Here's a fully improved version of your passage, refining description, flow, pacing, tone, and character voice, while keeping the style and intensity of your fantasy world intact:
The town of hunters roared with life. Men and women indulged in drink, laughter, and reckless games, their revelry turning what was once a quiet outpost in the far west of the Fourth Realm into a lawless haven known as Herald, a sanctuary for the discarded, the dangerous, and the damned.
At its centre stood a towering black-stone castle, home to the man they all revered—the greatest swordsman alive. A legend among killers, a war-born dreamer destined not just for lordship of a single realm, but for the throne of the entire kingdom. Because of him, hunters strutted with pride, bound by one ambition: to crown him king.
The morning sun spilt weak golden rays across the snowy earth. In the distance, storm clouds brooded on the horizon. Guards patrolled the high walls, silent shadows in iron-grey cloaks. Each wore the same mask, bone-white, etched with a single crimson claw mark. Their eyes scanned the wilderness with quiet menace, watching over the thousands of destroyed camps just outside the town.
It was a day of celebration; the Lord's latest victory had stirred the town into a frenzy. Herald was brimming with hunters. Many possessed rare, deadly gifts. For outsiders, this town was nothing short of a grave.
On one of the towers, a hunter peered through his scope, snow dusting his thick beard. His breath fogged the lens. Squinting, he adjusted the focus on a lone figure approaching from the wastes, a man in a wide-brimmed hat with a dangling string, trudging through the frost with an unnatural calm.
"…Is that a disciple?" he muttered, eyes narrowing.
A fellow hunter approached. "You see something?"
"I might be losing it, but doesn't that look like a disciple?"
The other took the scope, studied for a long moment, then returned it without a word. "Sound the alarm."
A moment later, the bells rang—sharp, grating, like steel screaming through bone. The noise carried across the town, shaking hunters from their celebrations. Some cursed as they strapped on armour or drew blades. Others stayed within, guarding key points. A few ignored the call entirely, still drunk on mead and victory.
Upon the main battlement, General Neil stood watching. His fur-lined coat flapped in the wind, his gloved hand brushing the hilt of his greatsword as frost clung to his golden beard.
"Damn it," growled a younger hunter climbing the stone stairs. Reaching the top, he caught sight of Neil and composed himself. "Took me forever to get those fools into line. They have no idea how much it messes me up in the head."
Neil didn't respond at first. His eyes were still locked on the pale shape in the distance.
"Be glad our Lord's presence keeps them even half-disciplined," he said. "Without him, this place would've torn itself apart long ago."
The younger hunter followed his gaze. "So what's the verdict? You really think this guy's a threat?"
Neil ran a gloved hand along the battlement's edge, feeling the cold bite of the stone. His voice was calm, but edged with steel.
"You think this is too much for just one man?"
The younger hunter didn't answer. Instead, he fastened his mask with a click. The bone-white surface gleamed as his claws extended with a crackle of energy.
"…No. Let's just make it quick."
#
His legs were going numb from the cold. Each step felt heavier than the last. Clutching the brim of his wide hat to shield his eyes from the blizzard, he pressed forward. The gates of Herald rose in the distance like the jaws of a beast, and somewhere beyond them, his sister was waiting.
Pasta came to a stop, boots crunching against the snow. Far ahead stood armed hunters forming a wall of flesh and steel around the town's gate.
"Guess I'm not exactly welcome," he muttered, drawing his blade with a soft hiss of metal. He knew better than to let arrogance guide him, he wasn't stupid enough to believe he could take them all on. But at the end of it, he saw these thoughts as distractions.
Emilia was in there, that's all that matters.
His grip on the blade tightened. No matter what waited inside, friend, foe, he would get her out.
Above, the sky writhed, thunder grumbling through the clouds as snow lashed sideways.
"Darius could be here too… and that monster with him," Pasta muttered, eyes flicking toward the distant black castle piercing the skyline. A chill, colder than the storm, ran down his spine.
He kept walking.
This feels like a bad idea, but there's no way in hell I'm turning back.
And then, he vanished into the storm.
"Sir, I lost him!" a hunter called out, eyes squinting through the white haze.
Minutes passed. No movement or sign of the outsider caused the tension to ease.
"Probably bolted," a hunter said with a snort, tossing his spear over his shoulder. "Can't blame him."
