(Chapter 12)
The tavern smelled of smoke and spilled ale, lantern light flickering across worn wooden beams.
"Where… did I ever see that guy before?"
Enix whispered into the darkness, his eyes tracing the timbered ceiling above his bed. His thoughts gnawed at him like wolves at a carcass. That black-armored figure—Zeer—had radiated an aura that clawed at the edge of his memory. It was familiarity wrapped in dread
He turned on his side, restless. The tavern room smelled of sea salt and old ale, yet it wasn't the stench keeping him awake. It was the weight of that man's presence, lingering like a scar on the back of his mind.
Unable to bear it, Enix slipped from bed. The floor creaked as he moved quietly, careful not to wake Rowan or Thalia in the other rooms. He pulled his cloak on and stepped outside into the sleeping city.
Serian lay muted under the pale wash of the moon. The ocean sighed against the docks, gulls slept on the masts, and the streets, usually alive with chaos, lay empty and strange. His boots echoed faintly on the cobblestones as he wandered, searching without knowing what he sought.
From the shadows, another door opened.
Azre leaned against her wall, arms crossed, having noticed Enix's silhouette move past her room. "What's he doing out at this hour…?" she muttered, narrowing her eyes.
She grabbed her blade and followed, her presence concealed like a phantom's breath. Her steps were noiseless, her aura veiled, but her focus burned sharp. Something about the way Enix had left, tense and troubled, gnawed at her instincts.
And then—
A frantic scream tore through the silence.
---
Enix stopped in his tracks, startled. From the corner of a narrow alley, he caught sight of a hooded figure in black rags bolting desperately. The man's breath came in ragged bursts, his arms pumping as though chased by death itself.
Behind him, shadows slithered unnaturally, wrapping the brick walls. Something dreadful was pursuing him.
Azre's eyes widened. The air turned heavy, poisonous, the exact suffocating sensation she had felt back in Arcaun before the wyvern attack.
Her gut twisted. "No… not again."
She abandoned her concealment and shouted, her voice cutting through the night.
"HEY, ENIX! I need your help!"
---
Enix jolted at her voice, spinning around. Confusion creased his face.
"What the hell are you yelling about—"
But then he felt it. A presence like a black tide rolling under the earth. His chest tightened, his skin prickled. Whatever stalked the city tonight wasn't human.
Azre bolted toward the alley, blade half-drawn. Enix, acting on instinct, ran the opposite way, toward the street ahead — a hunter's tug pulling him deeper.
Neither realized they were walking straight into jaws waiting to snap shut.
--
Above, crouched on the crumbling arch of a warehouse roof, a figure lingered.
Gigaleon.
His grin spread, teeth flashing in the moonlight as his laughter rumbled low, guttural, chilling.
"Perfect… you two scatter like prey, thinking you're hunters. How delicious."
His crimson eyes gleamed as he watched the Purge Knight and the wanderer split paths. The trap he had laid had sprung just as planned.
But Gigaleon wasn't a mindless beast. He had goals beyond slaughter. He remembered clearly the way he had slithered into the cult's ranks, wearing another face — a clone of himself crafted from threads of soul and shadow. The fools of the Trinity never suspected as he learned their rituals, their tomes, their altars.
And when the moment was right, he stole the second tome from their very hands. He had planted just enough "truth" in their minds to push them toward confrontation with the Purge Knights.
"Let them bleed each other dry," Gigaleon whispered to himself, chuckling. "When both sides fall… I will claim what remains."
He licked his lips as his gaze drifted toward another thought.
Brooke.
The huntress. The outlaw pirate queen with a bounty too steep for cowards, too dangerous for fools. The thought of devouring her spirit, silencing her flame, sent a shiver of hunger down his spine.
"Oh yes… you, too, will dance for me."
Gigaleon's laugh carried through the night like a broken bell, then faded as he melted back into the shadows.
---
Back on the streets, Azre's boots splashed through a puddle as she entered the alley. The hooded man stumbled, cornered by a shape that had no face but grinned with a thousand whispering mouths.
