Hell's Redeemer

Chapter 24

Striker was the first to make his move, lunging forward with a wicked slash of his knife, the blade gleaming with divine energy. His attacks were fast, ruthless, aiming to cut Spawn down before he had a chance to counter. But Spawn was ready, his instincts honed through countless battles. His agony axe materialized in his grip, and with a swift motion, he parried Striker's strike, the clash of steel ringing out in the night.

The two warriors engaged in a brutal exchange, their weapons flashing in the dim light as they circled one another. Striker's knife darted and slashed, but every attack was met with the sharp clang of Spawn's axe, which moved with deadly precision. Their fight was fierce, each trying to outmatch the other with speed and skill.

Striker sneered as their blades locked in a deadly stalemate. "You're just another sinner," he spat, pushing against Spawn's strength. "Ain't no divine power or redemption gonna save your sorry ass."

Spawn's eyes narrowed, his muscles straining as he shoved Striker back, breaking the lock. "You have no idea what you're up against," he said coldly, his voice dark and filled with a quiet, simmering rage. His axe whirled through the air, forcing Striker back with each heavy strike. "You think you're better than everyone else, don't you? You think that rope, that divine steel makes you special."

Striker laughed, dodging another swing of the axe, his eyes gleaming with that familiar arrogance. "Damn right I do. I'm the best there is, and I've taken down plenty like you before."

Spawn's grip on his axe tightened, his voice dropping to a dangerous tone. "You don't get it, do you?" He swung again, this time faster, stronger, his movements relentless. Striker was forced to backpedal, barely keeping up with the onslaught. "You're just like everyone else. Just like me. Like all the others."

Striker's grin faltered as Spawn continued, his words cutting deeper than the strikes themselves. "You can talk all you want about being above it all, about being stronger, but you're the same as everyone else down here. Damned. Lost. And no amount of divine power is gonna change that."

Striker's eyes flickered with anger, but he didn't let up, lunging forward once more with his knife. "We'll see about that, demon!" he snarled, but there was something different in his voice now, a hint of frustration.

The clash of weapons resumed, but Spawn was no longer holding back. His axe moved with terrifying speed, and it was clear that he wasn't just fighting with brute strength-he was a soldier, a tactician. Every swing was calculated, every movement precise. Striker, for all his arrogance, was starting to realize that Spawn wasn't like any enemy he'd faced before.

As the melee dragged on, Striker's movements began to lose their finesse, his attacks becoming more erratic. His breathing grew labored, each swing of his knife slower than the last. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he realized something was horribly wrong-Spawn, standing tall before him, didn't even look winded.

Spawn's expression remained cold and composed, his axe still gripped tightly in his hand. The glint of Striker's knife reflected in his eyes, but there was no fear there, only a predatory focus that unnerved the assassin more than any weapon ever could.

Desperation clawed at Striker's insides. His pride, his confidence-all of it began to crumble under the weight of the Hellspawn's relentless calm. With a guttural snarl, Striker charged forward, his knife flashing wildly as he stabbed at Spawn's chest. The blade struck true, piercing Spawn's body multiple times. Striker drove it in again and again, his anger fueling every hit, and with a final push, Spawn fell to the ground, the assassin standing over him.

Panting heavily, Striker stumbled backward, nearly collapsing from exhaustion. His chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath, the adrenaline coursing through him like fire. He grinned, triumphant, believing he had finally done it. "I told you... no one beats me," he muttered through labored breaths, wiping sweat from his brow. "Not even you."