Zain's body shuddered for a moment,
then dark black lines began creeping slowly across his skin,
forming intricate, alien patterns,
from his neck down to his hands,
while his eyes remained closed.
Then...
he opened them slowly.
Zain's eyes were now like spheres of molten glass,
their color a dark metallic hue, resembling the gleam of raw ore beneath the earth,
devoid of light... devoid of mercy.
And with terrifying calm,
he lifted his foot and brought it down.
A sudden tremor rippled through the ground beneath him alone,
a localized quake exploding in that single spot.
He looked at his opponent before him, his voice low, dual-toned, as if two were speaking through one mouth:
< *"I am the Cataclysm."*
Everyone on the battlefield was stunned.
Koran, with his trembling eyes, whispered to himself, unsure whether he was laughing or crying:
< *(This world... is nothing like I imagined.)*
Kinzawi slowly tightened his grip and took a single step back,
his eyes narrowed.
Before whispering in his mind:
< *(Very well, O Cataclysm... let's see how much quaking you can endure before I shatter your body.)*
The battle paused for a moment.
The air still vibrated with the aftershocks of the Cataclysm Zain had summoned minutes ago,
but amid that madness, Kinzawi Ridvan stood silent, calm... as if none of it concerned him.
He lifted his eyes to Zain, his gaze weary, lazy, then spoke with pure indifference, as if commenting on a dull joke:
- *"You're strong... your rituals are disgusting... but you're too slow."*
A mocking smile curled on his lips, and with it, he raised his right hand... with utter simplicity, and pointed at his massive, four-armed Kannen standing behind him.
No words, no fanfare... in a single moment, the creature dissolved like dark smoke,
merging seamlessly with Kinzawi's body in a shocking display.
No rituals, no whispers, no chanting of forbidden names—just... pure fusion, as if the creature had always lived in his veins.
In seconds, Kinzawi's body transformed:
His arms became covered in fine red lines, and on his back, dark patterns resembling the creature's skin unfurled. As the fusion completed, two long swords appeared at his sides, both sprouting from his bones—blades with a cold radiance said to be forged from the claws of the "Sky-Severer" itself.
Kinzawi smiled lazily, then shrugged slightly, as if breathing freely for the first time.
< *"This is how it's done."*
He said it casually, as if performing a routine task.
At that moment, Koran watched from afar, his wide eyes unblinking, his heart beating with a sickly slowness,
time in his mind had become a frozen sea.
< *(...This... isn't like Zain... No struggle, no blood, no cracks in the sky... Just a wave of his hand, and the creature merged with him, as if it weren't even an effort...)*
His gaze fixed on the swords.
< *(He didn't even need a word... Are these men... a different kind of monster?)*
His mind scrambled for an explanation, any explanation, but every cell in his body screamed with clarity:
< *(The monsters aren't just in the invading kingdoms... The real monsters are those who don't need to manifest their power.)*
In his heart, a hidden feeling began to grow,
a feeling of fate, insidious, nameless...
but he recognized it slowly, like a dark whisper:
- *(I have no place in this world.)*
Kinzawi's voice cut through the spiral, speaking as calmly as someone reciting a dull line from a history book:
- *"Prepare yourself. This time... the fight will be very short."*
Even as the battle between Zain and Kinzawi was about to erupt,
even as the earth trembled under the weight of their clashing powers,
Koran was there... sitting in the open, on a dark rock atop the hill.
His body was in this place, but his soul was somewhere far away.
His lips began trembling anew,
and his eyes became hollow, staring at nothing.
He whispered to himself, his voice fragmented, as if reciting words that had lost their meaning long ago:
- *"Mom... where's the cake?... The cake hasn't cooled yet, right?..."*
*You said we'd eat it together... You said... You said...*
His lips trembled, and his voice was like a whisper from inside an open grave.
Suddenly...
a little girl's scream pierced the chaos of battle—a terrified, desperate cry.
And in that instant, his breath stopped.
His throat tightened, his head jerked, then his eyes snapped open, blazing with madness,
and he whispered, in a strange tone, laced with sad delirium and bitter disbelief:
*"...Mom?"*
His entire body shuddered, as if that word had restarted his pulse. He rose erratically, stumbling, crawling, then running, moving like a wounded animal in the forest, following the sound alone, his entire being whispering insanely:
- *(Mom's there... Mom's calling me... Mom's still waiting for me... She can't be dead.)*
He descended the hill, leaving behind the battlefield on the verge of explosion, his broken laughter mingling with his ragged breaths:
- *"Wait for me, Mom... I'm coming... I won't be late this time... I won't leave you alone."*
And he didn't look back...
Something inside him had shattered forever, leaving him a prisoner of delusion.