"Sacrifice…" it hissed, dripping shadow as it reached for the man.
Azre charged, blade flashing silver, cleaving the air with a cry. "Not tonight!"
At the same time, Enix skidded to a halt on the adjoining street, his eyes widening as three more robed figures emerged, blocking his path. Each raised jagged blades, chanting words that clawed at the air.
"The seal must break. The abyss must feast!"
Enix drew his weapon, sweat cold against his skin. "...Great. Just my luck."
And in that instant, the night exploded — Azre's blade sparking against shadow, Enix clashing steel against cultist knives — while high above, Gigaleon laughed to himself, watching his puppets collide in the chaos he had sown.
The city of Serian had just become a battlefield.
The hooded man stumbled into the alley, gasping like prey cornered by wolves. His pursuers—the cultists in black—raised their daggers high, chanting discordant hymns.
Enix quickened his pace. "Hey! Hold it—"
The man turned. His face was unnervingly still, eyes empty voids, and then—
Crack.
The skin split apart like fragile porcelain, and beneath, threads of sickly soul-light writhed like worms caught in fire.
Azre's eyes went wide. No… this was a trap. Her stomach churned as she realized the hooded figure they had meant to save was not a human being right from the start. Faint traces of compressed mana leaked from its body, twisting through the air like smoke from a dying flame.
The skin split apart like porcelain. Threads of soul-light flickered beneath, writhing like worms.
The figure smiled faintly, then erupted. The explosion of shadows hurled both knights backward, rattling the walls, tearing lanterns from their hooks.
As the smoke cleared, a new presence stood there.
---
A tall figure emerged slowly, robes trailing in soot and smoke. His staff etched with runes pulsed faintly, drinking in the darkness. His hood fell back, revealing pallid skin and cruel, sunken eyes that gleamed with intelligence.
He looked down at them as if studying insects.
"I am Dieval,"
he announced, his voice measured, commanding.
"I'm one of the three Founder of the Trinity. Keeper of curses. You were not meant to see me… yet. But fate is fickle."
Enix spat to the side.
"Founder or not… you picked the wrong night."
Dieval smiled faintly.
"You mistake inevitability for choice. Allow me to educate you."
With a subtle flick of his staff, the alley twisted. A wave of black energy swept out—Confusion. Both knights staggered, vision doubling, whispers digging into their skulls.
Then—Paralysis. Enix's knees buckled, muscles tightening. He forced himself to stay upright, his blade trembling.
And then came Poison. Azre's breath hitched, lips paling as a sickly green glow wrapped her body.
All the while, Dieval never approached. He simply commanded.
Shadows rose around him, forming into phantoms—half-formed bodies with jagged claws and skull-like faces. They swarmed forward.
---
The Struggle
Enix slashed, cutting one phantom down, only for another to grab his shoulder. Its claw raked across his back, blood spraying.
Azre countered with a burst of divine light, her blessing radiating outward. Golden runes formed a shield around them, pushing back the curses gnawing at their minds.
"Hah—Enix! Stay sharp! I can suppress his curses, but not forever!"
Enix's teeth clenched. "Then we finish this… before he finishes us."
But Dieval's strategy was merciless. He never came close, instead sending waves of phantoms and curses from the safety of the shadows. Each curse stacked upon the other, weakening them, slowing them, bleeding them of strength.
Enix's vision swam. Azre's mana was draining rapidly, each prayer leaving her paler, sweat dripping from her brow.
Dieval's voice cut through it all. Calm. Cold. Cruel.
"Your faith is a candle. My curse is the night. Tell me, knight—what use is a candle… in a storm?"
---
The Dark Flame
Enix staggered, blood dripping from a wound on his shoulder. He could barely hold his sword upright.
Azre fell to one knee, hands clasped in prayer, forcing the last of her mana into one final blessing.
"Please… Enix… don't give in—"
Enix's breathing grew ragged. His vision blurred. In the abyss of exhaustion, something stirred inside him. A hunger. A flame.
