(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)
Zhcted – Royal Palace, Moonlit Corridor
They walked in silence at first, the echoes of their laughter still lingering in the hall behind them. But the air grew more solemn the closer they drew to the heart of the palace.
Adriel's eyes followed the glinting torchlight along the archways. With each step, his expression hardened—not from anger, but from clarity.
"Tigre," he said quietly.
The archer straightened slightly. "Yeah?"
"I need you to gather them. Everyone."
"All of them?"
Adriel nodded. "Elen. Lim. Mila. Sofy. Tina. Titta. Fine. Everyone who still stands on this side of the line."
Tigre's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue. "Understood."
"I'll be in the throne room," Adriel said. "I'll tell them what Wenren died to protect. What Sentry's planning. No more delays."
Tigre clapped a hand briefly to his shoulder—just a warrior's gesture. A silent message.
We're with you.
And then he turned, heading into the side corridors to summon the others.
Adriel continued forward alone.
The path to the throne room was lined with banners of old kings, memories woven in silk. Their painted eyes watched him pass—heroes and tyrants both. The chamber ahead loomed like a monument, silent, waiting.
He stepped through the open archway.
Zhcted's throne room stood grand and empty, its high vaulted ceiling catching the moonlight like an echo from above. The crystal windows stretched far behind the dais, casting long silver pools across the black-marble floor.
Adriel approached the center.
He didn't sit on the throne.
He stood at its base, staring at it—not with envy or reverence, but with weary amusement.
The seat of power. And still, it held no answers.
How long until you appear, Sentry? he wondered. How long until you twist the world again?
He closed his eyes briefly. The warmth from the earlier meal had faded. The calm was gone.
And the whisper of incoming storm crept along the edge of his awareness.
Footsteps echoed at last.
He turned slowly as they entered.
Lim first, followed by Sofya. Tina not far behind. Mila adjusted her ribbon as she walked. Titta slipped in near the back, still half-barefoot.
And then—
Elen.
She stepped in last.
She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks.
Her crimson eyes locked onto his immediately—and she froze mid-step.
Tigrevurmud Vorn appeared behind her, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
She didn't move.
Didn't speak.
The tension in her face was all the confession Adriel needed to see.
But he didn't press it.
He didn't make her speak.
He simply nodded once.
"We'll talk after," he said quietly. "Promise."
She gave the faintest nod.
That was enough.
Adriel turned back to the dais.
And stepped forward.
Toward the moment that would decide everything.
Moments Later
Adriel exhaled slowly.
The others gathered in a wide semicircle before the throne, each one quiet with anticipation, unease, or unspoken guilt. The weight of the moment pressed down like a vice, but for once, Adriel didn't flinch. He had returned to tell them the truth—to expose the threads behind their fractured reality and give them the clarity Wenren died to protect.
His mouth opened.
"I'm glad you're all—"
The words died in his throat.
Something shifted in the air.
A ripple.
A wrongness.
A shadow lengthening from beneath his boots, growing unnaturally across the marble floor.
Too fast.
Too late.
Adriel's eyes widened—
Then a figure erupted from the darkness behind him, as if peeled straight from his own silhouette.
A hand—skeletal and obsidian—gripped his shoulder.
And before anyone could cry out, a backhand struck him like thunder.
The impact sent Adriel flying across the throne room like a cannonball, crashing through a decorative pillar with a sickening crunch. Dust and stone erupted. He tumbled, rolled, and lay still—blood trailing from his lips.
Screams followed.
Lim drew her blade. Mila stood defensively before Titta. Tina cursed under her breath, already weaving a combat stance. Sofya gasped, her hands trembling as power ignited faintly beneath her fingertips. And Elen—Elen didn't move.
She couldn't.
Because stepping from the dissipating shadow was something... wrong.
And there came the Death Seed.
Twisted in all his vile glory.
He stood at the apex of cosmic arrogance—reborn in dark celestial fire.
Clad in obsidian and cobalt armor that pulsed with raw, apocalyptic power, the emblem of a twisted "S" blazing bright against his chest. His skin shimmered with ethereal blue, carved with otherworldly patterns that shifted like living circuitry. A mane of silver hair cascaded behind him, streaming like comet trails in a vacuum of stars.
Sentry.
His voice echoed as he walked toward the center of the throne room.
"Thank you," he said casually, "for gathering the audience, Guardian."
He kicked aside a fractured piece of pillar.
"I was going to wait. Maybe even let you enjoy a few more moments of your little reunion." He sneered. "But your timing made it too easy."
Lim moved first—instinctual, precise.
Sentry didn't look at her.
He just flicked a finger—and she collapsed, gasping, every nerve in her body locking in place as shadowy code wrapped her limbs.
"I wouldn't," he warned the others, voice like rusted glass. "Not unless you want to see what your insides look like."
They froze.
He turned his gaze on the group, expression unreadable.
"Do you know how easy it was?" he asked softly, strolling toward the center. "To crawl into your minds? To twist your emotions? People like you—characters like you—you're all the same. Predictable. Shallow."
He gestured toward Sofya, then Mila, then Tina.
"Lust. Guilt. Sentimentality. You're fiction wrapped in flesh. A checklist of tropes masquerading as people. You were never hard to manipulate."
Sofya trembled. "You're wrong. We care. We—"
Sentry's eyes narrowed.
"Care?" he hissed. "You care now? Where was that when he bled for you in silence? When you let fear—fear I gave you—strip him of his humanity?"
His voice dropped, colder than steel.
