Chapter 6 – The Saint

  Nervous, Damien poked out from behind the corner very slowly. The man was looking at him with a pair of deadpan eyes, patiently waiting for him to come over.

  Damien blurted out a question, “W-who are you?”

  The swordsman replied, “I'm Barnett. I'm looking for someone.”

  The boy was quite puzzled. Obviously, someone wearing a large sword like that did not come in peace. His character confused him more than he thought.

  He continued, “Anyway, I got kinda lost in this hellhole, and I would rather leave than put up a fight with people who weren't included in the contract.”

  “In the... contract?”

  “Oh, yeah — the assassination contract of Soren, that is.”

  Damien's heart sank. This man came with no good intentions, yet he is trying to act so friendly with him? A deep compartment within him was filling up with anger.

  “Yeah... as I looked you and your group up and down, I assumed that none of you look like you would be called 'Soren'. I just got that kind of vibe from you, you know?”

  “Wh-what the hell are you talking about?” Damien shrieked, anger building up.

  “Hey, don't look at me like that. I don't get to choose who I kill. That's how we operate in Kira Association.”

  Damien felt many uncertainties, but he was sure of one thing. This man was sent to kill Soren. Regardless of whether that was achieved or not, he had to defeat him, he thought to himself.

  He spoke way too casually to be an assassin. It seemed like he was completely oblivious to the fact that he was speaking with his enemy, yet something felt off about him.

  Why was he so calm?

  Damien pointed his Driftblade at him, “Look! I really don't want to do this, so just tell me — why should I let you go?”

  Barnett looked at him strangely and then burst into a fit of chuckling laughter, trying to hold it back. It slowly turned into a full-on belly laugh, and Damien was left more confused than ever.

  “What's so funny?”

  The man replied, wiping away tears, “Oh, oh, yeah, sorry. I guess I didn't expect you would actually try to fight. I took you for a scaredy cat, is all!”

  Damien reached his breaking point. He immediately dashed towards him and swung his Driftblade at him.

  But no connection was made. In truth, he was nowhere even seen.

  Barnett, still recovering from the devastating belly laugh, spoke out to him, “Oh, goodness. Yeah, you made my day, that was funny, actually.”

  Damien's eyes widened in horror. How did he reappear behind him so quickly? Not only that, but he avoided his strike completely. He did not even acknowledge his attack in any capacity like it never happened.

  For the first time, Damien felt genuine dread fighting an opponent.

  “Anyway, assuming you won't try to slice me to bits with your super sword skills, I'm happy to get out of here with you. Most of my comrades are probably dead by now, and I won't be getting any payment because of that, anyway.”

  He was actively mocking me, Damien thought. There was no way that his behavior was not intentional. He was not even subtle about it, Damien wanted answers.

  “Listen! Why are you so... carefree about this? Weren't you sent to kill us?”

  “Oh, no, no, no. Not you, but Soren? Yeah... that guy, or girl, whatever.”

  “Why would you want to hurt Soren?”

  “Hey, kid, don't look at me with your puppy eyes. I was paid to kill him, that's just how it is. I know nothing about the dude.”

  Damien tightened his grip. Everything about Barnett was frustrating to him from the way he spoke, his gestures, and also his never looking at him. He got ready for another swing, this time analyzing his movements more.

  “So... yeah, I have nothing against you. I just need Soren dead. That is all.”

  Damien charged at him upon hearing those words. No one would insult Soren in front of him like that.

  The slash missed for the second time.

  Barnett appeared behind him once again, “Hey! That's dangerous, you can't swing sharp objects around people, you know? You could have gotten me hurt!”

  He wagged his finger at him in disapproval like some kind of caretaker. Barnett was downplaying every single effort of Damien at taking his life like he was no threat to him.

  “I think the guys back at the office messed up again, if your group is anything like you, then there is no way they gave you a Threat level of Delta-2. That's just comedy right there.”

  Damien watched him in contempt. Every cell in his body was telling him to cut him down, but he could not. He got ready for another charge, but something from behind him grabbed his wrist.

  “Your form is all sloppy! Stop it!” He told him in a higher-pitched voice signifying playfulness.

  The boy snagged back, releasing from his grip, “Stop messing around! Fight me seriously!”

  “Seriously? No, not at all! That takes too much effort. I'm more of a laid-back guy, as you can see.”

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  Even after a direct fight invitation, he still would not budge. In fact, he was getting further from the point, because he lit a cigarette right in front of him.

  Barnett puffed, “What's happened to the youngsters of the world?”

  “Stop it! Stop it!” Damien yelled, “Fight me!”

  He rolled his eyes, “I just lit a cig, can't you let me finish it first?”

  Damien slashed at his cigarette, but as expected, no connection was made.

  “Now you've done it — the cig extinguished from my dodging speed! Great.”

  “Unsheathe your sword, Barnett!”

  He looked at him for a moment, then sighed and obliged, “Okay, what next?”

  The boy was once again in complete shock. He could not get this man to take him seriously no matter what, and any semblance of ego was shattered. Even if the man held his sword, which he noticed was in his left hand, he could not get him to fight.

  Damien took another swing. To his surprise, he actually made contact with something — Barnett's Driftblade, which he lazily placed in the trajectory of the strike.

  “I've been trying to ignore this for a while now, but your form is actually atrocious, my goodness! Do you want me to teach you something?”

  This was no longer a fight between two fighters, nor was it since the start. Damien was almost begging him to battle, but Barnett was nonchalantly brushing off any of his efforts.

  “Stop being like this!” The boy said, almost teary-eyed.

  “Oh, it will only take a second, look,” he demonstrated a sword stance, “Yours is placed way too high, and your legs are like two fixed pipes. You need to work on that, not to mention the awful rhythm with the trigger presses.”

