Supreme Swordfiend

When the last undead faced destruction, as the shadows grew long and the sun melded with the horizon, a survivor fell to his knees amid the body strewn killing field.

The great storm summoned by that monstrous warrior slowed, the air's fury spent. The pungent, almost sweet, smell of ozone clashed with the stench of coppery blood that suffused the world. The survivor's axe had been reduced to an instrument of blunt force trauma, edge chipped and dulled by the endless waves of the reanimated.

He would remember it until his dying day- the other warriors who'd fought with him, their lives reaped as a wave of skeletons broke through, his own life saved by a split-second reaction, the lightning bolt from on high that he'd felt more than seen and the arrival of that man.

The black armoured swordsman, flaming blade in hand. He moved faster than anyone could hope to follow, scything through the enemy like they were nothing.

An agent of divine and righteous fury, here to smite the unworthy.

That perception had been shattered when he'd caught a glimpse of the man's face. A grin that split his lips, wet blood laying atop caked layers of dried gore, strips of rotten meat trailing down his chin. A madness in his eyes, a desperate hunger for blood, every kill feeding his desires. Only a demon such as he could stalk this battlefield and find joy.

At least he'd fought on their side, won them this battle.

Reality heard his thoughts and meted out punishment; two mighty auras exploded from the battlefield.

On quaking legs, with a nigh unusable weapon, the survivor limped towards the sounds of clanging steel and laughter, a circle of his peers standing atop the broken segments of the Centiwight, bearing witness to a battle of champions.

Ripping the bone from his leg, Leon paid no mind to the gathering masses, focus consumed by the smug undead.

The only description that came to mind, the only possible cause for the incandescent rage coursing through his veins had struck him all at once.

Bloodlust blue balls.

Tossing aside the foreign object that had ripped through his artery, Leon evaluated his options.

Give a rousing rant about might makes right in hopes of goading the wight? No, there would be time to soapbox later, though for once Leon knew the lucky few who'd lived would appreciate his objectively correct views on the world. Plus, the silver bastard seemed like the type to tune him out.

Retreat had never been an option, ranged attacks were for cowards and he absolutely needed to kill this guy.

Time to fall back on old reliable- hit harder and faster until everything died, a classic play that had yet to fail.

"What's the matter Stormbound? Tiger got your tongue?"

Ebb and Flow roiled beneath his skin, waves of furious mana not quite ready to be unleashed.

He struck rather than answer the provocation, a wall of bones forming in his path which he cut through only to find a spear of hardened blood where he'd expected the enemy to be.

Its tip merely grazed his armour, the metal holding despite sounds of protest.

On the other side of the circular arena, the wight stood, tossing stray blonde hairs out of his eyes, other hand still clasped on that battle-axe he'd yet to even swing.

"That's some real nice armour, where'd ya find it? I can't tell who made it, sure as shit couldn't have been you though!"

Looking back, he might have found it funny that such an innocuous comment had pushed him over the edge.

In the moment, Leon accepted the unthinkable.

Knuckles white around his sword, he spoke through grit teeth.

"Changed my mind. Don't want to fight anymore. Going to kill you now."

Sending four slashes within a second pushed his abilities to their limit and yet Leon felt his power grow, Ebb and Flow finally capped off. His muscles screamed, his skin ruptured but his mind endured.

The sublime joy he felt as armour gave way to flesh, as black ichor poured from the shocked monster's stomach. Oh that expression, so sure he'd held Leon in the palm of his hand only to realise too late that the Swordfiend would end him, here and now.

The second slash split open the breastplate, thick blood spraying Leon, Wavecutter caressing ribs as it travelled back to his side, into the scabbard then out once more.

The wight moved, his axe shifting. Slowly. Too slowly.

Through stomach, through guts he found spine and his strike forced both bone and man to scream.

Alas, the beast remained standing. Bravado and bluster gave way to fear. Naked fear. Delicious fear.

Ribs broke, lungs filled with fragments of sundered bone and blood sprayed forth once again, a second baptism.

The axe strike came, weak and ineffectual, strength sapped by agony. His enemy tried to muster anything other than terror and failed.

