[Third Person POV]

Lucian’s shadow rippled outward from beneath him, spilling across the cavern floor in a crawling surge of black. The darkness stretched farther with every passing heartbeat, climbing jagged stone walls and consuming every crack and crevice until it seemed as though the cave itself had been drenched in ink.

Lucian remained pinned in Scylla’s monstrous grip, her serpentine fingers squeezing so tightly that the sound of bones creaking and cracking reverberated across the stone chamber. The noise was grotesque, an orchestra of pain that echoed with every breath he forced out through clenched teeth. His armor—already dented—was the only barrier between his body and complete annihilation. He knew, with grim certainty, that if not for its protection he would have been popped apart like an overfilled waterskin beneath her crushing strength.

Scylla’s multiple heads, all gnashing and twisting above her body, began to slow their frenzied movements. Their collective gaze snapped toward the encroaching dark. Her eyes narrowed, her monstrous face twitching with a primal unease as the shadows continued to multiply and swell. The ceiling itself grew black as tendrils of Lucian’s essence crawled upward, blanketing the stone in writhing darkness.

From Lucian’s side, where his hand pressed weakly against his thighs, something stirred. The silver skull-shaped ring—an artifact bound to his very soul—slipped free from his finger. The relic hovered, spinning slowly, It floated toward him with deliberate intent, drawn by his will.

Lucian’s red eyes, burning from within the slits of his helm, locked onto the ring as it drifted in front of him. Every muscle in his body screamed from the suffocating pressure of Scylla’s grip, yet he forced his breathing steady. His jaw clenched tight, the edges of his teeth grinding together. With a guttural growl, he reached out with his will.

Within moments, the relic elongated, stretching into the shape of a massive black and red scythe. Its curved blade gleamed with unnatural sharpness, spinning in the air so quickly that it became a whirling blur.

Scylla’s head jerked upward, her eyes flicking toward the ceiling now almost entirely consumed by writhing shadows. A flicker of panic bled into her monstrous features. She snapped her gaze back down to Lucian—too late.

With a howl of unleashed power, the scythe cleaved forward, the spinning edge slicing clean through one of Scylla’s thick forearms.

The result was instantaneous.

A guttural, animalistic gargle erupted from Scylla’s throat—more like the death cry of a beast than any coherent sound. The scream reverberated so violently it rattled loose stones from the cavern ceiling. Blood spewed from the stump in great arcs, painting the ground in steaming crimson. She recoiled, thrashing backward with frantic, serpentine movements, her remaining claws clutching the bleeding wound.

Lucian, along with the severed hand, fell toward the ground—yet the shadows rose eagerly to swallow them whole.

From the black tide, his army began to emerge. One after another, shapes coalesced, clawing and stomping their way into existence. The cavern groaned beneath their weight as Lucian’s shadow soldiers formed ranks, their eyes glowing faintly within the abyss of their helms. Towering above the legions stood three of the most terrifying: Golurk, his stone-like form radiating brute strength; Asura, his six massive arms flexing with anticipation; and Lorax, whose hunched and spiked silhouette was the embodiment of predatory menace.

Scylla hunched low, clutching her wound as a monstrous growl built in her chest. But her defiance faltered as her gaze lifted. From the very center of his army, standing atop his phantom steed Sébastien, Lucian emerged once more.

The steed’s eyes glowed as its hooves struck the shadowed floor without a sound. Lucian sat tall in the saddle, his broken arm cradled at his side, his presence amplified a hundredfold by the dark legion around him. The army had grown since the beginning of his cursed journey, each conquest feeding it, swelling it, until now he commanded a force that made even sea monsters hesitate.

He tilted his head toward Scylla, his voice dripping with menace. “Welcome,” he growled, his words echoing unnaturally through the cavern. “To my house of terror. I do hope you’ll enjoy your stay.”

