The wind howled across the battlements.
Lightning streaked through the darkened clouds, illuminating the jagged stone of the walls in brief flashes. The air smelled of rain, blood, and the iron tang of fear.
The figure approached.
Adrian.
The officer raised his blade, muscles coiled. He had faced men before, soldiers trained in the cruelest arts, but this—this presence pressed against his chest like a living weight.
The first strike came.
The dagger descended with impossible speed. He twisted his blade, blocking, but felt the dagger's unusual heft.
It was heavier than it should be. Not the weight of steel alone.
'This is no ordinary man,' he thought, muscles straining to maintain balance. 'Perhaps… a demon.'
Adrian pressed forward, every movement fluid, predatory. The officer's boots dug into the stone wall, his arms quivering under the unnatural force of the attack.
The storm raged. Thunder rolled across the mountains, sending echoes through the walls. Rain licked the surface of the battlements, slicking the stone and washing away blood in rivulets.
He watched as Adrian's daggers flashed again.
A thousand guards… dead. The thought struck him like a hammer.
'Over a thousand… and he is alone.'
The officer forced himself to inhale, tasting the coppery air. He tightened his grip on the hilt.
"You… cannot be human," he said through clenched teeth.
Adrian's hood shifted, face shadowed. He moved without a sound, weightless and inevitable.
'If this is human… then humanity is a lie,' the officer admitted to himself.
The rain fell harder now, drumming against armor, stone, and the metal of weapons. Lightning illuminated Adrian again, dagger poised, the crimson glint mingling with the storm.
He braced.
The rain fell harder now, hammering against stone and armor alike.
Blood ran with it, slicking the walls and washing the floor clean of evidence. The commanding officer realized the chaos below was hidden from view.
The distance between the nine layers of walls created a canyon of shadow and stone. From here, not even a servant could see the carnage. The soldiers patrolling the lower walls… already dead, their absence unnoticed.
'He is stronger than I imagined,' the officer admitted inwardly. 'I have underestimated him.'
Adrian pressed forward, dagger poised, each step precise, controlled. The commanding officer shifted, raising his own blade to meet the movement.
This time, it was his turn.
His boots slammed into the stone, propelling him toward Adrian with lethal intent. Most soldiers attacking Adrian had aimed for cleaving strikes to the head.
Not him.
He launched first with a forward kick, catching Adrian off guard. The movement forced Adrian back, the dagger slicing the air in compensation.
Adrian twisted, avoiding the full force of the strike, but the officer followed immediately with a lunging slash.
The dagger met the strike, parried by Adrian's hand wraps.
The sound rang sharp and metallic across the rain-soaked battlement. Lightning lit the scene, tracing the wet steel in jagged streaks.
'He is fast… impossibly fast,' the officer thought, bracing as rain and blood stung his eyes. 'But he can be pressed. He can be pushed.'
Adrian's hood shifted slightly, shadowed face unmoving. His dagger's tip hovered in the dim light, ready to strike again.
The officer adjusted his stance, boots gripping the wet stone.
He would not give ground.
The rain had ceased as abruptly as it began.
The clouds lingered, heavy and oppressive, blotting out the sun. A gray pall stretched across the battlements, casting shadow over every soldier and stone.
The commanding officer planted his right foot with deliberate force. The impact sent a small crater into the rain-dampened stone.
He lunged forward in a diagonal slash, but Adrian twisted backward, effortless in his avoidance.
'He is… untouchable,' the officer thought, grit pressing against fear.
Behind Adrian, soldiers scrambled to capitalize on the distraction. One charged, sword raised in a diagonal arc aimed for Adrian's back.
Adrian did not flinch. The instant-kill dagger was sheathed once more. His left hand rose just enough to intercept the strike, parrying without turning his head.
The soldier froze mid-swing.
Adrian's free right hand seized the soldier's sword, slashing beneath the armor. Paralysis spread instantly, veins stiffening as the man fell to his knees.
He removed the helmet, fingers working with cold precision, siphoning mana from the helpless soldier. Not a scream escaped—paralysis held his voice hostage. Within moments, the man lay lifeless, a pool of unused mana draining silently to Adrian's hands.
'Rupert depleted all my reserves,' Adrian thought, calculating. 'I cannot waste mana unnecessarily. These soldiers will suffice for now.'
The commanding officer's eyes widened. The figure before him moved like a phantom, precise, deliberate, and merciless. Each strike, each motion carried the weight of intent.
"Form ranks! Stop him!" one soldier shouted, voice trembling over the windless silence.
But the formation wavered, fear crackling in their limbs like static. Lightning forked through the distant clouds, illuminating Adrian for an instant. His black hood shadowed the crimson gleam of his eyes.
'This is not human,' the officer admitted silently. 'It cannot be.'
Adrian glanced briefly at the nearest wall, assessing the remaining soldiers. Then, without a sound, he advanced again, the battlefield becoming a lattice of shadows, blood, and whispered dread.
