The Ascended Captains watched Klaus with thinly veiled hatred, weapons drawn and glinting with killing intent. One stepped forward — a middle-aged woman with dirty blonde hair, cold blue eyes, and a morning star in hand.
Klaus eyed the weapon with mild annoyance. Morning Star. Same name as his damn title. How unoriginal. But what could he do? Sue them for copyright infringement?
She stepped closer and spat in contempt.
"Not afraid? Three against so many? That first attack was impressive, sure, but you're Awakened. That must've sucked you dry. You might think we are afraid but... We serve the Goddess of War. We know no fear."
Klaus raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a smirk as he let out a chuckle — low, amused, and mildly condescending.
"Ah yes, bravery," he mused. "But courage isn't having strength to go on; it's going on even when you don't have any strength. Said that little French gremlin, Napoleon. Ahh... My glorious short king."
He sniffled theatrically and wiped a fake tear from his eye.
The woman stared at him like he'd sprouted antlers. Napoleon? What in the nine hells was that? Were they about to fight a lunatic?
"You dare mock us... US!?! You will fear us, Mongrel!" she barked.
Klaus laughed, shaking his head. "Fear? No. No, sweetie. See, you've got it all backwards. You should've feared me before. Now? Now it's just sad."
His smile remained, but something in his gaze shifted — as if a switch had been flipped. The warmth drained, replaced by a cold, disinterested calculation. His tone flattened, voice cool as polished marble.
"You think being devout makes you dangerous? You think numbers mean something? I've walked over corpses who said the same things. You're not warriors — you're content. Predictable. Replaceable."
He gave a low sigh, almost bored. "It's nothing personal. You're just... not people to me. Just statistics with pulse rates. And I don't negotiate with numbers."
Then his expression darkened — not with rage, but that eerie neutrality reserved for executioners and scientists dissecting frogs.
"I'll show you what it really means to be a child of war. Not honor. Not glory. Slaughter. Industrialized, impersonal, meaningless slaughter. Blood as a byproduct of inevitability."
His voice dipped into a harsh whisper. "And also, i have to prove that mama raised no bitches. So... you all kinda have to die."
As if on cue, a thunderous explosion echoed from the west. Klaus turned, eyes narrowing. Even from here, he could feel it — the raw, unfiltered malice radiating from Hassan. Whatever restraint that devil usually wore had been stripped clean. The battlefield was being butchered.
[You have slain awakened human.]
[Your Spirit becomes vaster.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain Ascended human.]
[Your Spirit becomes vaster.]
[You have slain Ascended human...
Klaus felt a chill. Damn. He's going feral. Note to self: don't piss him off.
But it was a perfect distraction.
He struck.
The air cracked open as if air itself were protesting, a shockwave ripping outward, hurling enemies back like ragdolls. He vanished, reappeared mid-ranks, and raised the amethyst orb. Gravity bowed to him, pulling foes inward. Some regained footing, poised to strike. Brave, but irrelevant.
Then came the twist — the blonde woman found herself suddenly standing in his place, her body lurching as she and her comrades were dragged into the orb. There was a second of realization. Then detonation. Spirit essence rained down like corrupted snow.
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain Ascended human.]
[Your Spirit becomes vaster.]
No quip. No smile.
Just silence.
Klaus was done playing.
He dodged a strike, his body collapsing into violet mist before reforming beneath a soldier, a spear erupting upward — straight through the ass.
Klaus winced. "Oof. That's… yeah, not even I'd wish that on someone. Well — maybe."
He vanished again, reappearing midair. Hand raised. Amethyst light bloomed across the sky like a nebula, beautiful and dooming. Then, it collapsed, funneled into his palm and fired down in a single point of destruction — a house-sized crater blooming where men had stood.
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[Your Spirit becomes vaster.]
Arrows. Projectiles. Screams. None of it really mattered for now. He soared above them like a god idly swatting at insects, Shiva cleaving down while enemies accidentally murdered each other due to his position-swapping sub-skill.
But his essence — it was bleeding out fast. He wasn't Hassan. He couldn't eat through armies like a cursed engine. He had limits.
Klaus no longer held Leviathan.
Now, his grip was wrapped around Satan—the blood-hungry spear humming with a dull, wicked pulse in his hand. Its twin blades shimmered like murder made manifest, slick with memory, brimming with promise.
He had always favored spears. Swords were elegant, yes. Efficient. But a spear was personal—intimate in its savagery. A weapon meant not just to kill, but to humiliate. His whole family paraded around with swords like they were some kind of honor badge. Klaus preferred a tool that gutted expectations—literally.
He hadn't just Devoured Serka that night in the Red Sect. He had consumed the Chalice too. Perhaps that hunger, that twisted longing, had sculpted Satan anew. Now it bore dual blades—fangs of all-killing metal, drenched in scarlet blood and contempt.
He inhaled. Slow. Measured.
He couldn't afford waste.
