Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 93: To Leave a Lover

Dima's head finally lolled to the side, twisting like a doll's. I choked as I met her eyes. She didn't even seem to be aware I was there, just saying what was on her mind.

"So I," Dima coughed again, making her body spasm. Something fleshy dribbled down the side of her mouth. "I left. I couldn't make you sacrifice for me."

I pulled myself closer, feeling my shoulders sag as I nestled myself against Dima's broken body. She had always been warm. All the times I'd taken her in my arms so many years ago rose to the forefront of my mind. I cradled her as she slowly bled out, her misty eyes still unfocused.

I had always forced myself to stand tall. I was the leader of the Unblooded Party; the focus for all to rally around. I put myself between corrupt nobles and their weakened prey, standing as a defender of the weak.

Yet I couldn't even save one lonely soul.

I nestled my nose into the side of her neck, resisting the urge to weep further. "What's her name?" I whispered. I was going to die here with Dima. It was a fitting end, but there was a daughter out there I'd never get to meet. Never get to hold.

"Penny," Dima said. She was limp in my arms, her breath choking rasps. "Her name is Pen."

Sevren Denoir

My hairavant wire snaked around the commander's arm, lashing itself there with the force of a tourniquet. I ran through a dozen different ideas for my next move: perhaps sliding through the monster's knees, and bringing the wire along in another path. If I weaved just right, I'd be able to tie it up in a similar method to the last one.

But this undead wasn't brainless like all the others. Even while Numar Frost swung his sword at the creature's foot, the commander was already twisting, flexing its arm in a way that forced my wire to cut.

Numar's sword sank into the commander's meaty thigh. He looked triumphant for a moment, but then it was quickly awash with horror. Sticky hands erupted from the side, trying to drag the boy in.

The arrogant brat was forced to slide backward, releasing his weapon in the process. A collage of spells simmered on the fingertips of the grasping fingers, aiming deadly force at the retreating runt.

Bered flashed in from the side, priming his mace. It enlarged once; twice, three times, swelling with the force of mana. And when he swung it upward, it deflected the myriad shots fired at his brother with a resonant gong that rattled my teeth.

But the way the undead twisted forced me to flex my wire too soon. The commander's arm fell to the floor with a crash as my metallic wire tightened, severing the limb whole.

I rushed forward as more undead streamed toward their wounded leader. I focused on my regalia, Dictate of Mass, channeling mana through the spellform.

When people watched me fight for a while, they generally assumed my runes lessened my weight, allowing me to achieve super speeds.

I let them think that.

My rune was far more deadly than simple weight reduction. In effect, I could change my apparent mass without increasing my size.

Yet I still maintained the strength and power of my prime even when my mass was that of a feather. This allowed me to achieve hypersonic speeds if I timed my power correctly. I would turn down my mass, leap forward, and then suddenly increase it tenfold to deliver a punch that could shatter boulders.

The tip of a bullwhip breached the sound barrier because of its tapering edge. A whip's mass decreased along its length, slowly thinning to just a few strands.