Adrian plunged into the ranks, dagger in hand.
Only the paralysing blade remained. Each strike sent soldiers crumpling to the ground, veins stiffening under the instant effect.
He touched the first of them, hands pressing to bare skin, siphoning their mana with precise efficiency. Every contact was deliberate, methodical.
'Their energy… will fuel me for the next wave,' he thought.
The soldiers' screams were muted, distorted under the paralysis. Only their eyes spoke terror.
The commanding officer appeared, face blazing with fury. Every line of his body screamed purpose, every movement designed to end Adrian in that instant.
Metal clashed. Sparks flew. The two figures moved too fast to track, a blur of steel and intent.
Adrian's dagger danced in perfect arcs, blocking, slicing, redirecting.
The officer's blade cut through the air, a deadly rhythm of attack meant to overwhelm. Each swing carried years of experience, the weight of authority and command.
Yet Adrian anticipated, pivoted, and struck with calculated precision. Neither faltered. Neither yielded.
Around them, the thousands of soldiers froze in place, caught between fear and awe. No one dared approach; the kill zones were invisible, yet palpable. One misstep, one careless swing, and they would fall as easily as the men around them.
Lightning struck again, illuminating the scene. Rain slicked stone reflected the brief flash, revealing the tide of combat: two predators among hundreds, their movements poetry in motion, yet soaked in blood and shadow.
The commanding officer's voice broke through the chaos.
"Stand down! Do not—"
His command ended in a scream of frustration as another soldier fell mid-step, paralysed and drained.
Adrian did not glance at the body. He did not pause.
'This… is necessary,' he reflected. 'I cannot allow them to interfere.'
And in that instant, the clash escalated. Every strike from the officer met Adrian's defenses, every parry answered with precision and ruthlessness.
The battlefield had become a silent stage of destruction, the storm above echoing their relentless fury.
Adrian moved like a shadow unbound.
The commanding officer lunged, blade swinging with deadly precision. Adrian sidestepped before the swing could even begin, as if he had already inhabited the strike's path and rejected it.
'They cannot predict me,' he thought, calm and measured. 'Their intent is loud. Mine is silent.'
Every soldier on the walls radiated mana. Each flicker, each pulse, a whisper of movement. Adrian sensed it all. The direction, the force, the intent—it was a map written in energy.
He struck again. The paralysing dagger in his left hand found a soldier's wrist mid-lunge. Muscles froze. Eyes widened. Their scream never formed.
Another came forward, teeth gritted in futile defiance. Adrian's right hand followed instinct—swift, clean, merciless. The instant-kill dagger traced a thin line across exposed flesh. Blood bloomed instantly, crimson in the dim light.
The commanding officer's eyes narrowed. 'Impossible…'
Adrian did not answer. He moved again. Step, strike, pull, siphon. Every motion precise. Every soldier was a note in a symphony he conducted without effort.
'They think speed and skill will save them,' he reflected, watching their intent ripple like water. 'But they cannot see what is not there.'
Lightning illuminated the battlefield, brief and stark. Rain glossed stone, making the blood and shadows merge. Soldiers froze mid-step, faces pale, eyes wide.
The commanding officer shouted, furious.
"Stand your ground! Do not—"
A soldier fell beside him, paralysed before the words left his mouth. Adrian's gaze had already moved past him, toward the next target.
Each movement of Adrian's body was unpredictable, yet deliberate. Every attack landed exactly where it needed to. Every strike extracted the maximum efficiency of fear and mana.
The walls themselves seemed to shudder beneath the storm, echoing the relentless precision of his massacre.
Adrian wanted to laugh.
'So this is why villains do it,' he thought. 'It's impossible not to.'
The commanding officer charged, determination blazing. The sword arced toward Adrian's neck on the left side.
Adrian's right hand was free. He grabbed the tip of the blade. The steel grated against his hand wraps with a cruel, grinding sound. Sparks of friction flashed in the dim light of the storm.
The commanding officer froze, eyes widening. His attack faltered. Adrian's crimson gaze, the white of his irises stark, met his.
'Now…' Adrian thought. 'Now I release intent.'
The commanding officer tried to adjust, to move, to escape, but it was too late. Darkness filled his vision. Every angle, every escape route—gone.
Adrian's left dagger found the officer's wrist, paralysing him instantly. Then his fingers clasped around the man's mana. It streamed out in a visible, pulsating flow.
The officer struggled, screaming, but his voice was drowned by his own life being leeched. Panic, shock, disbelief—he had never faced anything like this.
Adrian did not stop until every drop of mana had been siphoned. When the officer went limp, Adrian released him.
The body fell, then Adrian's boot kicked it over the edge. The soldiers watching froze. Some gasped. Some vomited. Fear had taken root so deep it curdled their stomachs.