Laughter erupted from the gathered hunters, harsh and echoing across the walls. Some patted each other on the back, others returned to their drinks. The threat had become a joke. One man, shivering in the cold, groaned as he pushed the heavy gate shut behind him.
"Storm's getting nasty," he muttered. "Let's finish up and—"
A sound behind him.
He turned, blade drawn.
Nothing there.
"…Must be my imagination," he said aloud, right before the colour drained from his face.
His comrades were collapsing in the snow, one by one. Veins bulged from their necks and arms, their faces twisted in shock and agony.
DONG.
The bell rang again. Louder. Heavier. More frantic.
"INTRUDER! INTRU—!"
The cry was cut short. A head tumbled from above the walls. The mask clattered separately on the ground, rolling to a stop in a pool of red.
Neil stood atop the wall, a cigarette glowing softly between two fingers. He took a drag, exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the storm.
"He's using the blizzard to hide himself," he said. "Clever."
He tapped the ash from his cigarette.
"But pointless."
In a shadow below, Pasta crouched beneath a cart, panting. Each breath was a weight on his chest. His lifeforce, his very essence, was locked away, sealed deep inside to avoid detection. But the strain was unbearable. It was like holding his breath underwater while sprinting through hell.
I can't keep this up much longer…
Peeking out, he spotted Neil watching from above.
That must be one of their commanders, he thought grimly. I can't take him head-on. I need to avoid him… and find Emilia.
He pulled the hat from his head, hooking it behind his back. Snow whipped at his hair, his face flushed with the cold and yet a fiery determination.
Below, the streets were crawling with hunters, armed, alert, battle-hardened as the castle loomed above them all.
It looked impossible.
But hesitation had no place here.
He'd come this far. He wouldn't falter now.
Emilia's going to be so excited to see me, he thought, smirking.
He could already imagine her smile or perhaps her demon queen's glaring eyes when he finally rescued her.
And with that, he broke from the shadows, bolting across the snow-covered street.
"There he is!"
"Get him!"
Dozens of eyes turned, and their weapons gleamed in the storm as the town erupted with alarm.
Neil's gaze sharpened, focusing on the charging figure.
"…What a reckless move," he muttered, flicking away the cigarette.
"Nothing like a disciple."
Pasta sprinted through the narrow streets, hunters swarming him like wolves on a fresh kill. One lunged forward with a wild swing. He ducked low, the blade slicing empty air, and countered with a clean slash that tore through the man's arm, not pausing to watch the hunter fall.
More poured in, shouting, snarling, blades drawn. Among them stood a lone figure further down the street, expression hidden behind a mask. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, then the figure vanished.
"Damn it. Parallel space," Pasta muttered. No time to waste.
He vaulted onto a rooftop and raced forward, bounding from one snow-covered building to the next, barely letting his boots touch the tiles before launching again. Some hunters gave up the chase, watching from below with smirks. To them, he was already a corpse, just a matter of time.
Then, out of nowhere, a sharp sting slashed across his cheek. Before he could react, a crushing kick slammed into his ribs. He crashed through a bar window, the impact reducing chairs, bottles, and tables to splinters.
Inside, the gathered hunters barely looked up. They'd heard the alarms. It was no surprise that some poor fool had crashed in, trying to avoid the inevitable. One man, though, stood. Fury etched his features as he stepped over to Pasta, fists clenched.
"You've got guts showing your face here. Why aren't you dead yet?" he growled, striding over. "The others must be toying with you. Let me end it."
Pasta coughed, clutching his ribs as he pushed himself off the wreckage. Not dead... but definitely hurting.
A cold voice cut in.
"Back off. He's mine, you piece of filth."
It was the masked man from before with long, claw-like fingers glinting in the light.
The angry hunter sneered. "Who're you calling filth—"
His words ended in a gurgle as his tongue hit the floor, severed. His scream tore through the bar as he fell, clutching his mouth, writhing in agony.
A massive hunter in a plain mask calmly walked by with a tray of drinks. He sighed, unimpressed, and went back to work.
"Get them outta here," one of the patrons said, bored of the spectacle.
The next moment, Pasta was booted out into the snow, landing beside the screaming man. A semicircle of hunters stood around him, watching from a distance, hesitant now after seeing what the clawed one had done.
