Alistair's POV
Blood dripped from my wounds, pooling at my feet.
The metallic scent filled the air, mingling with the faint traces of abyssal energy still crackling around me.
I could feel the dull ache in my ribs, the sharp sting where daggers had torn through flesh.
I was outnumbered.
I was wounded.
And yet…
I was grinning.
Because something was changing.
As my sword moved, as my body shifted, as I adjusted to their attacks—
I felt it.
Ethan's instincts.
His experience.
His mastery.
Seeping into me.
Not as a memory.
Not as a ghost of the past.
As if they had always been mine.
And for the first time since I arrived in this world—
I started felt comfortable.
The assassins circled me, cautious now.
They had expected a cornered noble boy.
A struggling opponent, barely holding on.
Instead, they had found something else.
Something they didn't understand.
Because I wasn't fighting like Alistair anymore.
And I wasn't fighting like Ethan either.
I was fighting like both.
Precision. Calculation. Brutality.
The grace of a noble swordsman.
The ruthlessness of a Titan of war.
Merged into one.
One of them lunged.
Fast.
His dagger aimed straight for my heart.
A predictable move.
I could see it—not just the attack itself, but the thought behind it.
His intent. His calculation.
I sidestepped before he even committed to the strike.
My sword flicked upward—
Not a simple slash.
A movement designed to bait his reaction.
And just as expected—he twisted to dodge.
Which meant he had no way to avoid what came next.
Black tendrils surged from my back.
They shot forward, wrapping around his limbs before he could blink.
For the first time—he made a sound.
A sharp inhale of panic.
I smiled.
Then, with a flick of my wrist—I tore him apart.
The tendrils ripped through flesh, crushing bones like dry twigs.
His body collapsed in a lifeless heap.
---
Ding!
[You have consumed an enemy.]
[Effect triggered: Partial stamina and mana recovery.]
---
Warmth flooded my limbs.
The exhaustion creeping at the edges of my body faded.
The wounds still burned, but my strength was returning.
And that was when I decided—
I was done holding back.
I exhaled slowly, focusing on the new power thrumming within me.
The abyssal hunger of my Devourer's Authority.
The lethal precision of my swordsmanship.
And now—
The raging hunger of black flames.
I let it flow into my blade.
At first, the steel trembled—as if resisting.
But then, it accepted.
And in the next breath—
Black fire erupted along the blade's edge.
It didn't flicker like normal flames.
It twisted, shifting unnaturally, as if alive.
Dark, consuming, almost hungry.
The assassins hesitated.
Good.
I lifted my sword, watching as the black flames crackled without consuming the metal.
Then I lunged.
I moved with fluidity and purpose.
One assassin leaped back—trying to avoid the reach of my sword.
Too slow.
Void Step activated, and in an instant, I was behind him.
His body flinched—his instincts screaming too late.
I didn't slash.
I drove my blade through his spine.
The black flames roared, devouring the very mana inside him.
He collapsed before he could scream.
Three left.
The leader clicked his tongue.
He raised his hand—giving an order.
The two remaining assassins charged me at once.
Faster. More aggressive.
They knew running was pointless.
So they were going to overwhelm me.
I smirked.
Finally, they were taking me seriously.
And i welcomed it.
***
Their daggers flashed in perfect coordination.
One aimed for my ribs.
The other went for my throat.
Instead of dodging, I used Ethan's method—
I stepped forward.
The blade sliced into my shoulder, but the second assassin's strike was thrown off balance.
That was all I needed.
My sword cut horizontally—fast and brutal.
The first assassin's head fell from his shoulders.
The second assassin staggered—his own momentum working against him.
I twisted, bringing my blade up, and with a downward slash—
His chest split open.
Blood splattered across the walls.
I exhaled.
Two more down.
And with every kill—
My body felt lighter.
More natural.
More complete.
As if this was the true state I was always meant to reach.
Only one remained.
