One of the assassins let out a low chuckle, spinning his blade. "Looks like the 2nd Order got wiped out by this kid. Well… I guess he's still a Vasco."
The leader's eyes narrowed behind the mask. "Don't get cocky. He's a Vasco. Take him seriously."
Aden's grip tightened on the black sword. No more hiding.
He dropped the careful, flowing footwork his grandfather taught him and switched hard into his father's brutal, aggressive style — the one that earned Ed the name "Monarch of Death." Heavy, direct, meant to make others suffer. He hated using it. Hated that it reminded him of the man who tossed him aside. But right now, hiding wouldn't keep him alive.
The assassins didn't know his core was cracked. To them he was still the heir of House Vasco, son of one of the five strongest monsters on the continent. They moved cautious, auras bright and ready.
Aden rushed first.
He used the forest like a weapon — ducking behind trees, kicking up dirt and leaves to blind them, forcing them into tight spaces where their numbers couldn't swarm him all at once.
The first clash was ugly.
He traded blows with the leader, steel screaming. Aden took a shallow cut across his side, hissed through the pain, and drove his elbow into the man's throat. The assassin staggered. Aden followed with a savage slash that opened the guy's chest. One down.
But they hit back hard.
Another assassin stabbed low, blade sinking into Aden's left thigh. Hot pain exploded. Aden roared and headbutted him, then slashed across the neck before the man could pull away. Two down.
Blood poured down his leg. Every step hurt like fire.
A third came swinging wide. Aden blocked, but the impact rattled his bones. He countered, trading hits again — got sliced across the forearm, gave back a deep gash on the assassin's shoulder. Three down.
Then the big one stepped in.
A massive assassin wielding a heavy metal sledgehammer charged through the trees. Aden tried to dodge, but his injured leg betrayed him. The hammer smashed into the side of his head with a sickening crack.
Stars burst behind his eyes. Blood poured down his face, flooding his vision. Everything blurred into red smears. He could barely see.
The world tilted. His knees almost buckled.
In that hazy, bloody fog, something inside him snapped.
All the betrayal rushed back at once.
His own family throwing him away like garbage the moment his core cracked. The senate stripping him of his position without even looking him in the eye. The new wife. The new kids. The cold silence from his father. Seven years of being the broken one everyone pitied or ignored.
Nah. Fuck that.
He had nothing left.
Aden wiped the blood from his eyes with a trembling, bloody hand, vision still fucked, body screaming in agony. His voice came out low, shaking with pure broken rage.
"…I've had enough."
He lifted his head, eyes burning through the red curtain.
"You think you can just erase me? Set me up and throw me away like the rest of them did?"
He laughed once — a ugly, wet sound.
"No. Not tonight."
Aden straightened up, sword gripped tight in both bloody hands, legs shaking but refusing to fall.
"I'm not dying here… to you worthless pieces of shit."