Lucian stood in the silence that followed.
The hydra's scream faded.
Its heads crashed to the floor one by one—stone, fire, frost, wind, lightning—all twitching, all done. The body convulsed, then slumped like a puppet with its strings cut. A low groan came from the monster's core, deep in its chest, glowing faint green beneath its scales.
But Lucian didn't look at it.
He turned to the others, sheathing his blade with one smooth motion. His voice came out quiet, steady—like the weight of the battle hadn't even scratched him.
"Take care of the core," he said. "I don't want it."
Silas blinked. "You sure?"
Lucian didn't answer right away. He glanced past them toward the far end of the chamber.
The gate core was still floating there—pulsing, warping. A mess of twisting mana strands that shimmered with pale red light. Unlike the monster, that thing was alive. It wasn't breathing—but it was aware. Watching.
"I'll take care of that instead."
