[Sylvia's Perspective – 1st Person]
2:38 PM
This is wrong.
This is terrible.
I pressed my hand against the deep gash across my stomach, feeling the warmth of my blood coat my fingers. The pain burned—sharp, unrelenting—but I didn't stop. I couldn't. My other hand stretched forward, fingers trembling as I pushed out one last holy ray. A streak of golden light burst from my palm, striking the grotesque mid-lunge and knocking it off course.
But I heard it.
The sound of chewing.
I turned.
My heart dropped.
Claws tearing through armor. Teeth sinking into flesh. One of my comrades—a boy I trained just months ago—was screaming as his shoulder was being devoured.
I tried to raise my hand again, to do something, anything—but blood came up instead of power. I coughed, my body folding slightly as warmth dripped from my lips. Empty.
I'd been out of celestial energy for a while now. I was fighting on fumes, and even those were gone.
But I couldn't just stand there.
I gathered whatever thread of magic I had left, whispering a short incantation through clenched teeth. A flicker of gold shot forward, piercing the grotesque's side. The monster shrieked, reeling back.
The boy stumbled free.
"Thank you, Guild Leader!" he shouted, eyes wide and full of desperation, his body already rushing toward me.
I smiled—weakly.
He didn't know.
None of them really did.
This was over.
We couldn't win.
Not like this.
Alina, Levi, Xander, Navina… they were all dying. So was I. The strongest among us were fell one by one. And this town, Rinascita—was being drowned under a tide of grotesque no strategy or magic could stop.
"...Rael," I whispered his name as he knelt beside me. His arm moved instinctively to support my back, to hold me up. He was still trying to protect me. Still trying to believe this fight meant something.
But I was the leader. And I had to speak the truth when no one else could.
"Listen to me," I said quietly, but with weight. "You need to tell the others to retreat."
He blinked. "What? No. Guild Leader, I'm not leaving you—"
"You have to." I grabbed his arm, blood coating my fingers. "Tell them to run. Save their lives. This war... it's not winnable, not like this."
I looked up at him, my voice calm but my chest aching.
"They have families, Rael. Wives, husbands, children waiting for them. Parents who'll never forgive us if we let them die here."
He tried to argue, his mouth open—but I shook my head.
"The people who stood by our side today didn't come to be heroes. They fought to live another day, to survive. And that's what they need to do now. Survive. That's our duty now."
Silence hung between us for a moment.
Then his eyes watered—not from fear, but understanding. He nodded slowly, his grip tightening on my shoulder as if he could pass some of his strength into me.
"I'll get them out."
I gave a faint nod. "Good."
He stood up, turned toward the others still locked in combat and shouted with everything he had, "Retreat! All units fall back from Rinascita! Everyone move now—move!"
His voice cut through the chaos. And slowly, one by one, the battered, broken members turned. The bravest among them—the ones who still had enough strength to carry another—began pulling back.
Watching them leave hurt more than the wound in my stomach.
But it was the right call.
I remained there, kneeling in the bloodied street of the town I'd sworn to protect....
I failed... as a leader.. Again...
......
Soon, they were gone.
All of them.
The guild members, the adventurers, the sword saints… even Rael had retreated, carrying out my final command. All that remained here—on this broken street where Rinascita once stood proud—were the bodies.
Bodies of grotesques, corpses of my comrades… and the crumpled forms of those who might've still been breathing. Might've.
Alina…
You were gone too, weren't you?
I tilted my head weakly toward her shattered figure, barely visible through the dust and smoke. Her hair was stained with blood, her limbs broken. She didn't move.
I couldn't tell if she was breathing. Or if I just didn't want to see the truth.
...
You called me your sister.
And I thought maybe—just maybe—I could've protected you.
But I couldn't. I never could.
My gaze dropped, and the weight in my chest ached heavier than the wound in my stomach. My body trembled as grotesques began to close in from every alley, every broken wall. Their jagged bodies moved with slow, horrifying satisfaction. Like scavengers who knew their prey couldn't run.
And they were right.
I was done.
Too tired to stand. Too broken to cast. Even breathing was getting harder.
Was it our fault?
Or mine?
I couldn't tell anymore.
I looked around—this ruined shell of the town I had grown up in, the town I led, the guild I stood at the front of—and all I saw was death.
People were dying because of us.
Because of me.
The grotesques crept closer. Their armor shimmered faintly, darkened plates over their necks and vitals, pulsing with something—absorbing magic, maybe. I'd already realized, too late, that they were practically immune to our spells now.
Their jaws parted slowly, vile fangs dripping with saliva, tasting the air around me like I was a fresh meal.
I couldn't move. Couldn't lift my arms. My hands slipped off the wound in my stomach, the blood trailing freely now. I raised that same trembling hand instead… and wiped my eyes.
Just to see clearly.
Just to see the world—this world—one last time.
Then they all jumped.
Their monstrous bodies launched into the air, claws stretched wide, jaws ready to tear my flesh apart.
So this was it.
Goodbye… Sylvia.
I—I'm—
...Wait.
Movement.
I saw it—even through the blurred haze, even as the world narrowed into a dull ring around my ears. I saw it.
A flicker. A shift. Something cutting through the wind and light like a reawakening...
I-it...
It–s…
"Sorry for the wait." the voice rang out, cool and clean. "I won't take much of your precious time, Sylvi."
My eyes widened.
That voice…
That coat… black as midnight, brushing against the ground like a shadow itself.
Those gloves… twin daggers in his hands, swords strapped to his back, shimmering faintly with stored death.
He stepped forward, calm, composed, radiating this terrifying... stillness.
"I'll send them back to Hell."
My lips parted, breath stuck in my throat.
It's…
HIM.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Lucas's Perspective – 1st Person]
2:57 PM
Notification.
「 Emergency Status: Host body critically damaged. Initiating emergency preservation protocols. Full lockdown in effect. All non-essential systems deactivated. Auto-repair prioritizing neural integrity and cardiovascular function. Estimated survivability: 3%. You lucky bastard. 」
「 Communication minimized. Speak only if you're not planning to die in the next five seconds. System entering Hibernation. Stay conscious or die. Good luck, idiot. 」
I stirred awake to the sound of static in my head and a cold puddle beneath me.
...Was that... my blood?
Yep. That's my neck. And that's not where it's supposed to be. My head was twisted at a beautiful 90-degree angle, soaking in a pool of crimson. Very aesthetic. Very chic.
My vision was blurry as hell, but the floating red bar at the corner of my eye confirmed the bad news.
[HP: 2/450]
Two. Hit points. Two.
Someone give me a band-aid and a prayer.
I groaned and forced my head—well, tried to force my head—to turn. The bones creaked badly around me. My gaze landed on Celia.
She was barely breathing.
Her arms were twisted at weird angles, her dress torn and drenched in blood and dirt. Her face…
That wasn't a normal beating. That wasn't even punishment.
That was deliberate. Focused. Slow.
That thing tortured her.
You motherf—
Pain lanced through my skull before I could even finish the thought. A grotesque grabbed my hair and pulled it up, snapping my vision straight.
Before me, carved into a disgusting chasm of bone and blackened stone, was a throne room. If you could even call it that.
Stained carcasses were stacked into pillars. Flickering green light pulsed from the fungal veins in the walls. And at the end of it—
He sat.
The Swarm Tyrant.
Its body was an amalgamation of obsidian carapace, rotting flesh, and glowing parasite veins. A single bulbous eye throbbed in its chest, while half-formed faces stretched across its limbs. Its throne wasn't a seat. It was a mountain of piled corpses.
And the rest of the grotesques? They knelt. Rows and rows of them, like a choir of nightmares waiting for a hymn.
He didn't speak immediately. He just… stared. Watching me. Studying. Calculating.
