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墨書 Inktalez
Driven by determination, Ironclad's attack was particularly fierce and sharp. He gripped his great sword tightly, channeling all his strength into the blade. His gaze was fixed firmly on the shoulder and neck area of the Awakener, which was its weak point. The speed of his sword was so fast that it barely allowed the air to ripple before it struck its target.
The blade instantly tore through the Awakener's flesh, black blood gushing out as the creature's scream pierced the silent night sky, echoing across the desolate battlefield. Ironclad felt the tangible sensation of the blade cutting into flesh, but he did not pause for a moment; he knew that this monster had an incredibly resilient life force.
The wails of the Awakener filled the entire space with a sense of death, yet it continued to struggle, trying to lift its body with its damaged wings. However, its strength had greatly diminished, and it could no longer display the terrifying power it once had. Its eyes were filled with pain and fear; the pride and wildness that once defined it had vanished, replaced by a desperate desire to survive.
The cries of the Awakener echoed within the cold spire, its suffering seemingly proving that Ironclad's fierce attacks had gradually torn apart its evil power. Dark blood gushed from its wounds, dripping onto the cold ground, each drop accompanied by the tragic hissing of the Awakener. The strange green light that once enveloped its body was now fading, as if the evil power within it was slowly dissipating.
Ironclad stood beside the Awakener, panting as he felt the vibrations of the sword in his hand, each breath heavy with the scent of blood. A glimmer of determination flashed in his eyes; he knew that ending this monster would bring him one step closer to uncovering the truth. The terrifying form of the Awakener and the fear it instilled only reinforced his belief that the secrets behind the Spire were far beyond his imagination.
Ironclad stared intently at the Awakener, a creature that had once filled him with dread, now stripped of all its threat. He tightened his grip on the great sword, channeling all his strength, and in an instant, he brought it down forcefully onto the Awakener's head. The impact was fierce and shocking; the Awakener's skull shattered under the force, gruesomely splattering dark blood and mangled flesh everywhere.
The massive body lost its support in an instant, slowly collapsing and crashing onto the cold stone floor with a dull thud. The sound echoed in the cramped space, finally restoring the area to its dead silence. Ironclad stood where the Awakener had fallen, looking at its lifeless form, and the tension in his heart finally eased.
Ironclad gripped the hilt of his sword, feeling the vibrations as the great sword was pulled from the Awakener's head. In that moment, countless fragmented memories surged to the forefront of his mind. In this enclosed spire, death and rebirth had become an inescapable fate for him. Each death was accompanied by pain and despair, while each rebirth made him stronger yet more tormented. He shook his head violently, trying to dispel those unbearable images, but they were etched deep within his soul, impossible to erase.
He saw himself die at the hands of Awakener time and time again, each time ending in a desperate struggle. He saw Awakener's indifferent eyes, its claws tearing into his flesh, and he saw himself consumed by fear and despair in the darkness. These images played in his mind like a nightmare, making him feel a coldness and fear like never before.
He struggled to breathe, trying to calm the panic in his heart. He knew that each failure brought him closer to the truth, and each death brought him closer to release. But the endless pain and despair felt like heavy chains, making it difficult for him to even breathe. The memories of battles he had collected along the way constantly reminded him that he was the last member of the Iron Guard, with all the army's skills and hopes resting on him, the last surviving Iron Guard warrior.
His head throbbed painfully, each image a haunting memory: every failed climb, every fallen comrade, every innocent he couldn't protect. He realized he had climbed the Tower countless times; how many years had it been? he wondered. Time seemed to lose its meaning in this enclosed Spire, where each day was a repetition of pain and struggle.
Amidst the countless memories and illusions, Ironclad tried to support his body with his great sword, yet he still collapsed to the ground in agony, the pain seemingly inducing hallucinations. The Tower mocked him in a cold and derisive tone, "No matter what, the Blight will consume everything, just like this Tower." The mocking voice of the Tower echoed in his ears, revealing endless contempt and indifference.
"Your efforts will be in vain, Dragon slayer, and you will eventually become the dragon. Now, you are just a demon, endlessly trapped in the cycle of reincarnation." This sentence was like a sharp blade, cutting through his heart, causing his body to tremble violently once again. His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword, as if seeking some form of support from it.
He was angry, but more than that, he felt powerless. He knew that each resurrection cost him more of his humanity, bringing him closer to the bottomless darkness. He didn't want to become that kind of monster, but he couldn't give up the path to finding the truth. His family, his comrades, his country, all needed him to find a way to break free and end all this disaster.
He struggled to stand up, each movement feeling as if it would tear his body apart. The illusions and sounds of the Tower relentlessly tore at Ironclad's body and mind, every word like a merciless blade, cutting deeply into his heart. He felt his strength rapidly fading, as if being consumed by a dark vortex.
His breathing became labored, each breath feeling like he was inhaling cold steel. His vision began to blur, and the mocking voice of the Tower seemed to fade away. He fought to stay awake, but every nerve in his body told him that his strength had reached its limit.
He felt cold sweat sliding down his forehead, dropping onto the icy floor with a crisp sound. His body began to tremble uncontrollably, every muscle convulsing, resisting the merciless oppression of tower.
Finally, he collapsed in agony, closing his eyes. He only heard tower's final mocking words, "Is this the end of everything?" The sentence felt like a curse from hell, deeply etched in his heart.
He felt a sense of powerlessness and despair he had never experienced before, as if all hope had been swallowed by the cold tower. His consciousness began to fade gradually, and the last flicker of awareness was consumed by darkness. His body seemed no longer his own; he could feel neither pain nor panic, only an overwhelming silence.
In the end, Ironclad collapsed completely, losing all consciousness. In the darkness, he thought he heard some deep and distant calling, but he could no longer respond, allowing the darkness to engulf him entirely.
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