Volume 4, 128: LOVE YOU TO YOUR BLOOD AND GUTS

Volume 4, Chapter 128: LOVE YOU TO YOUR BLOOD AND GUTS

He drives his fangs into the green tail slipping before him. Mindlessly tears it apart.

Purple fluids splatter everywhere and vivid blood showers his face, but he doesn't care. His left eye has already been bathed in venomous fluid and blocked shut for ages.

He roars to obfuscate the burning pain before slamming his arm into the two-headed snake, killing it. He kicks its corpse, keeps everything in front of him in check as he retreats, and when the chill races up his spine—he instantly recoils back.

And the grisly blade screams past, grazing his chin.

The witchbeast in the blade's path becomes prey to the fanglike knife. Flesh is shredded, blood spatters in sheets, a scramble of organs forms a curtain before him—which he charges through, aiming for the perpetrator woman before ramming his arms into her torso.

Elsa: “—!”

His right shield at her chest, his left shield at her flank, her flesh squelching and bones cracking at each point.

At his ears, before his eyes, from all directions come the cacophonous cries of beasts, their shrieks, his roars, crashing conflict, the pounding of metal on metal, too many noises mashed together for him to properly register the world.

He doesn't care. This stuff in front of him, in his right-eyed vision, is what's real.

Her voluptuous breasts crater in, the force of the gut-wrenching blow making her vomit blood. Even with her scarlet lips turning a deeper shade of sanguine, and faced with pain enough to threaten her life, her expression remains one of rapture.

It might not even be her combat strength, or her stamina, but that mentality of hers that's the real nuisance.

Elsa: “—Hah!”

Garfiel: “Ghrrrrr!!”

Her short exhale. His responding roar.

She swings her left arm from behind to in front, shrill noise pealing out from behind him. The slash reflects off the wall, rebounds off the ceiling, hits the floor as it comes pressing for the back of his head.

Garfiel: “—”

He directs his attention behind him, extinguishing the idea of evading it from his mind.

The woman before him draws her right arm firmly back, preparing to piston her serrated black knife into him. If this is to catch him between the two knives, then this blow will likely slice open his head, or maybe his throat.

He tilts aside, forcing himself out of the blade's path as it rushes to stab the back of his head.

A thunk resounds out from around his left shoulderbone. Feeling the tip of the rebounding blade bite into a gap between his bones, he clicks his tongue—when the knife slices into his joints, rendering his right arm momentarily motionless.

Elsa: “Huaaah!”

Garfiel: “Shah!”

So violent as to mute all sound, she looses the readied blade.

This unremitting attack makes for less of a 'slash' and more of a 'pointy bludgeon'.

The strike will blast his head off should it hit, mutilating it utterly. Garfiel immediately raises his left arm to intercept the strike, but with his poor posture, he cannot avoid all the damage to his right shoulder.

Animal teeth shriek against metal for only a microsecond before Garfiel's arm is easily shunted away.

With only a meagre drop in its speed, the back blade resumes its charge for Garfiel's head. More than enough strength to cleave apart his skull presses in, a second from hitting.

Hitting—

Elsa: “—!?”

—what Garfiel kicks up, forcing it into the path between his head and the knife, the witchbeast's corpse.

An uncomfortable feeling like a hard-skinned vegetable against his cheek, and blistering venom that burns the skin it touches. Risking being bathed in both these things, he salvages the benefit of avoiding fatal damages.

The knife slices into the witchbeast's corpse, the battering force of the blow proceeding through the cadaver to strike Garfiel across the face.

The impact pummels him, sending him whirling left to right, spinning in circles—and with two wilful steps into the ground, he soars backwards.

His EARTHSOUL BLESSING activates, obeying his will to make the ground he stepped on explode. The detonation sends him soaring backwards, the woman now to his back as he proceeds to zoom straight for her. —With the woman's white blade still sticking out of his shoulder.

The instant the blade touches her, the woman flinches.

Though she knows that the side contacting her is the pommel, it still makes her falter from making any instantaneous decisions.

With his right shoulder still against the woman, Garfiel spreads his stance to drop his centre of gravity.

The instant this makes the woman think to step backwards and open range, Garfiel's arm shoots up and grabs her face in a vicegrip.

Garfiel: “—Partial Transformation!”

Immediately following his scream, a change occurs in the arm clutching her face.

The arm swells explosively—growing a coat of golden fur in an instant, transforming into the log- thick arm of a beast.

And naturally, it ends in a beast's paw, what with saber-like claws,

Elsa: “Kyhaaaaah!”

The thick claws gouge into the woman's face, splaying blood everywhere and making her recoil. His five fingers as they drive into her head prompt the same pain and injury as knives. Evens she has to put her hands to her face, backpedalling, shrieking while looking to the ceiling.

