Chapter 93: The Butcher's Bill
The tension in the corridor snapped. Silas, a vessel of crimson, self-consuming power, gave a single, guttural command.
"Jax. Clear the chaff."
The mountain of a man with the pulsing violet runes didn't nod. He didn't speak. He simply moved.
The remaining City Guards, emboldened by their numbers, surged forward. Their own bodies flared to life with the tell-tale glows of Martial Magic. One's legs shimmered with a pale green light as he dashed forward with enhanced speed. Another's arms glowed a dull brown, fists clenching with reinforced strength. To my fledgling Ki sense, they were flickering candles compared to the forge-fire that was Jax.
They never stood a chance.
The speed-enhanced guard reached Jax first, sword aiming for a gap in the man's seemingly non-existent defense. Jax didn't block. He let the sword strike his ribcage. There was a sound like a hammer hitting an anvil, and the guard's blade chipped, the vibration numbing his arm. Before the guard could register the shock, Jax's left hand, moving with a speed that defied his bulk, shot out and closed around the man's helmeted head. There was a sickening, wet crunch, like a melon being crushed under a boot. He tossed the limp body aside as if it were a ragdoll.
The second guard, the one with strength-enhanced arms, roared and brought his club down on Jax's shoulder. The blow would have shattered stone. It barely made Jax flinch. The violet runes on his skin flared, and he turned, his expression one of bored annoyance. He grabbed the club mid-swing, splintering the thick wood in his grasp. With his other hand, he delivered a straight-armed punch to the guard's chest. The man's brown glow snuffed out instantly. I heard the distinct, nauseating crack of his sternum and ribs collapsing inward. He flew back, crashing into his comrades, a bloody ruin.
"By the gods… he's a Tier 2, at least!" one of Evander's few remaining legionnaires yelled, his voice cracking. "Our reinforcement runes are barely Tier 1! We can't pierce his skin!"
It was a slaughterhouse. Jax waded into the ranks of guards and legionnaires, a whirlwind of controlled, brutal violence. He wasn't a fighter; he was a force of nature. An axe meant to decapitate him was caught in his hand, the blade dulling against his palm before he wrenched it free and buried it in its owner's skull. A spear thrust at his back simply snapped, the tip failing to even break the skin. He moved through them with a terrifying economy of motion, a backhand that shattered a jaw, a kick that sent a man flying into a wall with enough force to leave a red smear, a grab and twist that ended with a spine snapping audibly.
The air grew thick with the smell of blood and voided bowels. The floor became slick with it. This wasn't a battle; it was a demolition.
And while Jax reaped his grim harvest, Lyssa wove death from a distance.
Her ocean-blue magic circle spun, its geometry shifting with fluid precision. She didn't need grand, fiery explosions. Her efficiency was chilling. A flick of her wrist, and a shard of solidified blue ice, sharper than any arrow, shot out to impale a legionnaire through the eye slit of his helmet. A subtle gesture, and the air around two advancing guards turned to a viscous, suffocating gel, their Tier 1 speed runes useless as they drowned on dry land, clawing at their own throats.
She was systematically dismantling Evander's support system. A lance of superheated air, invisible until it hit, took out another man, cooking him in his armor. She was a scalpel to Jax's sledgehammer, and together, they were carving our side into pieces.
Within minutes, the corridor was a charnel house. The proud City Watch and Evander's elite guards were reduced to broken, bleeding heaps. Only a handful of Evander's men remained, forming a trembling, shell-shocked semi-circle around their Patron, their Martial Magic glows looking pathetic and futile.
Evander himself stood, his face a mask of cold fury. He watched his investment in manpower and influence be literally torn apart. His knuckles were white on his staff, the artifact glowing with a building, angry light. He was preparing to step in. The tool-user was finally being forced to use his prized instrument himself.
This was it. The buffer was gone. The moment Evander moved, Silas would move, and this would become a fight between powers I could barely comprehend. And I was caught right in the middle of it.
I looked at Briza, barely conscious against the wall. I saw the terror in Laron and Elara's eyes. I felt the hollow ache in my core from my earlier Ki use. My Acceleration Loop was ready, but my Ki Blast was a coin toss, and my reinforcement was a conscious effort I couldn't afford to forget.
I was not ready. I was drained, injured, and facing a Tier 2 tank and a master Elementalist, with a Tier-3-overcharged crime lord waiting for his moment.
There was only one choice. A desperate, costly one.
I stumbled back, away from the immediate line of sight, pressing myself against the cold stone wall as if trying to hide. I made a show of groaning in pain, clutching my side where Silas's nullifying strike had landed. With fumbling, theatrical movements, I reached under my torn shirt, into my vest, as if pulling something from a hidden pocket.
In reality, I focused my mind. Inventory. Slot 1. Greater Healing Potion.
The familiar, sun-warm weight of a vial materialized in my palm beneath the fabric. I pulled it out, the small glass tube filled with radiant red liquid looking absurdly out of place in the gore-soaked corridor. I didn't give anyone time to question it. I ripped the cork out with my teeth and threw my head back, downing the entire contents in one desperate, burning gulp.
The effect was instantaneous and overwhelming. It was like a sun erupting in my stomach. Life, raw and potent, flooded my veins. The deep ache in my shoulder vanished. The spiritual exhaustion from the Ki Blast was washed away, my core refilling with a vibrant, eager energy. The minor cuts and bruises all over my body knitted themselves shut. The fatigue evaporated, replaced by a sharp, hyper-aware clarity.
I felt perfect. Rested. Whole. Powerful.
I crushed the empty vial in my hand, letting the glass shards fall to the blood-soaked floor unnoticed. The few remaining men glanced at me, seeing me stand taller, my breathing steady, but they were too terrified of the monsters ahead to question the miracle.
I met Evander's eyes as he prepared to raise his staff. I gave him a single, sharp nod.
The chaff was gone. The potion was spent. The real fight was about to begin. And for the first time since being captured, I was ready.