THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR
Chapter 51 - 51: THE FALL OF THE FINGERS

(For a better experience listen to the novel's theme song on YouTube while reading the chapter: https://youtu.be/8yA-MWB7EAo?si=LHB1cBfh9u1Gx-ig )

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He refused to be defeated, not by a mere mortal who defied the natural order. This fight wouldn't end until David lay broken and whimpering at his feet. The air crackled with raw power as Draven closed the distance, his gleaming blade poised to deliver the final, crushing blow. The battle had entered its final, desperate act, and David stood on the precipice of oblivion.

Draven charged like a bull but David remained a statue of cool. Then, with a dancer's fluidity, he slipped into the shadows, becoming one with the darkness. Draven skidded to a halt, his momentum leaving him briefly unbalanced.

He planted his boot like an anchor, its thud echoing in the cavernous room. He grasped his sword, a stabilizing force in the swirling chaos. Without hesitation, he activated his own skill, Aegis Stance, to counter David's dark attribute skill.

The air hung thick with silence. Draven's eyes, honed by years of combat, darted around the room like raptors scanning for prey. He searched for any hint of movement, any distortion in the inky blackness. "Where'd the little rat go?" he snarled to himself. Just then, a sardonic voice sliced through the tension.

"Looking for me, tin can?" It came from below. David. With a mocking tone, he taunted Draven as he propelled himself from the ground with his hands, using them as springs. This wasn't just agility, Luna realized with a spark of respect. This was predatory grace, the controlled ferocity of a wolf stalking its prey.

With a resounding thud, David connected with Draven's chest, unleashing a double-kick so potent it sent the larger man rocketing upwards. Debris rained down as Draven blasted through the ceiling, a grotesque ornament adorning the shattered upper rooms. The silence returned, punctuated only by the distant groan of crumbling stone.

It was a brutal ballet, a testament to David's newfound awakening. Draven's world spun. Pain, a white-hot poker jabbing his side, anchored him to the wreckage of the upper floor. How? The Aegis Stance, his unyielding skill, whispered through countless battles, had crumbled. It thrived on his opponent's assault, turning him into an impenetrable wall.

Yet, David had bypassed it with an ease that bordered on mockery. Was the boy a mage or a swordsman, a wielder of forbidden arts? Draven knew better. David had no mana...or could not use it.

A sudden, loud sound from below jolted Draven from his thoughts. David, using his formidable strength, leapt through the gaping hole in the roof. David landed meters from Draven with a bone-jarring thud that sent tremors through the broken floor. The impact seemed to shake the very dust motes clinging to the shattered remnants of the ceiling.

The silence that followed was a living thing, heavy and pregnant with unspoken questions. In that suffocating quiet, Draven could only stare, a horrifying realization dawning: this wasn't just strength, this was something else entirely. Something dark, something born of the shadows.

David stalked towards Draven, each measured step a deliberate hammer blow on the shattered silence. The battered warrior willed his body to obey, to rise and meet the challenge, but it remained a traitor, a limp puppet dangling from broken strings. Crimson paint, as vibrant as a mocker's laughter, bled through the cracks in Draven's visor.

David stopped above him, a chilling statue carved from gloating cruelty. His earlier grin had evaporated, replaced by a glacial coldness that penetrated Draven's core like a spectral touch. "Get up," David rasped, the command devoid of warmth, a mere formality before the inevitable.

"You thought...you could fight me?" David chuckled, the sound devoid of humour, more a hiss than a laugh. His eyes, once playful, now mirrored the frozen wasteland Draven felt within. "Half-assed skill? That's a generous way to describe your pathetic attempt." A cruel twist of lips followed, a mockery of a smile.

"No one can match me, Draven," he declared, his voice a low growl that reverberated through the shattered room. "My bloodline has never seen such power, such...perfection."David loomed, a predator admiring its fallen prey. "Nothing can stop me," he proclaimed, a hint of mania creeping into his voice.

He reached towards his own face, a morbid caress, and Draven felt a primal surge of fear. "I will destroy them all," David vowed, his words dripping with a venomous certainty. Crouching with predatory grace, David gripped Draven's breastplate, the cold metal a stark contrast to the inferno that burned in his eyes. With a single, brutal motion, he lifted the fallen warrior a fraction off the ground.

"I am the light that shall hunt the darkness," he snarled, the words laced with a dark euphoria. "There will never be another like me."The final blow was a punctuation mark to his deranged declaration. David's fist, wrapped in a shroud of shadow, connected with Draven's helmet in a sickening crunch.