Garfiel: “Rhm!!”

He plunges a kick into a torso, shunting her back.

The force battering her chest carries more than enough strength to further destroy her shattered bones and ruptured innards, churning them into a greater mess.

The fallen woman drops her weapon, spitting up pure scarlet as she gives a faltering laugh.

It's horrible to listen to, and he's more than ready to swoop in and make it stop, but,

Garfiel: “Fuckin'! Just one after another!”

Just as Garfiel moves to pursue her, witchbeasts flood into the gap in his assault.

Rats with black wings, possums bloated in proportion to their anger, Spotted Rex assembled here from throughout the mansion, and a restored giant—the Boulderswine all rush in.

His claws rip apart the swarm of rats, one stomp of his foot eliminates the swollen possums, his kicks snap the necks of the Rex snapping at him, all as Garfiel faces the charging Boulderswine head-on.

Mei: “Get squished!”

Garfiel: “Y'think I'm gonna be toleratin' that, y'dumbass!”

Tons of weight come charging with explosive force.

Rather than a blow from an animal, this cannonball is equivalent to a building dropping on him.

Not even Garfiel could take a direct blow from this and get out safely. He'd be unable to offer even a second of resistance, get blasted away and trampled flat.

However,

Garfiel: “'S what makes it fun—!”

Bracing his legs, Garfiel unleashes his Earthsoul Blessing to its utmost limit.

He feels the blessings of the earth pulsing up from underfoot, rippling through his flesh.

A warfaring glint lights Garfiel's golden eye, fangs bared as he smiles wickedly, detonating the blood lying dormant inside him.

Garfiel: “—σσσσσ?!!”

This strangled bellow is not addressed to the outside, but a call to his own interior.

Flowing through his body, difficult to accept as it is, definitely not something he acquired by choice: his bloodline. He calls to his usually-hidden pedigree, feeling goosebumps as his soul trembles.

Just like his left arm that tore the woman's face apart, Garfiel's right arm swells explosively. Starting at his arms, his shoulders, his torso, his neck, his head all crunch as his skeleton changes shape, his face morphing from that of a human to that of a ferocious feline—a massive tiger.

Following the enlargement of his torso, his hips, his legs, his clothing fails to endure the pressure and bursts apart. Scraps of cloth hang off his frame, the two shields on his arms barely managing to stay equipped as small bucklers—here is a beast that, by physique alone, can compare with the oncoming Boulderswine.

Garfiel: “——?!”

Is what it should be, but the woman's voice slips smoothly into Garfiel's consciousness.

Elsa: “The divide in wealth was fierce, and it wasn't uncommon at all for lower-class children to be abandoned. I was one of those children, with no parents I ever knew, drinking dirty water to survive.”

Garfiel: “—Rghhhh!!”

Elsa: “I spent my days stealing objects, threatening people, doing things in that vein, with the people around me constantly changing. Why am I alive? What is happiness? ...Not questions I had any time to consider back then.”

His fist plunges forward, inches from belting Elsa's face.

But she leans aside to dodge the overblown attack, slicing her black blade up to cut shallowly through Garfiel's torso.

The bestial fangs pilfer his flesh. Elsa licks her lips as the bright blood bathes her.

Elsa: “It was frigid that day.”

Garfiel: “Shut up! I ain't goddamn listenin'!!”

Elsa: “The wind blustering from the lofty mountains was so strong, so cold, that it froze the town that day. My breath could freeze in that chill, when the shopkeeper I stole from caught me.”

With a hot sigh, Elsa speaks on, enraptured.

Her blades of death compound in momentum, slicing cut after cut into Garfiel as he fails to keep up.

Elsa: “No one would complain if he killed me, but seeing as I was a girl... I can still remember his face as he smiled, and moved to strip my clothes.”

Garfiel: “Gh, auh...”

Elsa: “The bitter wind howled as he stripped my overwear, snatched my underwear... and when I contemplated that before he could do anything to me, the cold might just kill me first, I happened to pick up a shard of glass.”

Her leg sweeps up to try and belt him in the side of the head, but Garfiel counters it with a headbutt. The impact reverberates through his brain and makes him recoil, but surely shattered Elsa's foot too. Elsa draws her leg back, retreats. But her expression remains one of ecstacy.

Elsa: “I wasn't thinking about anything. I just had the shard of glass, then when he leaned forward I pressed it into his stomach, moved it, and sliced him open.”

Garfiel: “—”

Elsa: “I felt nothing for his screams, or the fact that I had taken a life. But amidst that icy gale, I did think,”

Garfiel's breathing freezes. Elsa smiles.

