Aether stood prowling over the debris-strewn street as onlookers pointed their cameras at him.
"I just realized I came here without a plan," he muttered, his voice carrying a touch of sardonic humor.
Across the way, Altan approached Mirakos—his movements unhurried, yet ominously deliberate.
"You there. Remember what I told you a few days ago? I killed him." Altan's tone was flat, devoid of emotion, yet his lips curled into a thin, mocking smile.
"I killed your dad," Altan repeated, effortlessly lifting Mirakos by the collar.
The boy hung limply in his grasp, vision blurred, senses disoriented. But the haunting reminder of his father's death drummed relentlessly in his ears.
With a guttural snarl, Mirakos' nails elongated into claws. He lunged at Altan's neck, but the attack was swatted aside with casual ease.
Mirakos flailed, trying to kick, but Altan stood firm—the blow ricocheting off him like a pebble striking a mountain.
Mirakos collapsed, cursing under his breath, his body tangled in pain and frustration. Above him, Altan's tail lazily swayed.
"Leonardo—" Altan began, but Aether, still crouched nearby, corrected him flatly.
"It's Aether."
"Aether," Altan echoed, the name rolling off his tongue like it was already familiar. Unlike most, he accepted the change without hesitation.
Aether narrowed his eyes. "Why did you kill his father?"
Altan's gaze flicked to Aether's prosthetic, shimmering faintly with an amber hue.
"What happened to your arm?" he asked, voice almost curious, as if dissecting a puzzle.
"Answer my question," Aether snapped, his aura beginning to spike with raw energy.
Altan rolled his eyes. "What is it with everyone these days, spilling their aura like water? Honestly, that's your core. What good is it if you drain it before I do?"
His sudden outburst startled nearby pedestrians, who quickly stepped back. Altan buried his face in his palm as Aether's fury built.
"Altan, I'm asking you one more time—why did you kill Mirakos's father?" Aether's voice was steady but charged—a storm waiting to break.
Around them, holograms flickered to life, projecting their tense exchange to an ever-growing audience.
Altan shrugged. "I wanted a rival," he began, but Aether cut him off, jaw tight.
"It's not that. It's definitely not that."
Behind them, Mirakos stirred. Not with a roar, not yet. It began lower, deeper.
A guttural, animalistic sound vibrated in his chest, escaping as a choked gasp. His head snapped up, eyes wide, pupils shrinking to pinpricks of pure, unadulterated horror.
He wasn't seeing Altan; he was seeing the lift doors closing, the flicker of his mother's reassuring smile moments before oblivion. He was seeing the empty house, the silence where laughter should have been.
"You..." The word was a ragged whisper, torn from a throat raw with disbelief.
His body trembled violently, not with exertion now, but with the seismic force of comprehension crashing down. His aura didn't just rise; it _detonated_.
It was pure, incandescent agony made manifest.
The air around him warped visibly, heat haze shimmering off his skin.
His claws, already extended, dug deep furrows into the pavement beneath him as his hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles screamed rage.
Altan turned, his expression one of mild curiosity, like observing a fascinating insect. "Ah. There it is."
Mirakos' head snapped back, a silent scream contorting his face. His mouth opened wide, but for a terrifying second, no sound emerged – just the raw, tearing gasp of a soul being ripped apart. Then it came.
**"YOU!"** The single word erupted, not just loud, but _physical_. It wasn't a roar; it was a shriek of pure, shattered agony, carrying the weight of a world destroyed. **"YOU KILLED THEM!"**
**The sheer, visceral force of his scream didn't just distort nearby holograms; it _shattered_ them.**
Storefront windows across the street exploded inward in a rain of glittering shards.
The ground beneath Mirakos cracked. The air itself seemed to tear, vibrating with the raw power of his grief-fueled rage.
Only one hologram flickered violently but held – the image of a smiling man, Mirakos' father, a linguist of Axiom Syntax Solutions, impossibly resilient amidst the destruction.
Mirakos wasn't thinking.
He wasn't planning an attack.
He was pure, feral instinct driven by soul-crushing pain. He lunged, not with strategy, but like a wounded animal, claws aimed not just at Altan's neck, but at the _idea_ of him, the _source_ of his pain.
His movements were jerky, desperate, fueled by adrenaline and despair. "MOM! DAD!" The names weren't words; they were raw wounds torn open. **"EVERYONE! EVERYONE IS DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!"** Another scream tore from him, weaker this time, cracking with the sheer exhaustion of utter despair, yet still carrying the force to make the remaining hologram flicker wildly.
The boy lunged forward, Aether close behind. Both rushed at Altan, their movements blurring.