"You're already dead in their eyes," the clawed hunter said, kicking him in the side. "We thought you were a disciple. That's why we swarmed the gate. The boys were eager for a real fight, but it's just a kid with a spine and no vigour."
Pasta staggered to his feet, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword. He wasn't ready for this, not with the second power at play.
And yet...
The masked man eyed him, an odd spark of interest flickering in his gaze. "But yet... You did break in. With that weak body. Impressive. You're here for the girl, aren't you?"
Pasta said nothing.
"I see. A shame, then."
Pasta's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
The man placed a hand over his chest and straightened. "Let's do this properly, the warrior's way. I am Dango R. Fein, the First. And you?"
"…Pasta."
Dango smiled faintly. "Good. Now die, Pasta. You were a strong soul."
He didn't vanish this time. He ran straight at him.
Their blades clashed. Pasta blocked the strike, but not all of it, gushing his chest in crimson.
"You actually hit me," Dango whispered, stunned, as a scratch formed on his arm.
He raised his sword for another strike, then stopped.
He stared at his arm. Then, without waiting, he severed it himself.
The snow drank his blood as he collapsed, gasping.
"What the hell? Dango!" a hunter yelled, running to his side.
Dango's face twisted in rage and panic, sweat dripping down his chin. "He poisoned me… Cunning bastard! Get him! Get him now!"
Pasta clutched his chest, struggling to breathe. He scanned the snow. No path forward. No escape. Just—
"Snow... Is that an element?" he said, half-laughing. "Nah."
But he remembered the lessons. Mr. Swordsman's calm voice. The principles of commandments and the training. The feeling of energy controlling the very air.
He closed his eyes, reaching deep within himself.
The wind howled and the snow stirred, then swirled, then surged into a violent white tempest. The street vanished beneath a shroud of cold.
Hidden in the storm, Pasta leapt onto the bar's roof and dashed across the rooftops toward the castle.
"Can't believe that actually worked," he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips.
His chest ached, but he ran anyway.
"I'm coming, Emilia."
#
The void stretched endlessly, filled with nothing but darkness and destruction. Darius took measured breaths, standing in the middle of this space of emptiness. Beneath his bare feet, shallow water rippled, reflecting the formless black. He stood naked, his eyes closed. When they opened, he finally saw his opponent.
There was no sky, but flashes of crimson lightning illuminating the endless expanse. Blue strikes followed, cutting through the void, then came a white flash that revealed the true horror above, a writhing mass of mythical dragons, their bodies coiling and slithering through the air like serpents. Thousands upon thousands, overlapping and weaving through the void.
"The human mind is indeed a spectacle to behold," Darius said, stepping forward. "I have never seen your face. Yet, I can tell just how powerful you are only from that day. Leader of the disciples."
He stumped his feet into the ground and leapt into the air, soaring toward the monstrous sea of dragons, determined to challenge whatever lurked within that abyss.
Suddenly, Darius snapped out of his trance, his eyes flickering open. He sensed the aura of someone far below. A familiar presence. "That boy... he's here?" he said, standing up from his perch atop the castle in the midst of the raging storm. He eyed the swirling snow and chaos below. "Kids these days... reckless as ever."
The door behind him burst open with a crash, and a towering man lumbered inside, his face hidden behind a thick beard, his hand wrapped in a bandage. "I've been looking for you," the man growled. "It's time we move."
Darius was fixated on the young lad. He really came all this way for her. What a boy.
"Darius!"
He walked toward the edge of the rooftop, stopping just before the drop. "Alright, let's go. We don't have all day, Thorne. Our job here is done."
Thorne shivered, standing by Darius's side. "That boy... he actually came."
"A man loses all sense when it comes to someone he loves, it's a natural thing"
Thorne eyed him. "Will you help him? There's no chance he'll survive"
Darius stayed silent for a moment, watching Pasta fight his way through. "Thorne... what makes a hunter? Why are we called that? Even with our past and all."
Thorne peered down at Pasta. "Rejected by society, there are those adventurers who lost their status, as well as others who were born into the title. But most say it's because we hunt the innocent, causing chaos wherever we go." He reached out, catching a snowflake as it drifted down. "But... I think there's another meaning."
