Chapter 737

The Cursed Warrior knew he was in trouble before Bloodfall even left Sif’s hand.

She was hovering high above the battlefield, making no effort to conceal her preparations. The technique’s mechanics were straightforward enough that anyone with functioning eyesight could recognize the danger.

And if she had been planning another straightforward spear thrust, he wouldn’t have been particularly concerned. He’d already demonstrated that he could survive being impaled. All he had to do was clamp down on the weapon and keep it from being retrieved.

But this attack was different.

There was no way he could simply endure a hit from a rapidly spinning spear without suffering catastrophic damage. A direct strike might shear him in half. Even if he survived, he’d be reduced to a helpless upper body with no legs to stand on.

The Cursed Warrior silently cursed his commander.

What kind of cheapskate sent his strongest soldier into battle without proper equipment?

Fine, perhaps a personal flight system was too much to ask. His people hadn’t developed one yet. But surely they could have provided him with some decent armor or a weapon!

He was the finest product of Dark Elf military engineering, and they’d sent him into battle bare-chested and empty-handed.

His demands weren’t even unreasonable. A simple rifle, the sort issued to ordinary infantry, would have been enough. Then he wouldn’t have to spend the entire fight trying to overcome an opponent who could fly around and attack him from beyond his reach.

Unfortunately, complaining about his equipment wasn’t going to save him now.

The Cursed Warrior fixed his eyes on Bloodfall.

Then he crouched, thrust both hands deep into the ground, and braced himself.

Piercing Spear of the Undying Rakshasa!

Now!

The instant Bloodfall left Sif’s hand, the Cursed Warrior unleashed his strength.

The ground tore apart beneath his fingers. He ripped an enormous slab of earth free and hurled it upward, sending it hurtling directly into the spinning spear.

He never expected the makeshift projectile to stop the attack completely. That would have been wishful thinking.

The moment Bloodfall struck the slab, the rock shattered into fragments.

But the Cursed Warrior hadn’t been trying to block the spear outright. He only needed to slow it down, even slightly.

And the moment he released the slab, he began moving.

Unfortunately, the Cursed Warrior was not built for agility. He reacted as quickly as his massive body allowed, twisting and throwing himself aside with every ounce of speed he could muster.

Thud!

The impact sounded like a sandbag bursting open.

Bloodfall struck him.

But the Cursed Warrior had narrowly avoided the worst possible outcome.

Sif had aimed for his waist.

Had the spear hit its intended target, the spinning blade would have sliced clean through his midsection, cutting him in half. His regeneration might have kept him alive, but a warrior reduced to an upper torso would hardly pose much of a threat.

Instead, his desperate dodge had saved him from immediate dismemberment.

Barely.

He dropped to one knee, his body looking as though someone had scooped a massive chunk out of its right side. His right abdomen and hip were gone, and his right leg remained attached by little more than ragged strips of flesh.

One wrong movement might tear it free.

It was a horrific injury, but still preferable to being sliced completely in two. His regenerative abilities could repair the damage, however severe. They couldn’t simply conjure an entirely new lower body if his torso were separated from his legs.

Already, strands of new flesh writhed around the edges of the wound, desperately attempting to reconnect what had been destroyed.

The Cursed Warrior didn’t wait for them to finish.

He forced himself upright, ignoring the possibility that his damaged leg might fall off, and turned to lunge toward the ground behind him.

Bloodfall lay only a short distance away.

He had no intention of taking another hit from that thing. Whether he could dodge the next attack was an open question, and he wasn’t eager to find out.

His plan remained the same as before.

Steal the enemy’s weapon.

But he managed only a single awkward step before freezing.

His left hand instinctively dropped to his waist.

Something was missing.

He looked down.

Bloodfall stood embedded in the ground, its entire length glowing a deep crimson. Blood and fragments of his own flesh lay scattered around it.

That was unpleasant, but hardly surprising.

What caught his attention were the several objects blinking with red lights beside the spear.

Grenades.

The Cursed Warrior wasn’t completely unequipped. He wore a tactical belt fitted with antigravity grenades, though he hadn’t used them during the fight.

There was a good reason for that.

They were area-effect weapons, ill-suited to close-quarters combat. Using them while grappling with an opponent risked catching himself in the blast.

And when Sif retreated into the sky, he had no reliable way to hit her with them.

The Cursed Warrior was an alien warrior, the pinnacle of his people’s military science, and yet he had never mastered the legendary art of shooting down aircraft with hand grenades.

It was a humiliating gap in his skill set.

Now, however, that problem had become irrelevant.

Sif’s last attack had torn away nearly half his waist, and his tactical belt had been caught in the destruction. The belt was now in pieces, its grenades scattered across the ground. Several had vanished into the surrounding debris, but a handful remained beside Bloodfall.

Worse, the pins had been ripped free during the attack.

The red lights continued to blink.

The Cursed Warrior abandoned all thoughts of stealing Sif’s weapon.

He turned and tried to run.

Above him, Sif made a small gesture.

Bloodfall tore free of the ground and shot backward through the air.

The spear pierced the fragile connection between the Cursed Warrior’s ruined torso and his right leg, severing the last strips of flesh holding them together. A heartbeat later, the weapon returned to its rightful owner’s hand.

The Cursed Warrior’s right leg came off.

He collapsed face-first onto the ground.

Yet even now, he refused to give up.

He planted both hands against the earth and pushed himself upward until he was balanced upside down. Using his arms as legs, he began scrambling forward in a desperate attempt to escape.

He hadn’t made it far when several gravitational vortices opened behind him.

The force seized his body and dragged him backward.

One antigravity grenade could generate a devastating gravitational effect, crushing its victim beneath overwhelming pressure.

But the Cursed Warrior hadn’t been caught by one grenade.

Several vortices had formed around him, each exerting its pull from a different direction.

The result was considerably worse.

His body was caught between opposing forces, each one trying to drag him somewhere else. His limbs stretched under the strain, and the sounds of bones dislocating and joints grinding out of place filled the air.

For the first time, the Cursed Warrior seemed to understand that his regenerative abilities might not be enough.

As the gravitational forces tore into him, a memory surfaced.

Malekith’s final words to him.

So this is... my fate?

Then came a terrible ripping sound.

People sometimes described a dismembered body as a torn-apart doll.

In the Cursed Warrior’s case, the comparison was disturbingly accurate.

His enormous abdominal wound had never healed. Under the crushing pull of the gravitational vortices, the opening became a fatal weakness. His blood was sucked out through the wound in an instant, leaving his body withered and limp.

What remained of him was torn apart and swallowed by the overlapping gravitational fields, the scattered fragments disappearing into the vortices until nothing was left.

The Cursed Warrior was dead.

Only after the last of the gravitational distortions faded did Sif slowly descend from the sky.

Her wings folded around her body, enveloping her in a veil of light. A moment later, they dissolved into glittering motes that scattered through the air.

When the radiance faded, Sif stood in her normal form once more.

The battle was over.