The Sinful Young Master - Chapter 82

Chapter 82: Abomination

In the dim light, what seemed like a dark figure slowly started to take shape.

It unfurled slowly, its grotesque outline framed by the dim, flickering torchlight.

Jolthar’s eyes narrowed as the figure became clearer, stepping fully into view—a twisted, hunched form that emanated malice. The dim light danced across Daurgien’s distorted features. His once-human visage had become monstrous, a sickening blend of corrupted flesh and shadow. He no longer appeared like before; his arms and legs protruded like spikes.

Daurgien’s head was now two times bigger than it was before, and he moved in the direction of where they now stood.

“You came,” Daurgien rasped, his voice echoing unnaturally in the cavern. His eyes glinted like molten metal as they locked onto the group above, his gaze filled with dark amusement.

Jolthar instinctively stepped forward, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. “Daurgien,” he said, his voice steady despite the revulsion bubbling in his chest.

But Daurgien’s focus shifted, landing squarely on Daus. His lip curled into a mocking grin.

Daus stiffened, his face hardening as he met his brother’s gaze. The years of betrayal and hatred between them hung heavy in the air, unspoken but undeniable.

“Did you see what happened to your tribe women?” Daurgien asked, his voice dripping with mockery.

Daurgien raised a long, clawed hand and gestured toward the holes in the walls. The motion was casual, almost dismissive, but the weight of it hit the group like a hammer.

Daurgien chuckled, a sound that grated like metal scraping stone. “Of course. What else was I to do with them? They served their purpose beautifully.” He gestured grandly to the eggs in the pit.

“Look around you, brother,” he said, addressing Daus now. “This is your doing. Your betrayal brought me here, gave me the strength to make this happen.”

Daus’s face twisted with a mixture of rage and guilt. He stepped forward, his voice trembling with fury. “You monster! You defiled them—our people—just to create this… abomination?”

Daurgien tilted his head, his expression mockingly thoughtful. “Defiled? That’s such a crude way of putting it. I prefer to think of it as… evolution. They were a means to an end. And what an end it will be.”

Jolthar stepped between Daurgien and Daus, his hand raised to keep the latter from charging forward in his anger. “Enough,” Jolthar said sharply, his gaze never leaving Daurgien. “Whatever twisted vengeance you think you’re enacting, it ends here.”

Daurgien laughed, the sound reverberating through the cavern. “You think you can stop me? Fool. You’ve seen only a fraction of my power.” He gestured again to the eggs.

Jolthar’s grip on his sword tightened, his mind racing. The eggs had to be destroyed, and Daurgien had to be stopped.

“Everyone, on guard,” Jolthar commanded, his voice steady but urgent. “This isn’t over.”

Daurgien smirked, his form shifting slightly as if preparing for something. “Oh no,” he said, his voice laced with dark glee. “This is far from over.”

And with that, the cavern began to tremble. The walls groaned, and the eggs pulsed more violently, their black liquid bubbling with unnatural energy.

Daurgien stood atop the pillar, his twisted grin illuminated by the faint torchlight. His wrists moved with deliberate slowness as he raised a jagged blade to his flesh, slicing deep into his skin. Thick, black blood poured from the wounds, flowing down the pillar in grotesque rivulets. The viscous liquid mingled with the pool of dark blood at the base of the pit, spreading outward like veins of corruption. Unlike normal blood, his essence flowed like liquid darkness.

The cavern began to hum with a low, ominous vibration, the atmosphere heavy with malice.

Jolthar watched, his knuckles whitening as he gripped his Knashii, the blade trembling with the rising tension.

As soon as the dark blood touched the liquid around the eggs, it started to spread totally, like it had a life of its own, and it attached to the eggs and was observed by them.

Suddenly, the eggs in the pit began to shudder.

As Daurgien’s black blood spread, the eggs began to respond. First, a subtle tremor. Then, a growing vibration that escalated into violent, rhythmic movements.

Cracks spider-webbed across their slimy surfaces, releasing faint hisses and pops as the shells splintered.

Then came the tearing.

The eggs ruptured, spilling forth grotesque figures, one after another.

