Kaiser Everhart's Perspective:
I laid Celia down with more care than I've shown anyone in years.
Her body twitched slightly, still stuck somewhere between consciousness and agony. Her lips were cracked, bleeding in the corners, but they parted weakly as I poured the potion between them.
"Just a little more, Celia," I whispered under my breath. "You don't get to leave yet."
She drank.
Good.
I stood up slowly.
The grotesques stood frozen, twitching but not moving. Not even a hiss. That silence wasn't respect—it was fear.
I hadn't even touched a weapon yet, and they knew.
As they should.
The Swarm Tyrant stepped forward from the shadows of his malformed court. Towering. Bone-stitched. Crawling with maggots of mana that swirled and twitched across its armor-like hide. The beast reeked of decay and victory.
Victory it won't be holding tonight.
"Who are you?" it asked, voice rattling like chains dragged through wet stone.
I didn't respond.
One of the grotesques tilted unnaturally, vibrating slightly—then a faint click sounded, like some kind of frequency was passed between them.
The Tyrant froze.
Its jaw cracked open a little wider, and its eye-rings flexed.
"...You," it rasped again. "You're not even human."
Ah.
Took 'em long enough.
"You slaughtered my entire forward force in Rinascita. You… made no sound slaughtering all of my forces here. Not one of them reported back."
"What are you?"
I glanced to my left. One grotesque flinched. To my right—another took a step back. I could hear its bones creaking.
I rolled my neck once and spoke, flatly.
"Kaiser Everhart."
I reached into my coat and drew both daggers in a smooth, practiced motion.
"E-Rank Adventurer."
The silence was a slap.
Then the Tyrant laughed.
Ugly. Dry. Bone-on-bone.
"E-Rank? You? How did you wipe out a legion of grotesques? You don't have power. You don't even exist in the aura plane. No magic… no energy… no divine touch. You're hollow."
I smiled—low and lazy.
"Hollow, huh? So those are your final words then."
I stepped forward. Light didn't follow. Shadows grew sharper behind me, like they were afraid to touch my skin.
"You've got all this poison and legion, and still you can't smell it—what's right in front of you."
The Tyrant's head tilted, confusion twitching through its body. Its aura surged outward in waves, a massive, oily tide of corruption and death—trying to overwhelm me.
Still… I didn't react.
No flinch. No glow. No pressure pushing back.
Just stillness.
"No aura... No heartbeat... Nothing. You don't even feel alive," it muttered, slower now, the tiniest tremor of unease entering its voice.
I spun one dagger lazily and held it reverse grip.
Then I met its eyes with a cold smile—calm, dangerous, quiet.
"I'm not here to feel alive."
I took one more step, shadows collapsing around my feet like they were drawn to me.
"I'm here to remind you what fear used to feel like."
And just like that, the air changed.
My voice dropped a little lower.
"You crawled out of some pit thinking you were unstoppable. Congratulations. You were wrong."
The Tyrant's aura flared again—but it didn't close the distance.
It hesitated.
I smiled wider.
"You want to know what I am?" I asked, casually flicking the dagger toward my side. "You ever seen a man with nothing left to protect—except the person you just hurt?"
I raised my blade and pointed it forward.
"That's me."
A beat passed.
"And you?" I added, as my stance lowered and my foot slid into place. "You're just my victim tonight."
The moment the Swarm Tyrant stepped back, I knew what was coming.
A low tremor echoed from the walls—then every grotesque in the cavern screamed at once. Not a war cry. A reaction. Rage? Obedience? Doesn't matter.
They lunged.
Thirty-seven at once.
I counted by instinct—twelve from the left, eight flanking wide on the right, six dropping from the jagged walls above. Eleven dead ahead. All of them leaping, limbs spread, claws twitching with venom and hunger.
This wasn't a fight.
This was them panicking.
Good.
I moved.
The first grotesque reached me in under a second—fangs bared, shoulder spikes raised to tear through my ribcage. I ducked low, twisted my torso under the arc of its arm, and drove my left dagger upward into the soft patch just beneath its chin.
Right where the bone plating doesn't cover.
Every grotesque has a blind spot—right under the back of their neck. Chitin armor doesn't reach there. Evolution's oversight.
The dagger punched through soft flesh and into its brainstem. It didn't even screech. Just slumped.
I pivoted on my heel, using its falling body as cover. Another grotesque lunged from above—I used the corpse's back like a springboard and launched upward, meeting the airborne freak mid-air. One flip. One clean slash.
Its neck tore open like wet cloth.
The winged ones are evolved. Better poison. But that venom's created in the lower throat—near the adrenal sacs behind the neck. Rupture those, and their system floods with its own rot. Instant shutdown.
