A Waste of Time

Chapter 39: Hidden Crest

Daemon slammed another tree trunk into place with a grunt, blocking the last open flank of his forest barricade. He towered ten meters tall in his Asura form—six arms, six Spears of obsidian fangs and Spider carapace, his naked skin smeared in dirt and dust from shattered bones..

In the clearing ahead, the Skeletal tide pressed forward. Their jawbones clacked like a nest of rattlesnakes—an endless tide of bone and rust and ancient, dusty malice.

"I’m not afraid of you," Daemon rumbled, his three mouths overlapping in a chorus of defiance. "You’re toys compared to what waits in Hell!"

His six eyes scanned the ranks. The brittle Skeletons with Clubs were the least of his worries—he focused instead on the armored ones behind, their Shields and rusted Swords reflecting the dying daylight. In the very back, that huge Throne of Bone still loomed—Skeleton King clutching its black Sword like a grim promise.

Daemon exhaled. Focus. Sweep, smash—don’t waste reach.

The first wave came within fifty meters. He roared and surged forward—Rush made his massive frame blur for an instant as he crossed the gap. He didn’t stab; instead, he swung his Spears in wide arcs like a scythe harvesting wheat.

The Spears smashed into bone, splintering rib cages, knocking skulls from spines. One Skeleton lunged for his ankle—Daemon slammed it down with his bare foot, grinding it into shards.

A second wave flowed in, pushing through the heaps of shattered bone. Daemon pivoted. One arm swept left—a Spear cleaving five Skeletons in half. Two more Spears arced right, snapping Shields and tearing ragged gaps in the massed ranks.

Above, the Eagles circled, shrieking. In the treeline, the Wolves howled and darted out to pull down Skeleton Archers straying too close.

"LONE TOWER!" Daemon bellowed. The Skill ignited his muscles—his arms blurred. Spears smashed and swept in a cyclone. For every strike that crushed a skull, the next found a knee or spine, breaking them clean.

His battlefield turned into a maze of bone piles. Every step forward cost the Undead dearly. Daemon kept moving—never letting them pile onto his legs. Whenever he needed space, he’d swing his Spears in a full circle, forcing the Skeletal swarm back.

Behind the front lines, armored Militia tried to organize. Spears flicked—one, two, three well-aimed throws. Armored knees cracked. Helmets flew as Skulls popped free.

Daemon’s breath steamed in the cooling forest air. His mind raced. Keep the choke narrow. Keep them stacked.

Then he felt it—tremors underfoot. Wolves burst from the right flank—white Alphas leading the charge. On the left, the brown Bear barreled through the trees with roars that shook the branches, ripping Skeleton Soldiers apart with each swing of its claws.

"FUCK YES!" Daemon roared, voice booming. "LET’S CLEAN THEM OUT!"

He lunged into the next rank, Spears spinning. Bone snapped like dry sticks. He backhanded a cluster of Militia, sending helmets bouncing into the trees. His foot stomped down—crushing half-buried skulls like eggshells.

The sun slipped lower—shadows grew longer. Daemon knew the risk. They’ll get stronger in the dark.

He pushed harder. Wolves tore Archers apart before they could find cover. The Bear reared, roaring, swatting a Skeleton General so hard its Armor crumpled.

In the gaps, Daemon spotted new threats—three massive Skeletons, Bronze Armor gleaming dully in the dusk. One hefted a Great-Axe, another a long Halberd, and the third carried a wicked curved Blade like a giant Katana.

Their eyes burned with red Will-O’-Wisps—Soul-possessed. Intelligent. Coordinated.

Daemon’s grin sharpened. Real fight.

He didn’t wait. He crushed the last rank of common Skeletons in a thunderous sweep—bones flew like confetti. Then he stepped into the clearing, Spears braced.

The Commander trio split apart—Great-Axe in the middle charged head-on. The Halberd kept pace behind, the Katana ghosted wide to flank.

Daemon swept a Spear low, knocking aside a lunging Militia Skeleton—he snapped his eyes back to the trio. He bared his teeth.

"Come closer, you clever piles of bones. Let’s see what you’ve got."

The Great-Axe Commander let out a hollow roar and lunged. Daemon braced, two Spears smashing forward. The Axe struck—blades clanged, splinters of bone and steel filled the air.

He twisted, slamming another Spear up into the Commander’s knee. A crack. The Skeleton staggered—Daemon used his lower arms to club its helmet sideways.

The Halberd bearer lunged from the flank. Daemon spun, sweeping low—Spears met the Halberd’s haft, deflecting its lethal tip into the dirt. He countered with an overhead smash—one Spear crushed shoulder Armor, another found a gap in the ribcage.

Through the dust, he saw the Katana bearer—still circling. Waiting. Searching for that slip.

Daemon growled, mind whirling. They want a mistake. Not happening.

Behind him, the Wolves and Bear kept the lesser Undead at bay. Grunt’s roar echoed through the clearing—Runa loosed Arrow after Arrow, spearing Skeletons that slipped past Daemon’s defense.

He flexed all six arms. He slammed the Halberd Commander back, smashed the Great-Axe aside, and pivoted.

The Katana glimmered in the dusk—coming for his exposed side.

Daemon’s grin split wide. "Got you."

One Spear swept like lightning, catching the Katana’s blade mid-swing. A second Spear thrust under its chin—bone cracked, the Soul-flame flickered.

He rammed forward—crushing rib and spine alike. The Katana bearer fell in pieces.

The other two Commanders regrouped. But Daemon’s Spears whirled like the storm itself.

Ten meters of naked wrath. Six arms, six Spears. And enough rage for ten thousand more.

The forest shivered under the weight of his roar.

"ASURA STANDS!"

And the Undead would break.

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