Atropos never lost concentration, focusing her perception on the woman across from her as they moved away from the others. Despite having her eyes closed and behind bandages she was always able to track the woman through her mana. Her silhouette a misty light blue in her dark vision.
Her skills furthering her innate talent she had nurtured during being captured before meeting Drake.
Now with the increase in ability the system granted she could make out an entire person with her senses without issue.
“You are the first person I have met with your unique elemental affinity…” Otarrah suddenly said, “Someone so beneath me is able to compete due to its effects. It is interesting and also a shame you serve such an incompetent master.”
Atropos’s eye twitched below her bandage.
Did this halfwit bitch, call the great, Lord Drake… I-i-incompetent?! She fumed.
“The only shame here is the fact you think you have any chance of winning against a student of the Tyrant Asuran!” Atropos said proudly, raising her chin, “You have made a grave error in allowing us to separate you from prying eyes…”
“I would not be so sure. I have heard you only increased your strength recently. And this certainly proves such. You are high-strung, intoxicated on the euphoric aftertaste of leveling so quickly. But I will soon quell that.”
Atropos scoffed, pulling down her blindfold and for the first time since training with Drake, opened her eyes, pristine sapphires staring in the night.
“Only two men, three people, still live that know what my eyes look like. And by the end of this night, it will remain those two men. I stake my life on it.”
“Then, I shall take that bet.”
Otarrah raised her staff and in a brief flash of red, brown, and green, three magic circles formed at her sides. A spike of earth, a ball of flame, and a cutting torrent of wind manifesting quickly and without incantation.
She has a skill to omit spell casting, she must use a significant amount of her skill slots towards it then. Atropos thought, taking hold of her dark magic enchanted staff.
“Landin must have assumed the same, to place me against you alone. As expected of another student of Lord Drake, he is perceptive.”
Atropos moved quickly, running forward in sweeping zig-zag motions as she duck and dove across the distance between them, dodging fireballs, spikes of earth, and blades of wind.
Unable to dodge every single one she took to using her scythe to deflect the spells, finding that she could cut them down due to her elemental effect.
Slashing down, the weight of her enchanted scythe being more than herself, she lurched forward, the dark purplish crescent sliding into the muddy ground. With her increased stats she pushed off the ground, somersaulting over the weapon and pulling it as she went, throwing it forward in the same motion.
The scythe whizzed through the air cutting through spells with sounds similar to bugs flying into an electric trap with each manifestation of magic it passed through until it collided with Otarrah’s shield.
Atropos’s weapon bounced off the shield leaving a small crack and singe mark, surprising Otarrah, which was further exacerbated by Atropos appearing out of thin air, both hands around the shaft of her weapon.
“There are several things I know to be true. Lord Drake is stronger than anyone or anything in this world or the next. And that you will die here for insulting the man I adore. Your fate has been decided, I have foreseen it!”
Otarrah’s head whipped up, as the magic circles twisted with her, the spells manifesting at speed to rebuke Atropos.
“The ranting of a scared child,” she muttered back.
But the spells, just like her words, fell on deaf and eluding ears.
Atropos moved with such speed, no. Such conviction as the future was laid before her, allowing her to move ahead of the spell’s formation and release, dodging every single spell with minimal effort.
Moving her head slightly a spike of earth passed harmlessly through her hair, her entire body taking on the skills effect.
Atropos’s eyes glowed, shifting from the sapphires into deep amethysts, her pristine snow-white hair turning to raven black, her four tails swaying hypnotically as they radiated with mana.
Spell after spell, aimed for her vitals. Exhaustion began to paint Otarrah’s slowly pained face as each spell missed their mark even from the short distance.
Atropos danced in the night rain, her eyes leaving small trails of purple as they followed Otarrah through her precise steps to dodge blasts of fire, wind, and earth.
Otarrah’s face was quickly becoming panicked, her spells less frequent until finally they became non-existent.
“W-what are you? Monster!”
Atropos walked forward, hips swaying, scythe languidly behind her back until she stopped a few steps in front of Otarrah.
“Monster I may be. But I am his monster.”
“Nonsense!” Otarrah roared, a spike of earth flying out from below her feet, right for Atropos’s throat.