Darius smirked. "You're right. Hunters... we're the haunted ones, aren't we? Unlike adventurers, who seek to explore and solve quests. We are left to bear the crippling burden of simply existing. The ones down there… they joined that swordsman not for some noble cause but because they wanted to become something, anything. They're willing to do whatever it takes. In truth, we're the lost souls. Drifting without a destination."
Thorne patted Darius back. "You've finally gotten what you wanted; you have arrived at your destination. You're no longer a haunted soul"
"No… not yet, " Darius whispered, his voice lost in the cold wind. "There are men I must fight and a loved one to return to. Come, Thorne, let's make ends meet and leave this broken kingdom."
Thorne hesitated, staying in place. "What about the Weeping Swordsman?"
Darius stopped, turning his gaze back toward Pasta, now in the thick of the fight. "We'll meet again." His voice was firm. "But... perhaps I'll leave him with a parting gift."
#
Pasta ran, eyes fixed on the castle ahead. But when he glanced back, the hunters were closing in.
His body ached, sliced by those who possessed the second power. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain. They already think I'm dead, he thought, blood oozing from his wounds. I'm just a toy to them, something to entertain themselves with.
"Time to call it a day, boy," one hunter said.
"It's been fun, but we can't let you reach that gate"
From the monochrome world, Dango emerged, followed by two other hunters. His eyes burned with rage as he approached. "You little piece of trash," he said, slashing across Pasta's chest again and again. Blood spilt slowly in the air.
The other hunters joined in, cutting at Pasta without mercy. But Dango, furious, lashed out, shoving them aside. "He's mine! Get out of here!" He turned back to Pasta, dragging his claws across the boy's face. "I tried to be noble, but you're just a stain! I'll tear you to pieces!"
Dango raised his arm for the final blow, the one that would split Pasta in two, but then he froze. His eyes widened as he felt a powerful wind stir around them. It was moving faster.
"What... am I seeing things? Or... Am I leaving the space?"
An energy swirled around him, and he traced it to the roof. Where he saw two men. Aren't they on our side?
He couldn't hear their words, but Darius's lips moved, sending an icy shiver down Dango's spine.
Pasta fell to the floor, clutching his bleeding chest. Another wave of energy surged past him, and he realised he had suddenly stopped moving. He drew his blade, preparing to confront the hunters behind him. To his surprise, all of them were on the floor, unconscious.
"The heck?" He stared at the roof, "That's Darius… and—is that the beast? He looks different... Wait a minute, did they help me?"
From above, Darius smirked down at him before vanishing into the storm with Thorne.
"He's over there!"
"He's still alive, what's wrong with you all?"
The other hunters had felt the same energy blast, and they rushed toward Pasta's position.
Pasta stood, sheathing his blade. "Okay, I need to focus. Just like last time."
He waited for a gust of wind, and as soon as it touched his skin, he commanded it, like an air explosion, it sent Pasta to the skies. "Come on, come on, come on!"
He shook his legs, already losing balance and fearing he might fall to his death. Luckily, he burst through the window, landing on the velvet rug below.
"I'm close enough now," he whispered. "Maybe now I can track her down"
Closing his eyes, Pasta focused, scanning the entire building for Emilia's presence. But there was nothing. No trace of her anywhere.
"You really made it this far," a deep voice said.
Pasta drew his weapon, but he was too late. Chains snapped around him, coiling tightly, locking his arms to his sides.
A towering figure emerged from the darkness—a giant, masked man with a long, contorted neck. "Caught myself a wild one," he laughed, his voice a sickening blend of glee and madness
"What the? Let me go!"Pasta screamed.
The man swatted at the flies buzzing around him, grabbing one and sticking into inside his mask with a crunch. Still laughing, the giant yanked the chains, dragging Pasta down the hall toward the dungeons below.
The chains rattled as he dragged Pasta deeper into the dungeon, past cells filled with decaying bodies and sickening men. Each breath was heavy and suffocating.
"Call me F-Federick," he said, singing to himself, pulling Pasta down the path.
"Let go of me, I don't need your name dammit!"
The man's neck twitched and twisted, turning back to Pasta. "You see, I'm a very flexible person, the guys call me Feddy the worm, you can call me Feddy too. But my name's Federick"
He stopped in front of a fire. As he stepped forward to Pasta, he carefully removed the blade and chained Pasta's hands and feet to a pole, also removing his garment.
