The fight was brutal.
Blow after blow. Strike after strike.
Damien and Pendalf clashed like two storms colliding, their fists and elbows meeting in a furious exchange of force.
Pow!!
Pendalf even received slaps whenever Damien had the chance to. This infuriated the man as he considered it disrespectful. “You little…”
Pow!!
Damien landed another one.
Pendalf was fast, his attacks unpredictable, his movements honed through years of battle. But Damien was faster.
Stronger.
More ruthless.
Pendalf swung, but Damien ducked.
Pendalf kicked, but Damien sidestepped.
And when Damien struck—he landed.
Again.
And again.
And again.
A palm strike to the chest.
A vicious backhand to the face.
A bone-rattling punch to the ribs.
Bang!
Pendalf staggered, his body snapping back from the force. His once-confident grin had disappeared, replaced with wild frustration.
And then—
Another slap.
A hard, disrespectful slap across Pendalf’s face that echoed in the chamber.
Pendalf’s golden eyes burned with fury.
Damien tilted his head slightly, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips. “Is there ant problem?”
“You’re dead, you little shit!” Pendalf snarled. He couldn’t take it anymore.
Hand-to-hand was a losing battle.
It was time to change tactics.
With a low growl, Pendalf backstepped, gaining distance. His hands shot to his back, and with a smooth motion, he pulled out his weapons.
Twin machetes.
Their odd serrated edges gleamed under the dim torchlight, lined with dark runes pulsing faintly.
But what caught Damien’s attention wasn’t the blades themselves—it was the chains.
Chains wrapped around each hilt, long and sturdy, coiled around Pendalf’s arms like serpents.
A weapon made for both melee and ranged combat.
Pendalf smirked, twirling both machetes in his hands before lashing them forward.
The chains unraveled, the serrated blades whipping through the air toward Damien like two striking vipers.
Damien dodged—barely.
Woooosh!
One blade sliced through the air inches from his throat, while the other whipped around, forcing him to block with his sword. The impact sent a sharp vibration through his arm.
Pendalf laughed, yanking the chains back and whipping them around again.
“You’re not the only one with skill, boy!” he taunted, his machetes dancing through the air.
Damien narrowed his eyes, watching how Pendalf moved.
The way the chains extended.
The way the machetes snapped back.
It was almost like vines whipping through the air.
And that was when it clicked.
Damien had fought all kinds of creatures in the Forest of Twin Disasters.
And one of the most annoying enemies?
The Tree Demons.
Creatures with fast, unpredictable movements, using vines to lash, restrain, and strangle their prey.
Pendalf’s weapon style was similar—but not the same.
There was one major difference.
Fire worked on the Tree Demons.
But Pendalf wouldn’t burn so easily.
So if fire wasn’t the answer—what was?
Damien’s gaze flickered to the chains mid-whip, the metal glinting under the low light.
Then, he smiled.
He had an idea. “Well, I’ll just use more skills then.”
The next strike came fast.
Both machetes flew toward him again, chains extending like living creatures.
This time, Damien didn’t dodge.
He caught them.
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His fingers closed around the chains, gripping them tightly before Pendalf could snap them back.
The Sixth Fang’s smirk faltered.
Damien’s body crackled—lightning coiling around his arms, surging down into the chains.
Pendalf’s golden eyes widened.
“Wait—”
Lightning surged through the metal.
A blinding flash.
Bzzzzt—!!
A searing, agonizing shock.
Pendalf’s body jerked violently, his muscles locking up, his voice ripping into a wild, pain-filled scream as electricity coursed through him. “Shit!”
His knees nearly buckled.
His fingers trembled as he tried to regain control of his body.
But Damien wasn’t done.
He switched.
From Lightning Manipulation—to Flame Manipulation.
The heat surged through his hands, turning the chains red-hot in an instant.
The metal warped and melted, snapping clean off from the blades.
The machetes dropped uselessly to the ground.
Pendalf’s eyes widened in horror.
His weapons were gone.
Damien took a single step forward.
Pendalf scrambled backward, shaking off the lingering shock, his breathing ragged.
But just as he steadied himself—
Damien launched one of the broken machetes at him like a spear.
Pendalf barely dodged—but the second blade caught him.
Puck!!
The serrated machete stabbed into his thigh, its jagged edges tearing muscle and flesh apart as it embedded deep into his leg.
A roar of agony tore from Pendalf’s throat.
His vision blurred with pain, but his rage burned hotter.
With a guttural snarl, he grabbed the machete’s handle, ripping it from his thigh. Blood sprayed onto the floor, pooling beneath him as his hands shook with fury.
“You little…!”
Pendalf’s anger blinded him.
He rushed forward, swinging wildly.
Sloppy. Desperate.
And Damien took full advantage.
Damien sidestepped the first punch.
Ducked the second.
Then—he ended it.
His blade flashed upward, the steel glinting before piercing directly underneath Pendalf’s jaw.
The sword went clean through, the tip erupting out the top of Pendalf’s skull.
For a brief moment, Pendalf’s body stiffened—his hands shaking, blood spilling down his chin.
Then, he went still.
Damien yanked the sword free, letting Pendalf’s lifeless body collapse onto the blood-soaked floor.
The Sixth Fang of the Stray Hounds was dead.
Damien barely spared the body a glance as he wiped the blood from his blade—on Pendalf’s own clothing.
Then, he crouched down, searching the corpse.
Most of it was useless.
But then—he found it.
A map.
Marked with several locations, each pinpointing sites far beyond the Forest of Twin Disasters.
Other Stray Hound bases.
Damien exhaled, rolling the map and tucking it into his coat. “I’ll hunt the rest of you when I’ve got free time. I need to hunt demons for now.”
He searched the rest of the chamber but found nothing else worth taking.
It was time to leave.
Damien followed a new path leading up, climbing through a winding tunnel that eventually led to a hidden exit.
He emerged—inside the hollow of a massive tree.
A cool breeze hit him as he stepped outside, taking in the dark-red sky above.
He inhaled deeply.
And then—he felt it.
A familiar presence.
A powerful essence approaching fast.
Damien smirked.
Fenrir.
His Monstrous Wolf had sensed him.
Within seconds, a massive black beast burst through the trees, its silver eyes locked onto Damien.
Damien patted Fenrir’s head, feeling the warmth of its fur beneath his fingers before mounting the beast.
He had to meet with Lizella and the others.
But then he sighed.
He still had to transport the rescued captives that remained locked in their respective cages underground.
“… Damn it.”
He turned back toward the underground base.
Luton, his Stellar Slime, could store them in its Universal Space.
“Guess I’m not done yet.” Damien muttered to himself, lazily walking back inside while Fenrir stood guard outside of the entrance.