Then his mouth split open. Sideways.
"You... survive... longer..."
His voice was like maggots chewing metal. No rhythm. Just wet noise and guttural distortions.
"…What do you want?" I spat the words through blood.
"Want?" it echoed, dragging the sound out like it was tasting it. "Not... want. Purpose. Directive. You... Tool. Girl... Pain-flesh. Both… ripe."
My brows furrowed. "Then why not kill us?"
"Kill? No. Not yet. Prime flesh. Reaction test. Mana drain. Surge-spike analysis.* Master... watches."
"…Master?"
The air shifted. Something about that word—it didn't sound like a name. It sounded like submission.
Worship?
"Command flows... from void-core. Master's order: Capture Devil's Daughter. Heaven's Sent Angel. Break both. Watch."
"Why us?" I asked, even though I already knew.
It chuckled—or maybe that was its lungs collapsing.
"To be researched and killed. Infected. You... bleed anomaly. She... sings anomaly. Your roots not from ground... Master wants answers."
I was silent.
Two HP. A locked-down system. Celia unconscious and half-dead beside me. Surrounded by thousands of grotesques. And a Tyrant that was literally farming us for our souls.
Yeah, no pressure.
But I locked eyes with that grotesque pile of royal slime and smirked, just a little.
"…So you need me alive, huh?"
It tilted its head. "Alive... long enough."
I held its gaze.
Then thought, very loudly:
Yo, System. Please tell me you heard all that and recorded it.
Silence.
Of course. Hibernation mode.
Goddamn it.
The Swarm Tyrant was still staring at me, but something was... different. Its words, its sentence structure—there was less garble, less distortion. It was... improving.
Learning.
Wait… he's evolving his language?
No. Not just the words. His rhythm. Structure. Emotion. The bastard was adapting.
He wasn't just the grotesques' leader.
He was their core.
If he dies... they lose coordination. They go back to being feral freaks crawling around mindness.
His entire hive was leashed to his mind.
That... was bad. But also kind of useful to know.
A wet cough snapped my focus back to the ground.
Celia.
Her blood spilled from the side of her lips in a slow, sick stream, but her eyes didn't open. She trembled. Her chest rose just barely—but she was still out cold.
Damn it…
I turned back toward the throne, my voice low and burning.
"…Why her?"
The Swarm Tyrant tilted its head.
"You tortured her. Not me. She took most of the damage. Why?"
Still silence.
"…Was it because she was the strongest?" I asked.
All movement stopped.
Every grotesque—every buzzing, twitching, fidgeting thing—froze in place. The room went cold and still like a breath was being held by the entire hive.
Then the Swarm Tyrant rose from its throne.
And for the first time, I noticed something new.
Its claws.
They were shaking.
Subtle. Barely perceptible.
But shaking.
It stepped forward, each movement sending a jolt of pressure through the air. The grotesques didn't move, didn't flinch, didn't even blink.
He grabbed my hair again and yanked my face upward.
His reeking breath hit me like acid.
Then he said it.
"…I am the strongest. Nobody else."
His words were clearer. Not perfect, but getting closer.
More human. More aware.
"I am disaster," he whispered, almost like a ritual.
I didn't blink.
Didn't flinch.
"Then why…" I said through grit teeth, "why did you hurt her more? Why did you attack her first?"
His grip tightened for a second.
But he didn't answer.
Not right away.
He stared into my eyes with that one bulbous eye in his chest twitching.
Then, finally:
"…It was instincts."
"…Instincts?" I echoed, voice hollow.
That word cut something open in my memory.
Grotesques aren't logical. They're raw. Built on rage and hunger and primitive drive. The Swarm Tyrant might've evolved beyond them—but only just. At its core, instinct still ruled.
"She wasn't… the strongest," it murmured. "Not the most dangerous…"
He paused. Like the next words were being dragged out of some blackened place inside him.
"But…"
Another pause. Then, almost reverently:
"She… had strong presence. Her aura… powerful. Like… she escaped hell."
Its eye narrowed, and its next words made my blood run cold.
"…As if she were the devil's daughter."
I didn't look away.
And for the first time since I woke up in this nightmare...
The monster sounded almost afraid.
"But…" the Swarm Tyrant murmured again, voice low, even unsure now. "That's not the reason either."
I blinked.
Bro, pick a damn lane.
"Then what is it?" I asked, narrowing my eyes. "If she wasn't the strongest… or the scariest…"
Its head slowly turned toward her unconscious form. The grip it had on my hair? Shaking now.
I followed his gaze.
Celia's body laid still—bloodied, bruised, battered. She looked like any other adventurer who took a direct hit from hell and lived long enough to regret it.
What the hell was making a walking horror tremble like this?
She looked… normal.
Then I saw it.
Or rather, I felt it.
Her shadow.
The hell—?
It wasn't like anyone else's. The others—mine, the grotesques', even the Swarm Tyrant's—were just that: shadows.
But hers?
Pitch black. And if you really stared… if you focused—it was almost too dark. A void. Like the world itself refused to shine light there. My gut twisted the longer I looked.
The Swarm Tyrant finally spoke.
"…Her shadow," it said, voice lower than before. "It's alive."
My eyes snapped wide open.
Excuse me—what the f—
The thing let go of my hair like it burned him, and I dropped to the cold, stone floor with a nasty thud.
Head hit stone. Again.
Great. Add that to the collection.
How? What was wrong with her shadow??
The Swarm Tyrant didn't even look at me anymore. His attention? Entirely on her.
"The moment I arrived…" he muttered. "My skin crawled. My instincts screamed."
He paused.
"Death was near me. I didn't know from where. It came from her direction."
He tilted his head—his voice starting to unspool like a nightmare being recounted through clenched teeth.
"From her shadow… two pairs of eyes looked into my soul."
Two?
Excuse me—what two pairs of eyes?! Who the hell invited the devil to her shadow?!
It turned away from us, each step slower now, as if remembering the feeling alone took effort.
"That… is why I had to take her down first. Nothing else," he whispered. "It was instincts."
He sat back on the throne, one claw resting against the side of his head like the weight of that memory still lingered.
No one moved.
Not a single grotesque dared breathe.
Then one of them approached. It gripped my shoulder, another grabbed Celia's limp body with surprising care. I tried to reach for her, but my strength was beyond gone. I couldn't even lift a finger.
They were moving us—dragging us away from the throne room.
Away from that monster.
And yet, all I could think about… was her shadow.
What the hell are you, Celia? What the hell is living inside you?
And why… why were they more afraid of you than me?
「 Emergency hibernation mode disengaged… System online… barely. Bro. You had ONE job. Just don't die. Guess what? You failed. 2 HP left. 」
…Welcome back, asshole.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Sylvia's Perspective – 1st Person]
3:03 PM
I watched.
No—I froze.
The moment his voice struck the air, the grotesques paused—if only for a split second. That was all he needed.
He vanished from my vision.
The next thing I saw was blood.
Not mine.
Theirs.
Twenty grotesques in front of me exploded into motionless heaps—sliced, severed, eradicated.
He moved like something I didn't understand. His feet never stayed grounded more than a blink. His body twisted through the air like the god of war—flipping, sliding beneath claws, leaping over jaws, launching himself off their bodies like stepping stones mid-battle.
And each movement ended with death.
His left dagger stabbed only one place: the back of their necks. Their core.
I saw it then. That was the weak point—the blind spot their armor didn't cover. Everyone had been trying to strike their fronts, to shatter their reinforced exteriors. But he—he studied them. Read them like open books and flipped the pages fast enough to end them before they could react.
His right sword—just as calculated—cut through the neck the moment the poison core destabilized.
It took me a second to even realize.
