Danmachi Familia from Hell

19

The elf waited calmly for his opponent to enter the reach of the bident. His breathing was steady and even, his gaze sharp. At least that was how Belakher would like to remember it. In reality, sweat poured from his brow and back worse than rain on the gloomiest autumn day one could imagine. That did not mean, however, that he intended to dance to the rhythm set by the vampire once again.
When the bloodsucker finally drew close enough, the Landgrave launched a powerful, lightning-fast thrust, which the saber-like claws parried without effort. The ruler of the province believed the duel would end there-that after the blocked attack Belakher would lose his balance and open himself wide enough to be killed. That did not happen.
Immediately another thrust followed, faster than an arrow loosed by a master archer. The vampire deflected it again, then once more, and again, and again.
What is goin on? The vampire thought. How in the world does he return to his original stance with such agility in a nanosecond? Just moments ago he didn't have even a fraction of this speed. He hasn't cast any spell to strengthen his body, so where did this sudden change come from?!
The answer to that question was neither Belakher's physical prowess nor his falna nor any of his three spells. The secret lay directly in the divine weapon.
If a warrior wishes to strike faster or unleash dynamic chain attacks, he should improve his posture and technique to wield his weapon more easily and effectively. But what if one were to combine the wielder's physical effort with the weapon's own autonomous motion? That thought appeared in the mind of a certain golden-eyed god many eons ago. He who would soon gain the title of king-though he was never destined to become the supreme god of his native region of the Heaven-turned his idea into action. By combining the muscular force that guided his bident naturally with the power of will that compelled the weapon to perform specific actions by thought alone, he achieved results beyond his boldest expectations. Truly, the weapon forged for him by the Cyclopes during the Titanomachy was not without reason one of the greatest treasures of the Underworld.
Hades, like a parent, passed his knowledge on to the only member of his familia for seventy years, making the elf a master of the techniques he had created.
The attack Landgrave was using at that moment against the bloodsucker was meant to imitate the unbroken barrage of an archer regiment. The twin spearheads clashed again and again with the claws of the self-proclaimed lord of the province, overwhelming him more than all the volleys he had ever had to fend off in his absurdly long life.
The bloodsucker had no intention of playing the part of a circus monkey doing whatever his opponent pleased. Instead of batting the bident aside, he lowered his left hand and, in the next moment, flung the elf's weapon upward. Landgrave did not release the weapon from his fingers, but he was completely exposed-just as his opponent had planned.
I've got you, the vampire thought, already seeing in his mind's eye the black-haired one's heart impaled on his claws.
Not so easily, Belakher laughed inwardly.
The elf lost his balance due to the vampire's block. The weight of the double spear pulled him backward, and he would have fallen flat on his back, pierced by the ruler of the province, had his weapon been forged in the Lower World. A single thought was enough-one command flowing from his mind, just as if he wished to move one of his limbs-and instead of forcing him to fall, the weapon began to pull him forward. When he regained a stable stance, he clenched his hands around the haft with all his strength and brought the weapon down on the vampire like a hammer. Seeing the threat coming, the red-eyed creature reacted at once, abandoning his attempt to pierce Landgrave's chest and angling his right hand to defend against the bident.
Has he gone mad? The bloodsucker thought. I have no idea how he managed to stay on his feet, but surely he doesn't think he can attack with a spear like a club or a flail? Well, nothing strange about that. Under stress, people have made the stupidest possible decisions in my presence more than once. And he's lasted longer against me than anyone else ever has.
When the bident finally collided with the vampire's claws, it shattered them and his wrist along with them.
Too much pride, too much faith in your own abilities, too little respect for your opponent, the violet-eyed one thought as he ran the bloodsucker through the heart.
The ruler of the province spat blood, its droplets soiling Belakher's face. Damn elf, the vampire cursed inwardly. In his fury, his nose and facial features became bat-like again, and his twin fangs grew several centimeters longer. No matter how many tricks you know, you won't defeat me!
The vampire tried to use his inhuman strength and, with the help of his left hand, pull Landgrave's weapon deeper into his body. If he could draw the long-eared one closer, he would go for his throat and if the elf released the weapon to escape, at least he would take that absurdly durable spear from him. Unfortunately, the moment he clenched his fingers around the haft, he felt as though hell itself had finally laid claim to him.
Dozens of burn blisters erupted on his hand, and the stench of scorched flesh assaulted his nostrils. He couldn't hold the bident for even a second. Pain blinded him-literally and figuratively. He howled and squeezed his eyes shut, while Belakher eagerly took advantage of his opponent's moment of weakness.
He pulled one hand from the weapon and, with the speed of lightning tearing the sky apart, lunged for the vampire's face, wrapping his fingers around the creature's skull.