Round 20: Beheading

A human-shaped storm of lightning spun toward Moriel and Dagoras—ash, debris, and fragments mixed together, striking their magical defenses and splashing everywhere, threatening to penetrate at any moment.
“We won’t last long. What do we do?” Dagoras’s magical shield emitted scorching heat and a faint dark red glow; anything that touched or entered the shield was instantly melted. It seemed the reward for her loyalty to someone was quite substantial.
“I thought you’d have an plan by the time you launched your surprise attack,” Moriel replied coldly.
“Hey, don’t be so unkind. We’re in this together now! Where’s your boyfriend?” Dagoras glanced around irritably. “We helped him so much, and now he’s nowhere to be seen. Is he too scared to run?”
“First, he’s not my boyfriend. Second, don’t expect him to feel grateful. Third, I’d be relieved if he tried to run…” Whether Moriel had a fourth point or not, they now really had to consider whether to flee or fight, as the storm-form of Yatu was steadily approaching them—or rather, that tornado-like storm of lightning was about to engulf them.
Dagoras shot Moriel a glare but didn’t respond. She began casting spells—two tall ghostly warriors materialized from the ashes, standing in front of them. Thin strands of dark red flame emanated from their translucent skeletons, clearly far stronger than the undead creatures summoned through ordinary “soul manipulation.”
But against Yatu’s storm avatar, this was barely enough.
Lightning burst from Yatu’s body, first striking the ghostly warriors repeatedly to unleash its power, before being blocked by Moriel’s “Rainbow Barrier.” The storm named Yatu roared, trying to overcome this obstacle, which seemed like nothing more than a slightly higher hurdle to it. After being stubbornly rejected by the barrier, it let out a thunderous roar. Lightning in various forms struck the rainbow barrier, causing its dazzling multicolored glow to fade one after another.
“How long do you think he can hold on?” Dagoras stopped wasting time summoning more ghostly warriors to attack. Taking this opportunity, she mounted a black nightmare with smoking hooves and flaming nostrils.
“Long enough to tear us to pieces!” Moriel was exasperated by Dagoras’s actions. “Miss, are you planning to run already?”
Dagoras showed no sign of embarrassment. “It’s strategic thinking—let’s get out of here first!”
Leave? Moriel looked up at Yatu, who had already broken through the Rainbow Barrier and was preparing to launch a massive lightning net attack… There was no chance of winning. Moriel’s “precognition” revealed countless fleeting glimpses of the future, but only a few options might allow her to escape the impending lightning net. None of them allowed her to counterattack Yatu.

The only way is to escape from here first, get away from Agus… Moriel stepped back as lightning flashed past her, narrowly missing her by chance. Yatu’s eyes burned like torches; his messy hair had transformed into branches that reached for the sky, as he stared down at Moriel like an ant. “You red-robed girl! How presumptuous!” he roared. “I had high hopes for you! If you had served Agus obediently, we wouldn’t only have helped you rid yourself of the threat of the Red Robe Mage Council—we might even have considered admitting you to the Supreme Council in the near future! But you foolishly gave it all up! What made you dare to defy Agus? But it doesn’t matter—you’ll soon be buried in my thunderstorm! As for you—Daguras!” Yatu summoned a barrier of lightning to block Daguras’ path. “Where did that filthy Pit Power in you come from? Hiding it instead of confessing was your biggest mistake! You hid it well enough to fool even the seven Supreme Council mages! But it doesn’t matter—I’m sure your teacher, Aresa, will be very interested!” “We all have strict teachers, don’t we?” Daguras helplessly adjusted his glasses, turned his horse, and stood beside Moriel. “How confident are you about using teleportation in front of Yatu?” Before Moriel could mock her, a fierce flash erupted from Yatu’s chest—not his intention. Something flew out from his chest, tearing through his storm-like body and even piercing through the dark thunderclouds, leaving behind a faintly glowing hole. What was that? Yatu’s massive body trembled, seemingly in pain. Lightning followed, but aside from thunderous booms, nothing struck anything. “You tin kid! I really underestimated you!” Yatu shouted into the sky. At the same time, a roar different from thunder descended from above, growing louder and louder. Moriel had never seen anything like it. It had black, blade-like wings, with huge, oddly shaped claws at the tips perpendicular to them. Its trident-like front was sharp and interlocked, covered in armor like that of an insect, with a long, straight spear protruding from the middle. The back half was entirely made of blazing flames, falling from the sky like a meteor. “There’s still so much wonder left, old man!” As the bird-like yet not-bird-like monster fell, it reorganized itself—upon hitting the ground, it turned back into the formidable Iron 47. It’s gotten so much bigger… this bastard. Moriel waved away the heat waves and smoke brought by 47, staring at his back—now she could barely reach his waist. 47 moved his fingers and wrists several times; the numerous fragments of the Construct Tower absorbed into his body quickly found their places, with hundreds of joints simultaneously undergoing reconfiguration. “Maybe I should change my name—Thundercracker? Or Shockbreaker? That’s a question!” He raised his red-glowing eyes toward Yatu—what a great feeling!