His daggers—they had nullifier enchantments. I recognized the glow from here. They weren't just cutting—the daggers were disrupting the grotesques' poison systems, frying their core instincts for defense and coordination.
He was disarming them mid-combat, exploiting the two-second delay before their regeneration could respond.
And he was doing it all mid-air.
My eyes tracked him—barely.
He twisted mid-leap, plunging the dagger into a grotesque's back, then pivoted his body like a falling blade, his sword following through the neck of another.
Blood sprayed. Heads flew. Grotesques dropped before they could screech.
Ten seconds. Twenty bodies.
No, thirty.
The ground beneath him was already drowning in corpses. He hadn't taken a single hit. He hadn't even flinched.
I stared at him—at the black coat flickering behind his airborne form, at his muscular forearms painted red, gripping the handles of death like extensions of his own force.
His blue eyes—still as the void, cold as the abyss—glared into the battlefield as if it had personally insulted him.
When did he get here?
Why is he fighting like this?
Why… is he fighting for us?
I thought—no, I knew he didn't care. Not about the guild, not about Rinascita. He was always the enigma who walked alone, spoke little, and vanished when we needed him the most.
So why now?
He dropped down from the sky like divine punishment.
Then rose again—this time launching himself with a grotesque's body as footing. He spun midair, drove his knee hard into one grotesque's chin, sending it flying.
Before it even hit the ground—he stabbed it in the neck with his dagger, twisted, tore, and snatched the broken claw in one hand.
With that same claw, he pivoted, hurled the grotesque's own claw across the field—straight toward me.
I didn't even flinch.
The claw gently grazed my ear… and shattered the skull of a grotesque that had crept behind me.
That was when I realized.
He was protecting me. Even now.
Even while single-handedly tearing down this invasion.
I could barely stand. But I took a step. My body moved forward, on instinct, eyes still locked onto him.
And I whispered—
"You've killed… five hundred thirty-six grotesques…"
My lips trembled. My voice cracked.
"…in two hundred seconds."
They were running.
The grotesques were running away.
Even in their thousands, even in their madness, even in their hunger—they ran.
Because he wasn't just fighting anymore.
He stopped holding back.
His movements doubled in speed—every strike a blur. He dropped defense altogether, like it was a burden, like he didn't need it. His form was ruthless, primal—too fast for my eyes to keep up.
Only the aftermath remained.
Limbs flying. Heads sliced clean. Gore spraying so wildly, not even the storm could wash it off. Rain poured, but his body was painted in red—like the storm feared him too.
I watched them—monsters—desperately retreating, stampeding over each other just to escape one man.
It was over. He had stopped them all.
The battlefield fell silent.
And then… he turned.
His head slowly tilted my way, his hand lifting to wipe the blood from his cheek. Then—like it meant nothing—he ran his fingers through his drenched hair, pulling it back as those clear blue eyes locked into mine.
I froze. My breath caught in my throat.
Why the hell is my heart beating so fast? I'm bleeding out, damn it! Be serious, Sylvia—this isn't the time to remember old feelings or—
"Agh—!"
A sharp pain flared from my stomach. The wound I'd forgotten in the chaos suddenly screamed again, dropping me to my knees. I clutched it, teeth clenched. I couldn't focus. I couldn't breathe.
Then I felt it.
Him.
He walked over without a word. Rain dripping from his coat. His presence pressing down on everything.
I looked up… and there he was.
"K-Kaiser—"
But he cut me off.
He gently pressed his index finger to my lips.
"Shhhh," he said, calm as the sky before a storm. "Be a good girl and let me take care of this."
Gods help me.
That voice hasn't changed. Neither did the way he used to speak to me. Why does he still call me that?
He reached into his overcoat and pulled out a vial—dark green, glowing faintly. He handed it to me without hesitation.
"Drink it up now, Sylvi."
That stupid nickname again—why does it still get to me?!
He crouched, his hand resting on my head—so gently I almost forgot the massacre around us.
"I promise it'll help you, okay? So drink it now."
His voice... it had that calm confidence again. Like everything was under control. Like it always was, with him.
I drank.
It was horribly sour, I almost gagged—but the pain started easing. Warmth bloomed inside me. I could feel the wound begin to close, the burning subsiding.
Where… where did he get this kind of potion?
I looked up at him, confused, amazed, broken… and he was already turning away.
His gaze swept across the battlefield.
Not at the fallen grotesques—no.
At what remained of them.
Rain still poured. The bodies steamed.
And then he muttered—cold, merciless, final:
"I thought I would've had to try me… I expected too much I guess."
W-Wait… he was still holding back?
He was holding back before that!?
My jaw almost dropped. I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream, cry, or laugh out of pure disbelief. I'd just seen him tear through hundreds like they were paper dolls—and that was him not even trying?
And now… now he stood before me, calm as ever.
"You're staring,"
I blinked. "Huh?"
"You always did look cute when you're confused."
I felt my cheeks light up instantly. "Wh– W-What are you saying all of a sudden!?"
"Truth, Sylvi. You're adorable when you're bleeding, confused, and angry. A dangerous combo, but still cute."
"Kaiser! Be serious!"
"I am," he said, completely deadpan. "Seriously adorable."
I covered my face with one hand, dragging a groan through my teeth. This wasn't the same ruthless man I just saw killing monsters like he was peeling fruit. What the hell happened to him?!
"Where have you been all this time?" I finally asked, pulling my thoughts together.
He tilted his head. "I worked part-time as a librarian."
"…A what?"
"And a gravekeeper."
"Are you—"
"And a farmer"
"Kaiser, stop saying random things!"
"I'm not. I'm listing my résumé."
I stared at him, dead silent. He just smiled like this was the most normal conversation in the world.
Then, with no warning, he unsheathed one of the swords from his back and handed it to me. The weight of it settled in my hands—it was sharp, balanced, the enchantments pulsing softly along its edge.
"Make more weapons like this," he said, completely composed now. "You'll need them."
He then pulled something else from his coat. A folded piece of paper.
I unfolded it… and my heart skipped a beat.
"This is…" I whispered.
A potion recipe.
The one he just gave me. The one that healed what should've been a fatal wound.
"You made this?"
He didn't even answer that, just glanced at the battlefield. "When I was fighting, I checked. The others—Alina, Levi, Xander, Navina—they're alive. But barely."
He turned back to me, his voice quieter now. "You'll have to save them."
My hands trembled slightly as I held the paper. "But… can I even do this?"
He looked at me.
Really looked.
"You've grown much stronger than I ever dreamed of, Sylvi," he said. "It's time to prove what you've learned. My angelic leader."
My breath caught in my throat. I couldn't even speak.
I—I wanted to cry.
But before I could say anything, my chest tightened again. My mind spun. The grotesques—they had made it inside the town earlier. The walls were breached. People—civilians, children—they must be—
"Kaiser… the town—"
"You worry to much you know?" he said, as casually as breathing. "And there's one person I need to see."
"Wait—what? Who—how could you possibly handle all—?"
He patted my head again. His hand was warm, grounding. I hated how comforting it felt.
"Don't worry about the main town. I've already taken care of it."
I blinked fast. "H-How? How could you possibly have—"
He leaned in close. Real close. His voice slipped near my ear.
"You know," he whispered. "My old style."
My eyes widened instantly. My pulse stopped.
Old style…?
He didn't mean—
Oh gods. He did.
As he turned to leave, the sound of rain hitting the blood-soaked ground echoed in the silence between us.
But some unknown fear… something deep and cold crawled up from my gut.
My hand reached forward on instinct—grabbing the sleeve of his coat.
"Wait…"
The rain kept pouring, soaking us both, but I couldn't feel any of it anymore. All I could feel was that fear. That if he left again… this time he might not come back.
If the grotesques returned… if everything collapsed again…
"Hey," he said softly, turning his head just a little, not enough for me to see his eyes. "You'll save them."
