Corin's power was invasive, suffocating, but Kael recognized the flaw: it was a chain made of his own mind. Corin could only use what he could seize. That meant the only battlefield left was inside Kael's head.
'Then I'll drown him in it.'
He had one weapon Corin wouldn't expect: the power of Remembrance. Unlike others, Kael's mind had been altered when he received the Crest of Remembrance at the Hollow Crown, allowing it to store a vast number of visions and memories. Because of this, even a powerful 'Burdened' like Corin would have a hard time dealing with the sheer volume of useless information Kael could unleash upon him.
His thoughts flickered to the Crest. The endless reel of visions, flashes of moments that weren't his, knowledge that didn't belong to him—at the time they had nearly broken him, but now…
A grim, desperate smile twisted Kael's lips. 'Now they might be my only weapon.'
Kael closed his eyes, ignoring the panic clawing at his chest.
'You want my mind?' Kael thought, focusing through the haze. 'Then have it!'
He unleashed a deluge of memories. A torrent of visions and sensations poured from his mind into the psychic link Corin had forged. A torrent of useless memories he saw during his experimentation on the crest slammed into Corin's consciousness in a single, overwhelming second.
Across the ruins, Corin staggered, his hand flying to his temple. The pressure on Kael's body and mind lessened, but only for a moment. Corin was a 'Burdened'; his will was tempered like steel. The control began to tighten again, stronger this time.
'Damn it... not enough,' Kael realized, his hope sinking. 'There's only one other way... and it might kill us both.' He considered it only because he knew Ash's crest would dull the pain.
It was a suicidal plan, reaching for a memory that was poison, a vision that had almost shattered him completely. He focused, pushing past the pain, and began to recall the vision of the seven gods.
The effect was instantaneous and catastrophic.
Kael's brain felt like it was trying to turn itself inside out. The world wobbled, colours bled at the edges of his vision, and a searing pain erupted behind his eyes as if his skull were about to crack open. He felt hot blood trickle from his nose and the corner of his eye. But just as his sanity began to fray, a faint, silver warmth spread across his skin from the mark hidden beneath his shirt—Ash's Crest. It didn't stop the pain, but it became an anchor in the storm, a barrier that kept his mind from being utterly obliterated.
Corin had no such protection.
Kael heard a shriek that was not human. Corin dropped the charm and clawed at his own face, his body convulsing violently. His bones audibly cracked and reformed as his form twisted, his eyes flaring with a raw, tainted light. The man was gone, replaced by a monster born of maddening revelation. The Tainted One that was once Corin turned its burning gaze on the closest living thing—Malik.
With a guttural roar, the creature charged its former ally. Malik, his face a mask of horror and disbelief, barely had time to raise his greatmace to defend himself.
The psychic link shattered. Kael was free.
He stumbled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He scrambled away into the shadows of the ruins as the sounds of a desperate, brutal battle raged behind him. After what felt like an eternity of putting one foot in front of the other, he finally recognized the familiar shape of the burned-out vehicle near the kidnappers' camp.
He collapsed behind it, his head pounding and his body trembling. He was alive. For now. He took a moment, just a single moment, to rest.
'Argh, I don't have time to waste,' Kael thought. His body screamed in protest, his stomach churned, and his lungs burned with every breath. His mind felt numb. The crest dulled the torment, but it didn't erase it. The pain was still there, raw and searing. No mortal should endure such visions, especially of deities.
'Should I be grateful… or concerned?' He spat a mouthful of black blood, catching his breath in ragged bursts. 'I can't face that Dormant in this state.'
While Dormants were physically superior to mundane humans, their advantage was not absolute. His adversary, Jeron, was not only a Dormant but a giant of a man, unlike Kael's starved, malnourished self. But that advantage alone wasn't what made Jeron dangerous. Kael suspected he had a strength-amplification ability; why else would he wield the absurd greatsword he carried? The blade was monstrous, a meter and a half long and half a meter broad. Against someone like that, Kael had no chance in a direct confrontation. Even against a normal Dormant, he'd already be pushing his luck.
'My only advantage is that he doesn't know I'm here yet,' Kael thought, moving like a wraith through the shadows. He crept closer to the camp until Jeron came into view. The burly man was tense, holding the massive greatsword at the ready with an ease that was terrifying, as if the slab of steel weighed no more than a paper straw.
'Damn it, how am I supposed to face that?' Kael lamented internally. This was supposed to be the easy part of the whole plan. He'd baited the two powerful 'Burdened' away, leaving only this Dormant. Yet the sight of the man left a bitter taste of doubt in Kael's mouth.
