Path of the Unmentioned: The Missing Piece-Chapter 105: The Manic One [2]

The moment Aaron’s body hit the floor, time seemed to slow.

Kyle’s breath caught in his throat.

His fingers clenched around Zalrielle’s hilt so tightly it hurt. Lightning crackled faintly along the blade. Flickering and weak, like his strength.

Across from him. Reo was breathing hard, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. His spear was raised, but his hands were shaking.

His face was pale, blood dripping down his chin from a cut just below his jaw.

Eleanora stood frozen. Her estoc was pointed low, its black metal gleaming with a faint, pulsing light.

Dark mana dripped from the tip like ink onto the floor.

The cultist didn’t rush.

He smiled.

A slow, crooked grin.

With a casual flick. He pulled his dagger from Aaron’s stomach.

Schlick.

The sound was wet and sickening.

Aaron’s body didn’t move. Blood pooled beneath him, spreading in a thick, red circle.

His single working arm was twisted beneath him. His eyes were still open.

Dead.

The cultist looked up. His eyes roamed their faces, one by one. Like a painter admiring his work.

"Ohhh," he crooned, spinning his dagger lazily between his fingers. "You look scared."

Kyle’s ribs throbbed where the cultist had cut him earlier. Every heartbeat made the wound burn hotter. But he didn’t answer. He couldn’t.

Reo gritted his teeth. Then spat blood onto the floor.

"Shut the hell up," he growled.

The cultist chuckled softly. Then he began walking. Not at them, but around them.

Slow, steady steps. The sound of his boots tapping on the metal echoed in the quiet. Broken only by the soft dripping of blood.

He circled them like a wolf, herding sheep into a corner.

"You’re all so fun," he whispered. "Like little mice in a cage."

Eleanora took a breath. "What do you want?"

He stopped.

For a moment, he just stood there, staring at her. Then his grin stretched wider.

"Want?" he repeated, voice high and brittle. Then he giggled. "I want you to scream."

And then. He moved.

One blink. That’s all it took.

In the time it took to blink. He was already inside Reo’s guard.

Reo barely reacted. He twisted to avoid the incoming dagger.

It missed his throat, but not by much. The blade sliced along his chin, shallow but bloody.

The cultist grinned. "Fast. But not fast enough."

His other hand came around in a blur.

Reo blocked with his spear. But the cultist flipped his dagger mid-swing and slammed the pommel into Reo’s head.

Thud.

Reo stumbled back, vision swimming. Then came another cut. Quick and light, across his forearm.

"One," the cultist whispered, stepping back.

Kyle darted in from the side. Zalrielle sparked with lightning. He slashed in a wide arc, aiming for the cultist’s back.

The cultist spun.

His movements were too smooth, too fast.

He ducked low, under the blade, and smashed his elbow into Kyle’s side. Right where he had been cut before.

Crack.

White-hot pain exploded through Kyle’s ribs. He staggered back, gasping.

But the cultist didn’t stop.

He turned back to Reo. "Two."

Another flick of his wrist. The dagger sliced across Reo’s thigh. Blood soaked through the fabric almost instantly.

Eleanora raised her estoc and called on her shadows. Tendrils of darkness surged toward the cultist’s legs, aiming to grab him.

He laughed.

He jumped over them like it was a game and twisted midair. Kicking Reo in the chest.

Whoof.

Reo flew backward, slamming into a pile of crates. Wood cracked. His spear skidded across the floor.

The cultist tilted his head. "You are supposed to fight back."

Kyle’s body screamed in protest. But he pushed himself up.

He couldn’t stop now.

His legs shook. His ribs throbbed. His burned leg felt like fire was chewing through the bone. The healing potion had dulled the worst of it.

But it wasn’t enough.

Still.

He lifted Zalrielle again.

Lightning crackled weakly along the blade.

The cultist turned to him, smirking.

"Ah, the little boy," he said mockingly. "Can’t even keep your legs steady."

Kyle didn’t answer.

He raised his other hand. Frost bloomed across his fingertips. The air chilled.

"[Ice Shard]," he muttered.

A jagged spike of ice shot forward. Straight for the cultist’s chest.

The cultist’s eyes lit up.

He twisted his body, letting the shard cut across his shoulder. A thin line of blood opened. But he didn’t flinch.

"Ooooh, two elements?" he said, licking the blood from his arm. "How special."

Kyle didn’t give him time to gloat.

He charged.

Zalrielle lit up with a burst of lightning. He slashed low, then high. The cultist blocked the first strike.

But Kyle feinted, twisting his blade and slashing upward—

Snick!

A shallow cut opened on the cultist’s cheek.

His smile faltered for the first time.

Then came back. Wider. Crazier.

"Now we’re playing," he whispered.

He lunged.

A dagger flashed toward Kyle’s face.

Kyle blocked, barely.