For all her monstrous bulk, Scylla did not look menacing in that moment—she looked like a cornered beast, trembling beneath the oppressive weight of Lucian’s shadows. But fear only fueled her rage. With a furious lunge, she launched forward, ready to crush him and his creations beneath her massive coils.

The walls answered first.

From the shadow-coated stone on either side of her, and from the darkness stretching behind her, massive drakons burst forth. Their serpentine bodies lunged like predators from a nightmare, jaws snapping down on Scylla’s flesh. Their teeth sank deep, ripping scales and muscle away in bloody chunks.

“KAAAAHHHH!” Scylla shrieked, her voice shattering the air as she thrashed violently. She seized the shadow-beasts in her claw, tearing them away and smashing their bodies against the cavern floor in brutal arcs. Yet even as she destroyed them, more shadows surged forward.

The shadow army charged as one, weapons raised, battle cries echoing in silence. Above, Scylla’s remaining heads whipped forward, snapping toward Lucian with murderous intent.

Asura moved first. With a roar, the six-armed giant caught one of the heads in his upper arms, his colossal palms clamping over its snapping jaws. The second pair of arms steadied themselves along the length of the skull, while the final pair gripped the neck just below the jawline. Muscles bulged as Asura began to pull, his teeth gritted in savage determination.

The scales stretched, splitting like brittle fabric. Muscles tore in wet strings as the skin gave way. With one final, wrenching rip, the head tore free from its body.

Asura let out a victorious bellow, tossing the decapitated head aside as black blood sprayed across the cavern floor. He grinned savagely, his many arms flexing in triumph.

On the opposite side, Golurk made his move. The hulking shadow barreled into another lunging head, his immense stone-like shoulder colliding with its skull in a bone-shattering impact. The force of the blow pinned the monster against the cavern wall. Without hesitation, Golurk raised both fists and pummeled the thrashing head relentlessly. Each strike landed with the sound of boulders colliding, blood splattering with every crushing blow. Scales cracked, flesh split, and the skull beneath caved with each brutal punch until the beast’s resistance faltered. Golurk’s fists dripped with gore as he delivered the final strike, smashing the cranium into fragments.

Murder slashed her claw viciously across one of Scylla’s writhing heads, her talons sinking deep into the fleshy orb of its eye. A sickening squelch rang out, followed by an immediate eruption of blood and pus. The beast shrieked in agony, thrashing so violently the cavern trembled beneath its convulsions. The wound didn’t just blind—the touch of Murder’s cursed claws carried rot and plague. Within moments, the head began to convulse, froth spilling from its jaws as bile and vomit poured uncontrollably from its throat. Its once-mighty roar had turned into a wet, gurgling rasp.

The Lorax seized the moment. Plantlike veins crawled up his arms, his hands sprouting thick roots that twisted and writhed as though alive. With a guttural roar, he forced them into the head’s ruined eye sockets, the wood digging deeper, spreading like a parasite. The infected flesh weakened by fever and rot could not resist. Roots burrowed until the thrashing ceased altogether, the massive head slumping lifelessly under his grip.

All around, Scylla screamed in unfathomable pain. Her serpentine legs flailed violently, smashing against stone walls and columns with explosive force. Each strike caused cascades of rubble to rain down from the ceiling, boulders shattering on the cavern floor with thunderous cracks. Her body thrashed so wildly that even the shadow soldiers were battered aside, their forms torn apart like smoke in a storm. Yet again and again they reformed, their blades and spears stabbing into her coiling limbs, drawing streams of blood that hissed and sizzled as they hit the shadow-drenched ground.

Lucian observed with a merciless stare, Sébastien shifting beneath him but standing steadfast amid the chaos. His crimson eyes followed every movement of his army and every twitch of Scylla’s titanic form. Inside his helm, his thoughts rang cold and measured.

‘If I truly wished to kill her, I would summon Captain. The battle would already be over. But no… this is not death I seek.’ His gaze narrowed, his grip tightening on the haft of his scythe. ‘I only need her subdued.’

