Vortex Origins
Chapter 88: The Third creature wave - 6

Chapter 88: The Third creature wave - 6

The black knight pulled its blade from Julia’s chest.

Her body dropped with a dull thud. Blood spilled into the cracks of the broken ground, snaking through the dirt like veins in stone.

Ash watched, frozen.

Then came the scream—

"JULIAAA!"

Horthgar.

He tore across the field, wild eyes locked on the knight. Rage drove him like a cannonball, the ground shaking beneath each step.

Osric and Emma turned at the sound, and when they saw her body, something in their faces broke.

Horthgar didn’t slow.

His fist, massive and bloodied, crashed forward.

The black knight turned its head—just slightly.

The punch missed, cutting through air.

Another strike followed, this one landing. The knight staggered a step back.

Then it straightened, slow and smooth, lifting its sword like it weighed nothing.

Horthgar roared, throwing his fist again—

Steel split the air.

A blade pierced his back.

His eyes went wide.

Osric and Emma turned sharply.

Their own opponent—gone.

Only smoke remained, black mist curling and vanishing.

Horthgar grunted but didn’t fall. He pushed forward, hand reaching for the knight ahead.

"HORTHGAR, BEHIND YOU—!"

Osric’s voice cut through the chaos.

Too late.

The second black knight was already there, driving the sword deeper into Horthgar’s spine. Its blade pushed with inhuman strength. Horthgar’s body jerked.

He hadn’t seen it coming.

Then, another flash of steel.

The blade stabbed through his face. Blood sprayed into the air.

His eyes never closed. They stared at Ash. Empty.

The knights held him between them, impaled like an offering.

Then, in one perfect, silent motion, they withdrew.

Horthgar fell to his knees. Then to his face.

The knights didn’t move.

No breath. No sound.

Two statues in black armor, streaked with blood—Facing different directions.

Waiting for the next one.

The roar of the Grimhorns tore through the smoke as they charged.

Ash stepped forward, his blade clashing against a beast with tusks like daggers and eyes full of hate. He fought to hold the line.

The Black Knights weren’t his to face—not now. Even with his speed, what good was it? Their bodies were more than armored. They were something else. Something wrong.

Behind him, Emma screamed, voice raw. She started to move—

But Osric was already walking past her.

His shoulders trembled. Tears ran down his face, mixing with the ash on his cheeks.

He reached up, pulled the hat from his head, then drew out the two already gripped in his fists.

Wind howled around him.

Blades formed—thin arcs of wind, sharp as razors—at the tips of all three hats.

Osric didn’t shout. Didn’t blink. He moved.

With a flick of his wrist, wind blades shot from his feet, carving the ground toward the knights. They raised their swords, slicing the wind apart like it was nothing.

They began walking toward him. Slow. Sure.

Osric hurled the first hat.

It spun through the air and struck with a flash of light—

Cutting clean through one of the knight’s arms. The limb hit the ground with a metallic thud.

Silence fell.

The two knights looked down at the severed arm. Then they turned their heads, in unison, toward Osric.

He didn’t move. His hands were clenched, his teeth grinding.

The second hat flew. Fast.

The knights didn’t catch it this time. They shifted, closing the distance.

Osric raised both hands.

The thrown hats stopped midair—then reversed.

Blades out, they spun backward.

The first pierced through one knight’s back. The second followed, cutting through the other like paper.

Both hats came to rest in Osric’s hands, dripping black.

The knights staggered, swords dropping.

Then they fell.

Armor clanged against the stone. No sound followed. No twitch. No breath.

They didn’t rise again.

Osric walked toward the bodies.

The wind howled behind him, but he didn’t flinch. He should’ve felt something—victory, maybe. But all he felt was weight. Cold and heavy.

He knelt beside Horthgar, the man’s body still, eyes blank. Dried blood lined his armor, pooling in the cracks of stone beneath him.

Osric reached out and gently closed the man’s eyes.

"I’m sorry."

His voice cracked.

"We should’ve pulled back. We should’ve run. But I was too proud."

His fist slammed into the ground, shaking dust into the air. His breath hitched. Tears spilled down his cheeks, mixing with the dirt.

Osric’s fists trembled. The wind howled around him, carrying voices—Julia’s grumbling, Horthgar’s laughter. They were gone. But he’d make sure they weren’t forgotten.

Then he smiled. A sharp, empty smile. One that didn’t belong on a grieving face.

"Don’t worry. I’ll keep you close to Julia."

He glanced at her body—broken, still lying near the wall.

"She didn’t like you much. but... she still cared. She won’t mind."

A sudden gust blew across his back, nearly knocking him forward into Horthgar’s chest.

Osric turned, teeth clenched.

"What are you doin—?"

Steel flashed.

Two blades punched through his chest before the words could leave his mouth.

His eyes widened. He hadn’t even felt them coming.

Across the field, Ash tore through the last Grimhorn, its head flying clean off.

"[Gained 10 soul energy point]"

They have the strength of humans with Tier 4 Vessels, maybe stronger. But they lacked soulcore abilities. That made them easier and very Predictable. And for ash who was at tier 5 this was very easy.

He turned toward Osric.

And froze.

The Black Knights stood still—blades buried deep in Osric’s chest.

Osric’s mouth opened, but no sound came. Blood spilled down his armor. His arms hung limp at his sides.

The knights twisted their blades.

Ash took a step forward—but it was too late.

The swords slid out in sync, black and wet.

Osric fell without a sound.

His body crumpled beside the friends he couldn’t protect.

The two knights stood there, unmoving. Watching and Silent.

Like death meant nothing at all. Well it wouldn’t to Ash all creatures are mindless killing machine.

A scream tore from Emma’s throat as a concentrated gust slammed forward, cutting across the battlefield like a blade.

It hit one of the knights dead-on—wind sharp enough to carve stone.

The knight barely slowed.

Both of them turned. Slowly. Their heads moved first. Then the rest of their armored bodies shifted, creaking like ancient gates.

They began walking toward her.

Emma’s pulse thundered. Her hands trembled. Three of her teammates had fallen—and now, those things were coming for her.

She turned to run.

A flash of steel.

Pain tore through her leg.

She hit the ground hard, breath knocked from her chest. Grit and ash filled her mouth. She gasped and looked back.

A sword jutted from her thigh, thrown from a distance—clean, precise.

Black smoke curled around the weapon. The knight who threw it was already gone, its body now dissolved into black mist—the same mist now coiling around the sword in Emma’s leg.

Ash had seen it before: wounded, they retreated into their weapons, but a single strike couldn’t kill them.

’Is it the blade?’

Emma’s fingers clawed at the ground. Her eyes darted upward.

The smoke was forming again. Curling around the handle. Growing limbs, a chest, a helmeted head.

The knight stepped out of its own weapon like a shadow given flesh. Its hollow face stared down at her.

It gripped tightly at the handle of the sword And started pulling it out. Slowly.

Pain tore through her leg again. Emma screamed, her voice echoing through the field.

Her hand flared, a sudden burst of wind exploding outward.

The knight staggered back, pushed several steps away. Its grip broke for a moment.

Emma didn’t wait.

She moved— leg useless behind her.

No thought. No plan.

Just the hope that someone—anyone— still alive out there.

That someone could reach her before the knight did.

Emma dragged herself across the cracked ground, nails scraping through blood and dust. Her breaths came short. Each pull forward left a streak of red behind.

Ahead—he stood still.

Ash.

Around him, the air hung heavy. Behind him, the grimhorns twitched... then jerked upright. Limbs twisted. Eyes hollow. Their bodies pulsed once—then the decay took hold.

Undead.

They charged.

Ash turned.

"[Activating Skill: Phantom’s Stride]."

Time shattered.

In the space of a blink, heads fell from necks like fruit from a tree. One by one, the grimhorns collapsed—silent, final.

But this time the soulcore voice didn’t respond to the kill. The creature had dropped any soul energy. But Ash didn’t have time to think about this.

He moved.

The black knight stood above Emma now, sword raised. Its shadow stretched long across her broken frame.

The blade came down.

Steel met steel.

Ash blocked it—his own weapon catching the blow just inches from Emma’s face. Sparks flared. The ground cracked beneath his feet from the force.

The knight stepped forward, pressing. Ash’s blade slid back, weight too great to hold.

A shove—Ash was flung back, boots skidding through bloodied dirt.

He caught himself, eyes locking onto Emma.

She was still crawling. Still trying to reach the battlefield.

He clenched his jaw.

’What is she doing... That place isn’t safe. I know your team’s still out there, but you’ll die before you reach them.’

In a breath, he was gone.

A blur of movement.

When the world caught up again, they were both at the wall. Emma slumped beside the stone barrier, eyes wide with shock. Ash stood above her, silent. The guards atop the wall moved in—one of them reaching down, yelling her name.

Ash turned.

And walked.

Step by step, back onto the field.

The black knight was already waiting.

Its sword scraped the earth.

Ash didn’t run.

He just kept walking, eyes locked on the creature, his blade lowered at his side—waiting.