged, and weaved, his sword a blur of darkness, deflecting the fiery onslaught.

The clash of fire and shadow reverberated through the battlefield. The Deacon's fiery fists met the darkness of Sven's sword, creating a stunning display of opposing elements. Sparks flew as they collided, filling the air with euphoric energy.

With a sudden burst of speed, Sven closed the distance between them, his blade aimed at Deacon's heart. The demonic martial artist swiftly shifted his stance, his movements mirroring the dance of a serpent.

He evaded the sword gracefully, retaliating with a swift kick aimed at Sven's head. The swordsman ducked, narrowly avoiding the fiery strike.

"Tsk, almost!" Deacon spat in fury before engaging Sven again.

Sven observed the Deacon's patterns, seeking a moment of vulnerability as they continued attacking each other. As the Deacon's fist shot forward, wreathed in a torrent of flames, Sven smoothly sidestepped the attack.

With a swift and calculated strike, Sven retaliated. His shadow sword sliced through the air, cutting through the flames like a knife through butter. Shadows trailed behind the blade, intertwining with the fiery energy, sapping its strength.

"What the- what did you do to my flames!?" the Deacon yelled in rage.

"You should be worrying about yourself more than your flames..." Sven hissed.

A gasp escaped the Deacon's lips as his fiery assault faltered, his punches losing intensity. The flames danced erratically, weakened by the encroaching darkness. Sensing an opportunity, Sven pressed forward, his strikes growing more relentless.

Blow after blow, Sven's shadow sword found its mark. Each strike sent tremors through the Deacon's body, his demonic form flickering in and out of focus. The fiery energy that once fueled his attacks waned, his strength ebbing away.

The demonic foe howled in agony as Sven pierced the Deacon's torso, extinguishing the flames that once fueled his power.

Sven delivered a decisive blow with a final strike, severing the Deacon's connection to the fiery energy. The defeated Deacon crumpled to the ground, his demonic form flickering and fading away.

Sven stood over his fallen opponent, his shadowy form casting an ominous presence. He watched silently as the Deacon reverted to his human form, the flames extinguished and the charred skin now pale and lifeless.

"That's the price you must pay for your arrogance..." Sven said before bowing for the Deacon. "May your soul be torched in hell for all eternity."

The battlefield fell silent for Sven, the echoes of the battle fading into the air. Sven, his duty fulfilled, decided to retreat back into the shadows, his enigmatic form blending seamlessly with the darkness.

His mission was far from over, but at that moment, he had proven his worth as a formidable ally in Ashton's fight against the cult and whosoever dared to harm his master.

As much as Sven wanted to help his fellow servants, he knew none of them liked it when the other interrupted their battles. That said, Sven had nothing more to accomplish and decided to retreat to his domain while waiting for his master's next command.

As the shadows embraced him, Sven vanished from sight, leaving behind a defeated Deacon and the remnants of the fiery chaos.

The battle between others raged on, but the encounter between the shadowy summon, and the demonic Deacon would forever be etched in the memories of those who witnessed it. Especially those who thought they could deal with Ashton on their own.