Nakta tore through the stairs, gunning for the topmost level. A chaotic symphony of blades and bullets hounded him, relentlessly. Weaving past their ranks, slithering about like a shadow, he slipped in and out of shimmering air. A trailblaze of illusory raven-haired males popped up and faded, reeling in the enemies’ fire, as he advanced forward.
Cutting through a trio of ten-foot-tall ogres with his katana, Nakta pilfered a grenade off of one of the demons’ belts. Biting off the pin, he flung the explosive into the middle of the main force. A deafening blast rippled through the enemy lines, decimating half the forces to scorched meat, in one fell swoop.
Despite the chaos and destruction, he had caused, he didn’t linger around to bear witness to the aftermath. His mission was clear, and he continued on his ascension.
A portion of the floor gave way to a trapdoor, depositing a pair of goblins who were cackling with glee. The rumble of their cannon halted his march, setting his nerves ablaze. He had only a moment to react before he too joined the demons, he had blown up.
In a blur of motion, the raven-haired male leapt to the side, running across the nearest wall, willing forth a rush of miasma. He focused the entirety of his strength over his katana’s edge, driving steel through the oncoming projectile. The grate of steel against fired metal loosened a discordantly painful screech, before the two halves of the cannonball struck the wall behind, rendering a deafening blast that showered debris.
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“Ah fuck.” Bouncing off the ground, he aimed his katana at the goblins.
Their eyes widened with fear, scrambling about, set to tap matchstick to touch hole, while turning their cannon towards a looming inevitability. Before they could light up a second volley of fire, Nakta’s blade was swathe in death, driven through flesh and cannon, like a scythe through wheat, leaving nothing but silence in his wake.
In applause to his performance, an orchestra of battle cries reverberated throughout heaven and hell. An armada of reinforcements were ascending and descending through the limbo of a stairway, launching a pincer attack.
Exalting a triumphant grin, Nakta knew he had to quench his thirst for battle. My target might escape if I dilly-dally with cannon fodder.
Unsheathing his second katana, he ignored the reinforcements coming at him from the floor below and channelled his miasma through his blades. Rather than severing a single demon in half, his miasma emitted the strength to knock his opponents over with every swing.
Miasma isn’t just an essence, nor the manifestation of a demon’s attributes in reality. It’s a fuel markin’ one’s immensity.
Despite his inflated sense of self, he couldn’t shake his inferiority when it came to Lilith. She was the ideal he had sought after, standing at the apex of the assassin underworld, on par with the Sins in her ability. Though he admired her strength, he knew he would surpass her. One day.
And that day won’t be long.
But first, he needed to take out the head of the Yang family, nestled at the topmost floor of the mansion. Once his mission was accomplished, Lilith had tasked him with digging out Azrael from the rubble, in the case he had died.
Even if he’s still alive, death would be an honour for an imbecile of his make. It might be beneath my pay grade, but orders are orders. Nakta grinned, tearing through the echelons of enemies, extinguishing his presence on the battlefield.
