Conrad's Men vs Death Flower Party (2)

Sucura extracted his dagger from the man's chest, watching dispassionately as the lifeless body crumpled to the ground.

He mused to himself, 'I had assumed they were all on par with that Absolon fellow. I was prepared to abandon this group if that were the case. However, it appears that some of them merely hold the ranks of [Dormant] and [Mesial], serving as messengers. Perhaps there is still chance for this party, and they can still be useful.'

He shifted his thoughts to another, 'Wallace, huh? As far as I can recall, he is a man who values power above knowledge. A master in the esoteric realm of mental manipulation, he is renowned for his scrupulous and prudent disposition.'

'As a part of the [Early Endings], should Vyn exhibit any signs of vulnerability, Wallace would either eliminate him or manipulate him into becoming a puppet under the control of his deranged younger sister, all under Wallace's watchful guidance.'

In an instant, an intricate tapestry of arcane energies surged toward Joaquin's tent, each spell meticulously woven and brimming with power.

The magical onslaught collided with its target, causing the very air to tremble and sending shockwaves rippling through the surrounding area. The battered tent was instantly engulfed in a roaring inferno, its flames reaching skyward as they devoured everything within their grasp.

Sucura felt the subtle yet powerful gust of wind caress his skin, a testament to the forceful impact that had just occurred.

He cast a surreptitious glance at the dark elf, who now lay sprawled on the ground, her lithe arm embellished with black runes.

She had single handedly vanquished a multitude of Conrad's operatives, their dismembered limbs strewn about as evidence of her prowess.

At a close range, a figure cloaked in black launched an sudden assault on Berto. With a surge of indignation, Berto exclaimed, "These motherfuckers!" and swiftly recited incantation, "[Petrifix Transformation]"

As the arcane words escaped his lips, the nearby rocks, sand, and grime began to coalesce, rapidly adhering to his body and forging a formidable layer of earthen armor.

The assailant's dagger made contact, but it was rendered futile, unable to pierce the hardened, protective exterior.

The force of the impact caused the attacker's arm to recoil, and Berto seized the opportunity to deliver a powerful punch.

A sickening crack resounded through the air as the assailant was sent hurtling backward, crashing to the ground.

Without hesitation, Berto leaped into the air and, with a decisive stomp, crushed the attacker's skull beneath his rock-encrusted foot.

In an abrupt and fluid movement, a haunting azure orb of mystical energy surged towards Berto. Rather than evading the impending assault, he made the conscious decision to protect Hugo from the malevolent force.

As he steeled himself for the inevitable collision, Berto's arm disintegrated upon contact with the mysterious power. He gazed in utter disbelief at the remnants of his right arm, the stark realization dawning upon him that his once-reliable earthen armor had failed to shield him from harm.

"Arrrrrrrggh!" Crimson lifeblood spurted from the grievous wound, and Berto gradually crumpled to the ground, succumbing to the overwhelming pain.

***

The once expansive grassland now lay ablaze, the acrid scent of thick blood permeating the air.

The man observed Berto and remarked, "Another one has been immobilized."

Casting his gaze around the vicinity, he inquired, "Where could the enigmatic masked man be?" He continued, musing aloud, "Isn't it Absolon who goes into the tent of the masked individual?"

A moment of realization struck him, and he dismissed the notion, murmuring, "No, it simply cannot be."

In the distance, amidst the roaring inferno of a burning tent, a rugged looking man in his mid-thirties emerged, brandishing a pair of formidable double axes. His aura radiated an intense, dangerous ferocity, akin to the explosive power of a volcanic eruption. Despite the chaos surrounding him, his body bore only minor injuries.

The man's eyes suddenly went to Joaquin, scrutinizing him intently before speaking, his voice laced with caution. "Undoubtedly, he poses a significant threat to our current company. Nevertheless, Sir Wallace is far more dangerous."

He cast a sidelong glance at Hugo and Berto, his expression contemplative. "I cannot fathom why Sir Wallace has merely instructed us to immobilize these debtors. It is highly probable that one of them is the fallen hero, given the assistance provided by the Kalinski Family. There is a considerable likelihood that a powerful magical disguise is at play here."

The man spoke authoritatively, not bothering to glance back at his subordinates as he issued his command. "I insist that you promptly report to Sir Wallace; we have been met with unanticipated complications. As for the venerable mace wielding adversary, I shall personally undertake the responsibility of addressing the situation."