The moment it hit the ground, its muscles locked. Twitched. Then went still.
I landed behind two more.
One tried to grab me from the side. I stepped into its arm and bent with its momentum, my knee coming up to its ribcage and shattering it inward. It coughed black fluid all over my coat.
"Gross," I muttered, slicing through its spine in one stroke.
The second one flanked too wide—saw me for a second too long.
Wrong move.
My dagger arced, blade reversed, and cut through its neck at a clean 45-degree angle. Head tilted. Wobbled. Fell.
They fight like beasts, but not dumb ones. Cornered animals. They test your response time. Rush you in flanks. They never come one by one. Problem is… they've never fought me before.
A screech from behind.
I didn't turn.
I jumped backward—tucking my legs and rolling mid-air as three grotesques slammed into where I was.
They tried to reorient. I didn't let them.
I landed on one's shoulders—kicked off—and stabbed both daggers downward into their exposed necks while flipping away. The third one looked up, too slow, and I spun midair, dagger horizontal.
Its face split down the middle.
By now, the cavern was a mess of twitching limbs and twitching corpses. Seventeen down.
My breathing hadn't changed.
Because I was holding back.
A grotesque from the right tried a wide, two-arm sweep. I dropped under the strike, spun on my palm, and swept-kicked its legs out from under it—then buried my knee into its exposed stomach as it fell. It vomited blood and I finished it with a clean cut across the throat.
The tail armor is tough. Spinal plating? Useless when they're upside down choking on their own bile.
Three more behind me. I felt the air shift.
I didn't turn.
I jumped straight up, letting their claws pass under me—and as I flipped, I drew one dagger behind me and threw it into the skull of the furthest one.
Mid-air kill.
The moment I landed, I caught my spinning blade from the corpse's collapse and used it to gut the second.
Twenty-six.
I swept left, dagger dragging in a spiral. Opened up the stomach of one flanker, ducked under the next's lunge, and punched my blade straight through its eye socket.
One tried to grab me from behind.
I dropped, hooked its leg mid-slide, and snapped it backward, dragging the creature down to the floor. Its skull hit stone and I stomped once. Bone crunched.
Thirty-one.
The last six hesitated.
That was new.
They didn't charge. They just stood there—hissing, twitching, eyes darting between the bodies and me.
I didn't say anything.
Didn't need to.
They ran.
Sprinted toward the Swarm Tyrant, leaping toward the walls, clawing their way out of the cavern like cornered rats trying to escape a flood.
Thirty-seven. All gone.
I flicked the last drops of blood off my blades and twirled them once, sliding them back into my coat with quiet precision.
Then I looked at the Tyrant.
"You sent your pack," I said, cracking my neck once. "But you forgot the leash."
He stared.
Celia's breathing behind me was soft. Stable.
Good.
I stepped forward, eyes narrowing on the Swarm Tyrant. It hadn't moved the entire time. Watching. Measuring. It was smart—smarter than the rest of the trash I'd just cleaned up.
Its wings flexed once. Wide. Black-veined, bone-split wings like twisted cathedral glass, flaring with violent pressure.
Then it spoke.
"You're the one that stared back at me behind her darkness… the void that lives inside her shadow." Its voice was less sound and more feeling.
I didn't blink.
"I was just protecting what's mine," I said simply.
It moved first.
No roar. No scream. Just appeared—one wingbeat and it closed the distance between us like a reaper cutting down the gap between death and breath. Its claws came like scythes.
I twisted sideways, slid under the arc, felt the wind split behind my ear.
My dagger was already out.
I slashed upward—aiming for its ribcage.
But it turned mid-strike. Flexed its shoulder blade, and my blade scraped harmlessly off bone armor.
Fast.
Too fast.
"Your speed's good," I muttered, sliding back on my heel. "Shame I'm better."
It lunged again—this time low. A full-body tackle, wing-boosted.
I flipped over it, grabbed its back spike mid-air, and kicked off it to launch myself backward. My sword was already in my hand—blue sigils humming down the blade's length.
Ice magic. Subzero retention. Wing joints like that? Brittle when cold.
I spun mid-air and slashed a frozen crescent toward its shoulder.
It screeched as the ice cracked and climbed up its wing membrane—just long enough for me to close the gap again.
I ducked low, stabbed both daggers at its exposed flank.
One hit.
The other—
It caught my wrist.
Its grip felt like steel pressurizing bone.
"You are not what you seem," it growled. "You are not human."
"If I said I was," I grinned, twisting my caught wrist until I heard a snap—not mine, its—"would you feel better about dying?"
