I didn't know how long I ran, but I finally found him: Zefar.
I saw him kneeling.
Not wounded.
Not restrained.
Not burning.
Kneeling.
The forest was too quiet for a battlefield. Sunlight cut down through the branches in hard white lines, sharp enough to hurt my eyes.
The air smelled wrong—sweet and wet at the same time. Roses, maybe. Too many of them. They didn't belong in a place like this.
I was behind Zefar when I saw the True Slayer.
Even now, Zefar stood before the boy.
Small. Barefoot. Dirt on his legs. A dagger raised with one hand, shaking so badly I thought he'd drop it before it ever came down.
Why did he have to be a kid?
I didn't hesitate.
I moved.
My boot slammed into the kid's side before the dagger could reach Zefar.
The child didn't fall easily.
As my leg made contact with his tiny body, he stabbed his dagger deep into my bone.
He flew—fast, light—like I'd kicked a sack of grain instead of a person.
The boy vanished.
Not ran.
Not hid.
Vanished.
Shadows swallowed him like he'd never been there at all.
I turned back to Zefar.
He hadn't moved.
Didn't flinch.
Didn't stand.
Didn't even look surprised.
That should've been my first warning.
Pain exploded up my leg.
White. Hot. Deep.
I looked down just in time to see blood pouring over my greaves.
The dagger was buried in my leg, driven in with everything he had. I roared and staggered back, nearly losing my balance. My knee wanted to buckle, but I didn't go down—not yet.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself upright, breath coming in sharp, broken pulls.
"Damn it!" I snarled.
I cursed and spun, dragging my injured leg behind me. Blood soaked into the soil beneath my boots. My vision tunneled, but I stayed standing.
I would not fall in front of Zefar—not while that kid was here.
Zefar suddenly whispered,
"Too slow."
I froze.
He didn't turn. Didn't look at me. His gaze stayed fixed on the ground in front of him, on the cluster of roses growing there like someone had planted them on purpose.
He continued,
"Did you really think killing me would be simple?"
He asked quietly. "Tell me… can you still do it?"
Zefar wasn't talking to me. He had this weird power to get into people's heads, and right now he was messing with that kid.
As they exchanged thoughts or whatever Zefar called it, I growled and took a step forward.
My bleeding leg finally gave in as I fell to my knees. This wasn't good.
I screamed, trying to scare the kid off.
"Give up, kid. You're all alone!"
That's when I heard him whistle. Of course he was just like Apex.
I swallowed as the boy showed himself.
He had a snake coiled on one arm, that bloody raven on the other, and a wolf walking beside him.
I turned to Victor, who was still rooted to the ground. "Zefar… we have to go."
He stayed silent, still fixated on the roses.
The boy called an army of ravens, wolves, and snakes.
They were too many. Too coordinated. Without Sound-Death, we were just food to these beasts.
Even now, Zefar was still calm.
It truly looked like none of this mattered to him.
I snarled through the pain, my hand slamming into the dirt to keep me from falling flat on my face.
Zefar suddenly turned.
He looked at me like I had done something wrong. His eyes focused on my knee.
My leg had crushed something soft: one of the roses.
The calm shattered.
His gaze locked on me.
"Hunter! Get off the rose."
I blinked. "What?"
He stood in one smooth motion and crossed the distance between us before I could react.
His boot slammed into the dirt beside me. He was too close for comfort.
"You crushed it," he said. His voice was low now. Dangerous. "Do you have any idea what you just did?"
I laughed, sharp and breathless despite the pain. "There's a True Slayer trying to kill you," I spat, "and you're worried about flowers?"
His gaze snapped to my face.
For the first time, I felt it.
True fear.
"Hunter," he said.
My blood went cold.
"Hunter, I know what you want," Zefar continued. "Remember this—only I decide who is summoned."
My frustration poured out at Zefar's words,
"What are you talking about? Are you really going to reject me because of roses?"
He stepped closer.
Too close.
"You have always been so desperate," he said. "Your fear of death made you loyal to a fault."
I glanced down again at the roses without understanding why he was so angry.
They were just flowers. Why did they matter? Why would this matter more than the True Slayer in our mist?
"We are fighting over this?" I demanded. "Over a stupid—"
I never finished the sentence.
Zefar grabbed the dagger in my leg and ripped it out with ferocious speed.
Before I could let out a scream, the blade reached my neck. Pain bloomed at my throat as he slit it.
It was warm, shocking, and impossible to stop. I gasped, hands flying up too late as blood poured through my fingers.
Zefar caught me as I fell, his hands over my mouth.
Damn.
He wouldn't let me scream, fall, or even die in peace.
The King of Slayers held me upright.
I tried to speak. Tried to beg him. Nothing came out. I was drowning in my own blood.
He leaned close, his free hand touching my head.
And he spoke in the language of Babel.
Not a taunt.
Not a whisper.
Just a command.
I had been waiting for this moment my whole life.
"Death, stay far from this soul. He showed me loyalty, and now I give him eternity.
Return, Slayer.
I summon you."
The world tilted.
The forest blurred.
The roses were the last thing I saw—bright red against the dirt—and I still didn't understand why they mattered.
Everything went dark as I faded away, knowing one thing.
The Hunter had finally been summoned.