The second blade came from below, cutting across his hip. Pain shot through him. He staggered.

The cultist kicked him in the leg. The burned one.

Crack.

Kyle’s leg gave out.

He dropped to one knee. Barely keeping himself upright.

The cultist stood over him.

Grinning.

Laughing.

He raised one dagger high, gleaming red with blood. Ready to strike.

The cultist raised a dagger for the finishing blow—

But before he could strike. A whip of darkness snapped around his wrist, yanking it back with a sharp pull.

He stumbled a step. Surprised.

Eleanora stood a few feet away, arm outstretched. Her fingers trembling. Her chest heaved with each breath, and sweat ran down the side of her face.

She was barely standing. Her mana nearly gone, but her crimson eyes burned with fierce resolve.

"Don’t... touch him," she growled. Her voice low and ragged.

The cultist blinked, then grinned wide. Teeth gleaming like a wolf’s.

"Ahhh," he said, his voice sing-song and twisted, "the shadow girl finally speaks!"

With a sharp jerk. He ripped his arm free. The shadow tendril snapped apart like old rope, fading into smoke.

Then he dashed forward.

Fast.

Too fast.

Eleanora braced herself.

She managed to step aside just in time to avoid the first dagger. It whistled past her cheek, missing by inches.

But the second blade came low, slicing across her side. She winced as hot pain tore through her waist.

The fabric of her coat parting in a thin line of red.

Still, she didn’t back down.

Her estoc came up, quick and sharp. She stabbed at his gut.

The cultist twisted to avoid it. But not fast enough.

The narrow blade scraped along his ribs, cutting through leather and skin. Blood bloomed against his dark coat.

He hissed, eyes flashing with irritation.

Gone was the playful mask.

Now he looked angry.

In a blur of motion. He struck back. One dagger shot forward and sank deep into Eleanora’s shoulder with a sickening crunch of metal and flesh.

She screamed, her knees buckling. But before he could twist the blade. She surged forward and drove her boot hard into his stomach.

Thud.

The cultist stumbled back. Coughing as he skidded across the starsteel floor.

The dagger stayed buried in her shoulder. The hilt jutting out at an ugly angle.

She didn’t scream again.

She didn’t cry.

She grabbed the hilt with her left hand, blood coating her fingers, and shadows rose around it like smoke.

"[Dark Bind]," she whispered.

The dagger shimmered. Then burst.

Black tendrils exploded from the weapon. Whipping out and coiling around the cultist’s arms and chest.

They latched on tight. Pinning his arms to his sides like thick ropes of shadow.

He froze, looking down at the bindings.

Then, slowly, he smiled.

"Ohhh," he whispered. "Clever."

He flexed, muscles bunching beneath his clothes. The shadows strained, groaning as they held.

For now. They didn’t break.

But Eleanora’s legs were shaking. She was barely upright. Her mana burning out fast.

"Kyle—now!" she cried.

She didn’t know if he could hear her. She didn’t know if he was still conscious.

But Reo did.

He was already moving.

Blood poured from cuts along his chest and leg, and his breathing was uneven. But his grip on his spear was steady.

Wind surged around him. Soft at first. Then growing stronger. Saster.

He lowered his stance, eyes locked on the cultist.

"[Gale Thrust]!" he shouted.

With a burst of force. He lunged forward.

The wind roared.

The cultist turned toward him, face twisting in alarm. He tried to move. But the bindings held.

The spear pierced his side.

It didn’t go deep, only a grazing blow. But it tore through leather and drew blood.

The cultist let out a sharp, angry snarl.

And then, with a flick of his wrist. He broke the shadows.

Snap!

He grabbed Reo as the boy passed, spun him, and drove a dagger straight into his stomach.

Schlick.

Reo gasped.

The sound was soft.

All the air left his lungs at once.

His hands slipped from the spear.

The cultist leaned close to his ear. Smiling.

"Three."

Then he twisted the dagger. Cruel and slow.

Reo’s eyes went wide. His legs gave out beneath him.

He collapsed to the ground. Blood quickly pooling beneath his body.

The cultist yanked the blade free and kicked him onto his back like a broken doll.

He didn’t even look down.

"Pathetic," he said coldly.

Then he turned, eyes settling on Eleanora again.

She was on her knees now, shoulders sagging. Blood dripping from her side and arm. Her estoc lay beside her. Forgotten.

Her hands trembled.

The last of her shadows flickered faintly around her fingers. Weak, fading.

The cultist began walking toward her. Twirling his dagger lazily in one hand.

He smiled.

"Your turn, princess."

———

Author’s Note:

Just to clarify. The cultist isn’t weak. He’s a sadistic psychopath who enjoys toying with his opponents. Which is why he was holding back and landing hits for fun rather than going for the kill right away. Also, He has no idea Eleanora is actually a princess. He’s calling her that sarcastically.

———