'This… this is him,' a soldier whispered, voice shaking. 'He is no human.'
Lightning split the sky. Rain washed blood and mud together, and the shadows deepened. The commanding officer's corpse tumbled, a reminder of the fate awaiting any who opposed Adrian.
Adrian stood, hood over his head, daggers in hand, the storm circling him like a crown of wrath.
Adrian stood atop the ninth wall.
Below him, the mass of soldiers swarmed, bristling with weapons, ready to stop him.
'Six walls down… now the rest,' he thought. His daggers gleamed in the storm-darkened sky.
Lightning split the clouds, illuminating the outer perimeter—the first layer he had already destroyed. Blood and broken bodies littered the outer walls.
The soldiers below were unaware of the carnage awaiting them.
Adrian leapt.
His left dagger slid into a soldier's neck before the man could react. The paralysing poison flowed instantly. The scream choked in his own blood.
Another reached for a sword. Adrian caught the wrist mid-swing, twisted it, and siphoned the mana, leaving the man lifeless in an instant.
The storm roared. Rain washed blood across stone, streaking the walls and Adrian's hooded form.
He moved like shadow incarnate, disappearing into the crowd. Soldiers tried to form ranks, but their formation collapsed before his strikes.
Daggers flashed, swords flew, bodies toppled. Adrian twisted, spun, parried, and struck.
He used their own weapons against them. One man's halberd became his instrument. Another's spear, his conduit of death.
Cries of fear and confusion echoed across the walls. Some tried to retreat, only to be cut down before moving a step.
Five hours passed. The storm and lightning bore witness to the massacre. The outer walls, the inner walls, every sentinel—gone.
Even the civilians who maintained the gates and walls had no escape. Their cries ended in blood and silence.
Each step Adrian took left a footprint of crimson. His cloak and hood soaked with it.
Bodies piled in layers, a grim testament to the destruction. The gates from walls two through seven were shattered, left open.
Adrian's gaze lifted. The final layer, the last wall, awaited.
He crouched, daggers in hand, assessing the climb. The rain slicked stone glistened like polished steel beneath his boots.
With a single leap, he scaled the wall, daggers digging into the surface to pull himself upward.
Above, the storm raged, and below, the remains of his path stretched in a river of death.
Adrian paused. Crimson eyes gleamed from beneath the hood. He whispered quietly in his mind:
'None shall survive today.'
Amongst the carnage, the walls and structures remained intact.
Blood stained every surface, dark and glistening in the storm's dim light.
Adrian stood atop the ninth wall, surveying the courtyard below. The castle lay beyond, pristine and well-maintained, almost untouched by the chaos he had wrought.
He planted his left dagger into the stone, stopping himself from plummeting as he descended from the wall. The motion was fluid, effortless.
The soldiers stationed in the courtyard barely registered his presence.
One blinked, and the dagger from Adrian's right hand pierced directly through his eye.
The next soldier barely had time to scream before Adrian's bare hands were upon him, twisting, snapping necks with brutal precision.
'No mana. No hesitation,' he thought. 'This is efficiency.'
Even the staff—those tasked with maintaining the grounds—fell swiftly under his hands. They did not flee; they could not.
Adrian moved toward the main doors. Two soldiers stood guard. He retrieved his daggers with a subtle flick, familiar weight settling in his grip.
With a swing, the doors opened.
The wind rushed past him, extinguishing the lamps along the courtyard walls, plunging the area into shadows.
Adrian stepped forward, hood low, daggers ready, every motion silent, deliberate.
Adrian's figure was horrifying to behold.
Black fabric clung to him, drenched in blood, dark streaks running down with every step.
Each movement left a trail, a red path marking the wake of his passage.
Within the castle, there was no mercy, no hesitation.
He moved silently through the halls, hunting every soul inside.
Maids hiding in corners. Butlers frozen in terror. Guards and retainers alike—none survived.
Every room he entered was a grave.
By the time he reached the advisor, even the most loyal retainers lay still.
The advisor sat at his desk, reviewing documents, unaware that death had arrived.
"What people do… will be the death of you," Adrian said, voice calm yet chilling.
"Who goes there?" the advisor demanded, his voice trembling despite his attempt at authority.
Adrian's crimson eyes glimmered beneath the hood.
'Do you truly understand the storm you've invited?' he thought.
"Do not worry, my friend. I'm only here for a bit of information. Then I shall leave," Adrian said.
His voice was calm, measured—belied the intent coiled like a spring beneath the hood.
He did not mention the dagger pressed lightly at the advisor's side, nor the crimson threat that lingered in the air.
"I am looking for a man," he continued. "Black eyes, finely kept hair… about my height. No—let me simplify. I am seeking the lord of this entire castle."
Patience? The advisor swallowed, stepping back despite himself.
Adrian moved closer. Each step deliberate, each motion silent, yet heavy with unspoken consequence.