The Most Satisfied Reincarnate

After Desmond's words faded, the battle erupted, and the assassins lunged forward, their swords menacingly pointed toward the short-haired woman. The clash of steel reverberated through the air, its piercing shrillness slicing through the tense atmosphere. In the depths of her furious gaze, a fiery rage burned, fueling her resolve.

"Don't you dare forget our mission!" she snapped, her words laden with fury. Her thunderous voice echoed in their minds, but the assassins seemed unfazed, wearing grins that betrayed their disregard. One of them even went so far as to audaciously spit saliva onto her beautiful face.

Within the tranquil confines of the dome, devoid of sunlight, a chilling breeze whispered through the air, caressing their bodies. The lingering scent of the assassin's fresh saliva carried a pungent mixture of alcohol and dried meat.

"If death is the path you choose, then so be it," the short-haired woman retorted, her voice resolute. She made no attempt to wipe away the spittle on her face. The limited light within the dome concealed her expression, veiling it in darkness.

As the passing breeze dissipated, a ripple of wind stirred behind the short-haired woman. Swiftly, she shifted her body, revealing the sight of the assassin soaring through the air, his sword slashing futilely at empty space.

The assassin's surprise was evident; his gaze darted toward his comrades, only to find them already engaged in their own battles. But what he witnessed next left him speechless.

Like a serpentine creature, the short-haired woman's body contorted, her arms moving with an otherworldly grace. Veins pulsed beneath her skin, resembling roots intertwining her entire arms as she unleashed a swift swing of her weapon.

The very air seemed to tremble as her weapon generated a gust of wind, aimed at the assassin who stood behind her. The broom's tip, adorned with numerous sword edges, cleaved through the air, leaving a trail of ethereal light tainted with fresh crimson blood.

A small pop filled the silence, too abrupt for the stunned assassin to react. His mind went blank as he witnessed the short-haired woman's cold expression and the broomstick's motion passing by him, just within his peripheral vision.

Seconds later, his lifeless body tumbled to the ground, his neck sliced downward. Blood sprayed forth, mingling with the sound of his shattered blade, fragments scattering in every direction.

When the assassin's head thudded against the ground, his torn garments revealed a deep, gory slash wound. Countless puncture marks adorned his body, as though multiple swords had pierced him simultaneously, leaving behind a grotesque tableau of carnage.

The remaining assassin gazed at the short-haired woman in sheer disbelief, frozen in place. His mind grappled with the inconceivable transformation of this once stunningly beautiful woman into a merciless predator.

Only when he saw his friend's intestines spill from the gaping chest wound did he snap back to reality. Tremors wracked his body, fear replacing the arrogance in his eyes. He watched in horror as the short-haired woman swung her weapon through the empty air, cleansing the blood from its tip.

The short-haired woman turned her head toward the last assassin, her silence more chilling than any words. Indifference etched across her face, her piercing gaze seemed to pierce his very soul.

As the last assassin braced for her attack, he noticed a sudden change in her beautiful visage. With a graceful rotation of her body, her seductive form seamlessly merged with the deadly precision of her weapon.

A looming shadow suddenly enveloped the short-haired woman, the remaining light casting an eerie glow upon it, gradually revealing the figure of Desmond.

"Nice move, but too late," Desmond uttered, his voice laced with a chilling calmness. The sensation of something soft and smooth brushed against his hand, causing his lips to curl into a sinister smile. His right hand firmly gripped the swan-like white neck of the short-haired woman.

Simultaneously, the broomstick weapon that had been assailing him came to an abrupt halt in mid-air, causing the very weapon to tremble. Blood dripped steadily to the floor, evidence of Desmond's left hand clutching the broom's tip that had pierced his palm.

A hardened expression formed on the short-haired woman's face as she felt her throat being slowly crushed, her chest rising and falling in a desperate struggle for air. Desmond remained devoid of emotion, his eyes reflecting a cold indifference as he exerted more force with his right arm, resulting in a sickening cracking sound accompanying the final hot breath expelled by the short-haired woman.

Just before her demise, her large eyes glared at Desmond, her mouth slightly ajar, as if she wanted to utter a final curse before life left her.

*Thumb.*

Desmond released his grip on the short-haired woman's body, letting it fall to the ground with a light thud, accompanied by a swirl of dust. He glanced at her weapon, still lodged in his right palm, and swiftly pulled it out, emitting groans of pain as he did so.

Blood continued to trickle from the wounds, and as he extracted the source, more crimson liquid spurted from the punctures in his left palm. Before the injuries could worsen, his regenerative abilities kicked in, and fresh skin began to form, slowly covering the openings.

At the same time, a sensation of imminent explosion surged through Desmond's body, his blood seemingly crawling beneath his skin. This power bestowed upon him immense strength, but with each increase in power, an ever-greater burden was placed upon his frail form.

Meanwhile, an observing assassin had remained idle, watching the clash between Desmond and the short-haired woman. Initially gripped by fear of the brat's overwhelming power, a glimmer of hope now shimmered in his eyes upon seeing the pallor on Desmond's face.

As soon as Desmond withdrew the weapon from his body, the assassin dashed forward, abandoning any pretense of concealing his murderous intent. Clad in the darkness, seamlessly blending with his attire, he materialized behind Desmond, his blade aimed at the young man's brain.

Additionally, his left foot swung forth, delivering a forceful kick aimed at Desmond's abdomen, revealing a concealed knife that sprung forth from the tip of his boot.

The assassin's sword successfully impaled Desmond's brain, penetrating through to the other side of his skull. Simultaneously, the hidden knife on his boot pierced Desmond's flesh, targeting the scales protecting his heart.

*Clank.*

The resonating clash of steel against an unyielding surface echoed throughout the tranquil dome, the assassin's expression sinking into despair. Meanwhile, Desmond stood frozen in place, his body wracked with agony as the sword managed to lodge itself into his brain.