Chapter 126: The Weight of Mortality
Chapter 126: Chapter 126: The Weight of Mortality
Chapter 126: The Weight of Mortality
The first Razor-Hound lunged.
It was a massive, heavily armored beast driven mad by the dense Miasma. It leaped across the crumpled hood of the Iron Leviathan, aiming its jagged jaws directly at Draven’s throat.
Inside the sealed VIP lounge, Estella screamed and slammed her fists against the reinforced glass. Aegon gritted his teeth, his eyes wide with absolute dread. They knew Draven was powerless. The Absolute Dead Zone had stripped away all their magic. They fully expected to watch their Captain be torn to shreds.
Draven did not move. He simply watched the beast approach.
His SS-Rank Vector Manipulation was trapped inside his body. His A-Rank Void-Step was useless because the spatial coordinates outside his skin were erased by the Embryo.
But Draven was not a scrawny mage who hid behind his squad.
CRUNCH!
Draven pivoted on his heel and drove his bare fist directly into the Razor-Hound’s skull.
He did not use magic. He did not use a weapon. He used his base biological stats. With a monstrous Strength stat of 850, his fist hit the creature with the force of a falling meteor.
The heavy bone-plating on the beast’s head completely caved in. The creature’s neck snapped backward at a sickening angle. It crumpled to the metal roof, instantly dead.
Three more Razor-Hounds swarmed him from the sides.
Draven moved like a ghost. His 920 Agility made him a blur. He ducked beneath a sweeping claw, grabbed the thick armored leg of a beast, and violently lifted the two-ton monster over his head. He slammed it down onto the tracks, shattering its spine.
THWACK. SNAP. BOOM.
Draven became a localized natural disaster. He tore through the armored beasts with brutal, calculated martial arts. He snapped limbs, crushed windpipes, and punched clean holes through thick biological armor. Black blood stained his Vanguard coat.
Above the carnage, Morvath the Hollow floated in absolute silence.
The future Cult Elder narrowed his pitch-black eyes. He was completely stunned.
’How is he doing this?! The reports had said that he was a Telekinetic Mage!!’
Morvath had analyzed Draven Mordis. He knew the boy possessed a terrifying spatial authority. Morvath assumed Draven was a fragile spellcaster, completely reliant on his god-like "cheats" to survive.
Seeing this supposed mage physically dominate a pack of armored monsters with his bare hands shattered Morvath’s understanding of the boy.
’What kind of physical constitution is this?’ Morvath thought, gripping the hilt of his serrated blade.
’He is not a normal Mage. He is a beast wearing human skin. If we leave him alive, he will become a greater threat to the Cult!’
---
Inside the lounge, Aegon stepped back from the glass, his jaw hanging open.
"He is not using mana," Aegon whispered in disbelief. "That is pure physical strength. He hits harder than my mom’s slipper!"
"But he is a Master of space," Lucien muttered, staring at the massacre. "How did he train his body to that level despite being a mage?"
---
Draven stood amidst the pile of broken monsters. He breathed heavily. His knuckles were bruised, but his passive A-Rank High-Speed Regeneration was already knitting the micro-tears in his muscles back together.
Draven looked up at the floating Cultist. His sharp, tactical mind dissected the situation perfectly.
’The Embryo of the Crimson Void,’ Draven thought rapidly. ’It is an absolute domain of suppression. Whenever I try to push my mana outward, the Miasma immediately disintegrates it. External attacks are impossible.’
Draven recalled the original plot of the novel. Neville Hennesy had fought this exact villain. Neville did not win with strategy. Neville won because he possessed overwhelming plot armor and absurd, protagonist-level physical strength. Neville had simply beaten Morvath to death over three agonizing days.
’I will exhaust myself if I rely strictly on raw biology,’ Draven concluded. ’Neville used brute force. I will use science.’
The domain only erased mana that was pushed out into the world. It could not erase what remained securely contained inside a physical vessel.
Draven closed his eyes for a fraction of a second. He turned his SS-Rank Vector Manipulation entirely inward.
He applied kinetic vectors to his own biological functions. He accelerated his blood flow, delivering massive amounts of oxygen to his brain and muscles. He applied directional vectors to his joints, ensuring that every single ounce of kinetic energy generated by his body flowed entirely in one direction. There would be absolutely no wasted motion. No recoil.
He artificially pushed his fighting ability past the limits of human biology.
Draven opened his eyes. They burned with a cold, terrifying clarity.
Morvath slowly descended. His boots touched the bloody metal of the train roof. The Cultist realized the monsters were useless. He would have to execute the boy himself.
"You hide a monster beneath that skin, Draven Mordis," Morvath spoke, raising his serrated black blade. The weapon dripped with toxic, mana-suppressing Miasma. "But physical strength alone cannot break an Edict."
"That is an incomplete Edict! And I do not need to break your Edict," Draven replied softly, rolling his shoulders.
"I just need to break your neck."
Morvath vanished.
The Cultist was a Level 100 Executioner. Even without his magic, his raw speed was blinding. He reappeared directly in front of Draven, swinging the serrated blade in a lethal horizontal arc aimed at Draven’s throat.
CLANG!
Draven did not dodge. He raised his arm. He used an internal vector to instantly harden the kinetic density of his forearm muscles. The Cultist’s blade struck Draven’s bare arm and bounced off as if it had hit solid titanium.
Morvath’s eyes widened in sheer shock.
Draven twisted his hips. He calculated the exact angular momentum required for maximum lethality. He unleashed a devastating counter-punch aimed at Morvath’s ribs.
BOOM!
Morvath barely brought his blade down in time to block the strike. The sheer physical force of Draven’s punch sent the Level 100 Executioner skidding violently backward across the roof of the train. The metal beneath Morvath’s boots groaned and warped from the friction.
Morvath caught his balance near the edge of the carriage. He looked at his hands. They were trembling from the kinetic impact.
"You are a terrifying anomaly," Morvath stated, his hollow voice lacing with genuine caution.
"You talk too much," Draven countered.
Draven blurred forward. He closed the distance in a millisecond.
The two warriors clashed on the edge of the abyss. It was a brutal, high-speed martial arts duel. Morvath swung his toxic blade in wild, sweeping arcs, trying to catch Draven off guard.
Draven fought with mechanical, scientific perfection. He ducked under a lethal swing, applied a sudden internal vector to his own center of gravity to pivot instantly, and drove a brutal knee into Morvath’s stomach.
GURK.
Morvath choked, spitting a mouthful of black blood. The Cultist retaliated, spinning and slashing the blade across Draven’s chest.
RIP.
The serrated edge tore through Draven’s Vanguard coat, leaving a shallow, bleeding cut across his collarbone. Draven ignored the pain entirely. He grabbed Morvath’s wrist with an iron grip, locking the Cultist in place.
The two men stood frozen on the crumpled hood of the Iron Leviathan, locked in a deadly, physical stalemate. The heavy durasteel bridge groaned beneath the weight of the stalled train.
Below them, the bottomless Miasma Gorge waited hungrily.
"You will die here, anomaly," Morvath hissed, his dead eyes glaring into Draven’s face.
Draven looked at the unstable mana-fusion core exposed in the wreckage of the train carriage right behind Morvath.
A cold, calculating smile spread across Draven’s face.
"No," Draven whispered. "I am just getting started."
SNAP!