"Even if you never forgive me, I will always forgive you, Amon. After all... you tried to protect me. Deep down, you just wanted to protect me."
Albion looked deep into Amon's shocked crimson eyes. "Because at the end of the day... I am you."
Silence hung over the Inner World.
Amon's crimson eyes were stretched wide, frozen in complete and utter shock. The chaotic, manic rhythm in his chest died instantly, replaced by a dazed, hollow stillness.
'Protect him?' Amon thought, his mind stalling. 'Me? Protecting him?'
A strange, nauseating heat rose behind his eyes.
'I would never protect him. Why would I ever want to protect him? For what reason would I ever want to protect Albion Ebonveil?'
Then, as if summoned by the thought, a memory surged up from the dark water beneath his feet. He saw a younger, broken version of Albion. It was the moment they first encountered one another within the quiet horrors of their shared mind.
Albion's mental state was deteriorating, collapsing under the crushing weight of relentless trauma, isolation, and things a child should never have endured. He had been crying, looking utterly pathetic, small, and helpless. And back then, Amon had been the one to extend a hand.
Amon remembered the words that had torn from his own throat that day.
«I'll carry the burdens. All the sins. All the hatred. So your soul doesn't have to suffer anymore. If you fall... if you truly aren't fit to hold the throne...»
«Then I'll fight for both of us. I'll protect both of us.»
Amon's heartbeat thundered in his ears like a rhythmic strike against iron. In front of him stood the present Albion, extending a small, gentle hand toward him with a quiet, steady smile. Back then, Albion had been the one breaking, and Amon had reached down to save him. Now, Albion stood grounded, offering his hand to drag Amon out of the dark.
'Why?' His mind raged against itself, his thoughts fracturing. 'Why would I ever want to protect him of all people?!'
Amon had not been born as a normal soul. He was the culmination of everything Albion suppressed: every drop of dark, festering hatred, every silent tear, every agonizing memory, all fused with the volatile, inhuman blood circulating through their veins. He was a metaphysical entity forged from pure rejection.
He possessed every toxic, vile, and destructive trait Albion lacked, but none of his quiet gentleness. And now, confronted by Albion's forgiveness, that suppressed darkness didn't soften, It exploded. Before Albion could react, Amon's fist smashed across his face with violent force.
"I refuse!" Amon roared, his teeth grinding together so hard his jaw creaked. His eyes were ablaze with pure, unadulterated fury. "I'll admit it! In the past, a part of me did want to protect you! But things have changed! You aren't the only one who grew up, Albion!"
Amon's left fist drove into the opposite side of Albion's jaw, snapping his head back.
"Back then, I thought you and I could coexist!" Amon screamed, his voice cracking with rage. "I was wrong! Two kings cannot exist at the same time!"
Amon twisted his hips, throwing his full weight forward, and drove his knee upward straight into Albion's stomach. The impact was brutal. A heavy thud echoed across the Black Water. The blow lifted Albion's small body off his feet, folding him in half as the air was violently forced from his lungs.
"In the end, only one can remain!" Amon declared, his face twisting into something monstrous. "Only one will ever remain! I was a fool!"
As Albion hovered helplessly in mid-air, Amon reached up with both hands, grabbing Albion's outstretched leg with a white-knuckled grip. Pivoting on his worn leather boot, Amon leaned back, hoisted Albion's body high into the air, and slammed him down into the distance with ruthless momentum.
Albion's body struck the solid surface of the Black Water, skipping across it like a thrown stone. He bounced once, twice, three times—before his final impact landed directly on his head with a horrific, sickening crack.
His momentum died. Albion tumbled onto his back, lying motionless in the dim, ambient light. His neck rested against the floor at an unnatural, broken angle.
"I understand it now!" Amon screamed into the empty expanse, his hands trembling as he stared at the motionless form. "I understand my purpose clearly! I exist to wipe out everything else! I am the true king!"
Blood mixed with drool began to leak freely from the corners of Amon's mouth, running down his chin as his stitched grin widened into a manic, demonic smile.
"All others exist to be wiped out for me! For me alone!" he shouted, his laughter rising in pitch. "As long as hatred exists in your heart, I will forever be a part of you! But in the end, only one of us gets to walk away! I'll kill, and kill, and kill! I will take absolute power—power so absolute that no one will ever control my life again!"
Amon took a ragged breath, his crimson eyes wild and unhinged.
"Let's settle it right here and right now, Albion!" Amon challenged, pointing a blood-stained finger at the distant body. "Let's see which of us is stronger! Your pathetic compassion... or the hatred I've bottled up for five years! You want to save me?! You're too late! Five years too late!"
Silence answered him. Amon stood panting, his chest heaving, waiting for the reality of his victory to settle. A terrible grinding of bone echoed across the quiet realm. Slowly, awkwardly, Albion's body began to move. His small hands pressed against the black floor, pushing his torso up.
With a deliberate, unnerving twist, his broken neck jerked sideways, the bones popping and clicking back into their proper alignment with a final, sharp snap. He stood up. His white robe fell naturally back around his knees. He didn't look angry. He didn't look panicked. He simply adjusted his position and looked back at Amon.