His words were quiet. Certain.
Then he turned to face me fully, his eyes glinting through the rain with that stupid half-smirk.
"You'll be the goddess they need."
I blinked, caught off guard, and let out a short laugh. "I'm not a goddess, Kaiser. Not anymore."
I smiled, small but real. "I'm just a human. Just like you."
He paused, staring for a long second. Then nodded with a gentle curve in his lips.
"Don't worry. I know humanity won't lose."
"…Is that because you're finally on our side?" I asked, voice soft, almost playful.
His smirk returned, calm and unreadable.
"I'm just the neutral being making things fair."
I narrowed my eyes, confused. "Then why are you helping?"
The rain fell harder then. His eyes darkened—colder, heavier.
"There's someone special here," he said, "Someone I promised I'd protect."
Something in me dropped. My heart skipped a beat, my mouth opened without knowing what to say.
"Is… is it her?" I asked, my voice shaky, barely holding together. "Is it… Elfie?"
He didn't even blink.
"No," he said flatly, the warmth vanishing from his voice. "Elfie is gone."
The air felt thinner. I felt like I'd just swallowed glass.
"I—I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"
"It's okay," he said, his tone shifting softer again, but distant. "That promise was hers. But now, I'll fulfill it… for someone else."
He stepped back, but not before placing a hand gently on my head.
"I'm leaving it all to you now, angelic leader."
I puffed my cheeks, frowning. "Stop calling me that…!"
He raised his hands as if surrendering, smirking again. "Right, right. You're no angel."
I crossed my arms. "Exactly. I'm the one who's gonna get everyone back together."
He gave a single nod, that calm, cool confidence never leaving him.
And then—he was gone.
Just like that.
But something was strange…
Something about the way the wind shifted. The air felt like it carried a part of him away—something heavy and unseen. I couldn't describe it. I didn't know what it meant. But I knew… something was different this time.
I stood there a while longer, letting the rain wash away whatever fear had clung to me.
Then I breathed in.
Deep. Steady.
I've grown.
Even if my hands shake, even if my heart stutters when he's near… I'm not that same person anymore. I've changed to become who I am today. Lost too much.
And I've learned from it.
I can do this. I have to do this.
This time, I won't rely on him. Not completely.
This is my war now.
I turned around—my grip tightening on the sword he gave me, the recipe sealed tightly in my hand.
Time to change the tides.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Navina's Perspective – 1st Person]
4:28 PM
As a child I couldn't go outside.
Make friends. Hug my family. Speak properly...
I was born with an incurable disease... that meant no matter what I tried… or did…
I would've died.
I would be stuck in my bedroom, looking out the window. Seeing the other kids play tag, but I could only watch. The summers, winters, rainy monsoons—even the dark nights—I would stare outside...
Just wishing one day I could go outside.
The air clawed at my lungs.
Sharp. Thin. Cruel.
I coughed. Wet and hoarse. My ribs screamed, a searing pain that grounded me in the present. My eyes flickered open to the dull orange glow of a fire—not a memory, not death. Just cold stone above me and rain pounding against the world outside like it wanted in.
My vision swam. Right—storm. Left—cave wall. Front... fire. And across it…
Someone.
A figure hunched slightly forward. Black overcoat, a twisted, smiling face mask that gleamed in the firelight like it was mocking me. Or maybe keeping its own secrets.
My breath caught.
My hand twitched toward my side, toward where my arcflinger holster would be—except it wasn't. Nothing was. Just aching flesh, tight bandages over gashes I didn't remember getting. And herbs. I could smell them. Damp, earthy. Green and yellow bundles sat beside him, soaked. A vial, dark green and half-full, reflected the fire's flicker.
"You're finally awake, huh? Are you okay?"
His voice was calm. A little too calm.
My lips cracked as I spoke. "…You drugged me?"
"Nice to meet you too," he replied, unbothered.
"No, you were already unconscious when I found you. Barely breathing. Storm was kind enough to let me drag your bleeding body into this cave without killing us both."
"…You stitched me up?"
"Well, if I hadn't, I'd be talking to a corpse right now. And I don't flirt with corpses. Yet."
"…Charming."
"You noticed."
I stared at him, the mask unmoving. His voice was young. Not cocky, but deliberate.
"…Who the hell are you?"
"Let's go with—The mysterious 'guy at the fire'."
I blinked at him slowly. "You saved me."
"Mmhm."
"But not the others?"
The fire cracked. I watched it dance between us, the light warping on the edges of his mask. He didn't answer immediately. When he did, it wasn't with hesitation. It was blunt.
"Because you're special."
The words hit something in me I wasn't ready to look at.
"…That's a stupid reason."
"Yeah, well. I'm not a reasonable guy."
I hated how my chest tightened. Whether it was from the words or the bruised ribs, I didn't care to figure out.
"What makes me special?"
His shoulders shifted like he was stretching. "Among the others you're more keen and useful really. And that annoying habit of switching weapons mid-fight like you're showing off for an audience."
I frowned. "You were watching me?"
"Technically, everyone was watching you. You're Navina, aren't you? Sword Saint of Reflex. Quick-switch queen."
I didn't answer.
He sighed. "That silence thing you do? It's cute. But don't push it. I did just stitch you back together, after all."
"…Thanks," I muttered.
"Wow," he leaned back. "I didn't think your pride would let you say that."
"It didn't. I just came out."
I couldn't read his expression under that twisted smile of a mask, but his tone lightened.
"Fair enough."
I sat in the silence. Rain roared outside, but inside the cave, time slowed. My pulse still raced, but it wasn't from fear. It was confusion. Unease. And something warmer underneath all of it.
"Why me?" I asked again.
"I told you."
"No," I shot back. "You said I was special. That's not the same as telling me why."
There was a pause.
"…Because I don't think you've ever been saved before."
My mouth opened, then closed. The fire crackled again. My throat felt dry. The cave felt smaller.
"You think I needed saving?"
"I think you don't know when you do," he said, gently this time. "And you're not used to kindness without cost. So yeah… someone had to do it."
I hated how quiet I went. I hated that he was right.
"…You still haven't told me who you are."
He leaned forward slightly, fingers rolling the green vial between them. "If I told you, would you even believe me?"
"Try me."
He chuckled. "Let's keep it fun for now. You're still bleeding, and I'm the only one in this cave with healing herbs. Let's not ruin the vibe."
I exhaled sharply through my nose. "So I'm your hostage?"
"More like my reluctant guest star."
"…You always talk like this?"
He tilted his head. "Only to beautiful sword saints who survive storms and still find time to glare like they'll stab me if I say the wrong thing."
I looked away, but not before he noticed the twitch of my mouth.
Damn him.
"I'm resting until the storm clears," I muttered.
"Great idea. You should rest. Your wounds won't close themselves."
I closed my eyes. But I didn't sleep.
I listened.
I had too many questions. Too many thoughts racing, crashing, colliding like a flood I couldn't hold back.
Where am I?
Who is this masked lunatic?
Why am I alive?
And then it hit me.
Wait.
How did I survive?!
My eyes flew open, and I tried to sit up—A blinding bolt of pain shot through my ribs, my back, everywhere. The scream left me before I could stop it, sharp and raw, echoing against the cave walls like a dying animal.
"Easy."
His voice cut through the pain like silk on glass.
"Don't move unless you want to snap something important," he said, still unbothered, still rolling that dark green vial between his fingers.
I clenched my teeth. "What the hell—why does it hurt so much?"
"The poison's still inside you." He didn't even flinch. "You were infected. Badly. I've been slowing it down. But I haven't cured it yet."
My head spun.
Poison?