Federick hummed to himself, placing the straw hat on a table and began to toss some chains into the fire. "Don't even think about controlling the flames, it is already under my command. You can't possibly command them even if you tried, hehehe, call me Federick"
Pasta lowered his head. "Damn I'm running out of energy"
Federick clapped over and over, dancing in front of the flames. "That's good, that's good, that's good. Call me Federick"
Pasta's vision blurred as he caught sight of something within the flames. A pouch burning inside, releasing an incense that made his head spin.
"That," Federick whispered, leaning close to Pasta, "is my little trick. You'll fall asleep, and if you sleep too long, you'll die." His twisted grin stretched wider. "Call me F-Federick."
"Joke's on you," Pasta whispered, still dizzy. "I'm immune"
Federick struck a pose, his neck curling like a swan. "Oh, I know. She said the same thing"
Pasta forced his eyes open, though the sleep was drawing him near. "Emilia… What did you do to her, you freak!"
"Call me Federick, first," he chuckled.
"Tell me, where's Emilia?"
"Call me Federick"
"Where is she, you worm?!"
"I am Federick"
Pasta's eyes went red with rage as he shook the chains binding him. "Damn you!"
Federick's face twisted with fury.
He slammed his fist into Pasta's jaw, snapping their faces mere inches apart.
"Call me Federick again, and I'll slit your throat, you worthless piece of trash," he growled.
"You really want to know what happened to your precious sister?"
Pasta glared at him. "If you hurt Emilia... I swear, I'll kill you."
Federick chuckled darkly as he returned to the fire.
"What a treat she was," he said, eyes dancing with cruel delight. "So pure. So innocent. Oh, I had fun."
Pasta stared at the glowing steel, Federick brought out from the flames.
"What did you do to Emilia?"
Federick grinned, his neck twitching as he spoke.
"Her screams were so beautiful, they fed my soul, enriching my body. Oh, how splendid... And then there was her fair skin, blistering under the heat… simply exquisite."
"DAMM YOU!!" Pasta thrashed against the shackles. "Let me out of here!"
Federick eyed him with a wide grin. "Yes, yes, show me more fear, pain, anger, all your emotions. I am Federick"
He whipped the scorching chains across Pasta's back, each strike followed by a maniacal laugh
"Yes, yes, show me. Scream louder, fill my excitement, FILL ME!!" he yelled, rubbing his neck with one hand and whipping Pasta with the other.
The dungeon echoed with Pasta's screams, but slowly, they began to fade. Blood dripped onto the stone floor, pooling beneath him.
Federick crouched, observing Pasta's still body. "You died too easily," he whispered, pushing Pasta's head to the side. "Your sister endured far worse than this. What does that make you?" He chuckled softly, a sinister gleam in his eyes. "You should've seen your face. She was only chained up, nothing more. The lord wouldn't let me have any fun with her. Torture... It's not an easy job, you know. Especially when you are restricted. I am Federick"
Torture?
Pasta's mind raced. The underground prison at home. Deep in the cold darkness. Floors were scattered with bloody blades and used syringes. Emilia experienced torture, she saw those things. She…. She cried and suffered. My sister suffered. You hurt her.
"She suffered," he whispered.
Federick turned to leave, but then he stopped, feeling a sudden tug. The chains were wrapped around Pasta's arm.
"I see, I see. You are still alive. I take back my word, you are strong. I am Fed-"
The chains blazed with heat, growing hotter and hotter. At first, Federick was unfazed, but soon the heat began to burn his flesh. "Get it off, get it off!" he screamed, thrashing his arm. The fire flickered violently, its intensity still surging.
Pasta lifted his head, his eyes filled with hate and blood as the entire room erupted into flames.
Federick finally broke free from the chains, but his other chains melted under the intense heat. He stumbled, hearing footsteps approaching through the fire.
He tried to stand, but his legs gave out.
He tried to beg, but his mouth wouldn't move.
At this moment, he felt the aura of something that wasn't human. A power he had never felt before.
The flames cast a monstrous shadow on the wall, a dragon twisting with a serpent. Beneath it stood Pasta, blood running down his body like sweat, his blade gleaming in one hand, a crimson chain wrapped around the other.