The leader.
His stance was still, unreadable.
But I could feel it.
His pulse.
His heart beating in his chest.
He knew the truth.
He couldn't win.
But he wasn't going to run.
I respected that.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling the black flames still licking at my sword's edge.
I could feel his fear.
And yet, I could also feel his resolve.
This was going to be fun.
I raised my sword.
And he raised his dagger.
One last fight.
One last death.
"Let's finish this."
****
The last assassin stood before me, his dagger gleaming under the dim apartment lights.
His stance was solid, his breath steady.
But I could feel it.
The tremor in his mana.
The way his muscles were just slightly too tense.
He wasn't just preparing to fight.
He was preparing to die.
He knew it.
And I knew it too.
But that didn't mean I would make it easy for him.
Because this battle wasn't just about killing him.
It was about perfecting myself.
I tightened my grip on my sword.
The black flames flickered violently, eager for more.
And then—
We moved.
His dagger struck first.
A low, precise stab—aiming for my liver.
A killing move designed to bleed me out fast.
But I had seen it before.
Ethan had fought against countless assassins.
And now, with each strike, with every step—
I could feel his mastery merging with mine.
Instead of dodging, I angled my sword downward—parrying his dagger with a controlled redirection.
The moment our weapons clashed—
My body moved on its own.
A step forward.
A downward elbow strike aimed for his temple.
He twisted, avoiding it—just barely—
But that slight delay was all I needed.
I pivoted, bringing my blade up—a reverse diagonal slash.
Fast. Precise. Brutal.
His dagger met my sword, but the impact forced him backward.
His balance broke.
And I knew—
He had already lost.
The next series of moves were automatic.
A slash to his ribs—deflected.
A knee to his gut—blocked.
A feint to the left—he dodged.
But each motion felt easier.
My attacks, my footwork—flawless.
There was no hesitation anymore.
No need to think about positioning, speed, or efficiency.
I just knew.
This wasn't just Alistair's refined swordsmanship anymore.
It wasn't just Ethan's brutal combat instincts.
It was both.
Merged.
Unified.
Perfect.
---
Ding!
[The Ever-Hungry Maw watches with amusement.]
[The Silent Watcher observes your growth with interest.]
[The Rune-Sage of Forgotten Words sees something ancient in your blade.]
[The Abyssal Monarch acknowledges your potential.]
[The Celestial Arbiter remains silent.]
I grinned as I parried another strike.
Even the gods were watching now.
They felt it too.
The shift.
The evolution.
The moment where I was no longer Ethan Kael or Alistair Vaelthorne.
I was simply myself.
I surged forward.
The assassin barely reacted in time.
His dagger flashed toward my throat.
But I was faster.
Void Step.
I flickered behind him.
He spun—too slow.
My sword pierced his thigh, slicing deep through muscle.
He gasped, staggering—
And I gave him no time to recover.
A spinning slash—his arm went flying.
He collapsed onto one knee, his breath ragged, his blood pooling.
And still, he tried to lift his dagger with his remaining hand.
Pathetic.
I stared down at him, my sword lowering.
"It's over."
He shuddered.
And for the first time, I saw it in his eyes—
Fear.
He had never expected to lose.
But now?
Now, he understood.
He was nothing.
I raised my sword, black flames roaring along the blade's edge.
And with one final, merciless strike—
I ended him.
---
Ding!
[You have consumed an enemy.]
[Effect triggered: Partial stamina and mana recovery.]
[Ever-Hungry Maw is pleased.]
[You have fully synchronized with your combat instincts.]
---
I exhaled.
The fight was over.
My body was still aching, but the pain no longer felt important.
Because I had won.
Not just the battle.
But against my own past.
Against the remnants of Ethan and Alistair as separate beings.
Now?
There was only one of me.
And I had never felt more complete.
I rolled my shoulders, feeling my mana settle, my aura sharp.
TO BE CONTINUE...