"Ray, take Celestia and get away. Please," Ice said quietly, his voice firm but trembling beneath the surface.
Ray hesitated.
Celestia, who had heard his words as she fled, came to a sudden halt. She turned around and rushed back toward them, eyes wide, her breath uneven.
"No! I won't leave you!" she cried, her voice breaking as tears welled up. "Why do you always have to play the tragic hero? Come on, Ray, say something!"
Ice didn't respond. He simply looked at Ray, silently pleading. His eyes held a strange serenity, filled with determination, but his hands, clenched behind his back, were shaking.
"Please," he said again, barely above a whisper.
Ray looked down, jaw clenched. Then, without another word, he grabbed Celestia and swiftly hoisted her onto his shoulder. He knew Ice well enough to understand that his decision had already been made and that wasting even one more second might cost them everything.
Their eyes met for a fleeting moment. Ice gave a small nod.
That was the last image Ray saw before turning and running.
He bolted without looking back, Celestia pounding her fists against his back and screaming his name. His expression was distant, almost hollow, and his legs trembled with each step. Yet he pushed forward.
Just before vanishing into the shadows, he murmured under his breath.
"I told you I wasn't."
A few seconds had passed since their argument. The creature, since the moment it had struck Natasha, remained completely still. Watching them. Almost as if it were letting the moment settle, giving them time to comprehend its presence.
Ice didn't know why or how, but the instant he had laid eyes on it, or rather the instant he had sensed it, a terrible certainty settled in his chest.
That beast was here for him.
One of them would not leave this place alive. He couldn't run. He couldn't hide. It was as though it had crawled out from the depths of his own soul.
It was his mirror.
...
Jilius narrowed his eyes, watching the creature intently.
What the hell is an Apostle of Light doing here? he thought grimly.
Normally, the first creature they sent was tailored to match both the prisoner's crime and the threat level they posed.
Most newcomers, even the more dangerous ones, started off fighting brainless monsters, creatures with no will, but slowly escalating strength.
But this? This wasn't just unusual. It was insane.
Ice didn't even know how to use essence properly.
And they're already sending something like that after him?
Even he had never faced anything of this caliber before. By his estimation, he would need to ascend two or three more levels before facing against a beast like this, counting even the one he had already slain.
But that didn't change anything.
Jilius had long since stopped assigning meaning to his own life. All that remained was his duty: to carry on the legacy. And for that… he needed Ice.
There was something about the boy that inspired confidence, something unshakable. That confidence had only grown when he watched Ice keep fighting, even when it bordered on suicide, just to give his sister time to escape.
Even now, despite everything, he saw a flicker in Ice's eyes, something Jilius himself had lost long ago.
That's right. That's why we've followed him this far, he thought.
Suddenly, the aura around Jilius shifted. He tightened his grip on his sword. His stance sharpened. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready to strike.
The Apostle noticed the change immediately. Its gaze snapped to Jilius. Although Ice was clearly its primary target, it seemed intent on eliminating any potential threats before finishing the job.
Its smile widened.
They were about to clash.
In the blink of an eye, the Apostle bent its knees and vanished from view, then reappeared inches in front of Jilius. He had no time to react. A crushing blow landed squarely on his forehead, sending him flying through the air like a broken doll.
His body slammed into a tree with a sickening thud. But Jilius rose, as if nothing had happened.
Blood streamed from a deep gash on his forehead. He reached up and removed his glasses, one of the lenses shattered, a shard lodged deep into his eye.
That should do it, he thought coldly.
That single exchange was enough to confirm what he already knew: he was no match for the beast.
But he hadn't expected to be.
Facing an Apostle, one of those essence-born monsters capable of wielding raw energy like an extension of their body, was a lost cause, even if this one was restricted to the first stage.
No, Jilius had never believed that his body alone could win. He just wanted to see something else.
He wanted to know if he had the will, the soul, to face it.
He glared at the Apostle as it lunged at him again, this time sending a wave of concentrated light hurtling from its right arm. The attack aimed to finish him off.
But this time, Jilius ducked. The blast tore through the air just above his head.
With a grunt, he retaliated, his blade slashing across the Apostle's chest before he immediately leapt back to retreat.
At first, it seemed as though the strike had done nothing, except for a strange light flickering across the Apostle's chest. But the blow had definitely landed. The contorted expression on its face, and the sudden absence of that maniacal grin, were proof enough.
Jilius straightened, steadying his breath as he prepared for the next attack. But time was against him.
His vision was still adapting to the half-darkness. Worse, he was no longer merely using his essence, he was burning it. Every second that passed brought him closer to his limit, to the end of himself.
The streaks of gray spreading through his hair were a clear sign of that cost.
"I've seen worse," he muttered with a dry chuckle.
Despite it all, the pain, the odds, the inevitability, he stood tall, a sword in hand and fire in his eyes. He would face the beast without hesitation, with unwavering confidence in his own strength.
After all, he wasn't just anyone.
He was the one they called Jilius the Great.