Kaemor's expression shifted—pleasure creeping in. The longer the fight went on, the more impressed he became. Chiaki's will hadn't cracked, not once. Her defiance was relentless, and to him, it was a rare kind of spectacle—something raw, something he hadn't expected to admire.
"Gotta hand it to your brother," he muttered, a grin audible beneath his mask. "He wasn't lying. You're no pushover. That just makes this all the more exciting."
He stepped forward, driving his boot into the dirt. A sharp flare of fire burst behind him, casting flickers of orange light against the suffocating night.
Purple-hued gas hissed from the ground beneath him, curling upward like a living thing. Wherever it touched, the grass withered, plants shriveled—death spreading with every pulse. The temperature dropped, but the air thickened.
Then Chiaki's vision began to warp.
The world around her started to sway and spin, her surroundings melting into a nauseating spiral. It was like vertigo had sunk into her bones. Her balance faltered. She blinked hard, but the haze didn't clear.
Kaemor's voice echoed through the gas, distorted, almost playful.
"I live in the mist, dear Chiaki. And you? You're just another target caught in it. Feeling dizzy yet?"
She said nothing—but her silence spoke volumes. Her breath trembled, legs shifting to keep upright, but the terrain beneath her felt like a spinning globe, and she could barely focus on where Kaemor was—if he was anywhere at all.
Then suddenly—movement.
A streak of burning gas surged across the field, carving a path straight toward her. And within it—Kaemor's silhouette appeared like a phantom from the storm.
Her mind couldn't keep up. Her eyes couldn't lock on. Her body—numb from the poison—didn't react.
In the next instant, the force hit.
Kaemor's fist slammed into her abdomen, solid and devastating. His gloved knuckles drove deep with bone-shaking impact, the blow crushing the air from her lungs in a single, violent breath.
Chiaki's body folded inward under the weight of it, eyes wide—frozen in shock.
Then it happened again.
The world lost its color.
Everything turned to shades of gray, like time itself had abandoned motion. The flames dimmed, the shadows froze, and Chiaki began to fall—slowly, helplessly—as if caught in a cage of suspended time. Her body wouldn't move any faster. No instinct, no strength, no control. Only the sensation of drifting downward through someone else's domain.
In that frozen moment, Kaemor moved.
He yanked the cord like a chain and, with a smooth backward leap, hurled it forward. It tore through the stagnant air, its speed undisturbed by the monochrome haze—and struck.
The tip of the cord punched clean through Chiaki's shoulder, then drove itself into a tree trunk behind her, anchoring her in place.
Time cracked open.
A sudden gust of wind ripped through the field, shattering the suspended moment like glass under pressure. Color returned in a violent rush. The cord trembled in place—and so did Chiaki.
Pain surged in.
Her body jolted as her senses caught up all at once. Blood exploded from her wound, hot and sharp, painting her hoodie and arm. Her eyes widened with the shock, a choked breath escaping her lips as she instinctively grabbed at her bleeding shoulder and the embedded cord.
She could barely think.
Every motion ached. Her body screamed. But worse than that—her spirit was fraying.
Ever since she set foot on Lyvoria Crest, it had been one relentless fight after another. Every enemy had tried to shatter her—capture her, kill her, crush her will. Even those she trusted… even they had questioned her path. There was no space to breathe, no place untouched by conflict. Every step forward met resistance. Every hope found a shadow.
There was never a break.
And now, silence reigned.
The burning forest crackled faintly, but all else had stilled. Ash drifted through the air like falling snow. The wind moaned softly between the scorched trees.
Kaemor's hand didn't tremble.
His grip on the cord—still embedded deep into Chiaki's shoulder—was unwavering, calm, even gentle in its cruelty. The length of cable shimmered faintly in the glow of the scattered fires, wet with fresh blood that trickled down its edge in thin, unbroken lines. It wasn't a violent flow—no spurting, no screams—just a slow, painful release. The kind of bleeding that spoke of internal damage, of something broken deep beneath the skin. Chiaki didn't scream. She didn't move. Her legs were stiff, her arms limp at her sides, her head bowed as if the weight of the cord alone had drained the final remnants of her strength.
The blood followed gravity's rhythm. A quiet, steady trail down her arm, down her fingers, before dripping into the dirt beneath her—one drop at a time. The kind of silence that stung louder than any roar. Her chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven pulses, and yet her eyes—still open—no longer focused on anything. As though her soul had taken a step away from her body, already retreating into the quiet void where the pain might not reach.
"You shouldn't have come here," Kaemor said, voice low, but without pity. It wasn't mockery either. It was just... inevitability. "You held your ground. More than I expected, honestly. But this island—this fight—it's eaten away at you. Too many wounds in too little time. You were always going to fall."
He looked down at her like one would a cracked blade—once sharp, now worn thin by battles it had no time to heal from. His fingers remained locked around the cord, still warm with her blood. For a brief moment, there was something unspoken in the air. Not remorse. Not respect. Just the stillness before closure.
"I'm taking you to Rhaziel now," he said simply. "It's time for you to go, Chiaki."
Then, without ceremony, he yanked the cord free from her flesh.
The sound was sickening—wet and raw—and in that instant, her body convulsed from the shock. Blood gushed from the torn muscle, spraying briefly across the ground before slowing again into its earlier, hopeless rhythm. Her legs, already trembling, gave way entirely.
