The dust settled slowly, covering the ruins and the metallic smell of blood.
The wind dragged ashes and extinguished embers, the battlefield was now a cemetery of echoes and twisted steel.
Karna and Count Bharvan remained face to face, motionless for an instant, like two opposite forces about to collide.
The Count's gaze was cold, meticulous; Karna's, calm, but carrying a defiant glow.
"You're making a mistake," said Bharvan, his deep voice resounding like the crackling of a bonfire about to consume everything. "To believe that you can stop me when Haron could not?"
Karna tilted his head slightly, a discreet smile being born at the corner of his lips.
The marks on his arms and neck pulsed like a living shadow, radiating heat and contained energy.
"It's not with mistakes that one learns." The smile widened, provocative. "Then, please... teach me."
The air seemed to vibrate in the next instant. Bharvan advanced.
The ground broke under the Count's feet — a single stride and the space between them dissolved in a dry roar.
His fist shone in crimson tone, and the impact of the blow launched a wave of destruction that swept everything around.
But Karna was no longer there.
Like a living shadow, he slid among the debris, spinning his body and supporting himself on a broken pillar.
The air around him buzzed when the Count struck again, and the impact exploded what was left of the wall — stone and dust flying in all directions.
Karna propelled himself, spinning in the air and driving his boot into the Count's chest. The impact made him recoil half a step — enough for a smile to appear on Karna's lips.
"Not bad for a man who thinks he won before fighting."
The Count wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, his gaze sharp as a blade.
"Insolence..." he murmured, raising his hand. A red aura surrounded his fists, pulsing in rhythm with the sound of a heart. "...is always the prelude to the fall."
The air around trembled. Bharvan advanced again, and each strike was a sentence of destruction.
Each dodge of Karna transformed the scenery — pillars shattered, the ground cracked, fragments flew like blades.
Karna jumped, slid and spun through the wreckage, using the terrain as if each stone were part of his body.
A quick jump, a precise twist, and he drove his knee into the Count's shoulder, escaping by a thread before another blow pulverized the ground where he had been.
The energy of the marks vibrated — the air around Karna shimmered, and the dust moved along with him, as if the very place obeyed his speed.
The Count struck again, the red aura expanding in a devastating arc that destroyed half of a wall. The impact echoed like thunder.
Karna spun his body, landing on his knees, breathing deeply. A thin cut scored his shoulder, but the blood was already beginning to close — regeneration pulsing along with the living marks on his skin.
He looked at the Count and laughed, without mockery, only a light laugh — irritatingly calm.
"You are strong, without a doubt. But do you know what the difference between us is?"
The Count remained silent, his gaze fixed like a blade.
Karna raised his hand, his fingers trembling slightly from the discharge of energy.
"I don't fight to prove that I can win. I fight to see a new dawn."
The Count's smile disappeared. The next blow made the air explode.
The shockwave raised a wall of debris, and Karna was thrown backward, his body sliding on the ground amid dust and embers.
The bow escaped from his hands, spinning in the air before falling among the cracked stones.
Bharvan advanced without hesitation, his heavy steps making the ground tremble. Each breath of his seemed to set the air on fire.
Karna rolled to the side, grabbing the bow amid the chaos. In a single fluid movement, he pulled three arrows from the quiver.
The marks on his arms pulsed, and the tips of the arrows began to shine in golden tone.
The Count raised his fist, preparing another blow — but the arrows were already cutting the air.Three streaks of light surrounded him in an arc, hitting the ground and exploding in luminous fragments.
Karna saw Bharvan raise his arm to protect himself, the dust surrounding him for an instant.
He took advantage. Jumped over the rubble, the bow stretched again, aiming at the void where he knew the enemy would appear.
But the Count was too fast.
A crimson flash crossed the smoke — the fist hit Karna in the abdomen with brutal force.
The impact threw him against a broken column, cracking the stone and tearing the air from his lungs.
The sound of bones cracking echoed in the silence that followed.
Karna fell to his knees, coughing blood, the bow still trapped between his fingers. The black marks on his skin pulsed more intensely, reacting to the pain.
Regeneration began — muscles recomposed, the blood ceased — but the body trembled under the effort.
Bharvan approached slowly, his gaze firm, unhurried.
