The Shadow Of Fate

Hercules's voice broke the silence. "You're more dangerous than I thought," he admitted, his tone grim. "But you won't leave this hall alive."

With renewed resolve, Hercules charged again, his strikes even more ferocious than before. Lazarus met the onslaught head-on, his movements a mixture of agility and desperation. His hands raised in defense, his palms catching some of the demigod's blows while others slipped through, slamming into his body with devastating force. A punch to his stomach sent him reeling, and a follow-up strike dislocated his shoulder with a sickening crack. Bloodied and battered, Lazarus leaned against the wall, his breathing ragged.

"You're not even worthy of the title," Hercules sneered, towering over his foe. His glowing fist rose, poised for the final blow. "Prepare to meet your end."

But Lazarus's lips twitched into a faint smile. His voice, though hoarse, carried a sharp edge. "You underestimated me."

With a surge of effort, Lazarus unleashed a torrent of blood magic. Crimson spikes shot forward, forcing Hercules to deflect them. The brief distraction gave Lazarus the moment he needed. With a grimace, he slammed his dislocated shoulder back into place, the sickening sound echoing through the hall. He lunged forward, his scythe materializing from blood magic. The crimson blade struck true, piercing Hercules's side. The blow wasn't fatal, but it staggered the demigod, forcing him to falter.

Lazarus didn't hesitate. Crimson tendrils surged once more, binding Hercules's limbs tightly. The demigod thrashed against the binds, his muscles bulging with divine power. "You think this will hold me?!" he roared, his voice shaking the walls.

"Long enough," Lazarus rasped, his strength nearly depleted.

Summoning the last of his energy, Lazarus sank his fangs into Hercules's neck. Divine blood flowed into him, its power surging through his veins. The healing was immediate; his wounds knit themselves together, and his strength returned just enough to end the fight. Hercules roared in defiance, his struggles growing weaker as the vampire drained his vitality.

With a final surge of power, Lazarus withdrew and swung his blood-forged scythe. The blade cleaved through Hercules's neck, severing it cleanly. The demigod's body collapsed with a thunderous crash, and the hall fell silent.

Lazarus, bloodied and trembling, retrieved Hercules's head and placed it into his subspace ring. Leaning against the wall, he let out a ragged breath, his body barely holding together. "You were a pain in my ass," he whispered, his voice low. "But destiny cannot be denied."

Straightening himself with deliberate effort, Lazarus turned toward the hall's exit. His crimson eyes burned brighter than before, his aura now tinged with divine energy. Though battered, he had emerged victorious.

With slow, measured steps, Lazarus left the hall, clutching his side. Ahead of him loomed the next challenge—the Hydra. The path ahead was perilous, but Lazarus had proven one truth: no force in this world or the next could break him.