Elsa: “How warm, blood and guts are.”

Elsa's blade swings up, threatening to split apart Garfiel's skull. He glides aside, kicks off the wall to manoeuvre behind Elsa, slams a kick into her back—but she instantly twists around and strikes his shin with her pommel, diverting the kick.

His leg crashes into the wall, which crumbles alongside plumes of dust. Garfiel clicks his tongue as he leaps back and away.

Elsa: “If there is happiness in the world, then it is in the warmth and beauty of forgetting the cold.

From birth I had nothing, and now I had this: the first definite happiness I ever found. —You can't understand, can you?”

Garfiel: “Ain't wantin' to, either.”

Elsa: “That's fine. I don't want sympathy.”

Garfiel: “Then why'd y'tell me th'damn story, 's fuckin' gross.”

Elsa: “Why, I wonder?”

Garfiel's eyes house hostility as Elsa tilts her head, mystified.

And she narrows her eyes saucily, licks her lips salaciously,

Elsa: “Because I find you truly darling.”

Garfiel: “...Sorry, but I already got a girl I like. Ain't got time t'be datin' a crazy bitch.”

Elsa: “So cold. But it's fine. I'm only concerned about your innards.”

It feels like a conversation is happening, but fundamentally no conversation is. Over all his exchanges with her thus far, Garfiel has finally come to understand this.

He has no interest or sympathy or anything for Elsa's life story.

That was her foundation, she had those experiences, and she became this monster. That's all.

Garfiel's shields already know who they ought to protect.

Garfiel: “—You're dead, Elsa Granhiert.”

Elsa: “Once I kill you, I will adore you, Garfiel Tinzel.”

Each calling the name of the other, the half-beast and the murderer wage violence.

The beaming light of the white knife slices through the corridor's darkness, and the black knife pistons forward cleave Garfiel in two.

A knife ricochets everywhere in the corner of his vision. He cannot defend against the attack, nor does he have the option of evading it. But if he fails to take the blow and dampens his charge, he'll merely be repeating the same foolish mistake.

Garfiel: “—”

The knife slices through sound, dancing throughout the hallway.

If he cannot perceive the blade's point, he can only aim for the point it was thrown from.

Garfiel thrusts out his left arm, the fasteners on his shield loosened—and lets the thing fly.

He had loosened the bindings when he battered the shields together. Now he is tossing it, and Elsa's eyes shoot wide open as it smashes directly into her left hand—something crunches, and her broken fingers drop her white knife.

Having lost the hand manipulating it, the knife stabs into the ceiling, where it falls still.

A deep, dark smile, and a surging roar. A deathly blade murders the air as it swings down—Garfiel charging straight into it—and strikes him.

He sets his right arm upon his head to receive the direct hit from the black blade.

The shockwave pierces through his shield, rocks his skull. His eyes spin and he comes close to stumbling forward, but just manages to stomp firm and catch himself.

He did it—when the woman's knee shoots up and smashes Garfiel's nose.

Elsa: “You mustn't be careless and think you're safe.”

She says with a laugh, sweeping her leg up at Garfiel as he recoils.

Her leg hangs poised high, and from her shoe comes the glint of a blade in the heel—with his point aimed to stab Garfiel through the neck—

Garfiel: “Yer the one who better not be overlookin' my amazin' weapon.”

His open jaws swallow her heel and the blade whole, gnashing at her slender foot. With her bones and the knife chewed up to the heel, Elsa's eyes shoot open wide.

Elsa: “Goodness.”

Yelping in surprise, Elsa staggers away but loses her balance and tumbles to sit on the spot. Her right leg is mangled from the ankle down, inoperable, and the force of her own attacks has broken her arms as well. With her left leg as her support, Elsa gazes at Garfiel—

Elsa: “—Ahh,”

Taking in a breath, Elsa blushes like a girl in love.

Her exhale carries enough heat to be chromatic. Her wet eyes abound in hot passion.

—Before Elsa, Garfiel shoulders the immense Boulderswine, and throws it.

Although aware that she will be crushed beneath its incredible mass, it is not until the silhouette swallows her that Elsa's gaze strays from Garfiel.

With her breathing ragged, gazing at the grimacing blond boy with love—

Elsa: “I feel thrills.”

The overwhelming weight crushes the murderer, the vampire, the Guthunter, until nothing remains untouched.

Her flesh squelches. Fresh blood mingles with fluids from the witchbeast.

Scenting the stench of death, Garfiel howls.

Roaring, bellowing, booming like thunder through the burning mansion.

—The Shield of Sanctuary Garfiel Tinzel, and the Guthunter Elsa Granhiert, have concluded their battle.