The black blood that spilled to the ground as if he were a fountain, it resembled the pitch-black liquid they had seen in the prison tower. But it didn't writhe as if it were alive. It didn't curl around his body, and it didn't turn to stone gradually.
This creature was truly menacing.
When he glanced around, he realised that Ruffliette had vanished.
The darkness, the black blood, had consumed them, cloaking the palace's rooftop. They were obscured from the outside world, alone in that shell.
He had drawn the silver talwar long ago, at some point he hadn't realised, as if it were instinct, pure as nature, a wish to survive.
"Are you going to kill me… with that…?"
The hollow voice echoed through the solemnity of the night, which seemed unending. It basked in his presence, the night bowed to him.
It's… no… 'he's' speaking to me…
How had this figure been able to learn their language? Was it from the constant exposure to the human prisoners, thus leading him to develop a sense of it? Although his original accent was sharp and thick, he could somewhat understand him.
Could he ask this figure where he was, what his purpose in the abandoned city was, why he was being forced to fight to survive?
He let out a sharp sigh, expelling the anxiety that muddled up his heart.
"Do you want me to?" Artemis raised the blade horizontally, eyeing its edge before glancing back up towards the Castellan.
He let out a grave, raspy chuckle. The figure shifted his weight as he placed the sole of his foot on the ground, preparing to stand.
"I would rather ask a human for nothing at all."
Artemis's brows furrowed. He has a heightened sense of self importance. Is it because he spent so long guarding human prisoners, who were also infected by that black liquid that resembles his blood? What was the point of it, to slowly torture them, as it will me…?
No matter the reason, he clearly won't value my position. I need to negotiate.
"I'll kill you. But I want you to answer my question first."
"I don't want to answer a human's question."
"I believe in fair exchange. If you want my services, you have to offer me something of equal value first. I requested an answer to my question. Is this too difficult for a grand figure like yourself?"
He had calculated this being's propensity for self-importance. He was grandiose, how could he lower himself to the frail Prince's level?
But he was backed into a corner in this way. How could he refuse?
The Castellan let out an audible 'tsk', eventually conceding.
"What… is your question?"
That was simpler than I expected… this figure really wants to die. But why? What is the point of killing yourself? Isn't survival the ultimate instinct of all creatures, even monsters?
Just what is going on?
"What do you call this place?"
The Castellan glanced around slowly, his eyes piercing the impenetrable cloak of darkness that had descended around them. He was… reminiscing.
"Lars-Eleme."
Artemis's eyes widened.
Indeed. That settles it. There is no place in the Blackbaast called Lars-Eleme!
This is not my home!
He felt euphoria surge through his chest.
There was still a possibility that he could return home.
The Castellan slowly stood up from where he had knelt, waves of black blood rushing from his chest.
"Now, no more talking. It is time. A Lord does not die with his blade lowered."
A sudden wave of dread rushed through Artemis's body.
The Castellan had meant that he would have to fight him!
He thought he would only have to end the suffering of someone who was foolish enough to stab himself with his own blade! But this was a giant of a figure, even if he had been crippled by his own weapon!
The Castellan grasped the hilt of his sword, slowly pulling it out of his chest as he let out a harsh, sharp breath. In one swift motion, it was raised outward at his side, a long line of black blood splashing against the stone.
And then he dove at Artemis. His towering form raged forward, surging through the air at an incredible pace. He raised his behemoth black sword, swiping at Artemis's head in an instant. While he was barely able to avoid the blade, it did not matter.
It swung around once more without a moment of hesitation, shooting forward in a thrust. He could barely counter the hit. Its force sent his body into a frenzy, rattling his skeleton from within.
"What is a Lord!?" Artemis shouted as he swung his blade in an arcing motion, scraping along the side of the blade. It hit him as quick as a raging bull as it entered its third strike.
He grimaced, dashing backwards as he faced the titan.
"You said… only one question."