But just like the others, Atropos saw it coming with her foresight skill, and just like before she raised her scythe in a fluid motion splitting the spike of earth in two as it passed her harmlessly.
Otarrah growled, her breath ragged as she looked up from below her mage hat, pale blue eyes staring daggers at Atropos.
Atropos swung her scythe aiming to end the fight so she could rush to Drake’s side and save Landin, but a clang rang out as her weapon bounced off the barrier skill despite Otarrah being exhausted.
“There will be no getting through my barrier. By the time it’s up I’ll have enough mana to recast it and kill you eventually. You can’t win!” Otarrah laughed, raising her voice.
“Is that so?” Atropos said matter of factly, placing her hand to the barrier, “It looks that this is made from pure mana…” she smiled, “Pity.”
Atropos raised her scythe once more.
“What are you doing…? It’s no use you flustered child! You’ve lost!” Otarrah yelled, sweat beading down her face.
“Then you have nothing to fear.”
Atropos brought down her scythe, scraping against the barrier, a purple line cracking the shell.
“One,” Atropos counted, swiping horizontally and hitting the shell again, “Two,” now throwing her scythe upwards and teleporting to it, gripping the weapon with both hands and slashing in a downward strike, “Three!”
The third strike passed through the barrier, the sound of shattering glass and crackling like static snapping and prickling their ears.
Otarrah’s mouth gaped open as it quivered. She tried to raise a hand only to see her vision part into several small windows.
“Rend,” Atropos whispered, her hair’s raven black receding back to white.
[You have killed Otarrah Breaker Level 18] [Experience earned, 197 Nobility Points awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Night Oracle Level 17] [25 Free Points have been awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Night Oracle Level 18] [25 Free Points have been awarded]
Atropos swiped away the notifications from her vision, her skills dissipating as she returned to normal, her scythe sizzling out and the black-purplish inky fire receding.
She plucked the bag that materialized from Otarrah’s body, stowing it away before she turned in the direction of where Drake had gone.
Putting one foot in front of the other only to trip, slipping to the ground as her legs gave out underneath her.
“L-Lord Drake…” she muttered, reaching a hand out in his direction.
Her strength gave out, her vision darkening from over exhaustion. But she felt something catch her falling hand just before it touched the wet ground.
“You worked hard Atropos… Leave the rest to me.”
She smiled upon hearing those words and let her consciousness fade.
—--------
Clotho walked warily behind the wolfkin, Quetz on his side, almost skipping along as if not a worry in the world.
“Teaming up with CC, teaming up with CC yay!” she hummed.
This girl will be more trouble to watch after than my sister… He thought.
Spreading out his wires to discreetly circle them he made sure to track the wolfkin, Mae. Clotho had no idea the extent of his abilities, but in their last exchange, he was barely able to keep him at bay from killing his sister. And from the strain on his wires, he could tell it was only because Mae had let him.
They walked through a gate further away from Drake and the others, more toward the north and deeper inside the city than they had been. And the further the better.
In Clotho’s mind, he only wished for his sister to be safe and he knew very well that the mage was not her opponent. Throughout their life, Atropos had been the fighter.
In his thoughts, he suddenly caught the scent of something acrid, on the verge of turning putrid. They were still too far from the source but his sense of smell was keen, more enhanced now after advancing to F-Rank. He knew this smell well after the trials and training in the forest with Lord Wallen, it was the smell of blood. A lot of blood.
“This is far enough, yeah?” Mae finally said, stopping, “If we go further we’ll hit the pits and I just can’t stand the smell of that nasty place. The count needs them, but I don’t see the point when he has upper undead like us. Oops! I wasn’t supposed to say that. Just forget it ok? Not like it will matter though, you’re going to die anyway,” Mae grinned widely.
Clotho’s body tensed but he did not reply. Quetz didn’t either, but her lack of response seemed to be more of her not paying attention rather than not being willing.
She still hummed, bouncing slightly from foot to foot with a slight smile on her face, her hands behind her back.
Mae growled, annoyed with the lack of reaction, “Are you ignoring me..? I can kill you without breaking a sweat and you’re… ignoring me?”
