(Marvel, DC, images, manhuas, and every anime that will be mentioned and used in this story are not mine. They all belong to their respective owners. The main character "Karito/Adriel Josue Valdez" and the story are mine)
Six Months Later
No POV
Six months had passed.
Time—such a fluid, fragile thing—had begun to blur for the Guardian.
He was nearing his breaking point.
When this war began, he'd believed he could end Sentry's campaign within two months. That had been the plan. That had been the hope. But plans rarely survived impact, especially when they involved cross-fictional warfare.
Changing the timeline of Madan no Ou to Vanadis and forcibly stitching it together with League of Legends had come at a steep cost. He'd hoped the time dilation across fictional universes would work in his favor—and to a degree, it had.
Back in League's Omniverse, only six seconds had passed. Maybe ten. No more than a minute.
He hoped.
He clung to that assumption, because if more time had passed... he couldn't bear the consequences.
But even that hope was a flickering candle in a collapsing temple. Because time wasn't the only thing turning against him.
He was losing power.
Fast.
It had started subtly. Skills taking longer to execute. Reactions just a fraction slower. Then came the systems—crashing mid-execution, failing to compile.
Now?
He could barely feel them.
He tried, countless times, to purge the Void Parasite Sentry had implanted within him. But the corruption ran deep. It wasn't just infection—it was sabotage on a conceptual level. The moment he'd tried to hack Sentry's character settings directly, the parasite activated. In that instant, the Guardian became the virus.
A corrupted file in the system he once controlled.
And the more power he used?
The faster the corruption spread.
His symbiote suit had stabilized for now, though even that was fracturing under pressure. His skills had begun disappearing, fragmenting—like data being deleted line by line. But through it all, one ability remained—Hacker.
The most persistent, most sentient, and perhaps the most terrifying of his powers.
It had started to act on its own.
Reacting to threats before he could.
Preserving the most critical subsystems—combat adaptation, martial memory, reactive countering. It refused to let those die. As if Hacker had become self-aware. As if it knew how much was riding on him.
But the rest?
Gone.
The gap between what he once was and what he was now... was staggering.
And the mission?
It had never felt farther from completion.
He was desperate now. He didn't try to hide it. He didn't care if the others saw it. There were no others anymore—not on this path. He'd isolated himself, walked alone, and waged a war that could not be won by attrition.
One phrase echoed through his mind like a mantra—relentless, haunting:
Artoria needs me. Against Hercules. I have to be there.
It was the only thing keeping him going.
He'd promised to keep Zhcted safe. And so far, that promise held. But it was breaking at the seams. Three other nations—Mouzinel, Sachstein, and Asvarre—had already fallen to the corruption.
Corrupted by Darks.
Defiled by invaders from worlds that had no right to exist in this one.
He tried to save everyone. He really did.
But three Vanadis were dead.
And he would never forgive himself for that.
The first was Alexandra Alshavin—Sasha. Taken by Dark Gwum Gi, a version twisted by the same shadows that had devoured entire realities. What the Guardian found... couldn't be undone. She had been defiled. Broken. Killed.
He made sure her killer didn't die quickly.
The second was Elizavetta Fomina—Liza. Crucified in the very center of her own city. Turned on by her own people after Alucard, from Hellsing Ultimate, infected them with vampiric madness. They saw her not as a leader—but a witch. And they tore her apart.
The Guardian found Alucard.
And erased him. Entirely. Hacker didn't just delete his body—it voided his code from fiction itself.
The last was Olga Tamm.
The worst one.
She hadn't just died.
She'd been consumed.
The entire city of Mouzinel devoured, turned into a graveyard of chewed flesh and broken bone. He hadn't understood what he was seeing until later.
The Great Rabbit.
A Witchbeast from the world of Re:Zero—one of the three most dangerous creatures from that cursed universe. A swarm of endless death.
He spent an entire week fighting it. Alone.
He lost two-tenths of his remaining power. Couldn't use magic. Could barely maintain the symbiote. He fought with instinct. Muscle memory. Rage.
And Hacker.
Eventually, he killed every last one.
It wasn't victory.
It was just delay.
He hadn't even buried the dead.
He couldn't.
There were too many.
So now—six months later—the Guardian continued his warpath through Brune. He hunted the last remnants of fictional corruption that had spilled into this world.
Not for glory.
Not for revenge.
But because it was all he had left.
Because if he stopped?
If he let go?
He wasn't sure there'd be a story to tell.
Tigre POV
Zhcted Imperial Capital, Silesia
The words echoed through the great marble halls of Silesia like funeral bells.
I stared at the scout as he finished reading the last of the reports, his voice a dry whisper—professional, but reverent. The names hung in the air like phantoms.
Sasha, Liza and Olga.
Dead. Brutally and unjustly.
Just gone.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was oppressive. It pressed against my chest like armor I couldn't take off. I didn't glance around the room, didn't need to. I could feel Elen trembling beside me, barely keeping her composure. Lim stood rigid, her knuckles white on the armrest. Sofy had her hand to her mouth, eyes glassy—her posture perfectly still, like any movement might cause her to break.
Titta stood at the back, holding Mila's hand, silently weeping.
I clenched my fists.
This was the first time I had heard the full account. I hadn't known it was that bad. We all knew war meant loss—we'd fought our share. But this? This wasn't war. This was... extermination. Desecration.
And Adriel?
Adriel had been there for every second of it.
He had faced them alone.
He had delivered justice alone.
And we weren't by his side.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat, eyes burning, but not with tears.
With shame.
My thoughts drifted to that moment six months ago—when we saw him split Mars in two. When we felt his power vibrate through the sky like the breath of a god.
We were terrified.
Terrified of him.
And he saw it.
That memory, that moment where we looked at him like he was something else, something inhuman—it haunted me. Because I knew it tore him apart. And I did nothing to stop it.
I let him walk away.
"...Tigre," Elen said softly from beside me, her voice cracking. "We should've been there."
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
Because the truth was—I didn't know what I would've done if I had been there.
Would I have had the strength to fight beside him? To witness what he witnessed? To see those we loved turned into grotesque displays of death?
Or would I have crumbled?
The Guardian hadn't.
He endured it.
All of it.
And now... the war still wasn't over. He was still out there. Fighting. Burning through what was left of himself to protect this world—my world. He doesn't even belong here, yet, he still fought for us.
And what did we give him in return?
We feared him.
I blinked away the heat behind my eyes.
"Excuse me," I said quietly, standing before anyone could stop me.
I needed air.
