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Chapter 628  Carnage

"Pay attention and avoid confrontation as much as possible," Erik stated calmly. However, Rebecca couldn\'t help but sense the underlying urgency in Erik\'s voice.

He was preparing for a battle, his body subtly tensing, his mind sharpening to a razor\'s edge.

Rebecca\'s gaze shifted between Erik and the sea of enemies before them. She felt a chill run down her spine, her body reacting to the imminent danger. The sheer number of opponents was daunting, and their focus on Erik showed their intent.

As the members of the gang charged, a roar erupted through the room, a symphony of rage and aggression.

The gang members sheathed their weapons, they channeled mana, and their hostility reached Erik and Rebecca.

Erik moved with a practiced ease, his body shifting into a defensive stance, his Flyssa at the ready. His expression, behind the mask, was one of cold resolve; his eyes fixed on the approaching storm of violence. There was no fear in him, no hesitation, only the clear intent to kill.

Rebecca stepped back, her eyes wide, her heart pounding in her chest. She was no stranger to combat, but the magnitude of what was unfolding before her was overwhelming. She could see Erik\'s confidence, his readiness, but the odds were staggering.

The clash was inevitable, and the room resounded with the echoes of footsteps, cries, and the clamor of weapons. Time seemed to slow as the two forces neared each other, the space between them shrinking, the air crackling with anticipation.

Erik gracefully and powerfully confronted the attackers with his drawn Flyssa, leaving Rebecca in awe.

He wasn\'t the same Erik she knew, the disciplined warrior who had stood by her. He was something else, something terrifying; he was a beast of massacre.

Erik\'s conflict with the Crystal Cross Gang members was a brutal ballet of violence and precision.

As they descended upon him in a fierce assault, he met them with the controlled ferocity of a seasoned warrior.

The clash of swords and the screams of combat echoed through the vast chamber, mingling with the sharp smell of blood and sweat.

Erik\'s Flyssa sliced through the air, its blade dancing in the dim light, each movement a deadly arc aimed with unerring accuracy.

With a powerful thrust, he skewered one opponent through the chest, his blade penetrating armor and flesh easily. The man\'s eyes widened in shock before Erik yanked his weapon free, leaving his opponent to collapse, lifeless.

With a graceful spin, Erik dodged a swing aimed at his head and retaliated with a swift slice, severing the arm of the attacking gang member.

Blood sprayed in a wide arc as the man screamed in agony, his weapon clattering to the ground. Erik didn\'t pause, his body moving fluidly to the next threat, his blade a whirlwind of destruction.

He ducked low to avoid a horizontal strike, his body bending with the agility of a cat. In one smooth motion, he rose and slashed upward, his Flyssa carving a deadly path through the air, bisecting his opponent\'s torso. The two halves fell separately, a gruesome testament to Erik\'s skill.

As more gang members pressed forward, Erik\'s movements became a blur, his mastery of the blade clear in every strike and parry.

He weaved through his opponents, his body twisting and turning, his blade finding its mark time and time again. Limbs were severed, throats slashed, and bodies fell in a macabre dance of death.

Erik\'s face was a mask of concentration, his eyes cold, his jaw set. He showed no mercy, no hesitation. He was a force of nature, his every movement a lethal art form.

He effortlessly overcame the gang members, who merely became obstacles in his path.

His footwork was impeccable, his body shifting and pivoting, always in motion, always one step ahead of his enemies.

With swift and brutal counterstrikes, he used his opponents\' momentum against them.

Erik\'s blade sang as it cut through the air, a deadly dance that left no room for mercy.

The sheer power of his physical prowess was on full display, a force that seemed almost otherworldly.

"Who the fuck is this guy?!" a gang member said.

"I d-don\'t k-know!" Another said in fear.

Rebecca watched, her heart pounding, as Erik unleashed carnage on a scale she had never witnessed him doing.

He was a storm, a whirlwind of violence that left destruction in its wake. Bodies fell, lives extinguished in the blink of an eye as he moved through the room, his Flyssa a blur of motion.

The sound of steel meeting flesh, the cries of the dying, the clash of weapons—all of it melded into a symphony of chaos that resonated through the building.

She froze, unable to grasp the extent of Erik\'s strength during his attack, which surpassed everyone she had ever seen except her mother.

His true power was far beyond what he had displayed until now; an unstoppable force of nature. His movements and fighting style were unlike anything she had witnessed before.

The Crystal Cross Gang members fought with desperation, their attacks wild and uncoordinated in the face of Erik\'s skill. But it was futile; they were lambs to the slaughter, their efforts meaningless against the onslaught.

Rebecca\'s eyes widened as Erik\'s blade found its mark again and again.

The battle raged on; the room becoming a sea of blood and bodies, the air thick with the scent of death.

With a final sweeping motion, he decapitated the last standing opponent, his Flyssa singing through the air, a deadly harmony of steel and skill. The room grew quiet as the aftermath of the intense battle settled in.

The floor was strewn with bodies, and the walls were stained with blood, a grim reminder of the violence that had taken place.

Erik stood in the center of the carnage, his chest heaving, his blade dripping. He won the battle, but he wasn\'t satisfied. He wanted to kill more, to destroy the Crystal Cross Gang.

His eyes met Rebecca\'s, who looked at him with wide eyes and a tint of fear in them.

Erik stood, his chest heaving, his Flyssa dripping crimson, his eyes cold and unyielding.

Rebecca finally found her voice, her words a whisper in the battle\'s aftermath, "Erik, what... what are you?"

He turned to her, his face a mask of calm, his voice steady. "I am what I must be."