I broke free, kicked its kneecap sideways, and used the motion to slide under it, carving deep across the hamstring with my dagger.
Blood like oil.
It spun, tail whipping—but I caught it mid-spin, used the momentum, and threw myself above its head, flipping forward.
Mid-air, I reversed grip on my sword.
And slammed it down onto its shoulder.
The ice burst inside the joint.
It screamed.
"You think this is enough?!" it roared, wings flaring again. The force cracked the ground, throwing me back into the wall.
I hit stone—hard—but rolled out of the follow-up slash. One claw barely missed my face.
I sliced upward.
Cut three fingers off.
"You fight like a beast," I said, catching my breath in half a second, "but think like prey. Screaming about power mid-fight? That's a red flag, buddy."
It dove again—wing-boosted.
I ducked and slid beneath it, using my ice blade to shatter more of its wing membrane.
"Stay grounded," I muttered.
The Tyrant landed hard, cracking the cavern floor.
"I am disaster," it snarled, voice rattling the stalactites. "I am the peak of grotesque evolution. You are going to die! And I—"
"Are bleeding all over my boots," I cut in.
I threw my dagger. It lodged in its shoulder.
I appeared behind it in the next second—dagger already back in hand.
Close combat again.
Slash. Parry. Cut. Twist.
We moved like two shadows crossing in flickers of blue and red—ice and blood scattering like rain. My movements were sharper now—precise. I let its claws come within inches. Trusted my footwork. Let instinct drive the gap between my ribs and death.
It clawed. I redirected.
It jumped. I was already above.
It flew—my blade froze its wings mid-air and sent it spiraling down.
Its body slammed into the ground hard enough to shake the earth.
It tried to rise. One wing was limp.
It looked up at me.
Chest heaving. Eyes narrowing.
"I underestimated you…"
I stared down, frost forming beneath my feet from the aura leaking off my blade.
Then I grinned.
"Estimate me all you want…"
I stepped forward, pressing the edge of my sword to its throat—ice crawling up its chin.
"…after you're dead."
As I was about to finish this pest—blade drawn, ice humming off its edge—I felt it.
A flicker. No… a presence. Behind me. Too close to her.
I didn't hesitate.
Spun.
Two daggers—one step, one breath, and the grotesque never even had the chance to scream. Its head spun once in the air before it hit the ground with a dull, wet sound.
Don't touch what's mine.
I dropped to a knee beside Celia. Her breathing was still shallow, but steady. Unconscious. Skin cold to the touch, but alive. Barely.
I placed a hand on her cheek, just for a second. My palm was shaking. Huh.
Guess I was angrier than I thought.
I stood as the Swarm Tyrant's body cracked back into place. Bones snapping back like they were used to breaking.
Healing.
Fast.
Too fast.
Not that it would matter.
My sword slid into my grip like memory. I threw it—blazing blue—and just as it was about to pierce Lucas clean through the eye—
—I outpaced it.
One blink. Two.
And I was already there, catching the blade mid-flight, using the moment to twist in the air and blast-freeze the grotesque behind him in mid-lunge. It shattered before it hit the ground.
Lucas was unconscious. His pulse fluttered.
But he'd live.
He had no choice.
"You'll adapt," I muttered, grabbing him by the collar. "Or die trying."
I turned on my heel and blitzed—shadows cracking beneath my feet as I raced back to Celia, scooping her into my arms like she weighed nothing.
The Swarm Tyrant screamed behind me.
"I WON'T LET YOU RUN, HUMAN!"
I paused mid-step.
Didn't look back.
"It's Kaiser," I said calmly.
And then—
My knee slammed into the ground with enough force to shatter the stone beneath me. A spiderweb of cracks erupted from the impact, and a section of the hive floor collapsed into blackness.
A hole. Straight into the depths below.
Hell would be safer than here.
I tossed Lucas down first. One motion, no hesitation. He vanished into the dark.
I looked at Celia one more time.
She didn't move.
I smiled faintly and pressed something into her hand. Small. Cold. She'd understand later.
"Catch you soon, silly girl."
And then I let her fall.
Gently.
Down into the void.
The Swarm Tyrant roared—its massive wings spreading, its veins glowing violet with inner venom, dripping rage and poison.
"YOU DARE—?!"
I turned to him.
Eyes calm.
Voice low.
"Run? Who said I was running."
"Then what is this—this mockery?! You discard your allies and challenge me alone?!"
I rolled my shoulders, cracking the stiffness out of my neck as my blade pulsed in my grip—ice creeping down the hilt like it wanted blood.
"You don't get it, do you?"
I stepped forward. The temperature dropped.
Grotesques that had been twitching near the edge of death froze instantly, as if my presence alone was locking their marrow.