They were humanoid, but only barely. Their skin was pale and slick with mucus, their elongated limbs ending in claw-like appendages. Their slit-like eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, and their mouths opened to reveal rows of jagged teeth. These creatures, half-human and half-abomination, were the product of Daurgien’s vile experiments.

It wasn’t just the sight of them—it was the feeling.

A suffocating aura of death and decay filled the cave, so potent it seemed to choke the very air. The stench of evil was thick, and the walls seemed to pulse with dread. Jolthar’s heightened senses screamed in warning, his body urging him to act.

The creatures let out ear-piercing roars, their primal sounds echoing through the cavern.

One by one, their heads turned toward the group. Their glowing eyes locked onto Jolthar and the rest, and the cave seemed to close in with the weight of their malevolence.

Jolthar made a split-second decision. “Retreat!” he bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade. He sensed that it was dangerous to stay in this space for them anymore, and he needed to fall back immediately.

Daus and the others hesitated, their instincts screaming to fight, but Jolthar’s tone brooked no argument. “Now! Fall back!” he commanded, his voice ironclad. His stern voice broke their will, and they instinctively moved back quickly. Eran reluctantly left with others while looking at Jolthar.

He didn’t know why, but looking at Jolthar, he exuded a powerful aura that far surpassed anyone present there now. He couldn’t understand how a young man like him was capable of emitting such a powerful aura.

Lysandra was the same too. They couldn’t retort his command to leave and simply left.

The group began to move, reluctantly at first, but the sheer number of creatures crawling out of the pit forced their compliance. The abominations were multiplying, their grotesque forms shifting and growing larger with each passing second.

Behind them, Daurgien’s laughter rang out, a haunting sound that chilled the blood. It was a sound of triumph, madness, and something even darker.

“Run as far as you want,” Daurgien called after them, his voice dripping with malice. “But you cannot escape what’s already begun!”

Jolthar turned to ensure the others were retreating safely. His grip on his sword tightened, and his eyes narrowed with deadly focus. He wasn’t leaving without ensuring they had a chance.

He drew in a deep breath, channelling every ounce of his aura into his blade. The air around him grew dense, vibrating with unseen energy. A faint glow emanated from Kanshii as he raised it high above his head.

Jolthar stood firm, his aura flaring like a raging tempest. The Knashii in his hand seemed to resonate with his anger and resolve, its edge glowing faintly as the power within him coiled tighter.

As he drew the sword back for a strike, the air around it began to change.

At first, it was subtle—a faint hum, like the distant whistle of wind through a canyon. But then it grew louder, sharper, a keening wail that pierced through the cacophony of the crumbling cave.

The air itself seemed to recoil from the blade, bending and distorting in response to the concentrated force gathering along its edge.

The sound intensified, becoming a high-pitched squeal that sent shivers down the spine of anyone close enough to hear it. Rocks trembled and dust spiralled upward in erratic patterns, as though the cavern itself was reacting to the impending strike.

Daurgien’s twisted smile faltered for the first time. His black eyes flickered with recognition, perhaps even a hint of fear, as he turned his gaze toward Jolthar. “What… what are you doing?” he hissed, his voice dripping with unease.

Jolthar didn’t answer. He raised the sword high, the squealing now a deafening crescendo. The energy around him reached its peak, swirling in visible arcs of light and shadow, and for a split second, everything seemed to freeze.

Then he swung.

‘Abyssal Void Storm of Ascent.’

The Knashii descended with a force that defied comprehension, releasing an invisible wave of energy so potent that the very air screamed in protest. The shockwave tore through the cavern like an unstoppable storm, a force of pure destruction that slammed into the pit with unrelenting fury.

The ground erupted as the energy struck home, a blinding flash followed by a thunderous roar that shook the ground to its core.

The explosive attack he just pulled was a powerful technique he practised and mastered, and it was one of his lethal attack techniques that he gained from the voidwrath. The attack almost caused a quake around this part of the desert as the ground trembled violently.

Jolthar didn’t wait to see the aftermath. The cavern began to collapse, the walls caving in as the ground beneath them buckled and split. Jolthar turned, leaping onto Maelruth with practiced ease.

“Go!” he shouted, and the drake surged forward, its muscular thighs propelling them out of the collapsing cave.