Its edge of flowing blood pierced Leon's defences, eliciting moans of pain from the fiend as he drew again, his arm blackened and swollen beneath his armour.

Another strike landed as the axe head chewed through his side, Leon trading flesh to shatter bones, a great wrenching snap parting the wight's legs and torso.

Like a dead fish, the undead's upper half flopped to the ground, a triumphant Leon able to smile down at the dishevelled commander.

He coughed and spluttered and wheezed, wounds knitting themselves together even as Leon prepared to claim the man's neck.

Crushed as Leon pressed his weight on the severed torso, chest cavity deforming around his boot, the wight spoke, terror abruptly departing, smug reassurance reclaiming its place on the undead's grey face.

"Guess ya stopped holdin' back? I'm honoured, truly I am."

Grinding his heels on the monster's organs, Leon felt them squelch and burst as he answered.

"No. I still have both arms; turns out I only needed two percent of my full power to beat you. How disappointing you turned out to be, just like all the rest. All spark, no fire."

Mana must have been the wight's method for conveying his words. His body crumbled by the second, efforts to heal futile in the face of the continuous damage.

"That so? well, I'd hate you to walk away unsatisfied. Suppose I best get serious."

He would have died without his air perception insight.

Eight wights rose from beneath the field of bone, blood axes aiming to part his neck from his shoulders. Had he not seen them as they emerged, had he not leapt back with enough speed to injure his legs then they would have succeeded.

Each wight stood as a mirror image of their progenitor, one bending low to cradle the dying original in its arms, tilting its arms so that Leon could look upon the face of his enemy as he gloated.

"Bone, blood, flesh and death. Standard skills for a Queel boy, but I think I make it work. I bring a little razzmatazz and pizzazz my lesser brethren can't appreciate. Like I said- I'm just gonna outlast you. Now sure, you can beat me- but can you beat all of me?"

Setting the mauled body atop its severed legs, a touch of sanguine mana forced the two halves into a whole, the originals armour still broken but his body stood whole, blood axe reforming from the gore Leon had left in his wake.

Clapping his hands together the wight stood back as his clones mobbed forth, voice rising above the stampede.

"Dance for me, Stormbound!"

Throwing caution to the wind, Leon fought with reckless abandon.

Beneath their silver armour the wights were no more than constructs of blood, easily broken by well applied violence. Even their gear proved weaker than their master's, Wavecutter's edge sliding through without resistance as Leon weaved from battle to battle, a storm of blows warding his foes.

They fought with brute force, wild exaggerated swings that left their weapons embedded in the ground, their guards lowered and when they faltered the fiend struck.

With each enemy he struck down he felt them panic, a sour note in the melody of whirling steel that satisfied him nonetheless. Their anxiety meant he grew closer to victory.

Yet bone missiles and strikes from the other clones assailed him for every life claimed. They leeched his life, his will the only thing keeping him moving as he sliced through the final clone and turned on the surviving wight, who clapped once again on seeing Leon still standing, though his face looked paler than usual, verging on white while a scowl crossed his lips.

Before he could gloat, Leon drew his circuit's energy into his arm, drawing forth Tsunami, the wave of almighty power carried by his blade slicing through the gap in their air, cutting the wight in half, two halves sliding to the floor.

A hush settled as the weary fiend sheathed his blade, a whisper from an onlooker carrying over the quiet.

"Is he dead?"

Leon kept his eyes on the body, answering without any real heat in his tone, voice echoing across the silent fields.

"No. Until you see the blue box, the enemy is alive."

On cue, mana and blood swirled about the bisected corpse. Two halves sewn together again through magic Leon cared little about understanding. His will remained firm as he met Nigh'queel's dead eyes, which pulsed with azure light once more.

His aura pressed on the reviving wight, his steps firm and his blade sharp as he cut again.

A precise cut claiming the wight's head before he could move to stop Leon or cast any tricky spells.

Sheathing his blade, Leon squeezed on the skull until it popped in his hands like an overripe berry, his hands tearing the brain into chunks. Whatever the wight used to keep himself alive, it would have a cost. A price to be paid in mana. One that he assumed increased with the complexity of the regeneration required.