Black fire flickered along the edge of his blade, unnatural and consuming, devouring the shadows themselves. The phantoms shrieked as the flame spread, their forms unraveling under its corruption.
Dieval's calm faltered. His eyes narrowed. "That flame… no. It cannot be…"
Enix roared, charging forward with the last of his strength. The curses clawed at his mind, his body screamed with pain, but he forced himself through. Each step consumed by black flame, his very aura burning away the phantoms in his path.
Dieval raised his staff, chanting rapidly, summoning a wall of shadow. But Enix broke through, his blade wreathed in dark fire.
"YOU'RE DONE!"
The sword pierced Dieval's chest, sinking deep into his heart.
For the first time, Dieval's composure shattered. He gasped, eyes wide, blood bubbling from his lips. The shadows writhed violently, collapsing as their master faltered.
He tried to speak—perhaps a curse, perhaps a final prayer to Daath—but Enix twisted the blade, the black flame consuming him from within.
Dieval let out a strangled cry, then crumpled, the light leaving his eyes.
---
Aftermath
Enix collapsed to one knee, his sword clattering beside him. His body trembled, the dark flame flickering out as quickly as it came. He could barely breathe.
Azre stumbled toward him, drained, almost falling herself. She pressed her trembling hand to his shoulder.
"Enix… you did it…"
He laughed weakly, coughing blood. "Yeah… but damn… I can't even stand."
They both sank into the rubble, broken and exhausted, unable to move.
Above them, unseen—Gigaleon perched upon the ruins, clutching the Second Tome in his hand. His smile stretched wide, eyes gleaming with hunger.
"Marvelous," he whispered. "To think those two could slay one of the Trinity's founders… Oh, this game grows sweeter by the hour."
He chuckled darkly, watching the broken knights below.
---
Brooke's Instinct
Far across the docks, Brooke's eyes snapped open as the explosion rattled the city. She could feel the battle like a chill crawling along her skin.
Bruce glanced at her nervously. "Captain… what's wrong? Are we sailing yet?"
Brooke smirked faintly, her eyes sharp. "Not yet. I still have a score to settle."
She turned, barking to her crew. "Stand by! Only Bruce and Bob come with me. The rest of you stay put."
Bruce and Bob exchanged nervous glances, but nodded.
The three of them moved quickly through the streets toward the source of the chaos. Brooke's boots struck the cobblestones with intent, her eyes blazing with anticipation.
And then—
A shadow fell from the sky, crashing into the street ahead. Stones shattered, dust billowed.
As the smoke cleared, he stood there.
Gigaleon.
----- The Soul Thread Psycho.
His crimson eyes gleamed, his smile wide and twisted. He tilted his head slightly, as though savoring the moment.
"Found you at last," he whispered, his voice dripping with malice.
Brooke's lips curled into a dangerous smile.
"About damn time."
The moonlight was fractured by smoke and ash, as Brooke squared off against Gigaleon's thread grinned with that infuriating smile, rolling his shoulders like a man limbering up before a game. His hands shimmered faintly with soul-threads, fine as spider silk, glowing crimson at their ends.
"You've got guts, showing up here alone," Brooke taunted, resting a hand on her blade. "But guts are messy when spilled on cobblestones. Want to test that theory?"
Gigaleon chuckled. "I like you already. Let's see if your wit holds up when your heartstrings are mine to pluck."
With a snap of his fingers, threads lashed outward, slicing through the air like razors. Brooke twisted aside, sparks bursting as her blade parried one, another nicking her sleeve. Behind her, Bruce and Bob stumbled back, eyes wide, but ready with steel in hand.
"Stay sharp!" Brooke barked, her voice sharp as steel. "This bastard's not here to play."
Gigaleon moved with inhuman grace, weaving threads that danced like serpents, wrapping around barrels, splitting stone.
Brooke pressed forward, her strikes wild and furious, forcing him to defend with his silk instead of attacking. Sparks of steel and glowing crimson threads filled the alley with deadly light.
---