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...'

in a lengthy conversation with her - not yet. He knew that his sister was just trying to buy time. Using one of the enchantments absorbed by her body, she was trying to heal herself

been able to heal herself, but she couldn't replenish her essence, her focus, and her stamina. She was tired, and that fatigue was only going to get worse. It was

her strength and dashed forward with a furious growl. Her sword flashed, sharp and cunning, aiming for his neck... Mordret knew that he

slightly, allowing the sharp edge to cut into his clavicle instead of his neck, endured the blinding flash of pain, and drove his own sword into a crack in her armor. Morgan

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

escaped from his

Clan Song... was losing. The titanic worm was battered and

Summer Knight were still fighting, both stubbornly refusing to admit defeat.

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

and tired to do that. '...Dire Fang is dead? Sunless and the Dreamspawn killed a Saint?' This was a

with a cruel strike of his

between two royal 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 was so

sister was still refusing to give up. They clashed several more times, 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

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

the continuation of the

the

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