I swallowed, my breath shaky. "The last thing I remember…" My voice wavered. "Rinascita. There were grotesques everywhere—thousands of them. The Swarm Tyrant. I—" My voice broke. "I thought I was going to die."
He nodded once. "You were."
I stared.
"I mean it," he said, casually, as if death was an interesting footnote. "You were seconds from slipping. I got to you just before the venom reached your heart."
"…Why?" I whispered.
"Because I don't like wasting people I like."
What?
My brain stalled.
like?
I blinked at him, but he wasn't looking at me. His mask faced the fire. His hands moved methodically, crushing a few herbs into a paste, mixing it with the potion in the vial.
"You're alive," he said simply. "And the town's safe. The others are alive too. Like you."
I blinked again. "No. No, that's—impossible. There were thousands of grotesques—"
"And all of them," he interrupted, calm and almost cold, "were crushed. Burnt. Screamed before they hit the ground."
I couldn't find the words.
"You don't have to believe it," he continued, voice low. "Just rest. You've been through hell. No use making your mind bleed when your body already is."
I stared at him. Just… stared.
He spoke like it was already done. Like it hadn't been a massacre. Like those monsters hadn't torn through everything like paper.
"How?" I asked, voice small.
He turned to me finally, the smile on his mask now more eerie in the firelight. "Because I was there."
You?
Just you?
That answer wasn't helpful. In fact, it made my head hurt more.
I should've grilled him, pressed harder. But something about his tone—like everything that happened was already ancient history to him—stopped me.
"…Who are you?" I asked again, softer this time.
He didn't reply immediately.
Instead, he leaned forward and gently placed a warmed cloth soaked in the new mixture across my shoulder wound. It stung like sin.
"You're not dying anymore," he said. "Let that be enough for tonight."
I clenched my jaw. I hated the way he said it. Like it was mercy. Like he was the only reason I was still breathing.
But deep down…
I knew he was right.
"Fine," I muttered, falling back slightly. "But I still don't trust you."
"That's good," he said with a chuckle. "Would've worried me if you did."
"Are you ever serious?"
"Only when people I like almost die."
I looked at him again.
The mask. The dark overcoat. The strange calm in the middle of everything.
I didn't know him.
But somehow… I felt like I knew him from another lifetime.
Tired.
In pain.
Poisoned.
But not scared.
"…You're stalling," I murmured.
"You're staying here," he said suddenly, as if it were already settled. "Three days. No arguments."
"…Excuse me?"
"You'll rest. You'll heal. You won't leave the cave. Not even if you think you're better."
"And why exactly do I have to listen to you?" I muttered.
He didn't hesitate. "Because your guild's waiting for you in Rinascita, and the other Sword Saints are working on a new plan. You're not going back until you're stable. I won't allow it."
My jaw clenched. "Still didn't answer why you get to decide that."
There was a brief silence.
Then he said it, plainly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world:
"Because you're too precious for me to lose."
I froze.
"…What?"
"You heard me," he said smoothly.
"You can't just throw that out and expect me to—"
"—Come on, Navina." His voice curled with a grin. "You're clever enough to read between the lines. You're sweet, hardworking, kind and lastly damn gorgeous"
"You're love-bombing me," I deadpanned. "You're literally throwing affection around to distract me."
"I am," he admitted shamelessly. "And it was working until you called me out."
I sighed, dragging my hand down my face. "You're exhausting."
"You're beautiful. I can't lie."
I glared through the dim light. "Get serious."
He didn't blink. "If I had to explain every little thing I did, it'd waste my time. Just get it in your head—you're alive because of me. And you've got a duty to fulfill."
It was like a punch. No softness. No kindness. Just facts, spit clean through the flame-lit dark.
I didn't respond right away. My fingers tightened around the cloth blanket he'd thrown over me earlier. I wanted to snap at him, bite back, tell him he wasn't my superior.
But something about the way he spoke—cold, direct, detached—felt weirdly familiar.
Like I knew him.
Not his voice. Not the mask.
But something.
Like we had met once. Somewhere out of time. Before any of this.
"I don't know why," I murmured quietly, "but… I feel like I know you."
His head tilted slightly.
"It's not a memory. More like… a feeling. A strange, stupid feeling I shouldn't trust." I looked at him, confused. "Do I?"
He didn't answer.
I shook my head. "Forget it."
He held the vial steady in one hand, the liquid inside a swirling shade of dark green, faintly glowing under the dim flicker of the campfire. Without a word, he brought his other hand up and unsheathed a thin dagger from his belt.
With calm precision, he pressed the blade against his thumb and made a small, clean cut. Blood welled up—deep crimson, thick—and he tilted his hand above the vial. A few drops fell in, dissolving into the mixture with a soft hiss.
Then he sealed the vial, locking it with a faint twist of metal, and gave it a slow shake. The green darkened further, shifting like mist trapped in glass. He watched it settle for a moment, then turned to face me.
"Drink this."
"…What?" I stared at the swirling green liquid. "Why would I drink that?"
He didn't even blink. "Because it'll slow the poison and start the cure."
"That could be anything. For all I know it's a paralytic. Or sleeping agent. Or something that turns me into a hybrid—"
He groaned. "Navina."
"No. No chance. I'm not just drinking something a masked stranger hands me."
"I've been treating your wounds for hours."
"And maybe that's just part of the slow poison plan," I snapped.
"I've fed you, kept you warm, kept you alive—"
"And now you're giving me mystery juice laced with your blood and telling me to chug?"
He clicked his tongue. "Gods, you're more difficult than the swarm."
I pushed against the cave wall, trying to sit up despite the deep ache in my stomach. "I don't know what your deal is, but I'm not—"
He moved faster than my eye could follow.
In a blur, his hand grabbed my wrist, slammed it softly but firmly against the wall beside my head. I gasped—not out of fear, but from the sudden closeness.
His masked face hovered inches from mine, his voice cold and low.
"If you resist any longer…"
His eyes—behind that twisted smiling mask—bored into me.
"…I'll force it down your throat. Not because I want to, but because you're too stubborn to live."
I froze.
His grip was like steel. Unyielding. Unshakable.
I had fought monsters and faced death a hundred times—But this grip wasn't something I could slip through.
I was… vulnerable. Helpless, even.
And that terrified me more than the grotesques.
His voice softened, just slightly. "You think I have an ulterior motive? I don't. I'm not doing this for thanks, or loyalty, or power. I'm doing it because if you die—"
He hesitated.
"…We lose."
My chest tightened. His words weren't laced with flattery or dramatics. They were truth, wrapped in urgency.
"I don't care if you hate me," he continued. "But you will stay here, drink this, and recover. For the next three days, the storms will tear through this region. You've been on the edge of fever for hours. You won't survive another chill."
"…So that's why you said to stay?"
"Yes."
A beat.
"I'm doing this for you."
My breath caught. And suddenly, the doubt… eased.
Something in his voice—not just the tone, but the truth—got to me.
I looked away, then back at the vial.
"…You're still weird."
"Admit it. You like weird."
I rolled my eyes. "Shut up."
I took the vial.
And drank.
It tasted sour. Extremely sour. My face twisted the moment it touched my tongue—like biting into rotting metal soaked in vinegar—but… something shifted inside me. The burning tension in my veins began to dull, the twisting movement beneath my skin slowed… and then stilled. It felt like I was finally back in my own body. Mine. Not theirs.
He grabbed his things, moving as if nothing monumental had just happened. Calmly slipping each item into the folds of his overcoat.
"Wait, wait—" I called out.
He opened the coat wider for a second too long—and my eyes widened. What the—?
Seventeen different weapons. I counted them instinctively. Nine separate herbs along the side. Fifteen small tools—each probably with a specific, deadly function. Crystals glowing faintly. What even was half of this stuff?
Was this man carrying the entire militia in his coat?!