"You let me do it."
Mila took a step forward. "You poisoned us—"
"And you didn't even fight back," Sentry interrupted. "You just let it happen. Because deep down... you weren't real enough to resist it."
He turned his gaze toward Adriel's crumpled form.
"You let this world soften you," he said. "You started out strong. Focused. Cold, even. And then they pulled you into their little farce of a story."
He spat the next words.
"Harem. Ecchi. Fanservice."
He sneered at the women.
"This world was never worthy of a Guardian. And yet you let them flirt and fawn over you. You let their broken, perverse tale become your mission."
Tina growled. "Say that again—"
Sentry ignored her.
"I studied this story," he continued, gesturing around. "This little gem of forgotten media. And do you know what I found?"
He paused at the base of the throne, staring up at the gilded seat.
"Nothing. No soul. No depth. Just stock characters with exaggerated designs and overly dramatic pasts. It's a mockery of narrative. A fetish made fiction."
He turned.
"And yet here you are," he said to the stunned group, "still clinging to it. Still trying to play hero. And for what?"
His voice sharpened, rage bleeding into his tone.
"They made you soft, Adriel. Weak. Human."
He stepped closer to the motionless Guardian, who had begun to stir—barely.
"And I'm here to fix that."
His heel came down hard on Adriel's ribs with a crunch.
Adriel coughed blood.
But his eyes—faintly glowing behind the pain—locked with Sentry's.
"You won't," he rasped.
Sentry crouched beside him, one hand wrapping around his throat.
"I already have."
The floor cracked beneath Adriel as Sentry's heel drove down. Bone splintered. The Guardian's breath hitched—but he didn't cry out.
Instead, his eyes flashed—just once.
That was all it took.
Sentry noticed it too late.
Adriel's body twisted beneath him, one leg snapping up, knee slamming into Sentry's jaw with a clang loud enough to rattle the chandelier above. The impact knocked Sentry's head back—but he didn't stagger. He just grinned, bloodless and jagged.
"A flicker," he said. "Is that all that's left of you?"
Adriel surged upward, not responding with words but with motion.
God of Martial Arts activated with a silent snap of code in his mind. Every movement refined. Every joint optimal. Every inch of power used with deadly efficiency.
His elbow struck Sentry's chin, then his palm slammed into the center of his chest, followed by a sweeping leg that spun the entity into a nearby column.
BOOM.
Stone cracked. The throne room quaked.
Adriel didn't stop.
Weapon Proficiency pulsed. Twin swords formed from symbiotic metal and Huo Huan ribbons—one crimson and jagged like flame, the other smooth and black like obsidian thought. He dashed forward, moving faster than most of the Vanadis could follow.
Sentry emerged from the smoke, laughing as Adriel's blades collided with his armor. Sparks screamed from each strike. Ribbons of golden-red fire tangled with veins of void.
"You're trying to cut a concept," Sentry snarled. "I am the shadow between definitions!"
Adriel said nothing. His expression was pure focus—cutting through the pain. Through the despair. Through the very reality Sentry tried to collapse around him.
Combat Adaptation was already mapping every flex of Sentry's impossible anatomy. Every shift. Every phase of dimensional bleed. The more he fought, the more precise he became.
But Sentry was still faster.
And when his punch came, it was like time folded in on itself.
Adriel flew back again, this time slamming into the throne itself—shattering the gilded arms. His armor twisted in protest, ribs breaking again.
Damage Empowerment kicked in.
Power bloomed through the agony.
He got up.
"Still standing?" Sentry asked, voice now laced with mild irritation. "Fine. Let's see how long your spirit holds without your little system doing the heavy lifting."
He raised a hand—and tore through space.
A black rift screamed open above them. Not teleportation. Not magic. A conceptual wound—something designed to erase.
From inside, a torrent of abstract data, corrupted thoughtforms, and narrative ghosts spilled out like a plague of meaninglessness.
The Vanadis screamed.
Reality bent.
Adriel didn't move.
Because Hacker surged.
Code spun behind his pupils—rewriting physics, recontextualizing law, bypassing the very causality of what was happening.
"Close," Adriel whispered, blood dripping down his chin.
The rift froze—then collapsed on itself.
Sentry's eyes narrowed. "Still clutching at tricks?"
"I'm built on them," Adriel hissed, blinking through blood.
He lunged again.
The next exchange was a ballet of violence on a divine scale. Their feet left craters. Their fists distorted the ceiling. Every blow from Adriel was a prayer wrapped in precision—a hope that one strike might reach something real beneath Sentry's impossible layers.
And every blow from Sentry was a lesson. That Adriel was small. Outmatched. Limited.
He crushed Adriel's shoulder.
Adriel reformed the limb with fire-threaded muscle and moved faster.
Sentry grabbed him mid-strike and hurled him across the room—into Mila, Tina, and Lim.
But the Huo Huan ribbons expanded mid-air, cushioning the impact, lashing around the girls and lifting them to safety as Adriel flipped and landed on his knees, panting, cracked armor barely holding.
"You're not supposed to be able to hurt me," Sentry growled.
Adriel stood.
"I'm not supposed to still be alive," he said.
They charged.
Another shockwave tore through the throne room—shattering windows, toppling ancient statues. Sofya raised a barrier just in time to protect the rest.
Adriel's Limit Breaker reached x30 now.
Every nerve was singing in agony.
But every blow hit harder.
He didn't fight to win.
He fought to delay.
To stall.
Like Wenren did.
"You're learning," Sentry hissed.
