Isaac lunged at the man in the suit, arms wide open, crimson claws extending from each finger like blades. He leapt high, swinging down to slash him apart.
But the man in the suit twisted away at the last second, narrowly evading the strike. His hand shot up, and Isaac was yanked into the air, pinned by an invisible force.
Bones cracked under the pressure. His limbs strained, tearing as blood spilled freely, but Isaac kept thrashing. Every drop of blood only thickened the mist, feeding it until the crimson haze devoured the force holding him. With a guttural roar, he broke free—arms barely attached, body trembling—but he still lunged forward.
The suited man raised his hand again, but this time he was too slow. A crimson spear erupted from behind, impaling him through the back. His eyes widened as he spun around, realizing too late that Isaac's mist had surrounded him.
He tried to retreat, leaping away, but another spear pierced his leg, pinning him to the ground.
Isaac took the opening, claws tearing across the man's chest. Blood sprayed as he raised his arm for another strike—
—but was blasted back by a sudden shockwave.
"I see…" the man muttered, ripping the spear from his leg. "That mist… it blocks me from controlling the mana in the air."
Pressing his palms together, he condensed the air until a ball of light sparked between them. He released it in a small explosion—not deadly, but enough to clear the suffocating mist around him.
Trish seized the chance. She darted in and stabbed him in the back.
He hissed, twisting to strike her, but Isaac appeared again, claws slashing. Blow after blow came from both sides—every time he defended against one, the other pressed the attack.
The battle spiraled into chaos. Wounds opened across his body, his suit shredded. Isaac looked less and less human with every passing second. Even Trish was battered and bruised, daggers trembling in her bloody hands.
It was no longer skill—it was endurance. The three fighters staggered, each waiting for a single moment to tip the balance.
That moment came when Isaac suddenly clutched his head, screaming.
His voice warped into something feral, closer to a beast than a man.
"LET ME FIGHT. LET ME FIGHT. LET ME FIGHT!"
A flood of system notifications hammered his mind until his sanity snapped.
The suited man didn't hesitate. He slammed Trish aside into a wall, then hurled himself toward Isaac—
Only to freeze, eyes wide.
A crimson blade jutted through his stomach.
"He… hehehe… HAHAHAHA…" The laughter was twisted, unhinged.
The man raised his gaze. Isaac's crooked smile greeted him—half his hair bleached white, eyes glowing blood-red.
"So many surprises," the man muttered bitterly. "Why didn't you finish me off?"
Isaac tilted his head, almost childlike, then smiled wider.
"He finally let me fight. I want to enjoy it."
With a kick, he sent the man flying. Before his foe could even breathe, Isaac was on him again—slashing, taunting, carving pieces away like a cat toying with prey.
"You're strong… I like that," Isaac said, severing the man's hand in one swipe. His gaze flicked to the mask. "Nice design… can I have it?"
With another slash, he ripped the mask away, leaving a jagged scar across the man's face.
The suited man screamed, writhing.
"Ugh, too loud. You're making this boring," Isaac muttered, claws piercing through his back. "Come on… smile for me."
He threw him aside like trash, the man collapsing in the dirt, barely able to stand. Isaac appeared before him again, kicking him back down.
"Stay down.now I'm bored of you."
His attention shifted to Trish. She lay unconscious, her body still. Isaac stared at her, tilting his head curiously.
"You… I wonder if you'll be more fun than the other one." He crouched beside her, tapping her hand playfully with a clawed finger.
The instant he touched her, pain lanced through his body.
[System Alert]
Skill: The Forgotten is being forcibly deactivated.
"No… wait, why? I'm not done yet!" Isaac snarled, his horns and armor dissolving. The mist peeled away, leaving him human once more—before he collapsed unconscious.
The man in the suit staggered to his feet, clutching a metal pipe for balance. His face was pale, body shaking, but rage fueled him.
"You are dangerous… you must die," he hissed.
He raised the pipe, aiming for Isaac's heart.but a purple ribbon snapped out of Trishs hand, wrapping itself around his arm and holding it mid-strike.
"Oh no… you can't do that," a voice drawled from behind him.
The suited man froze, turning his head. His eyes went wide.
The trader stood there, smiling.
"Trader… you don't usually get involved in this kind of events ," the man growled.
"That's true," the trader replied, smirking. "But you hurt my daughter. And it seems… my soon-to-be son-in-law."