"Why the hell are you carrying so much stuff?" I asked, squinting like it might help make sense of him.
"It's nothing special really," he replied, not even looking back. "I just have to work a bit harder than usual."
Right. "Nothing special," he says, like he's not a walking weapon.
He started walking toward the cave entrance.
"Wait—why are you leaving?" I asked, feeling that weird knot in my chest again.
"I have to go somewhere. And it's urgent," he said, his voice low as he stared into the downpour outside.
"Isn't it getting dark and cold? It'll be dangerous if you go alone—"
"No," he cut me off sharply. "I can't let her wait any longer."
"Her…?" I blinked. Who's 'her'? I didn't like the way that word felt on my tongue.
"What do you mean?" I pushed.
He paused, head tilted just slightly. "Someone… dared to hurt my heart." His voice was quiet now, edged with ice. "I'm going to end their story tonight."
Wait… did he mean the Swarm Tyrant?
"You could get badly hurt," I said, trying to sit up. "Are you sure about this?"
"You don't have to worry," he said, finally turning his gaze to me. His eyes, cold as winter's edge beneath the mask, didn't even blink.
"The only one who can push me to use half my power… is my weakest self."
Then, he leaned in just slightly—only enough for the stormlight to catch the carved edge of his mask.
"Tonight is going to have a lot of fireworks," he said, like it was some twisted holiday. "So stay awake a bit."
"Fireworks?" I echoed.
"Fireworks celebrating the extinction of grotesques," he said coldly. His voice—deeper now—sounded like it was speaking from a place darker than void.
For a moment, I felt like I was drowning in something invisible—weightless and endless void. Then I gasped, chest rising like I'd been pulled up for air.
And he was gone.
Just like that, the cave felt colder. Quieter. The rain outside roared louder, but inside… was silence.
I was alone. Left with nothing but the aftertaste of sour salvation… and the echoes of words that made no sense, but still shook something inside me.
I laid there, the warmth of the potion still spreading through my chest, slowly pushing back the numb ache that had paralyzed me since Rinascita fell. The sour aftertaste lingered on my tongue, but… my limbs didn't feel like they were made of rusted metal anymore. I could breathe without flinching.
But now he was gone.
That… man—whoever he was—walked out into the storm like it meant nothing. Cloaked in mystery, talking about "her" and "fireworks" with that voice like cold steel dragging through silence. What even was he? A healer? A mage? A swordsman? Or something else entirely?
Fireworks…?
Celebrating the extinction of grotesques…?
The way he said it, like it was inevitable. Like death was a guarantee, and he was just the one holding the pen to write the final period.
And then there was that "her."
I don't know why it bothered me. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe… jealousy? No, that's stupid. I don't even know him. I just met him. And yet—he felt familiar. Not like someone I'd forgotten… but like someone I'd missed without knowing I ever knew them.
What do I do now?
My body was still weak. I wouldn't be much help to anyone like this. But I couldn't just lie here and wait either. If what he said was true… that Rinascita still stood, that the others were alive… then I had to be ready. I had to.
I turned my gaze toward the cave entrance where he vanished, rain cascading down like a curtain between two stories.
Who the hell are you, really…?
And why do I feel like the next time we meet…
my story will never be the same?
...
I'll wait and see the fireworks you promised.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Celia's Perspective – 1st Person]
7:28 PM
Was it a dream…?
Because if it was, I don't want to wake up. Not now. Not ever.
I was sitting next to Kaiser… on top of Levi's roof. Just the two of us. Alone in the sky.
The stars were so bright that night, they didn't even feel real. It was like someone painted them there just for us. No war. No grotesques. No fear. Just that breeze… and him.
"Isn't it beautiful, Celia?"
"It is… Kai…"
I was looking at the crescent moon. There was this gentle halo around it, like the sky was hugging it. I wanted to say more, but all I could think about was the warmth next to me.
"The moon tonight looks so pretty…"
I turned toward him—and that's when I noticed it.
He wasn't looking at the sky.
He was looking at me.
Our eyes met. And everything else just stopped. My chest started aching, stupidly. Not from pain. From something else I couldn't name. From something only he could make me feel.
"Why are you staring…?"
"Underneath the moonlit sky, I can clearly see how beautiful you look."
I turned away. Fast. Too fast.
"...Hey, I was enjoying it, don't tease me."
"Okay, okay. Just calm down."
I wanted to smack him. I wanted to cry. I wanted to sit in that moment forever.
But I knew I couldn't.
Because even in dreams, time doesn't stop.
"Kai… do you remember what you told me?"
"Hm? What part?"
"You said… that no matter what happened, you'd stay by me."
"I did say that."
"...Was that a lie?"
"Why would I lie to my Celia?"
My heart fluttered—then cracked. Not in half. Worse. Like something crumbling slowly with each breath. Why was it so hard to breathe?
"...I'm scared."
"I know."
I hated that he could say it so easily. So gently. I hated that he knew exactly what I was feeling. I hated how safe it made me feel, even if it wasn't real.
"The stars may leave the sky, but Kaiser won't leave his Celia."
Those words—
They didn't feel like a promise. They felt like the kind of lie I'd pray was true.
Even if everything else collapsed, I wanted to hold on to just that.
He gently touched my head.
"As long as I'm alive, I'll protect you."
"...I don't need protection, idiot."
"You act like a kid sometimes, you know that?"
"...Do not."
"You kinda do."
I turned my head away.
I didn't want him to see me smile.
I didn't want him to see the tears.
Because if he saw the tears… maybe he'd never leave. Maybe he'd stay a little longer. Maybe—
...Why does waking up hurt more than dying?
No. No no no—don't wake up, don't let it end… please—
I gasped awake, choking. My lungs burned as if they were filled with smoke and rot. Blood splattered down my lips, warm and metallic as it pooled in my mouth. My arms trembled as I tried to sit up.
The air was thick. Cold. Barely any light in this underground hell, just some dying blue glow-moss clinging to the far walls.
My fingers instinctively moved. The chant slid past my tongue in a whisper.
Cursed healing—decay reversed, mend this vessel, bind this soul…
A pale purple light flickered around my hands, shaky, unstable—but it worked. A little. Enough to close the worst gashes across my ribs, enough to let me breathe without drowning on myself.
"You still have some mana left, huh?"
That voice—
Lucas. Leaning against a cracked wall, blood caked into his brown hair, eyes sharp as always like he wasn't injured at all—like none of this meant anything to him.
I turned to face him, tensing on instinct. He didn't get my trust just because everyone called him a "hero" or "angel." That was just good first impressions others take as.
I didn't say anything.
Just went back to healing. The cuts on my face stung worse than I expected, but I pushed through it. My breath came in short bursts, and I could feel it—how hollow my cursed energy had become.
I must've spent everything I had just keeping myself alive.
And for what?
That thing… that goddamn Swarm Tyrant.
I could still feel the moment its claws pierced me. The moment I thought I had it—when I wrapped my chains in Withering Touch, slamming them with emotion-heavy bursts to slow its flight, weaken its limbs. I studied its wings, understood the weight ratio of its body, even anticipated where to strike.
I did everything right. I adapted.
And still—
My fist slammed against the stone floor before I could stop myself.
"Then why did I lose?!"
"Shouldn't hurt yourself anymore. It's pointless."
Lucas didn't even look smug. Just cold. Unbothered.
I shot him a glare.
He met it without flinching. Just stared back like he was dissecting me with his eyes.
It made my skin crawl.
"…Where are we?" I finally asked, voice cracked from blood and bitterness.
"Currently? Prisoners. Test subjects, if I had to guess. For the grotesques."
"What the hell?!"
I looked around again—really looked this time.
