It narrowed its eyes, yet ignoring the blade edge gradually rising, it suddenly twisted its head behind itself.
"Forgot to mention, you are also delicious."
Melina appeared in mid-air; clearly, she had quietly arrived while the two were fighting, preparing to launch a sneak attack. As she descended with her strike, she was spotted by Rykard.
Her heart sank, and without a second thought, she threw out a grappling hook, but a snake-like arm had already snatched her leg first. The arm was white and delicate, but at the elbow, it shifted like clay, transforming into a woman's face—it was beautiful, and the voice was very familiar.
"Come, merge with the supreme lord, and you shall attain eternal life."
It was Tanith! Melina's scalp tingled.
She felt herself being dragged down. This arm had grown out of the Ancient Great Serpent's mouth, like a tongue, and its destination was, of course, that abyssal maw.
"Die!"
She slammed a black blade into Tanith's forehead. The expression on it immediately turned painful, but before it could let go, more arms grew out from that giant mouth.
Some were dark, some festering, some thick and muscular, others like those of an infant. They gripped her legs, hands, and even her mouth, wrapping her tightly like tape; now, she didn't even have room to swing her blade. She felt her body plummeting rapidly, the shadow of the giant mouth covering her. At that moment, she saw a flash of cold light sweep past.
Swish—
The spinning Dark Moon Greatsword severed all the arms as if pulled by invisible ropes. After cutting the arms, it carved an arc, then plunged into the serpent's mouth and pierced out from the other side. Roar!! The Ancient Great Serpent, in pain, clamped its mouth shut, feeling a burning agony.
Melina, now freed, immediately dissipated into particles and reappeared beside Throne, breathing heavily. It was a brush with death; her heart was still pounding wildly.
"Be careful, it has been targeting you for a while."
Throne stood straight; his cloak had been melted with many large holes. Melina was connected to Marika; perhaps she would taste even better than Margit.
"Swords."
With a soft murmur, Melina tossed two greatswords imbued with Destined Death and four black blades into the air. Before they could fall, they began to float. Throne looked at Rykard, his left hand loosely clenched into a fist.
"Destined Death, I have more than just one!"
Gravity Sword Array.
This was the upgraded version of the sword array that had killed Godrick that day—an upgrade in both quality and quantity. Hum—
The blades hummed, piercing through the poison mist pouring down from above. Throne sprinted, circling around Rykard while manipulating the 'flying swords.' Six streaks of silver light darted back and forth, piercing through scales or grazing wounds.
Given their size, they were like toothpicks to Rykard, but these were toothpicks imbued with potent poison! Pain, pain that went deep into the bone marrow. Rykard felt himself going berserk. His violent counterattacks hit nothing. His tail slammed against the cavern, causing it to tremble, and the lava he stirred up turned the ground crimson.
His withered arm finally managed to grasp a greatsword, but in an instant, its fingers were shredded. Not enough, still not enough. Beads of sweat formed on Throne's forehead. This guy's vitality was too strong; perhaps even Maliketh would have to strike many times. But even with the primeval glintstone, Throne wasn't thinking of using it to turn the tables.
Pain makes one berserk, and being berserk makes one greedy! In a few rounds, he had poked dozens of bloody holes in Rykard. Just as Throne prepared for another volley, Rykard roared to the heavens. Roar!! It could no longer hold back. The serpent body, sitting at the center of the lava, lunged in pursuit. Its speed was extreme, and in an instant, it was right in front of him.
The serpent's maw crashed earthward, pulverizing bones and rubble in its wake. Throne blinked sideways with Bloodhound's Step—the rush of air hit him like a freight train. Ahead, the blasphemous blade carved a horizontal arc through the dirt. Starlight Leap. Steel severed his fading afterimage.
He materialized midair, gaze locked on Rykard's sweeping form. His fingers closed around the returning Dark Moon Greatsword. Greed makes you slow.
Standing your ground to trade blows was one thing. But movement? Rykard would never catch him. For Throne, tracking the serpent was child's play. Moonlight Drop Strike.
He plunged downward, a ten-meter blade of pallid light screaming toward the cavern floor. The glow bathed the chamber in stark radiance. No time to turn. No space to dodge. Rykard, overextended, simply raised his scepter.
"Devourer!"
The orb at its core flared crimson—a whirlpool of hunger.
Throne's muscles seized. His vitality drained like water through a sieve. The greatsword struck ground, skimming the serpent's flank. Bang. Scales split. Blood geysered. But the beast remained uncut.
The wound ignited the serpent's primal rage. It thrashed, forcing Throne into retreat. The massive head pivoted, jaws yawning wide before him. The knight bared his teeth in answer.
"Get lost!"
Their roars collided. Rykard faltered for half a heartbeat.
Throne lunged upward. The greatsword punched through the serpent's chin. His free hand snatched the Moon-Blade Halberd from the air and rammed three meters of steel into the wound. Golden light blazed in his eyes. Blood-Burning Dragon Heart. Fire in his veins. Power in his limbs.
He sprinted, halberd shaft wedged horizontal, each step cratering stone.
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft.
The gash unzipped from chin to midsection—until the scepter pulsed red again. Damn it. Can't kill this thing without that spear?
Throne teleported clear with Starlight Leap, another chunk of his life force gone. The serpent's wound, spanning half its length, was already knitting shut.
Devour to replenish. The scepter's vortex fed on stolen vitality. Throne dodged backward as the lava-wreathed blade cleaved toward his skull. He'd underestimated Rykard. A nightmare for close-quarters combat. That sword hit like a falling mountain. That scepter was worse.