He began laughing, throwing back his head as he moved the dagger in his hand back and forth like a metronome, Ah… Ahhhh!! I’m going to fillet your flesh from your lousy worthless bodies, then throw you into the pits, you-”
But he was suddenly cut off, Quetz frowning and a smoking gun pointed at Mae.
Mae had blocked the bullet with the tip of his dagger, moving it dramatically from his face to show another mirthful sneer.
“Little birdy has a temper… I like it! Yaahaa!”
Mae’s form blurred like a mirage, the raindrops cutting through it as if it were ink on paper, running lines through the translucent image.
Clotho felt something pull on one of his wires, and he yanked his hand back to capture it. Mae materialized with a frown on his face, his hand caught in the wire.
But it was only for an instant as he pulled another dagger from his side, and cutting upward freed himself from the entanglement.
Clotho’s lip curved upwards in a growl. It wasn’t long enough to apply a stack of his passive.
Quetz gave a sharp whistle and shot to the sky, her pistols in hand and ready to fire.
They both could not track the wolfkin but Clotho did have the best chance at a counterattack and preventing him from landing a fatal blow on either of them.
But counter to what Clotho was preparing for, Mae backed off, leaping back after freeing himself and throwing one of his daggers into the air.
“Dagger Fan Dance,” Mae uttered.
His thrown dagger multiplied instantly, adding five new daggers side by side hanging above his head.
Quetz reacted first, firing off several bullets in the same second, the wind around her bristling with power enhancing her weapons while slicing through the rain producing breaks in the rainfall.
Mae motioned with his hands, the fan of daggers beginning to rotate clockwise, each of Quetz’s bullets sending sparks off the blades.
The wolfkin smiled behind his spinning daggers.
“Bet you thought you had the advantage huh kids? Too bad!” he laughed in condescension.
However, Quetz was not the only one fighting him. Clotho gave a few flicks of his wrists, his wires coming alive and going to work.
The wires quickly surrounded Mae, cutting through rain so finely the surroundings were undisturbed as they closed in around the gray wolf.
Mae grabbed a dagger from the spinning six and crouched his body glowing green just before he blurred.
Spiraling blades of green light shot out from him in each direction cutting through the wires with ease as they dropped to the floor in pieces. More than half of Clotho’s weaponry was rendered useless.
The level difference between us is too large, but that doesn’t explain the strength he has alone… He must have a high rarity class as well. Clotho growled inwardly.
Several more shots rang out from above, Quetz unrelenting in peppering Mae, trying to do her best to cover Clotho.
The fan of daggers had never stopped spinning in Mae’s defense, however. The bullets ricocheted off the flats of the blades. All except for one.
One of Quetz’s bullets curved, threading like a needle between the daggers and striking Mae in the shoulder.
“Ahh! You little!” Mae grunted in pain, his jowls curling in a feral growl.
Mae had been distracted for just a moment, but Clotho wouldn’t let the opportunity slip. It was finally his chance to do some damage also.
He flicked his wrist and flexed his aura at the same time.
Mae’s face visibly paled for a moment before turning to unbridled rage as he looked down at a small wire wrapped around his ankle.
“What did you do?!” Mae seethed.
Mae snapped his wrist, cutting the wire like a seamstress snipping thread, then blurred out of vision.
Quetz rushed down next to Clotho, flexing her own aura into the surroundings and a myriad of spiraling transparent blades of wind began slicing through the rain and anything close to them.
But somehow Mae had evaded almost all of them, getting in close. The only indication he had, a small cut on his cheek, the meek splatter of blood revealing his location.
Clotho’s aura and first two stacks of his Creeping Inevitability having a significant effect. And it seemed that Mae had finally noticed the health depletion from his Medusa’s Venom as well. Mae’s glowering face devoid of the casual playful enjoyment he had earlier.
In Quetz’s hands, her pistols vanished, replaced by a shotgun.
“The wind sings with the howl of a whipped storm. Howling Gale!”
Quetz chanted, her voice carried by the wind of her aura, making it nearly ethereal between the gusts. He shotgun racking five times in less than a second, the slugs still leaving the slide.
Her shotgun glowed in a vibrant verdant green, humming with power for only a moment. Before it was expelled with the sound of a hurricane being let loose.
