The Rook steadied itself, its breath coming in ragged gasps, while its body quaked under the weight of unseen burdens. An oppressive silence enveloped the world—a silence that felt almost suffocating—as the air became thick with an unnatural chill.
Across the desolate street, David moved forward with purpose.
The dark aura emanated from him, undulating like a living shadow, causing the ground to tremble slightly with each deliberate step.
The once-vibrant heat of his blades had dimmed to a deep, ashen crimson, now obscured by the consuming darkness that surrounded him, a hue that seemed to absorb every flicker of light, leaving only despair in its wake.
With each footfall, the earth shattered, fissures snaking outward from him, while the remnants of the ruined buildings quaked in response. It was as if the very fabric of the world held its breath, anticipating the cataclysm that was on the verge of unfolding.
Then, in a single breath, he vanished.
The ground erupted beneath him as he launched forward, an obsidian blur streaked with red. The Rook barely registered the movement before the air screamed — and a massive X-shaped arc of aura tore through the space between them.
The twin slashes met at the creature's chest, a brilliant crimson-dark "X" carved through armor, bone, and flesh. For a fraction of a second, everything froze — the moment hung suspended in silence — then the wound detonated.
A shockwave thundered outward, flattening the ruins for hundreds of meters. Fire rolled in waves, windows shattered miles away, and the Rook staggered backward, its chest cleaved open in a burning X.
Bone fragments fell away like shattered glass, glowing from the heat. Black blood hissed where it touched the molten earth. The Rook's scream pierced through the chaos like steel on glass.
It had finally sustained a serious injury.
The dark aura from David's attack didn't fade. It spread — as ink spilled across the rook's body — swirling around the creature, causing the wounds to begin to rot. From within that storm, David was already moving again.
He was faster now — impossibly fast. The dark aura twisted behind him like a shroud, forming shapes that didn't belong to this world, a black skull. Every motion left a wake of distortion, the air screaming under the pressure of his movement.
His next strike came from above — then from the side — then from behind. Each blow landed before the sound of the last had faded. The blades that once barely caused a scratch now carved through armor, through bone, through will itself.
The Rook's mighty limbs flailed, tearing through rubble in blind desperation. But every swing missed — every motion met with punishment. Bone shattered. Plates melted. Blood like molten tar splattered the ground.
Then, suddenly, a sound split the rhythm — not the crack of blades, but a sharp, echoing bang.
David had holstered one blade and drawn his sidearm.
He fired once. The bullet tore through the air, wreathed in that same dark flame. It struck the Rook's shoulder — and the explosion that followed was not fire, but void. A burst of darkness erupted outward, eating away at its armor as if reality itself refused to hold it together.
He fired again.
And again.
Each shot carved through its defenses, the aura-coated bullets finding purchase where his earlier strikes had failed. Every impact sent the Rook stumbling, its immense form collapsing under the barrage.
The creature screamed, the sound shaking the dust from the ruins, echoing across the dead city. Its voice carried pain, confusion — and something else. Terror.
Because it couldn't understand, it was a monster built to kill, to destroy — now felt. It didn't understand the sensation clawing through its body, the heat that wasn't from fire, the ache that wasn't from damage. It was pain — real, living pain — and it couldn't comprehend why a creature smaller, weaker, human could inflict such pain.
This was not the same being it had fought before.
The human—this fragile, flesh-bound creature—had changed; it didn't know how it had changed. But knew it had adapted and transcended.
The aura surrounding him wasn't just power; it was death made manifest. Every movement, every strike was built upon everything the Rook had done, every pattern it had used. The man had learned its rhythm, stolen its nature — and turned it against it.
The more they fought, the more the Rook faltered.
The more it struggled, the tighter David's presence pressed against it — like the world itself was closing in.
In the flicker of its remaining reason, the Rook remembered.
A memory before they departed for this battle, buried beneath the bloodlust and obedience — its Queen's voice.
"You both should perform this mission and make sure you come back to me."
Her words pierced through the haze of agony. The rook and the one before it were meant to return to her; the other was already dead, and it could not disappoint her.
For the first time since its creation, the Rook's will wavered. It wanted to obey, to return.
And so — it turned.
It pivoted clumsily, its mangled legs dragging across the scorched earth as it tried to retreat, to crawl back toward the horizon where it had come from.
That was its mistake. It never should have turned its back. Especially to a being, it was barely able to defend against and outpace.
And David didn't hesitate to punish it.
Before it could take a single full step — something flashed.
There was no sound. No warning. Just a streak of red-black light.
The Rook froze mid-motion. Then its massive left leg — thicker than a man's torso — slid free from its body, severed cleanly at the joint. It toppled with a sound like thunder, one hand slamming into the ground to catch itself.
But mercy did not exist here.
Before the body even struck the ground, the left arm followed — cut away in an instant. A spray of molten blood hissed across the broken earth.
The creature screamed, the sound raw and animal, filled with pain it had never known — a pain it was never meant to feel.
It tried to crawl. Its enormous claws dug into the debris, scraping furrows into the dirt as it dragged its mutilated body forward. But the shadow fell over it again — a presence so heavy it felt like gravity itself had turned against it.
The Rook looked up.
And there he was.
David barely stood above the rook's huge body, his body framed in darkness. His eyes burned — two crimson stars in a void. Both blades were drawn once more, their edges thrumming with the same devouring aura. The air around him twisted, bending toward him like even the world bowed to his wrath.
The Rook's breath came in shallow, ragged bursts. Its entire body trembled. The heat of its own blood steamed in the air. It no longer thought of fighting. It only felt.
Pain. Fear. Despair.
David had made something that should never have known such emotions, felt them.
And in that moment — as the two locked eyes, predator and prey — even the flames dared not move.