The sky was covered in ash, as if the sun had decided to disappear forever.
The sound Koran heard in his head wasn't the explosion of a cannon, but the sound of everything shattering at once.
**BOOOOOOM**
The first explosion tore through the horizon. It wasn't a conventional weapon, but a red light erupting from the cannons of the Fifth Kingdom—a solid, rippling energy, like shards of flying glass cutting through the very air.
Koran, standing on the hill, could no longer distinguish screams from the storm. Everything melted into a whirlwind of flames and smoke.
The soldiers on the battlefield had begun using the powers of the Formative Beings.
One of them raised his hand to the sky, and a petrified root burst from his skin, like the arm of a giant plant, coiling around his enemy and attempting to crush him.
Another leaped into the air, his body covered in "glass scales" like armor, reflecting the colors of war, before launching spikes from his body at his foes, as if his skin had turned into a hardened launcher.
The fight resembled a mad dance, where flesh blended with beast, and screams with power.
One soldier's head suddenly exploded when he lost control of the Kannen linked to him. His body writhed like a puppet before collapsing into the mud, his deformed limbs twitching in a final, silent scream.
But a soldier of the First Kingdom, with short gray hair and eyes like embers, ran across the debris like a professional killer. He stretched out his arms, and tongues of blue fire erupted—not ordinary flames, but "shadows of light" that coiled around his body, forming a lethal whip that he used to slice through his enemies with terrifying precision.
Koran, watching, couldn't even breathe.
- *(This isn't fighting... this is something else... something I can't even comprehend.)*
The soldiers fell, their bodies torn apart, some exploding from within as the creatures inside them spiraled out of control.
Amidst it all, Kinzawi Ridvan, commander of the First Kingdom, emerged from the ranks.
He stood calmly in the heart of the destruction, his long sword—etched with mysterious runes—in his right hand.
His steps were slow but confident, passing through allies and enemies alike without hesitation. Death was his oldest friend.
Koran recognized him instantly. He didn't even need to see his face.
- *(Kinzawi Ridvan... the Shield of the First Kingdom. The man who never falls.)*
A soldier's voice screamed behind him:
- "Commander Ridvan has entered the battlefield! Clear a path for him!"
A corridor opened among the soldiers as Kinzawi slightly bowed his head, his eyes gleaming beneath his helmet adorned with black feathers.
He placed a hand on his hip and drew a metal flask, its surface pulsing with a cold, eerie light. Then he closed his eyes and whispered arcane words.
In an instant, a massive shadow appeared behind him—a being with multiple arms, its eyes like hollow moons, its form stretching across the ground and slithering
between the soldiers before it began devouring the soldiers of the Fifth Kingdom, one after another.
Koran gasped silently, whispering to himself:
< *(My God... this isn't magic... this is something beyond magic.)*
The battle erupted anew.
Kinzawi slammed his sword into the ground, and an entire section of the battlefield shattered, rising like a colossal metal wall that split the front lines of the Fifth Kingdom.
In the sky, a soldier of the Fifth Kingdom soared high before his body transformed into a cluster of shifting thorns—a human bomb detonating above the battlefield.
---
**BOOOOM**
Blood, limbs, fire.
Koran, in the midst of it all, felt completely detached from reality.
All he could see was blood, and all he could hear was a single scream inside his head:
- *(I am next...)*
Silence fell once more over the battlefield.
The soldiers' eyes locked onto the two youths facing each other.
Kinzawi Ridvan, the giant of the First Kingdom, stood with unshaken confidence.
The creature he had summoned loomed behind him, its four arms trembling like heavy chains, its hollow eyes glowing with an eerie light.
Meanwhile, Zain Falim looked... small. Insignificant amid the ruin.
A sixteen-year-old boy, his face cold, but a faint sweat beginning to creep across his forehead.
One of the Fifth Kingdom's soldiers sneered as he tightened his grip on his spear:
- "Is this how our commander ends? A victim of a Kannen battle? No surprise—just a spoiled brat!"
Muffled laughter spread through their ranks.
Even the soldiers of the First Kingdom didn't hide their amusement.
The silence on the battlefield was like a heavy shroud, broken only by the ragged breaths of the soldiers. Their eyes remained fixed on the two commanders—Kinzawi Ridvan, the unshaken titan, and Zain Falim, who seemed like a mere shadow before him.
The four-armed creature moved behind Kinzawi like a living nightmare, its arms swaying like iron chains, its hollow eyes radiating a strange light, as if embers from another world.
On the opposite side, Zain stood silent, his face cold as ice, but a faint trickle of sweat glistened on his forehead under the dusty sunlight. His breathing was steady, but the tight grip on his sword's hilt betrayed hidden tension. He knew every step here could be his last.
Kinzawi moved. Just one step, but it shook the ground beneath everyone's feet.
The creature behind him lunged in the same instant, like a savage shadow following its master without hesitation.
The first strike came like lightning—the creature's claw slashed down like a guillotine, splitting the air with a terrifying crack.
Zain had only a fraction of a second to react, but the speed of the attack was monstrous. He felt the air graze his face as the claw missed his head by a hair's breadth, then pain exploded in his shoulder as the compressed air tore through his armor like paper.
The brutal force hurled him backward. He crashed into the ground, rolling as dust billowed around him like thick fog.
But he rose again. His breaths were heavy, his right hand bleeding, but his eyes still burned with a strange intensity. There was no fear in them—only something else... something like a desperate will to survive, even if it cost him every drop of blood in his body.
Kinzawi gave him no chance to recover. The second strike came faster. This time, two of the creature's arms descended together, like the fists of a giant trying to crush its prey.