The staff thrown by Moriel from behind and hitting his head shattered Fourty-Seven’s beautiful dream: “Be careful! Yatu isn’t easy to deal with! Idiot!”
“Hmph!” Fourty-Seven turned to look at Moriel, his gaze pausing briefly on Dagulas, who was smiling like an innocent little neighbor girl. But he sensed something was wrong—Yatu’s lightning had helped Dagulas once, and if Fourty-Seven could detect the scent of the Flame Monarch on her, even with a formidable enemy before him, he would first devour her alive.
Long flames and steam burst out from Fourty-Seven’s back wings, forcing Moriel to dodge hastily while also pushing him toward Yatu. Once again, he transformed from human form into a jet-like creature in an instant, tearing through Yatu’s stormy body before the latter could react—leaving him utterly chilled.
“You reckless brat—”
The storm rolled around, healing Yatu’s wounds, followed by intense lightning and thunder. One after another, bolts of lightning struck the spot where Fourty-Seven had been just moments earlier, leaving huge circular scorches on the ground.
Meanwhile, Fourty-Seven circled around Yatu, his jet engines giving him speed comparable to the lightning strikes. His fierce attacks continuously drained Yatu’s strength, causing the storm to show signs of disruption.
“Hold on! Yatu can’t stay in this storm state forever!” Moriel shouted, unsure if Fourty-Seven could hear him.
Two bolts of lightning struck at the same time. Fourty-Seven dodged nimbly, passing through the gaps between the lightning rods. Like a knight with a spear or a warship with ram horns, he charged straight at Yatu, this time aiming at the storm giant’s head.
A small storm formed instantly between him and Yatu, then transformed into a clenched fist—
“Looking for death!” The Storm Fist struck the jet fighter head-on, creating a massive flash and explosion. Fourty-Seven was knocked off course, crashing to the ground amid thick smoke, as if hit by a missile.
“Damn it!” Moriel pulled Dagulas away from the nightmare. “If you’re not going to do anything, I’m borrowing this first!”
The nightmare struggled with its smoking hooves, unwilling to obey someone who hadn’t summoned it. Without wasting time, Moriel drew his Petrified Sword and pressed it against the nightmare’s flaming neck, quickly extinguishing much of its mane-like flames. This also made the nightmare understand that it was better to obey if it didn’t want serious damage in the material world.
The nightmare rushed toward the direction where Fourty-Seven had fallen. Dagulas hesitated, as the pair didn’t seem very friendly toward her.
Yatu’s storm form was now noticeably smaller, with signs of fading at the edges. It could still deliver one final strike—It opened its terrifying maw, and another lightning fist quickly formed, like a tiny sun: “I’ll crush you to pieces!”
Fourty-Seven flung aside the giant trees on his back and stood up at the end of the long trench he had created.

Agus’s damn bastard is truly extraordinary! His whole body is smoking—that last attack must have damaged at least half of his internal components. Now, the flames are burning faster, forcing his body structure to change as a compensation to avoid becoming immobilized. It seems that if it weren’t for the energy of the Construct Tower resonating with him, the previous lightning attacks would have been enough to kill him.

Coming again? Forty-Seven looked up at the stormy fist forming above him. The aggregate cannon could no longer be used. Although so far, the energy to move his body seemed inexhaustible, an attack of that intensity once a day was already the limit. So, he’d go all in again—see who would fall first!

What an idiot! When Moriel rode in, she saw Forty-Seven preparing to fly.

Without slowing down, she raised her long sword at him. This spell was originally meant to be used as a last resort against Yatu or Dagulas, perhaps to buy some time. But now, locking up this reckless bastard to calm down might be the best choice—

The space around Forty-Seven instantly twisted and folded. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Moriel rushing toward him. What are you doing here? This hit might even be too much for me to handle!

The world spun. The fallen lightning fist and Moriel disappeared. What appeared before Forty-Seven was a long, enclosed corridor. If he looked further away, he could see that the place he was in was an endless, extremely complex labyrinth of realms.

The storm dissipated.

A lightning bolt struck beside Moriel, who was curled up at the edge of the charred pit. It turned into Yatu, gasping for breath with bloodshot eyes. It seemed that fighting Forty-Seven had also exhausted him completely.

“Still alive?” Yatu stared and kicked Moriel. “Hmm, still alive.”

“But you’re dying soon…” He picked up the petrified long sword Moriel had thrown aside. Although the range of the Thunder Fist hadn’t directly covered Moriel, her act of holding the sword while riding on horseback at the edge of the lightning fist was practically suicide. It was only because of some protective lightning or sheer luck that Moriel hadn’t been reduced to ashes like the nightmare.

Kicked by Yatu, Moriel went from lying on her side to lying on her back. Her eyes lost focus, and she fell into a coma.