His voice cut through the cavern. “Ainz.”

The name echoed, low and commanding, resonating with absolute authority.

From the shadows behind Scylla, a monstrous figure rose. A skeletal torso of demonic proportion clawed its way into the physical world. Its exposed ribs gleamed crimson, and its hollow sockets blazed with black fire, while black horns poked skyward.

Scylla twisting in alarm. But before she could turn her full bulk, Ainz was upon her. His towering skeletal form surged forward with terrifying speed. Once her writhing necks were crippled and her heads rendered useless, he clamped his massive arm around her throat. With his other hand, he crushed her jaw shut, silencing her cries. His hand pressed down across her mouth and nose, smothering her with the cold finality.

Scylla bucked and writhed in desperation, the cavern walls groaning from her frantic thrashing. Her one remaining hand hammered mercilessly against Ainz’s skull, each blow shaking the demon’s body with concussive force. Cracks split across the surface of his skull, fragments snapping away with every strike. Yet Lucian’s floating crimson crystal ball pulsed with steady light, weaving repair after repair. Each fracture sealed instantly, each shattered piece restored as if nothing had ever been broken.

Still, Scylla’s panic was palpable. Her monstrous eyes swam with terror, tears of pain mixing with streams of blood. Her screams, muffled beneath Ainz’s suffocating grip, rang out as frantic vibrations against the cavern air. Her strength was vast, every blow strong enough to topple towers—but the poison and fever spread by Murder had already begun their slow, merciless work. Each strike grew weaker, less coordinated. Her breath grew ragged, shallow.

Lucian’s steed clopped forward with ghostly silence, carrying its master to the forefront of the battle. His scythe dragged along the ground, sparks hissing as the blade scraped stone. With deliberate slowness, he approached the thrashing monster until he stood mere feet from her face.

He raised his weapon, the blade gleaming with lethal promise. His voice, calm yet edged with steel, resonated through the chamber:

“I will kill you.”

Scylla froze at the words, her remaining eye locking onto his. Lucian’s expression was grim, but there was something more behind it—a piercing sincerity that broke through the monstrous façade.

“The sea monster known as Scylla,” he continued, voice steady, “that part of you shall die. But you, the nymph you once were—you will be born again. This I swear, by my word as a Knight. So rest. When next you open your eyes, you will return to your old self.”

Her vision blurred, the corners darkening into shadow. Lucian’s scarlet gaze, unwavering and resolute, was the last image she saw before her strength gave out entirely. Her body sagged limp in Ainz’s skeletal grip, her head lolling forward as unconsciousness swallowed her whole.

The cavern fell eerily quiet.

Lucian exhaled a long, ragged sigh. His body trembled, the toll of battle finally catching up to him. Dismounting from Sébastien, his knees nearly gave out beneath him, but Murder darted forward and caught him before he could collapse to the blood-soaked ground.

He lowered himself carefully, settling cross-legged onto the stone floor. With single thought, he removed his helmet, his sweat-soaked hair falling across his forehead. He slicked it back with a practiced motion and muttered one word:

“Chomper.”

At once, his shadow mimic bounded forward from the darkness, panting with its tongue lolling out like an eager hound. It wagged its formless body in excitement, looking up at its master as Ainz gently laid Scylla’s unconscious form upon the cavern floor.

Lucian raised a hand, his tone sharp despite his fatigue. “Spit out my mortar and pestle, along with my brewing equipment.”

The mimic obeyed instantly, disgorging an assortment of tools from its gaping maw.

Lucian’s crimson eyes narrowed with clinical precision as he leaned toward Scylla’s still form. “After I analyze the poison corrupting her veins, I’ll instruct you on which herbs to spit out next,” he continued. His shadow soldiers crowded close, their glowing eyes fixed on him in reverent silence as they loved to watch their master work.

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Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep