Chapter 468: Underestimated
As the two Purebloods stood with their golden-irised eyes locked firmly on Serah, their first instinct was to toy with her, as was the nature of their kind. Yet even in their eagerness, their sharpened gazes could not ignore the state of the ruined clearing. The fractured ground, the scorched trees, and the acrid stench of burned flesh all whispered the story of a brutal battle that had taken place just before their arrival.
"It seems she has already been in combat," the two-horned demon muttered in their guttural, demonic tongue, its voice carrying a note of intrigue. "Most likely with Ozythar."
The four-horned demon’s thick head inclined slightly as its molten eyes swept across the devastation. "Indeed. And by the look of things, she bested him." A pause, its attention narrowing as if to pierce through the air itself. "Do you think he is here?"
The two-horned demon’s grin curled in sinister amusement, jagged teeth flashing as it rumbled a chuckle. "I’d like to imagine so, just to be cautious. But no... with only this fragile woman standing here and no scent of his presence, I doubt the Scourge is nearby. Besides, if he were here, we would not be breathing... let alone speaking this freely."
The four-horned demon’s grin stretched wider, its veins pulsing as a ripple of hunger coursed through its massive frame. "Then it is true—we have escaped his grasp. And fortune favors us, for the gods have blessed us with a prize. Free food... standing right in front of us."
The two-horned demon let its gaze crawl along Serah’s figure, drinking in the sight of her bloodied, battle-worn body. Its grin widened with relish. "Perfect, isn’t it? We have hungered for far too long. And look at her—blood staining her flesh, wounds across her arms and thighs. That stance she holds is nothing more than a last attempt to cling to dignity before death embraces her."
The four-horned demon flexed its clawed hands, each talon dripping with the promise of carnage. "Then let us end her quickly. The sooner we devour her, the sooner we regain our strength."
A low, mocking chuckle spilled from the throat of the two-horned. "Where is the fun in that?" Its eyes glittered with perverse delight, its voice curling like smoke as it savored the thought. "Let us play with her first. After all, she is quite the beauty, isn’t she? A human, weakened, battered, yet still standing with the arrogance to believe she has fight left in her. There is nothing more delicious than a prey who believes they can still resist when death is already upon them."
The four-horned demon’s rumble deepened into a growl-like laugh, its chest trembling as its amusement grew. "You are right. There is nothing more delicious than hope before it turns to despair." Its laughter rolled louder, shaking the broken clearing like a drumbeat of doom.
Though their words were spoken in the ancient tongue of demons, Serah’s calm crimson eyes never left them. She could not understand their language, not in sound or meaning, but their intent was unmistakable. The tone of their voices, the cruel delight etched into their expressions, and the measured malice of their movements told her everything she needed to know. They were underestimating her.
It was obvious. They saw her wounds, the blood dried upon her skin, and they believed her weakened, broken. Yet instead of frustration, Serah welcomed it. With Marcus gone, there was no aura of fear to warp their instincts. These two demons stood in their truest form, comfortable, arrogant, and ready to revel in their own nature. That was exactly what she wanted. To experience the true cunning of two Purebloods unhindered by fear.
Her grip on her claymore tightened slightly as she held her position, feet firmly planted, the blade still grounded before her like the foundation of a fortress. Her heart remained steady, her breathing measured, her gaze unwavering. ’I’ll need to be sharper,’ she thought, a steady hum in her mind as her focus deepened. ’Faster. More precise than I was with other Pureblood. Against two... there will be no room for hesitation.’
One of the demons finally broke the silence, this time in the human tongue, its voice laced with mockery. The two-horned leaned forward, its eyes gleaming with malicious playfulness. "So lovely, human... here you stand, all alone, in this vast forest with no one to protect you." Its grin widened, spreading across its crimson face like a tear in flesh. It took a slow step forward, then another, dragging its talons through the dirt. "Tell me... would you mind if we kept you company? It would be such a shame for you to suffer all alone."
Their laughter mingled in the air, cold and cruel, but Serah did not flinch. Instead, a small smirk curved her lips, sharp and dangerous, her gaze locked onto theirs like a predator disguised as prey. Without shifting her eyes, she pressed her boot against the flat of her claymore and kicked upward with enough force to send the blade twirling. The weapon spun once, twice, before her hand caught the hilt with flawless precision. She angled the massive blade outward, the tip leveled squarely at the advancing demons.
Her voice was calm, low, yet every syllable carried the weight of her will. "I don’t mind at all."
The instant the words left her lips, flames burst outward from her, roaring in a sudden cascade of crimson and gold. They licked along her arms, wrapped around her shoulders, and surged down the length of her claymore, the blade glowing like a star reborn. The ground cracked beneath her as the heat swelled, the forest air thickening with fire’s wrath.
The two Purebloods paused for only a heartbeat, their grins faltering slightly as they felt the sudden surge of heat. Then, just as quickly, their lips split wide again into delighted snarls, their claws flexing in anticipation.
Then in a blink of an eye, they launched forward.
The air split with a sharp crack as the two Purebloods moved, their bodies tearing through the clearing like crimson streaks of shadow, their speed defying the eyes of mortals. Serah did not flinch. Her claymore rose in a controlled arc to meet the first strike—an obsidian spear wreathed in dripping veins of blood that elongated unnaturally as the two-horned demon thrust it toward her heart. The clash rang like a bell, steel against corrupted essence, a ripple of sparks bursting outward.
The second demon, the one crowned with four horns, did not wait. He materialized at her flank, a blade in his hand that was no ordinary weapon but a jagged edge grown from his own arm, pulsing with dark veins that hissed with each twitch. He swung it horizontally, aiming to bisect her midsection. Serah’s foot slid back in the dirt, her stance lowering. She pivoted, claymore twisting in her grasp, parrying the strike at an angle that sent vibrations rattling up her arms. The strength behind it was immense, threatening to shatter her bones if she faltered for even a heartbeat.
She gritted her teeth, her crimson eyes flashing. The first demon capitalized on the stagger, bringing his spear down from overhead with crushing force. Serah dropped her weight, knees bending as she ducked and rolled, the spear slamming into the ground where she had stood, carving a jagged crater. Dust and fragments erupted skyward. She emerged from the roll with her blade sweeping upward in a counter arc, the steel kissing across the demon’s torso. Black ichor spilled in a hiss, but the wound sealed almost instantly, the veins writhing like serpents to mend the tear.
"Ahh... feisty little knight," the four-horned one taunted, his grin stretching unnaturally wide. "Your fire burns bright, but fire always dies in blood."
The two-horned demon chuckled lowly, circling to her opposite side, his golden-rimmed eyes never leaving her form. "Let us savor this. She cracks so sweetly when pressured."
Their words slithered like poison into her ears. Serah’s jaw tightened, but she held her stance. They were toying with her—mocking her, caressing the fight rather than finishing it. Each strike they launched was strong but deliberately restrained, as though they enjoyed watching her bleed more than the thought of victory.
They lunged again, together this time. One with a flurry of jagged slashes, the other with spears that multiplied midair, forming from his blood and launching like bolts. Serah became a blur, claymore arcing and pivoting with disciplined precision. Steel rang against bone-forged weapons, her blade intercepting thrusts, redirecting spears so they impaled trees instead of her flesh. Yet not all were avoided—one spike grazed her shoulder, another slashed her thigh, and one pierced shallowly into her side.
Her teeth clenched as heat radiated outward. Steam burst from her wounds, the smell of iron and burning blood filling the air. She forced her myst through the cuts, burning away the venom of their tainted essence before it could seep deeper. Each time it cost her focus, each time it drained her strength—but she endured.
The demons noticed. Their laughter deepened.
"You smell it, don’t you, brother?" the two-horned one sneered, his spear lengthening unnaturally, curving into a wicked halberd. "That desperate burn and that scent of resistance."
"She hides her fear well," the four-horned answered, feinting left then cutting upward with brutal precision. "But inside? Oh, inside she trembles. Let us peel her pride slowly."
The taunts clawed at her patience. Her blade met his, sparks exploding as steel screeched against flesh-grown metal. She twisted her wrist, forcing the clash upward and retaliating with a downward kick that drove into the demon’s knee. He staggered, but only laughed, his limb cracking then knitting back together in seconds.
The other surged in, spinning his halberd in a cyclone, forcing her back. Serah raised her claymore defensively, each strike hammering against her arms like falling boulders. She shifted, redirected, dodged when possible—but the rhythm they created was suffocating. One pressed high, the other swept low, their attacks alternating in a deadly dance designed not to overwhelm but to wear her down. To remind her with every heartbeat that they were in control.
Blood trailed down her arm where a spearhead had nicked her, sizzling as she burned out the corruption. Her breathing grew heavier, yet her gaze remained sharp. Her claymore lashed outward suddenly, its arc wide and unrelenting, forcing both demons back with a flare of sparks as she cut through their advance.
But their grins never faded.
The four-horned one licked at the ichor dribbling from his own chest wound, his golden eyes alight with twisted amusement. "She resists the poison. Quiet a strong and clever girl."
"And stubborn," his brother added with a chuckle. "Let us see how long her fire holds before she breaks."
Their words finally began to sink claws into her. For the first time, Serah felt her temper fray. Their deliberate cruelty, the way they restrained themselves not out of mercy but sadistic indulgence—it was insulting, degrading. She was no plaything, no prey meant to amuse them until boredom took them.
Her hands tightened on her claymore’s hilt. Her heart pounded harder, her eyes narrowing into slits.
And for the first time in many battles, the cool restraint that had guided her began to waver. Anger stirred within her chest, hot and volatile. A dangerous edge, for Serah knew that in anger lay both power and weakness. Yet the Purebloods, with every mocking grin and every caress of their venomous words, were dragging her closer to that precipice.
And it was beginning to cost her.