"I cleared the hive to make space," I said simply. "Now, there's only room for one monster."
The Swarm Tyrant bared its jagged teeth, wings flaring again, aura boiling with hatred.
"You think you can match me?! I am evolution's perfection. I am the disaster that—"
"You know I pity you, this is a very unfair matchup."
I grinned.
The blade in my hand hummed with frost and death.
"Let's hope your third form's prettier."
He lunged.
"Welcome to your final estimate."
And then—Darkness.
Complete. Crushing. Black.
The Swarm Tyrant let out a shriek so loud it shattered every remaining crystal light, every flickering flame in the hive snuffed out in a breath. The throne room, once a cathedral of twisted bone and bioluminescent horrors, was now a tomb.
No light. No movement.
Just the echo of a monster that thought it understood fear.
I heard it. The chittering. The wet slaps of flesh against stone. The vibration of clawed limbs swarming from every crevice in the walls. Hundreds of grotesques, answering their king's call.
The kind of sound that would freeze any other hunter's blood.
I rolled my neck once. Cracked my knuckles.
And sighed.
"Seriously? You think blinding me is enough?"
The Swarm Tyrant said nothing. But I could feel it. That subtle shift in the air.
Its body stiffened.
Its instincts… finally kicking in.
Telling it to back away.
Too late.
I slid my sword back into its sheath with a click.
"Guess I'm pest control tonight."
The daggers slipped into my hands like old friends.
No light to guide me—didn't need any.
The only glow left in the entire room…
...was the sharp, haunting blue of my eyes.
And then—I moved.
I was everywhere.
A massacre.
One grotesque lunged—I dropped low, slid beneath its arm, and severed both legs in a clean sweep. Another dropped from above—my foot snapped up in a rising heel kick, cracking its jaw, and before it hit the ground, I embedded a dagger into its throat.
Two more rushed from opposite sides.
Bad idea.
I flipped forward between them, twisted mid-air, and sliced their heads clean off before my boots even kissed the ground again.
They kept coming.
Dozens at once.
Didn't matter.
I flow through the chaos.
Spinning, ducking, weaving. Using their own momentum to break their bones, twisting necks as I slid past, stepping on heads like footholds, bouncing off torsos as I moved from one to the next.
A claw slashed inches from my face—I caught the wrist, dislocated it with a brutal twist, and used the limb to skewer another grotesque behind it.
Blood sprayed. Limbs flew.
Every movement—lethal, clean, surgical.
I wasn't just killing.
I was correcting an infestation.
297 grotesques.
Dead.
In 30 seconds.
Not one scratch on me.
And when it was over—when the last twisted thing dropped, twitching, headless, its scream echoing like a dying siren—the Swarm Tyrant stood frozen.
Still in the dark.
Still watching.
I could feel his disbelief as clearly as I felt my own heartbeat.
"You…" it muttered. "You were holding back this whole time…?"
My boots echoed as I stepped forward through the pile of corpses, blood dripping from my daggers.
I tilted my head and smiled faintly.
"Relax now," I said, voice calm, amused. "You don't want to look any more ridiculous now, do you?"
The only light source—Was me.
Just my glowing blue eyes burning through the darkness.
And the promise that I was done playing.
It screamed.
And then it changed.
Flesh twisted with the crunch of bending steel.
Armor cracked—shattered—peeling back like obsidian shards as something… wrong crawled out from within. Ichor pulsed beneath, black and radiant like the void had veins. Its claws stretched long and thin, almost elegant now—like surgical tools sculpted by rage.
The wings…
No longer wings.
Crystalline blades. Serrated and glistening with something that wasn't blood but knew how to hurt like it.
Its chest split open—ripped apart—revealing a grotesque second mouth, dripping with tendrils that screamed even without sound. And its face—Gone.
No eyes. Just malice. Raw. Focused. Directed.
The air distorted. Heat and pressure warped around it.
My hair flew back from the force.
Tch—gosh. Fixing it later's gonna be a pain.
Was just starting to grow in nicely too.
Then it looked at me.
It didn't need eyes. It had intent.
The kind that gets carved into history.
I calmly drew my sword again and reached into my coat.
"Let's even the playing field, yeah?"
I snapped a small lantern into the groove on my hilt. With a flick of my wrist, I threw the blade upward—spinning like a beam of judgment—until it slammed into the ceiling, embedding itself and activating.
The light burst out—not for the world, just for me.
A thread of Judgmental Light, woven through soul-link.
Only I could see.
The cavern was blinding in my eyes, pitch black to anyone else.
Heh.
My world. My rules.
And then—It charged.
A black blur. Shimmering edges. Hunger sharpened into motion.
