Bloodbound Oath: Between Realms
Chapter 47: Despair

Chapter 47: Despair

"Damn it!" Sollivan cursed and quickly gave orders to Noctis, who had previously fled and hidden behind the stone gate. Within seconds, the dust cloud settled, revealing the human figure more clearly—it was Sven, or rather, what remained of him. His left arm had been severed, and what was left of it had turned to charred flesh. His hair and face were burned, his skin peeling away. His clothes had fused with his flesh, becoming part of him. Yet his right hand was relatively intact, and his lower body hadn’t suffered severe damage. Around him lay several charred and brutally torn corpses.

Sven looked at Sollivan with an unreadable expression—his facial features were so distorted he could no longer form normal expressions. He opened his mouth and exhaled a breath of black smoke, then raised his uninjured hand and pointed at Sollivan with bloodshot eyes leaking blood.

"You."

His words were spoken with unprecedented savagery, as if he were no longer an ordinary human. His body trembled, and he gnashed his teeth in extreme fury. Clearly, he was no longer in full control of his mind. Suddenly, a faint white mist enveloped him, and miraculously, his burned skin began to regenerate at a barely noticeable pace—though it was so slow that it would take hours just to heal the superficial wounds, let alone the severe deformities and burns covering the rest of his body.

’He’s breaking through—just what I needed.’ Sollivan cursed his bad luck when he realized Sven was advancing to the second stage, hence the faint Auraxis energy mist surrounding him. But Sven didn’t stand still in satisfaction. Like a frenzied beast that had lost its humanity, he charged at Sollivan madly. Unlike Roland, the seasoned and experienced soldier who had kept his composure even after being caught in the explosion, Sven had lost control, half-conscious from the unbearable pain ravaging his body—his movements were feral.

In one second, he was in front of Sollivan, who tried to retreat in his wheelchair—but his movements were pitifully slow, like a worm crawling on the ground.

Sollivan’s mental strength was considerable, so he saw the attack coming clearly, as if in slow motion. His sharp senses screamed in terror, warning him of imminent death. He looked behind Sven, where the black skeleton was sprinting toward them—but it was too far away. It wouldn’t reach them in time.

’Is this the end? How ironic.’ Sollivan’s mind cleared, and his emotions calmed. He didn’t panic or resist futilely. He had long prepared himself for a moment like this—in truth, at some point, he had already seen himself as a dead man walking.

But his calm lasted only a moment before giving way to terror. His chest tightened—he didn’t want to die. All the nonsense and convictions he had once believed in vanished, and he screamed involuntarily:

"No, stop!"

But it was useless. Sven reached him and threw a punch. Suddenly, a small hand intercepted the devastating blow—Devlin had appeared in front of him out of nowhere.

CRACK!

The small hand shattered—more accurately, it turned to splinters and was flung back violently. Devlin’s eyes rolled white as he screamed in agony. But Sven didn’t stop. He backhanded Devlin across the face. With the last of his strength and awareness, Devlin raised his other hand to shield himself—but it was futile. The hand meant to protect him was crushed, fingers breaking before the force sent it slamming into his own face, shattering his teeth. The impact sent Devlin flying dozens of feet before he crashed to the ground, rolling several times before lying motionless.

"Damn you!" Sollivan roared, eyes bloodshot, teeth clenched. Sven turned to him, ready to strike—but the skeleton arrived just in time, stabbing Sven from behind with its sword.

Contrary to Sollivan’s expectations—who felt a flicker of relief—Sven dodged the blade. He spun around and punched the skeleton’s skull, sending it flying backward. As before, Noctis transformed part of itself into a massive, sharp needle, attempting to ambush Sven—but Noctis’ strength had waned significantly from exhaustion, making the attack slower this time. Sven staggered but managed to evade the black needle. With a snarl, he grabbed it and, using all his strength, lifted the skeletal body and slammed it into the ground repeatedly until it shattered, bones scattering everywhere. The sword slipped from the skeletal hand and skidded across the floor, away from them.

Noctis howled—an unnatural sound—from the severe damage it had suffered. Its strength failed, its body melting into a dark liquid, no longer fused with the bones, which regained their white luster.

Sven stared blankly at the black liquid and white bones, then turned to Sollivan, who stood frozen in terror, and growled again:

"You."

Sollivan trembled, staring at the towering figure before him. He opened his mouth to beg—but no words came out. Despair overwhelmed him. He saw no escape and regretted his reckless, foolish decisions more than ever. All he could think was:

’Why did I do all this? Why?’