Zain leaped aside, but one of the arms caught the edge of his cloak, shredding it to ribbons. He heard the fabric tear and felt the claw scrape his back, hot as forged iron. Blood seeped beneath his armor, but he gritted his teeth and stood, his legs trembling slightly from the pain.
Then came the third strike—the cruelest yet. The creature slammed the ground with such force that a shockwave rippled beneath Zain's feet. He lost his balance for just a moment, and that was enough.
The creature seized him with one of its arms. An immense pressure wrapped around his waist—his bones were on the verge of snapping. It lifted him into the air like a straw doll, then squeezed.
A horrifying sound echoed—his bones cracking one after another. Unspeakable pain wracked his body. Warm blood gushed from his mouth, but he didn't scream. He just closed his eyes for a moment, as if enduring the agony in silence.
In that moment, as everything turned hazy, Zain saw something strange in the creature's eyes... It wasn't just a mindless beast. There was something resembling intelligence, something like... contempt. As if it saw him as an insect not worth the effort.
That gaze ignited something inside him.
Suddenly, in one last desperate move, he drove his fingers into the creature's flesh. He had no weapon—just his nails—but he did it with insane strength. He felt the creature's flesh tear under his fingers, then...
A strange sound echoed, like a distant howl from the depths of the creature.
For a second, the creature faltered, its grip loosening just enough for Zain to drop to the ground. He rolled away, gasping like a wounded animal.
Dust rose around him as he coughed up blood, but he smiled. A bitter smile, scorched by pain and defiance.
He looked at Kinzawi, who was approaching with slow, deliberate steps, as if promising a slow death.
But in Zain's eyes, there was no defeat. Only that small flame... the flame that said: *"I'm not done yet."*
The scene before them was like a nightmare without end.
Zain Falim... the boy who hadn't even earned his soldiers' respect, now stood amidst the rubble and blood, his body broken, his sweat mingling with blood, his heart pounding like funeral drums.
He looked like a man whose bones had all been shattered.
And yet... he hadn't fallen.
He carried his body as if carrying his own coffin,
his legs unsteady, his shoulders slumped, his breaths interrupted by stifled gasps,
and yet... he took one step forward.
Just one step... but it fractured the very air.
Kinzawi Ridvan, commander of the First Kingdom, watched him coldly.
This was the man who fought with a four-armed monstrosity at his side,
his body clad in armor of dark bone, his presence suffocating the air around him.
Kinzawi's command was as cold as winter steel: *"Kill him."*
The creature lunged.
Four claws descended from the sky like knives, each carrying the weight of a mountain, capable of crushing stone and iron—let alone the body of a half-dead teenager.
But Zain... moved.
His movement wasn't fast—it was slow, faltering, like someone dancing on a blade's edge.
His battered body bent,
the claws passing over his head by a hair's breadth,
then his body slid forward in a sudden lurch, like a shadow in the dark,
slipping beneath the strike, evading the colossal creature without a sound.
His body moved as if flowing,
one step followed by a slide, then a tight, spinning leap,
and in his eyes was a spark... not of victory, but pure defiance,
a defiance that made Death itself hesitate.
The creature's strikes came in waves, but none touched Zain.
One... two... three... five...
Each one missed,
because Zain wasn't fighting them... he was *dancing*.
Every motion was calculated, every tilt of his body like a carefully written poem.
He moved as if he were part of the creature itself.
The soldiers on both sides gasped. Some unconsciously took a step back, but Zain gave them no time to process.
With utter calm, he spun and delivered a sudden strike to the creature—not a powerful blow, but a quick tap behind its ear. It seemed ineffective at first...
Then, suddenly... the colossal creature shuddered, its steps faltering.
*"What's happening?!"*
A soldier whispered, but no one could answer.
Zain knew every weak point.
His body had memorized this creature's dance of death long ago.
Then he lunged at Kinzawi.
He seized his arm in an instant,
a lightning strike at the shoulder joint,
then a swift kick to the knee,
and in seconds, he destabilized the towering foe.
But Kinzawi was no easy prey.
With an explosion of strength, he gripped his greatsword and swung at Zain.
The first strike tore the air apart.
The second shattered the ground beneath their feet.
The third came down like an executioner's axe straight at Zain's head.
But... it didn't cut him.
Zain blocked the final strike with his bare palm,
the blade embedding itself in his flesh,
his fingers clamping around the steel,
blood cascading from between them like a red waterfall.
His eyes didn't blink.
His face was drenched in blood, but there was no fear.
He whispered, his voice exhausted yet sharp:
*"The third step... the dance of the hidden blade."*
Then, without warning, he twisted his body,
his hand releasing the blade as his fingers delivered a precise strike behind Kinzawi's ribs.
It wasn't a killing blow, but it made Kinzawi stagger back—and the colossal creature collapsed beside him, its strings severed.
Everyone froze.
Even Zain remained standing there, panting like a wounded beast, his whole body trembling from pain and exhaustion, half his face obscured in shadow.
But he was still standing.
He lifted his head slowly, his voice hoarse, as if speaking from an open grave:
*"Those of you who don't want to die... retreat now."*
The words were simple, but they rattled the bones of every soldier on the battlefield.
And the collapse began.
The soldiers—living or dead—
started running, fleeing the battlefield like rats from a sinking ship.
Even the Fifth Kingdom's soldiers, who had mocked him moments ago,
ran as if escaping the Devil himself.
But Zain... didn't move.
He remained there, in the center of the empty battlefield,
his body torn apart, his eyes half-closed,
but he stood like a rusted nail driven into the earth,
refusing to be pulled out.
And inside him... only one sentence:
*(This... is just the beginning.)*
Then, in the sudden silence, he lifted his head to the sky...
and smiled.