Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead-Chapter 326 Fear The Night : Image Of Sadness

One step forward, steel clashed dozens of times, two steps forward, the ground shook, three steps forward, the sick sonority of flesh parting unnaturally, blood falling up the ground, of bone snapping under terrible weight.

On and on, Milo moved forward, forcing himself to move even as Minli tried to stop him, the sword piercing his right lung brought unending agony, his breathing was troubled as pinkish foam travelled up his throat, the embrace of gold surrounded him, shining brightly as it attempted to tend to his wounds.

Why was Milo here today? Because he had fallen in love with Helena? Because David had been brutally murdered by an undead? Because his corpse had been made into a mindless puppet following this? Because he had made friends with his peers? Did he feel the need to take revenge?

For his loved ones? For himself? Was it for the greater good? Did he consider this Loimos to be a threat to all? Was this what drove him forward? One of these?

All of them?

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He did not know, he had no idea, he just brought one foot before the other and walked, circulating his golden mana without even knowing why, he had been born strong, but this was not the reason David had taken him in, then why?

There was no particular reason, it was simply what had felt right to the widower back then, Milo just followed his footsteps, acting upon a reasoning he could not quite grasp.

His legs buckled, threatening to give up, Milo was the one in command of them, he could not allow it, his vision was narrowing, moving forward, he brought one hand up against a nearby piece of debris, and just beyond it, there they were.

Griar and Loimos were engaged in furious fighting, the young noble was fighting fearlessly, one arm sluggish, the other broken beyond repair, like a candle's flame caught in a rainstorm, every moment threatened to be his last, by the end of his fingertips, he latched onto any opening that allowed him to keep going.

Milo could see even in the state he was in, that this would once again result in a loss of life, Loimos had dominated the battlefield even when at every disadvantage, they had never stood a chance, miracles and the breaking of their limits were but light bumps on the undead's road, and they knew, that this fight was just a demonstration of death's upcoming victory over life.

Milo could barely see anything anymore, he had dragged himself over here because that was what his instincts dictated, but what was there to do apart from watching his friend die?

Eventually, Griar slowed down for a split moment, a grave shortcoming, in the next instant, the skeleton's arm was piercing his chest, grasping upon his still beating heart, gritting his teeth, Griar forced both of his damaged arms inside as well, trying to pry the undead's finger off. Find exclusive stories on novelbuddy

Loimos's free arm grabbed onto the living's head, pushing against the cracks left upon his skull, yelling and shouting, without hope Griar struggled against the undead's superior strength with all of his might, the ring of blue, mana blades erupting to no avail, he was losing focus and force by the second.

Griar maintained his resistance for much longer than anyone might have expected, his fingers giving in to Loimos's deathly cold hold, with a sudden jerk, the undead ripped out the blood-pumping organ alongside a great stretch of flesh and white fabric from Griar's uniform, the young noble sending one last act of defiance by pushing Loimos back.

The white piece of cloth, weighed down by stains of blood, landed directly on Loimos's head, nothing too problematic, Griar fell like a bag of brick, there was no cutting it for him, the undead had definitely reaped his life, the influx of death force confirmed it, not nearly enough to help Loimos regain his capabilities, but that was beginning, after all, who else was left to get in his way now?

No one.

Soon enough, Death's Chosen Champion would get back to his true prowesses and join the siege, unleashing the four aspects of the end upon the unsuspecting Tamaris, the gentle hands of death were pushing him to.

Unfortunately, a most random of events, the bloody white cloth landing atop his skull, forming some sort of mask, almost like a bag was laid on his head, reminiscent of a role he once took upon back in the lonely town of Throdqdmond, a character no one associated with him.

In all of these years, the undead hidden beneath the guise of the sad faced man had never been linked to Loimos, even with the many aliases and titles he had worn, it was perhaps the worst one of all, for it was his actions and short-sightedness as a recent undead that had created him.

Pulling the bloody cloth off his face, Loimos took notice of a short sword flying through the air at neck-breaking speed, enshrouded in brilliant gold, Loimos aimed to strike it out of the air, only to hit nothing as it crumbled to dust right before impact, incapable of enduring the dire augmentation of gold.

In a flash, the champion was lifted off the ground, hit in the chest by what very much felt like a whole cavalry, but no, it was just a single fist, enhanced by the brightness, it was followed by the wave of gold, the energy lagging behind the explosive speed of its user.

Loimos, under the mantle of Osworth, had deemed Milo a threat to look out for, the element of gold had always seemed to hold a special property, something hidden just beneath its surface, it was not simple gold obviously, the element of gold would manifest as a metal.

The gold Milo's mana took after was something else, something special, this idea was confirmed as Loimos was unfortunate enough to take it head-on, the gold slamming into him, a bright pillar of brightness rising after impact.

It went right through his defences as though they didn't exist, cracking his chest plate, slamming both into him physically and into everything else, damaging his festering death substantially, it felt just like being punched by an attack empowered with life, the gold seeping into him and threatening to destroy him from the inside out.

Loimos was thrown through the air, sent flying through multiple ruins, rolling onto the ground and debris, this one strike was without a doubt the most damaging one he had received since he had triumphed over life's champion.

Pushing himself back up, evacuating the invasive gold, his attention upon the youth, overflowing with powerful gold he may be, this little fool had still just ripped a sword that had been stabbed through his lung.

He had lost a lot of blood, and even if he had just grasped upon the true might of his gold, he had no clue how to replenish his lost blood.

Taking up a defensive posture, Loimos used both hands to block the next punch, Milo seemed to be in some sort of frenzy, one might say that he might have been a little bit mad, maybe even angry.

Something had clicked in his mind, the white cloth grasping upon the shape of his skull had followed the exact same as that of David's murderer, how could he forget a single detail of the accursed undead that had slayed and defiled his father?

He could not.