Not from the court—but from the weight pressing down on me.
I walked through the marble halls of the capital without direction. Every guard I passed bowed, but their reverence made my stomach twist. Because I hadn't earned it.
Adriel had.
He had spilled blood, sacrificed pieces of himself. Sasha, Liza, Olga—they died on our watch. While we stayed in the capital, licking our wounds and giving in to our fear.
I stepped out into one of the balconies overlooking Silesia's inner gardens, hands gripping the railing.
And that's when I whispered it.
"I'm sorry, Adriel."
I don't know if the wind carried it. I don't know if it even mattered. But I said it anyway.
"I'm sorry I didn't believe in you. I'm sorry I flinched. I'm sorry I watched you walk away."
Silence answered me.
But maybe that was all I deserved.
Still, in the far distance—beyond the peaks that lined the borders of Zhcted—I felt something. Not through divine power, or magic. Just a gut instinct. That pulse of heat and quiet dread.
He was still fighting.
And he was still alone.
For the first time since he left, I realized something far worse than my guilt.
It wasn't just that we were scared of what he could do.
It was that he believed he had to do it all alone.
Because we made him believe that.
Elen POV
After Tigre Walked Out
I didn't follow him.
I wanted to. But I couldn't.
My legs wouldn't move.
And maybe that was fitting—because I hadn't moved six months ago either.
When Adriel needed us to stand by his side...
...I stood still.
Sasha. Liza. Olga.
The names echoed like knives through the marble chambers.
I clenched my jaw, eyes burning, but I wouldn't let myself cry here. Not in this hall. Not in front of Sofy, who had buried her face in her hands. Not in front of Valentina, who stood stone-faced but trembling. And especially not in front of Mila and Lim—who sat beside me like statues of guilt and grief.
I was supposed to be stronger than this.
Vanadis of the Wind.
General of Leitmeritz.
Icon of Zhcted.
But right now?
Right now, I just felt like a traitor.
Six months ago, I watched Adriel fight that monster... and I flinched.
I flinched.
I remember his voice as he begged us to understand. I remember how his hands trembled when we didn't. I remember Sofya's tearful eyes, Mila's silence, and the way Tigre—sweet, brave Tigre—stood frozen, unable to reach out to him.
And I remember what hurt most.
The way Adriel looked at us when he realized we were afraid of him.
He didn't rage.
He didn't curse.
He just... broke.
And now, the whole world was breaking with him.
I heard the scout's voice again in my memory, cold and clinical as he read the incident reports. Not just of their deaths—but of how he avenged them.
What did he call them?
"Neural degradation."
"Soul fracturing."
"Systemic overwrites."
I didn't understand the words. Not fully. But I understood the pain behind them.
Adriel had burned himself hollow just to make the world a little safer. He'd fought monsters from stories I couldn't comprehend, faced horrors that would've turned anyone else to dust—and he did it alone.
Because we sent him away.
Because I did.
I was the one who told him to stay away. I was the one who told him to protect us... from himself.
I didn't mean it like that.
Gods, I didn't.
But those words... he listened.
He always listened.
My hands were shaking.
I stared down at them—scarred, strong hands that had held the wind blade Arifar since I was thirteen. The hands of a warrior, a general, a protector.
But they weren't strong enough to reach for him when it mattered most.
"...Elen," Mila's voice reached me softly. "Are you alright?"
I laughed.
It was hollow. Like the last breath of a dying wind.
"No," I said. "Not even close."
She looked like she wanted to comfort me—but stopped. I think we all knew this guilt was ours to carry. Separately. Alone. Just like he had.
I rose slowly from my seat and walked out—not to chase Tigre, but because I couldn't breathe anymore in that room. I walked until I reached a corridor lit by pale firelight, and I leaned against the wall like it could hold me together.
And then—I let myself break, just a little.
Just enough to whisper it.
"I'm sorry, Adriel."
And gods help me, I don't know if I was saying it for now... or for six months ago.
He used me. Yes. To rally the army. To bind Zhcted together. But I let him.
Because somewhere, deep in my heart, I believed in him.
Because while I hated him for doing that to me, I still trusted him more than anyone else. That he had a good reason for doing what he did. Even when I had thought our relationship could've been fixed... I...
When he showed me the truth of what he was capable of, I faltered. And now?
Now that I've seen what's left of him after six months of fighting in shadows, after watching this world devour our sisters...
...I'd give anything to take it back.
To be brave again.
To be the woman who once stood between empires with her head high and her heart steady.
I should've been there.
We all should've been.
But we weren't.
And now?
Now, I don't know if he'll ever come back.
Not just his body. His heart.
Because if I were him?
I wouldn't forgive us either.
Location: Brune
No POV
Brune had always been a land of rolling fields, castle towns, and river-crossed forests—a kingdom clinging to its old nobility. Now, six months after the darkness came, it was a graveyard scattered with hollow victories.
Adriel walked alone across the ruined roads and broken fields. The sky was a bruised purple, the air heavy with ash from villages that would never rise again. His every step echoed with ghosts.
He had started in the northeast, in Alsace, where the first hints of darkness had seeped from the edges of the world. There, he'd driven out the Darks—corrupted beasts that had once been men, twisted by shadows and hunger. No Pure Dark waited for him; just hollow-eyed monsters and warped generals who thought cunning could match what he'd become.
Celesta, the capital, was little more than a burned-out shell when he arrived. He cleansed it in a single night, the last screams of its tormentors silenced by the edge of his will.
Aude fell next—north of Alsace, near the old border. Here, the Darks hid among the battered refugees and tried to use the chaos as camouflage. Adriel rooted them out in hours. None escaped. Not even the ones who begged.
In the southwest, Territoire, the stronghold of Belfort had become a nest for things that shouldn't have existed in any world. Hughes Augre was gone, the fortress repurposed by Darklings into a pit of rituals. Adriel ended it with one descending strike—shattering the foundation, then incinerating the unholy symbols with the lightless fire that answered only to his will.
Nemetacum and Lutetia—south and northwest—were no different. Monsters, corrupted knights, things stolen from a dozen worlds, all fell. Rance, the capital of Nemetacum, was reduced to dust and silent rivers. Artishem in Lutetia became his hunting ground for a week—each night, another cult, another nest, another abomination erased from the world.
It was efficient. Brutal. No one in Brune could claim otherwise.
And yet... it meant nothing.
No Pure Dark stood against him. No lieutenants of Sentry revealed themselves. Each victory left him emptier than the last.