Its first strike was a downward slash aimed at my throat—I parried with my right dagger, rolled over its arm mid-deflection, then stabbed upward toward the chest-mouth. Missed by a breath. Tendrils snapped at my arm—I twisted away, backflipped mid-air, landed light.
Its tail lashed at my legs—I ducked under, slid across the floor, and came up with a clean cross-slice aiming for the wings—ping. No dice. Tougher than before.
It slammed both clawed feet down—I vaulted off the shockwave, flipped over its shoulders, blade out, dragging a line across its back—nothing deep, but enough to feel. It spun instantly, claws flying toward my neck—I dropped low, slid on one hand, and uppercut with my dagger—
Blocked.
Clash. Clash. Strike. Counter.
It wasn't just strong—it was smart.
Reflexive. Learning. Evolving with every move.
My sword dislodged from the ceiling mid-fight, fell toward me.
I caught it behind my back without looking.
Switched into a dual stance—dagger in left, sword in right—and charged.
This time I was on the offensive.
I ducked under a blade-wing, twisted into a roll between its legs, and sliced both ankles in a cross-pattern. It stumbled, used its tail for balance, tried to impale me—I sidestepped, grabbed the tail with one hand, and used it as a springboard to launch up, striking its face—if it even had one.
Sparks.
I landed in a crouch, panting lightly.
It stopped.
And for the first time—it didn't move.
We both stared, breathing heavy.
I exhaled and wiped the sweat off my brow with the back of my hand.
"Gotta admit…" I said, smirking. "Your final form's not bad."
"Hhhhnnnnghhh…" it snarled.
I twirled my sword once, locking into stance again.
"Still gonna die, though."
I slid my daggers back into the inner sheath of my overcoat—smooth, silent. Felt the click as they locked in. The cold against my ribs grounded me.
Then I dropped my stance.
Palms open.
Fingers loose.
The Swarm Tyrant tilted its head.
Or whatever that thing called a head. Even eyeless, I could feel it blink.
Confused?
Good.
"My hands," I said quietly, stepping forward, "are enough to crush you."
And that was all the warning I gave.
The ground shattered beneath my first step—air cracked, rippled—and then I was gone.
I moved faster than sight—so fast light struggled to keep up. A white-blue afterglow trailed behind me.
But the Tyrant was faster than before.
It vanished into a jet-black blur, a line of obsidian rage cutting through the air. Its wings screeched against the wind as its trail burned crimson behind it.
Two light-trails collided mid-air.
Boom.
The room bent.
Stone exploded outward in ripples.
Grotesques still alive in the corners were vaporized on contact with the shockwave.
Its claw swung in from the right—I pivoted my torso sideways, caught the momentum with my left palm, and redirected it overhead, using its force against it. The recoil from that alone crushed the stone below my feet.
Before it recovered, I surged up with a twisting elbow—aimed at its lower jaw-mouth—but it blocked with a wing-spike, throwing sparks. It tried to sweep my legs—I jumped straight up, flipped mid-air and came down with a heel-drop.
It caught my leg.
Threw me against a pillar.
The whole wall shattered behind me.
I stood.
Dusted off my shoulder.
"Gonna take more than that, pest."
I charged again.
This time I feinted left, vanished mid-dash with a burst step, and appeared on its blind side—slam-punched the inside of its chest-mouth just as it opened.
The Tyrant screeched and retaliated—slicing upward.
I couldn't dodge that one.
Blood spurted.
My arm hit the ground behind me.
Left arm—clean off. Sliced from elbow down.
For a moment, silence.
And then I smiled.
"Ow."
I didn't flinch. Didn't scream. I moved.
I pivoted on one leg, spun my weight, and roundhouse kicked its ribs with full force. It flew backward, smashing through the air like a cannonball.
I dashed in its wake. The light trail behind me looked like a serpent made of rage.
As it hit the far wall, I was already above it—one-armed, bleeding, laughing.
And then—
Shlkt.
My arm began regenerating.
Bone first.
Then nerves.
Then flesh.
Then skin.
All within seconds.
The Tyrant barely processed it before I dropped like lightning, fist cocked back.
BOOM.
My punch cratered the floor. Its body slammed down into the stone.
The armor on its mouth split—cracked straight down the center.
It coughed something wet and ugly.
I crouched beside it, not even breathing hard.
"I was getting bored without you talking," I said, cocking my head with a grin.
It flew back in a panic, wings lurching wide, tearing air as it scrambled through the darkness I had made my home.
Its instincts screamed what its mouth couldn't yet admit.
Run.
I stepped forward, brushing a bit of ash off my sleeve.
"What's wrong—" I paused mid-sentence.
