Free Web NovelChapter 21: Shadowheart (2)
Silas continued struggling desperately to reclaim control over his body, but the effort felt laughably futile.
It felt like a child attempting to overpower a seasoned gladiator. The difference between them was absolute, and the gap of power was simply unbridgeable.
Yet the Shadowheart paid his resistance no mind. It stopped beside the half-open bathroom door, standing perfectly still within a blind spot that concealed its presence from those outside.
Then it waited.
"Screw this," another voice said from somewhere inside the dorm, "there is no one here."
An awkward silence prevailed for a few seconds before a third voice came.
"That person doesn’t tolerate failure; we can’t return to him empty-handed."
"If he said the rat is here, then he must be here. Search again. Spread out and don’t leave a single corner unchecked."
Footsteps approached, and this time, there were two of them. Silas felt his heart sink.
’I survived Vaelous... survived the Dark Hunters... only to die on my first day at the academy because of a bunch of thieves.’
The irony would have been amusing under different circumstances. But at this point, there was almost no hope of surviving this. All he could do was watch as the bathroom door swung inward.
A young man stepped through the doorway, and his gaze immediately landed on Silas. The next moment, his eyes widened as recognition flashed across his face. But before he could shout, the Shadowheart moved.
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The sharpened wooden stake cut through the air, pierced straight through the young Enhancer’s throat. And the latter’s expression froze.
The Shadowheart twisted its wrist and tore the improvised weapon free. Blood erupted from the wound like a fountain, while the dying Enhancer tried to squeeze the wound with both hands to no avail.
Yet Silas’s body had already moved.
As if possessing years of experience Silas himself had never acquired, the Shadowheart took two swift steps forward, using the dying Enhancer as a shield while lunging toward the second intruder.
The broken stake struck again. This time, it buried itself in the man’s torso before being ripped free an instant later. This time the attack didn’t come in silence, as a scream echoed through the dorm.
Within seconds, one Enhancer was dead, and another had been grievously wounded. The scream immediately alerted the remaining intruders. Three pairs of eyes shot towards the bathroom.
For a brief moment, disbelief rooted them in place as the scene before them defied reason. A half-naked boy wielding a broken piece of wood stood amidst blood and dead bodies of their comrades, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement.
Then shock gave way to fury.
"He killed Stephen!"
"And Packal!"
"Kill that bastard!"
The closest two raised their mutated arms simultaneously, while holding a crystal in the other hand. Silas had no time to identify their abilities, nor did the Shadowheart. But unlike Silas, it never hesitated.
The dying Enhancer was seized by the throat and lifted effortlessly from the floor as Silas stared in stunned disbelief. He had never realised he possessed such strength. The dying man became a shield once more. Then the attacks arrived.
Darts and thorns tore through the air and slammed into their companion’s body instead, while Silas remained untouched. Only after the barrage ceased did the Shadowheart toss the corpse aside.
"Thanks for your help," it said pleasantly.
Then it smiled, then charged. Silas felt the floor vanish beneath his feet as his body shot forward with terrifying speed. He had fought monsters and Enhancers during the admission test; he had pushed himself to his limits again and again. Yet never had he moved like this, never had he felt this lethal.
The distance separating him from the remaining three disappeared in an instant. And for the first time since the battle began, Silas understood something truly horrifying. The Shadowheart wasn’t merely controlling his body; it knew exactly how to use it.
The remaining three reacted immediately. Silas’s body had only crossed half the distance before one of them stepped forward.
The man’s left arm expanded grotesquely, muscles swelling beneath his skin before hardening into dark metal. In the blink of an eye, it transformed into a massive iron club nearly the size of Silas’s torso.
Then he swung, and the air itself groaned beneath the weight of the blow. The attack wasn’t meant to kill; it was meant to stop Silas’ advance, to buy his two companions time.
The other two Enhancers retreated instinctively, creating distance as they prepared another volley of attacks. The Shadowheart didn’t slow down. Instead, it dropped low, while the iron club thundered overhead.
Silas’s body slid across the floor beneath the attack, his shoulder nearly grazing the ground as the broken wooden stake lashed out. Its target wasn’t the frontline hunter; it was one of the ranged hunters behind.
The sharpened stake shot toward the man’s face. But the Enhancer reacted at the last possible moment, as a thorn burst from his hand. The projectile collided with the wooden weapon, knocking it slightly off course. Instead of piercing his eye, it tore through his shoulder. And a scream rang out.
The Shadowheart twisted its body and regained its footing without pause, while the three attackers closed in. The iron club crashed downward, darts sliced through the air, whole thorns streaked toward Silas from impossible angles.
And then... The dance began.
Silas had fought before, but this... This was different. The Shadowheart moved through the battlefield like smooth wind. Every movement served a purpose; a slight tilt of the head allowed a dart to miss by inches, and a single step transformed a killing strike into nothing more than a scratch. The iron club repeatedly descended with enough force to shatter bone, yet each attack struck empty air.
Silas could feel everything: the pressure, the adrenaline, the heat of attacks passing close enough to brush against his skin. And beneath it all... Excitement.
The bloodlust surging through his body never faded; instead, it grew stronger. He could even hear laughter, low, breathless, and delighted.
"Hehehe..."
The Shadowheart was enjoying itself.
"What the hell is taking you so long?"
The sudden shout came from the dorm entrance as a new figure stepped into view. He carried a staff; he was a mage.
"We’re dealing with one person," he snapped. "Finish this before the others notice!"
The moment he spoke, mana surged. The staff blazed with light as fiery nets erupted through the room. They expanded rapidly, weaving walls of flame that crashed toward Silas from multiple directions.
The Shadowheart reacted instantly. It twisted, leapt, and rolled. All the blazing nets narrowly missed their mark, yet the consequences remained severe. Curtains set ablaze, furniture caught fire, while flames spread across the dormitory, shrinking the available fighting space with alarming speed.
The remaining Enhancers smiled viciously. For the first time since the battle began, victory seemed within their grasp.
Silas should have been terrified. Instead, he sensed anticipation because the Shadowheart had finally reached the couch. It was the one where he’d left his clothes and his daggers. The crimson eyes narrowed slightly, and then six daggers rose into the air.
Silas froze. He had believed his current mastery over Raven ability allowed him to control four daggers at most. Yet the Shadowheart perfectly wielded six, as naturally as breathing.
The daggers danced between its fingers, spinning, vanishing, and reappearing. The moment they flew, the battlefield transformed, as silver streaks flashed through the burning dorm.
The Enhancers attempted to retreat, to defend, to counterattack. And yet, it didn’t matter. The daggers curved through impossible trajectories, slipping past defences. They even changed direction mid-flight.
Silas had spent countless hours training his Raven ability. Compared to this, he had been a child learning how to crawl.
One Enhancer collapsed first as a dagger pierced his throat. The thorn-hunter desperately filled the air with projectiles, but each thorn shattered beneath precise strikes before a dagger buried itself in his chest.
Seeing this, the iron club hunter charged forward with a roar. His transformed limb smashed through burning furniture as he tried to overwhelm the Shadowheart through sheer force and thrown burning pieces.
Yet six daggers calmly answered him. One severed tendons, another pierced muscles, a third slipped through the gap beneath his jaw. He stumbled and fell, never roared again.
Only the mage remained, and panic finally replaced disbelief.