No need to swallow him whole. No need to defend. Just keep stealing. Keep healing. Win by attrition. Throne excelled at endurance fights—but this was the first opponent who could outlast him.
Even if he traded life for injury, who could compare the vast reserves of a primordial serpent?
"Get close, and I'll be drained to bones."
The lava greatsword came again. He didn't block. Didn't parry. Just kept moving.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Magma splattered. The earth ruptured into smoldering craters.
Throne continued to retreat, his peripheral vision catching the rock wall behind him. The terrain was unfavorable; no wonder he chose to fight here. Throne couldn't tell if the current Rykard was stronger or weaker than the one the Tarnished had met. It hadn't consumed as many living beings, but it retained its consciousness and the devourers scepter.
"What should we do now? Do you want me to be the bait?"
Melina's speech was extremely fast; the lava greatsword was already enlarging in Throne's vision.
"No need, this terrain is favorable to him, but it is also his grave!"
He dropped his body down, feeling the scorching airflow sweep past his back.
The lava greatsword had actually stabbed into the rock wall, and Rykard's hand holding the sword twisted, simultaneously slamming down the devourers scepter. Devourer! Magma Explosion! The lava coating the blasphemous blade exploded, and the vortex appeared simultaneously, accompanied by high-pitched, maniacal laughter.
"This is what it means to devour, this is what it means to blaspheme; kneel before this power!!"
The scalding magma splashed all over Throne, making his Dark Moon armor scorching hot. Enduring the burning, Throne crouched and leaped—
Dragon Burst Leap! With a sudden vertical leap, he actually pierced through the pouring magma. His silver armor turned crimson, flashing away like a red meteor.
Rumble—
The hollow cavern ceiling first showed spiderweb-like cracks, then shattered completely. Large swathes of rubble fell downward. Throne twisted his waist and hurled the Dark Moon Greatsword down fiercely. Seeing Throne 'ascend,' Rykard thought he was running away. Without a second thought, it straightened its body and opened its mouth wide to bite upward.
As a result, the Dark Moon Greatsword pierced right through its throat, causing its figure to stall. A great serpent swallowing the sun? You have to see if you have the appetite for it! The entire cavern ceiling had shattered, but Throne didn't take this time to escape. His hands were empty, and his entire body shone with purple light; that was the color of Gravity Magic.
If you didn't chase me, I wouldn't have a way, but since you've come, then stay. Primeval glintstone, output. Magic threshold, release! The purple light became increasingly brilliant. Throne's body and the slowly falling rubble froze in mid-air. Subsequently, those large masses of stone began to gather upward; they overlapped, congregated, and finally formed a colossal rock.
It was like a meteorite, a meteorite over a hundred meters in diameter. Its surface even held pale bones and various broken weapons, having absorbed almost everything within this massive cavern. Added with the crimson lava, it resembled a scorching sun. Such magic power... Rykard tilted its head back. Within its eyes, filled with greed, a few slivers of clarity returned.
It felt its massive body actually floating; the brain that had once been a hero's seemed to have understood what the other party intended to do. The finishing blow is here!
"I said it before, there is no need for two Devourers."
Throne lowered his head, looking coldly at the great serpent, like a god high above. This scene enraged Rykard. Gods and laws were things that must be blasphemed.
It struggled, but a few meters off the ground, it was like a fish out of water, flailing about.
"Want to return to the ground? Fine!"
He extended his hands and pressed down in the void. First, the floating dust fell, then the lava, followed by the great serpent, and finally, that colossal meteorite, crashing down toward the raised great serpent without any obstruction.
Legendary Sorcery—
Meteorite!!
The great serpent devoured the sun, and Throne answered with a meteor. It wasn't the Greater Will hurling Astel, Naturalborn of the Void, but in this hollow cavern, it was an unstoppable force. Gravity compounded, dragging the meteorite down from the heavens. The air screamed—a dull, tearing sound like a stone plunging into water. Bang.
Rykard crashed to the ground.
Its head snapped back, eyes fixed on the meteorite hurtling toward it. It wanted to move, to escape, but its body refused. Gravity's invisible hands pinned it in place. The hundred-meter meteorite left no room for evasion. Rykard didn't plead. It stretched its neck against the crushing weight and opened its maw wide. Swallow it.
Rumble.
The meteorite slammed into its mouth, shattering bone, mangling flesh, and driving downward. Rykard coiled its serpentine body around the rock, tendrils and appendages writhing like the Devourer's Scepter, straining to hold it aloft. Gravity waned. The meteorite's descent slowed.
Through the bloody ruin of its face, a smile emerged. I... can stop it! The smile froze as purple light flickered above. Its eyes lifted to Throne, hovering in midair.
"Then the second one—can you stop that?"
The armored knight crossed his arms, transforming himself into a meteorite. Smaller, but faster. Heavier. Bang!!!
Throne's boots slammed into the meteorite's peak. Cracks spiderwebbed downward. The rock, once halted, lurched violently, balance shattered. The crunch of bone echoed again, grinding through flesh as the meteorite plunged. Boom. It struck the ground.
The colossal stone crushed everything beneath it. Rotting flesh oozed from the edges. Rykard's head was nowhere to be seen. But it wasn't dead. A cold light surged from below, slicing the meteorite in two. Throne raised his arm, his fist encased in thick crystal. He drove it down. The meteorite shattered.
Throne glimpsed half of Rykard's face, the blasphemous blade thrusting toward him. He clasped his hands above his head, forming a hammer.
"Go back!"
Bang.