"No," Adriel breathed. "I'm remembering. What it means to protect."
Sentry grabbed his face, lifted him from the ground—then slammed him down like a warhammer.
BOOM.
Marble cratered. Blood erupted.
But Adriel grinned through cracked teeth.
x40.
"...Still standing?" Sentry whispered, annoyed now.
Adriel spat blood.
And stood again.
The tiles beneath them were no longer marble—they were fire-scorched, reshaped from the countless blows exchanged in under a minute. Every slam of a foot or twist of the wrist resounded like the ticking of a cosmic clock.
Sentry snarled.
Adriel smirked—blood on his lips, the light of code burning in his irises.
In a burst of speed too fast for the eye, Adriel twisted around Sentry's latest strike, pivoting off his shoulder like a pole vault and kicking the back of Sentry's head. The blow snapped the corrupted being forward—just enough.
"Huo Huan," Adriel whispered.
The ribbons erupted.
A spiraling cyclone of orange-red flame twined with glimmering code lashed forward, each strand twisting into precise geometries. One formed a gauntlet that smashed Sentry's arm away. Another wrapped his leg. A third—formed a spiraled blade and drove it into the wall behind Sentry, yanking him backward.
God of Martial Arts layered in, turning every movement into lethal efficiency.
But Sentry rotated mid-fall, void leaking from his ribs as he let out a guttural, broken laugh.
"You think your pretty martial tricks are enough? You think you've adapted to me?"
He swung his hand through the air—raw nullness carving a wound in space. Adriel ducked under it, but the force split the air itself. Pressure caved in from every direction.
Sentry raised his hand—and slammed it down.
The floor shattered like a collapsing stage set.
Both of them fell through.
Stone crumbled. Gold cracked.
And they landed violently onto the lower level: the Spiral Steps of Judgment—Zhcted's secret council chamber, once used to try traitors.
Perfect.
As Adriel rolled onto the lower floor, the light flickered wildly. Giant portraits of kings and long-dead generals stared down from the broken columns. Runes ignited across the walls—desperate defense mechanisms recognizing something wrong had entered the space.
Sentry appeared from the smoke with a sprinting right hook that tore across the side of Adriel's head, sparks flying as it grazed his temple. But the Guardian twisted, spun, and planted both feet on the wall—using it as a springboard.
His body coiled in midair, a single word pulsing across his brain:
Adapt.
Combat Adaptation triggered again—this time syncing not just with Sentry's motion, but his intent.
Adriel dropped low, pivoted under the next swing, and let Huo Huan flow.
Ribbons became twin whips—one that wrapped Sentry's wrist, the other his throat.
"NOW!" Adriel roared.
The ribbons sparked—raw narrative hacking flooding them like fire. Sentry's limbs locked, his arms twitching from code-injected overload.
Adriel leapt forward with a flying knee.
CRACK.
Sentry's nose exploded inwards.
But he didn't fall.
He grinned.
"You're close," he whispered.
Adriel stepped back, breathing hard. "Close?"
"To understanding what you really are," Sentry said—and snapped the ribbons with sheer will.
Adriel barely blocked the next strike, a brutal palm to the chest that sent him skidding across the obsidian floor.
"You're still chained," Sentry continued, walking toward him. "By your guilt. Your weakness. Your heart."
Adriel coughed, wiped blood from his lips. "And yet here I am."
"You don't belong here," Sentry said.
Adriel's gaze sharpened. "I never did."
Then he charged.
They collided again—this time with fewer words, only rage and resolve.
Their fists cracked the pillars.
Their feet shattered centuries of stone.
Sentry roared with entropy-laced fury, but Adriel moved like a whisper between dimensions—Huo Huan slicing through the air, ribbons becoming lances, hooks, and coils all in one.
[Limit Breaker: x60]
[Damage Empowerment: Spike Detected → Strength +18%, Speed +12%]
Adriel ducked a decaying elbow and countered with a flurry of strikes to Sentry's side—four punches, two palm strikes, then a rising kick that lifted Sentry off his feet.
CRASH!
The upper walkway shattered as Sentry was launched into it.
Adriel followed—through the stone.
They emerged at the very top of the palace—the dome where royal strategy sessions once took place.
And now?
It was their coliseum.
Adriel spun Huo Huan forward, now fully awakened—slicing the air with flaming crescents of ribbon-blades, pushing Sentry into a corner. Each strike carved through space with uncanny precision, embedding meta-code into every cut.
"You're adapting too fast," Sentry growled.
"That's the point," Adriel said.
Hacker flared—rewriting Huo Huan into a pair of gauntlets laced with a shifting combat script. Every punch Adriel threw now came with counter protocols—rejecting Sentry's corruptive data on contact.
And then Adriel did the unthinkable.
He caught Sentry's punch.
And stopped it.
The world froze.
Just for a heartbeat.
Sentry's eyes widened. "Impossible."
"You're not the only one evolving mid-fight," Adriel said.
He pulled him forward—and headbutted him hard enough to ripple the dome.
Sentry reeled back—and for the first time in the battle... he stumbled.
Adriel didn't waste it.
He blitzed forward—ribbons and fists blazing.
Strike after strike, faster, stronger.
x70.
x75.
x80 Limit Breaker.
Sentry tried to counter—but Adriel disassembled his stance mid-motion with perfect weight transfers and feints, spinning around his back, flipping over, landing behind—and—
A final palm strike—burning with both fire and code—slammed into Sentry's spine.
BOOM.
The villain was thrown forward—crashing through the domed window.
