I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 55 Battle Of The Dark Forest [part 3]

The battle raged on with unrelenting ferocity, the clash of steel and bestial roars echoing through the forest like rolling thunder.

<You have killed…>

[You have slain a…

<You have killed…>

[You have slain a…

<You have killed…>

[You have slain a…

The two overlapping voices rang distantly in his ears as he brutally flowed in crowds of critters wielding boorish axes and hammers that shot at him with a frightening thirst for blood.

His onyx blade showed no mercy… carving through their flesh with lethal precision, unconcerned about the state of his own body.

Yet the monsters never stopped coming, for every one of them that was slain, there were even many more to slay.

The general, a towering mass of rippling muscle and curling horns, was a force of nature unto itself.

Its battle-axe clove through the air with earth-shaking power, matched only by the preternatural speed and durability of Northern's death guardian.

The two titans grappled in a cyclone of whirling steel, their combative dance one of incredible violence. Blow after thunderous blow rained down, shockwaves rippled outward with every impact. Neither gave so much as an inch of ground.

Northern …'s clone fought with every ounce of his being, slashing and whirling through the lesser monstrosities that dared impede his path, cutting a devastating swath through the ranks of their enemies.

Time flowed like a blur, the dark forest was drowned in primal cries and clangors of steel. Only drenching the forest deeper with the blurring flow of time.

Bodies were rent asunder, dismembered limbs and gobbets of flesh scattering in all directions.

Someway afar, Northern's death angel was still locked in a terrifying clash with the general.

The real Northern leaned on his onyx blade, trying to catch his breath and move up his legs.

He gritted his teeth, frowning with frustration and looking down.

His legs wouldn't move no matter how much he tried. Northern had in fact missed the most vital part because he was so focused on the tremendous amount of growth he received from using the clone in every battle.

Stamina… he was a spineless, overly cared for young boy that was barely even fifteen. Of course, he wouldn't have the stamina it would take to fight a war of this scale.

Other wars have always ended quickly because Night Terror would go for the general first, kill him and demoralized the opponent.

But now that Night Terror was strangely unavailable and there were more monsters than before, stronger than anyone they have ever faced— Northern was made to see his true limit.

He stared for a while, observing every inch of the battlefield through the link of his clone, as it rendered bloody arcs of its sword into the air.

Northern looked at his death angel… and looked down.

His eyes slipped closed as he slumped against the blood-slicked trunk of the ancient tree.

He could no longer muster the strength to stand, let alone fight. Distantly, he felt the phantom sensations of his clone being surrounded, overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers.

'Ah… crap, I'm just going to sleep'

Northern's eyes slipped shut as weariness finally overwhelmed him, the onyx blade slipping from his slackened grip as slumbering claimed him. A crumpled heap amidst the whirlwind of violence swirling all around.

Yet even as he gave into the temptation of sleep, a better version of himself raged on. The clone's onyx blade was a blur of motion, cutting through scale and sinew with lethality. Each arc of its blade felled another foe in a blossoming spray of ichor.

But the relentless tide never ebbed- a never-ending surge of fangs, claws and gnashing jaws hungrily closing in. The clone fought with every fiber of its being, yet still it was gradually overwhelmed by the sheer, crushing weight of numbers.

Nearby, the crash of the general's axe against Northern's death guardian shook the very earth.

The two monstrous titans grappled in a never-ending cyclone of whirling steel and muscle. Their primal duel was one of apocalyptic ferocity, uncaring of any caught in the lethal radius of their exchange.

The death angel moved with a blurring swiftness that defied its ponderous scale, graceful yet immensely powerful. Its axe was an extension of itself, each lethal arc leaving horrific rents in the general's thick hide.

Yet the critter gave as good as it got. Its axe descended in overhead chops of thunderous force, each impact shuddering through the ground like localized earthquakes.

Time and again, the wicked edge found chinks in the death guardian's defenses, gouging deep into its flanks.

Black ichor pumped from the grievous wounds in pulsing streams, puddling at their feet.

But still, the death warrior fought on, undaunted even as its strength visibly waned. It was an avatar of remorseless destruction created solely for this purpose.

The general bellowed its fury, spittle flying as its bestial jaws stretched wide. Its muscles rippled and bunched beneath its matted, horned hide with each earth-shaking swing of its axe.

And despite its monstrous might, the death angel parried and countered with a cold, dispassionate fatality.

Their battle raged without cessation, the two figures hewing through the surrounding melee with impunity.

Lesser monstrosities were slashed apart or trampled underfoot, their bodies adding to the growing carpet of mangled forms.

The world seemed to fragment and blur with each resounding impact, the death angel's weapon meeting the cruel edge of the general's axe over and over in showers of sparks.

On the periphery, Northern's clone battled with equal desperation, slowly succumbing to the endless swarm.

Abruptly, an opening presented itself in the general's defenses. Its axe was committed too far into a devastating overhand chop, leaving its flanks horribly exposed.

With liquid grace, the death guardian flowed around the sledgehammer blow and thrust its axe deep into the creature's abdomen.

A deafening bellow tore from the general's throat as it staggered back, crimson ichor geysering from the catastrophic wound.

Its tail lashed in inarticulate fury as the axe slipped from its grip, strength visibly ebbing. The death angel did not relent, pressing its brutal advantage as it closed the gap once more.

Metal sheared through flesh and bone with sickening ease, severing the thick column of the general's neck in a fountain of gore.

The beast's head tumbled free, bouncing twice before coming to rest amidst the charnel ruin of the battlefield.

The death guardian stood implacable. Its burning gaze swept the surrounding massacre as the weight of the general's death slowly registered throughout the horde.

A wave of terror and confusion rippled through their ranks as they took in the gruesome sight of their fallen leader. Bestial roars turned to shrill cries of dismay and quickly, the horde broke.

Monstrosities fled in droves, shoving and trampling their own in a mad scramble to escape the death angel's reach. Within moments, the forest had fallen eerily silent once more, broken only by the susurrus of the wind through the shadowed boughs.

Only then did the death guardian turn its baleful regard towards Northern still battling the remaining stragglers.

As if in slow motion, its obsidian form began crumpling inward, buckling under the sheer trauma of its wounds.

Its sword slipped from its grasp to clatter against the loamy soil as the death angel folded in on itself with a groan of protesting metal.

Slowly… it crumpled to its knee.