Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead-Chapter 340: Fear The Night : Realm Of Phantoms
From all around, hands clapped, slammed down, grasping upon one another to form a pattern, streams of pale flames, pillars rising into the sky, hands emerging from all around, envisioning to crush and tear, from the ground, from the air, swirling darkness being them, blade resting within its sheath, Syklon diced everything coming for her apart, her sword not leaving scabbard.
Flashing away, once again trying to strike the main mass of darkness, the gravelord once again vanishing, reappearing a distance away without any delay, again, and again, Multeamanus evaded the lightning quick attacks.
Syklon could see that despite the creepy hand fetish, the spectre lord was unbothered by her precious hands being shredded into nothingness, either all of those held no value to the undead, or the hands she had subjugated were not truly destroyed and could be manifested back into existence.
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The swordswoman was willing to bet on the second option, the hands that she was cutting held no traces of their original owner, only Multaemanus’s, it was naught but a totally unfounded idea, but Syklon’s guts were more accurate than most people’s eyes and ears, she wagered that the swirling darkness wasn’t even the gravelord’s true body, the hands were more akin to minions, and the portals nothing but a way to get them where she wanted, when she wanted.
Beyond the darkness, the spectre’s true body was hidden, manipulating those two things from a distance, from safety, even if Syklon managed to slash one of those portals, unless it could go through and somehow hit the undead lord, it would serve no purpose, Multeamanus was most certainly just avoiding the darkness from being stricken as trick, simply pretending it was something that should not be hit.
’Death tongue, hands and magic circles… Is that all she can do?’ Syklon had an idea, but it could go south quick if the spectre revealed something else in her arsenal, Syklon had a wide array of arts to choose from, flashing through the air, the swordmaster could afford to show a few more cards from her endless deck, lightning dancing along her blade and skin as she ditched the oversized kimono, holding her blade above the head, free arm in front of her chest, sides of the palm facing outside and toward her.
Striking up this lengthy pose as the hands once again close in on her from every direction, a bolt of lightning piercing right through the palm of a hairy hand, reappearing in front of the twisting darkness that had many hands sticking out from it, the mass Multeamanus always appeared as.
Striking twice, Syklon slashed it in four parts, horizontally and vertically, and as expected, it all disappeared like the hands would, for a few seconds, nothing happened, the artsmaster parried a sneaky strike, a small portal appearing behind her head, a bestial hand trying to dig into her nape.
Parrying the strike, a much larger portal than ever shown before manifested above, the hand of a true stone titan coming down.
Syklon carving her way through, but slashing a hole her size was but minor damage to this limb, it rose again as more similarly sized hands came piling down, Multaemanus increasing the pressure.
"Stop" said the gravelord, exerting her mastery of the death tongue, freezing Syklon for less than a second, a flaming hand manifesting right in front of her, landing a palm strike straight to the chest, the fire burning over this particular hand was not the ghostly flames from before but actual flames, quickly extinguishing herself and the hand, not allowing any other strikes to fall upon her.
"Stop" repeated the gravelord.
"Stop" "Stop" "Stop"
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Without ceasing, Multaemanus landed multiple strikes upon the champion’s small stature, but Syklon was always quick to recover, and quicker every time, the spectre only had time to manifest a small hand to land a single attack.
Leaping into the air, Syklon, drew a most unnatural path, passing through multiple rocky and metallic hands, a circle of hands, firing an explosion of ghostly flames into a wide arc, standing her ground, the petite woman, showed no reaction, sheathing the blade,kneeling down and closing her eyes, taking a deep breath as she prepared for a powerful battle arts, having perfectly calculated the time Multaemanus took to manifest even the smallest of her hands, or at least, the smallest hands the gravelord had that could trouble the living.
Syklon’s skin and flesh were already reinforced by a plethora of other arts, preventing the hands, or whatever it was that counted as a hand in the spectre’s book, stopping the insect-sized limb from bothering her in the least.
Waiting until the very last moment, Syklon aimed for one of the swirling darkness, light flashing for a brief instant, almost imperceptible, passing right through any obstacles.
"Aah… You figured it out already? Well, I will admit that it would have taken hours to get it over with, otherwise, more interesting that way, I get closer to the hands" Multaemanus chuckled, Syklon landing onto solid ground, into what looked like an entirely different world.
"Still, quite bold of you to just jump into one of my portals, it might have actually led into oblivion, you know? That would have killed you instantly" the gravelord continued, indeed, this peculiar realm was not that of death, it was not oblivion, the place where The Prince Of Death had met with the sun of darkness.
It was adjacent however, the realm Multaemanus and Körpersucher were most familiar with, it used to be much more bleak, but now, it was bustling with spirit of dead trees and vegetation, filled to the brim in its endless expanse with phantoms of all kinds, but where Syklon stood, the gravelord was all by herself, laying into a temple erected to her glory by the other ghosts and spectre, built from materials that had stood for so long that they had become spirits themselves.
"Mmh…" the swordmaster cracked her neck, having been expecting many things, except for what she was seeing, Multaemanus was far from what Syklon had imagined, that perhaps the gravelord was really just a mass of hands, a giant hand perhaps, just a regular spectre, but no.
The temple was decorated with many carvings of hands, and so was Multaemanus’s dark body, illuminated by the shine of the constellations of both of the ethereal lords, the ceiling open, one was allowed to freely gaze upon the gravelord as she lied on some sort of simple couch, one hand holding up her head, one upon her waist, one running through her hair, one tapping over her thigh, and the other two pointing at the living invading the real of undead spirits.
Many more unfurling from behind the back as the gravelord stood up.
The spectre lord’s body was entirely black, almost like a shadow, somewhat transparent, the face had no features whatsoever, her hair the same colouration, running over back and even somewhat beyond, dressed in pale white clothes that honestly did not cover much at all beyond the most sensitive areas of the female body, and even then, compared to Syklon, the shadowy undead was very much voluptuous, something she was very clearly bringing attention to, standing tall at almost two meters tall.
Hanging from her back, a flexible tail ending with another hand swung around.
"Stand proud Syklon, even my king has never seen my true form"