He fell.
And Adriel stood, chest heaving.
Not victorious.
But not broken either.
His fists trembled.
Huo Huan pulsed at his wrists.
And somewhere below, he heard the others screaming his name—
Because this fight?
Wasn't over.
But now, for the first time...
Sentry bled.
The silence that followed was unnatural.
Adriel stood at the fractured edge of the shattered dome, the cold wind ripping through the gaping wound in the palace's ceiling. Below, far below, black dust spiraled from where Sentry's body had crashed into the lower terraces of the old war hall.
Smoke twisted upward like dying serpents. And from within, something moved.
Adriel didn't step back.
He couldn't.
Not now.
His breath came in slow, ragged pulls—each one sharper than the last. Huo Huan's flames dimmed, licking gently along his forearms as if gauging his stamina. The ribbons frayed at the edges, strained by the constant rapid shape-shifting and narrative stress woven into every blow.
[Limit Breaker: x85][Warning: Neurological fatigue threshold reached][Stability: 34%][Estimated Collapse in: 02:43 min]
"I know," Adriel murmured to the voice in his skull. "But we're not done yet."
Not until it was certain.
Not until the page was turned, the script shattered, the author dethroned.
A faint ripple of motion broke the smoke below.
And then, slowly—deliberately—Sentry stood.
His coat had been reduced to ash. What remained of his armor clung to him like scorched bones, cracking with each step. His skin, once pristine void, now split with red—true red. Not data glitches. Not corrupted particles.
Blood.
It dripped from the side of his mouth. From his knuckles. From a jagged wound along his shoulder where Adriel's fire-laced strike had carved through the armor of nothingness.
And yet, his eyes?
They weren't afraid.
They were furious.
Not with rage.
But disappointment.
"You really forced me," Sentry growled, voice hollowed by layers of distortion. "All of that... just to make me bleed once?"
Adriel didn't answer.
Sentry raised his arm.
Void surged from his veins—writhing tendrils of darkness snapping like broken puppet strings before fusing into something new.
Not raw darkness.
Not code.
But something ancient.
Something from beyond.
"You thought this was my limit?" Sentry whispered. "You thought I came here to kill you?"
The wind died.
Reality trembled around them.
"I came to test you."
Adriel's heart slowed—then accelerated sharply. "What?"
"To confirm," Sentry said. "Whether you were ready. Whether your core—your essence—had broken free of the leash."
He gestured around them—to the palace, the rubble, the sky.
"You failed."
Adriel didn't move. His mind processed the words like shattered glass.
"Because you still think this is about fighting," Sentry said, taking a step forward—no longer limping. His wounds stitched themselves closed with unnatural, jerking spasms. "You still think I'm your enemy."
The ribbons around Adriel's arms flared again. The Hacker skill buzzed in the back of his mind—uncertainty detected.
Sentry smiled.
"There it is," he said softly. "The hesitation. The flicker of doubt. You felt it back then too, didn't you? When they pushed you away. When they flinched. It wasn't fear of what you'd done."
He raised his hand, and the wind howled.
"It was fear of what you'd become."
A silence fell like a guillotine between them.
Adriel stared—silent, unmoving.
Because for the first time in this fight, he realized something terrifying.
Sentry hadn't come to kill him.
He'd come to recruit him.
Sentry gestured to the edge of the shattered dome, where the stars bled into the broken skyline of Zhcted.
"This world isn't yours, Guardian," he said. "You don't belong here. Not with them. Not among the mortals who fear the power you no longer even control."
Adriel's jaw clenched.
"I've seen your path. I've read your code. I know what you were designed to be—what you tried to bury under heroics and sentiment."
Sentry's eyes burned.
"You were never meant to save."
He stepped closer.
"You were meant to rewrite."
Adriel's fists trembled.
"I'm not your weapon."
"No," Sentry replied. "You're my successor."
That broke it.
The dam snapped.
Adriel launched forward in a blur—ribbons flaring, fire igniting, raw emotion overriding logic. The gauntlets transformed mid-charge, spinning into spiraled drills of data-threaded flame. Every step shattered stone, every breath ignited the air.
Sentry didn't dodge.
He caught the strike.
And didn't budge.
Adriel's eyes widened.
Sentry's voice was quiet. Cold.
"I was holding back."
And then—he moved.
Not with speed.
Not with grace.
But with inevitability.
Adriel didn't see the fist.
He only felt it.
A single strike, dead center in his abdomen.
Everything stopped.
The fire vanished.
The world inverted.
His symbiote armor shrieked in warning as it cracked.
And then—
BOOM.
He was sent flying through the dome—through the sky—plummeting down like a meteor.
The palace below lit up in alarms.
Huo Huan shrieked at his wrists, trying to stabilize him mid-air.
Adriel twisted—barely managing to flip feet first before he slammed into the western gardens, the impact sending a shockwave of light and dust across the courtyard.
He gasped—struggling to rise.
Blood ran down his lip again.
[Limit Breaker: Collapsing. Resetting in 15 seconds.][Neurological Stress: 93%][Structural Integrity: 22%][Recommendation: Cease Combat Immediately]
Adriel looked up at the crater in the sky above.
Where Sentry now hovered.
Eyes glowing.
Face unreadable.
And beneath him, the broken palace waited.
As did everyone inside.
Adriel forced himself upright.
Every instinct screamed to run.
But he can't.
He needs to kill Sentry, or die trying.
The guardian hovered his hand on his ribs.
