If he let this thing finish transforming fully, he was dead. Not maybe dead. Dead dead.
"System," Silas shouted his lungs out, voice cracking. "Prepare the Crimson Moon Split, which I learnt from the memories of Brakgul."
[Warning: Using Crimson Moon Split will drain ALL of your mana.]
[Mana will drop to 0/220.]
[Host will enter severe weakness.]
[Confirm activation?]
"FUCK. YES!" Silas roared as he sprinted towards the Dullaha, who was still mid-transformation.
His vision sharpened. His muscles tightened. Mana swirled inside of him like a raging storm, gathering into his arms. His blade trembled as if it could barely contain the pressure building inside of it.
The air around him slowly cracked. The Crimson Moon Split was no beginner move;e, it was a technique which was made for killing or a technique that's used as a final move—one meant for finishing, not for survival.
The blade started to glow bright red, brighter and brighter until everything around Silas turned blood-colored.
He then raised his sword to perform the move with 100% efficiency. His teeth gritted, veins popped out at the end of his neck. "COME ON!" he screamed.
He swung his sword downwards, with the intent to kill—the reality itself split.
A red arc tore through the air, wide as a crescent moon, trailing sparks that burned holes into the stone floor. The ground shook so violently that dust fell like rain from the ceiling. The shockwave blasted outward, shredding through pillars, walls, and anything in its way.
The back half of the dungeon split open entirely, the stone carved apart like butter. Lava geysers erupted, shooting upward.
Silas watched the explosion of dust and debris with wide, trembling eyes. His hands were shaking violently, every breath coming out rough and painful.
A broken, unstable laugh escaped him. "D—Did I... really do it?" he whispered under his breath. "Hah... hahahaha... did I kill that fucking thing?"
Silas didn't get any answer from the system, not even from the dungeon, just the quietness of the dungeon. The only noise in the air was the noise of the lava rivers and the ragged breathing of Silas.
His sword felt like it weighed a hundred pounds; his vision had started to get blurry now.
Then—
[Host, jump!]
Silas didn't think for even a single second; his body moved by its own as he jumped backwards. And the dust finally cleared, the Dullahan was in perfect shape; there was no visible damage that it had taken from that move.
Its blade held horizontally, blocking the Crimson Moon Split with only a huge crack running down its armour. The ground under its feet had shattered, leaving a crater. Its body was shaking from the force—almost buckling.
It was completely intact, not dead, definitely. Silas's heart dropped into his stomach, his voice came low, and a low groan was mixed into it. "Oh... shit."
His vision dimmed, mana bar appeared in front of his eyes,
[Warning: Mana 0/120.]
[Warning: Severe weakness setting in.]
[Warning: Body collapsing.]
His legs then buckled up, knees crashed onto the floor with a loud thud. His forehead nearly hit the stone as everything went heavy and slow; it felt like someone had just now ripped all the strength from his bones.
He tried to breathe, but even air now felt too heavy for him; his oesophagus was giving up.
His sight had now finally started to darken, and the Dullahan slowly lifted its blade. Blue-green fire dripped from its armour like liquid ghosts.
It stepped forward as it raised its sword; the steps were slow but composed. Silas tried to get up, his fingers twitched, nothing else moved, then his eyes flickered shut.
"...Not… yet…" he whispered weakly, voice barely a breath.
The system's alarms blurred together inside his mind.
[Host unconscious.]
[Vital signs stable.]
[Cannot activate skills.]
The Dullahan roared—a deep, hollow howl that shook the dungeon—and charged at Silas's unconscious body, blade raised to finish him in one clean strike.