Chương 279: A Fatal Mistake

The brutal, one-sided battle continued, a terrifying spectacle of absolute dominance. Khaos was no longer just testing his durability; he was now testing the limits of his own strength, pushing his physical form to see how much punishment it could dish out. He moved with a fluid, predatory grace, his fists and feet a blur of motion, each blow landing with the force of a battering ram that sent sickening crunches echoing through the cavern.

Malek, his leg shattered and his body a mass of bruises and internal injuries, was now little more than a punching bag. He was a cornered, wounded beast, his earlier rage having given way to a desperate, frantic struggle for survival. He managed to land a few more hits on Khaos, wild, telegraphed swings that Khaos could have easily dodged. But Khaos let the attacks hit him. A demonic claw raked across his shoulder, leaving another set of faint, white scratches that faded in seconds.

A blast of corrosive energy slammed into his back, doing nothing more than creating a brief, foul-smelling cloud of smoke. Each time Malek managed to land a blow, a flicker of wild, desperate hope would ignite in his eyes. But that hope was instantly extinguished as he saw the utter lack of effect his attacks had, and by the amused, disappointed look on his opponent's face. Khaos was still pushing him back with every single exchange, but it was not the overwhelming, dominating show of force he was capable of.

It was a slow, methodical dissection, a cruel and drawn-out execution that was designed to break not just Malek's body, but his spirit, while testing.

"Is that really all you have?" Khaos asked, his voice calm as he effortlessly sidestepped a clumsy punch and delivered a punishing blow to Malek's already-broken knee, eliciting another roar of pure agony from the demon.

"I am profoundly disappointed. Your form is grotesque, your techniques are crude, and your power is… lacking. You are a blemish on the very concept of a battle." Malek began to panic. A cold, soul-deep terror was now overriding his demonic rage. Nothing he did gave him an edge over this man. He was outmatched in raw strength, his demonic arts were useless, and his durability was a joke compared to his opponent's. He had sacrificed his humanity, his very soul, for this power, and it was being treated as a plaything.

He could feel his life force draining from the numerous internal injuries Khaos had inflicted. He was going to die here, toyed with and humiliated. Desperation took hold. He decided to unleash his full power, to hold nothing back, to stake everything on one final, overwhelming assault. It would leave him vulnerable afterwards but if he could get pass this man here, he had a chance. He let out a roar that shook the cavern, and the red runes carved into his skin began to blaze with a blinding, hellish light.

The sickly green-red demonic energy that wreathed his body condensed, solidifying into a suit of jagged, demonic armor. Two massive, tattered wings, fashioned from shadow and bone, erupted from his back. He had fully embraced his demonic form, unleashing every last ounce of power he possessed. Then he decided to unleash his forbidden technique as well.

"You want more power? I'll show you power!" he screamed, his voice turning into a wet, gurgling shriek.

"Demonic Immolation of the Soulflame!" This technique burned away his very life essence to grant power. An even more intense green-red flame erupted from his body, but this fire was different. It was burning with his own life force as fuel. His grievous wounds began to close, the shattered bone in his leg twisting and snapping back into place with an audible crunch. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

His aura swelled, doubling in intensity, the demonic power reaching a new, terrifying peak. The trade-off was visible; his monstrous skin began to dry and crack, and his hair, which had been a dark, lustrous black, turned a brittle, ashen gray. He was literally burning his lifespan away for a few moments of greater power.

"Now, this is interesting," Khaos said with genuine curiosity in his eyes as he observed the transformation.

"A slightly more polished piece of filth. Show me what this new form can do." Empowered and enraged by his sacrifice, Malek charged, his new wings giving him an explosive burst of speed that was twice as fast as before. He no longer felt pain, only a burning, all-consuming rage. He unleashed a flurry of demonic techniques, his movements now a blur of shadows and corrupting energy. He fired lances of solidified blood, not just a few, but a veritable storm of them.

He created tendrils of shadow to bind Khaos's limbs, and blasted him with waves of soul-chilling necrotic energy. This time, Khaos did not simply stand there. The blood lances were faster, their tips imbued with a self-destructive power that made them explode on impact. Khaos moved, a fluid dance of avoidance, weaving through the storm of projectiles.

One of the lances grazed his arm, and this time it did not just scratch him; it exploded, leaving a blackened, sizzling patch on his skin for a full second before it healed. The shadow tendrils that erupted from the ground were thicker, faster, and Khaos was forced to actively swat them away, his hands blurring as he tore through the shadowy bindings. He was still dominant, but now he was being forced to participate, to actually fight. The battle entered a new, more frantic phase.

Malek, burning through his life force at a terrifying rate, attacked with the desperation of a dying rat. He formed a massive blade from his own congealed blood and swung it in a wide, devastating arc. Khaos, for the first time, did not meet it with his fist. Instead, one of his massive battle scythes shot from behind his back into his hand, and he parried the blow with a sharp clang of metal on metal that sent a shockwave tearing through the valley.

"Better," Khaos commented, a genuine smile returning to his face as he easily shoved the blood blade back.

"But your technique is still hideous, you ugly beast." For the next several minutes, they fought, their battle a cataclysm that shook the very foundations of the mountain. Malek, high on his borrowed power, began to feel a surge of genuine hope. He was holding his ground. He was forcing this arrogant monster to use a weapon! His sacrifice was working! He was winning! He became more and more reckless, his attacks wider, more powerful, believing he was on the verge of victory.

In his terror and fury, his mind fracturing under the relentless physical and psychological assault, Malek made his final, fatal mistake. After a particularly powerful exchange where Khaos was actually forced to take a single step back to brace himself, Malek's arrogance surged. He truly believed he had the upper hand. He screamed, his voice a raw, desperate howl of pure, triumphant hatred, pouring all of his frustration and humiliation into a single, venomous insult.

"You arrogant fool! You are a delusional old man who has no idea of the true power of the demons! When the Harbinger arrives, he will make you fall to your knees! He will make you beg for the mercy of a quick death!" Khaos paused. The entire atmosphere of the cavern changed in an instant. The playful, predatory amusement in his eyes vanished, replaced by something cold, ancient, and utterly merciless.

The temperature in the crater plummeted, a thin layer of frost spreading out from where he stood but it was not white as it should be, it was black. The faint, arrogant smile on his face was gone, replaced by a mask of absolute, regal fury. He hated being insulted by anyone, but more than that, he hated the very concept of kneeling to anyone. The idea of begging for mercy was anathema to his very being, an insult to the core of his existence as a primordial king.

He had been indulging in a hunt, toying with his prey for his own amusement and testing. But the prey had forgotten its place. It had dared to insult the hunter, this king. A cold, killing rage now blazed in Khaos's eyes. The hunt was over. It was time for the execution.