Chapter 36 – The Heart of Britania
The sky above Britania was nothing but a grayish veil of ashes and flames. The city, once a symbol of grandeur and prosperity, was now nothing but a heap of smoking ruins, shattered buildings, and streets littered with debris. Gosh struggled to move through the rubble, every step causing a groan of pain. His body was battered, his muscles torn, yet his spirit did not waver. He had barely survived his last battle against Ezer, a fight that had left him on the brink of agony. His wounds still bled, his vision blurred, yet the imposing figure of Ezer continued to roam the ruins—towering, invincible.
"Gosh…" he whispered barely to himself. "Why… why does it never end?"
A crash echoed through the city. Fendreid, his face twisted with rage and sadism, appeared in the middle of the street, walking with determination among the panicked civilians. People screamed, trying to flee, but nothing could stop the looming massacre. Fendreid raised his hand, and black fire erupted from hundreds of chains, destroying everything in their path. The cries of the innocent mingled with the roar of collapsing buildings.
Gosh grimaced, powerless, as soldiers tried to intervene. Among them, Joram, a young and brave yet inexperienced captain, rushed toward Ezer, sword raised.
"Stop him!" Joram shouted, his voice trembling but firm.
"For Britania… we will not back down!" he cried, lifting his sword to the sky, his breath shaky but determined.
For a moment, a shiver of hope ran through Gosh. He saw in the soldiers' eyes that fragile light, that pure determination that refused to die even in the shadow of Ezer. The men and women around Joram formed a line, hands gripping their weapons, hearts filled with desperate yet noble courage.
Ezer advanced slowly, each step echoing like a death knell. His red eyes blazed, devouring all light and life. He stopped before Joram and the soldiers, a cruel smile stretching across his lips.
"You really think… you can stop me?" His voice rang, icy and devastating.
Joram gritted his teeth. "As long as we breathe… we fight!"
For a fleeting moment, time seemed suspended. The soldiers raised their weapons, and for a brief instant, the world seemed to hang on that fragile thread of hope. Gosh trembled, feeling his heart swell with that light. Maybe… maybe all was not lost.
But the light faltered.
In a movement too fast for the human eye, Ezer lunged. Joram's head was severed in an instant, a scream ripping through the air, causing even the bravest to falter. The soldiers around him fell next, pulverized by the supernatural force. The ground turned red, and the silence that followed was heavier than thunder.
Gosh fell to his knees, gasping for breath, tears welling in his eyes. The hope he had seen in the soldiers' eyes had been shattered in an instant. Courage had existed… but it was not enough. Every breath, every cry, every life seemed swept away by Ezer's shadow.
Yet deep inside Gosh, a small spark remained. Even if all was annihilated, he felt he had to continue, he had to survive. Hope was crushed, but it was not entirely dead. And it was this spark, fragile yet alive, that would push him not to succumb to total despair… even if, for now, all around him was ruins and blood.
Suddenly, a figure emerged from behind Ezer: a man whose features bore the marks of time and crime, yet whose imposing aura left no doubt about his power. Gosh recognized him immediately: Hit, a former criminal of Britania, missing for six years, believed dead by all. The man grabbed Gosh by the hair, lifting him with terrifying force.
Hit approached slowly, eyes blazing with rage and authority. "Where… is the heart of Britania?" His voice struck like thunder, tearing through the air and Gosh's mind.
Gosh raised his head slowly, blood mixing with dust and ashes running down his face. He trembled, yet his gaze remained defiant.
"You think even if I knew, I would tell you?" he murmured, voice broken but firm. "Even if I die… I will never betray my people."
Hit frowned, surprised by this obstinacy. He struck Gosh violently in the legs, forcing him to his knees. "Answer me! I will not give you a second of respite!"
Gosh felt the pain explode in his legs, but a fire burned within him. Every memory of Britania, every lost friend, every scream he had heard in this ruined city strengthened his resolve. "You can break me… tear every piece of my flesh…" he said through gritted teeth, "but you will never break my spirit!"
Hit paused for a moment, intrigued. "Even in the face of all this devastation… you remain… defiant?"
Gosh felt his tears well up, mixing with dust and blood. "Yes…" he murmured. "Because if I yield now… all will be lost. And even if I fall… my spirit will continue to fight for Britania!"
An oppressive silence fell. Hit fixed his gaze on Gosh, intensity blazing, a cruel smile appearing on his lips. "Very well… if that is your choice… then you will die here, and I will ensure your hope is extinguished completely."