Every town was checked, every fortification breached, every hidden crypt purged. He interrogated survivors, hacked the memories of dying monsters, ripped secrets from the code of the world itself—but Sentry had gone to ground. Deep. Deeper than Adriel had thought possible.
Sometimes, in the long hours of searching, Adriel would pause on the outskirts of a ruined hamlet and just... listen. For a hint of narrative disturbance. For the shadow of a presence bending the story around itself. He found nothing.
He scoured the borders, used All-Tongue to interrogate every tongue and dialect, searching for slip-ups or patterns. He pushed his physical limits, using God Of Martial Arts to break through enemy lines, Combat Adaptation to twist his style with every new threat, Weapon Proficiency to turn discarded swords and broken halberds into perfect killing tools.
But Sentry did not appear.
Adriel could feel the power gap now—every exertion taxed him more, every deep use of Limit Breaker or Damage Empowerment left the Void parasite spreading through his circuits. Hacker—the last truly absolute ability—remained at his command, shielding the vital functions, but even it seemed strained, as if the narrative itself were resisting.
By the time he reached the borders of the last province, Adriel paused and looked over the wasteland he'd made. No Darks remained. The wind was still, thick with the scent of burned corruption.
And yet—he was no closer to Sentry.
He closed his eyes, pushing his awareness into the bones of the world, feeling for narrative lines, for the echo of something hiding inside the manga itself.
He's in the seams, Adriel realized grimly. Between the panels. Inside the structure. Waiting me out. Maybe changing the rules from within.
And time was running out. Back in the League of Legends Omniverse, his friends—his fellow Guardians—needed him. Every hour lost here was a chance lost there. And Sentry knew it.
Adriel let his fists unclench. For all his godlike martial mastery and all the systems he'd managed to keep running, he couldn't fight an enemy who refused to be found.
Not yet.
But he was close.
He had to be.
The story wouldn't let Sentry hide forever. And when that moment came... Adriel would be ready.
Or he would burn this world down trying.
Small-timeskip
Brune's Western Pass
The sun hung heavy and orange above Brune's western peaks, casting long shadows over cracked soil and shattered stone. The air no longer carried the scent of rot or infernal corruption. No more twisted echoes from Darks. No monstrous mutations howling under crimson moons. The land was quiet now.
Too quiet.
Adriel stood atop a jagged outcropping overlooking the remains of Artishem, once the cultural heart of Lutetia. Smoke still curled from the scorched remnants of watchtowers. A half-collapsed statue of Maximilian Ganelon leaned sideways in the rubble, his face melted and expressionless.
Six territories. Six complete purges. Every node on the map of Brune had been visited, scrubbed clean. Celesta, Rance, Belfort, all silenced. Not a single corrupted soul remained.
He should've felt relief.
Instead, there was only tension—a taut, tightening wire pulling at the base of his spine. Something was wrong.
Something was hiding.
He crouched, fingers grazing the blackened earth. The wind shifted unnaturally. It didn't carry elemental taint like before—no screeches, no weeping rifts in space—but it had weight. Pressure. An almost sacred silence.
And beneath it... a heartbeat.
He stood sharply, eyes narrowing. He wasn't alone anymore.
Not just watched.
Measured.
Adriel's remaining senses, though battered by six months of attrition and parasitic degradation, were sharper than ever when it came to intent. The presence he felt now wasn't infernal. It wasn't stitched together like the previous corrupted threats. It was clean. Stable. Balanced.
And ancient.
He scanned the horizon. No data, no shadows, no target. But the world around him felt different. The ground didn't bend. The air didn't crackle. There was no tear in the narrative fabric. And yet... the tension remained.
He's here.
Not Sentry. That presence was always chaotic, jagged, spliced like malware rewriting its own code. No, this was something else. Something intact.
A Pure Dark.
Finally.
Adriel exhaled, sliding his hand along the inner seam of his coat, where the glowing Hacker glyph pulsed faintly. The skill's consciousness brushed his own, confirming the suspicion—something fully manifested had entered Brune's metaphysical boundary. Not from above. From within.
"A Trueborn," Adriel muttered.
This wasn't an invader that leaked in from a fragmented world or corrupted the minds of nobles. This was someone summoned through a story's core—woven in cleanly. Seamlessly.
His fingers tightened. He couldn't sense what they were yet. But he knew this fight wouldn't be like the others.
He turned from the ridge, walking west—toward the source.
Two Days Later – The Smoldering Gorges
The terrain had changed as he approached the gorge. Unlike the decimated ruins and corrupted landscapes before, this place felt untouched. Almost holy. But Adriel knew better than to trust stillness.
The ground was a mixture of scorched obsidian and raw volcanic stone, whispering heat up from deep faults. Ash fell like snow here, and columns of vapor hissed from fissures across the mountainsides.
And at the center of it—barefoot, seated cross-legged atop a blackened stone slab—was Dark Wenren Yixuan.
He looked almost... peaceful.
His right hand rested on his knee, the other loosely gripping a set of shimmering red and gold emblems strung along a reinforced bracer. His eyes were closed. Charcoal lashes rested against sharp cheeks marked with soot. A faint glow shimmered beneath the flesh of his arms—gold veins pulsing with restrained fire.
Adriel stopped fifty meters away.
The man opened his eyes slowly, as if waking from a long meditation. His irises were the color of heat—gray at the edges, glowing amber near the pupil.
"I thought you would be taller," Wenren said, his voice casual, almost amused.
Adriel didn't smile. "You're not hiding. Why?"
Wenren rose smoothly, not a ripple of imbalance in his stance. He stretched his limbs like a cat, rolling his shoulders once before answering.
"Because I'm not like the others you've fought," he said. "I don't run."
Adriel's gaze sharpened. "Then you're not one of Sentry's lieutenants."
"I don't serve him." Wenren's expression didn't waver. "But I've agreed to hold you here. For as long as it takes."
The implications hit like a hammer.
Adriel took a breath. "You know what's at stake."
"I know," Wenren replied. "But I don't care."
No arrogance. No cruelty.
Just truth.
Adriel's hand twitched.
He knew how men like this fought—focused, elemental, perfect. No wasted movements. No unnecessary cruelty. They didn't posture. They executed.
And from the air around him, the tension began to rise.
Gold and crimson bands of flame began to orbit Wenren's shoulders like slow-moving comets. The Huo Huan ribbons glowed faintly, flickering like they were alive.
"You don't even know me," Adriel said softly.
"I don't need to." Wenren's arms fell to his sides. His breathing shifted. "I just need to stop you."