Because I could feel it. The shift.
Its fear.
It looked like rage, but it reeked of panic.
The Swarm Tyrant's body jittered in place—shudders wracking its malformed muscles. Veins of black ichor pulsed across its form, limbs twitching like it couldn't decide whether to fight or flee.
It opened its many mouths at once, voice slithering from too many throats.
"H-How… how are you fighting like this? You're human! This is inhuman. You move like death… and you don't stop. That arm… how?!"
I tilted my head slightly, eyes still glowing faint blue in the black void around us.
"I get that a lot," I muttered.
Its body convulsed again as tissue repaired, eyes—if it even had any left—flicking around the chamber like it was searching for an exit in a world where none existed.
"Then—why? Why weren't you at the town when I first came? If you were this strong… they would've stood a chance. Why didn't you come?"
I gave it a long, quiet stare. The kind of stare that cracks through words and rests in silence.
Then I shrugged.
"Because it wasn't necessary."
"That wasn't my war."
The words were simple, but the tone?
Cold enough to freeze time.
It didn't speak at first.
Its jaw clenched—those twitching tendrils now shivering from more than regeneration.
"Then why now?" it hissed. "What made you come down here—to me?"
I didn't blink.
The blue in my eyes dimmed.
Turned darker.
Colder.
Void.
"You hurt what's mine."
I took another step forward, shadows dragging beneath my feet like they feared being left behind.
"You hurt my Celia."
The chamber temperature plummeted.
"And you thought you'd be alive to see what comes next?"
It snapped—lashing forward at impossible speed. A blink later, its clawed hand was around my throat—talons pressing against my jugular, just shy of breaking the skin.
Silence.
Then—
It jumped back.
Stumbled back like it had touched fire. Like it had seen death.
"WHAT… WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!"
Its shriek echoed across the ruins. The surviving grotesques froze. Even the shadows recoiled.
I didn't move.
Just slowly turned my head toward it.
And my eyes—those void-lit things—locked onto it.
"I know," I said calmly, "you're not the Swarm Tyrant."
It froze.
I took a breath and stepped into the truth.
"You're a copy. A fake. A replicate built to buy time."
"I knew from the beginning you weren't the real Swarm Tyrant."
"You talk too much about being a disaster."
"Your hesitation. Your regeneration lag. Your aura—it lacked origin. You're just a cheap replica."
"...Then why—why did it feel like my body was being torn apart when I touched your neck?" It asked.
"I showed you your future."
"I knew exactly how this would play out."
"Because I'm the one who planned it." I said.
"That's impossible! My lord sees the future! He knew I'd win—!" It tried to speak...
"I rewrote that future." I said.
clang
...
"You're tonight's firework."
Its body froze.
Not out of pride.
But raw, ancestral fear.
Something ancient in its bones shrieked as my sword clattered from the ceiling—still glowing faintly with the sigil I etched into its steel hours before.
The thing stumbled back, trembling, not even bothering to reply. The authority in my voice overrode whatever programming it had. All that pride it wore like armor? Gone. Shattered.
Its head twitched upward.
And then—
CRACK.
Its claws ripped through the ceiling, carving a ragged hole to the sky, frantic, desperate to escape its own hive.
The grotesques lining the chamber? They didn't even breathe. They wouldn't move.
I sighed.
Then muttered:
"Void. Obey me."
The mark on my palm flared—black fractals etching into the air.
"1507 / 1504. Seals unlocked."
The Void didn't speak aloud. It never had to.
It knew me.
I smirked.
Behind me, a wing tore into existence—slick, pitch-black, folding out like a rift had opened from my spine. A pulse of pressure rolled off my body like a heartbeat of death.
I stepped once—And vanished.
Blade in hand, I shot through the tunnel it carved upward, cutting through stone and darkness like a god reclaiming his throne.
The sky was beautiful tonight.
A soft, star-lit velvet curtain—untainted, quiet… Almost ironic, considering what was about to paint it red.
The thing was flying—well, trying.
Its broken wings snapped and reformed, flapping violently against the wind.
Fleeing.
Not because it was weak.
But because it was afraid.
Up here, high above the hive—Above Celia, above Lucas, above the skies of Rinascita—There were no walls.
[Swarm Tyrant's Perspective – Fragmented Thoughtstream]
I'm more than a replica.
I am evolution.
I've surpassed the original.
I survived him. I outlived the last Tyrant.
I—
Why does the wind feel like my end is near?
Why can't I stop shaking?
Why can I still hear his heartbeat?
[Kaiser – First Person]
It burst upward with everything it had, clawing at the stars. Black light crackled behind it like thunder with no sound—raw energy distorting the wind.
