Zevien danced between blades like smoke through fingers.
Every strike from the Demonfires met parries, sidesteps, bursts of silver. His movements were flawless, impossibly fast, precise like he'd choreographed this battle himself. The Shadow Guards surged in with backup blows, timing their attacks between the Demonfires' rhythms.
Five hits missed.
One landed.
Then again.
Every five attempts, one drew blood. A slash across the arm. A shallow wound near his ribs. A cut just above the knee.
It wasn't enough to kill.
But that wasn't the goal.
Harry, panting, bruised, kept to the rear, his mind racing. We can't overpower him, he thought, eyes tracking the pattern of Zevien's flawless defense. But we can outlast him.
And then, the idea struck like lightning.
"Coat your blades," he muttered through the comm. "With the serum. Just a touch. A drop per strike. That's all it takes."
There was no time for questions.
Only action.
A glance to Li, a flick of the wrist from Sofie, the faint hiss of a vial cracking open, silent confirmations passed between them.
They didn't need a plan.
They trusted Harry.
Blades gleamed faintly with the ghost of silver serum, hidden under the blood and the smoke. The Shadow Guards adjusted silently, blades dipped in quiet coordination.
And Zevien… never noticed.
Because he didn't think he needed to.
Why would he? He was winning.
He moved like a god of war. His every motion radiated dominance. He struck Li down, threw Diego aside, outmaneuvered Sofie mid-air, clipped Slacovich with a reverse elbow that sent him skidding through rubble.
And every time he was hit, he grinned wider.
Even bruised, even outnumbered, he still believed himself untouchable.
Until, slowly, something began to shift.
He missed a parry.
Barely.
Then he misjudged a step, only by a hair, but enough for Diego's blade to scrape across his ribs.
A small cut.
A tiny drop of blood.
But it stung.
It lingered.
His speed wavered, almost imperceptibly at first. He blamed fatigue. Adjusted his stance.
Then it happened again.
And again.
One moment, he was flowing like a storm, unstoppable.
The next, his body hesitated.
A single breath too long. A flicker of delay in his arm. His knee buckled, not from a strike, but from something inside.
He stumbled.
And the Demonfires felt it.
They didn't press to kill, they just kept striking. Slashes to limbs. Cuts to muscle. Places they could reach when he made those small mistakes.
Drops of serum seeped into every wound.
Unnoticed.
Unchallenged.
It was never about overpowering him. It was about buying time, for the poison to work. And by the time Zevien realized…
It was already too late.
He swung, but the blade slipped from his grip.
He moved, but his body didn't respond the way it should.
His vision blurred, the world swimming with streaks of light. He blinked, saw his own sweat glistening across his arms, his face.
Silver.
Liquid silver.
He looked down at his shaking hands.
No…
His voice trembled. Not from pain. From rage. From dawning horror.
"I--" he stammered. "No. This isn't---This can't---"
He reached deep, clawing for the final trump card, his true form.
But it wouldn't come.
The silver, the very thing that defined him, was gone. Purged. Rendered inert inside him.
He was no longer the perfect reaper.
He was mortal.
Vulnerable.
Defeated.
The air grew still. The battle paused in a single heartbeat, the Demonfires circling him like wolves sensing the fall of a titan.
Zevien fell to one knee.
Not from a strike.
But from failure.
Sofie stepped behind him, her blade dipped in blood.
Li and Diego flanked either side.
Slacovich, breathing hard, moved with a limp, but his sword rose.
Harry approached from behind, jabbing one final wound into Zevien's leg, forcing him down completely.
And as the last of the silver bled out---
Tyler walked forward.
Battered. Shaking.
But standing.
Zevien lifted his head weakly, eyes locking with Tyler's.
For the first time, there was no smirk.
Only disbelief.
And a flicker of fear.
"I told you," Tyler said, voice low. "You don't get to mock her death."
His blade came down in one clean arc.
Zevien's head hit the ground before his body turned to ash.
The silence after was deafening.
The six Demonfires stood still. Bruised. Bloodied. Gasping for breath.
The six Shadow Guards stepped in behind them, silent, statuesque.
Ash scattered in the wind.
And across the battlefield, where the ground burned and bodies crumbled, stood Volton Hellgazer.
Still.
Unmoved.
He didn't run.
Didn't scream.
Didn't rage.
He simply clapped once. Slow. Hollow.
And grinned.