'The only silver lining is that he's vulnerable to firearms,' he reasoned, clinging to the sliver of hope. 'It's all I've got.'
Kael slipped between the last of the broken buildings, hoping to get as close as possible. By then, the ruins were drowned in an eerie silence, so profound that Kael's own frantic heartbeat sounded like a war drum in his ears.
'No more time to waste.' Blood pounded in his temples as he peeked around a crumbling wall, the iron sights of his pistol trembling slightly in his grip. He lined up the shot on the large man's head and squeezed the trigger.
Click!
The sound was small, pathetic, yet it echoed in the dead silence like a thunderclap. No bullet came out. Just a dry, metallic click that sealed his fate.
For a frozen second, Kael didn't move, didn't breathe. The world seemed to narrow to the useless piece of metal in his hand.
Kael's blood went cold. His grip tightened on the weapon. "Shit !" He clenched his jaw, realization cutting in like a knife. In his rush, in the haze of exhaustion, he hadn't checked the chamber. The round he thought was there… wasn't.
His heart hammered against his ribs as he dragged in a shaky breath. His luck had just spectacularly run out.
Across the camp, Jeron's head snapped towards the sound. His eyes, sharp and alert, scanned the shadows for a moment before locking directly onto Kael's hiding spot.
Kael's blood ran cold. The burly man stared right at him.
'I am so, so fucked.'
A vicious smile split Jeron's chiseled face. "So that's where you've been hiding," he said, his voice calm, almost curious. His eyes narrowed as recognition sharpened his tone. "I don't know how you slipped past Malik and Corin… but it doesn't matter."
He raised the greatsword with one hand, the massive blade catching the dim light like a guillotine poised above its mark. "You've already sealed your fate."
And then he moved. His steps were deliberate, heavy, each one measured like a war drum. The weight of inevitability pressed down on Kael with every stride. Then, without warning, the rhythm shattered.
The ground seemed to quake as Jeron lunged, the greatsword carving a brutal arc through the air. The blade came down with terrifying speed for a weapon of its size, cleaving through the wreckage Kael had been crouched behind. Rusted metal screamed as the husk of the ruined wall split apart like paper.
Sparks and dust exploded around Kael, forcing him to throw himself sideways, barely escaping the strike. His ears rang, his body screaming from the effort, but his eyes locked on the gash in the earth where the weapon had struck. If that blow had connected, he would have been split clean in two.
Kael sprinted through the ruins, lungs tearing, heart pounding like a war drum. The narrow streets closed in around him, half-collapsed walls leaning over the jagged paths like broken teeth. Rubble littered the ground—shattered glass, rusted beams, loose bricks ready to betray his footing.
'Damn it, damn it, damn it…' He bit back a curse as he vaulted a half-buried pipe. 'This was supposed to be simple. Lure him, take the shot, finish it. Now I'm just running from a mountain with a blade.'
Behind him, Jeron advanced without haste. His greatsword dragged briefly against the stone, spitting sparks before he swung it free with terrifying ease. Every step echoed, steady, deliberate, like the ticking of a clock winding down on Kael's life.
Kael veered left, darting into a corridor where the buildings leaned so tightly together that even Jeron's broad frame would struggle. The air smelled of rust and rot, thick with dust motes dancing in the dim light. The passage barely gave Kael room to move, but that was the point.
'If I can't outfight him… I'll choke him in a place he can't swing that damn sword.'
Jeron entered, shoulders brushing the walls. His expression remained unreadable, but his grip on the hilt shifted,adjusting, already adapting. His eyes followed Kael with the cold certainty of a predator indulging its prey.
Kael raised the gun, sight trembling as he aimed squarely at Jeron's head. He pulled the trigger.
Click.
Kael cursed aloud. "Damn it! Damn this scrap!"
Jeron's lips curved into a slow, predatory smirk. "Still clinging to scraps? Pathetic."
Kael didn't flinch. He let the frustration twist his face, let the gun rattle in his grip as though he had lost all hope. Inside, his thoughts were sharper and colder than his expression betrayed.
Jeron lunged. Kael was forced to act. He put the revolver in his pocket and took out a rusty metal pipe. He didn't try to stop the blow head-on—that would be suicide. Instead, he angled the pipe, stepping sharply to his left and bending his wrist at the last possible second, redirecting the immense force of the thrust. Pain exploded up his arm. He heard the sharp crack of bone before he even felt it. His wrist snapped, the pipe nearly torn from his grip. But the blade skidded off-course, carving sparks into the wall instead of Kael's skull.