The blast collided with Mae.
But his fan of spinning daggers quickly came to his defense, fighting against the turbulent enchanted shot.
This was where Clotho out pulled all the stops.
Flicking his wrist and pulling on strings with his fingers as if he was playing a song on the air, his wires shot forward.
Clotho finally speaking, “A fate cast by threads, is fate indeed. Fate’s Doll!”
The remaining wires he had were lessened but it didn’t matter, his skill entrapping and surrounding Mae as he was preoccupied with fighting against Quetz’s skill.
Clotho activated his strongest combo against the immobilized Mae. Using his newest skill that he gained from the Fox woman in the auction.
Fated Degradation. A skill that speeds up any harmful effects currently on a target to their max effect, but holds an enormous cooldown and cost.
Mae instantly froze, his body beginning to petrify and turn to stone. The full effects of Clotho’s Brittle effect evident.
In the same breath, Clotho felt his grip on Mae weaken, but the skills had already done their job.
“Losing yourself in the strings of fate, leads to a mortal end. Cat’s Cradle…” Clotho eked out, his voice barely a whisper against the Howling Gale of Quetz.
But he looked at Mae satisfied as he saw the wolfkin break into pieces, then scattered to dust in the turbulent winds.
[You have killed Mae Cris Level 20] [Experience earned. 315 Nobility Points awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Thread Manipulator Level 17] [20 Free Points have been awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Thread Manipulator Level 18] [20 Free Points have been awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Thread Manipulator Level 19] [20 Free Points have been awarded]
The silence after the fight was a stark contrast to the cacophony of sounds and blasts just a moment ago.
Clotho fell to the ground expecting to hit cold wet dirt, but instead felt damp yet soft feathers wrapping around him.
“Quetz always knew CC had a nice voice,” she giggled, exhaustion straining her face, yet still having a small grin.
Clotho’s eyes widened in surprise but he didn’t have the strength to fight and separate himself.
He caught the sudden scent of fruit, his mind wary, “It smells… nice…”
Atropos never lost concentration, focusing her perception on the woman across from her as they moved away from the others. Despite having her eyes closed and behind bandages she was always able to track the woman through her mana. Her silhouette a misty light blue in her dark vision.
Her skills furthering her innate talent she had nurtured during being captured before meeting Drake.
Now with the increase in ability the system granted she could make out an entire person with her senses without issue.
“You are the first person I have met with your unique elemental affinity…” Otarrah suddenly said, “Someone so beneath me is able to compete due to its effects. It is interesting and also a shame you serve such an incompetent master.”
Atropos’s eye twitched below her bandage.
Did this halfwit bitch, call the great, Lord Drake… I-i-incompetent?! She fumed.
“The only shame here is the fact you think you have any chance of winning against a student of the Tyrant Asuran!” Atropos said proudly, raising her chin, “You have made a grave error in allowing us to separate you from prying eyes…”
“I would not be so sure. I have heard you only increased your strength recently. And this certainly proves such. You are high-strung, intoxicated on the euphoric aftertaste of leveling so quickly. But I will soon quell that.”
Atropos scoffed, pulling down her blindfold and for the first time since training with Drake, opened her eyes, pristine sapphires staring in the night.
“Only two men, three people, still live that know what my eyes look like. And by the end of this night, it will remain those two men. I stake my life on it.”
“Then, I shall take that bet.”
Otarrah raised her staff and in a brief flash of red, brown, and green, three magic circles formed at her sides. A spike of earth, a ball of flame, and a cutting torrent of wind manifesting quickly and without incantation.
She has a skill to omit spell casting, she must use a significant amount of her skill slots towards it then. Atropos thought, taking hold of her dark magic enchanted staff.
“Landin must have assumed the same, to place me against you alone. As expected of another student of Lord Drake, he is perceptive.”
Atropos moved quickly, running forward in sweeping zig-zag motions as she duck and dove across the distance between them, dodging fireballs, spikes of earth, and blades of wind.
Unable to dodge every single one she took to using her scythe to deflect the spells, finding that she could cut them down due to her elemental effect.