'I knew this would happen,' Albion thought calmly. 'Though I didn't expect him to be strong enough to break my neck so easily. If I were a normal human, I would have died instantly.'
Across the floor, Amon's manic grin faltered for the briefest second. His wide eyes stared at Albion in genuine shock. "How...?" He muttered, blood dripping onto his black collar. "How are you alive? How are you standing?!"
Albion observed Amon's reaction. 'He doesn't know. He doesn't know my body can repair itself.'
While Amon possessed a deep, instinctual understanding of his own nature as a manifestation of trauma, he lacked complete knowledge of their physical body. He knew he was born from suppressed hatred and inhuman blood, but he didn't truly understand what that blood entailed.
Just as a child knows they exist without understanding cellular biology, Amon didn't grasp the anomalies of their shared body.
'This regeneration power is unique to my body,' Albion thought quietly. 'He can't do it. But because he doesn't know I can heal, he also doesn't know the limits of it. He doesn't know that every time my body repairs itself, I still feel the full extent of the pain... or that it drains my magical energy reserves.'
Outwardly, Albion didn't drop his guard, but he held a single hand out in a defensive, non-threatening gesture.
"Amon, please," Albion said softly. His voice was quiet,direct, and devoid of drama. "I didn't come here to fight you. I don't want to fight you."
"Oh, that's fine!" Amon shouted back, his manic grin snapping back into place with scary speed. "I have enough desire for the both of us! For all of us!"
Amon took a violent step forward.
"It's because of your stupid compassion that you're so damn weak! Compassion doesn't exist in this world! Wanting friends... wanting connections... when all I wanted was for you to rely on me! But I'm done with that! Now only one can remain! Let's see whose existence is real! You can't defeat us!"
Albion's eyes narrowed slightly. 'Us? Oh right. I haven't seen yang yet.'
Before Albion could understand the thought, the flesh near Amon's left temple shuddered. The skin split open without a drop of blood, revealing a third crimson eye—a raw, unnatural socket pulsing with malice right above his brow. Immediately, a dark, oppressive aura erupted from Amon's body. Dense, purple magical energy flared outward, coalescing into physical, fluttering shapes.
Dozens of dark purple butterflies detached from his figure, dancing through the ambient air of the Inner World. Albion watched the transformation with calm, analytical eyes.
'His magical aura…It makes sense that he can draw on magical energy. Though I am surprised... His aura looks so similar to mine. And that third eye... he transformed. The inhuman blood in our veins carries unique traits. Since he represents that raw bloodline, he can manifest its physical traits more easily than I can.'
The purple aura flared higher, twisting into a monstrous, alien shape that radiated pure hostility.
'Can he use Codex Magic?' Albion questioned himself. 'No. He shouldn't be able to. He didn't undergo the Ethereal Awakening. That revelation was what allowed me to perceive and alter the informational threads. If he can't use Codex Magic... what is he doing with his aura?'
As if in answer, the dark purple magic surrounding Amon began to condense. It detached from his shoulders, solidifying into three distinct, hovering shapes. The raw energy compressed, sharpened, and hardened until three pitch-black swords floated silently around Amon's body.
Albion's fuchsia eyes widened slightly in surprise. In an instant, his mind recalled the information stored within his mind.
Ethernal Manipulation. Standard spellcasting relies on static, predefined formulas, like casting a specific spell. Ethernal Manipulation is the advanced art of freely controlling raw magic's form, density, and physical state in real time without a spell formula.
Mages use this to solidify energy into physical structures or redirect raw magic mid-flight. It demands flawless internal flow control and is exceptionally rare among human mages.
However, Magical Beasts possess a distinct genetic advantage in this field. While humans must train rigorously to achieve free-form shaping, beasts instinctively circulate raw magic, allowing them to shape energy without formal spells.
The information sat crystal clear in Albion's mind.
'How?' Albion thought. 'How is he doing that? Only a master mage or a magical beast can shape raw magic without a formula...'
He looked at the three floating blades of dense, purple energy, and the truth clicked into place with heavy clarity. 'He can do it because he represents our inhuman blood,' Albion realized. 'And if he can shape raw magic instinctively like a beast... then the inhuman blood in our veins must come from a Magical Beast.'
It was a staggering revelation, but there was no time to dwell on it. Amon reached out, grabbing the hilt of the central floating sword. He held it casually, the dark purple energy humming violently against the air of the Inner World, his three crimson eyes fixed entirely on Albion.
"Who knows how I can do it?" Amon sneered, his smile twisting wide as the stitches at his mouth bled freely. "Frankly, I don't care."
He raised the blade, pointing its dark tip directly at Albion's.
"You best prepare yourself, Albion," Amon declared, his voice echoing through the vast, quiet realm. "Let's see which of our existences is stronger. Which of us is truly fit to hold the title of King... you, or me?!"
Albion's wide fuchsia eyes reflected the dark purple light of the blades as the tension reached its limit.