Painful Victory I

Seven Sins System Chapter 254. Painful Victory I

The battlefield was strewn with fallen comrades, the casualties of the relentless battle against the ancient demon. The others, consumed by their own determination to defeat the creature, paid no heed to my former self's solitary and reckless assault. Instead, they focused on their own attacks, desperately trying to find a way to bring the demon down.

Yet, the toll of the previous onslaught had taken its toll on them. One by one, they succumbed to their injuries, their bodies lying lifeless on the ground. Only my badly injured father and my mad former self remained, locked in a deadly confrontation with the ancient demon.

"Azrael…" My father, despite his wounds, called out my former self's name with a mixture of concern and urgency. I could see the wheels turning in his mind as he desperately tried to devise a plan, a tactic that could turn the tide and bring an end to the ancient demon's reign of terror. But his attempts seemed futile, as my former self continued to attack the creature mindlessly, driven solely by his overwhelming emotions.

My former self continued his relentless assault on the ancient demon, his movements fueled by an uncontrollable rage. With each strike, he unleashed all his pent-up emotions, the pain, and loss echoing through his every blow.

Meanwhile, my father, witnessing his son's descent into madness, felt a pang of despair in his heart. He realized that reason had abandoned my former self, leaving him consumed by his inner rage. With a heavy heart, my father made a difficult decision. He knew that he couldn't stand idly by and watch as his son's sanity crumbled before his eyes. The only choice left was to join the fight once again, despite his own injuries and the grim odds stacked against them.

Summoning every ounce of strength and resolve, my father unleashed a barrage of skills, his attacks intertwining with my former self's ferocious strikes. Limbs were lost in the chaos, both father and son enduring unimaginable pain in their pursuit of victory. But there was no hesitation, no holding back. They fought with desperation.

The ancient demon, though powerful and relentless, was faced with a united front. My father's calculated strikes combined with my former self's unyielding assault, created a dynamic and unpredictable offensive. The demon, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected collaboration, found itself on the defensive. The battle became a fierce dance of life and death.

As the battle raged on, the ancient demon began to show signs of weakness. Its once formidable defenses started to falter under the relentless onslaught of my former self and my father. The demon's impenetrable armor cracked, and its movements became sluggish and labored.

My former self, driven by a potent mix of desperation and anger, summoned every ounce of his remaining demonic power. With a roar that echoed through the battlefield, my former self unleashed a torrent of destructive energy upon the ancient demon. The force of his attack reverberated through the air, sending shockwaves that shattered nearby ruins and flung debris in all directions. The demon, unable to withstand the onslaught, let out a deafening scream of agony.

The gigantic ancient demon finally succumbed to its wounds, its massive form began to tremble uncontrollably. The ground beneath it shook violently, as if the earth itself was celebrating its defeat. Cracks spread like spider webs across the surface, further deepening the chaos that engulfed the once-pristine capital.

With a nauseating stench filling the air, the demon's decaying process began in earnest. Its flesh withered and shriveled, turning sickly shades of gray and black. The once fearsome creature now resembled a grotesque carcass, its body decomposing at an alarming rate.

Rotting tendrils snaked out from its decaying form, a macabre dance of decay and destruction. They slithered across the ground, leaving trails of putrid slime in their wake. The air grew heavy with the stench of death and decay, overpowering even the acrid scent of smoke and destruction that hung in the air.

The colossal ancient demon collapsed. My former self and my father, weakened and battered, also plummeted to the ground with a bone-rattling impact. Dust and debris filled the air, mingling with the metallic scent of blood that permeated the battlefield.

Their body lay motionless amidst the wreckage, each bearing the scars of a relentless battle. Deep gashes marred their flesh, serving as a testament to the ferocity of their enemy. Blood oozed from their wounds, staining their torn garments a dark crimson. Limbs twisted at unnatural angles, some missing entirely, a grim reminder of the toll exacted by their fierce struggle.

Despite their formidable demonic powers, it was evident that their reserves had been depleted. Their once mighty forms, now frail and fragile, struggled to regenerate lost limbs and heal their grievous injuries. The limits of their abilities had been pushed to the brink, leaving them vulnerable and incapacitated.

With tremendous effort and a pained grimace etched on his face, my former self struggled to rise from the debris-strewn ground. Every movement was an arduous task, his body betraying him with each agonizing step. One of his legs was missing, leaving him to rely on a single remaining limb for support. The imbalance caused him to sway unsteadily, fighting to maintain his precarious balance.

His wings were tattered and frayed, barely able to sustain him in the air. One wing remained, its feathery appendages drooping and battered, a stark contrast to their former glory. The other wing was torn asunder, its remnants scattered across the battlefield, forever lost in the chaos of the fight.

Likewise, his arms bore the signs of the brutal encounter. One arm hung limply at his side, maimed and useless, a cruel reminder of the sacrifices he had made in his zealous pursuit of victory. The other arm clung to remnants of torn flesh and sinew, barely holding on to its functionality. Each movement was a testament to his unwavering determination, despite the overwhelming odds stacked against him. His breathing was ragged and labored, a symbol of pain and exhaustion.

With every ounce of strength left in his battered body, my former self began a painstaking ascent up the decaying form of the ancient demon. His remaining hand clawed at the grotesque flesh, the jagged nails sinking into the putrid tissue for leverage. Each movement was accompanied by a symphony of agony, the strain evident in the contortions of his face.

As he inched his way upward, a maddening laughter escaped his lips, echoing through the air like a haunting melody. It was a burst of laughter born of desperation and fractured sanity, a culmination of the horrors he had witnessed and the burdens he had borne.

His laughter was both a release and a testament to his shattered psyche. It danced on the edge of madness, an eerie soundtrack to his relentless crawl. The echoes of his deranged mirth bounced off the crumbling buildings, intertwining with the smoke and debris that filled the air. It was a chilling sound, a symphony of chaos that seemed to mock the gravity of the situation.

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