"Will you continue, even knowing that you cannot stop me?"
Karna felt the air distort behind him — an ancient, unmistakable presence. He raised his face, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth.
"Well... I only had to hold her for five minutes."
The Count frowned, and for an instant, the air seemed to compress.
Karna leaned the bow on the ground and rose with effort. The marks began to recede, undoing themselves until returning to their initial state. Then he smiled.
Before the Count could react, the air split with a dry snap — and Bharvan was hurled far away.
The dust rose, dense, covering everything around.
When it dissipated, a figure emerged among the rubble.
White silver hair that shone like snow under the light.Eyes red as living embers.
Pale skin, almost translucent, the body covered in blood — and on the lips, a serene and inhuman smile.
"Yes..." he said, his voice serene, but carrying an ancestral tone. "This is the feeling of being alive."
The sky began to change.
The blue split into dense clouds, which formed like dark walls over the ruined city.
A distant thunder broke the silence, and soon, the rain fell heavy — extinguishing the flames that still consumed the ruins of the Bronze Wall.
Amid the smell of iron and wet ashes, Karna leaned against a piece of rubble, breathing deeply. The body still vibrated with pain, but the smile remained.
"So you arrived..." murmured Karna, without taking his eyes from the horizon. He knew it was her, even still distant. "You took too long... I almost died here."
Karna felt the Prince's gaze upon him, the red eyes glowing like embers. His voice came serene, but loaded with irony and authority.
"What is Hercules thinking..." he said, with a slight touch of sarcasm "...embarrassing the Greek gods this way?"
Karna let out a short laugh, but didn't answer. The tension in the air was palpable — and then, the sound of heavy steps echoed among the ruins.
Count Bharvan was approaching, cracking his neck slowly. His eyes shone with an ancient fury.
"So that's why you were confident..." he said, his tone deep like thunder about to fall. "But that is nothing.
I can feel that someone else will join soon.
Truly..." he raised his head, a demented smile opening "...then I will show you the true terror of those who pass through resurrection."
The cape slid from his shoulders and fell into the mud.
The transformation began.
His skin darkened, becoming black as molten basalt, golden and scarlet veins pulsing under the surface.
His hair grew and bristled like a living storm, sparking with spiritual energy.
His eyes became incandescent red spheres, continuous flames that tore through the rain and darkness.
The eyepatch dissolved, revealing the second eye — marked by a runic symbol, the direct heritage of Vayu.
Teeth and fangs lengthened, sharp as blades. His smile mingled divinity and demon.
Tribal marks appeared all over his body, swirling like spirals moved by the wind.
"Behold the form of Ghatotkacha!" he announced, his voice no longer human. "This will be the last thing you see before death."
The transformation did not go unnoticed. Even far away, on the castle walls, some felt the weight of that change — an omen that crossed the battlefield.
Count Bharvan had ceased to be just a man.
Before them stood something that had surpassed death itself.
The Prince observed the Count's transformation with an impassive gaze. The rain ran down his face, but he didn't seem to care.
"That's why I don't like greedy humans..." he said, his voice soft, almost bored. "They are never satisfied. They always seek more, even what they shouldn't touch."
He crouched and picked up a blood-stained sword fallen among the rubble. Raised it with a light spin, testing the weight of the blade.
"Well... but it will do." A small smile crossed his lips. "Don't take it the wrong way, what is your name again?"
He made a brief pause and shook his head.
"Actually, it doesn't matter. But know... no hard feelings." His red eyes shone. "I don't know from which pantheon you come, but before me..."
In the blink of an eye, he advanced.
The speed was superhuman — the air tore as he crossed the distance, moving like lightning.
The Count reacted at the same instant.
His hand, covered by the red aura, grabbed the Prince's neck and lifted him off the ground with brutality.
The Prince only smiled, his eyes sparking.
"Damned body..." he murmured between his teeth, his voice calm even under pressure.
Before the Count could crush his throat, a voice cut the air.
"Phasmatos..." whispered Brianna.
The rubble around trembled, as if obeying.
In an instant, stones, columns and fragments rose from the ground and fell upon both like a furious storm.
The impact hurled the Count and the Prince for several meters, crossing what was left of the ruined houses. The explosion of dust and stone swallowed the sound, and for a moment, only the roar of the rain was heard.