Shadow Slave

Chapter 1201

Under the relentless onslaught of rain, blood was being washed off the shattered armor of a beautiful young woman with black hair and vermilion eyes. She swayed, trying to lash out with her cracked sword, but slipped in the mud and fell heavily to one knee.

Her breathing was hoarse, and her lips were painted crimson with blood. Mordret looked much worse than his sister. One of his eyes was gone, turning his face into a grotesque mask. So was one of his hands. His armor was on the verge of collapsing into a whirlwind of sparks, and terrible wounds covered his body, revealing flesh and bone.

And yet, his expression was calm.

'Ah... it hurts... I haven't felt pain like that in a long, long time...'

He was growing weak because of blood loss, his vision turning blurry. But he was so close to his goal... after long, excruciating years, the first true taste of his revenge was so near. So, Mordret took a step forward, and then another. His sword rose. His hand was firm and unshaken.

Morgan looked up at him, and the look in her eyes was sweeter than nectar. Confusion, indignation... and hidden behind them, a hint of fear.

"How... how are you still standing, monster..."

Mordret smiled.

'Barely...'

his sister was just trying to buy time. Using one of the enchantments absorbed by her body, she was trying to heal herself - her

going to save her, though. Morgan might have been able to heal herself, but she couldn't replenish her essence, her focus, and her stamina. She

that. His sister gathered what little remained of her strength and dashed forward with a furious growl. Her sword flashed, sharp and cunning, aiming for his neck... Mordret knew

shifted his torso slightly, allowing the sharp edge to cut into his clavicle instead of his neck, endured the blinding flash of pain,

the temple with the torn edge of the steel vambrace. His sister was thrown back, dazed. Mordret felt a bit lightheaded,

escaped from his

losing. The titanic worm

his harrowing battle against Beastmaster. Silent Stalker and Summer Knight were still fighting, both stubbornly refusing to admit defeat. At this rate, both of them would perish, and even if the taciturn daughter of

seemed to be failing against one of Nether's children that

too weak and tired to do that. '...Dire Fang is dead? Sunless and the Dreamspawn killed a Saint?' This was a terrible, disastrous piece of

into the mud again with a cruel strike of his sword. There was more pain,

descendants. It was simply a brutal, graceless, vicious brawl... but Mordret liked it more that way. It was much more sincere. Much more honest. Why would murder look pretty when it

and each time, Mordret was on the losing end of the exchange. ...Until he wasn't. At some point, somehow, almost unexplainably, he gained the initiative in this abhorrent dance of theirs. And once he did, his advantage grew

he had accumulated, no matter how terribly Morgan hurt him, Mordret was unshaken. His one remaining eye glimmered, reflecting her dwindling confidence. And then,

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the ground

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