I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 55: Battle Of The Dark Forest [part 3]

The battle raged on with unrelenting ferocity, as the clash of steel and bestial roars echoed through the forest like rolling thunder.

[You have slain a...]

[You have slain a...]

[You have slain a...]

The two overlapping voices rang distantly in his ears as he brutally moved through crowds of critters that wielded boorish axes and hammers with a frightening thirst for blood.

His onyx blade showed no mercy as he also carved through their flesh with lethal precision, unconcerned about the state of his own body.

Yet the monsters never stopped coming, for every one of them that was slain, there were even many more that appeared on the battlefield.

The general, a towering mass of rippling muscle and curling horns, was a force unto itself.

Its battle-axe cleaved through the air with earth-shaking power, matched only by the supernatural speed and durability of Northern’s death guardian.

The two titans grappled in a whirlwind of clashing steel, their combative dance one of incredible violence. Blow after thunderous blow rained down, and shockwaves rippled outward with every impact. Neither gave so much as an inch of ground.

Northern’s clone fought with every ounce of his being, slashing and tearing through the lesser monstrosities that dared impede his movement, cutting a devastating path through the ranks of their enemies.

Time flowed like a blur, but no one was conscious of that. The dark forest was drowned in primal cries and the clangs of steel, thereby drenching the forest even deeper in the blurring flow of time.

Bodies were torn asunder, dismembered limbs, and gobbets of flesh scattering in all directions.

Somewhere afar, Northern’s death angel was still locked in a terrifying clash with the general.

The real Northern leaned on his onyx blade, trying to catch his breath and move his legs.

He gritted his teeth, frowning in frustration as he looked down.

His legs wouldn’t move no matter how much he urged them to. Northern had, in fact, overlooked the most vital part of his development because he had been so focused on the tremendous amount of growth he received from using the clone in every battle.

And that aspect was Stamina... he was a spineless, overly cared-for young boy who was barely even fifteen years old. Of course, he didn’t have the stamina it would take to fight a war of this scale.

Other wars had always ended quickly because Night Terror usually went for the general first, killed him, and demoralized his opponent.

But now that Night Terror was strangely unavailable and there were more monsters than before, which were also stronger than anyone they had ever faced, Northern was made to see his true limit.

He stared for a while, observing every inch of the battlefield through his link with his clone, as it rendered bloody arcs of its sword into the air.

Northern looked at his death angel... then looked down.

His eyes slipped closed as he slumped against the blood-slicked trunk of an ancient tree.

He could no longer muster the strength to stand, let alone fight. Distantly, he felt the phantom sensations of his clone being surrounded, overwhelmed by the sheer weight of the opponent’s numbers.

’Ah... crap, I’m just going to sleep.’

Northern’s eyes slipped shut as the weariness finally overwhelmed him, the onyx blade slipping from his slack grip as the slumber claimed him. He looked like a crumpled heap amidst the whirlwind of violence swirling all around.

Yet, even as he gave into the temptation of sleep, a better version of himself raged on. The clone’s onyx blade was a blur of motion, cutting through scale and sinew with lethal force. Each arc of its blade felled another foe in a blossoming spray of ichor.

But the relentless tide never lessened— a never-ending surge of fangs, claws, and gnashing jaws hungrily closing in. The clone fought with every fiber of its being, yet it was gradually overwhelmed by the sheer, crushing weight of numbers.

Nearby, the crash of the general’s axe against Northern’s death guardian shook the very earth.

Their primal duel was one of apocalyptic ferocity, uncaring of any unfortunate enough to be caught in the lethal radius of their exchange.

The death angel moved with a blurring swiftness that defied its ponderous scale, graceful yet immensely powerful. Its axe was an extension of its body, each lethal arc leaving horrific rents in the general’s thick hide.

Yet the critter gave as good as it got. Its axe descended in overhead chops of thunderous force, each impact shuddering through the ground like localized earthquakes.

Time and again, the sharp edge found chinks in the death guardian’s defenses, gouging deep into its flanks.

Black ichor flowed from the grievous wounds in pulsing streams, puddling at their feet.

Still, the death warrior fought on, undaunted even as its strength visibly waned. It was an avatar of remorseless destruction created solely for this purpose.

The general bellowed its fury, spittle flying as its bestial jaws stretched wide. Its muscles rippled and bunched beneath its matted, horned hide with each earth-shaking swing of its axe.

And despite its monstrous might, the death angel parried and countered with a cold, dispassionate fatality.

Their battle raged on without any signs of cessation, the two figures carving through the surrounding battle with impunity.

Lesser monstrosities were slashed apart or trampled underfoot, their bodies adding to the growing pile of mangled corpses.

The world seemed to break and blur with each resounding impact, the death angel’s weapon meeting the cruel edge of the general’s axe over and over again in a shower of sparks.

On the periphery, Northern’s clone battled with equal desperation, slowly succumbing to the endless swarm.

Abruptly, an opening presented itself in the general’s defenses. Its axe was raised too far into a devastating overhand chop, leaving its flanks terribly exposed.

With liquid grace, the death guardian flowed around the General’s blow and thrust its axe deep into the creature’s abdomen.

A deafening bellow was torn from the general’s throat as it staggered back, crimson ichor gushing out of the catastrophic wound.

Its tail lashed about with fury as the axe slipped from its grip, its strength visibly ebbing away. The death angel did not relent, pressing its brutal advantage as it closed the gap once more.

Metal sheared through flesh and bone with sickening ease, severing the thick column of the general’s neck in a fountain of gore.

The beast’s head tumbled free, bouncing twice before coming to rest amidst the tomb-like ruin of the battlefield.

The death guardian stood tall, Its burning gaze swept the surrounding massacre as the weight of the general’s death slowly registered throughout the horde.

A wave of terror and confusion rippled through their opponent’s ranks as they took in the gruesome sight of their fallen leader. Bestial roars turned to shrill cries of dismay, and quickly, the horde broke.

Monstrosities fled in droves, shoving and trampling their own in a mad scramble to escape the death angel’s reach. Within moments, the forest had fallen eerily silent once more, broken only by the whisperings of the wind.

Only then did the death guardian turn its baleful gaze towards Northern who was still battling the remaining stragglers.

As if in slow motion, its obsidian form began crumpling inward, buckling under the sheer trauma of its wounds.

Its sword slipped from its grasp to clatter onto the loamy soil as the death angel folded in on itself.

With a groan of protesting metal, it slowly crumpled to its knee.