Supreme Swordfiend

Yapping dogs sat where obedient hounds should have been.

Clapping his hands together, blood splattering the table as he did so, Leon restored order.

"What part of silence do you mongrels not understand? Your betters are speaking. Shut up. Now, this deal you're offering me- unfortunately for these 'people' I'm not interested. This ends with one of us dead and buried. So, why not get it out of the way? None of these 'people' could resist your forces if I die. I want you to hit me with everything you've got."

The wight's puppet replied, body eerily still, head laser-focused on Leon's smirking face.

"Well darn, you're a straight shooter huh? I like it, I truly do... y'know what? Screw it, worst case scenario I get my hands a little dirty. Best case? I'm gettin' your body and what a masterpiece I could make with you. Gimme an hour Stormbound, I'll be there."

Leon's smirk grew wider.

"Happy we sorted this out! Now, let me repeat myself, just in case you were thinking of holding back some of your forces or not joining them personally in battle. Hit me. With everything. You've got. You pathetic weakling. Gonna shoot the messenger now, bye!"

Faster than anyone could react, a blue flash split the table in two alongside the undead thrall, two halves schlorping to the ground as Wavecutter returned to its scabbard.

Glaring expectantly at his servants, Leon spoke.

"Well? I'll need a new table and more chicken. Lots more chicken."

Massing beyond the meagre township, the horde of undead grew by the minute.

Skeletal dogs gambolled across the remains Leon had left in his rampage, lumbering beasts built of stitched corpses screeched mournfully from tens of mouths in eerie harmony and bloated brutes with crumpled armour and wicked arms stood ready to fight.

Even the regular skeletons and zombies seemed a cut above, the skeletal warrior's bones shone glossily and the remaining flesh of the zombies had been artfully arranged rather than sloppily slapped on.

A row of grey-skinned humans dwelt near the vanguard, their azure eyes and knives of dripping blood marking them as the enemy's elites.

Leon had the help shift his table to atop the wall, where he waited, glaring imperiously at all before him.

The wind's caress carried a whispered promise.

That when the storm reached its peak, true lightning would descend to smite the unworthy.

Upon the hour, the wight appeared, all his thralls bowing low as he walked to the head of the congregated army.

Dressed in elaborate silver armour built of interlocking plates which formed a seamless suit around the tall blonde undead's body, the wight had the same piercing azure eyes and grey skin of his favoured thralls, a double-headed axe formed of the same flowing blood carried in one hand, chiselled features more akin to a statue than a person, the sort of impossible beauty that tried too hard to appear human, inspiring only revulsion.

His voice reached the anxiously waiting defenders, carried by an infusion of mana.

"What a nice town y'all have here! Why, I almost feel bad sendin' my beloved tools to try and butcher y'all! Stormbound! May I spice this up a little?"

Even without the aid of mana, Leon made his reply heard by all.

"Sure! What do you have in mind?"

Running a free hand through his mane of golden hair, the wight considered before answering with a wave of mana.

"Well, ya done left me all these real nice materials! Be a darn shame not to use 'em!"

Where the mana touched the earth rotted, dark purple thorns sprouting from the desiccated grass.

Every broken body coalesced, mana fusing the dead into a single being of a thousand legs and a hundred eyes, a single skull with more wailing mouths than any creature should have, two wickedly sharp mandibles dripping liquid corruption on the now ruined fields.

It hurt to observe the necromantic construct of mangled corpses and where most cringed away in revulsion or terror, the Swordfiend's face lit up with unrepressed glee as he examined the monster.

"Level One Centiwight- Necromantic construct of a wight, formed from the lingering will of thousands of undead. Relentlessly pursues its target through the earth, utilising extensive death mana assaults alongside a pair of anti-life blades grafted to its main skull. A most worthy foe."

His aura clashed wordlessly with the atrocity's, an overwhelming will against an ocean of resentment.

It could beat him, especially if its master joined the fight. The wight gave off a threat even higher than the monster he had summoned.

"Level Fifteen Necromancer Prodigy- Rare Class

Aggregate Level- Ninety."

Segmented body coiling protectively around its master, the Centiwight's blue eyes focused on Leon as he rose to applaud his enemy, voice cutting through the tension.

"You get me! So many people have tried, but you really do get it, don't you?! Alright, mongrels- you've all had it easy so far. So many of you are going to die here, but those of you who don't? You'll be legends, the brave few who accompanied Earth's strongest warrior into a decisive battle. Try and live and you'll die- throw yourselves down death's throat and let the reaper choke!"

With a mad cackle, Leon threw himself to the ground below, cycling a fresh Ascending Demon circuit, blades in hand and a manic grin on his face.

The bone centipede crushed more of its allies than it did enemies in a mad dash towards Leon, the undead host rushing as fast as their decrepit bodies allowed, capable of more speed than their state would suggest.

Spell and arrow bombarded the army, shield-bearing warriors forming their lines well away from the fiend and his quarry while more adventurous types established their own killing grounds.

Gleaming bone struck towards Leon, the mandibles impervious to his strikes, leaving the fiend on the backfoot as he parried and evaded each furious blow and blast of deathly mana.

Where the beast's attacks touched, organic matter died.

