Martial Demons Ascension

Cerys's breathing snapped into rhythm. Her core pulsed, wind mana surging up her spear arm until it shimmered like a funnel. Then, with a guttural shout, she released it.

Fsshhhhh!

The mist screamed as thirty javelins of compressed air tore into existence, spinning shafts of razor wind forming all around her. With a sharp sweep of her arm, they launched in a hailstorm of killing intent.

The hounds reacted instantly, scattering with blinding speed. Their twisted bodies darted left and right, claws scraping across the ground as they tried to weave through the barrage.

Rhyka didn't even flinch.

Golden threads lit the world before his eyes, painting each javelin's path, each beast's lunge. His body moved in harmony with the lattice, dodging here, ducking there, sliding his spear into gaps so smoothly it was as if the storm itself bent around him.

And then he saw it, the opening.

One of the beasts had committed too far, too low. The lattice screamed its fate before it even realized.

Rhyka struck.

His long spear shot forward, the tip a streak of silver through the fog. It pierced clean through the beast's eye with a sickening crunch, the force snapping its skull back. The creature howled, thrashing, but Rhyka didn't hesitate.

He was already moving.

His foot smashed into its pelvis with the precision of a hammer strike. Crack. The bone gave way, the beast staggering. He kicked again, and again, each strike shattering its balance, driving pain deeper into its twisted frame.

It reeled, but he pressed harder.

The spear twisted, ripping free in a spray of dark blood. In the same motion, he swung it wide, cutting across the beast's arm. The limb dangled by threads of tendon before Rhyka's boot planted on its chest, tearing the rest off with a vicious wrench.

The hound shrieked, a sound too human to be natural.

Rhyka didn't let it finish.

His spear blurred in a circular arc, sweeping its legs out from under it. Another stab punctured the joint of the second arm, ripping it free in a burst of gore.

The beast collapsed, writhing, helpless.

Rhyka's golden eyes narrowed, his breath steady as he lifted the spear high. With a clean, merciless thrust, he drove it down through the base of its neck, severing spine and skull in one brutal motion.

The head rolled into the mist.

The body twitched once, then went still.

It had all happened in seconds, precise, relentless, terrifying in its efficiency. From the first strike to the final decapitation, Rhyka hadn't wasted a single movement.

The other two hounds hesitated, circling warily, their pale eyes wide. Even they seemed shaken by the display.

Cerys, still catching her breath from the javelin spell, stared at him, her grin gone. For the first time, her expression was sober.

Rhyka planted the butt of his spear into the dirt, rolling his shoulder as though he had just finished a drill. Blood dripped lazily from the weapon's tip.

"One down," he muttered, his tone calm, almost bored.

His golden eyes flicked toward the remaining two beasts, burning with cold intent.

His heart however was in turmoil

The first corpse twitched at his feet, its grotesque head lying a few paces away, its pale eyes staring lifeless into the fog. The smell of iron was sharp in the air, mixing with the wet musk of the forest.

Rhyka's heart churned.

The sounds, the screams, the snapping bone, the way the beast had clawed at the dirt when he tore its limbs away, they had been too human. Far too human. His stomach threatened to heave, bile creeping up his throat.

But his face… his face was stone.

He stood tall, spear slick with blood, his golden eyes calm and unshaken. The mask was perfect. No crack showed. Not to the beasts. Not to Cerys.

You've done worse in training, he lied to himself. This is no different.

Still, his thoughts circled back to her.

Cerys.

From the moment the fight began, she had called herself a close-range fighter. That was the image she had presented, a spear-wielder meant to clash head-on. But every move she had made so far was long-range. Wind bullets. Wind javelins. Her spear had not touched a beast yet.

Why?

Was she holding back? Testing him? Or worse, waiting for him to slip?

He did not let his suspicion show. Instead, he called out to her, his tone sharp but even:

"Cover me."

If she wanted to play the role of support, then she would. He would make use of it.

The two remaining beasts snarled, circling closer. Their pale eyes gleamed with intelligence, their claws twitching, tails flicking low. They were not charging blindly anymore. They had seen what he did to their packmate.

One twitched, and Rhyka moved.

He blasted forward, his spear flashing. The beast lunged to meet him, claws cutting arcs through the mist. The golden lattice in his Martial Vision flared, mapping every swipe, every feint. He slid past the first strike, pivoted under the second, and drove his spear toward its chest.

The beast twisted at the last moment, instinctively. Too sharp, too fast. The strike missed the heart by inches.

But that was the opening.

"Now!" Rhyka barked.

Wind shrieked past him.

Cerys's javelins hammered into the beast's flank, bursting into slashes of air that staggered it. It stumbled, its guard dropping for just half a heartbeat.

Enough.

Rhyka twisted, his spear punching forward again. This time, the tip pierced clean through the ribs, straight into the heart. The beast froze, claws scraping uselessly against his shoulder before the strength drained out of it.

Rhyka yanked the weapon free with a wet crack. The hound collapsed, its chest caving in as blood pooled beneath it.

The last one roared and charged.

Cerys moved first this time. She surged forward, wind swirling around her spear in a tight spiral. She met the beast head-on, her weapon slamming upward into its jaw with a burst of compressed air. The impact cracked its skull sideways, snapping it off balance.

She spun with the momentum, her blade flashing, and brought it down in a clean arc. The edge sliced through the creature's neck, wind magic sharpening the cut. The head separated, tumbling into the mist.

The body crashed to the ground.

Silence.

The three grotesque hounds lay strewn across the clearing, their blood soaking into the soil, the air thick with iron and rot.

Rhyka's chest rose and fell, his breathing controlled despite the ache in his shoulder and the sting in his cuts. His golden eyes scanned the carnage, then flicked to Cerys.

She stood tall, her weapon resting against her shoulder, her grin sharp but thinner than before. Her eyes did not quite meet his.

Rhyka smirked faintly, hiding the churn in his chest.

"Three Rank 3s," he said, voice calm. "Not bad."

But inside, suspicion coiled tighter.

She had been holding back. He was sure of it.

And that meant she was not showing him who she really was and what were her intentions were