He stared at the beast-like Sven before him, and a memory flashed in his mind—of a man with golden eyes standing in the same posture near his mother’s corpse. Yet he couldn’t even muster the courage to be angry.

Sven clenched his fist, ready to attack. Then, in a lightning-fast motion, he aimed a punch at Sollivan’s head—who could only stare blankly. But the fist, brimming with power, missed his face by inches.

Sollivan’s eyes regained a faint glimmer as he looked at Noctis, who had transformed into black tendrils wrapping around Sven’s body. Yet even this couldn’t stop Sven’s momentum. In a rage, Sven began tearing the black tendrils apart, making Noctis howl in Sollivan’s mind.

"Damn you! Damn you!" Sollivan’s eyes burned with fury as he pushed his Primordial Blood to its limit, desperately trying to connect with the book—searching for any hope of salvation.

As he screamed inwardly, Sven roared and kicked—not Sollivan, but his wheelchair. The chair shattered, sending Sollivan flying. He tumbled across the ground, his body covered in bruises, his organs rattled. Though he couldn’t feel it, he was certain his legs had suffered severe damage from the impact.

He clawed at the ground like a madman, cursing in rage. A few drops fell from his eyes as he mourned Noctis’ agonized screams in his mind. He glanced nearby and saw Devlin’s nearly lifeless body, deepening his despair.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it!"

He punched the ground again until his knuckles bled, his blue blood spilling freely. As he punished himself for his recklessness, his gaze fell on a golden sword with a red blade lying nearby—the same sword that had belonged to the skeleton.

He crawled like a slippery worm and grabbed the sword. His eyes gleamed with hatred as he turned to see Sven tearing Noctis apart.

Even after reducing Noctis to shreds, Sven stomped on the remnants until they liquefied. Then he turned and slowly walked toward Sollivan.

With a heavy heart, Sollivan pleaded to Noctis:

"My friend, endure this. Get up for me. Please, I’m begging you—hold on and rise for me!"

Step.

Step.

Sven stood before him, staring down with empty, blood-red eyes—like a corpse that had long lost its life. He raised his foot high above Sollivan’s head, ready to crush him into paste.

"You caused all this."

Sollivan accepted everything helplessly—in fact, he wet himself slightly from sheer terror. Words died in his throat. His mind went blank.

But suddenly, he received a response from Noctis. He turned to see the black liquid struggling to reform into a small, child-sized figure before rushing at Sven, who noticed and turned—just as Sollivan stabbed upward with the sword, aiming for Sven’s groin.

Sven calmly stepped back, avoiding the desperate strike—but Noctis reached him then. With cold precision, the small shadow punched Sven, dispersing its own body into smoke that enveloped Sven from all sides.

From the ground, Sollivan spat through bloodied teeth:

"Bastard—it’s time for you to die."

He pushed his Primordial Blood to its limit, feeling his body burn. But he didn’t stop. Quickly, he reinforced his connection with Noctis, who howled in agony from the immense strain.

Sollivan had gained several abilities from his contract with Noctis—like sensory transfer, which he often used, and body transfer, which allowed him to move to Noctis’ location. But this ability demanded tremendous energy due to the spatial displacement required. Even in peak condition, attempting it would be madness—let alone in their current state.

But he had no choice.

Blood gushed from Sollivan’s body as Noctis’ form warped. Even its crimson eyes, which had never changed before, began to crack.

Before Sven could react, Sollivan vanished—reappearing behind him where the black smoke lingered—and stabbed the sword with all his might.

The blade pierced Sven’s back, skewering his lungs and heart before exiting his chest. Since Sollivan couldn’t stand, his legs dangled as he fell—but he didn’t let go of the sword, yanking it violently to widen the wound before collapsing.

Sollivan landed on his back, body convulsing wildly as if on the verge of death. His vision blurred. He felt his body breaking down unnaturally from within. He couldn’t scream—he had lost control.

His Primordial Blood burned, ravaging his veins and arteries like enraged dragons rampaging through him, desperate to break free. He didn’t understand what was happening—but a vague thought crossed his mind:

"The Primordial Blood is awakening."

Blood seeped from every pore. Wounds split open across his skin, steaming hot blood vaporizing into the air.

’This can’t be happening.’ Sollivan felt overwhelming terror. The pain made coherent thought impossible. He knew how dangerous this was—he had read that awakening the blood required specific conditions. If it awakened now, in this state, he was certain his body would explode from the strain.

His consciousness faded under the unbearable pressure and agony. With his last shred of awareness, he wondered:

’This isn’t the outcome I wanted.’

Then, he blacked out completely—unsure if he would ever wake to see sunlight again.