The Castellan twirled the sword, throwing it with the full of his momentum towards Artemis, who fell to the ground in a foolish manner, covering his head to try and avoid its terror. It collided in the walkway's wall behind him, burying itself deep into the stone.
"So… only one answer."
The Castellan took a few steps back as Artemis got to his feet. He was now standing before the red-tipped spear that had been buried into the ground, impaling several withered figures.
He grasped the spear. As the Castellan lifted it from the stone, the bodies it had speared gradually slipped off, hitting the ground before falling to pieces, a rotting mess on the earth. The length of the spear was dyed in a thick, putrid yellow oil. Perhaps it was once crimson with blood, but only the finalities of death that had long passed remained.
Isn't he constantly bleeding from that sword wound!? How can he act so casual, so determined, so unwavering!?
Does he not feel pain!?
This figure was surely once a formidable warrior. Towards him, Artemis only felt respect. He had never been as dedicated as a soldier, as scholarly towards his blade as his masters had been.
But this Lord, this warrior was exceptional. He would definitely kill Artemis if he didn't fight tooth-and-nail.
Artemis felt that he could not play it safe. He could not hold back.
He owed such a person that much.
To fight to survive. To fight to live.
To fight with his all.
His hand shot forward, black tendrils of shadow collecting at his fingertips.
Lark, let's effectuate the contract again!
The Spirit Bond! I want to use it!
Slowly, as if in response to his desire, a terrifying black mask spread outwards across his face. Its obsidian-metallic sheen had an illusory silver-and-crimson glow, and his left iris past the mask swirled like a stormy sky.
At the same time, those shadowy tendrils wrapped around him like a cloak, carrying that same stormy sheen as he grew rapidly in size. What was once the terrifying demonic black mask now resembled the snout of a wolf, his legs growing in size and sprouting terrible claws. His furry tail, which simultaneously resembled hundreds of shadowy tendrils flicked about, and his eyes, dozens in number, flitted around as they observed the approach of the mimic shades. His mouths, numbering five in total, gnashed their horrid razor-like teeth, drool pooling towards the ground.
This was Lark's Spirit Bond, and Artemis had allowed him to wrap himself around his body, while still retaining its control. This was the other half of the contract, one that all Spirit users remained capable of, the full summoning of the Spirit itself.
[Are you in dire straits, dear Host?]
[I don't mind taking over for a bit… I just thought you wouldn't be pre-disposed to the idea.]
A Spirit Bond, that was the common name for the technique that Artemis had used. It wasn't a 'bond' in the sense of the contract they had formed, as if they were mutual partners, but in the sense that Lark would 'bind' himself to Artemis's body in the moments he was summoned, as if he was being worn like a suit of armour. To this extent, a Spirit could also 'Bind' themselves to a bladed weapon, such as a spear or sword, but this wasn't Artemis's style.
This was the utter domination Lark had over him. Were he a more powerful, more determined person, he could control this form by himself. But it was effectively allowing Lark full reign of his body, if only for a few moments.
But he was sure that a few moments was all she needed to defeat the Castellan!
More than that… he needed it to end in only a few moments. His body could only handle so much of this form. It would sap his strength, and then his innate vitality, and then it would definitely kill him.
After all, Lark was a voracious consumer.
That was why he had been so hesitant to use it against the hollow armour when he had first arrived. There was no guarantee that he wouldn't be attacked afterwards. But after this fight, it was a straight shot to the glowing light!
Even if there was no strength in his body, he would crawl across the city's wall! He would make it there, make it home!
In this form, he was now nearly the size of the Castellan. He could feel the nerve endings in the pitch-black wolf form shiver, pulsing with immense strength.
The giant blackwolf snarled, thick clouds of smog escaping its maw as it stared the Castellan down. Its claws dug into the stone, and its tail was frayed and raised.
The Castellan seemed unmoved by this occurrence.
He simply raised the spear over his shoulder, and with one instant action, hurled it at the wolf.
The true battle for survival had begun.