Cute.
I launched after it.
Faster than my own breath.
A single beat of my void-wing and I was there, ahead of it.
It blinked—Too slow.
I twisted mid-air and slammed the hilt of my sword into its stomach. Flesh folded inward like cheap metal, the blow cracking through its armor as we spun in the air.
CLANG
It roared.
Too late.
I vanished.
I reappeared behind it—sliced off one wing clean.
Blood exploded in a crescent arc.
The sky caught fire.
My blade glowed pale blue, my body black, streaking through the sky like two dueling comets.
Spirals of raw power painted the stars like calligraphy.
One mistake and you'd think it was a fireworks show.
I didn't let up.
Not this time.
Not when it hurt her....
"Enjoying it?" I muttered mid-strike, "This is your last flight."
I slammed a kick into its ribs—five broke.
As it coughed blood mid-air, I caught its arm and ripped it straight off.
It screamed.
I wasn't even looking at it anymore.
BOOM—BOOM—CRACK
We collided again and again, mid-sky. Each hit tore the clouds open.Its body kept trying to regenerate, but I outpaced it.
Every time it healed, I shattered it again.
My sword spun in my hand, slicing through bone like melted butter.
A wing.
A leg.
A chunk of torso.
Gone.
Still, I didn't kill it.
Not yet.
"You're scared."
"You should be."
Its black blood misted the stars like ash, spiraling down like cursed snowfall.
It kept trying to speak—but no words came.
Just panic.
It wasn't the Tyrant. It was a wannabe.
And I was the night that devoured it.
I slowed mid-air. Just hovering.
Watching it tremble, half a body and a pulse, somehow still flying.
The sky lit blue from my blade—its magic rippling through the wind.
My hair drifted gently in the pressure. My heartbeat calm.
"Go on," I said softly.
The sky burned.
Blue and black streaks danced in the heavens like gods clashing over fate itself.
The clouds had split long ago—now, they just hung in pieces, trembling from the shockwaves.
Blood rained down—not red, but violet, green, and black. Each drop shimmered with an unnatural sheen, like oil over water. It sizzled when it touched rooftops, sending steam spiraling upward.
For everyone on the ground… it was chaos.
And awe.
Levi, wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, leaned on a cracked wall, panting. He looked like he'd been pulled out of hell and shoved back into it.
But even half-conscious, he raised his head.
His one working eye widened.
"…what… is that?"
He wasn't sure if it was the fever, or if the sky was actually spiraling.
"Blue and black," he whispered, almost reverently. "Someone's still fighting."
Beside him, Zain, shielded his eyes as a flash of light sparked overhead—followed by what could only be described as an explosion of color.
It wasn't just fire.
"…Is that the swarm tyrant?" Zain muttered. "Is it losing…?"
He didn't realize he'd stopped breathing.
Across the broken skyline, standing atop the fractured remains of a rooftop, Alina stood with her arm wrapped around her waist. One eye was hidden beneath clean white bandages; the other watched the sky in silence.
She didn't flinch when a droplet of black blood landed beside her foot and hissed into the stone.
"…Someone capable of fighting it alone."
Her sword remained sheathed.
She wouldn't interfere. Couldn't.
"…Impossible…"
Her voice was calm, almost detached, but inside… her heart thudded loudly.
From the mouth of the collapsed cave, Navina emerged slowly, hearing loud noises outside.
She looked up.
And froze.
The sky was alive.
She saw it clearly—The blue light moving in perfect, elegant spirals.
It circled the black, like a predator toying with prey.
Each clash between them made the air rumble and the ground twitch.
Navina's eyes widened as fluids sprayed across the stars—each strike from the blue comet tearing layers from the darker one, sending a symphony of color across the sky.
"…He wasn't wrong," she whispered, voice trembling.
A pause.
"…He's the devil."
[Perspective: Kaiser – In the Sky]
I could've ended it.
I should've.
But this one didn't deserve mercy.
A lesson, etched into pain.
I stopped dodging its attacks. Let it come close. Let it strike.
Then—I tore off its limbs, again.
Again.
Each time it regenerated, I welcomed it back with a fresh greeting—a sword through its wing joint, a dagger twisting through its rib, a palm strike that shattered its mandibles and knocked half its teeth loose into the sky.
It howled. And it begged.
I didn't speak.
My silence was the sharpest thing I wielded.
Its leg reformed. I sliced it at the knee.
Its wing grew back. I froze it and shattered it with a roundhouse.
Its claw stretched toward my throat again.
I cut off the entire arm, this time leaving it spiraling downward in pieces.
And still—It kept healing.
Still—I kept breaking it.
"It's time," I muttered, my voice low, calm.
