Cleaver Of Sin

Chapter 383: No Intention Of Dying [Bonus Chapter]

Before the thought could even solidify, Finch’s eyes widened in shock as he watched the assassins create Astra-forged footholds beneath their feet, each of them rising into the sky to meet him. The air rippled with their ascent, dozens of shimmering platforms forming in rapid succession like steps for demons to climb the heavens.

’I’m fucked, aren’t I?’ he mused bitterly. He hadn’t considered the possibility that the assassins would simply copy what he did. After all, it wasn’t anything special to begin with; it was basic Astra manipulation. And if they possessed Astra control greater than his own, which was entirely possible, then the only real way for him to regain aerial advantage would be through his chain. But he was far too busy using it to attack.

’Go back down?’ he contemplated as he watched the assassins closing in from all directions. With a resigned sigh, his soul-bound chain materialized in his palm once more. It elongated instantly, coils shimmering with lethal intent, before Finch lashed out like a whip. The assassins were forced to abandon their footholds to dodge; it was their first time attempting such a technique, and they clearly hadn’t yet mastered maneuvering with it.

But before Finch could rejoice, he heard the sharp, unmistakable tear of wind behind him. His head snapped to the side. An assassin was ascending through the air at frightening speed, creating foothold after foothold, leaping from one to another with surprising grace, almost exactly like Asher had done during the Monster Tide in Rivelle Barony.

Without hesitation, Finch hurled his chain toward the ascending assassin, intending to end the man mid-air. But the assassin vaulted upward, using Astra shaped into varied structures, triangles, steps, arcs, to propel himself higher. Seeing this successful attempt, more assassins followed suit, taking to the skies in synchronized bursts of motion.

Finch reacted instantly. He dove back toward the forest canopy, abandoning his aerial advantage, if it could even be called that anymore. As he zipped past the assassins, his chain snapped forward with brutal precision, coiling around the neck of one assassin. A moment later, it yanked the man toward Finch violently.

Midair, Finch twisted sharply, rotating with the assassin’s momentum before slamming the man into the earth below with ridiculous force. A crater erupted beneath them as the sickening sound of bones shattering and flesh tearing echoed through the sky.

The moment Finch’s boots touched the ground, he surged forward aggressively. His chain went wild, tearing toward the assassins still in the air. Many were caught in a single sweeping arc, their bodies crushed as easily as the first.

The next heartbeat brought danger. An assassin closed the distance in a burst of frightening speed. Finch leaped backward, dodging the first slash, but the assassin pursued him relentlessly, refusing to give him a moment’s breath. Finch dodged another slash, then another, the blades missing him by mere inches.

Before the assassin could readjust, Finch’s palm opened. A pile of sand rocketed upward as he flung a handful straight into the assassin’s eyes. Caught completely off guard, the assassin choked as sand poured into his vision, blinding him instantly. And Finch did not hesitate. His fist shot forward, Astra infused and merciless, tearing through the assassin’s chest. The body collapsed with a muted thud.

Another assassin attacked immediately. The man’s leg tore through the air toward Finch’s chest. Finch raised his arm to block, the impact slamming into his vambrace with brutal force. His body launched backward uncontrollably, crashing into a tree. The strike sent a violent tremor rippling through his breastplate and straight into his bones.

Two more assassins closed in simultaneously, one from the left, another from the right, daggers screaming for Finch’s life. But before their blades could descend, two trees snapped and toppled toward them. The assassins clicked their tongues in frustration, forced to retreat and dodge the falling trunks.

Finch didn’t need anyone to tell him. His Good Luck ability had acted again, saving him in that crucial moment.

His senses screamed. Finch dove to the side, rolling instinctively. A heartbeat later, a dagger line erupted where he had been a moment before, slicing the tree he’d been resting against into countless wooden cubes.

Another assassin appeared, speeding forward with deadly intent, dagger aimed for Finch’s eyes. Finch’s chain surged upward, intercepting the strike. But he didn’t only block. The moment the dagger met his chain, Finch countered. His knee shot upward, driving into the assassin’s stomach with bone-cracking force. As the assassin bent forward, Finch snapped his neck without hesitation. The body slumped lifelessly to the ground.

Finch vanished the next second, Astra energy pouring through his feet, augmenting his speed. He panted heavily as he ran, chest rising and falling in rapid bursts. But no matter how fast he moved, the assassins closed in again. One came from the left, another from the right, two daggers, one aiming for his neck, the other for his chest.

Finch immediately dropped into a squat, falling to his knees. The daggers tore through the space where his torso had been. He reacted instantly. His palms thrust forward toward each assassins’ gut. Before they could even comprehend his movement, a burst of Astra energy exploded from Finch’s hands, slamming into both of their guts with pinpoint accuracy.

With a booming crack, their bodies detonated in a shower of blood, bursting like grotesque overinflated balloons. Blood mist rained down, splattering across Finch’s face, armor, and the ground beneath him. But he didn’t spare the scene a single glance. He didn’t move to wipe the blood away.

His strategy remained simple and brutally effective: Counterattack.

Let them commit first. Then kill them at the exact moment of their aggression.

A fiery attack tore toward him from behind, a jet of flaming blaze. Finch lashed out with his chain, swatting the fiery strike aside before it could touch him. The flame dispersed into harmless sparks.

Finch didn’t dare stop moving. His legs remained in constant motion, feet tearing across the forest floor in chaotic but deliberate strides. His hands moved with instinctive sharpness, guiding his chain as if it were a limb of his own body. His thoughts twisted and churned, calculations forming and dissolving every second.

The assassins weren’t stopping.

And Finch had no intention of dying.