LGHTNOVELBOOK Chapter 98: Combat
The drug was his last resort—it would grant him enhanced strength, speed, and numb his pain, but at a cost. Once its effects wore off, he'd be completely paralyzed, barely able to move a finger. He'd be utterly defenseless, easy prey for anyone. 'If she avoids a direct fight, I'm doomed. But if I can provoke her into attacking head-on…'
An idea sparked. Kayvaan let out an exaggerated sigh, putting on a pained expression. "You're right. I'm distressed," he admitted, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "Distressed because there's an idiot standing in front of me."
The witch froze, momentarily stunned. "What did you just say?" she demanded, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Kayvaan smirked. "Didn't hear me? Let me repeat it for you: you're an idiot. Who do you think you're fooling with that ridiculous nonsense?"
The witch blinked, genuinely caught off guard. "I… What?!"
"Let me spell it out for you, daemon," Kayvaan snarled, venom dripping from his words. He plunged the syringe into his chest. Pain surged through him as the stimulant took hold, his body trembling briefly before strength flooded his veins. With a metallic snap, the claws on his gloves extended, crackling with energy. "You daemons really are brainless, aren't you? Or is it just you? Big breasts, empty skull—guess even daemons aren't immune to that stereotype!" He clenched his fists, his grin widening. "Enough talk! You're wasting my time. If you want to kill me, then do it. Otherwise, shut up and fight!"
For a moment, the witch simply stared at him, her face a mask of disbelief. It's hard to anger a calm, calculating person. Those who think three steps ahead rarely let emotions cloud their judgment. But daemons? That's a different story. daemons are impulsive, malicious, and often driven by whims rather than logic. Their power makes them arrogant, and their tempers are notoriously short.
Most beings tread carefully around daemons, knowing that provoking one is a death wish. Even among their own kind, lesser daemons live in fear of their superiors, trying to remain invisible to avoid drawing ire. But Kayvaan? He wasn't most beings.
The red-haired witch's aura darkened, her crimson eyes blazing with fury. Kayvaan's taunts had struck a nerve, and her lips curled into a snarl. "Fine," she hissed, her voice trembling with suppressed rage. "If it's a fight you want, human, then it's a fight you'll get."
The rage of a daemon is something primal and overwhelming, capable of transforming an icy wasteland into a fiery inferno. Even armies, faced with such wrath, would choose to retreat. No rational being willingly faces a daemon in a fit of fury.
The stimulant's effects would last only five minutes. In that time, he'd be faster, stronger, and capable of enduring far more damage than usual. For those five minutes, he was confident he could dominate the fight. But once the drug wore off, his body would crash, leaving him completely defenseless—barely able to move, let alone fight. Kayvaan knew the stakes. He had five minutes to end this, and provoking the daemon into an all-out fight was the only way.
The red-haired witch was livid. As a rising power among the legions of Chaos, her rapid ascent had drawn plenty of envy and whispers of dissent. She was used to the jealousy, the scheming, and the gossip. But in all her time, no creature—mortal or otherwise—had dared to insult her to her face. She didn't understand why Kayvaan seemed completely unaffected by her charms, but at this point, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered except tearing this insolent human apart.
Any words now would be wasted. The time for talk had passed. With a shrill scream, the witch leaped into the air, her nails elongating mid-flight into clawed blades that shimmered with an eerie, smoke-like red energy. Her psychic power turned her nails into deadly weapons, sharp and unyielding. With a single swipe, she could cleave through armor—or tear Kayvaan's body to ribbons. But Kayvaan wasn't about to give her the chance.
As she descended, Kayvaan rolled forward, pulling the bolt pistol from his thigh holster. Without even aiming, he fired several shots into the air, sending explosive rounds streaking toward the witch. The move was simple, almost old-fashioned, but it worked.
The red-haired witch didn't have the grotesque, muscle-bound physique of a beast like the Golden Lion. Her form was lithe and elegant, and she wasn't about to mar it by tanking the bolt rounds head-on. Instead, she summoned a psychic shield with a flick of her hand. The rounds exploded harmlessly against the barrier, leaving her unharmed but momentarily blinded by the smoke and fire.
That moment was all Kayvaan needed. Bursting from the smoke, he jumped at her, his lightning claws glinting as he aimed for her midsection. "Ha! A sneak attack? On me?" the witch sneered, extending her claws to intercept his strike. Her hands closed around his claws, stopping them cold. "Caught you, human. Now let's see you struggle!"
"Oh?" Kayvaan gritted his teeth and tightened his grip. "Caught me? No, daemon—I caught you!" With a sudden twist, Kayvaan wrenched the witch's hands aside, yanking her off balance. At the same time, he drove his elbow toward her face with blinding speed.
The witch tried to counter, but her center of gravity shifted unexpectedly, leaving her open. Kayvaan's elbow connected with a sickening crack, striking her temple with precision. The impact sent a shockwave of pain through her body. Her vision spun, her head buzzed, and for the first time, she found herself utterly disoriented. Her psychic powers fizzled, her concentration shattered. For a split second, the daemon's mind was blank, overwhelmed by the sheer force of the blow.
The technique wasn't something the daemon—or anyone else in the universe—had ever seen. It was a simple yet effective close-combat maneuver, and Kayvaan had executed it flawlessly.
As the witch staggered back, reeling from the strike, Kayvaan saw his opening. Lowering his center of gravity, he surged forward with a relentless barrage of attacks. Punches, slaps, eye strikes, jabs, elbows, shoulder slams, kicks, and stomps—all flowed together in a seamless, brutal rhythm. Each movement was efficient, and unrelenting.
Between strikes, his claws flashed out, slicing, and stabbing. In just three breaths, Kayvaan had landed sixty-four consecutive hits. The red-haired witch, overwhelmed and unable to regain her footing, could do nothing but endure the onslaught. Her body jerked and twisted under the barrage, her elegant form battered like a sandbag. Finally, Kayvaan ended the combination with a devastating side kick.
Kayvaan kicked the red-haired witch, sending her flying, but he wasn't about to let her rest. As she crashed into the ruined auditorium, he drew his bolt pistol and emptied the entire magazine into her, each shot reverberating like thunder in the desolate space. "It's been a while since I've had this much fun beating someone up," Kayvaan said, cracking his neck and flexing his wrists. "And against a beautiful woman, no less. Ah, it feels great—like the good old days when I could go all out. Hahaha! What are you doing lying down? Get up already!"