Alpha Instinct-Chapter 56: "A Glimpse of the Abyss”

The archer Neumond scanned the battlefield for Leonard, his face a mountain of disbelief and despair.

The mist, previously a filmy and subtle veil, now seemed to thicken and condense, as if the earth itself were holding its breath, anticipating the carnage.

"Where is he, bitch!? Where!?" The spy’s voice, hoarse and laden with hatred and frustration, ripped through the silence.

His eyes, trained for years to detect the slightest movement, the slightest disturbance in the air, frantically searched for any sign of Leonard. Any clue that would lead him to his prey.

"I’m a Neumond tracker! You can’t run! Show yourself!" He attested, his voice trembling. "Where is he, you inquisitor bitch?! Tell me!"

"I don’t know, arhh... I don’t know!" Mikaela shouted in response, her voice weak, punctuated by groans of pain that she tried to suppress in vain.

Her hands, trembling and bloodied, tried uselessly pulling out the arrow lodged deep in her flank. The barbed metal tip tore at her flesh with every pull.

"Whoosh."

A sharp, shrill, cutting whistle. The sound of a sword’s edge cutting through the air at an impossible, superhuman speed was unmistakable.

A harbinger of death.

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"Aahhhhrg!" The spy suddenly screamed.

The archer’s scream, a guttural mixture of pain, surprise, and disbelief, echoed across the field, muffled by the mist.

His severed hand, still firmly gripping an arrow, flew through the air, a grotesque and misshapen projectile, before falling heavily to the muddy ground several meters away.

Blood spurted from the open wound, a dark red and rhythmic jet that stained his clothes.

He dropped the bow, his mind, for a moment, unable to process the loss, the mutilation.

He looked at the stump where his hand had been, the phantom limb throbbing in agony, the blood gushing out at an alarming rate, painting the grass a vibrant red.

The intense and excruciating pain dominated his body, and soon after came disbelief. The cut... it was perfect. The cut was clean, devoid of rough edges and lacerations. As if reality itself, the very fabric of space-time, had been cut by an invisible blade.

"Damn it! Bastard! Son of a bitch!" The archer roared, falling to his knees, his voice strained by pain, hatred, and a growing terror.

A blur materialized in the mist.

It was Leonard.

But not the Leonard that Mikaela had met crying at Roland’s tomb. She had promised to protect the gentle and frightened boy.

His eyes, once a soft blue, were now a wintry, inert cold, devoid of any emotion, any trace of humanity.

There was no soul in that gaze. Only a frightening, deep, and unfathomable void, like a bottomless pit.

Mikaela, recovering from the initial shock, felt a cold grip in her heart, a twinge of fear that surpassed the physical pain.

The fury of battle, the thirst for judgment that had consumed her seconds before had diminished.

Now worries flooded her like a broken dam. She knew. She felt it. Something in Leonard had died in that instant.

Or perhaps something terribly powerful had awakened, something she couldn’t comprehend.

"Maybe... he has lost his humanity... or even his sanity." The thought arose in her mind, accompanied by a shiver that ran down her spine.

Instinctively, she tried to read Leonard with her ability. To feel the vital energy, the aura that emanated from his ELEV, as she did with any Neumond, seeking an answer to what was happening.

Nothing.

An absolute void. A disturbing absence. As if he were a black hole, a singularity in space-time, sucking all light and energy around him, letting nothing escape.

"What is this guy...?" She murmured, her voice almost inaudible amidst the oppressive silence that had settled.

"Whoosh."

Another whoosh. The movement was incredibly swift. Leonard was no longer there.

He was in front of Mikaela, "Smiling" in hand, the blade gleaming faintly in the mist.

A brief moment of hesitation, a brief recognition, a shadow of emotion in the icy eyes—a glimpse of the old Leonard.

And then, he moved again. He moved not towards Mikaela, but beyond her. With a speed seen only in Titanium Neumonds and beyond.

He slid to the side, bypassing her, appearing before the fallen archer.

He was still holding the stump of his arm. His face contorted in a grimace of pain, disbelief, and a growing, profound terror.

"What are you... What are you..." repeated the Neumond.

A battle aura, bluish-white, almost spectral, enveloped Leonard. A palpable smoke, a wave of primordial energy, erupted from him. As if the very air were being torn by his presence.

"Get out! Stay away! Don’t come near." The spy, in a mixture of absolute terror and desperate survival instinct, stood up, ignoring the excruciating, throbbing pain in his amputated arm.

He tried to run, to escape that terrifying figure, that harbinger of death.

Leonard moved his arm. He made a simple, almost casual gesture without any apparent effort. "Smiling" cut through the air, and a sonic boom echoed in front of Gothia’s gates.

The sharp sound of the wind is amplified and distorted, followed by the carnage.

There wasn’t a single cut. It was as if reality itself had disintegrated under the power of the blade. Everything within the arc of the sword—twisted trees, abandoned carts, rough stones, and the already mutilated body of the archer—was cut.

The archer’s legs, separated from the torso by a clean and precise cut, fell to the ground with a disgusting, wet thud, flesh, bones, and marrow exposed, life draining away in a pool of blood.

"Leonard, no!" Mikaela’s desperate cry, laden with anguish and horror, echoed across the battlefield.

But it was too late.

Leonard wasn’t taking revenge.

He wasn’t fighting.

He was playing. A calculating, inhuman, almost sadistic coldness emanated from him, like a miasma.

He could have killed the archer instantly, with a single blow. But he chose to prolong the suffering, inflict pain, dismember, and destroy.

The archer wasn’t even screaming anymore. His eyes, wide, glazed, and fixed on Leonard, reflected pure terror, a fear for his very soul, absolute.

Leonard moved the sword again.

A blur of motion. Another sharp sonic boom pierced the air.

Silence. The silence was heavy, dense, and laden with death.

The archer’s body, previously mangled, was now a shapeless, unrecognizable mass, a grotesque pile of cubed flesh, shattered bones, and blood, scattered across the muddy ground.

Mikaela, gathering the last of her remaining strength, stood up with difficulty, ignoring the pain that consumed her. She ran to Leonard. She needed to; she had no choice.

She hugged him from behind, holding him tightly, desperately, trying to bring him back to reality, to humanity.

"Stop, Leonard! I beg you, stop...!" Her voice was strained.

The color of Leonard’s eyes slowly began to return to normal. The icy, cold, and impersonal glacial blue faded, giving way to the usual clear blue.

Confused and lost, Leonard turned, looking at Mikaela. He caught a glimpse of consciousness.

"Mikae—" His voice was weak, hesitant and almost inaudible.

And then, he fainted. His body, previously tense and charged with energy, softened, collapsing into Mikaela’s arms.