Every drop of spirit essence mattered. Lich had already begun his work in the background. The stage was set—Klaus simply had to play his part with precision, not passion.
With a thought, he vanished.
No flash. No sound. Just absence.
Then—carnage.
He moved like a thought that cut. A whisper that eviscerated. Shiva's gravitational pull danced along his body, dragging space around him and converting it into brutal velocity. A warrior in his path didn't even have time to scream—just split in half, his spine glistening for a moment before collapsing like wet rope.
Klaus twisted mid-air, ducking a spear with almost bored finesse. He caught the shaft mid-flight on Satan's hooked edge, guided it down like a lover's hand—and headbutted the bastard with a sickening crunch. Bone gave way. Teeth broke. The warrior stumbled, dazed, before Klaus carved upward, bifurcating him from groin to throat. Viscera spilled like sacred offerings at his feet.
[You have slain awakened human.]
[Your Spirit becomes vaster.]
Two more rushed from behind.
Klaus's eyes ignited—not with rage, but calculus. Time didn't slow, but his mind surged into overdrive. Movements unraveled in slow, excruciating detail. He couldn't move faster, but he could see faster, think faster. They were insects flapping in amber.
He leapt back—just in time. A blade whistled past his cheek. In one smooth motion, Klaus spun Satan, reversed its grip, and drove the rear blade into the second assailant's stomach. He twisted, lifted—splitting ribs and spraying intestines in a wide arc. The man screamed as his chest peeled open like a rotten fruit.
The first attacker, still clutching his shattered balls, barely managed to gasp before Klaus casually flicked his spear sideways. The tip sliced through his jaw like butter. The upper half of his face toppled backward. The tongue flopped out like a dying fish.
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[Your Spirit becomes vaster.]
"Should've worn a cup," Klaus muttered, uncaring.
A storm of arrows fell.
Klaus sneered. Holding Satan like a sword now, he slashed downward. From the spear's twin tips, a crimson vortex coiled—spinning faster and faster until it erupted outward in a radial shockwave. The arrows never touched him. They disintegrated mid-flight, shattering into splinters and heat.
He vanished again, reappearing on a jagged cliff edge, the high ground his new hunting perch.
Satan dissolved into vapor, receding into his soul sea like a purring beast sated with blood.
In its place, Leviathan emerged.
A delicate white sword, beautiful and insatiable, thrummed in his grip. Klaus raised it high, whispering to it with intimate cruelty:
[Enchantment: Catastrophe]
The blade boiled. Flames licked its edges like it was trying to consume itself. Then it screamed.
A pillar of fire erupted.
A furnace of divine flames poured forth, scouring the land in a line of annihilation. Screams didn't even begin before flesh melted. Armor slagged. Bones ignited like paper. The world became white, then red, then nothing.
A hundred-meter trench gouged the battlefield, and everything inside it was ash.
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[Your Spirit becomes vaster...
Klaus gritted his teeth.
That had cost him—badly. Only 20% of his divine flame reserves remained in Leviathan. The sword still burned, eager to drink more of him.
But there was no rest.
The ground trembled. A towering thing rose—a wooden colossus, humanoid in shape but wrong. Its arms were branches, its torso bark, its face a leering knot of malice carved into a tree trunk. In one gnarled hand, it clutched a hammer the size of a wagon.
Klaus narrowed his eyes, sighing.
"Great. Another one. First Serka, now this splintered freakshow."
The hammer fell. Klaus wasn't there.
He reappeared in the air above the beast, expression blank, exhaustion twitching behind his eyes.
He didn't hesitate.
Behind him, four crimson orbs flared into existence—each one orbiting like demonic moons. Their cores churned with unstable energy, coiled with hunger.
He flung one.
It tore through air like a bullet through skin.
A explosion bloomed.
There was no sound, only white light—blinding and pure, consuming the wooden giant in a blast that vaporized its torso into nothing but floating embers and atomic echoes.
[You have slain Ascended human.]
[Your Spirit becomes vaster.]
Klaus hovered above the carnage, chest rising and falling, blood speckling his cheek. His body screamed in pain. His essence was dwindling. But his eyes… they were calm, even if they were bleeding.
Klaus darted forward, Satan in hand, every movement efficient and ruthless. He wasn't here to waste spirit essence on needless spectacle.
The warrior charged—a blur of steel and fury. Klaus shifted weight, drawing on Shiva's essence subtly. Not for show, but to increase the density of air molecules around his spearhead, creating a pocket of compressed matter.
As he struck, the spear's blade didn't just cut—it slammed with the force of a bullet. The warrior's ribs exploded inward like fragile glass, the kinetic shockwave rupturing lungs and sending shards of bone into his own heart.
Before the second enemy could react, Klaus twisted, pulling on Satan's haft with a precise pull infused with his spirit essence—not enough to burn him out, but enough to supercharge the spear's tip with focused energy.
