CHAPTER 37: 'EAT MY PEOPLE?'
Tor stopped in front of the cloaked figure.
An arm's length away.
"Did you just say you would eat my people?" Tor asked calmly.
The dragon's aura was gone.
Whatever pressure had once crushed the battlefield into submission had vanished without residue. Even the cloaked figure, whose senses were tuned to fluctuations of soul and mana, could no longer feel it. The absence was unsettling, like a wound that had sealed too cleanly.
The cloaked figure sneered.
"And here I thought you might be something special," he said. "You absorbed a dragon that wouldn't even submit to me. My father had to force it."
His eyes hardened as he leaned forward slightly.
"But you're just a useless kid. Call the one who killed my dragon. At least then you could be useful before I eat your soul."
His gaze flicked briefly to the side.
"I'll start with that girl if you don't."
Tor's expression didn't change.
"You're not worthy."
The words had barely left his mouth when the cloaked figure's instincts screamed.
Danger.
He reacted without thought.
Two bone swords formed instantly in his hands, crossing in front of his chest as his aura surged to full strength. The motion was reflexive, honed by countless battles and near-death encounters.
Tor's fist landed.
One of the bone swords shattered on impact.
The shockwave punched through the crossed guard and slammed into the cloaked figure's body, launching him backward. The air detonated around him as he tore through it, his feet leaving the ground before he crashed hard into the stone.
He skidded to a stop, coughing violently.
Blood spilled from his mouth.
Impossible.
His aura had been fully deployed. His guard perfect. And yet—
Rage surged before disbelief could settle.
"I underestimated you," he snarled, forcing himself upright. "I'll burn you to ash, you bastard."
Soul fire erupted.
Blue flames burst from his body, screaming as they consumed the space around him. The ground blackened and cracked as he condensed the fire into a focused ray and fired it straight at Tor.
The beam devoured everything in its path.
It vanished on contact.
A spatial field laced with dark matter formed around Tor, swallowing the attack as if it had never existed. No explosion. No backlash. Just absence.
"Annoying," the cloaked figure spat.
He launched himself forward like a bullet.
As the distance collapsed, another bone sword formed in his hand. At the same time, massive spikes of solidified soul fire appeared around him, hovering for a fraction of a second before launching forward.
They moved faster than sound.
The spatial field interfered again.
When the spikes struck it, they detonated.
Explosions of blue soul fire tore through the battlefield, ripping open the ground and collapsing what little structure remained. Stone liquefied under the heat. Shockwaves rolled outward in violent pulses.
The cloaked figure didn't slow.
He dove straight into the explosions.
Tor stood unmoving.
The fire parted around him. The space he occupied remained untouched, as though reality itself refused to let destruction exist there.
"That's an interesting way to use flames," Tor said.
The cloaked figure descended through smoke and fire, eyes burning as he raised his weapon.
Dark matter twisted.
Space folded.
Three large, black, translucent pikes formed behind Tor. They hovered silently, their edges distorting the air around them.
The cloaked figure felt it immediately.
A sharp, primal sense of danger tore through him.
But his momentum was already committed. Instead of slowing, he forced more power into his body, amplifying his speed even further.
If he could strike first—
"Stupid," Tor said.
The pikes vanished.
They reappeared directly in front of the cloaked figure.
Terror seized him.
A protective barrier flared to life around his body, layered and reinforced in desperation. The moment the pikes touched it, they detonated.
Shrapnel tore through the barrier.
Through flesh.
Through bone.
A second wave of black explosions consumed the first, compressing and tearing everything inward before releasing it all at once.
Then silence.
Smoke cleared.
The cloaked figure's torso was gone.
The old man stared, frozen in place.
The guard captain didn't move. For a brief moment, he wondered if the accumulated injuries had finally pushed him into hallucination.
Tor hadn't moved an inch.
"Hey," Tor said calmly, stepping forward.
His foot came down on the leg of the torsoless body.
Crunch.
"I heard one of your people say that as long as you have enough souls, you're immortal."
Blue soul flames erupted.
Ghostly wails filled the air as the cloaked figure's body began reconstructing itself. Bone knitted together first, followed by muscle and flesh, reforming at a visible pace. The screams grew louder as the process continued.
A long minute passed.
The body finished rebuilding.
The cloaked figure staggered, shaking violently. His breath came in ragged gasps, his face twisted in pain that hadn't faded with regeneration.
"Listen," he said quickly. "As long as I have souls, I can regenerate. That attack just now clearly drained you. It costs you every time."
Fear crept into his voice.
"So let's stop here. We'll leave. We haven't really harmed your people. We've suffered more losses than you."
He watched Tor carefully, dread flickering in his eyes.
"Is he always this noisy?" Tor asked.
Tori tilted her head.
"Nope. He was very haughty before."
She smiled faintly.
"Where did all that confidence go?" she added. "Weren't you going to eat high-quality souls?"
The cloaked figure's expression twisted.
Rage exploded outward. His killing intent surged, disfiguring the terrain as he launched himself again, this time at near light speed. Arcane power flooded his body as he forced his limits higher.
The pikes appeared again.
This time, he evaded all three, slipping between them with violent precision.
They followed.
Guided.
The cloaked figure pushed harder, convinced Tor wouldn't trigger them at this range. He closed the final distance and swung his bone sword, aiming to split Tor in two.
"Stupid," Tor said.
The pikes detonated.
Shrapnel tore through the cloaked figure as explosions ripped the air apart. The battlefield shook once more before falling silent.
The wailing returned.
Louder.
His body reconstructed again.
This time, he screamed.
His eyes burned red, madness bleeding through the pain. When he looked toward Tor, terror unlike anything he had ever known seized him.
Tor still stood exactly where the fight had begun.
The cloaked figure finally understood.
This was not a battle.
This was a cycle.
And he was trapped inside it.