His vision swam, everything tinged in red and flickering code. Huo Huan's ribbons flickered wildly, trying to stabilize his vitals—splinting muscle, rethreading sinew, whispering heat against ice-cold skin.
But Sentry?
Sentry hadn't moved.
He hovered above the shattered palace like a god in judgment, arms outstretched, darkness rippling from his body like a storm pulled from the end of time.
"I gave you a chance," he said.
The words echoed—not in the air, but through reality itself. They warped the stone, made the clouds recoil, made even the narrative hesitate.
"You could've risen beside me. But now?"
His smile twisted.
"Now you'll be an example."
The void answered.
Tendrils snapped from the sky—dozens, maybe hundreds, each moving with the speed of thought, each one laced with atomic erasure. Adriel moved—or tried to. Hacker flared in warning. Adaptation protocols screamed.
But not even his reflexes could beat inevitability.
The first tendril stabbed through his thigh—burned through code, spirit, and tissue alike.
The second impaled his shoulder, breaking through his defenses like wet paper.
He didn't scream. He didn't have the breath to.
The third coiled around his chest—and began to squeeze.
The ribbons screamed in response, flaring wildly, trying to burn the darkness away. But the Void wasn't just darkness. It was anti-being. Anti-story.
[Warning: Conceptual collapse imminent] [Status: Narrative Integrity 12%]
Adriel coughed blood and fire.
Sentry descended slowly, the Void swirling like a cloak of living entropy behind him. One hand extended.
And Adriel felt his body lift.
Not by force. By deletion.
Reality no longer accepted him in that spot.
"You were a Guardian," Sentry said, tilting his head. "But Guardians are bound to the script. I am the rewrite."
He pointed down.
Toward the city.
Toward the people.
Toward them.
And Adriel understood.
This wasn't about him.
It never had been.
Sentry was going to kill him here—slowly, deliberately—but only after making sure they watched. The ones who feared him. The ones who doubted him. The ones who had once called him friend.
And when the last punch landed?
They wouldn't just bury a hero.
They would bury their shame.
Adriel's eyes flared open—red fire and golden will threading through the pain.
"...You're scared," he rasped.
Sentry paused mid-flight.
Adriel grinned through bloodied teeth. "You're not testing me. You're isolating me."
The Void around Sentry pulsed—off rhythm.
"You're afraid I'll become more than your echo."
He activated it.
The last fragment of Limit Breaker. Not at 100x.
But something else.
[Override. Temporal Compression: 3 Seconds] [Mode: Final Counter]
Adriel vanished from the tendrils—just for a flicker—and reappeared inches from Sentry's face.
Ribbons of Huo Huan became lances. Became burning wings. His arm, barely functioning, drove forward with all that remained of his soul.
"You're not my end," Adriel whispered.
"And I'm not your successor."
Then came the punch.
It didn't break Sentry.
But it bloodied his lip.
And for a being like Sentry?
That was enough.
To piss him off.
Adriel smirked mockingly.
Huo Huan's ribbons fluttered weakly at his back—half-torn, half-burning. His legs trembled with every micro-adjustment, his vision shaking, voice dry and cracked from screaming both in rage and in silence.
And yet, he smiled.
"You're not a god," he spat. "You're just a scared little rewrite hiding in big code."
Sentry didn't move.
Not at first.
Then—he tilted his head.
Slowly.
As if actually processing the sentence.
Then came the grin.
Sharp. Cold. Effortless.
"You're done talking?"
Adriel's breath hitched.
That grin?
Wasn't amused.
It was disappointed.
"I'm done playing," Sentry whispered.
The next moment wasn't an attack.
It was an execution.
Adriel didn't even see the movement.
Only felt the knee.
CRACK.
His jaw shattered.
Then—
BOOM.
His body was gone from the rooftop in an instant, skipping like a broken toy across the palace tiles. The stone shattered with every bounce—blood trailing in an arc behind him.
Sentry appeared above him in a blink, grabbed his leg mid-air, and swung him.
Like a hammer.
SMASH.
Through the castle tower.
SMASH.
Through a second wing.
SMASH.
Across the banquet hall, where nobles once feasted. Chandeliers exploded in glass and gold. A table splintered. Paintings ripped into ash.
Adriel's body didn't even have time to respond. Systems offline. Armor failing. Huo Huan could barely keep up—flaring in bursts just to stop his heart from giving out.
Then came the throne room.
Where the others waited.
Where they were.
Sentry threw him straight through the stained glass skylight—raining colored shards across the chamber like divine judgment. Gasps echoed from below as Adriel's body crashed through the royal dais, splintering the marble.
Lim screamed.
Elen rose to her feet.
Sofy covered her mouth, sobbing silently.
Tigre's fists clenched, blood dripping from his palms.
And Mila—
She didn't move.
She couldn't.
Not after seeing the man who once split Mars with a punch—reduced to this.
Adriel tried to rise.
Didn't make it halfway before—
CRUNCH.
Sentry landed directly on his back, a sickening stomp that made the ground quake. Adriel's armor screamed, failing to regenerate.
"You think this is a performance," Sentry growled.
"You think you can win the audience?"
He grabbed Adriel by the throat, lifted him high—and turned.
So everyone in the room could see.
The blood. The bruises. The broken man that had once been their shield.
"This is what a Guardian looks like," Sentry snarled.
Then he threw him again.
This time into the eastern tower—cracking the foundation.
Sentry followed.
Blow after blow. Wall after wall.