The spearhead punched through armor like molten iron, cleaving muscle and sinew, but it wasn't raw power that finished the job—it was the spear's edge releasing a tiny pulse of destabilizing essence, weakening the man's cellular cohesion.
Blood fountained as the warrior collapsed, the pain cut short by immediate cellular failure.
Behind them, two more approached—fast, but predictable. Klaus didn't speed up—he didn't need to. He used the brief moment his essence granted him to calculate angles, anticipate trajectories, and weave his assault with a deadly economy of motion.
A spear twirl, a feint, and Satan's tip hummed with Shiva's magnetic pull, yanking metal arrows mid-flight off course, sending them crashing harmlessly to the ground.
He pivoted, conserving essence, and infused essence into a spear jab—a subtle extension of his own power. The jab struck the next attacker's thigh, shattering bone and severing the femoral artery with brutal precision. The man fell screaming, blood pooling rapidly.
Klaus moved on, every strike and ability deployed as a chess move, draining essence slowly but guaranteeing maximum damage.
No reckless flames, no wide-spread destruction—just brutal, calculated slaughter.
Spell screaming in his ears constantly, it's voice full of hatred and malice.
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain Ascended human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[You have slain awakened human.]
[Your Spirit becomes vaster...
_____
Hemera faltered mid-flight, her feathers dimming under the strain. She wasn't made for this—combat wasn't her domain. Ocean of Light surged beneath her, washing over the battlefield like divine fire, but it wasn't enough. She wasn't fighting—she was stalling. And everyone knew it.
Far west, silence ruled.
A grotesque throne of corpses crowned the ruins of a hill, and Hassan sat upon it—silent, motionless, painted in blood. The flesh-mountain steamed under him, soaked in entrails, bones jutting like teeth. No screams, no echoes—just darkness. A dome of liquid blackness smothered the land, sealing all within, preventing even death from escaping.
And in that stillness, Klaus pressed on. Every breath hurt. His lungs were tight, bones fraying from within. His Battle Style—he wasn't built for it. Not yet. His body was cracking under its own strain, but he moved with the same mechanical detachment, as if none of it mattered.
Then, the sky shattered.
A blinding explosion ripped through the horizon, and the earth trembled. The island groaned.
Above, four colossal chains suspended the island over an endless sky—now, one of them was gone. Annihilated. The shockwave hit like a god's wrath, blinding white and soul-deep loud. Everyone—Hemera, Klaus, even Hassan—froze for a breathless instant.
It had begun.
Four months ago, Klaus had slipped Vex-12 into his spirits' hands. Compact, modified bombs. Planted at the root of each chain. Lich had been patient, precise. Waiting for the opportune moment—right when reinforcements landed.
Now, smoke pillars burst from the other chain points in rapid succession. Four towers of ruin bloomed across the floating isle. The island groaned again—and cracked. Fissures spread like veins of light. The crust of the land itself trembled... and then dropped.
Like a broken altar, the island began its descent into the abyss.
Klaus spat blood and grinned, savoring the panic of the dying. A blink—and he was gone, reappearing atop Hemera's back mid-flight. Wind slammed into him. Beneath, the ground plummeted.
And then—a blur.
From the corpse pile, a figure erupted into the sky like a missile. No wings. No teleportation.
Just raw, insane power.
Klaus's eyes widened. "...Did he just jump?"
A hundred meters of vertical distance—cleared in a single bound.
He looked back, seeing Hassan hurtling toward them, his crimson cloak snapping like a banner of death. Klaus shook his head, both amused and quietly horrified. "Beast," he muttered, finally deactivating Divine Eyes Of Void.
Hemera surged higher, wings blazing. Flames consumed her and her passengers, wrapping Klaus in divine warmth. Healing surged through him, bones mending, sinews knitting together. His left arm, broken beyond recognition, snapped back into place, bones fusing as flesh pulled taut.
He exhaled sharply. Azarax's techniques were cruel on the body—merciless, destructive, but effective. Klaus clenched and flexed his fingers, feeling the heat in his blood settle.
But his eyes remained vacant amethyst staring into nothing. They bled, fogged and hollow—he was blind.
Below, the remnants of Warmongers fell like ash. Dozens—maybe hundreds—screamed as the ground beneath them vanished. No salvation, no resistance.
Just gravity, and inevitability.
Klaus listened them fall with a soft, satisfied smile.
"Ahh... My evil plans... Kekekeke."
***
Well, writing this fight was hard as hell! I used Google like hundred times!
But i think it didn't come out so bad.
How's Klaus Style? I thought it would be better to give idea about his battle style. Yep, that's how he fights. All that kinetic energy, body's exploding and all. That's how he does it. You think it's overpowered? Well, Sunny is even more ridiculous in that aspect but as saying goes, there's no flawless technique.
How was it? His plans i mean. Was it surprising? Yep, that's how those bombs were used. War God's realm is realm of intellect and wickedness, always war and bloodshed. So Klaus show them who's real child of war there.
Thanks for your support guys and enjoy!
***