Altan sidestepped with ease, his tail sweeping Mirakos off his feet. The boy hit the ground but somersaulted back up, his reflexes sharp despite his anguish.
"Sara," Altan murmured, laughing softly. The world around them shifted—vibrant purples bleeding into the air like an otherworldly filter.
Aether swung his arm in a wide arc toward Altan's head. "You have to explain—"
Altan caught the attack effortlessly. "—how you got this arm."
From the side, Mirakos leapt, twisting mid-air. With his free hand, Aether drew his blade in one fluid motion.
"Wow, that was practically invisible, with this outfit," Altan remarked, his voice tinged with genuine admiration. But he ducked as Aether slashed at his hair.
With a flick of his wrist, he hurled Mirakos toward a nearby skyscraper.
"Aether, you know about the war, right?" Altan said, his tone almost casual amid the chaos.
Aether's frustration boiled over. "Why am I so slow?" he muttered, glancing at his own sluggish movements.
Before he could react, Altan was already in his face. A kick flew toward him, but Aether blocked it just in time, positioning his sword defensively.
To the growing crowd, the fighters appeared as streaks of light—at least Altan's movements did, nearly imperceptible.
The surreal purple hue allowed Aether and Mirakos to track him, but barely.
"He's fast," Aether admitted, gliding through the air with a mix of precision and desperation.
A flash of [Adaptive Evolution] flickered. Aether scowled, shifting his stance to Volcanic Asẹ, waving both his arm and sword.
Being in Rigor's body gave me real-world battle experience, he thought, recalling a combat position he'd once seen Valen use.
He dashed toward the skyscraper where Mirakos had landed.
"Back to what I was saying," Altan continued, unfazed. "The war is coming. I won't be here. I chose someone at random in that lift to personify me. Out of ninety people, only one survived. Hector's dead, by the way. The aura I unleashed completely corrupted his core. He should be long gone."
Aether's jaw tightened. He pulled Mirakos free from the wall and hurled him at Altan.
[Enhanced Reflexes: Minimal] flickered as Aether dashed forward, using Mirakos as a smokescreen.
Altan sidestepped again, but Mirakos recovered mid-air and attacked anew.
"Nice use of your arm!" Altan called out, genuinely impressed. His gaze shifted as a traffic light came hurtling toward him.
Aether used it as a stepping stone, launching himself skyward with Mirakos at his side.
He smiled grimly, thinking he might finally land a hit. But in an instant, Altan's tail lashed out, deflecting the light.
He caught Mirakos mid-flight and kicked Aether with such force that he crashed into a wall.
Blood spewed from Aether's mouth as he coughed violently.
"See, that's why they call me the Dragon of Ferocity," Altan said, grinning.
"W-what?" Aether managed to gasp.
"To bring destruction in place of order," Altan declared, as another blinding flash of purple consumed the world.
When the hue faded, the street returned to its natural colors. Altan sighed, tossing Mirakos toward Aether, who barely managed to catch him.
"You're growing—slowly, but steadily," Altan said, crouching briefly. "I'm leaving now. The war is rising—not just here, but everywhere. Isn't that incredible? I'd love to join the Central District war, but I've got other plans. Met the king once—funny guy."
He turned to Aether, his expression unreadable.
"I killed the boy's family because it's my will. The way I was made. Not because I felt like it. Think of it as destiny."
"I don't want to think of it as destiny. Let destiny suck my feet!" Aether barked, blood leaking from his lips. Altan raised an eyebrow.
"Unlike before, you would scream your heritage to save you. Did death really change you?" Altan asked, his grin widening.
"It did," Aether replied flatly.
He hurled a chunk of debris toward Altan's face. Altan caught it, blinding his field of vision. He anticipated Aether would use Mirakos to strike his blind spot.
But after a second of stillness, Altan pulled the stone down—just in time to catch a punch square to the face.
He didn't move. He stood still, eyes locked on Aether.
"Let me see if I can enhance your fear."
Aether tried to kick him in the head, but Altan's tail caught his leg and dragged him upward.
"How would you feel if your soul was burned?"
Aether hiccuped, his breath catching, his face draining to white.
Altan pressed a clawed hand to Aether's chest. A wave of rasvain energy surged forward. Aether stared.
At first, it seemed minor. Then it became consuming—like a vast gap had been drilled through his being, impossible to fill.
And then it was gone—a lingering, fleeting sensation.
He stumbled to the ground.
Altan looked down. "Use this for your revenge story. Come kill me."
And then, he was gone.
Aether remained still, in a vulnerable position, clutching his heart.