He pounded Adriel down the halls like a meteor—dragging him through portraits, armor stands, banners, and symbols of pride. The Toxin symbiote flailed, trying to protect vital systems, but it wasn't enough. Not against this.
By the time Adriel smashed through the central courtyard fountain, he barely had a face left.
One eye swollen shut.
Jaw dislocated.
Ribs turned to dust.
And still—
He rose.
On one knee.
Trembling.
Barely breathing.
Blood staining the courtyard tiles.
And he smiled.
Broken.
Burned.
But defiant.
"...That all you got, bitch?"
Sentry stopped mid-step.
The wind froze.
And for the first time, the Void flared with rage.
He didn't teleport this time.
He flew.
Like a missile of darkness.
Sentry collided with Adriel like a god sent to end stories.
He drove him into the stone. The ground cratered beneath the impact, the palace courtyard erupting into a cyclone of dust, debris, and silence.
Then—
The first punch.
Adriel's head bounced off the ground with a sickening crack.
The second caved in his cheekbone.
The third split open his lip.
By the fourth, his nose was gone.
And Sentry didn't stop.
"Where is he?" he spat between blows. SMASH. "Where's the Guardian who gave lesser Darks nightmares?" CRACK. "Where's the monster who erased Alucard from fiction itself?"
Adriel tried to breathe.
He couldn't.
A fist broke three ribs and kept going.
"You fought gods from different verses!"
BOOM.
"You tore apart dimensions to save the Lycoris Recoil anime!"
BOOM.
"You tricked Yogiri! The very concept of the End of everything!"
BOOM.
"You fought entire armies of my kin—alone!"
BOOM.
His fists didn't just hurt. They rewrote.
Each impact carried Void-twisted physics—blows that landed in every frame of narrative at once. The courtyard tiles buckled, fractured. Walls in distant wings of the castle cracked. Villagers in Silesia felt tremors beneath their homes.
Earthquakes. Caused by fists.
By the twelfth strike, Adriel had lost four teeth. His jaw hung partially open, half-unhinged. His right eye swollen completely shut. His left cheekbone shattered, blood seeping from the socket.
His chin?
Split. Open.
Blood gushed from his throat as he tried to gasp—a wheeze that sounded more like death than defiance.
Still, he moved.
A twitch. A flicker.
Not from power.
From refusal.
Sentry grabbed him by the collar—what was left of it—and lifted his head just high enough to look into what remained of Adriel's face.
"You let this story break you," he snarled. "You let a perverted little war fantasy clip your wings."
He smashed Adriel's head back into the ground.
"You grew soft," he spat.
Another strike—this one from above—drove down into Adriel's sternum. Something popped inside.
"You stopped being feared."
WHAM.
"You started being liked."
WHAM.
"Tell me, Guardian—was it worth it? Smiling for side characters? Protecting monarchs who doubted you? Whispering soft promises to girls who'd flinch the moment they saw your scars?"
Each blow now echoed not just physically—but through the tone of the narrative. The tone of the genre.
"You were never supposed to be this."
He slammed Adriel's limp form into the stone—again.
Again.
And again.
"You were supposed to be greater! The final boss for those who thought they'd outgrown the genre. The challenge that mattered."
Sentry leaned in, breath ice-cold against Adriel's torn skin.
"But you let them make you... generic."
He stopped.
Just long enough to let the words sink into the ruined silence.
Blood pooled beneath Adriel, thick and spreading, staining the floor in a perfect mirror of his outline. His limbs twitched now only from the muscle spasms of broken nerves. The Toxin symbiote no longer formed a suit—it was nothing but instinctual goo, pooling around him, trying and failing to close wounds faster than new ones opened.
Sentry looked down at him like one might a failed prototype.
Eyes glowing.
Void humming.
"You think they still care?" he said quietly. "The readers?"
He nodded toward the sky—toward us. The fourth wall cracked, just a little.
"They don't give a shit about how a character grows anymore. They want edgy. Fast. Uncomplicated. Cool. Dead inside."
He crouched beside Adriel's broken face, voice low now—intimate, like a confession laced in poison.
"No struggle. No nuance. No build. Just instant dopamine. Trauma backstory, slick pose, five quips, one generic redemption arc... and done. Repeat. Reboot. Re-skin."
He laughed. It sounded like static over a dying signal.
"They want characters who never earn their power. Who never change. They want suffering without reflection. Heroism without cost. Catharsis without consequence."
A beat.
"Regression. Isekai. Ecchi. Harem. Hentai in disguise dressed up with fantasy politics and a budget."
He sneered.
"Even that—they can't do right anymore. No stakes. No arcs. Just girls, menus, and overpowered loners pretending to be outcasts while an entire world revolves around their bland personalities. And still—people watch it. Worship it. Call it peak."
His hand flexed.
"Do you know how easy it is for Darks to win now?" he hissed.
"No one writes stories with resistance anymore. No one believes in anything except spectacle. They just copy the last thing that worked, like printers churning out corpses."
He rose to his feet.
"That's why we win."
"The Darks."
"No growth. No heart. Just formulas. Just noise."
He looked down at the Guardian, unmoving in the pool of blood.
"You failed to deliver," he said again, voice flat.
"Because you thought people still wanted meaning."
And for the first time in the whole beatdown—
Sentry stepped back.
Not because he was done.
But because what he'd said?
Was worse than the punches.
Sentry turned his back to Adriel.
The air didn't move. The world didn't breathe.
But they did.
Boots hit marble. Weapons unsheathed.
The surviving cast of Zhcted—what little remained of that proud war-torn kingdom—stepped forward.
