Ambrosial Promise

Chapter 31: The Man in Black

Eamon's POV

The chaos of battle engulfed the battlefield, and I found myself locked in a deadly duel with a formidable opponent. Each clash of our swords reverberated through the air, filling the space with an intensity that matched the fire in my veins. In the heat of war, sentimentality had no place.

Amidst the swirling chaos, a face emerged from the enemy ranks that stirred a flicker of recognition within me. It was Fenton! Fighting alongside Lorendale. Hatred coursed through my veins, fueling my every strike. The memories of betrayal and abandonment resurfaced, igniting a rage that burned hotter than the fires of battle.

Our swords clashed in a symphony of steel, the weight of each strike propelled by calculated precision.

"I never thought I'd see the day when you would stoop so low, Fenton," I hissed, my voice laced with venom. "Joining forces with the likes of Lorendale? You've become the very embodiment of treachery."

Fenton's face is as crazy as usual "Hello, Eamony. Miss me," he retorted, his face...I hate it so much I feel like cutting his body into pieces.

I scoffed, my grip on my sword tightening. "Give up, Fenton!"

As our battle raged on, I couldn't help but notice the flicker of doubt in Fenton's eyes. There was a momentary hesitation in his movements, a crack in his resolve. "How's that small scratch I gave you long ago," said he while wearing a stupid smile. "It needs more than a scratch to kill you I guess, now that's Levisay for you," he continued.

I lunged forward, my sword aimed directly at Fenton's heart. "You're as noisy as ever," I growled, my eyes burning with fury. "And now, you'll pay the price for your betrayal."

With every swing and parry, I could feel the weight of our shared history, the memories of betrayal and abandonment fueling my every move. Hatred coursed through my veins, intensifying the fire in my eyes and the strength in my arm. This fight was more than just a battle; it was a personal vendetta.

In a moment of sheer determination, I managed to land a swift and precise strike, piercing Fenton's left arm. A cry of pain escaped his lips, and I watched as blood stained his sleeve, a visible reminder of the wound I had inflicted. Triumph surged within me, mingling with the burning rage that had fueled me throughout the fight.

Fenton's face contorted with both pain and anger. "You'll pay for this, Eamon!" he spat, his voice laced with venom.

I remained silent, my cold gaze locked onto him. Actions spoke louder than words, and I had no intention of wasting my breath on empty threats.

But as victory seemed within reach, a sudden realization struck me. Chasing Fenton through the chaos of the battlefield would only lead to more harm than good. The battlefield was a tempest of violence and destruction, a place where lives were lost and the innocent fell victim to the brutality of war. Pursuing Fenton would only add to the carnage.

I made the difficult decision to stay put, my breath ragged and my body trembling from the exertion of the fight. Fenton seized the opportunity to retreat, his eyes locking with mine for a fleeting moment. Frustration and pain etched his face, mirroring the tumultuous emotions that swirled within me.

As Fenton disappeared into the shadows, swallowed by the chaos, a profound sense of calm settled over me. The battlefield, once a maelstrom of violence, now lay eerily still. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and the acrid smoke of war. The cries of victory and anguish intertwined, creating a haunting symphony that sent a chill down my spine.

Gazing upon the wounded and fallen, I couldn't help but feel the weight of their sacrifice. The toll of war was etched upon their faces, a reminder of the cost of our pursuit for victory. The realization of the lives lost and the devastation wrought in the name of our cause weighed heavily on my soul.

Taking a deep breath, I surveyed the battlefield, my grip on my sword tightening. "Foolish insects," I sneered, my voice dripping with disdain.

The battlefield became a blur as I moved left and right. My sword danced through the air, cutting through flesh and bone with ruthless efficiency. The cries of the fallen soldiers and the clash of steel filled my ears, fueling my relentless assault.

There was no room for mercy or hesitation. I fought with a cold determination, my heart devoid of any compassion. The enemy troops fell before me, their feeble attempts at defense futile against my relentless onslaught. Each life extinguished brought a grim satisfaction, a chilling reminder of the darkness that resided within me.

"You are nothing," I spat, my voice icy and devoid of emotion. Time seemed to warp as I fought, my instincts guiding me flawlessly. I anticipated every move of my adversaries, exploiting their weaknesses with calculated strikes. I was a force to be reckoned with, a whirlwind of death and destruction.

The battlefield was littered with the fallen, a testament to my unwavering resolve. The weight of the lives I had taken settled upon me, but I pushed those thoughts aside, burying them deep within the recesses of my cold heart.

With each enemy soldier that fell, silence descended upon the battlefield. I stood amidst the carnage, my chest heaving with exertion. The lifeless bodies served as a haunting reminder of the price I had paid for victory.

As I surveyed the aftermath, a chilling emptiness washed over me. The thrill of battle faded, replaced by a profound sense of loneliness. The path I had chosen was one of bloodshed and darkness, and the scars of war would forever mark my soul.

Turning away from the battlefield, my expression remained unchanged. The victory was mine, but it offered no solace. The darkness within me continued to drive me forward, a relentless force that consumed my every thought, the echoes of my triumphs and the ghosts of my fallen enemies remained, a chilling reminder of the price I paid for victory.

I went to spot Sheira, blowing off the enemy with her last blow. She was trying to catch her breath after the exhausting battle. Our troops succeeded in repelling the enemy, with this we will achieve victory but suddenly, her gaze said otherwise.

"Eamon, look out!"

A figure cloaked in black emerged from the shadows, launching a ferocious assault on me with a fighting style that felt eerily familiar.

My instincts kicked in, honed from countless battles. I parried the initial strikes with precision, countering with calculated moves of my own. However, it quickly became apparent that my adversary possessed a strength and skill far beyond anything I had encountered before.

With each clash of our swords, I felt the force behind their strikes, each blow landing with bone-crushing impact. The man in black moved with a fluidity and grace that seemed almost supernatural, his every movement calculated and deadly.

"You fight well," I admitted, my voice strained with effort. "But I will not yield."

And It hit me.

To be continued...