Moments ticked by, and the silence that followed concerned him.

Sensing something amiss, he swiftly turned his head, only to instinctively execute a graceful somersault in retreat.

The maneuver narrowly saved him from the lethal swipe of a dagger, which had been aimed at his throat.

As he regained his footing, he gingerly touched his neck, feeling the warm, sticky sensation of blood oozing from a shallow cut.

Without a moment's hesitation, he uttered an incantation, casting something onto the ground.

He exclaimed, "You!"

The man's gaze fell upon the masked figure, shrouded in a tunic of the deepest violet, so dark it was almost black. The fabric was stained with the grim remnants of present exploits.

His eyes drifted to three of his subordinates lying sprawled on the grass beneath them, their lives snuffed out. Their throats had been slit with ruthless precision, the crimson lifeblood still seeping from the fatal wounds.

The man's voice quivered with incredulity as he declared, "You… you understand the intricate subtleties of the distinctive sound barrier!"

His words hung in the air, directed towards the masked individual. The figure responded not with words, but with a subtle tilt of the head, a gesture that seemed to amplify the weighty silence that had descended upon them.

After a moment of contemplation, the man resumed speaking, his voice wavering slightly, "You…you are Sucura, the fallen hero,"

A realization dawned upon him, causing his words to trail off. He looked at the masked figure anew, his eyes wide with surprise, "And you're not even attempting to conceal your identity!"

Sucura bestowed a pensive gaze upon him, his voice imbued with a tranquil serenity as he spoke. "Wallace, as I am acquainted, is a man inclined towards relentless introspection, an opportunistic individual, and a being governed by prudence."

A momentary pause punctuated his words before he continued, "The inevitability of this fate was preordained from the very beginning, owing to the intricate web of connections that Wallace has woven, and the idiosyncrasies of your Lord Vyn."

With a noticeable tremor in his voice, the man stuttered, "Y-you possess knowledge of Sir Wallace's characteristic traits!" he stammered, then continued, "And you have witnessed the striking idiosyncrasies that render our Lord Vyn such a remarkable anomaly?"

Sucura offered a discreet nod in response, prompting the man to stutter, "How... how did you come by such knowledge?"

With a subtle, deliberate motion, Sucura rolled up the sleeve of his upper garment, his voice steady as he spoke. "There's no need for you to understand," he declared calmly, "I'm not one to indulge in verbose exchanges. I'm well aware you're merely stalling, biding your time as you wait for your mana to recuperate and …"

In an instant, Sucura's demeanor shifted. His body, previously relaxed, tensed like a coiled spring.

Then, with a burst of speed that belied his earlier calm, he lunged forward, closing the distance between himself and the man in a heartbeat.

The man's eyes were wide with terror as he recoiled, leaping backward. When Sucura, positioned at a mid-range distance. An eerie smile now adorned the man's face, replacing the previous expression of fear.

"Got you," he declared, his words echoing with a chilling certainty.

Without warning, the earth beneath them erupted, bathing the surroundings in a brilliant azure light.

*Boom!*

The man's laughter echoed maniacally through the chaos, "Hahahahahaha! What a fool!"

His eyes, gleaming with malicious delight, scanned the smoke filled scene. A triumphant grin spread across his face as he gloated, "The fallen hero is now immobilized. My reward will surely be doubled!"

Yet, his fleeting moment of exultation was abruptly truncated.

His universe inverted in the most literal sense, as his decapitated head began its grotesque descent, rolling across the jagged terrain, leaving a gruesome trail of blood in its wake.

Sucura, standing tall and unscathed, gazed down at him with an expression of cold indifference.

His voice, a tranquil yet resonant baritone, shattered the palpable hush that had descended, "In the art of deception, it is paramount that your vocal inflection, bodily comportment, and the nuanced fluctuations of your aura coalesce into a seamless symphony."

The severed head of the man held a fixed gaze towards Sucura, its lifeless eyes tracking his departure.

Sucura's silhouette began to blur, slowly melding with the dimming horizon. His form became less distinct, less tangible, until he was nothing more than a spectral wisp, a fleeting memory dissolving into the vast expanse of the distance.

The man, now reduced to a decapitated figure, succumbed to the inevitability of his own demise.