I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 574: In The Fray [PART 3]

Night Terror and Black Mamba were another set of destruction that fell on the battlefield. The two alone were the core reason why the eastern part of the fray had not swallowed any of their allies under the sheer weight of monstrous numbers.

Black Mamba fought with two long rods, each end honed to a deadly, needle-sharp point, and he wielded them with a wild, ruthless elegance.

Ordinarily, such weapons demanded the control of both hands, but he handled them one-handed, his other hand free to parry, block, or strike with precision.

It was as if his limbs moved with minds of their own, each attack a calculated slice into the enemy ranks.

His strikes were relentless, the rods spinning in his grasp like extensions of his bones, piercing through skulls and torsos with a ferocity that left the creatures recoiling.

A grotesque creature, its face a twisted mass of hollow eyes and slavering jaws, lunged at him, aiming its claws at his exposed flank.

Black Mamba didn’t even turn. Instead, he twisted his body, snapping one rod upward with a brutal, precise flick that punctured the creature’s skull.

With a single pull, he dragged it to the ground, its limbs spasming as it crumpled, lifeless, at his feet. His gaze never wavered from the horde, his eyes cold and focused.

Beside him, Night Terror was a phantom. His form flickered in the bloody mist, his movements so quick and silent they left only faint ripples in the air.

He wore a thin, chilling smile that didn’t reach his eyes, those eyes fixed on the monsters with an intensity that bordered on serene malice.

His blades were his four crude claws on all four arms, curved and wickedly sharp.

They arced through the air, cutting into flesh with surgical precision. Each strike was a whisper of death—no wasted movement, no sound.

One creature, larger and slower, tried to follow him, its heavy body lurching in his direction, but it staggered as he reappeared at its flank, his claws slicing through its Achilles tendons.

The beast collapsed, unable to find its footing, and Night Terror moved in, his hand driving deep into its spine with a twist that made the creature writhe before it stilled. He grabbed the spine and pulled it out in a gory manner that left a bitter taste in the mouth.

Night Terror and Black Mamba fought together in perfect, unspoken synchrony.

Where Black Mamba carved a path of brute efficiency, Night Terror was ghostly precision.

He capitalized on his openings, slipping into the spaces Black Mamba created, striking the creatures left vulnerable in his wake.

And when he vanished into the mist, Black Mamba would press forward, his attacks widening the chaos, creating gaps he could exploit.

One of the towering monstrosities—covered in scales and bristling spines, different from the ones Northern was fighting—roared and swung a heavy, jagged limb at them.

Black Mamba sidestepped, his rod spinning to meet the creature’s wrist and drive it aside. In the same breath, Night Terror appeared on the beast’s opposite side, all claws curved out and viciously slicing through its exposed throat in a single, clean stroke.

The beast choked on its own blood, its roar faltering as it collapsed.

They continued this way, an endless tide of destruction holding back the flood.

Around them, Dante’s subordinates fought with renewed ferocity, inspired by the deadly ballet unfolding in the mist.

They’d never seen anything like it—a synergy so seamless it bordered on supernatural, each fighter moving with a deadly intent that amplified the other. And more so, they were clearly monsters.

While when the battle first started, they were very cautious of turning their backs to the monsters, as the battle progressed and both monsters had saved their heads not once, not twice, things slowly changed from caution to secretive admiration.

In the thick of it, Black Mamba allowed himself a rare, sharp grin, feeling the thrill of battle surging through him, feeding off Night Terror’s silent, lethal presence.

For a brief moment, he glanced in his direction, a spark of acknowledgment passing between them. Both of them had always had a silent agreement as the strongest in the room, but Black Mamba had also always considered Night Terror the senior.

Of course, there was another one of them considered a pioneer, but he rarely came out to battlefields like this.

Night Terror returned his glance, his grin widening grotesquely just a fraction before he vanished again, slipping through the mist, his next victim already in his sights.

And then they were moving again, a pair of shadows in the bloody haze, a force that defied the horde. Together, they were an unbreakable line, the eastern front holding fast as creatures fell, one after another, their twisted forms littering the ground in a trail of silent, ruthless annihilation.

To the left of Night Terror and Black Mamba, where the air was thick with the stench of blood and decay, Jeci and Lynus held their ground like weathered boulders in a relentless storm.

Both fighters had learned their craft against human foes—duels where every blow was calculated to cripple or kill.

But this was different. Against the twisted monstrosities flooding the battlefield, their techniques took on a raw, brutal edge that suited the mayhem.

Of course, this progress in their battle mastery had not just been by chance. Jeci had put in a lot of work to reach this point; considering how her talent was useless against monsters, she was just like a human in every other sense. Of course, she had the extraordinary strength that drifters were blessed with as they progressed through each soul rank.

And Lynus—there was more that met the eye than his arrogant nature. He was, after all, a genius, even though a pompous one. It didn’t take him long to adapt his style to the battlefield at all.

Jeci gritted her teeth, thrusting her spear forward with a guttural growl as it plunged through the torso of a snarling creature.

The beast’s claws flailed, but she held her ground, forcing the spear deeper until its thrashing stopped.

She wrenched the weapon free, blood splattering across her armor, but there was no hesitation in her movements.

Her grip tightened, and she twisted the spear in a powerful, controlled arc, striking another creature’s skull with a sickening crunch.

She had learned to turn her human-honed instincts into a brutal force, matching the monsters’ savagery with sheer grit and strength.

Jeci’s face was set in a grim, unyielding expression, her eyes fierce and focused.

Every movement was a testament to her iron will; she’d trained for this, honed herself into a weapon, knowing her talent offered no advantage here.

Yet, that very limitation had forged her into a raw, relentless fighter. She could not rely on talent abilities or any heritage powers to protect her—just the brutal, unrelenting force of her strikes and her deep-rooted will to survive.

Beside her, Lynus fought with a deadly precision that was almost surgical. With his long sword in his right hand and a shorter blade in his left, he danced through the battlefield with a calculated, almost mathematical brutality.

Each strike was deliberate, each movement fluid and ruthless. He parried a monstrous claw with his long sword, deflecting the blow just enough to keep his stance, then slashed upward with his short sword, carving into the beast’s neck in one swift, brutal motion.

He moved with an air of cold detachment, as if he were observing the chaos from a distance even while standing in the center of it.

Lynus had always thought of himself as superior, his skill with a blade unmatched—well, until he met Northern.

And on this battlefield, it was as though the only thing he was fighting for was to prove to himself that he could be as good as or even better than Northern.

He would even steal glances back at Northern every now and then and was never disappointed anytime he did so. If anything, when he saw Northern vanquish several towering statued monsters in a row, his body vibrated with the chills of goosebumps, his eyes widened, and he felt adrenaline flow furiously through his entire body.

The next creature that lunged at him suffered greatly. The monster’s gnarled arms reached for his throat, but Lynus was already turning, his short sword driving upward into its abdomen with a brutal jab.

The creature’s maw opened in a silent scream, and with a twist of his wrist, Lynus drove his long sword through its neck, severing its head cleanly.

His movements were swift, unfeeling, a display of mastery that left a grim silence in the wake of every kill as he flowed in and out of every monster in a brutal spray of gore and ichor in arcs.