And just like that, the battle began.
Not with an explosion.
But with a step.
Wenren moved—and the world followed.
The air snapped. Fire twisted like water around his limbs. Adriel reacted instantly, body dropping low, his systems flaring as Combat Adaptation began syncing with the pressure of Xuan's martial rhythm.
The first blow landed like a thunderclap.
Wenren's palm collided with Adriel's forearm, redirecting the blow with such precision that it sent shockwaves through the scorched stone beneath them. Adriel slid back half a meter, digging his heel into obsidian. He exhaled slowly.
The man was fast. Ridiculously fast.
But not faster than Adriel's Combat Adaptation could handle.
Wenren advanced again, his movements an elegant fusion of dancer and destroyer. His flames didn't explode outward—no, they coiled like sentient things, flowing around his body, reinforcing his strikes. A ribbon of golden fire lashed toward Adriel's head. He ducked, spun low, and swept a kick that Wenren narrowly avoided.
Each motion was data.
Each strike, a new input.
Adriel's neural matrix burned the patterns into muscle memory. His body adjusted instinctively, compensating not with magic, but with movement. And every adjustment shaved milliseconds from reaction time.
He was fighting with only the skills that had survived the corruption.
And it was enough.
Barely.
Wenren threw a low feint—then pivoted with a whip of his ribbon, channeling a spiraling burst of fire from his shoulder. Adriel caught the attack on his bracer, but the heat seared through his armor like it wasn't there. His forearm screamed with pain.
That's new.
Wenren didn't pause to admire his work. He pressed forward again, elbow forward, body rotating, twisting into a powerful strike aimed at Adriel's ribs.
Adriel met it with a reinforced stance—chin down, weight centered, using his God of Martial Arts foundation to match the pressure.
The clash echoed through the gorge.
Adriel's body sang with the impact. Not broken—but tested.
The more he took, the stronger he became.
Damage Empowerment activated like coals under the skin. Power surged through his muscles—not through spells or buffs, but through raw principle. Pain became fuel. Heat became motion.
He blocked the next strike with his shin, twisting into a counter with a spinning backfist. Wenren dodged it cleanly—just barely—and backflipped away with the grace of someone born to dance through flames.
"You adapt quickly," Wenren said, voice steady. "But you're burning yourself out."
Adriel didn't answer.
He lunged.
The gap closed in an instant. They met mid-air—palm to knuckle, elbow to forearm, heel to knee. Sparks flew. Stone cracked. Ash churned like a storm between titans.
This wasn't like the battle with Daewi.
There were no planetary shockwaves.
No moons splitting.
Just two men clashing through raw mastery.
Wenren launched a barrage—close-range, tight strikes meant to trap Adriel's guard. He threw a hook, then a spinning heel kick, flame trailing behind his leg like a comet. Adriel leaned back just far enough to let it pass, then struck upward with a reinforced elbow to the gut.
Wenren took the hit.
But didn't flinch.
He spun mid-air, planting his foot into Adriel's shoulder and pushing off, using the momentum to twist into the sky and summon a wave of red fire.
Adriel landed hard, bracing with one arm.
He didn't need to dodge the fire.
He charged through it.
Environmental Adaptation kicked in, his body resisting the searing heat. His skin blistered, but healed just as fast. He moved like a blade drawn through smoke—unrelenting.
He struck Wenren mid-air, shoulder-checking him hard enough to knock the envoy from the sky. The two crashed into a jagged outcrop of obsidian, tumbling in a mess of blows and locked limbs.
They rolled, broke apart, then stood again.
Breathing hard.
Equal footing.
Adriel clenched his fists. His body felt heavier. Not from exhaustion—but from restraint.
Limit Breaker throbbed under the surface, waiting to be activated.
But he couldn't use it yet. Not while the parasite still lurked in his code, waiting for the right moment to seize control.
So he pushed that power down—and let his hands speak instead.
"You're not trying to kill me," Adriel said between breaths.
Wenren's brows furrowed slightly. "Killing isn't the only way to stop someone."
Adriel took another step forward.
"Then tell me," he said. "Where is Sentry?"
Wenren's lips thinned.
"I don't know," he said. "But even if I did... I wouldn't betray him."
"You're not even one of his," Adriel snapped.
"I gave my word," Wenren replied. "That's enough."
Honor. Damn it.
Adriel wanted to scream.
But he understood.
He'd done worse for promises.
They met again—this time, faster. The rhythm had changed. Less testing, more intent. Elbows struck ribs. Knees cracked bone. Hands caught wrists, twisted fingers, snapped joints that reformed seconds later.
Wenren was shifting too—his ribbons dancing, becoming blades, spinning and wrapping like sentient flame serpents. He caught Adriel's thigh, burning through the armor.
Adriel grunted and retaliated with a brutal roundhouse, empowered by the pain.
Combat Adaptation tightened everything.
He was learning.
Every moment.
The fight began to turn.
Wenren hesitated—just for a second.
That was all Adriel needed.
He stepped in. Caught the ribbon mid-swing. Twisted it around his arm. Pulled.
Their bodies collided again.
But this time, Adriel didn't let go.
He drove his elbow into Wenren's jaw. Once. Twice. Then a third time.
Wenren staggered.
But before he could fall—
Adriel caught him by the collar.
And asked, low and dangerous:
"Is your honor worth watching the world burn?"
Wenren Yixuan didn't answer.
But he moved.
Fast.
A burst of fire erupted beneath his feet, launching him backward. The ribbons of Huo Huan unraveled mid-air, spiraling around his arms, encasing his forearms in living flame. He landed in a crouch, chest rising with ragged breath, eyes hardening to iron.
Adriel didn't hesitate.
He chased.
The moment his boots struck the stone, he launched forward, using the sheer recoil of his muscle-driven movement to propel himself. No teleportation. No tricks. Just force. Just speed.
He drove his knee toward Wenren's side—only to be met with an open-palm strike directly to his sternum.
The air imploded.
Adriel was flung back across the scorched stone, skidding in a trail of molten heat. He caught himself before hitting the gorge wall, steam rising from the soles of his boots.
Wenren was already closing the distance.
"Honor?" he snarled. "You think this is about honor?!"
His right arm surged forward in a vicious arc—an overhead blow coated in purple-red fire. Adriel stepped inside, deflected the strike with his forearm, and sent an uppercut into Wenren's ribs that cracked like thunder.
Wenren coughed blood.
Adriel didn't let up.