Slashing down, the weight of her enchanted scythe being more than herself, she lurched forward, the dark purplish crescent sliding into the muddy ground. With her increased stats she pushed off the ground, somersaulting over the weapon and pulling it as she went, throwing it forward in the same motion.
The scythe whizzed through the air cutting through spells with sounds similar to bugs flying into an electric trap with each manifestation of magic it passed through until it collided with Otarrah’s shield.
Atropos’s weapon bounced off the shield leaving a small crack and singe mark, surprising Otarrah, which was further exacerbated by Atropos appearing out of thin air, both hands around the shaft of her weapon.
“There are several things I know to be true. Lord Drake is stronger than anyone or anything in this world or the next. And that you will die here for insulting the man I adore. Your fate has been decided, I have foreseen it!”
Otarrah’s head whipped up, as the magic circles twisted with her, the spells manifesting at speed to rebuke Atropos.
“The ranting of a scared child,” she muttered back.
But the spells, just like her words, fell on deaf and eluding ears.
Atropos moved with such speed, no. Such conviction as the future was laid before her, allowing her to move ahead of the spell’s formation and release, dodging every single spell with minimal effort.
Moving her head slightly a spike of earth passed harmlessly through her hair, her entire body taking on the skills effect.
Atropos’s eyes glowed, shifting from the sapphires into deep amethysts, her pristine snow-white hair turning to raven black, her four tails swaying hypnotically as they radiated with mana.
Spell after spell, aimed for her vitals. Exhaustion began to paint Otarrah’s slowly pained face as each spell missed their mark even from the short distance.
Atropos danced in the night rain, her eyes leaving small trails of purple as they followed Otarrah through her precise steps to dodge blasts of fire, wind, and earth.
Otarrah’s face was quickly becoming panicked, her spells less frequent until finally they became non-existent.
“W-what are you? Monster!”
Atropos walked forward, hips swaying, scythe languidly behind her back until she stopped a few steps in front of Otarrah.
“Monster I may be. But I am his monster.”
“Nonsense!” Otarrah roared, a spike of earth flying out from below her feet, right for Atropos’s throat.
But just like the others, Atropos saw it coming with her foresight skill, and just like before she raised her scythe in a fluid motion splitting the spike of earth in two as it passed her harmlessly.
Otarrah growled, her breath ragged as she looked up from below her mage hat, pale blue eyes staring daggers at Atropos.
Atropos swung her scythe aiming to end the fight so she could rush to Drake’s side and save Landin, but a clang rang out as her weapon bounced off the barrier skill despite Otarrah being exhausted.
“There will be no getting through my barrier. By the time it’s up I’ll have enough mana to recast it and kill you eventually. You can’t win!” Otarrah laughed, raising her voice.
“Is that so?” Atropos said matter of factly, placing her hand to the barrier, “It looks that this is made from pure mana…” she smiled, “Pity.”
Atropos raised her scythe once more.
“What are you doing…? It’s no use you flustered child! You’ve lost!” Otarrah yelled, sweat beading down her face.
“Then you have nothing to fear.”
Atropos brought down her scythe, scraping against the barrier, a purple line cracking the shell.
“One,” Atropos counted, swiping horizontally and hitting the shell again, “Two,” now throwing her scythe upwards and teleporting to it, gripping the weapon with both hands and slashing in a downward strike, “Three!”
The third strike passed through the barrier, the sound of shattering glass and crackling like static snapping and prickling their ears.
Otarrah’s mouth gaped open as it quivered. She tried to raise a hand only to see her vision part into several small windows.
“Rend,” Atropos whispered, her hair’s raven black receding back to white.
[You have killed Otarrah Breaker Level 18] [Experience earned, 197 Nobility Points awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Night Oracle Level 17] [25 Free Points have been awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Night Oracle Level 18] [25 Free Points have been awarded]
Atropos swiped away the notifications from her vision, her skills dissipating as she returned to normal, her scythe sizzling out and the black-purplish inky fire receding.
She plucked the bag that materialized from Otarrah’s body, stowing it away before she turned in the direction of where Drake had gone.
Putting one foot in front of the other only to trip, slipping to the ground as her legs gave out underneath her.
