"What?" Icariel said aloud to the voice in his mind, his heart pounding like a war drum against the inside of his ribcage.
Smoke coiled between the trees like the breath of some ancient god, and firelight danced in cruel patterns across the battlefield. The woman advanced on Galien, who still knelt in the dirt, blood dripping from his fingertips. His twin swords were planted into the ground before him—no longer weapons, but crutches to hold up a dying man.
Her two-edged sword now hovered at his throat, gleaming with a sick hunger. "It was a pleasure, Galien," she purred, each word sharpened like a fang. "Now my bears will slaughter the ones you gave your life to protect—the ones you defied us for."
Galien exhaled, the breath of a man who had lived too long in the shadow of battle. His limbs ached like shattered pillars. His fingers were numb. Vision dimmed at the edges like paper singed by flame. He was drowning in the weight of his years, every scar he had earned pressing him into the scorched earth.
So this is how it ends… he thought. I could not avenge you, my son. I could not protect them. Everything I fought for, everything I endured… and still... A bitter smile flickered across his lips like a dying candle. Perhaps this is justice. Perhaps this is fate. But if only—if only I had just a little more time…
His fingers twitched around the hilts of his swords. No strength. No defiance. Only the ash of what had been a warrior's fire. I failed you, my son. His head bowed. And now, I will join you.
She raised her blade. The edge gleamed in the firelight like a promise of oblivion.
Then—an axe tore through the smoke like a comet. It screamed through the air.
CLANG.
She deflected it with a whip-crack of her sword, sparks flashing from the impact.
"Who dares?" she snarled, eyes flaring like twin embers. She scanned the woods, but the smoke concealed all. All she saw was burning forest—charred bark, broken limbs, and ghost-thick air.
Icariel, now hidden behind another tree, clutched at his chest to quiet the hammering panic within. I knew it, he thought. There was no way Galien would fall without a plan. That gathering mana… I saw it. Felt it. That was not weakness. That was preparation.
Her attention snapped back to Galien—and she froze.
He was rising.
Slowly. Relentlessly.
His aura, once flickering, now surged with molten brilliance. It bloomed around him like the breath of a newborn sun, orange and violent, swelling outward.
"You bastard…" she whispered. "You still have this much left?!"
Galien moved before she could react. He surged forward and locked his arms around her, crushing her against him in an unbreakable embrace.
"Let go of me!" she screamed, thrashing like a dying serpent. Her sword clanged against his side, but he did not release her.
Galien's smile returned. Tired. Triumphant.
"I knew it. Even though you are the most selfish creature I have ever known… when it comes to the decisive moment, you always show up." He exhaled a trembling breath. "You damn brat… Icariel. Thank you."
From his hiding place, Icariel blinked. Then grinned, barely containing the chaos of emotions inside him. He was waiting for the opening. That was it. He was luring her in. That axe—my axe—was the crack he needed. The voice... it told me exactly what to do.
Flashback:
"Throw your axe with all your strength at that woman's head," the voice had said.
"What?" Icariel had gasped, shocked.
"Your odds of surviving will increase tenfold."
Present:
Icariel crouched behind the tree, heart thudding like distant thunder. He watched Galien's arms lock tighter around the woman.
You told me that so Galien could finish her. So he could detonate this trap. It was a gamble—but you never gamble with my life unless it matters. That is why I always listen. Always… is that not right?
A faint smile touched his lips.
But the voice in his mind did not answer.
Galien's aura surged outward like a furnace erupting from the soul. The heat smothered everything. Flames bowed to it. The very air warped. Still, his voice remained steady—an oath carved from stone.
"You are going down with me," he said.
The flames seemed to dim beside the blaze now rising from him.
"Elektra," he said, and it was the first time he called her by name.
Her manic grin faltered. Her crimson energy spiked in panic. "What are you doing?" she hissed. "You would not—"
"I obtained a skill from all my years hunting that cursed mountain," Galien murmured. His voice trembled with pain, with reverence. "It is called 'Equal Prey.'"
Icariel's heart lurched. Equal… Prey?
Elektra flailed. "What does it do?!"
Galien's arms clamped tighter, and his aura began pulling in mana like a vortex. The flames around them flickered, hesitated—then bent toward him. Drawn in. Swallowed.
"I thought you were clever," he said. "But it is just like the name. It makes both me and my opponent prey. Neither predator, no escape."
Her face contorted in fury. "You fool. You will die!"
Galien's eyes softened. "That is the point."
"They both die the same way," he whispered, "hunted."
Icariel's thoughts screamed. No… this is not how it is supposed to end. Galien—
But Galien's form burned like a star collapsing. His voice was steady, steel beneath the fire.
"This skill pulls all mana into my body. My vessel becomes a bomb. I release it all at once." He smiled at Elektra. "It kills my opponent… and myself."
A tear ran down his cheek, lost in the heat. "A fitting death for the monster who murdered my son."
She screamed in his grasp, flailing like a beast on the altar.
"YOU DAMN BASTARD!"
He smirked through the smoke. "Goodbye, Icariel. Thank you… for giving me this chance."
Icariel surged forward, but it was too late.
The world exploded.
Light swallowed everything—an unholy eruption. The forest trembled, groaned, shattered. Trees cracked like ribs. Fire became knives. Air became a scream.
Icariel's body was thrown into the sky, through burning branches, into the unforgiving ground. His bones rattled. His vision bled into orange and red and nothingness.
The last thing he saw was the sky—burning like a funeral pyre.
Then—
Silence.
He awoke to the scent of cinders and death.
His face was bruised, his hair scorched and tangled. Around him, the forest was a graveyard—trees torn from roots, others leaning in ruin, many still aflame.
Galien's last act—Equal Prey—had turned the world to ash.
And yet, as Icariel stirred, his head pounding, a voice hissed through the black fog in his mind.
Wake up. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up.
He groaned, forcing himself upright. "I am already awake," he mumbled, pressing a hand to his pounding skull.
The voice sharpened. Urgent. Then run.
"Run?" he muttered. "Why? She is dead. Galien killed her—"
Run now. She is alive.
Terror gripped him like a chain around the throat. He turned.
And saw.
Galien's body—what remained of it—stood scorched and still. Arms gone. Torso blackened and motionless.
But through the curtain of fire, a figure emerged.
Elektra.
Walking through flames as though they were nothing. Her armor charred, cracked… but whole. Her skin bloodied, her hair wild, her eyes burning with hatred unquenched by death.
"How…?" Icariel whispered. His limbs refused to move.
Run! the voice screamed.
He tried. But his leg—trapped beneath a fallen tree—refused.
Elektra descended upon him like vengeance given form. She knelt before him, grabbed his hair, and yanked his head back. Her face was inches from his. Fury twisted her features into something inhuman.
"So it was you," she spat. "You are the brat who threw that axe. You cost me my one-time-use armor. Do you know how rare that is?!"
Icariel trembled. It was over.
Her fingers tightened. "I will make you bleed. I will make you suffer before your people's eyes. I will carve your name into pain."
His vision blurred again. Her voice faded.
"Ah…" he murmured. "I am done for."
And then darkness took him.
[End of Chapter 4]