Austyn's body jolted violently under the impact, as if it were splitting apart from within. From the depths of her being, a black shadow began to emerge. It was twisting and coiling like smoke in a storm.
Fayfiend stepped forth from her body.
Ansel exhaled sharply, a wave of relief washing over him. He muttered under his breath. "Thank God, it is just Fayfiend."
The thought that the spirit might have been a demon, a snafu that could have meant the end of his life. But Fayfiend, though it was rude and relentless, it was a foe he believed he could face.
"Fayfiend, okay I'll try to beat him." Ansel said. His voice was steady despite the pounding of his heart.
The creature revealed its true form. A grotesque and terrifying sight that made even the bravest scream. The woman's body lay motionless on the ground, drained of life and will.
Fayfiend's appearance was otherworldly. It had horns curved like those of a deer, twisted and gnarled. Its head was masked by a human skull, cracked and stained with age.
Its ears were delicate and pointed, resembling those of a fairy. But the contrast only heightened the creature's eerie presence.
Most unsettling were its six elongated fingers. Each finger stretched nearly thirty centimeters, moving with unnatural grace and menace.
This was not Ansel's first encounter with Fayfiend. He had seen the creature before, lurking in the shadows, a constant threat.
Nevertheless, this was the first time he would stand and fight. Previously, he had hidden behind Hansel, trembling and powerless. Nowadays, the mantle of courage was his to bear.
He had no choice, but to face the snafu alone without Viorenving's aid. With trembling hands, he reached down and pulled out the blade that still lodged deep in his stomach.
Pain exploded through his body like wildfire, but he gritted his teeth and held onto the blade. On the other hand, he clutched a toy stick, the only other weapon he had.
It was laughable, almost absurd, facing a terrifying demon with nothing but a bloodied knife and a kid's plaything. Yet there was no time to search for better weapons, no time to hesitate.
Summoning every ounce of strength, Ansel lunged at Fayfiend. The blade aimed straight at the creature's grotesque form. His heart pounded wildly as he swung the blade in a desperate arc.
But Fayfiend was swift, almost mocking in its ease. And with a single, effortless bounce, the demon evaded the attack. The distance between them remained daunting. It seemed difficult for him to approach Fayfiend.
His body betrayed him as he tried to rise. Every bone ached, as if shattered and poorly mended. The force of Fayfiend's presence weighed down on him like a crushing tide, sapping his strength and will.
He wanted to strike again, to fight with everything he had left. But his legs trembled uncontrollably, refusing to obey. The pain was unbearable, and he knew he couldn't advance.
Reluctantly, he decided to let Fayfiend come to him. He forced himself to stand, swaying unsteadily, and waited. The cold sweat on his brow mingled with the blood dripping from his wounds.
Ansel seemed to regret his decision to fight Fayfiend. But what can he do? He was being chased. No one can help him.
For Ansel, this battle was a dance with death itself. He didn't know if any miracle could make Fayfiend vanish.
But clinging to that impossible hope was all he had left. Deep in his heart, he held onto that fragile thread of faith without pause.
He began to pray, his voice barely audible but unwavering:
"Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. And forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors. And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. Amen."
He repeated the prayer over and over, losing count of how many times the words passed his lips. Each repetition was a plea, a desperate call for salvation.
His body grew colder, the chill creeping through his veins until he felt as lifeless as the dead. He knew, deep down, that he might not survive this night. Yet the reality of death felt distant, surreal something he was not ready to accept.
As Fayfiend loomed before him, its grotesque form filling his vision, Ansel's mind flashed to the promise he had made with the Guardian Spirit.
That sacred agreement was his last beacon of hope, a lifeline in the darkness. The thought steadied him, filling him with a quiet resolve.
When Fayfiend approached, Ansel's heart pounded fiercely in his chest. Without hesitation, he closed his eyes tightly and swung the stick he was gripping with desperate speed. His mind was a whirlwind of chaos whether his strike would reach or not. All that mattered was
survival.
The stick sliced through the air. And for a fleeting moment, it seemed to meet resistance. Encouraged by the faint sensation, Ansel summoned every ounce of strength left within him and reinforced the swing with a powerful, determined force. Then, he opened his eyes.
Before him, Fayfiend staggered, his form faltering as he began to fall. Relief surged through Ansel's veins, but it was tempered by exhaustion.
He could feel his energy draining rapidly, as if this was the last flicker of life within him. Yet, he forced himself to move, to act.
Summoning the remnants of his strength, Ansel lunged forward and plunged a knife deep into Fayfiend's side. The blade slid in with a sickening ease, and for a moment, it seemed as if the tide had turned.
But Fayfiend was far from defeated. With a brutal kick, he struck Ansel's body, sending him flying backward.
Ansel crashed against the cold metal of a nearby car. The impact was so violent that he retched blood onto the cracked pavement. Pain radiated through his body, weakening him further until he could no longer muster the strength to fight back.
Through the haze of agony, Ansel's gaze locked onto Fayfiend, who was now standing and advancing toward him with an eerie calm.