"Argh—!" Kael hissed.
He didn't waste the opening. Biting back the scream, he stomped his foot down, sending a shower of thick, choking dust and grit straight into Jeron's face. The big man bellowed, momentarily blinded. Kael used the precious second to scramble out of the narrow passage and back into the more open space of the camp.
The Dormant recoiled a step, eyes narrowing as grit stung his vision. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Kael staggered back into open ground, clutching his limp wrist, every nerve screaming at him to collapse.
Jeron's recovery was swift, frighteningly so. He surged forward with sudden speed, his greatsword already leveled for a killing thrust.
But Kael was ready.
He raised the gun again, this time aiming low. Jeron's eyes flicked to the weapon, still a little wary. His posture shifted, sword drawn across his torso to shield his heart and throat, making him halt for a moment. And that was all Kael needed.
Kael smirked, blood on his lips. He squeezed the trigger again and this time, the gun roared, spitting fire and smoke. The round slammed into Jeron's thigh. The giant staggered mid-stride, his momentum shattering as blood darkened his leg.
Kael didn't wait. He limped backward, chest heaving, eyes locked on the crippled predator. Jeron was kneeling on a single leg, panting heavily, his face a mask of disbelief. Without a word, Kael raised the pistol again, the barrel rock-steady despite his broken wrist. He aimed for the other leg.
BANG!
The second shot was less a crack and more a wet, heavy thud. Jeron's other leg gave way instantly. A raw, animalistic roar of pure agony ripped from his throat as he crashed heavily onto both knees, his greatsword clattering uselessly on the stone. He slammed a massive fist into the ground, his entire body trembling not just from pain, but from a humiliation so profound it was its own kind of wound. His eyes, blazing with impotent fury, locked onto Kael.
"H-How? The gun, how did it—were you fooling me?"
"You don't need to know," Kael answered, his tone cold and emotionless.
"You... rat!" he spat, his voice a ragged snarl.
"You think this is over? When Corin gets back... he'll make what I was going to do to you look like a mercy!"
He tried to push himself up, to lunge, but his ruined legs refused to obey, leaving him kneeling in the dust like a disgraced knight.
"Come on!" he bellowed, his voice cracking with rage. "Finish it! Or are you too much of a coward to face me without your little tricks?"
Kael didn't rise to the taunt. He limped closer, the pistol still aimed, his face a grim mask of exhaustion and pain. Jeron's bellows were the last gasps of a dying fire, and Kael was about to put it out.
"He's not coming back for you," Kael said, his voice a low, ragged whisper.
Jeron spat a wad of bloody saliva onto the dust. "Liar! Corin will—"
"Corin is dead," Kael stated, the words flat and final.
For a moment, Jeron just stared, and then a harsh, barking laugh erupted from him, a sound filled with more pain than humor. "Dead? Killed by you? A pathetic rat with a rusty pistol? Don't make me laugh!"
"I didn't have to kill him," Kael said, his eyes hollow as he remembered the vision. "He gazed somewhere he shouldn't have." With that, Kael raised the revolver, the barrel steady despite the blood dripping from his hand, and pulled the trigger.
Jeron's laughter broke off mid-breath. The sound curdled into silence as the color drained from his face, leaving only a mask of raw horror and disbelief.
Kael sagged against the crumbling wall, chest rising and falling in ragged bursts. His hand shook as he wiped blood from his lips. A bitter laugh escaped him, thin and strained.
"I really thought I was going to die…"
He had meant to end it after delivering a decisive blow from the shadows. But his own carelessness had ruined the chance. He'd misjudged the timing, revealed himself too soon. That should have been the end of him.
Yet not everything had been chance. The second misfire had been no accident. Kael had slipped that dud round into the chamber on purpose, gambling on the illusion of helplessness. Jeron had bought it, lowering his guard just long enough for the real shot to land.
Still, Kael's relief curdled into unease. Jeron had been powerful, cautious, the kind of man who shouldn't have fallen for something so thin. And yet, he had, just like Malik and Corin. All three of them, so strong, so dangerous… but careless. Reckless, almost as if something had dulled their edge.
Kael dismissed the thought with a tired shake of his head. 'Doesn't matter. They're dead. That's all that counts.' He shifted his gaze to the captive, who seemed to be unconscious.
'Now, the final part.' He drew in a slow breath and started forward. The ruins were bathed in the last rays of the setting sun, painting the broken stones in a golden glow.