  “What...?” He asked Barnett, very puzzled and agitated.

  “Listen — when you accelerate, and when your sword accelerates, it should be one fluid motion! Not whatever your two-step charade is,” he said while gesturing wildly.

  Damien attempted another attack, this time much faster than before. He even subconsciously took Barnett's advice in the process.

  A facepalm was heard, “Oh, wow, for a second, I thought you would stop trying to kill me. Woe is me, right?”

  This time, the distance between them was much greater than before, perhaps because Barnett was growing tired of the same joke every time. Either way, Damien ran at him once more. His eyes burned with genuine hate against Barnett, just because of how insufferable he seemed. The boy shouted a cry and used Speed toward him.

  “You know, I was trying to be nice to you,” he spoke slowly, his face slowly shifting to a serious expression, “but you just don't get it.”

  Barnett dashed to Damien at a much faster pace and severed his whole sword arm with a clean and undisturbed cut.

  The boy's whole body lit up in sharp pain that he had never felt before. He fell to the ground almost immediately, unaware of what just happened. Only after he saw the Ichor pooling out of him did he realize that he suffered a lethal wound.

  He wailed and screamed in pain, writhing on the floor, clutching his missing arm. He was in such shock that he could not think rationally anymore. Various thoughts swirled in his mind, but only one was loud enough to overpower everything else.

  Damien gazed at the figure towering over him. Now, he saw him in a completely different light. He was no laid-back friendly face, he was a cold, calculated, and sarcastic bastard who was far above him.

  No — there must still be something he can do, he thought. Even if an arm is missing, he can still fight with the other. Despite all the seizing aches he felt, the boy managed to stand up and hold a Driftblade in his remaining hand.

  Barnett was impressed, “Wow, such bravery.”

  Damien was no longer feeling like himself, something was taking over his mind as it was once before when he first swung his sword. It was the same feeling of valor, this time aiding him in real battle. In his eyes, he viewed himself like a standing hero who was determined to fight despite any injury. He saw himself as a saint.

  Damien was a saint.

  From Barnett's view, something completely different was unfolding.

  “Would you look at that, all it took was one nudge, and he's Corroding...”

  Damien was being affected by Corrosion due to the sheer number of heavy emotions and trauma. His blood was visibly tangling around him, seemingly setting itself aflame. From where his arm was severed, a blade-like appendage was growing. During the transformation, he was heaving loudly like a dying animal.

  The Corroded Damien mumbled to himself in a deranged voice, “A saint, a saint, a saint...”

  His transformation soon gave him a flaming radiant veil over himself, turning him into an inner version of his ego. His proportions deteriorated, and his severed arm was now more akin to a mantis' forelimb. His head was covered by the infernal veil, and his eyes shined through it like two burning beams.

  Corrosion turns most people into Husks. However, when a person possesses a strong soul or a powerful Manifest, they begin transforming into the way they see themselves in their mind in some monstrous way. For Damien, he carried a sword to carve his future and a fire that burned his needless self.

  Damien was a saint.

  “Oh well,” Barnett sighed, “There was one more thing I wanted to teach you, one that you would have probably liked.”

  The Corruption lunged at him with a bigger speed than with a Driftblade. It resembled more of a blur than sensible movement. They briefly clashed their blades, creating a massive reverberation in the air that scattered Damien's flame before Barnett knocked him back. He noticed that he was much more powerful at the cost of his own self. Damien was no longer there.

  The flaming Corruption soon charged again, and Barnett had enough of it.

  “So long.”

  He assumed a sword-draw stance, and at a draw speed surpassing anything else seen so far, he performed a Driftblade technique that cleaved the entire room in half, Damien included. Barnett effectively tripled his range using this unknown technique, and he was able to demolish anything in front of him with a single strike.

  The Corrupted Damien's top half lay lifeless on the ground, and the bottom fell over soon after. The Corruption was slowly fading away from him, revealing a badly scarred body underneath. The cut severed everything between the chest and the hips, and his blood and guts spilled all over the floor.

  However, his heart was still beating.

  Barnett's eyes widened, “How in the —”

  He stopped himself at the sight of Damien's eyes suddenly opening, although there was nothing behind those eyes. They were devoid of life, yet they acted like they were alive. He had never seen anyone survive an attack like that, let alone a newbie like the boy.

  As he examined the seemingly alive body, he noticed something strange.

  He was regenerating.

  A weak, stifled voice came from Damien, “...A saint...”

  An arm extended toward Barnett as if it tried to touch his face. The man also gazed at the bisected part, looking at something peculiar. Marks on the ground below where the body was regrowing appeared as if it dug into it. The man was fascinated by what he was seeing, even though he had no clue what it was.

  “Damn you, boy. Only after you died did you become interesting.”

  Even though he called him dead, he could not call him that in good conscience. The heart was beating, and his eyes were tracking his movements. His hand visibly reached out to Barnett.

  He pondered for a moment at what it could be, and then an idea struck him.

  Barnett forcefully skewered Damien's head whole and lifted his torso on his own Driftblade. He had a theory he wanted to try, and it required contact with the blade.

  He waited for a few seconds, and then his expectations were answered.

  Barnett's eyes widened, and his mouth wide open. The blade snapped where Damien was stabbed, proving his hypothesis. In other words, it was as if his body overwrote the Driftblade inside his head, shattering it in the process.

  The body fell afterward due to a lack of support.

  With that brief experiment concluded, Barnett was satisfied with his findings.

  He smirked as he looked back at Damien's slowly regrowing corpse, “I'm sure you won't be glad to see me again, but I will be glad to see you.”

  Barnett departed soon after, leaving Damien behind.