I stabbed my sword into its chest—again—and held it there as we both plummeted.
It screeched, trying to rip me off. I kneed it in the gut, twisted behind its back, and dragged the blade sideways.
Black ichor sprayed in a perfect arc.
I caught its head mid-flight.
And I descended.
We ripped through the clouds like a meteor, my hand still gripping its skull—black ichor trailing behind like a cursed comet.
The ground cracked first.
Then shattered.
Then exploded.
I drove it face-first into the earth with enough force to collapse what remained of the hive, and as the dust swirled like a burial shroud, I mounted its twitching back, grabbed its head again, and—
CRACK.
One punch.
Its armored mask caved in like brittle glass.
"You already took away what made me happy."
CRACK.
Another.
The cracks spread across its skull, leaking iridescent gore.
"You took away my Elfie."
CRACK.
The ground shook this time.
"And now you think you can take her from me?"
I reeled my fist back, the air rippling around it.
Its bones tried to reform beneath my knees.
BOOM.
The punch snapped its jaw entirely.
"I won't allow that."
Its limbs twitched, desperate. Its mouth split open into a second maw—screaming without a voice.
"You think the Cult of Nemesis is strong enough to take over Celestine?"
I slammed my fist down again.
The crater deepened. Earth fissured outward like spiderwebs.
"Maybe it was…"
A short silence.
"…if it hadn't made enemies with me."
BOOM.
Its face was no longer recognizable.
Its healing slowed.
"I'll destroy you."
CRACK.
"I'll destroy your whole cult."
My eyes burned black.
Void black.
No reflection. No humanity. Just gravity collapsing inwards.
"She wasn't that strong," I muttered.
My voice trembled—not from fear.
From rage.
CRACK.
"You tortured her."
My fist met the broken skull again. More pieces flew off.
"You did that on purpose."
Another blow. Heavier. My arm ached from the weight of it.
"You made her cry."
CRACK.
"I'll end this."
BOOM.
The void answered me.
Fragments of my body glowed pitch black—void shards peeling off like cosmic dust.
A black glow enveloped my fist.
"I won't lose again."
I struck it.
The earth heaved.
A quake erupted beneath us, sending shockwaves miles outward.
It was regenerating too slow now.
Its face was nothing but a cavity of pulp and shattered nerves. Its limbs wouldn't move. Its consciousness clung to the bare minimum.
"You're done," I whispered, standing slowly.
"You don't get a second chance."
The thing coughed blood.
I stared down with void-filled eyes, a living abyss.
"Your story ends here."
From my gaze alone, the void stirred.
The tendrils of oblivion slithered forward from behind me, curling like hungry shadows, wrapping around what was left of it.
It didn't scream. It couldn't.
Not anymore.
The void devoured it whole, pulling it beneath the earth—dragging it down into an endless fall beneath time, beneath space.
Into the abyss where no soul returns.
And it fell.
Forever.
The ground was still warm beneath my boots. Bits of shattered bone, shattered will, and melted grotesque tissue sizzled under the weight of my silence. I stood alone inside the crater I made, surrounded by silence that didn't dare speak.
Above me, the stars were scattered across the sky like old memories—quiet, watching, indifferent.
I exhaled, slowly, letting my shoulders drop. My fingers loosened from the hilt of my blade. It had already done enough talking tonight.
I pulled the sword behind me and slid it into its place across my back. It clicked in—clean, familiar.
With one hand, I brushed off the dust from my overcoat, slowly straightening it, smoothing the wrinkles near the shoulder.
That's better.
No blood, no dents. Just me. Presentable again.
I looked up at the night. Still intact.
"I've interfered enough," I muttered under my breath, adjusting the collar.
"1507 / 1507"
Seals Locked.
The air was cold now, not from the void—just from the aftermath. Like the world itself didn't know how to breathe again.
"It's now their turn to change what's to come."
Because I knew what was crawling toward this place.
The real one.
The true Swarm Tyrant.
Not a fake. Not a copy.
It wouldn't be a test this time. It would be a reckoning.
This... this was their war now. Theirs to survive, or to be written off as another nameless tragedy.
Celia. Lucas.
You two will decide whether a new beginning is formed... or the story ends.
I started walking, one step at a time. My back to the crater. My shadow stretched behind me, long and fading into the broken dirt. The stars above didn't change, but they felt heavier now.
With each step, I disappeared from the area—not in speed, not in magic. Just in silence.
Because I was no longer needed.
Not for this chapter.
Not for what comes next.
I didn't look back.
There was no point.
They'll either rise without me—or fall never knowing what kept them alive this long.
And I was fine with either.
[Chapter Ends]