A front kick drove Wenren back. Adriel surged in, grabbed his wrist, spun him, and delivered a brutal elbow to the back of the neck.
Wenren staggered—but he didn't fall.
He spun with the force, letting the ribbon on his arm lash outward, wrapping around Adriel's ankle. In a flash, he yanked—flipping Adriel off the ground.
Mid-air, Adriel twisted.
His foot snapped forward, breaking the grip.
He landed in a roll.
Wenren was on him instantly, palm strikes raining like a storm. Adriel blocked three, countered the fourth, took the fifth full to the jaw—and retaliated with a crushing knee to the chest that lifted Wenren off his feet.
The impact left a crater.
The flames around them exploded outward.
They were no longer martial artists.
They were brawlers—disciplined, masterful brawlers—but brawlers nonetheless.
Adriel slammed Wenren into the black stone, pinning him with one forearm. His other fist drew back, shaking from the accumulated feedback of too many strikes absorbed, too much power used.
The veins in his arms glowed faintly—not with fire, but with energy drawn from pain.
Damage Empowerment crackled.
"Tell me where Sentry is," Adriel hissed. "Now."
Wenren spat blood to the side, eyes still locked with Adriel's. "You're losing yourself."
"I've already lost enough."
The punch landed.
It cracked the earth.
But Wenren caught the next.
Their eyes met. Firelight reflected between them.
Then came Wenren's roar—a sudden explosion of golden flame burst from his back, sending Adriel flying across the gorge again. The Huo Huan ribbons retracted to their dormant state.
Wenren stood.
Shoulders rising and falling. His face a mask of fury.
"You think this is easy for me?" he shouted. "Do you think I want to stall you?"
Adriel snarled, spitting blood as he stood. "Then stop. Give me a name. A location. Anything."
"I can't."
"Won't."
"No. I can't."
Wenren dashed forward again.
But this time, he didn't strike immediately.
He feinted—left jab, elbow, a low kick meant to bait Adriel's defense.
Adriel caught the rhythm.
And broke it.
He stepped in, grabbed Wenren's thigh mid-kick, and used the leverage to slam him into the ground with terrifying force.
Wenren's body bounced. A sickening crack echoed.
But Adriel wasn't finished.
He raised his foot, aimed for the ribs—
Wenren twisted. The kick slammed into stone.
A counterpunch blasted into Adriel's thigh.
They broke apart, both limping now, blood painting the obsidian beneath them.
"You're stalling me for someone you don't serve," Adriel growled. "You're burning your own body, using your own power as a leash. Why?!"
Wenren didn't answer.
His silence screamed louder than any defiance.
Adriel's fists trembled—not from weakness. But from the pressure of it all. The parasite. The fading timeline. The knowledge that Artoria might be dying at this very moment. That Peter and Ace might already be gone.
He couldn't afford this.
He didn't have time.
So he pushed harder.
He launched himself forward, Limit Breaker surging beneath his skin—not fully activated, just enough to grant speed that outpaced sound.
He struck Wenren in the gut.
Then the jaw.
Then the ribs again.
The fire user faltered.
Adriel was relentless.
He flipped, spinning into a heel drop that sent Wenren through a jagged boulder. Dust exploded.
But still—
Wenren rose.
His body was shaking.
One arm hung limp.
His face was bruised, lip split, blood dripping.
And still—
He stood.
Adriel's voice broke. "Why?"
Wenren finally answered. Quietly.
"Because if you reach him now... you'll die."
Adriel flinched.
Wenren coughed, wiping his mouth. "You think you've seen what the Darks can do. You haven't. Daewi? He was fire and fury. But Sentry? He's the script you're trapped in. You step too early... and you lose."
Adriel stood motionless.
Wind swept across the gorge. Ash curled into spirals between them.
"I have to go," Adriel whispered.
"And I have to stop you."
A pause.
No hatred.
No vengeance.
Just two men. Bound by conflict.
"You were right," Adriel finally said. "You're not like the others."
He lowered into a stance.
One he hadn't used in years.
A grounded form. All tension. No wasted flourish. Pure function.
Wenren saw it.
And nodded.
"Then show me," he said. "What you've got left."
Wenren Yixuan's breath slowed. Deeper. Measured.
And then it changed.
The pulse of his spirit flared—no longer fire, no longer elemental. It was cosmic. Dualistic. An echo of balance and chaos written into flesh and flame.
Flames curled around his body, then bent inward. His flesh blackened—not from burns, but from transformation. Gold and violet veins lit beneath the surface, trailing up his arms like flowing rivers of divine judgment. His hair, once flickering red-orange, ignited into twin hues of blazing gold and haunting purple, whipping violently with raw heat.
Adriel didn't wait to be impressed.
He lunged forward—right hook turning into a spinning low sweep aimed at Wenren's center of gravity. But the moment his foot connected—
Wenren was gone.
Not vanished.
Moved.
The world around Adriel distorted. Color drained. The world itself began to fracture into streaks of black and white, as though the environment was being seen through an ancient lens of truth and dichotomy.
The air warped.
Adriel's instincts screamed.
He raised his arms—just as Wenren's hand appeared from nowhere.
Three fingers—index, middle, thumb—struck his sternum in rapid succession. The impacts rippled through him like earthquakes. Each touch left a burning golden sigil embedded in the surface of his symbiote armor, which hissed and recoiled like it had been pierced by radiation.
And then—
"火枭," Wenren whispered.
The Flame Beheader.
Adriel was launched backward as a pulse of molten gold and violet fire detonated from Wenren's palm, engulfing him in a wave that melted through solid gorge wall like paper. The ground beneath him cratered, disintegrating into ash.
The blast launched Adriel through three jagged ridgelines before his body finally anchored itself, feet digging into the stone like spears.
Smoke curled from his back.
His breath caught.
Not because of pain—his nerves had long stopped registering that—but because even his environmental adaptation was having difficulty stabilizing within this metaphysical imbalance.
But he didn't stop.
He couldn't.
Power surged in his limbs. Not energy—but resolve.
"Limiter—override," he growled.
His body flared.
Limit Breaker activated.
Every muscle doubled in tension. Every reaction sharpened. Hacker threaded emergency pathways across his neural frame, restoring half-scrapped systems in the background. Combat Adaptation began reading Wenren's attack rhythm in slow motion now.
Adriel exploded forward.
His fist struck the air in front of Wenren.
And the shockwave broke the ground beneath them.
But Wenren spun away, hair blazing in twin-color arcs, ribbons of flame lashing out in counterforce.