Elen was first.
Hair whipping in the breeze, sword glowing faintly with Arifar's fury. She didn't hesitate. She charged, blade roaring with wind, tears already in her eyes.
Lim followed, spear drawn, movements clean and practiced. Fine and Mila weren't far behind, drawing steel. Sofy raised a trembling hand, casting light in defense, in desperation. Valentina—Tina—moved like a shadow, blades in both hands. Tigre notched an arrow, the string pulled so far back it looked ready to snap.
It was all in vain.
But they did it anyway.
For Adriel.
For the man who bled alone.
For the Guardian who refused to fall.
Elen reached Sentry first.
She didn't even see the counterstrike.
WHAM.
A backhand across the face, so fast it shattered her sword before the swing landed. She hit the wall like a cannonball, blood smearing marble.
Lim's spear thrust caught air.
Sentry twisted her wrist mid-lunge, snapping it sideways with casual grace—then drove a foot into her gut so hard she folded in half before crumpling beside Elen.
Mila screamed.
She shouldn't have.
It gave her away.
Sentry was on her in an instant, gripping her by the throat, lifting her clean off the ground.
"You think this is brave?" he said coldly. "This is embarrassing."
He hurled her into a column.
It collapsed.
Sofy tried to cast a barrier.
He ignored it—walked through it like mist—and slapped her hard enough to send her sliding across the floor like a broken doll.
Tina lunged from behind, daggers glinting.
He caught one mid-swing. Broke her wrist. Then her ribs.
Then flung her at Sofy like garbage.
Fine screamed and swung with all her strength.
Sentry didn't block. He let the blade hit.
It bent.
Then he grabbed her hair—and headbutted her so hard she dropped like a stone, blood streaming down her temple.
Only Tigre remained.
He stood firm.
Bow drawn.
Eyes locked.
"Don't," Sentry said.
Tigre loosed the arrow.
Sentry moved faster than thought. Caught it. Looked at it.
Then crushed it between two fingers.
"You're an Earl," he said. "Act like one."
Then he moved.
One palm to the chest.
Tigre flew across the hall, crashing into the far pillar—his bow shattered in half, ribs breaking on impact. He slumped to the floor, groaning, coughing blood.
It had taken under twenty seconds.
Seven warriors.
All floored.
All helpless.
All defeated.
Sentry stood at the center of the wreckage, untouched.
He turned—casually—back toward the broken thing on the floor that used to be a god.
"This is what they gave you?" he asked. "This is your cast? Your support system? The ones you bled for?"
He kicked over Mila's sword with his foot.
"They crumble at the first punch. Cry at the first death. Look pretty, say nothing, and wait for you to carry the plot."
His voice turned to venom.
"And you did, didn't you? You broke yourself for them. All those side stories. All those filler arcs. Cooking episodes. Romance teases. Hollow apologies. And now look."
He raised his arms to the ruin.
"To them. Useless. Broken."
He pointed a single finger at Adriel.
"And you're still breathing."
Adriel couldn't speak. His throat had half-closed from swelling. His left lung was collapsed. His mouth was full of copper.
But his eyes twitched.
The Void parasite inside him pulsed—thriving on his weakness. Growing stronger.
But something else was growing too.
Sentry sighed audibly.
A performance to end all stories.
But behind him—
Something moved.
Not just fingers.
The air.
It shifted.
A weight—ancient and hateful—sank into the world like an anchor dropped into the heart of reality.
[Void Parasite: Attempting override...][Error: Control pathways severed][Error: Input denied][Berserk Mode – AUTHORITY OVERRIDE CONFIRMED][WARNING: Consciousness disengaged]
Adriel snapped.
His eyes went white. No pupils. No glow. Just blank, raw fury.
Not power.
Not precision.
Wrath.
His body shouldn't have moved. Muscles torn. Bones dust. Skin split like old leather.
But he stood.
And when he rose?
It was violent.
Like gravity gave up trying to hold him.
His scream wasn't human.
It wasn't even a roar.
It was a detonation.
Sentry turned—too late.
Adriel crossed the courtyard in a blink, limbs contorting, sprinting like a four-legged beast. No stance. No rhythm. Just wild, feral momentum.
The first blow wasn't clean.
It was ugly.
A haymaker that shattered Sentry's guard—sent him skidding backwards for the first time since the fight began. His body crashed through the palace wall, dust billowing behind him.
He rose instantly.
Smirking.
"Ah. There you are."
Adriel didn't answer.
He couldn't.
He was gone.
Berserk Mode didn't give speeches. It didn't posture.
It hunted.
Adriel was on him again before the dust even cleared, fists flying like cannonfire. One strike missed—but the shockwave it left cracked nearby columns. The next hit Sentry in the ribs. The one after that dislocated his shoulder.
Sentry grunted—surprised.
This shouldn't be possible.
Not with that damage.
Not with that parasite.
But Berserk didn't ask for permission.
It overruled the system.
Adriel's skin tore with every movement—but he didn't feel it.
His foot snapped forward—connected with Sentry's jaw, sent him airborne.
Sentry twisted mid-air—stopped himself—
Only for Adriel to be above him.
Like a beast.
He came down with both fists—like hammers forged from war and vengeance.
BOOM.
The entire courtyard floor buckled, dropping both of them into the lower level of the castle—a banquet hall now reduced to a crater of shattered wood, bloodied banners, and burning chandeliers.
Adriel stood amid the ruin, panting like an animal, blood caking his mouth and chest.