The impact sent a shockwave through the room, spiderwebbing the stone floor beneath Draven's crumpled form. A gasp, choked and wet, escaped Draven's cracked visor. He lay sprawled, a broken warrior at the mercy of a madman.

"I am the best," David declared, his voice an echo in the dead silence, a chilling finale to his twisted symphony of power. The weight of his victory, however, felt strangely hollow, a hollowness that mirrored the growing darkness within his own eyes. David surveyed the wreckage of Draven.

The warrior's once-proud form twitched pathetically on the broken floor; a marionette with its strings severed. "So weak," David sighed, a sound more akin to a predator sniffing out weakness in its prey.

He knelt, fingers brushing against the gleaming metal of Draven's warblade. It felt impossibly heavy, a stark contrast to the feather-like lightness of his own newfound power. Hefting the weapon with disdain, David admired its craftsmanship for a fleeting moment before aiming the tip directly at Draven's chestplate.

The thrust was effortless, the blade slicing through enchanted armour as if it were mere parchment. Draven's eyes, wide with a mixture of shock and a strange, sorrowful acceptance, locked with David's.

A crimson bloom erupted on his breastplate as the blade found its mark, a grotesque rose blooming on a battlefield of despair. Life drained from Draven's body with agonizing slowness. Scenes flickered behind his dimming vision: the betrayal that led him down this path, the countless battles won, the alliances forged in blood and ambition.

All of it, a tapestry woven over a lifetime, unravelling in a single, horrific night at the hands of a mortal boy. But as the light faded, Draven wasn't filled with fear for his own demise. No, a deeper dread gnawed at him – the chilling premonition of a world consumed by this new terror. David, a monster birthed from darkness, would leave a trail of devastation in his wake, and Draven, in his final moments, could only bear witness to the rise of a nightmare he could no longer oppose.

Draven's life force sputtered out like a dying candle. As the last embers faded, a holographic window flickered into existence before David's eyes like a taunting ghost. "[You have defeated a peak-master]," it proclaimed coldly.

David arched an eyebrow, a sliver of surprise slicing through his smug satisfaction. So, Draven was a higher rank, a more seasoned predator than initially perceived. It explained the warrior's tenacity, the way he'd pushed David even with his newfound power. Without his awakening, victory wouldn't have been a cakewalk. But did that matter now? Not a bit.

A flicker of disappointment, a phantom itch, marred his triumph. The fight had been a whirlwind, exhilarating but fleeting. He was a battle junkie, and this quick win left him craving a longer, more brutal dance of steel.

"What's the prize this time?" he muttered, his voice echoing in the deathly silence. Another holographic screen materialized, its blue glow stark against the carnage. "[Skill: Eternal Gluttony]," it scrolled across his vision, followed by another chilling message, "[Soulforge]." So, Draven, in a twisted way, would become part of him. A new servant.

A final message flashed on the ethereal screen. "[You have received an Aetenus]." David's eyes, the colour of moonlight, gleamed with an unholy hunger. This promised a power he hadn't even dreamed of, an army of the beast warriors at his disposal.

The thrill of the fight was fading, replaced by a yearning to delve into his new servant, to unlock the potential that lay dormant within him. He was a monster in the making, and these rewards were fuel for his monstrous evolution. A cruel, predatory smile stretched across his face as he envisioned the devastation he could wreak with his newfound arsenal. The game had just begun.

Dawn bled through the shattered windows, painting the carnage in a sickly yellow light. The victory should have tasted sweet, a validation of his newfound power. Yet, a hollowness gnawed at David.

The battle was over, a mere skirmish in a war that stretched towards a horizon he couldn't see. He was a lone wolf amidst a howling blizzard, the thrill of the hunt waning, replaced by a bone-deep chill of uncertainty.

David needed answers. Not just about the enemy he'd faced, or the monstrous power coursing through his veins, but about the war itself. And there was only one person who could unravel the tangled skein of his fate: Seraphina.

The weight of his decision pressed down on him – trust a woman shrouded in secrets, or remain adrift in a sea of unknowns. He rose, his shadow stretching long and grotesque across the bloodstained floor. The morning sun held no warmth for him, only the grim promise of a future that hung in the balance. It was time to seek the answers that haunted him, the secrets that even 'Trials of Valor' did not reveal, even if it meant embracing the darkness within.