Pestilence: Rise Of The Pure Undead

Chapter 432 The Handy Man

Evading a two-handed strike, Aramap stepped back, thrusting his spear forward, steel grinding against steel, sparks flying as the strike was diverted along the entire length of the broad, executioner's sword.

Erestel's blade was broad enough to serve as a functioning shield, the first knight realised this early, the undead fond of never stepping back, whether he was attacking or defending, the grasping knight would always be taking steps forward, and when the living tried to make distance...

One hand left the handle, grabbing onto thin air, unlike the poor folks that had guarded the western gate, Aramap was able of seeing the spectral force wielded by the undead, taking the form of a translucent, pale, heavy mist, looking like the air in a warm desert, the time in between Erestel holding out his hand and the mysterious force manifesting was basically instantaneous, but the simple fact that there was a movement to be done before it took hold was enough for Aramap to evade.

Crouching down, he rushed closer, repeatedly swinging and thrusting, despite the impressive size of his opponent's sword, wielding a spear, Aramap still had the reach advantage, only that Erestel's curious suit of armour was tough as nail, its shape far from smooth due to all the hands, blows were not always prone to sliding or bouncing off as they would on a regular armour, and this somehow was a problem for the living, the undead was unfazed even when the curvature caused a thrust to not slide away and deal much more more damage than it should have.

'The feeling I get when I land a strike is off...' not like the armour was empty and filled to the brim, but more-so as though Erestel's body structure was different from what his protective gear implied.

Deflecting another strike, Aramap diverted the sword toward the ground, stepping upon the blade, swinging the very end of his spear's handle in an attempt to fling Erestel's helm away, said strike freezing mid-air, multiple masses of spectral holds catching grasp of it, squeezing and pulling in opposite directions, as strong, if not stronger than the undead's own physical might each, Aramap had to give up his spear, another strike impacting his chest.

'Were the earlier movements a bluff? Or...' indeed, Erestel had not moved any of his two hands in any way that could have resulted in this sudden attack, the spear was torn to splinters, forcing the knight to unsheathe his sword, grasping upon one of the javelins secured upon his back as well.

Erestel was surprised, he had not felt anything breaking, the air had not even been forced out of the living's lungs, it had not just been the strength of a single hand, but quite a few at that, tapping and crawling beneath the iron, much like Multaemanus, Erestel had more than just two arms, it was just that all of the others were kept within.

Seeing that this was not working out, the grasping knight instead moved all focus to his sword, rather than trying to lift it up, switching to trying instead forcing it to slide along the ground, which worked immediately.

"Oh..." he exclaimed, not having expected for the living to ever so slightly lift his leg, allowing himself to be pulled in as well, gliding alongside the sword, two-handing his own blade, Aramap's own strength coupled with the momentum resulted in a terrifying outburst of power, the so-called incredible strength all that lived could exert was a phenomenon brought out randomly, but as a warrior, it would be a shame to let something like this up to luck. Enjoy new stories from My Virtual Library Empire

The swing was so powerful, that it not only turned the living's blade into shrapnel, but also blew the undead's helm into shards, revealing a somewhat plain skeleton wrapped in thick cobwebs, fungus-like growth nestling inside of his empty sockets, a small crack formed on the forehead, Erestel sent way back.

Aramap brought out two more javelins, throwing one to try his luck, to no avail, it was stopped in mid-air, apart from a dagger, the javelins were the only weapon he had left, although, he might just be able of cracking open that skull with naught but his hands.

'...I was careless' noted Erestel, he had not imagined that any part of his armour would be damaged to such an extent, he had believed to have gotten a good grasp of the first knight's raw strength, but not only did the living know how to bring out more, the grasping knight had made the dire mistake of providing momentum for this additional power to be further magnified.

"Sari!" he called out to the knightness, who was facing nearly all of the king's guard by herself.

"Be careful, I am flattening the area" he told her, she grumbled something, presumably derogatory toward him, but he did not bother to listen, Erestel had made a mistake, and he was going to fix it right now.

Thrusting his blade upward, a dark vortex manifested, from which, a decaying hand, that of a giant, came crashing down.