Chapter 7
1808words
But they were facing "Nightwing," the textbook executor of this formation. Dick suddenly lowered his body, sliding along the ground at an almost impossible angle. His wing-shaped escrima sticks scraped against the ground with a piercing friction sound, precisely blocking the silver blade aimed at his ankle. Simultaneously, with a flick of his wrist, the stick flew back in a spinning arc at amazing speed, whistling through the air before crashing heavily into the face of the attacker on his left. The muffled sound of shattering bones and a brief scream announced the first attacker's elimination. Without pausing to observe the result, he twisted his body using the sliding momentum, using a half-blown-off pine tree as a pivot point. Like an agile monkey, he leaped high, evading the third silver sword thrusting toward his heart. Midair, he trapped the knight's sword arm between his legs, engaged his core muscles, and executed a cruel, clean flip. With a "crack," the opponent's arm twisted at an unnatural angle, and the knight fell to the ground screaming.
Having cleared the immediate threat, Dick swiftly moved through the familiar woodland, like a ghost merged with the darkness. He used every tree, every rock as cover, avoiding silver-coated arrows shooting from all directions. He had trained here, tracked prey here; this was his backyard. However, his former colleagues, like a pack of wolves that had caught the scent of blood, continuously emerged from the shadows. They worked in perfect coordination, with tight formations, rapidly compressing his space to maneuver. Despite his exceptional skills, Dick was gradually forced into an increasingly smaller circle. A silver chain flew from an unexpected blind spot, wrapping around his ankle. He fell to the ground, and several cold-gleaming silver swords immediately thrust down from above.
At this critical moment, a distinctive sound of heavy and hurried footsteps broke the silence. Dick's pupils contracted; he recognized these footsteps, belonging to the most pure and fanatical killing weapon of the Order. He violently kicked against the nearby tree trunk, using the force to roll away, narrowly avoiding the deadly thrust. When he regained his footing, a figure clad in red heavy armor was already standing before him.
Azrael. She held a massive silver sword with both hands, a blade taller than her entire body, engraved with dense sacred blessings that emitted a spine-chilling holy radiance in the moonlight. Her face was completely expressionless, those gray eyes containing nothing but judgment for heretics and fanatical dedication to her cause.
"You have disappointed me, Nightwing." Azrael's voice was cold and heavy, like tombstones colliding, "You have been contaminated by that beast, Grayson. Your soul is tainted with filth, your flesh indulges in depravity. But fear not, I will purify your soul myself!"
Before she finished speaking, she moved. There was no fancy opening stance, only the most direct and deadly strike. The massive silver sword came crashing down with a whistling sound capable of cleaving a person in two! Dick crossed his dual staffs to block the attack. The tremendous clash of metal made his eardrums ache, and an irresistible force transferred through his arms as the ground beneath his feet instantly cracked. Azrael's strength far exceeded his own, and her swordsmanship was the "sacred text" of the order—each move flawless, filled with devastating power and precision. She showed no regard for their past relationship, every sword strike aimed to kill, every move cutting off all Dick's escape routes. Dick could only rely on his superior speed and more agile footwork to barely hold on, struggling against the storm of attacks while wounds on his body continued to multiply. Azrael's swordplay was like a net, drawing tighter and tighter, completely sealing off any space for him to dodge.
In the basement, Bruce could clearly hear everything happening on the ground above. The harsh sound of metal clashing, the unified battle cries of knights, and... Dick's suppressed groans of intense pain. Each painful grunt felt like a red-hot branding iron searing into his heart. The protective instinct toward Dick—which he had long tried to bury beneath self-loathing and despair—now erupted like an exploding volcano, breaking through all restraints. Only one thought occupied his mind: Dick was fighting for him, Dick was getting hurt for him, Dick might die!
No! Absolutely not!
An unprecedented, powerful will roared from the depths of his soul. He wanted power, but he could not lose his sanity, he could not become that monster that only attacked all living things. He had to protect Dick! This thought was so clear, so intense, that it overwhelmed the bloodthirsty impulse to destroy everything brought by the curse. He could feel the cursed power surging madly inside him, bones wailing, muscles tearing. But with an iron will, he forcibly harnessed this destructive power, not letting it completely devour him. He wasn't resisting the transformation, but taking control of it!
"ROAR——!"