“What a shame. But since I once saved you from that red-robed Isabella, it’s only right for me to kill you now…” Yatu gripped the sword with both hands, aiming it at Moriel’s neck. “Doing good deeds really isn’t my strong suit!”

The sword was raised to strike—just a feint. A cold negative energy hit Yatu’s back, bringing icy pain and nausea throughout his body. Yatu staggered, feeling his internal organs convulse due to this energy. Large amounts of tissue died, even affecting his heart, as if an invisible hand was squeezing it hard, preventing it from beating anymore…

But Yatu withstood the blow. His body was as strong and robust as that of a barbarian, able to resist the internal destruction. Death, though already reaching out to touch Yatu’s soul, failed to grasp it and ultimately retreated from this life-or-death tug-of-war.
The darkness dispersed.
Yatu seemed to emerge from the cold mist, regaining sight of his surroundings. He dropped his sword, turned his head, and, with black blood seeping from his lips, glared at Dracula, who had attacked him once again.
Dracula’s smile froze.
“You wretched southern bitch! Just as despicable as your teacher!” Yatu’s fierce expression and gaze alone stunned Dracula, causing her next spell to go awry and vanish instantly.
“Thinking you can take advantage of my weakness?” Like a demon, Yatu threw fireballs at Dracula—not just fireballs, but fist-sized flying spheres that kept changing form. In just a short distance, they transformed from flames filled with magma to dark green acid balls, then to ice blocks that emitted freezing cold, and finally, when they exploded, they released a halo of combined fire, acid, and ice energy, leaving Dracula in disarray.
“What’s the matter? Let me see how much you’ve learned from Areisha!” Yatu roared, clenching his fists. Bright lightning shot out from between them. As he separated his hands, a spear made of lightning took shape. Yatu swung the spear at Dracula, but it was blocked by the ghost she had summoned. The ghost screamed in agony as it was reduced to ashes by the electricity and fire. Dracula retreated hastily, unleashing a ball of black-red flame at Yatu, but he carelessly charged through it. Though his clothes, hair, and beard were on fire, he raised his lightning spear, only to miss his target due to an attack from behind. Turning around, he saw Moriel lying on the ground, barely using magic missiles to attack.
“I’ll kill you all!” Yatu broke his lightning spear in two, thrusting one half through Dracula’s shoulder as she tried to take advantage of the situation, pinning her to a broken tree. With his other hand, he sent the spear flying as a streak of lightning toward the helpless Moriel.
Moriel flew up from the ground, dodging Yatu’s deadly strike.
It wasn’t because she suddenly became energetic, but because a suddenly appearing steel warrior had stirred up violent winds.
“Damn this hellhole!” Forty-Seven roared, swinging his giant sword wildly. “I refuse to believe—”
Hm? He suddenly calmed down, realizing he was no longer in layers of strange stairs and corridors, but in the familiar landscape of scorched earth and smoke.
“I’m back, Forty-Seven!” He plunged his sword into the ground.
Moriel, lying nearby, was in agony—but she smiled. The “Labyrinth Spell” had worn off sooner than she expected. It seemed this iron-headed fool wasn’t completely clueless after all.
“Hm? Old man, who are you?” Forty-Seven jumped out of the pit and landed in front of Yatu. Clearly, he didn’t expect an answer, because as he spoke, his giant sword already swung down—this old bastard looked a bit like that bearded storm giant!

Yatu said nothing; his entire body suddenly transformed into a bolt of lightning and flew away at high speed. The giant sword cut through the lightning, causing it to emit a suppressed roar.
The forty-seven generals turned their heads and saw that although Moriel was covered in wounds, he could still smile. They then turned their gaze to Dagulas on the tree: “Woman, who are you? You seem familiar!”
Yatu used his last remaining strength to fly as far as possible, landing at the foot of a hill outside the forest where he reverted to his human form—only to stagger and fall. There was a large wound on his back, with blood gushing out. If it hadn’t been for the impact during the lightning storm, he would have been split in two, with his internal organs scattered everywhere.
“When I return to the Council—no, even just to Vilker Town—I’ll kneel on the ground, covered in soot and blood, my hands buried deep in the dirt, filled with extreme anger due to the pain and humiliation.”
“I’ll make you pay!”
That was Yatu’s last coherent thought.
A shiny dagger traced a beautiful arc across the night sky before landing on Yatu’s thick neck. The blade pierced his flesh, encountering slight resistance at the vertebrae, but the numerous tiny sharp teeth on the blade, forged using Agus’ construction technology, moved rapidly to sever the vertebrae. Then, the blade swept downward, cutting through Yatu’s arteries, trachea, vocal cords, and Adam’s apple, causing his head to roll to the ground.
The assassin watched the blood dripping from the blade, then looked at Yatu’s headless body spraying blood like a fountain, finally fixing his gaze on Yatu’s eyes, which were almost bulging from their sockets due to extreme blood flow.
“What a fine blade… though it’s still inferior to my Atlas,” O’Sullivan said, his lips curling into a handsome, otherworldly smile.