Perhaps lessened by the undead's insights, but not eliminated.

Predictably the bastard began to regenerate as Leon started hacking apart his chest, words flowing through the mana.

Panicked words delivered with affected aloofness.

"Let's not be too hasty now Stormbound, I admit, I forgot about that silly finisher of yours. You might think you're doin' somethin' here- but you're not. The ritual will keep me fit as a fiddle, really you're just tirin' yourself out."

Were he any less furious Leon might have believed the wight.

He responded as he pulped the undead's skull and mixed his brain into chunks.

"I call bullshit. Don't care anyway. You'll break long before I do."

He got his reply as he scooped out an eerily black heart. The wight sounded almost despondent.

"Fine, fuck it I guess. You win. Stop desecratin' my body and we'll talk terms of surrender."

Crushing the heart in his fist, Leon wore a manic grin as he searched for the next squishy part to destroy.

"Nope! Came here specifically to kill you. Not stopping until you're dead!"

One second he'd been crouching beside the ruined flesh of his enemy.

The next he found himself sprawled out among the corpses, embedded in a segment of the Centiwight.

Coughing, he felt surprisingly okay despite the numerous broken ribs.

A small stream of healing mana had snaked its way down from above, the gentle magical energy rejuvenating Leon's body far faster than he could have otherwise healed.

Glancing up, Leon recognised the figure of his assigned healer- she'd done well, hadn't died at least and had known to come to the frontlines where she'd be required. A reward would be dispensed when his work concluded.

Hauling himself out of the gore pit, allowing the mana tendril to withdraw, Leon noted a new figure standing on the bone arena.

Tarnished silver light armour and austere black robes covered the new enemy, deep crimson sclera unnerving as the grey skinned undead's head swivelled to note Leon's arrival. The broken body of Nigh'queel knitted itself together slowly.

Leon showed more respect than he strictly felt he should have, for the second wight stood at the [G] grade at least, his presence far stronger than a mere [H] Grade, yet the more powerful one spoke in placating tones to the enraged lesser.

"I had him Kal'pall! You ain't s'posed to interfere less I ask for it!"

"My humblest apologies young master. It seemed the brutish native had correctly discerned your Nine Lives Blood Rebirth skill could only support your posturing for so long. Thus, did I see fit to 'interfere'. Of course, I will accept any punishment Lady Digh'queel sees fit to hand out for preserving her little brother's life."

Turing his head, the crimson eyed wight spoke to Leon.

"Stormbound Swordsman, a pleasure to meet a star so rapid in his ascendancy. Allow me to extend the heartfelt apologies of the Queel clan that our errant scion has seen fit to subjugate a lesser planet you care for alongside a guarantee from Lady Digh'queel that the clan have no interest in occupying this particular ball of dirt. Professional obligations aside, I wonder if you would be interested in earning a favour from an esteemed party, this boy's most exalted brother, Lord Vesp'queel?"

The half reformed Nigh'queel squirmed on the floor as he interjected.

"Brother Vesp? Kal, that ain't right-"

"Silence little lord. The adults are speaking."

Keeping his hands on his blade, Leon replied.

"Depends. What's the job?"

His answer provoked a satisfied smile, the first emotion the other wight had displayed since arriving, along with a detailed explanation.

"Lord Vesp'queel feels the clan would be better served by his leadership. Lady Digh'queel has funnelled an excess of opportunities on Young Master Nigh'queel, his defeat at the hands of a mere native, not even half his level, proving to be the final nail in the proverbial coffin. His death would be a grand blow to the Lady and her sycophants. The offer is thus. I have sealed the little lord's abilities and mana. Strike him down, as you intended to do anyway. Allow me to inflict a blow similar to the one I used to remove you from the combat zone. I will control my strike, I have no wish to earn Infamy, not even for Lord Vesp'queel."

Kal paused before continuing, gauging Leon's reaction.

