Absolute Cheater

The cavern answered his words with a clash of blood and metal. The Overseers reacted instantly—zealots never waited.

The chain-wielder flung his arm forward, and his links shot out like angry snakes. Each one hissed with a hunger of its own, glowing faintly at the tips as if ready to bite and tear into flesh. The staff-bearer slammed his weapon down again, sending a ring of symbols spinning outward, rippling like disturbed water, closing around Asher in a cage of force. The man in the bone mask didn't step forward; instead, he muttered his chant, and the stench of decay thickened in the air. His prayer poured into the black seed, feeding it with unseen weight.

Asher made his move.

His scythe rose in one smooth arc, the dark blade singing through the air. A chain whipped toward his throat, but the weapon cut it clean in half. Broken links scattered across the ground, twitching like worms trying to crawl back to their master, until Asher stamped down with his boot, crushing one flat. Sparks and drops of blood burst together.

And still, he walked forward.

The staff-bearer spun his rod with sharp precision, snarling as the ring of symbols tightened, jagged edges closing in like teeth. Asher's stride did not pause. He opened his free hand, blood sliding down his palm in a steady line. When the glowing sigils closed around him, he pressed his hand against them. His blood hissed on contact, not resisting but smothering them. In a single pulse of red light, the false cage shattered into pieces. The backlash made the staff-bearer stagger and cough up blood.

Yet Asher did not slow.

The bone-mask Overseer's voice rose, chant breaking into a scream. The cavern walls leaked shadows, thick with the stench of graves. Shapes of hands, faces, and snapping jaws pressed out of the dark, reaching to drag him down. A flood of the Maw's fragments rushed straight at him.

But Asher turned with his scythe in a ruthless circle. The wide slash tore the shadows apart like fragile cloth set on fire, scattering them into smoke. His gaze burned brighter, not from effort but from the calm confidence of one who had destroyed far greater enemies before.

He raised the scythe toward the three men, cloak flaring behind him. "This is what you call devotion?" His voice was sharp and cold, every word a blade. "Chains, cages, and stinking prayers?"

The chain-bearer bellowed in fury, his rage louder than fear, and hurled his coils again. Dozens of steel links stormed forward like falling serpents. The staff-bearer shifted his symbols into new shapes, driving spears of light upward from the floor. The masked one's prayer dropped into silence—and for a single heartbeat, the cavern groaned as though the walls themselves were about to collapse inward.

Asher sank into his stance, his scythe glowing with black and red fire.

"Then choke on what you've unleashed."

And he leapt, a blur of death diving straight into the storm.

Asher hit the storm head-on.

The first wave of chains came down like steel rain, but his scythe moved faster. The blade spun in tight arcs, sparks flashing as link after link split apart. Shattered coils screamed as though alive, writhing back toward their master, but Asher cut them down again before they could reform. His feet struck stone, and the ground cracked under the force of his landing.

A spear of light burst upward at his chest, but he twisted, the glow scraping across his cloak instead of piercing flesh. His counterstroke was brutal—a sweep of the scythe that ripped through two more spears mid-rise, scattering them into shards that fizzled out. The staff-bearer tried to reinforce them, mouth spitting chants like fire, but every word ended with a cough of blood.

The bone-mask Overseer raised both hands. The cavern's walls bulged, stone bending inward as if the whole chamber wanted to collapse and crush Asher inside. Shadows leaked again from the cracks, forming skeletal jaws and clawing arms.

Asher only laughed—a short, sharp sound, as cold as it was certain. His body blurred, bloodlight flashing across his arms and scythe. He struck the ground with the weapon's back-end spike, sending a ripple of red force outward. The quake tore through the creeping shadows, reducing them to dust before they could touch him. The collapsing walls groaned and split instead, stone forced to pull apart rather than close in.

The Overseers faltered for just an instant. That was all he needed.

Asher lunged. His first strike went straight for the chain-bearer. The man tried to reel his coils tight, wrapping himself in their storm for defense. But the scythe punched through, slicing both chains and flesh in the same blow. The Overseer's scream echoed, cut short as Asher's boot hammered into his chest, throwing him across the chamber like broken meat.

The staff-bearer thrust his rod forward, glyphs igniting in a desperate flare. Dozens of light-spears launched at once, a wall of burning death. Asher didn't step back. He cut forward, blade flashing in brutal, simple strokes. Each spear shattered against the scythe's edge, sparks raining like stars in the dark cavern. Then he drove forward, one step, then another, until the staff-bearer's defenses broke. The scythe's edge raked across his shoulder, nearly severing an arm, blood spraying bright in the torchlight.

The bone-mask Overseer gave a howl, throwing himself deeper into prayer. His body convulsed, ribs cracking, skin stretching. The stench of decay grew unbearable as his form warped, as though the Maw itself tried to crawl through him into the world. His mask cracked in half, and a second mouth opened inside his throat, dripping black saliva.

Asher turned to him, eyes burning steady and cold. He rested the scythe against his shoulder for a moment, cloak stirring in the seed's red glow.

"You want to be a mouth?" His words cut like iron. "Then I'll give you something to choke on."

He started forward again, slow, certain, the air vibrating with the storm of power rising around him.