“L-Lord Drake…” she muttered, reaching a hand out in his direction.
Her strength gave out, her vision darkening from over exhaustion. But she felt something catch her falling hand just before it touched the wet ground.
“You worked hard Atropos… Leave the rest to me.”
She smiled upon hearing those words and let her consciousness fade.
—--------
Clotho walked warily behind the wolfkin, Quetz on his side, almost skipping along as if not a worry in the world.
“Teaming up with CC, teaming up with CC yay!” she hummed.
This girl will be more trouble to watch after than my sister… He thought.
Spreading out his wires to discreetly circle them he made sure to track the wolfkin, Mae. Clotho had no idea the extent of his abilities, but in their last exchange, he was barely able to keep him at bay from killing his sister. And from the strain on his wires, he could tell it was only because Mae had let him.
They walked through a gate further away from Drake and the others, more toward the north and deeper inside the city than they had been. And the further the better.
In Clotho’s mind, he only wished for his sister to be safe and he knew very well that the mage was not her opponent. Throughout their life, Atropos had been the fighter.
In his thoughts, he suddenly caught the scent of something acrid, on the verge of turning putrid. They were still too far from the source but his sense of smell was keen, more enhanced now after advancing to F-Rank. He knew this smell well after the trials and training in the forest with Lord Wallen, it was the smell of blood. A lot of blood.
“This is far enough, yeah?” Mae finally said, stopping, “If we go further we’ll hit the pits and I just can’t stand the smell of that nasty place. The count needs them, but I don’t see the point when he has upper undead like us. Oops! I wasn’t supposed to say that. Just forget it ok? Not like it will matter though, you’re going to die anyway,” Mae grinned widely.
Clotho’s body tensed but he did not reply. Quetz didn’t either, but her lack of response seemed to be more of her not paying attention rather than not being willing.
She still hummed, bouncing slightly from foot to foot with a slight smile on her face, her hands behind her back.
Mae growled, annoyed with the lack of reaction, “Are you ignoring me..? I can kill you without breaking a sweat and you’re… ignoring me?”
He began laughing, throwing back his head as he moved the dagger in his hand back and forth like a metronome, Ah… Ahhhh!! I’m going to fillet your flesh from your lousy worthless bodies, then throw you into the pits, you-”
But he was suddenly cut off, Quetz frowning and a smoking gun pointed at Mae.
Mae had blocked the bullet with the tip of his dagger, moving it dramatically from his face to show another mirthful sneer.
“Little birdy has a temper… I like it! Yaahaa!”
Mae’s form blurred like a mirage, the raindrops cutting through it as if it were ink on paper, running lines through the translucent image.
Clotho felt something pull on one of his wires, and he yanked his hand back to capture it. Mae materialized with a frown on his face, his hand caught in the wire.
But it was only for an instant as he pulled another dagger from his side, and cutting upward freed himself from the entanglement.
Clotho’s lip curved upwards in a growl. It wasn’t long enough to apply a stack of his passive.
Quetz gave a sharp whistle and shot to the sky, her pistols in hand and ready to fire.
They both could not track the wolfkin but Clotho did have the best chance at a counterattack and preventing him from landing a fatal blow on either of them.
But counter to what Clotho was preparing for, Mae backed off, leaping back after freeing himself and throwing one of his daggers into the air.
“Dagger Fan Dance,” Mae uttered.
His thrown dagger multiplied instantly, adding five new daggers side by side hanging above his head.
Quetz reacted first, firing off several bullets in the same second, the wind around her bristling with power enhancing her weapons while slicing through the rain producing breaks in the rainfall.
Mae motioned with his hands, the fan of daggers beginning to rotate clockwise, each of Quetz’s bullets sending sparks off the blades.
The wolfkin smiled behind his spinning daggers.
“Bet you thought you had the advantage huh kids? Too bad!” he laughed in condescension.
However, Quetz was not the only one fighting him. Clotho gave a few flicks of his wrists, his wires coming alive and going to work.
The wires quickly surrounded Mae, cutting through rain so finely the surroundings were undisturbed as they closed in around the gray wolf.
Mae grabbed a dagger from the spinning six and crouched his body glowing green just before he blurred.