Federick's smirk faltered. "Oh, it's just you... I thought it was someone else." He attempted to rise, but one leg had charred to the bone. "My feet! Damn, when did you?"
Pasta stepped forward, the dragon-shadow melting into ash behind him.
"Where's Emilia?"
Federick screamed in pain. "I'm Federick, can't you see I'm hurt, help me and I'll tell you"
Pasta's blade dragged against the stone.
"You tortured her?" he murmured.
Federick's laugh was nervous, desperate.
"It was a joke! Just a joke! Federick loves telling jokes," he laughed nervously, glancing at Pasta's blade. "Ha! I'm immune to your poison, fool. That doesn't faze me, I am-"
slash.
Federick's other leg dropped.
He screamed again, holding his bleeding leg, his mask falling off to reveal the face of a boy, eyes red from crying.
Pasta knelt beside him, his gaze colder than the Fourth. "I'll enjoy taking you apart... slowly."
As the flames engulfed the dungeon, the floor began to crumble, screams of the other prisoners were drowned by the destruction. And Federick's own cries of torment echoed from the lower chambers, lost in the roar of the inferno.
#
The vibrant colours of flames lit up the lower floor of the castle, thick black smoke billowing into the sky,
"Fire! Fire! Move it, all of you!"
A group of unconscious hunters awoke, eyes wide, fixated on the rising smoke from their lord's domain.
Dango gazed at the large group of hunters who were trying to stop the fire from spreading. The flames were hot, but couldn't compare to the furnace he held within. "The boy made it that far?"
He tied a cloth around his arm and made his way to the castle, followed by the others.
They reached the second floor, just beneath their master's quarters. The aura felt was that of anger and hate. Life forces flickered out one by one above them. Dango quickened his pace, along with the masked hunters at his side.
The entrance to the prison loomed ahead, smoke creeping from the stairway and the faint flicker of fire casting reflections on the walls.
A hunter stumbled out, collapsing at the threshold, eyes wide with terror. "Help… me…" he whispered, his body trembling before he spat out blood. His veins twisted itself granting him death
The hunters tightened their grips on their weapons, bracing themselves.
A figure stepped out from the stairway, a young man clad stained with crimson, a burning cloak flickering behind him, wearing a straw hat, and a blade dripping with blood.
He turned to them, his eyes devoid of his humanity. "Where's my sister?"
Dango chuckled, stepping forward with a smirk, his lone arm swinging at his side. "You think you're some hotshot now, just because you took down a few weaklings?" He cracked his neck. "Alright, tell you what, if you manage to land a hit on me, I'll tell you where your sister is."
Pasta remained silent, the weight of his gaze unnerving. "Did you hurt her? Tell me"
After a moment, his eyes darkened beneath the brim of his hat. "No need to answer. I already know... that worm told me everything."
"Then let's get this over with," Dango said, vanishing into the parallel space. In an instant, his claws were at Pasta's throat. "I'm not playing around, kid. I told you before, you're nothing but a walking corpse."
But as he grinned, Pasta's body vanished from sight. "An afterimage? He was hiding?" he said, confused, searching around, his breathing growing erratic. His energy levels were fluctuating. He was near his limit. "What the hell kind of trouble did I get myself into? If I deactivate the space, where'll he—"
Suddenly, a blade pierced his throat the moment the space collapsed.
"I never intended to listen to your nonsense," Pasta whispered, twisting his blade deeper into Dango's neck.
He fell to the floor, his neck gushing blood. Pasta turned his eyes toward the remaining hunters, his chains glowing hotter and hotter, burning with intensity.
Without a word, Pasta lowered his eyes, shrouded in the shadow of his hat. He strolled towards the hunters before he picked up the pace. They charged at him, weapons raised. He focused, watching their arm movements and the strength of their swing. Moving his blade, he aimed to strike swiftly and land only grazes.
He shot his chains forward, every heated molecule increasing in intensity as the searing links burrowed into a hunter's eye, bursting out the other side.
Pasta yanked the chain back and with a single swing, sliced another hunter clean in half. The chains danced, following his every move, cutting down every man in his path.
More hunters surrounded him, their weapons poised for the kill. Pasta leapt into the air, twisting his body as his chains whipped in a deadly circle, decapitating them all. Their heads hit the floor with a wet, bloody thud.
