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Under the binding of Lagavulin's light wave, Ironclad felt waves of weakness, but the flame in his heart burned even brighter at that moment. It was as if all the blood in his body had been ignited, and the power of Blood of Fire surged within him, forming a powerful vortex of energy that violently broke through Lagavulin's light wave. The binding light wave that constrained him dissipated in the face of this immense power.
Lagavulin's pale blue single eye glinted with a fierce light, sensing an unusual threat. Its three sharp legs suddenly slammed down towards Ironclad with a speed that was dazzling. Ironclad focused intently, swiftly dodging in mid-air to narrowly evade the first two ferocious attacks. However, the third leg struck even faster and crashed heavily into him.
The immense force caused Ironclad to crash violently to the ground, and in an instant, he felt a strong shockwave spread throughout his body. His body rebounded off the ground and was propelled back up again. He tried to control himself, struggling to maintain balance in the air, but the pain coursing through him made it nearly impossible to concentrate.
As Ironclad slammed down hard onto the ground, a mouthful of fresh blood erupted from his lips. He could sense the looming threat of Lagavulin approaching; the resentment and ferocious power emanating from within that creature ignited a spark of battle spirit within him. Blood streamed down his face, yet his eyes burned with an unyielding and persistent flame. The power of Demon Form surged through his veins, allowing him to feel a resurgence of strength.
He breathed heavily, but his rhythm was very steady. His fists were tightly clenched, one knee on the ground while the other foot coiled with power, like a beast ready to sprint at any moment. The figure of Lagavulin grew larger, moving at an incredible speed, seemingly intent on crashing into him in one swift motion. However, Ironclad remained calm as water, all his strength focused into his fist.
Just as Lagavulin was about to collide with him, his body suddenly erupted with immense power. His fist struck out like it carried the force of thunder, delivering a powerful uppercut. The force of this punch seemed capable of shaking the heavens and the earth, crashing violently into Lagavulin's chin and sending its massive body flying backward. Lagavulin's form traced an arc through the air before slamming heavily against a distant wall.
Ironclad's gaze was as sharp as an icy blade, filled with a level of excitement and anger he had never experienced before. He lunged wildly at Lagavulin, each step powerful and resolute. His mind was consumed by a single thought: he must destroy the enemy before him to get closer to the truth behind the curse. His body leaped through the air like a blazing war beast, landing on Lagavulin's white shell, transforming him into a whirlwind of destruction.
His sword danced in his hands, each slash infused with wildness and fury. The blade struck Lagavulin's shell like thunder, each impact causing the white surface to tremble and cracks to widen. His attacks lost all semblance of technique and grace, replaced instead by pure savagery and rage. He resembled a war god driven by hatred and animosity, showing no mercy or hesitation. Each strike was filled with destruction and violence, as if he intended to carve all his hatred into his enemy's flesh.
Each time the blade struck against Lagavulin's white shell, the cracks deepened, and the force of each impact resonated with a deafening metallic symphony. His roars and the sound of the blade slicing through the air echoed in this desolate space, intertwining with Lagavulin's anguished cries to create a chilling symphony. With every wild strike, a sliver of the hatred in his heart was released; his attacks came like a torrential storm, relentless and unyielding. Each slash shattered Lagavulin's massive shell until the final blow drove the blade into Lagavulin's core, eliciting a cry of pain and despair. His sword swung high, dripping with the dark blood of his enemy, his eyes filled only with cold determination and an unquenched fighting spirit.
Finally, under Ironclad's fierce assault, a massive fracture appeared in Lagavulin's white shell. As the blade struck, the cracks rapidly spread like a shattered ice surface. In an instant, the entire shell crumbled like rubble, revealing what lay within. It was an orange arthropod, its form grotesque, featuring a large head and several elongated eyes. Having survived under the protection of the white shell, it now appeared helpless and fragile.
Ironclad showed no hesitation or mercy; in this world of spires, only the strong could survive. He quickly raised his sword and thrust it with tremendous force directly into Lagavulin's soft head. The blade pierced through, emerging from the other side and splattering blood and brain matter. Orange liquid sprayed from the blade as Lagavulin let out a final, agonizing wail. Its body twitched a few times before it completely lost its life force.
Ironclad struggled to pull the sword from Lagavulin's head. He gripped the hilt tightly, holding the sword horizontally in front of him, and forcefully shook it to fling off the blood. His arm trembled with the motion, revealing his current weakness. From the battle until now, he had expended a great deal of energy and lost quite a bit of blood. Each attack and each tear had taken a significant toll on his body.
He struggled to maintain his standing, but the strength in his legs seemed to no longer support his body. His breathing became rapid and heavy, each breath seeming to draw on the last remnants of his strength. Eventually, his legs gave way, unable to support his weary frame any longer. He collapsed to the ground, gasping for breath, sweat and blood seeping through his armor, staining the ground a deep crimson. His head hung low, his sword slanted in the ground, his hand still trembling slightly. He tried to steady his breath, inhaling slowly, exhaling slowly.
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