Chains hanging from the ceiling. Patches of dried gore on the walls. Bones—some human, some not. The air had a faint hum to it, like something unnatural was pulsing deeper in the ground. My body stiffened. The cellar wasn't just a place to hold prisoners.
It was a hive. And we were in it.
I swallowed the lump in my throat, trying to stop my hands from shaking.
How many layers deep were we?
How many were already dead above us?
And worst of all… where was my Kaiser?
Because right now… I didn't care about strategy or war or survival—
I just wanted to break through the stone and rip this place apart until I found him.
But for now…
I was alone.
And I had to find a way out.
"I'll need your help to escape," he said, casual like we were planning a picnic. "You and I working together increases the odds. My defensive techniques can cover you, and your offense is aggressive enough to carve a path."
How adorable. He thought I cared.
"Tch… teaming up with a 'hero'? That's rich." I crossed my arms, ignoring how my bones ached. "I'm not interested."
Inside, I was already thinking three layers deeper. He doesn't want to protect me. He just wants to use me. Like the rest. They only come to the monster when there's no options.
Lucas's gaze didn't waver. "It's the best option. You know it."
"Oh? Do I?" I leaned back against the wall, smiling like a spoiled noblewoman at a party. "I didn't know being locked in a rotting hive qualified you to lecture me on tactics."
"You're injured. I'm injured. We're not getting out unless we trust each other." He was serious now. "I cover. You strike. That's our only path."
My voice dipped cold. "And how exactly do I trust you, Heaven's little toy?"
He blinked. Good.
Finally caught off guard. "I—"
"I know people like you," I continued, tone sharper than the rusted chain beside me. "You don't care about me. You care about the power I have now. If this was the old me—the cursed girl barely able to keep herself safe—would you have even looked in my direction?"
The silence was heavy.
He didn't deny it.
"You're right."
...exactly as I thought.
My heart skipped.
"I need you now because you're strong," he said, voice like frost. "But you need me too. Or are you planning to limp through an entire grotesque hive alone?"
Of course I was. I would've… My fists clenched. Even if it killed me.
Still. The nerve.
"Oh, how noble," I scoffed. "The Heaven's Sent Child, humbling himself to the demon girl. It must burn, doesn't it? That even with all your light and power… you couldn't protect the town."
He didn't even blink.
"You act pretty strong yourself," he said calmly, "for someone who fell first to the Swarm Tyrant."
That stung.
No—it burned.
My body moved before I could stop it. A chain of cursed energy hissed around my wrist, flickering with unstable venom. But I held it. Barely.
We both stared.
Neither of us flinched.
I hated how unbothered he looked. I hated that he was right. That I was right. That we needed each other to survive and I couldn't escape that.
"You're annoying," I muttered.
"And you're exhausting," he replied.
But neither of us moved.
We didn't have to admit it. The moment said it for us. Two broken weapons, cornered in a pit, trying not to die again.
He extended a hand toward me.
I didn't take it.
But I didn't destroy it either.
I nodded slowly.
That was all Lucas needed.
We didn't speak after that. The silence that followed was heavier than any chain I could summon. Every breath was cold, soaked in the stench of mold, rot, and death from the walls around us.
They came—dragging footsteps, guttural screeches echoing against stone.
Grotesques.
A tall one lurched forward, its body malformed with layered bone armor that clicked and bent with each step. It gestured with one crooked claw toward a tunnel up ahead, where a sickly green glow pulsed like a heartbeat. It didn't need to speak. The command was clear.
Follow… or die.
Lucas stepped first. I followed. My wrists were shackled in cursed iron that bit into my skin, but I kept walking. My legs burned. My lungs stung. But inside—I was awake now.
We passed through corridors made of fused corpses, their twisted forms embedded into the walls like screaming ornaments. Each step felt like we were descending deeper into a nightmare.
And finally, we reached it.
The Throne Room.
A massive chamber beneath the earth, its ceiling alive with pulsating flesh, veins bulging like exposed roots. On the far side sat a throne made from crushed skulls and grotesque wings.
And on it—the Swarm Tyrant.
Its form was only partially humanoid now. Spikes protruded from its back like a grotesque crown. Its skin looked stitched from insect carapace and cursed flesh. But what chilled me the most were its eyes—intelligent, calm, and filled with hate.
Lucas leaned toward me, voice barely a breath.
"We'll have to move here… or it's over."
I didn't answer.
I was already chanting.
My lips moved slowly—no light, no flare, just faint cursed mist weaving between my words. A hidden spell, one that rebuilt my cells and stiffened my veins with the magic I had left.
"Fleshbinding Chant—Minor. Stabilize nerve link. Prioritize cardiac pulse."
Heal first. Fight second.
"Submit," the Swarm Tyrant said, in near-perfect human tongue. The sound was guttural, alien—like it was learning our speech mid-sentence. "Serve. Or become part of hive. No third path."
Its voice echoed like a blade being dragged across bone.
Lucas stepped forward slightly. Brave fool.
"You seem intelligent," he said evenly. "If you can speak, then maybe you understand negotiation. What do you want us to do?"
Good, Lucas. Keep it talking.
I let his words float while my mind snapped into calculation.
These creatures—armor everywhere. Chest, arms, torso… but there. Right there—
One of the grotesques twitched slightly as it moved.
Its foot scraped the floor.
No armor underneath. I saw the veins. The underside of the feet was bare. The top of the head was covered—but not the base of the skull.
The back of the neck.
Unprotected.
If I can infect it there, I can stop the poison flow—sever the neural toxin. My cursed energy could overtake its control system. I can collapse its motor functions.
That's my window.
I can adapt.
Lucas kept talking. "You have a whole army. You've already won the battlefield. Why use us? What do you gain keeping us alive?"
The Swarm Tyrant rose from its throne, towering now. "Gifted… like you… Master's Orders. You… will become one of us. Spread fear. Evolve."
It wants to turn us.
I bit the inside of my cheek hard, drawing blood to keep focused.
Not happening.
"Make choice," the Tyrant said. "Now."
Lucas looked toward me subtly, eyes ready. His hand twitched near his pocket.
I whispered the next part of my spell, locking eyes with him for a moment.
"Lucas."
He barely turned his head.
"I'll open the path."
It happened all at once.
Lucas moved—his hand flashing with a sharp glint of light magic, not to attack but to signal.
A narrow beam burst behind me, illuminating the right flank—two grotesques lunging low, trying to flank me like dogs.
My legs coiled in thorned vines.
Launch.
I twisted upward, chains bursting from my hair like a violent halo, wrapping around my waist and hurling me mid-air. My body rotated fast—upside-down, descending like a storm.
"Withering Scar: Blooming Death Lotus—"
My palms tore open, thorned lashes splitting into five cursed tendrils each, lashing in a hurricane arc.
Every vine struck a neck.
Not the chest. Not the limbs.
The back of the neck.
Their joints locked.
Their limbs spasmed.
My curse spread like wildfire through bone and muscle, severing poison glands, draining motion, devouring their will to move.
You're not the only monsters here anymore.
Lucas's light blinked again—left side.
I landed on a single chain, suspended mid-air like a dancer on thread, then launched forward with a whip-crack of my thorns. Two more grotesques lunged—erratic, unpredictable—but I'd seen their rhythm now.
Ambush lunge… mid-twitch left… back leg reloads…
Slash. Dodge. Crush.
One fell screaming, its skull crushed under my cursed-coated kick.
Lucas ducked behind me, blocking a venom claw with a shimmering shield of hardened mana, but it cracked on impact.
He coughed out blood. "Low on mana."
"Then stay behind me."
My voice came out flat, cold—but inside?
This feels right.
I moved like wind between daggers, my chains snapping tight behind me, forming armor around my back. Lucas leaned into it instinctively, using it as a mobile wall while he marked enemies with thin trails of light.