The Huo Huan whip met Adriel's shoulder, slicing into the armor with fire hot enough to melt enchanted stone. He pivoted under it, allowing the Damage Empowerment buff to spike—his strength increasing with each burn.
Adriel grabbed the ribbon mid-strike, pulled—
—and drove his head into Wenren's chest.
The blow landed.
Wenren grunted, wind knocked out of him, the first real hit Adriel had landed since the transformation.
But it wasn't enough.
Wenren's foot slammed down, cracking the air.
Above them—
The sky caught fire.
Adriel looked up.
"炎穹," Wenren murmured.
Flaming Dome.
A massive column of spiraling golden-violet flame gathered in the sky, forming a hellish comet of fire. It roared as if the heavens themselves were falling.
Adriel's mind calculated the trajectory.
Too big to dodge.
Too fast to tank.
He acted.
"Hacker—compress spatial density—"
He rewrote the rules of distance around him in a heartbeat. The dome of flame hit—and everything went white.
Then—
Silence.
Then—
The world returned.
Adriel staggered out of a crater even deeper than the one Daewi had made on Mars. Steam hissed from his limbs. His skin cracked with golden light. His armor hissed and re-formed across his back like black mercury stitched with willpower.
Wenren hovered in the air, arms stretched out, flames licking across his body like a god descending in judgment.
Adriel pointed upward.
Two fingers. No words.
Weapon Proficiency took over.
A spear of obsidian snapped into his palm, conjured mid-motion.
He threw.
The weapon spun like a lightning bolt—no elemental power, just precision and purpose.
Wenren batted it aside with the back of his wrist—but the motion cost him altitude.
Adriel was already there.
He struck Wenren mid-fall with a rising knee. The air cracked. Wenren coughed blood—and smiled.
"You're getting serious."
Adriel didn't respond.
His fists did.
Each strike carved a thunderclap through the gorge. Elbow into throat. Shoulder into chest. Palm into spine. Wenren responded with mirrored brutality—redirects, flame-pulses, pivot kicks, and blazing counters that lit the world in purple fire.
But Adriel wasn't slowing down.
He couldn't afford to.
"You're in my way," he growled between blows. "I'm running out of time."
"Then fight like it," Wenren snapped, parrying a punch and landing a spinning heel kick to Adriel's ribs.
Crack.
His ribs broke again.
Damage Empowerment flared.
More power.
More speed.
He threw Wenren.
The envoy flipped mid-air, fire streaming from his limbs like divine ribbon.
Adriel launched himself after, using the broken cliff wall as a springboard.
They clashed again in mid-air—flames and fists, steel and bone.
No wasted moves. No theatrics. Just pure, brutal efficiency.
This wasn't just combat.
It was belief crashing against desperation.
And both refused to yield.
One Hour Later...
The terrain was no longer recognizable.
Giant fissures split the canyon open like festering wounds. Lava flowed freely through new faultlines carved by divine fists and elemental fury. Ash no longer fell—it churned like stormclouds in the sky, feeding from the ambient rage between two titans.
And at the center of it—Adriel's scream tore through the ruin.
His symbiote was no longer sleek or defensive. It pulsed, warped, and mutated around his limbs, funneling all remaining code to rapid healing and tissue regeneration. He didn't block strikes anymore—he absorbed them, letting the pain fuel his fury through Damage Empowerment.
Across from him, Wenren Yixuan stood bloodied but unbroken. His breathing had deepened, slower now. Controlled. Each inhalation pulled golden flame into his lungs—each exhale ignited the air around him.
His Yin-Yang form was stable.
But even gods had limits.
And Adriel was dragging him toward them.
"You're still not talking," Adriel spat, voice cracked from heat and pain. "Still holding back something."
Wenren blinked, one eye darkened with blood. "I don't owe you clarity."
Adriel charged.
He didn't run—he vanished.
A blur of combat proficiency and narrative override, his limit-pushed body slammed into Wenren with a shoulder strike so hard it caved in the mountain wall behind them. Bones cracked—Adriel wasn't sure whose.
He followed up with an elbow to the jaw, a hook to the gut, and a reverse palm that shattered Wenren's collarbone.
Wenren retaliated immediately.
He ducked under the next blow and drove both fingers into Adriel's side, rupturing ribs and igniting a golden seal point that erupted into purple flames on contact. Adriel screamed—this one didn't just burn, it ate through.
His armor peeled away from the site, trying to close the rupture, but it was too slow.
Adriel kneed Wenren in the mouth.
Blood and a tooth flew out.
Wenren stumbled—but planted one foot and swung his entire body into a spinning backfist.
CRACK.
Adriel's jaw dislocated.
The impact sent him tumbling, body skipping across molten stone like a ragdoll—but he twisted mid-air, landing low on one knee.
His voice came through blood and fractured teeth.
"I can't afford to lose this fight."
Wenren stepped forward. "Then maybe don't treat it like a negotiation."
He raised his palm.
"炎穹 (Yán Qióng)."
The Flaming Dome appeared again—this time, compressed.
A singular beam, faster and denser than before, screamed toward Adriel.
Adriel didn't flinch.
"Hacker—reroute gravitational pull, disperse center mass—NOW."
The beam hit him.
And he survived.
Barely.
It melted the stone behind him, incinerated the wall behind that, and left a crater that stretched over three kilometers deep. But Adriel stood at the edge of it, body charred, skin blackened, armor reduced to strings of bleeding, shimmering code.
His right arm didn't respond.
His legs trembled.
But his glare was steady.
"You think this is about pride?" he hissed. "I've seen whole universes bleed because monsters like Sentry buy time with the blood of people like you!"
He dashed forward again—this time unhinged.
His strikes were wild, relentless, erratic—but still precise beneath the surface. Each missed blow turned into another attack. Every blocked elbow turned into a hook kick. Every redirected strike chained into a shoulder slam, a wrist lock, a hammerfist.
Wenren's defenses began to slip.
His flames couldn't compensate for every counter.
Adriel hooked a foot behind Wenren's leg—tripped him—and as he fell, Adriel's hand shot forward, fingers shaped like a blade.
He stabbed them into Wenren's shoulder.
The scream that followed was human.
Adriel hoisted him with one arm and slammed him through a burning boulder, crushing it under their weight.
Wenren coughed blood again.
"Tell me where Sentry is!" Adriel roared.
Wenren twisted beneath him, spitting into Adriel's face—blood and saliva mixing.
"I'd die first."
Adriel lost it.