Before Gosh could respond, a roar erupted behind them. A bloodied figure emerged from the smoke: Glann. His red eyes shone with rage and determination. Even injured, he had not retreated, his body bearing the marks of fierce battles.
He burst from the smoke, his clothes torn, his body still bleeding from wounds. Every step left a trail of blood across the ruined ground. His eyes shone with a cold yet determined fury, an unquenchable flame amid the chaos of Britania.
"Bastard!" Glann roared, his voice carrying through the devastated streets. "Don't touch my big brother!"
Ezer lifted his eyes, glowing red, a cruel smile spreading across his face. "You really think you can stop me, miserable human?"
Glann did not respond with words. His hands gripped his magic, and the first spell shot out: a whirlwind of spinning fire blades, raining down on Ezer like a storm of molten steel. Ezer blocked it with a massive sweep of his arm, but Glann immediately vanished through a dimensional portal, reappearing behind him.
Every appearance of Glann was calculated: left, right, up, down. He attacked with pure energy spheres, lightning bursts, and spinning blades. Every impact shook the ground, sending shards of stone and columns of debris flying in all directions. Yet Ezer remained almost unharmed, each attack slightly slowed by his supernatural strength but never truly wounded.
Glann's muscles burned, his injuries searing with every movement, yet the rage and purpose he carried fueled his energy. Every spell cast, every aerial acrobatic move, every explosion was not for glory or victory: it was a diversion. All this chaos, all this blood, all this destruction… it was for Gosh.
Glann's spells followed one another at incredible speed. He unleashed shards of ice to slow Ezer, torrents of fire to distract him, fragmented magical projectiles to strike from behind. But Ezer adapted quickly. He parried, dodged with terrifying fluidity, his red eyes following each movement, analyzing every weakness, every trajectory.
At one point, Glann charged, passing through three successive portals, striking simultaneously from multiple angles. He managed to hit Ezer in the torso, leaving a superficial burn that made the beast flinch. "Yes!" Glann screamed internally. "Even a slight wound… is enough!"
But Ezer was unimpressed. With a swift, decisive movement, he swept Glann aside, smashing him against a ruined wall. Glann's body hit the stones, blood and pain exploding from him. Yet he rose, panting, trembling, but his rage and determination intact.
Glann concentrated his energy for a final spell. He created a massive explosion, opening dimensional portals on all sides, striking Ezer from every angle with concentrated power. The ground trembled, buildings collapsed, smoke and flames engulfed the scene. Yet Ezer emerged from the destruction, intact, his red eyes blazing.
Every movement of Glann was a dance of life and death: he leaped, moved through portals, fired magical bursts, narrowly dodging deadly counterattacks. His body bled, his muscles screamed, his ribs were fractured, yet his spirit remained indomitable. All of this was a sacrifice to allow Gosh to survive.
But the battle was not without consequence. Ezer, with a single, swift movement, tore Glann's arms from his body. Yet Glann stood, rage and despair keeping him upright. He launched his ultimate spell, a whirlwind of dimensional portals and concentrated energy, obliterating the surroundings in total chaos. Shards of stone and fire erupted everywhere. Ezer emerged from the rubble, blood-red eyes, but Glann had not faltered. He screamed, exhausted, bloodied, yet determined to protect Gosh to the very end.
Every movement of Glann was choreographed in the chaos: he appeared behind Ezer, struck, vanished again, dodging counterattacks with swift leaps, aerial spins, and bursts of pure magic. But as the battle continued, the truth became clear: Glann could not win. His mission was a sacrifice. And in his eyes, a sad smile formed: all this blood, all this chaos, all this danger… it was for Gosh.
Time, however, was against him. Each attack drained him, and Ezer, relentless, adapted to every move. With a single swift gesture, he seized Glann, breaking his guard and ripping the fighter's arms from his body in one brutal motion. Glann screamed in agony, blood spraying, eyes widening, but even in this inhuman pain, he managed a sad smile.
He had failed to defeat Ezer… but he had accomplished his mission. Gosh was still alive; the diversion had worked. Glann's body could be destroyed, mutilated, yet his sacrifice had allowed hope to persist, even for a moment.
Glann fell to his knees, blood pouring from his severed limbs, his strength leaving him. He looked at Gosh, still on the ground, and whispered, "Protect… Britania…" before collapsing completely, leaving behind a heavy, tragic, and poignant silence.
Glann's sacrifice had at least allowed a diversion: Gosh could attempt to teleport. But Atlantis had vanished from the mental map. Gosh hesitated, desperate. He needed to locate a precise teleportation point, but without Atlantis, all seemed lost.
To be continued…