"Come at me with everything," Elliot said, conviction etched across his face as he stared down the three magic puppets Lilith had conjured. The atmosphere froze, as if the world itself had stopped spinning — a tense standoff shattered by sudden movement.
One puppet lunged forward, spear in hand, its footsteps pounding like war drums. The weapon thrust toward Elliot, but he sidestepped, closing the distance inch by inch. When he was only a foot away, Elliot seized the spear shaft, muscles straining. His free right arm wound back, the force of the motion whipping up a gust of wind.
He drove a savage hook into the puppet's chest. The impact caved in its ribcage with a sickening crunch, shards of bone-like material snapping outward. Elliot shoved the puppet down, his fist tearing straight through its torso and into the earth beneath, leaving a crater smeared with black ichor.
"Incredible. One week before we depart, and you've grown at least ten times stronger than you were. Your growth is astounding," Lilith said, her voice tinged with genuine admiration.
The two remaining puppets circled him, predatory and calculating. One drew a sword, the other pulled back an arrow on its bow. Elliot grinned, his hands elongating into five-foot serrated whips that dripped with a metallic sheen.
"Lilith, no more holding back!" Elliot roared, cracking the whips with a sound like bones snapping.
The archer puppet charged, loosing an arrow mid-motion. Elliot lashed his left whip, but the puppet bent backward unnaturally, sliding under it like a contortionist. It sprang upright and fired an arrow aimed directly at Elliot's skull.
Elliot flicked his right whip, deflecting the arrow with a sharp clang. His grin widened.
"Oh, my poor boy… there are two," Lilith murmured.
The second puppet descended from above, sword raised high. As it landed, the blade sliced through Elliot as though cutting air. For a heartbeat, it seemed harmless — then a gaping wound ripped open across his torso, blood spraying in thick arcs.
Elliot's face twisted with rage and agony. He swung his whip, narrowly missing the puppet as it leapt back. Before he could retaliate, three arrows slammed into his side, punching through flesh and muscle. He staggered, turning to see the archer puppet only feet away.
Grinning through bloodied teeth, Elliot lashed his whip. The puppet flipped acrobatically, loosing another arrow mid-spin. The shaft buried itself in Elliot's eye with a wet pop.
He screamed, clutching his face as his hands reverted to normal. Yanking the arrow free, he snapped it in half, blood streaming down his cheek.
"Okay, Lilith… seems I was unfamiliar with your game," Elliot growled, manifesting a dagger in his hand.
In a blur, he vanished and reappeared, driving the blade into the archer's skull. The puppet's head split open, fragments scattering as it collapsed lifelessly. Elliot landed, eyes burning, and hurled his dagger at the last puppet. The weapon tore through the air at Mach 4, impaling its torso and exploding it into shards.
"Your enhancement magic is truly incredible. My puppets can't keep up," Lilith admitted.
"Your puppets took one of my eyes," Elliot spat.
"You still rely too heavily on enhancement," Lilith countered.
"The spells you taught me are good, but I thrive in close combat. Body augmentation and raw strength are my preference," Elliot replied.
"Perhaps. But against higher-level opponents, this may not be enough," Lilith warned.
"Don't worry. No demon will ever put me down," Elliot declared, blood dripping from his ruined eye yet his voice unwavering.
On a hillside, the old man sat beneath a tree, eating rice balls as he watched a shirtless Jeremiah practicing martial arts. His movements were fluid, though his style differed from the old man's — Jeremiah's art was complex, full of flowing parts, while the old man valued speed and precision with no wasted motion.
"Now, Jeremiah! Add fire!" the old man shouted.
Jeremiah extended his arm, flames racing down it before erupting from his fist. Each strike was followed by bursts of controlled fire, scorching the air. He shifted, and lightning crackled across his body, bolts lashing out with every attack.
"Impressive," the old man muttered.
In such a short time, this boy has mastered the flowing arts and fused them with elemental output. His arsenal has grown, and the arts have sharpened his understanding of his internal magic network, increasing his efficiency, the old man thought, marveling at Jeremiah's progress.
In the slums of the town stood a lone man dressed in black, twin blades in hand, his face concealed. A dozen mercenaries in light armor surrounded him.
"This looks like the target," one muttered.
"You bastards took your time. I've been waiting," the man in black growled.
"Well, wouldn't want to keep you waiting. Kill him!" the merc captain barked.
The mercs charged. The man dashed forward, parrying a spear with his left blade and splitting the wielder's skull down the middle with his right. Blood sprayed as the corpse crumpled. He pivoted, gutting another merc with a savage slash that spilled intestines onto the dirt.
Two mercs attacked from opposite sides, but he parried both, tossing them aside before reversing his grip on the blades. He charged through the crowd, carving bodies apart like a butcher, limbs severed and torsos split open.
Moments later, he stood atop a mound of corpses, staring at the two survivors and their captain.
"You're actually fucking tough," the captain admitted.
The man removed his mask, revealing Raymond — one of the local heroes.
"And your little crew almost made me sweat," Raymond said with a grin.
"Exorcist scum! You two, stand down," the captain ordered.
"But sir—" one merc began.
"You bastards stand no chance. Not that I do either. But maybe I'll take an arm with me to hell," the captain snarled, tongue lolling as he hefted a massive cleaver — three feet long, two feet wide.
The captain towered at seven-foot-six, muscles bulging grotesquely.
"Now, exorcist! Let's dance!" he roared.
Raymond charged. The cleaver swung, forcing him to slide aside. He blocked the next strike with both blades, the impact rattling his bones and hurling him backward.
"You're more underwhelming than I predicted," the captain sneered, advancing.
Raymond said nothing, darting forward. The cleaver came down, aiming to split him in half, but Raymond slid left, slicing the captain's Achilles tendon. The giant bellowed in pain. Raymond leapt behind him, driving both blades into his collarbones and through his lungs.
The captain collapsed, choking on blood that bubbled from his mouth. Raymond yanked his blades free, wiping them on the corpse's clothing.
"Why hire us to kill you?" the captain rasped, struggling to breathe.
"I wanted to test my swordsmanship without magic," Raymond replied, showing the inhibitor band on his wrist.
He walked past the two surviving mercs, tossing them a bag of coins as he left.