Awakening of the Weakest Slayer

Sezel and Vesta stood backs aligned, at the center of a vortex. The beast was too fast, and it circled them at a speed that defied physics, kicking up a vortex of wind and dust, their hearts hammering in their chests as they waited for the strike to descend, and then it did.

It happened just in an instant, a flash of darkness that was there and then gone. A blurry figure, trailing ethereal afterimages that confused the eye, lunged at Sezel. He raised his katana to strike, a desperate, reflexive action, but he was already too late. The crimson scythe, like a crescent moon of death, was already at his waist, its edge a whisper away from cleaving him in two.

Sezel's blood ran cold. There was no escape. He couldn't jump, he couldn't crouch; the scythe would get him either way. He was trapped, a fly caught in a spider's web, the final, fatal moment stretching into an eternity.

THUD!

The impact rang out far and wide, a sound that would alert even the farthest beasts hidden in the wilderness. Sezel's body was thrown through the air like a ragdoll, crashing into a roadside tree with a sickening crack of old bark and, he was sure, his own bones. Another blast rang out just at the same time, as his puppet, the spectral Flesh Reaper, was sent careening into the wall of another building. It had saved him. It had deliberately thrown itself between him and the monster's fatal attack.

The two visions of rolling through the air sent a wave of disorienting nausea through Sezel's mind. He threw up instantly, his body convulsing, his breath coming in slow, forced gasps. It was a miracle he was still alive, still conscious.

The Flesh Reaper didn't stop; it had again started its relentless circular run with Vesta alone at the center.

Sezel pushed himself up, his heart threatening to burst. The vision from the puppet was back, it was alright. It limped back to Sezel's side, one of its scythe-arms gone, a viscous black liquid dripping from the stump.

Sezel stared in shock. A puppet made of pure energy could bleed? The mechanisms of this realm were indeed far stranger, far more complex than he could have ever imagined. His gaze shifted back to the beast, still circling Vesta like a patient, deadly predator.

"Bastard, how dare you." He was angry at the Flesh Reaper for attacking his precious puppet. He only had one.

But something was odd. Vesta wasn't moving. She stood at the center of the vortex, her eyes closed, her sword pierced into the paved road below her. Sezel looked bewildered, 'What is she doing?'

To stand so still in the face of such a relentless assault was to invite death.

But her next move shocked Sezel out of his reasoning.

Thin particles of something akin to flame, a swirling mixture of ethereal blue and fiery orange, began to wrap around her body. She opened her eyes, and they were no longer just ruby-red; they were burning, and then with a swift, graceful motion, her body blurred, moving through the air with a speed that rivaled the Flesh Reaper's.

Her fist struck the two-and-a-half-meter-long beast in the abdomen. A shockwave, silent but immensely powerful, rippled out from the point of impact.

The Flesh Reaper's body didn't move; it stood just there, frozen like a statue as if its soul left its obsidian body. Vesta slowly retreated her fist back and only then did the beast's body twitch.

With slow steps, she moved to her sword and took it out of the earth. The beast didn't move even then, like its body refused to go anywhere but the spot it was hit on.

"What is this?" Sezel whispered, a dawning realization sending a shiver down his spine. "She is definitely not just a Rank-4." He was sure of it now. Vesta was a Rank-5 Slayer, one of the elite monsters that hunted other monsters. He had found one of the strongest allies he could have ever wished for, an actual, living Rank-5.

He observed her every next move, as she approached the beast again with her sword this time. The beast shrieked as if it was being crushed. It wanted to run, and it even tried, its insectile legs coiling in a desperate attempt to flee. But the next moment, it was lying on the ground, one of its legs clutched in Vesta's hand. She had ripped it out as if it were made of paper.

The beast sprawled on the pavement, screeching in agony as foul, black blood dripped from the ragged stump of its leg.

The roles here had been completely reversed. It looked as if the girl was the predator and the beast was the prey. Sezel was stunned into silence, and then he remembered that the girl never told what rank she was. But now, the truth was on full, horrifying display. And this, he suspected, wasn't even ten percent of the power she actually held.

It was said that a fully matured Rank-5, one with a golden Fable, would be comparable to a literal god among humanity. Akijo Kyoko, the legendary Slayer who had vanished without a trace inside an A-Rank gate, had been one such being.

It was all that Sezel learned at the facility, and now he was watching it unfold before his very eyes.

Vesta was both majestic and terrifying. Her form, clad in simple brown and black clothes, was now wreathed in the dancing particles of her Fable, her ruby eyes glowing with fire. Under the light of the three moons, surrounded by the ethereal glow of the Spirit essence, she looked like an avenging angel, a goddess of war descended to this forgotten, ruined world.

The Flesh Reaper, its will finally broken, pushed its body backwards with its remaining scythe, the sound a desperate, screeching wail on the paved road. Vesta followed it for some distance with her sword held high. And with a quick slash, a spray of black ichor painted the road, and the night fell silent once again as the beast's head tumbled to the ground, its body slumping into a lifeless heap.

It was over. The Rank-5 beast was dead. Just like that. Sezel was not sure if he would have survived if he had been alone. But now that he had… companions, he was safe. For the moment.