She fell.
And to her, it wasn't just falling.
It was like being pulled down into a void that had been waiting patiently for her all along. The air seemed to vanish around her, replaced by cold wind that screamed through the hole torn in her body. The world stretched out as if time was refusing to let her reach the ground too quickly. Her senses dulled, everything slowing again—colors draining, sound muffling. It was as if Kaemor's world of monochrome time had claimed her once more.
Memories flickered in the dark behind her eyes. The faces of those she trusted. The ones she fought. The ones she failed. And all of it—every moment she'd fought to stay alive—collapsed into this one breathless descent.
And then—
The ground rose up to meet her.
There was no crash. Just a lifeless, dry thud.
A sound so final, it silenced even the wind.
Chiaki lay motionless. Her blood seeped into the ash-covered soil. Her fingers twitched once—twice—then stopped. No more strength to rise. No more fire to burn.
She didn't get back up.
And in that moment, all that remained was the hush of a dying forest, and a distant flicker of hope being snuffed out beneath the weight of smoke and flame.
The cord snaked along the charred ground as Kaemor dragged it behind him, the tip still glistening with Chiaki's blood. It coiled around his wrist like a serpent, locking itself into a clasp sewn into the sleeve of his jacket—an extension of him, as natural as breath. He straightened slowly, shoulders relaxed, his posture calm, almost casual.
Beneath him, Chiaki lay silent.
No twitch.
No breath.
No indication she still lingered in the world of the living.
She was just there—motionless. A silhouette half-shrouded in smoke, coated in ash, and soaked in the red of her own fight. There was no flinch, no sound. It was impossible to tell if she'd passed out—or simply passed on. And Kaemor, true to his mission, didn't care to check. Whether she lived or not, his objective remained the same. He was going to take her with him.
And nothing would stop him.
From the far edge of the ruined battlefield—where once stood hope and firelight—Vivia broke into a full sprint, a scream tearing from her lungs.
"Leave her alone!"
She charged forward, leaving Cassian's unconscious, soul-withered body slumped against the base of a scorched tree. Her voice cracked with desperation. Her legs burned with exhaustion. But she didn't slow.
"I won't let you take another one!"
Energy burst from her hand, solidifying into a blade of raw spiritual force. It surged to life, glowing with defiance. Without thought, without plan, she rushed headlong into the flames and smoke, her eyes locked on Kaemor's back.
"You lunatic!" she roared, dragging the blade low as she lunged, aiming to carve through him in a single sweeping arc.
Kaemor didn't flinch.
The long, curling pipe of his gas mask peeked around his shoulder, turning slightly—just enough to let her know he'd seen her coming. He didn't even bother turning his head.
"It's over," he said flatly. "She's finished."
His right arm moved with effortless speed. A whip-like flick of his wrist sent the cord trailing behind him into motion. It stretched and snapped through the air, a blur of steel and flame.
And then—
Blood.
The cord sliced clean across Vivia's upper arm and shoulder, tearing through skin and muscle in a single merciless pass. The spiritual blade in her hand shattered into fragments of dying light before she could even finish her swing. The shock paralyzed her.
She tried to scream—but the pain stole her voice.
Her legs gave out beneath her, and she stumbled hard, her knees dragging through the ashen dirt before she crashed to the ground.
Still, she looked up. Still, she tried.
Kaemor was walking toward Chiaki's body.
"No... don't you dare! Don't touch her!" Vivia croaked, forcing herself up on one knee, her wounded arm limp at her side. She staggered forward one step, then two.
But fate struck faster.
From the branches above, another cord fell like divine punishment. It slammed straight through her back with a metallic crunch and pinned her body flat into the earth. The sound it made wasn't just a strike—it was a verdict.
The air ripped from her lungs. Her mouth opened in a silent cry as pain burst across her spine and chest. The cord dug deep, then buried itself into the soil, locking her there—helpless, bleeding, shaking.
She lay there, barely breathing, her face pressed against the cold dirt, hair stuck to her cheeks with sweat and blood. Her body trembled, nerves screaming in protest, but her eyes stayed fixed on Chiaki.
She couldn't reach her.
Couldn't stop him.
Couldn't do anything at all.
And then she saw it.
Chiaki's limp body lifted from the scorched ground, her arms hanging lifelessly as Kaemor hoisted her over his shoulder with mechanical ease. Her hood draped over her face, stained in soot and blood, her frame unmoving—an image Vivia would never forget.
Kaemor paused, just once, turning his masked head to glance back toward her. The firelight flickered against the lenses of his mask, hiding any expression he might've had.
"Know this," he said, voice low and unshaken. "I respect your friend."
That was all.
Then he turned and walked away.
Each step echoed louder than the last as he moved farther from her reach, Chiaki's weight slumped over him like a fallen warrior—taken, stolen, slipping beyond the line of failure and defeat.
Vivia screamed, her voice torn from the depths of her chest.
"N-No! Come back!"
But he didn't stop. He didn't look back.
And her voice cracked. Her strength dissolved. The world in front of her melted into a smear of tears, smoke, and ash.
"No..." she whispered.
Her scream had become a breath.
Her vision—just fog and sorrow.
To be continued...