Ezra tightened his grip around Abyssfang's hilt.
The cursed steel pulsed, dark tendrils of energy slithering up his arm, burning his flesh as if rejecting him.
[WARNING: Weapon Rejection In Progress.]
- Cursed Object Detected.
- Abyssfang Attempts to Consume the Wielder.
- Willpower Check Initiated.
Ezra gritted his teeth, refusing to let go.
He had devoured the warlord's power.
Why should a mere sword resist him?
The weapon's aura fought back, trying to invade his mind.
For a brief second, Ezra saw visions of darkness, whispers of past wielders consumed by its hunger.
The warlord had controlled it, but barely.
Those before him? They had fallen, their souls devoured.
Abyssfang did not serve.
It ruled.
Or so it thought.
Ezra's eyes flashed crimson.
He wasn't some fragile mortal.
He was evolving.
And nothing, not even a cursed blade, would defy him.
[Willpower Check Passed.]
- Abyssfang's Resistance Weakens.
- Dominance Attempt Enabled.
Ezra poured his will into the weapon, forcing it to bend.
The blade screeched.
The runes along its surface shattered and reformed.
And then—
Silence.
Abyssfang stopped fighting.
It no longer burned his flesh.
Instead, it pulsed in sync with his heartbeat.
Ezra grinned, holding up his new weapon.
"Now you belong to me."
[Abyssfang Acquired.]
- Bound Weapon: No longer rejects wielder.
- Anti-Regeneration Curse: Can now be toggled.
- Bloodthirsty Edge: Increases in power the more enemies are slain.
Sylvaine, watching from the sidelines, let out a low whistle. "Well, that was dramatic."
Ezra smirked. "Was it?"
She glanced at the bodies surrounding them. "You just tamed a cursed weapon that's killed every wielder before you."
He shrugged. "Then they were weak."
Sylvaine grinned. "Remind me not to piss you off."
---
The Blackthorne Counterattack
Just as Ezra finished securing his prize, a faint sound reached his enhanced ears.
The distant beat of heavy boots.
A lot of them.
Sylvaine cursed under her breath. "Looks like they didn't waste time."
Ezra turned his gaze toward the ruined keep's entrance.
Torches flickered in the darkness.
Dozens of figures approached from the tree line.
- Armored mercenaries, bearing Blackthorne's insignia.
- Crossbowmen lining up behind them.
- And leading the charge… a masked figure cloaked in dark energy.
Ezra's instincts flared.
This one was different.
Not just some hired sword.
This was an elite.
And he was here for one reason.
To kill the Night Hunter.
Ezra grinned, flexing his claws and shifting Abyssfang in his grip.
"Well, this just got interesting."
---
The Blackthorne Assassin
The night air grew thick with tension.
Ezra stood at the ruined keep's entrance, his new blade Abyssfang resting against his shoulder.
Across the clearing, the Blackthorne reinforcements spread out like a pack of hunting dogs.
But it wasn't the mercenaries that held Ezra's attention.
It was him.
The masked figure at the center of the formation.
Even at a distance, Ezra could feel his presence.
- A killer's aura.
- Cold, methodical.
- No wasted movement.
Ezra's grin widened.
"This one's different."
Sylvaine tensed beside him. "Be careful. That's not just some hired sword."
Ezra chuckled. "I was hoping for that."
The assassin finally spoke, his voice like a whisper in the dark.
"Ezra Nightbane."
Ezra's grin didn't fade. "So you've heard of me."
The masked man tilted his head. "You've caused problems."
Ezra spread his arms. "I do that."
The assassin took a slow step forward.
"Orders are clear. I will deliver your head to Blackthorne."
Ezra's claws flexed. A challenge.
"Then come try."
---
A Predator Meets His Match
The assassin vanished.
One second, he was standing still.
The next—
SHING!
Ezra barely dodged.
A dagger whistled past his face, slicing a thin line across his cheek.
He turned, eyes flashing.
The assassin was already behind him.
Another dagger strike—Ezra blocked with Abyssfang, the clash ringing through the ruins.
The speed was unreal.
- No wasted movement.
- No unnecessary aggression.
- Every strike aimed to kill.
Ezra smirked. Perfect.
He lashed out with his claws, going for the throat.
The assassin twisted mid-air, avoiding the attack by a hair's breadth.
Then—
BOOM!
A surge of shadow energy erupted from the assassin's body.
Ezra leapt back just in time.
The masked man landed smoothly, his daggers now wreathed in black fire.
Ezra's eyes narrowed.
Magic.
This just got interesting.
---
The Dance of Death
The battle turned into a blur of movement.
Ezra pushed forward, using his superior strength to force the assassin on the defensive.
- Claws slashed.
- Abyssfang swung.
- The assassin dodged everything with unnatural grace.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, the assassin vanished into the shadows.
Ezra's ears twitched.
A whisper—above.
He rolled to the side just as a dagger stabbed where his heart had been.
Damn, he's fast.
Ezra growled. "Let's see you dodge this."
He swung Abyssfang in a wide arc—
The assassin blocked.
Bad idea.
The cursed blade's energy surged forward, sending a shockwave of dark power through the assassin's body.
For the first time, he staggered.
Ezra lunged, going for the kill.
But—
The assassin disappeared again.
A voice whispered behind him.
"You're strong."
A dagger slammed into Ezra's ribs.
Pain.
Ezra snarled, spinning with inhuman speed.
His claws met flesh—
The assassin vanished before the full force could land.
Both combatants skidded apart, each studying the other.
Ezra touched his side.
The dagger had pierced deep, but his regeneration was already working.
The assassin, however, was breathing heavier.
Ezra's grin returned. "Looks like you're running out of tricks."
The masked man remained silent.
Then, he did something unexpected.
He lowered his weapons.
And stepped back.
"I see now."
Ezra raised an eyebrow. "See what?"
The assassin tilted his head.
"You're evolving."
Ezra's grin faded slightly.
The assassin turned toward the mercenaries. "Withdraw."
Murmurs of confusion spread through the soldiers.
The leader of the mercenaries—a heavily armored brute—spoke up. "What? We have orders to kill—"
The assassin's aura spiked.
He glanced at the mercenary captain.
The man froze.
Ezra saw something shift in the assassin's posture.
Power.
Authority.
The mercenaries hesitated.
Then, one by one, they retreated into the night.
Ezra watched them go, intrigued.
The assassin turned back to him.
"You're not ready yet."
Ezra narrowed his eyes. "For what?"
The masked figure paused.
Then, he simply said:
"For what's coming."
And with that, he vanished into the shadows.
---
Next Chapter Preview
The assassin retreats, leaving Ezra with more questions than answers. But what did he mean by what's coming?
Who was that masked warrior? Why did he leave?
What new threat is on the horizon?
And what will Ezra do next—hunt the assassin, seek more power, or confront Blackthorne directly?
Ezra is only beginning to unlock his true potential.
And something even greater is watching from the darkness.