"In doing so we create the fiction that despite my efforts to save the little lord, alas, the savage proved too wily, striking while my attention remained focused on preserving the young master's life force. Once complete I will have to take the young master's body back to be interred in the family mausoleum. In exchange for serving as a borrowed knife, we are prepared to offer you a complete set of tempering elixirs, suited to storm tempering techniques, a freshly plucked Tabula Rasa fruit and a single favour from Lord Vesp'queel. One he will uphold, no matter your request. We wights are perhaps not as famed as the devil species for cleaving to both letter and spirit of an agreement, but we are no less powerful an ally for an independent wanderer in these Myriad Worlds. Simply agree and I will produce your due rewards immediately."

Leon kept the shaking from his legs as best he could. Despite the brief healing session, he'd exhausted himself hours ago and now simply wished for this fight to be done with. A more alert mind would have bothered to analyse the pros and cons. Leon just wanted to sleep and the sooner the wight died, the sooner he could collapse.

He replied, one hand still on his sword's pommel.

"We shaking on this or is that something you aliens don't do? Whatever. Gimme the stuff, I'll kill the bastard and we can both move on. Fucking sick of killing you undead anyway."

Leon decided the wight's smile creeped him out. It held a plasticity to it that the strong undead felt no need to hide. A ring on his gaunt finger produced an open box filled with small clear vials alongside a green fruit that pulsed like a living heart, pronounced veins pumping blue juice in a circuit.

Handing the spoils to Leon, who stored them in his own ring, the wight then turned and began fussing over an increasingly panicked Nigh'queel. His voice had been sealed, his only method of communication left lay in his desperate thrashing back and forth, arms uselessly pinned to the ground.

"Ah, young master, truly you played your cards poorly. Reflect on your failings in the next life."

Leon recognised his cue, Wavecutter beheading the wight scion and achieving the first Earth native victory against an extraplanetary invader who had chosen to fight in person rather than with hired mercs.

"You have slain a Level Ninety Necromancer Prodigy! Experience lost due to capped level!"

Kal'pall wasted no words now that their deal had concluded, a swift fist to chest sending Leon flying back into the same crater he'd made last time, the onlookers staring down at him.

Leon yelled up to one in particular.

"You there! Heal me and fetch me more chicken."

The woman nervously replied.

"Did we win, sir?"

Leon yelled back, exasperated at the mongrels taking so long to do their jobs.

"Of course we fucking won!"

Hearing the sword demon himself say that the battle truly was over caused word to spread and soon cheers rang out. There would be time for mourning those who'd given their lives in defence of those unable to protect themselves.

Today they celebrated. Those who'd lived had grown stronger and in this nameless town the seeds for Earth's counterattack were sown as Leon feasted, his personal healer fussing over him and forcing him to wipe off the worst of his war coat. She did receive her due reward, in the form of a knife Leon had made from a spare core. Even a healer should have a way to defend themselves he'd reasoned.

He noticed some surprised looks that beneath his grim visage lay a man considerably more handsome than expected, but turned his attention back to the medium-rare steak on his plate.

Three of the commanders approached his table, the woman Octavia's portal remained anchored to among them.

They tried to thank him with offers of staying with the group- he laughed it off, their fear all too clear on their faces. Fear of his power, that their little position at the head of the snake would be taken.

Handing over the Centiwight's core bought them goodwill- he'd come back to fight here again if they asked for him, barring that he couldn't wait to leave and he made sure the woman relayed those exact words to Octavia.

Couples departed as the night grew long, a few warriors became weepy as alcohol loosened their emotions and just as Leon felt sure Octavia had forgotten him, the portal opened at his back.

All in all, today had been a solid day for Leon- aside from the fact he still hadn't gotten a shower. Stepping through the portal the Swordfiend departed without another word to the victorious defenders.

Historians estimate that anywhere from one hundred million to five hundred million died in the first twenty-four hours of the invasion- though none contest the point that the town of Wight's End and the killing of Nigh'queel became the first bastion for those unwilling to bow before any invaders.

As for Leon Knox, champion of the defenders, mythologised in first-hand accounts as an army unto himself?

He left as he came- with the freedom of the wind and the temper of the storm, to the next battlefield that called for warriors to throw themselves against odds overwhelming.