His free hand began to punch.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each strike dented Wenren's skull a little more. Blood sprayed across volcanic glass. Teeth snapped under pressure. One eye began to swell shut.
"STOP!" Adriel bellowed—this time not in anger, but in anguish.
His hands trembled.
"You don't have to die here. I don't want to kill you. I just—"
But Wenren slammed his forehead into Adriel's nose with the force of a hammer.
Blood exploded.
And Adriel, through blurred vision, saw fire flickering behind the eyes of a man who was already dying—but refused to fall.
"Then you'll have to earn it," Wenren whispered.
His body ignited.
He didn't chant this time. He didn't whisper.
He screamed his final move.
"火枭—终式!! (Flame Beheader—Final Form!!)"
His body moved faster than light.
He struck Adriel once in the gut—then the chest—then the neck.
Each touch burned new sigils onto his broken body, marking him like a canvas of war.
Then Wenren grabbed Adriel's face—and the final flame burst forward like a nuclear detonation of gold and violet.
Adriel vanished in the blast.
So did the mountain beneath him.
For five full seconds, there was no light in the sky.
Only silence.
And then—
Adriel rose.
From a crater.
His body was broken.
Armor: gone.
Skin: bleeding.
But his eyes were burning brighter than ever.
"No more holding back," he whispered.
And the air snapped as Limit Breaker reached 100x.
10 minutes later...
Molten cracks spidered along the mountainsides, vapor jets shrieking as if screaming in pain from the sheer elemental power radiating off both combatants.
Adriel's foot skidded across obsidian. A fresh burn sizzled along his ribcage where Wenren's palm had struck. It wasn't just fire. It was precision. Every blow, every strike, had intent beyond power—Xuan was breaking him apart intelligently.
Wenren moved like he was built for war and poetry at the same time.
And now he wasn't holding back.
His body gleamed with burning veins of gold and purple. His hair was a corona of divine flame—half-starfire, half-nightmare. The transformation twisted the light around them, turning the gorge into a grayscale war zone. Only Xuan's flames and Adriel's own blood offered color.
Adriel coughed, staggering back as smoke rolled up his throat. The symbiote armor—more glue than defense now—knitted his abdominal lining just enough to stop another rupture. His healing factor was gone. The void parasite made sure of it.
Every second now cost him something permanent.
But he didn't retreat.
He couldn't.
His knuckles cracked as he rebalanced his stance. "Tell me where Sentry is," he said through grit teeth. "You're strong—I get it. But you're not stupid. You know he's going to rewrite this whole world once he wins."
Wenren didn't answer.
He stepped forward.
The air behind him ignited.
Flame Beheader.
Adriel's senses screamed as Wenren's form blurred—one hand rising, the fingers arranged into a lethal seal.
The first hit landed against Adriel's sternum.
A thud that made the world shudder.
The second shattered his clavicle.
The third—
Adriel caught it.
His arm flared with stored power—Damage Empowerment peaking. A moment of raw, beautiful retaliation.
Adriel threw him with a rotation born of desperation, flipping Wenren's body mid-air and slamming him spine-first into the cliffside with a seismic crack.
The mountain cratered.
Chunks of volcanic rock rained like divine shrapnel. Lava erupted from a newly-formed fault line under their feet.
Adriel dropped to a knee.
His vision swam.
His heart stuttered.
His Limit Breaker activated on instinct—x100 throttle across all remaining pathways. Pain vanished. Logic burned. Time itself blurred.
He surged forward, moving faster than the terrain could adjust.
One punch.
Two.
Sixteen.
His fist tore into Wenren's abdomen. His elbow smashed his jaw sideways. Adriel's heel came down like a guillotine on Xuan's knee.
Wenren didn't fall.
He absorbed the punishment like flame absorbed wind.
Then retaliated.
Flaming Dome.
The sky itself glowed as Wenren raised his hand.
Adriel looked up—
A pillar of golden-violet fire slammed down like the wrath of heaven.
The explosion melted the plateau.
Adriel screamed—his symbiote burned off his back like paper left in a furnace. Chunks of flesh tore free as flame devoured skin and sinew. He rolled, body blackened, armor barely holding his organs in place.
But he was alive.
Because the Hacker skill had preserved his endurance routines. It adapted his biology to the volcanic pressure. It bent environmental logic enough to keep him breathing.
Wenren limped forward from the blast radius, his eyes now dimmer—his power waning. The Yin-Yang form was costing him. The flames on his shoulders sputtered, the energy lines across his body blinking like dying stars.
"You don't quit," Wenren panted, blood spilling from his mouth.
Adriel stood.
Barely.
His legs shook like tree trunks in a storm.
But he looked him in the eye.
"You haven't given me a reason to."
And then—again—they moved.
No words. No distance.
Just war.
Flesh met flame.
Bone broke bone.
Wenren's remaining arm gripped Adriel's throat.
Adriel slammed his knee into Wenren's gut.
They both coughed blood.
The world around them cracked with every motion. Firestorms tore the sky. Fissures exploded with pressure from miles below.
And finally—after all that—
Adriel bit down on Wenren's shoulder, drew blood, and headbutted him hard enough to crush a mountain lion's skull.
That was the moment it changed.
Wenren staggered. Slipped. Fell.
Adriel collapsed beside him, both of them kneeling amid flame and rubble.
And from that hellish battlefield...
We reach the moment that would define it all.
5 Minutes Later...
Blood soaked the stone.
The volcanic basin was painted with smoke, flame, and body parts—most of them Adriel's, or at least they had been. What was left of his symbiote clung to his frame like shredded tar, flickering with dying sparks as it focused solely on keeping his internal organs where they belonged, constantly healing him.
He limped forward.
The Limit Breaker had faded. He'd pushed it to its 100x threshold and beyond—felt his very nerves split from the strain. But it had worked. Wenren Yixuan wasn't standing anymore.
He was kneeling, swaying on his heels like a man caught between planes.
Half of his torso was gone.
One arm had been vaporized up to the shoulder. His ribs jutted out like broken branches. Gold and violet flame flickered weakly around him, his Yin-Yang form now visibly failing. Even his eyes—the haunting yin-yang spirals—had dulled, fading into a dead grey.
But he was still breathing.
Still alive.
Adriel dragged himself closer, one hand pressing against his own shattered side where the remnants of Wenren's Flame Beheader had melted skin down to glowing sinew.
"No more tricks," Adriel said, voice hoarse, shaky. "No more posturing."
He knelt, barely a foot from him.