Accompanied by a roar intertwined with pain and power, his body began to expand and transform in an eerie way. Black fur grew wildly from beneath his skin, covering his limbs and torso, yet his chest and face still retained human contours. His figure became taller and more robust than before, filled with explosive power. His nails extended into claws capable of tearing through steel; fangs protruded, but his jawline remained distinct. Most importantly were his eyes. Those eyes burned with golden flames, yet they no longer showed pure beastly nature—deep within those flames remained a trace of humanity, an ultimate focus on Dick's safety. He had transformed into a perfect killing form, existing between human and beast.
On the ground, Azrael's assault had reached its peak. She seized a tiny opening in Dick's defense caused by exhaustion and delivered a vicious side kick directly to his abdomen. Dick was kicked away like a rag doll, crashing hard against the wall and spitting out a mouthful of blood. As he struggled to stand up, Azrael had already followed like his shadow. She raised her enormous silver sword high, aiming its tip at his heart, and thrust it down mercilessly!
"Be purified, fallen soul!" she shouted fanatically.
Dick's pupils contracted sharply. He had no time to react. The shadow of death had never loomed so clearly over him.
At that moment, a bolt of black lightning—a figure taller than any knight, filled with primal power—violently crashed through the shattered basement entrance! Time seemed to slow down in this instant. With a piercing "clang," the massive silver sword that was about to pierce Dick's heart was forcefully blocked by an arm covered in long black fur with gleaming claws! Sparks flew as Azrael was pushed back repeatedly by this sudden tremendous force, showing an expression of shock on his face for the first time.
Bruce stood in front of Dick, his upper body bare, muscles knotted, exuding both wild beauty and intimidating presence. He slowly turned his head, looking deeply at Dick on the ground with eyes burning with golden flames yet maintaining clarity. That gaze no longer held the previous pain and struggle, only pure, indisputable protection.
"Bruce......" Dick propped himself up, looking in disbelief at the figure before him that was both familiar and strange.
Bruce didn't answer, but instead turned back toward the enemy, letting out a deep, intimidating growl from his throat. It was the declaration of a territorial king. And what he was protecting was the man behind him.
At this moment, the hunter and his former prey, the human and his beast, fought side by side for the first time.
"Monsters!" Azrael snapped out of her shock, her beautiful face contorted with anger and jealousy, "You filthy creatures, today you will both be purified!"
She charged forward with her sword again. But this time, she faced two people. An unprecedented, perfect killing combination.
Their coordination required no verbal communication, functioning entirely on instinct. Dick moved like the wind, circling Azrael at high speed. His batons struck like vipers, constantly attacking the weak joints of her armor and her visual blind spots, providing the most effective harassment and containment. Bruce, meanwhile, transformed into the purest form of destructive power. He seized every tiny opening Dick created, using his invincible claws and savage strength to launch devastating attacks against Azrael. Azrael's massive silver sword appeared clumsy and slow before Bruce, each of her strikes either directly blocked by Bruce's claws or dodged entirely. Every counterattack from Bruce left deep, bone-exposing gashes on her heavy armor.
The rest of the Templar Knights tried to surround and attack, but they were immediately swept into this deadly storm of skill and power. Dick's figure weaved between them, each strike precisely hitting their vital points, instantly incapacitating them. Any knight who dared to approach Bruce would be directly torn apart by those merciless claws.
Finally, in a perfect coordination, Dick used chains to entangle Azrael's ankle, causing her to lose balance for a moment. Just in that instant! Bruce crashed into her like a cannonball, his sharp claws ignoring that blessed armor, fiercely piercing into her shoulder!
"Ah——!"
Azrael let out a piercing scream as blood gushed out from the gaps in her armor. Bruce roared, lifting her entire body and slamming her heavily into the remnants of the knight formation. The Templar Knights completely collapsed. They looked fearfully at the black god of death, then at their severely wounded commander on the ground, and finally abandoned the fight, supporting Azrael as they disappeared awkwardly into the dark forest.
The battle was over. In front of the shattered cottage, only Dick and Bruce remained. They were covered in blood, unable to tell whether it was their own or their enemies'. Dick was breathing heavily, barely standing with the support of his short staff. As for Bruce, the black fur on his body, which had been filled with savage power, began to slowly recede, and his form gradually returned to normal. He staggered, almost falling to his knees.
Dick immediately stepped forward and steadily supported him. Bruce leaned against him, entrusting his entire weight to him. And so they remained, in the moonlight, amidst the ruins, embracing tightly. A human covered in wounds, and a beast that had retracted its claws for him.
