The Sinful Young Master

But Jolthar had been waiting for precisely this moment. As the Nynthrals converged on him, he channelled every last bit of his energy into his blade. The sword began to vibrate, emitting a high-pitched whine that set teeth on edge and caused the very air to ripple.

VOIDBLARE!! Jolthar swung his sword in a wide arc.

The result was catalytic.

A wave of golden energy, as wide as the clearing itself, erupted from the blade. It swept outward with the force of a tsunami, engulfing the Nynthrals in its destructive embrace.

Trees splintered, the ground cracked, and the very fabric of reality seemed to warp and bend under the onslaught of Voidwrath energy. Jolthar watched the havoc with intent; he could tell that he wasn't able to fully utilise the power of voidwrath. It was because he very well knew how vast the power was. When he first tried to use the voidwrath, his body couldn't stand against the explosive nature of the power, and he had a hard time controlling and adapting to it.

When he released the attack, he felt like he wasn't releasing just energy, but a force that could consume everything in its path. The destructive potential of voidwrath both frightened and fascinated him, making him realise the immensity of the power. And he just scratched the surface as he felt like he cut the tip of an iceberg.

When the light faded and the dust settled, the clearing had been transformed into a devastated wasteland. Where once stood mighty oaks, now only shattered stumps remained. The ground was scored with deep furrows, as if a giant had raked its claws across the earth.

And of the Nynthrals, there was no sign of their bodies.

Jolthar stood at the centre of the destruction, his sword lowered but still thrumming with residual energy. His breathing was heavy, but he was calm. For now, the threat has been neutralized.

Or so he thought.

A weak, gurgling laugh drew his attention.

The Nynthral leader, its body broken and dissolving, lay half-buried under a fallen tree. Its violet eyes, though dimming, still burnt with malevolent purpose.

"Fool," it croaked, black ichor bubbling from its mouth. "You've only delayed the inevitable. The child... the child is marked. Others will come. The abyss hungers, and it will not be denied."

With a final, shuddering breath, the Nynthral leader choked out his last breath, leaving behind only questions and a sense of foreboding.

Jolthar turned to the woman and child, who had miraculously survived the devastation unscathed.

The woman's eyes were wide with a mixture of awe and fear as she beheld the young warrior who had single-handedly defeated a pack of Nynthrals. The beings that are said to be most dangerous and fiercely powerful are associated with God of netherworld. Not one, but there were a dozen of them, and he handled them alone.

She got up and checked up on the child, and then she turned to him. "Thank you," she whispered, clutching the child closer. "You saved us."

Jolthar moved near her, his keen eyes examining the child. She appeared normal at first glance—a typical five-year-old girl with curious eyes and a mop of unruly hair. Surprisingly, the child never cried or showed any signs of disturbed.