"You've done your duty. You fought with honor. I'll remember that. But if you have any information on Sentry—anything—I need it. Just say the name. Or let me in."
He raised a trembling hand.
The Hacker skill activated behind his pupils. Circuits pulsed across the air, forming the early weave of a mind-dive sequence.
"I'm not here to defile your will. I just need the truth."
Wenren stared at him.
Not defiant.
Not afraid.
But... peaceful.
"No," he said softly.
Adriel blinked. "What?"
Wenren smiled. "If you read me... he'll know. If he sees it, he'll change it."
His lips twitched.
"And then all of this—all of me—will have been for nothing."
Adriel lunged. "Wait—!"
Too late.
Wenren's last hand—trembling, fingers half-charred—pressed into his own throat. A spark ignited. Not from flame. Not from anger.
From will.
"燃魂 (Burn the Soul)," he whispered.
And then his head exploded.
Literally.
A cascading detonation of spiritual energy ruptured outward like a concussive sunburst. Adriel was flung backward, blasted with flesh, bone, and vaporized memory. His vision went red. His ears went numb. When the flash finally cleared...
All that remained of Wenren Yixuan was an incinerated crater.
And the sound of Adriel screaming.
It wasn't a cry of victory.
It was a howl of loss.
"No—NO! You BASTARD! You didn't have to—!!"
He slammed his fists into the molten earth. Over and over. The stone shattered. Cracked. Collapsed.
"You were RIGHT THERE!" Adriel howled, the pain in his voice far greater than the wounds on his body. "I could've saved them—! I could've—!"
His voice broke.
He dropped.
The heat licked his skin.
He didn't care.
Wenren had died with honor.
But in doing so—he had robbed Adriel of the one thing he was bleeding for:
Answers.
Not just to win the war—but to return to his comrades.
To return to Peter.
To Ace.
To Artoria, who still waited across Omniverses—surrounded by monsters of myth and divinity—and needed him now more than ever.
And Wenren?
He'd chosen silence.
And left him alone.
Adriel sat motionless, hands covered in brain matter and ash.
"...Why," he whispered. "Why do I always lose the ones who could help?"
The silence gave no answer.
Only the crackle of flame and the fading echo of a warrior's final sacrifice.
Then—
A weak notification ping blinked in the corner of Adriel's mind.
[Hacker] — Fragment retrieved.
It wasn't much. Less than a sentence. A half-coded whisper filtered through the spiritual eruption of Wenren Yixuan's final act.
Adriel blinked, eyes glossed with blood and rage.
And then he read it.
"You're not chasing Sentry."
"He's going to build a show, one where everyone can see you and him. He will be in Zhcted."
His heart skipped.
Then thundered back to life.
"...Fuck."
He staggered to his feet, shaking, teeth clenched. The blood on his hands felt heavier. His muscles trembled—not from pain. From revelation. From fury.
"...To humiliate me," he said aloud, breath shaky. "In front of everyone. At my lowest. To kill me while they watch."
And they would be watching.
Tigre. Elen. Lim. Mila. Sofya. The ones he'd protected. The ones who had turned from him.
The very ones he had left to keep safe.
Sentry had studied the Guardian far too well. This wasn't a battle. It was a performance.
He was writing a climax to Adriel's own story. A brutal, symbolic execution. One meant to shatter not just body—but spirit.
A fallen protector.
Brought low.
Slain in front of those he swore to protect.
Adriel's hands balled into trembling fists.
He could see it now—how it would play. The whispers. The looks. The hesitation. Sentry was counting on that.
He wasn't hiding to survive.
He was waiting for the stage to be set.
"I'm not playing your game," Adriel growled. "You want a finale? I'll write the last act myself."
His body ached. Every nerve screamed. The Void Parasite was crawling deeper, feeding off every pulse of energy he pushed through his core.
But he didn't care.
He turned from the crater where Wenren had died—ready to open a rift, to tear through space back to Zhcted—when he stopped.
A glint caught his eye.
It was faint, half-buried in obsidian ash. It shimmered like a breath waiting to exhale.
He limped forward and knelt.
And there, untouched by the scorched ground, were the ribbons of flame.
Huo Huan.
They drifted upward the moment he reached for them—alive with memory and heat. They wrapped lightly around his wrist, not binding, not forcing.
But offering.
"...You knew," Adriel whispered.
In the final moments, Wenren had given him more than a warning.
He'd given him a choice.
And a chance.
The ribbons pulsed gently against his skin, recognizing the weight of his soul. No hostility. No rejection.
And behind that pulse...
A memory.
A whisper.
From Wenren's last thoughts, buried beneath the overload of death:
"I didn't want to fight you."
The voice came soft, layered in pain.
"I never wanted to harm a Guardian. But he threatened my brother. My mother. My world."
Adriel's throat tightened. The Hacker ability let him feel the final echoes of Wenren's dying mind—what little could be salvaged from the blast.
"He said if I spoke your name... if I let you in... he would erase them. Not kill. Not corrupt. Erase. Like they never existed."
The image flickered—Wenren standing tall, eyes burning with pride.
"So I made a different choice."
And then it faded.
Adriel looked at the ribbon spiraling around his forearm now—warm, fluid, not burning. It shimmered with latent fire and something else.
Purpose.
A spirit passed on, not out of loyalty to him.
But out of belief that someone had to finish this.
Adriel rose, the ribbons draping down his arm like a forgotten relic reforged.
"You protected them with silence," he murmured. "I'll protect them with war."
Huo Huan tightened once.
Then settled, braced across his back like a coiled weapon waiting to strike.
Adriel felt its healing matrix activate—not full healing, but enough to stabilize him. A splint of fire curled around his shattered ribs. His skin sealed where it could. And where it couldn't?
He stood anyway.
The ribbons shimmered faintly—and where the symbiote once protected him, Huo Huan now reinforced him.
A new kind of armor.
A new kind of resolve.
His fingers twitched as he reached for the code again.
A tear in reality split open—a digital fracture forged by Hacker's will.
Beyond it, he saw Silesia's skyline.
The capital of Zhcted.
And in the middle of it?
A stage.
Just waiting for him to fall.
"...No."
He clenched his jaw, the wind from the portal whipping against his face.
"I won't fall on your stage."
He stepped toward the rift.
"I'll burn it down instead."
He looked back, just once, to the ruins of the gorge.
To the grave of a warrior who didn't want to be his enemy.
"...Thank you," Adriel whispered.
And stepped through as the portal collapsed behind him.
To Be Continued....