The twisted, knowing grin of a man who had already written the next chapter.
"My Reapers," he said, his voice echoing across the ruined field. "Gone. And yet…"
He tilted his head.
"I'm still here."
And that's when they realized---
This wasn't over.
Not yet.
Not even close.
---
The battlefield lay quiet for a breath too long.
Ash from Zevien's remains scattered through the wind, mingling with dust, blood, and smoke. The Demonfires stood in silence, bodies aching, wounds just barely closed from another round of serum.
Across from them, Volton Hellgazer did not move from his place.
Instead, he laughed.
Low.
Mocking.
Deliberate.
"Well, well," he drawled, fingers steepled beneath his chin. "Look at you all. Six of the finest. Bloody. Beaten. Struggling… against just four."
He motioned lazily at the ruined battlefield, littered with the remains of the perfect reapers.
"And you call this victory?"
His eyes flicked to Harry.
"But I must say… I'm impressed."
The grin stretched wider, wolfish. "That scientist of yours, Harry, is it? Far more useful than my dear Dr. Spencer ever was. She couldn't even perfect the final compound without years of trial and error. I had to seduce her into loyalty. You know how exhausting it is to pretend you care about someone who bores you to tears?"
A soft gasp echoed from the corner of the ruined stronghold.
Hidden behind shattered lab consoles, partially shielded by flickering monitors, stood Dr. Spencer, pale, trembling, and finally broken from silence.
Tears trembled in her eyes. "You… used me?"
Her voice cracked.
"I betrayed everything for you. Risked everything. I stole the original serum from the Vampire Project. I injected it into corpses, into children, until I cracked the formula! I made your reapers! I made the perfect reapers! I gave you everything!"
Volton didn't look at her.
Not yet.
"You said---" her voice was louder now, unhinged. "You said we would change the world together. You said I was irreplaceable."
Finally, Volton turned. His gaze slithered over her.
"You were useful. Once."
"And now?" she whispered, her entire body trembling.
Volton shrugged. "Now? You're just another loose end."
Dr. Spencer screamed, her voice sharp and raw. "I should've left! I should've let them kill you when I had the chance! I'll tell them, everything! I'll tell them Kairos' weakness! I'll---"
That was her final mistake.
The moment that name left her lips, the change was immediate.
Volton moved.
Faster than any of them had ever seen.
One blur, one blink, and he was there, right in front of her.
A clawed hand pierced through her chest, fingers wrapped around her heart, her scream caught mid-throat. Blood pooled from her lips.
Volton leaned in, slow, intimate.
And kissed her.
Softly.
Mockingly.
Loveless.
Then he crushed her heart in one brutal pulse of muscle and bone.
She collapsed in his arms, lifeless.
He let her body drop like a discarded ragdoll.
The sound of her bones hitting the floor echoed like a war drum.
None of the Demonfires spoke.
Sofie clenched her fists until blood welled in her palms.
Li's jaw tightened, rage coiling just beneath her eyes.
Slacovich didn't flinch, but his silence screamed louder than fury.
And Tyler, despite the bruises, despite the exhaustion, took a step forward, blade still wet from Zevien's blood.
Volton turned to them once more, slowly, and smiled.
"That name," he said, almost sweetly. "Still sends chills down your spine, doesn't it?"
He raised a hand and traced the blood on his palm like it was nothing more than ink.
"Kairos."
He said it again, savoring the weight of it.
"More powerful than the defectives. Stronger than the replicas. Beyond the perfect reapers you just broke yourselves fighting."
His grin widened into something monstrous.
"He is my masterpiece."
None of the Demonfires moved. But the tension rippled like a thundercloud about to snap.
Volton's voice dropped to a murmur, more intimate than before.
"He doesn't bleed like you. He doesn't break like you. He doesn't stop like you. And unlike the rest… he chose me."
The weight of those words lingered.
A silence heavy enough to choke.
The Demonfires didn't dare ask.
They didn't want to know what that meant.
Not yet.
Not until---
A sound.
A hum beneath the rubble. A heartbeat, faint… and growing stronger.
The ground trembled beneath their feet.
Sofie's eyes snapped to the origin.
Tyler turned, breath catching in his throat.
Even Slacovich's posture shifted, alert.
Volton grinned.
"You don't have to wait long."
And beneath the ruin… something stirred.
Something waiting to be born.
Something named Kairos.