As soon as he sensed a strange energy nearby, his burst spread like wildfire, knocking the second power users who were close to him to the ground.
From both sides of the hallway, more came. Pasta saw the biggest of them and dashed towards him, dodging the other hunters in his way.
The giant swung down his hammer, but Pasta stepped onto the weapon, launching himself high into the air, his chains coiling tightly around his fist.
The huge man grinned, unleashing a burst of energy that shattered the walls and cracked the floor. But Pasta remained undeterred in the air, his blood dripping from his nose. A gifted huh? I'll handle your ass before you ever get the chance to use it, you bastard.
Pasta slammed the giant into the ground, the impact reducing the floor to rubble. He stood atop the fallen man's chest, raining down punch after punch, smashing the man's face into an unrecognisable pulp, before they crashed to the lower dungeon.
The other hunters rushed to Pasta, who kept punching the man's face. He slammed the man's chest into the ground, destroying it again and sending them deeper into the burning dungeon as the scorching flames burned some of the falling hunters despite their coating.
Hunters jumped into the gaping hole to meet Pasta, who left the giant and began to slice through every one of them as they landed. While for the others he broke their necks, blinded some and killed with poison.
As the hunters writhed in agony, Pasta took a deep breath and suddenly turned, hurling his blade into the air. It cut through a bullet and buried itself in the skull of another hunter. He stepped forward, pulling the blade free before wiping the blood from its edge with his elbow.
"They retreated," Pasta whispered, looking at the hole, his hand steadying the brim of his hat. "Yet you remained"
A man stood amidst the flames, his mouth hidden beneath a half-mask, his dark attire covering him entirely. Beside him, a much larger man grinned from ear to ear.
"I know you two, you're friends of Darius"
Bastian wasted no time. In a blink, he was right in front of Pasta, arms stretched wide. "Hehe, time for you to die—"
His sentence was cut short as his throat was slit in an instant, sending him crumpling to the floor. Pasta's glare shifted toward Ryder.
"Where's Emilia?"
Ryder stared at him for a while and sighed. "I see, so you're not the one."
"What do you mean?"
"Your sister was kidnapped from our base a few days ago. I was sure you may have evolved and done it sneakily, but I guess I was wrong. No matter, you'll die here"
Pasta turned back, his eye widening as Bastian stood back up, cracking his neck. "I wasn't expecting that. Crazy reflexes, this one got"
How? He thought. It takes five seconds for my poison to spread and kill. How is he still standing?
"Bastian, leave this one to me," Ryder said. "It won't take long."
"Alright, boss," Bastian saluted, stepping back with a smirk.
Rocks erupted from the ground, shooting toward Pasta. His instincts flared, but something about the power felt oddly familiar. He dodged, moving toward Ryder, but he vanished in an instant.
Pasta activated his burst, but it was futile; stones pummeled him from all directions, launching him across the room. Before Ryder appeared mid-air, kicking Pasta, sending him to the upper floor.
Dazed, Pasta pushed himself to his feet, his vision blurred. His energy was waning, on the brink of running out. He blinked, suddenly seeing mountains in the distance. What? He didn't remember going outside. The castle was gone, replaced by a vast white storm. He blinked again and found himself back inside the castle's walls.
"You've caused quite a bit of damage for someone who came alone," Ryder said. "But it all ends here."
Spiked rocks shot from the ground, rushing toward Pasta's broken form. Just as they were about to strike, a massive figure broke through the window, a plain mask concealing his face. With a mighty swing of his axe, the stones shattered into dust.
The giant man lifted Pasta's body and jumped out of the castle as rocks continued to spew behind them.
Ryder remained calm and began strolling back. "I wanted to end him quickly, considering how weak he is. Shame."
Bastian strolled up behind Ryder, stretching out his arm. But before he could say anything, his body disintegrated into dust.
"There's going to be a bigger fight anytime soon anyway," Ryder said, placing his hands into his cloak. "Let's hope for the best"
#
A lone swordsman stood still, a dark scarf draped around his neck, fluttering with the cold wind. His sword rested in its sheath on his back, and a delicate flower was strapped to his waist, with a gourd and a small assassin knife.
Each step he took left a faint trail behind him in the snow, leading away from the ancient temple.
He stopped and gazed at the distant mountains, hoping for another chance to make things right.