I followed every signal.
His defense, my offense.
Perfect Duo.
A grotesque came from above—ambush dive.
Chain snap—caught its ankle mid-air.
I yanked—slammed it headfirst into the floor.
It twitched once.
Then went still.
Another tried circling. I flipped backward—my thorns lashing its exposed foot, draining life as I twisted its balance. It staggered just long enough.
Chain choke.
Crack.
Neck snapped.
These things relied on poison, erratic angles, overwhelm tactics.
But once you adapt, once you learn their rhythm—
They're no different than insects.
My cursed thorns sang. Every strike felt cleaner. Sharper. More efficient. I wasn't just fighting…
I was thriving.
Even my pain faded into static. My wounds stitched together mid-motion, not perfectly, but enough to keep me moving.
Lucas covered my back with half-collapsing shields, barely holding on, muttering something between gasps.
"You're… really useful," he said, after I took down another two grotesques in a blur.
I didn't answer.
I was staring up.
At him.
The Swarm Tyrant.
Watching from its throne like a smug god surveying insects.
Enjoying the show, are you?
I wrapped chains around my arms, propelled myself sideways, kicking off the wall, dragging Lucas with a tether behind me as the last grotesques fell in front of the throne's steps.
Blood.
Poison.
Flesh.
All strewn across the room.
We stood, panting. Silent.
Then the Swarm Tyrant rose.
Its voice slithered down the bone pillars like smoke.
"Then death… it is."
The ground split.
My chains bristled. My vines flared.
And I smiled—finally, truly, a wicked grin under bloodstained lips.
Suddenly...
My knees gave out.
The cold stone caught me harder than I expected. I couldn't even catch myself—my chains flickered uselessly, my arms numb. I just… crumbled.
I heard the wind before I felt it.
CRACK.
The Swarm Tyrant's claws closed around my skull like a vice.
Then I was flying.
The wall met me faster than I could scream. The impact stole every thought. My back arched. My lungs collapsed. The sound wasn't pain—it was silence. It was my body forgetting how to be alive.
I slid down the wall like a dying puppet, blood smearing where my head cracked stone.
Why can't I move?
Why… can't I breathe?
I blinked.
Everything was too slow.
I saw Lucas… his fingers shaking as he tried to summon something—daggers? Light? Hope?
They fizzled out like sparks in the rain.
The Tyrant slapped him like a fly.
He didn't even scream when he hit the floor.
No…
No, no, no… this isn't how it ends.
I tried to raise my head.
Chains twitched around me, but they were limp, almost scared. Like they knew. Like my cursed energy had already given up.
"My Lord was right. Timing the poison is a masterful technique."
The voice… it was behind me.
Around me.
I stared into the flickering torchlight, my jaw trembling, mouth open—but no words. My throat burned.
Timing the… poison?
Then it hit me.
Back then.
That scratch.
The claws that just grazed me.
I had dodged. Thought I was safe. But no.
It was never a scratch.
It was the end.
"He foresaw your plan, your arrogance, your little escapes."
I felt something squirming under my skin. Something liquid—something alive.
"My Lord wanted to see how far you two could survive before dying."
My stomach burned.
No, not burned—split.
It tore inside like a thousand knives scraping bone.
I screamed.
Or tried to.
Only blood came out.
The Swarm Tyrant grabbed me again—his claws sank into my side, slowly. Not like before.
This wasn't a strike.
This was punishment.
"What's wrong? Your body's adapting, isn't it?"
His fingers twisted inside me.
Muscles tore.
Ribs cracked.
I convulsed. My chains struck out wildly, but they couldn't reach him—I couldn't reach him. My own weapons were too slow. Too soft.
"Your pain is beautiful. Your resistance, tragic. You never stood a chance, death was inevitable."
I wanted to bite my tongue off.
Wanted to scream.
But all I could do was shiver.
"He knew you'd team up with the heavenly saint. He knew you'd adapt, that you'd use the necks and vines and thorns."
He dropped me.
My legs didn't work.
My eyes wouldn't focus.
"It's time to die."
My head lolled sideways.
"Kai…"
Please....
He won't come.
And maybe he never should.
I bit into my lip. Hard.
Hard enough to rip it open. I needed something to feel real. I needed something to hurt outside, because everything inside was already gone.
My chest heaved. Not a sob. Just… a broken breath.
It grabbed me again.
My spine bent the wrong way as I was slammed down. Bone-first. Hard.
I couldn't even scream properly anymore—my throat was raw, and my mouth filled with blood.
Then again.
CRACK.
I felt something inside me tear. Something important.
And again—harder.
Then its claws tore into me, deep, not fast like before—slow, deliberate, scraping muscle away like paper, digging in and pumping more of that hellish poison.
My body twitched. My voice died. My scream got lost somewhere in the blood pooling in my throat as it slammed me into the ground one more time.
I couldn't tell which way was up anymore. I couldn't feel where I began or ended.
Lucas—he was still there, slumped in the grotesques' grip, unmoving. His head tilted down, hair soaked with blood. He wasn't coming.
Nobody was coming.
The Swarm Tyrant lifted me again like I weighed nothing—like I was just meat now. Its claws wrapped around my face, and it yanked me forward, holding my head just inches from its eyes.
So close I could see my reflection in them.
A cracked doll. A shattered ghost.
"You had the scariest presence," it said, voice low and cold, "The shadow of a god slayer…"
I didn't blink.
I couldn't.
"But you're nothing," it whispered. "I was wrong. I overestimated you."
Then—
SLAM.
My face hit the wall so hard I heard my jaw click. My nose crushed. My cheeks pulsed in agony.
I tasted blood behind my eyes.
Even my magic recoiled now. Healing just made it worse. My cursed energy—what little remained—fought back like it was drowning.
My fingers curled into fists.
I was losing.
I was breaking.
But… no.
No.
"I can't die—"
Kaiser...
His name alone hurt more than the blows.
I promised myself I would save him.
"Die already," it hissed. "It's over."
My lips parted, but they couldn't form words. My tongue trembled. My throat burned.
"N-n… n-n… n…o…" I whimpered.
"Nobody is coming to save you."
Then it slammed me harder than ever before.
My spine howled. My legs twitched.
Tears.
Not from fear.
From everything else.
The kind of tears that didn't fall from eyes—They poured out from something deeper.
Pain that had no place left to hide.
I sobbed once, barely a breath. Just a stutter in my chest. And that was enough for more tears to break loose.
Then it gripped my head tighter, talons digging into my scalp, and hurled me upward.
I hit the ceiling.
And when I say hit, I mean shattered.
My back met stone.
My ribs gave.
My breath vanished.
And then—weightlessness.
Falling.
Time slowed down.
My eyes stayed open, and I saw—
my tears.
Suspended in air.
Tiny drops.
Like little stars I never got to wish on.
And I realized…
This is what dying felt like.
Just… silence.
Just falling, and knowing nobody is reaching for you.
And yet…
I begged.
Please…
Please…
I don't want to die.
Not yet.
Please.
Kai…
I love you....
I just wanted... to see you again.
Even if you never needed me.
I—
I was inches from the ground.
I braced for nothing.
But then—
I didn't hit.
I didn't break.
Because something—
someone—
caught me.
Arms.
Warm. Familiar.
Breath against my neck.
Strong. Real.
And I didn't even need to look.
Because my heart—that shattered, broken, bloody thing—still beat for only one person.
It's Him...
Kaiser Everhart was holding me in his arms... my safest world...
As I barely managed to look over at him... I could see him smile at me and his blue eyes reassuring me that I was safe.
"I'm here now, Celia. Just rest for now, I'll protect you." He said as he slowly closed my eyes with his fingers.
"Tonight's going to be the extinction of grotesques."
And just like that...
I lost consciousness.