Spiraling blades of green light shot out from him in each direction cutting through the wires with ease as they dropped to the floor in pieces. More than half of Clotho’s weaponry was rendered useless.
The level difference between us is too large, but that doesn’t explain the strength he has alone… He must have a high rarity class as well. Clotho growled inwardly.
Several more shots rang out from above, Quetz unrelenting in peppering Mae, trying to do her best to cover Clotho.
The fan of daggers had never stopped spinning in Mae’s defense, however. The bullets ricocheted off the flats of the blades. All except for one.
One of Quetz’s bullets curved, threading like a needle between the daggers and striking Mae in the shoulder.
“Ahh! You little!” Mae grunted in pain, his jowls curling in a feral growl.
Mae had been distracted for just a moment, but Clotho wouldn’t let the opportunity slip. It was finally his chance to do some damage also.
He flicked his wrist and flexed his aura at the same time.
Mae’s face visibly paled for a moment before turning to unbridled rage as he looked down at a small wire wrapped around his ankle.
“What did you do?!” Mae seethed.
Mae snapped his wrist, cutting the wire like a seamstress snipping thread, then blurred out of vision.
Quetz rushed down next to Clotho, flexing her own aura into the surroundings and a myriad of spiraling transparent blades of wind began slicing through the rain and anything close to them.
But somehow Mae had evaded almost all of them, getting in close. The only indication he had, a small cut on his cheek, the meek splatter of blood revealing his location.
Clotho’s aura and first two stacks of his Creeping Inevitability having a significant effect. And it seemed that Mae had finally noticed the health depletion from his Medusa’s Venom as well. Mae’s glowering face devoid of the casual playful enjoyment he had earlier.
In Quetz’s hands, her pistols vanished, replaced by a shotgun.
“The wind sings with the howl of a whipped storm. Howling Gale!”
Quetz chanted, her voice carried by the wind of her aura, making it nearly ethereal between the gusts. He shotgun racking five times in less than a second, the slugs still leaving the slide.
Her shotgun glowed in a vibrant verdant green, humming with power for only a moment. Before it was expelled with the sound of a hurricane being let loose.
The blast collided with Mae.
But his fan of spinning daggers quickly came to his defense, fighting against the turbulent enchanted shot.
This was where Clotho out pulled all the stops.
Flicking his wrist and pulling on strings with his fingers as if he was playing a song on the air, his wires shot forward.
Clotho finally speaking, “A fate cast by threads, is fate indeed. Fate’s Doll!”
The remaining wires he had were lessened but it didn’t matter, his skill entrapping and surrounding Mae as he was preoccupied with fighting against Quetz’s skill.
Clotho activated his strongest combo against the immobilized Mae. Using his newest skill that he gained from the Fox woman in the auction.
Fated Degradation. A skill that speeds up any harmful effects currently on a target to their max effect, but holds an enormous cooldown and cost.
Mae instantly froze, his body beginning to petrify and turn to stone. The full effects of Clotho’s Brittle effect evident.
In the same breath, Clotho felt his grip on Mae weaken, but the skills had already done their job.
“Losing yourself in the strings of fate, leads to a mortal end. Cat’s Cradle…” Clotho eked out, his voice barely a whisper against the Howling Gale of Quetz.
But he looked at Mae satisfied as he saw the wolfkin break into pieces, then scattered to dust in the turbulent winds.
[You have killed Mae Cris Level 20] [Experience earned. 315 Nobility Points awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Thread Manipulator Level 17] [20 Free Points have been awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Thread Manipulator Level 18] [20 Free Points have been awarded]
[Congratulations! You have increased to Thread Manipulator Level 19] [20 Free Points have been awarded]
The silence after the fight was a stark contrast to the cacophony of sounds and blasts just a moment ago.
Clotho fell to the ground expecting to hit cold wet dirt, but instead felt damp yet soft feathers wrapping around him.
“Quetz always knew CC had a nice voice,” she giggled, exhaustion straining her face, yet still having a small grin.
Clotho’s eyes widened in surprise but he didn’t have the strength to fight and separate himself.
He caught the sudden scent of fruit, his mind wary, “It smells… nice…”