The storm formed to assist the Chaotic Stormblade in his struggle as he flipped over the monster, a blow tearing one leg loose, hope gone to frustration as with a pop and slight reduction in mass the leg regrew.

Lightning sheared through layers of rotten meat and powdery bone and yet the beast stayed mobile, errant spells striking it when the defenders saw an opportunity.

For once, the Swordfiend allowed the assistance.

A mage on the walls fired a lightning bolt of her own and the world froze.

Leon's mind made the connections in a moment of perfect flow.

His Class offered so much Speed, not just for movement but for perception and celerity.

It had tempered his body with bolts of electricity to supercharge his nervous system, to burn away the weak and forge the strong.

All for this one skill.

He saw in his mind's eye the path the bolt would take, the undead heart it would pierce, a warrior offering silent gratitude halfway across the defensive line.

But more than that- Leon saw an opportunity.

Just before the lightning bolt struck the undead, Leon appeared from thin air, the mage's displaced attack splashing harmlessly off the thick armour of the Centiwight, Leon's burning and invisible blades tearing apart the undead before him, alleviating the pressure on the defenders at this single spot.

For a moment the abomination stilled, before refocusing on Leon. Moving in a crazed rush it crushed more of the dead beneath writhing limbs.

Another bolt from on high, this one from the storm, striking at the backlines of the enemy.

Leon materialised, another Flash Step carrying him into the enemy archers, their lives reaped with ease.

Over the battle din, a commander ordered the magically inclined.

"Lightning, anyone who can use lightning- hit their backlines, set that maniac on the undead bastards!"

Volley after volley of heavenly projectiles pelted the battlefield, each time Leon would step from thin air, tear through his target and move on.

For a time it worked.

Until a bloody knife attempted to shank him.

How the elite thrall had known when to strike would remain a mystery, as Leon swerved to avoid the blow, twin blades tearing the azure-eyed menace apart and stepped away.

Only for another grey-skinned assassin to strike, this one's knife splashing harmlessly off his ebony carapace as he drove a burning blade through their face, watching flesh distort, rend and burn under his savage blow.

The sorrow at never getting to see that face collapse inward vanished as he ripped through a pack of frontline bone dogs, stomping their skulls into dust, parrying a blade aimed for his neck and slamming Silent through the interloper's chest.

Eyes dilated in shock as the air gyrated with electric fury, a beast of condensed hate trampling an army in search of a fiend who struck with overwhelming force, then vanished.

Chaotic Stormblades fought as Leon did, unpredictable on the field yet a threat all the same.

All too soon the last assassin lay dead, the Centiwight now given Leon's full attention.

In a move that eyewitnesses scarcely believed, the Swordfiend flipped upon the writhing undead's back and carved it open section by section in a mad dash that carried him from top to tail.

Blades wreathed in fulgurant fury, his strikes split the beast apart, the creature's extreme power and low level meaning none earned experience from its destruction.

Standing atop the stilled corpse mound, the blade demon fought unrelentingly, bellowing for the enemy to face him.

Some warriors survived purely due to Leon's provocations.

Quivers ran dry, mages lay drained and shields splintered as the battle raged on.

Still, he fought, rotten meat dripping from his teeth, eyes shining like the sun.

The evening dyed the field red, a vision of hell.

Stragglers slipped by and civilians died defending their young, forcing more than one child to bear arms to preserve their lives.

Leon's arms were lead, his legs stiff and yet he fought.

When the last body hit the floor, he saw the enemy commander.

Applauding from just beyond his storm's reach.

Mock praise rang out, those still alive hanging on every word.

"I'd thought the footage and rumours did you justice. Turns out I was wrong. Very impressive, even if you did come up short. Well, you gave it your best shot. I'll be takin' that body now that you're all tuckered out."

No one expected the one-man army to have anything left to say- it would be a miracle if he could still fight.

So when the fiend straightened his back, sheathed his swords and laid hands on his scabbard, all present remembered his words.

"It's only over if you survive a Tsunami- come on, they all want to see the climax. Let's put on a show, mongrel."

The wight's bloody axe formed and with a wave of one hand, a circle cleared on the battlefield.

A layer of compacted bone served as their arena, Leon's mana fuelling Ebb and Flow.

He moved faster than most present could track, blue blade bouncing harmlessly off the wight's silver armour.

Another two strikes rocketed from the swordsman as the wight brought his axe to bear, blood armament bouncing harmlessly off Leon's defences.

Strike after strike, vertical then horizontal, forced the undead lord on the defensive, the fiend laughing in his face.

"Come on mutt, you were talking all that good shit earlier, plus you're level ninety- but you're so fucking weak, so slow! I thought you understood it, the thrill of combat, blade on blade until one of us is victorious!"

Instead of words, the undead chose actions.

A spike of bone blasted from beneath their feet, skewering the swordsman's thigh.

Black blood dripped to the battleground as the wight gloated.

"Femoral artery. That's gotta be costly to fix up. I'm not here to fight you, you silly human. I'm just going to outlast you, stick you where it hurts to heal and then when you're broken and bloody? Well, I think I'll drink your heart dry, bind your eternal soul to a toilet and put you in the slave quarters of my imperial palace. C'mon now, don't keep a fella waiting, put on your little show. Make it one to remember. It'll be the last performance you give."