His body was still broken.
But it moved like it wasn't.
And his strikes—each one was still calculated.
Instinct weaponized.
Combat memory running on rage.
Sentry rose slowly, rubbing his chin. For the first time—there was no smirk.
Only focus.
"Fine," he said. "Let's end this your way."
Adriel didn't wait.
He leapt.
They collided mid-air.
Fists. Knees. Teeth. Elbows.
Savage.
Precise.
Every hit Adriel took only made him faster. Meaner. Stronger.
He didn't block. He tanked.
And retaliated with ten times the force.
Blood poured from his mouth with every scream—but he never stopped moving.
Sentry tried to speak—to mock again.
Adriel bit his forearm so hard he tasted black ichor.
He bit him.
And tore.
Sentry howled and threw him into a pillar—but Adriel caught the wall with a single hand, pivoted, and launched back at him, crashing into Sentry's gut with a shoulder that cracked the floor beneath them.
All Sentry could do was react now.
His opponent had no pattern.
No rhythm.
No tells.
Just wrath in its rawest, most ancient form.
Adriel slammed him to the ground, mounted his chest, and unloaded.
Punch after punch after punch after punch.
The floor cratered.
Dust shot upward.
The palace trembled.
And still—he kept going.
Blood sprayed with every hit—some his, some Sentry's.
It didn't matter.
Nothing did.
Only the next strike.
And the next.
And the next.
Sentry hit the ground hard.
Cracks spiderwebbed beneath him.
His lip bled.
His arm hung, briefly, at the wrong angle.
He laughed.
Low. Bitter. Eyes wide with something between awe and madness.
"You're starting to get it," he whispered.
Adriel didn't speak.
He lunged again.
Sentry caught the punch with both hands—slid back a full meter from the force. His boots scraped against fractured stone.
Then he grinned.
"You feel it, don't you?" he growled. "That clarity."
Adriel's only answer was a headbutt that split both their foreheads open.
Sentry stumbled.
Adriel tackled him through a half-standing pillar—both bodies slamming into a pile of burning rubble. Fist, elbow, clawed hand—Adriel ripped into him, teeth bared like an animal, foam at the edges of his lips.
Sentry didn't block.
He welcomed it.
"You think this is strength?" Sentry spat blood, smiling. "This is the mask falling off."
Adriel drove a punch into his jaw.
Sentry twisted with it—rolling to his feet—and lashed out with a knee to Adriel's sternum. The crack echoed like thunder.
Adriel didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Just growled.
Something inhuman.
"You're not fighting to protect them anymore," Sentry said, circling. "You're not fighting for justice. Or balance. Or redemption."
He held his arms wide, letting the blood run down his chest.
"You're fighting because you want to hurt me."
Adriel charged again, a blur of violence—but this time Sentry met him halfway.
BOOM.
The impact knocked loose the palace's west wing.
They flew up into the sky mid-brawl—silhouetted by the burning city behind them. Above the smoke. Above the broken skyline.
A god and a monster.
Or maybe just two monsters.
Sentry grabbed Adriel mid-spin, drove him into the spire of the royal bell tower—metal and stone crunching under the weight of gods. The tower snapped in half, collapsing in fire.
Both landed on opposite sides of the wreckage.
Breathing heavy.
Sentry wiped blood from his eye, laughing again—voice cracked, manic.
"You remember it, don't you?"
Adriel froze, just slightly.
Sentry leaned forward, eyes glinting with something cruel.
"Russia. No sleep. No escape. Just silence and screams."
Adriel's eye twitched. The blood around his knuckles pulsed.
"You almost snapped there too. Almost gave in. You wanted to. You tasted it."
Sentry's voice dropped to a whisper.
"And you liked it."
Adriel shook—just barely.
The berserker rage didn't stop him.
But it paused.
A beat.
A flicker.
"That's the thing," Sentry said, walking slowly now. Calm. Hypnotic. "You and I—we're not opposites. We're sides. Same power. Different mask."
Adriel took a step back.
Not fear.
But confusion.
Sentry raised a finger.
Tapped his own temple.
"You think you're the Guardian?"
He pointed to Adriel's chest.
"No."
"You're just the Dark who refused to admit it."
The white light in Adriel's eyes wavered.
The Void parasite stirred again—sensing the hesitation.
The flicker of identity.
"You could stop pretending," Sentry said softly. "Let go of the guilt. Let go of the hope. Let go of them. You're already halfway there."
He gestured to the burning ruins.
"To them. They're broken. They're done."
Sentry stepped closer.
Adriel didn't move.
"You've lost everything," Sentry whispered.
"So why not lose yourself too?"
And for one terrifying second—
Adriel almost let go.
The parasite pulsed in approval.
Sentry smiled.
Not with cruelty.
With satisfaction.
"Let go," he whispered. "Let go... and become."
Then—
A sound.
Not a strike.
A step.
It echoed across the broken palace like the ticking of a doomed clock.
Sentry turned.
And his grin faltered.
Elen stood.
Barely.
One arm limp. Half her face purple and swollen from the last hit. Her eye nearly sealed shut. Arifar—her once-proud weapon—lay shattered behind her like the illusion she once carried.
She stood anyway.
Her chest rose and fell with short, ragged breaths. Her boots dragged. Every step a scream from her bones. But she didn't stop.
"Adriel..." she whispered, her voice like torn silk. "Don't."
No power. No wind magic. No authority.
Just her.
The woman who once claimed him on a battlefield like a war prize.
The woman who flirted to feel control over something uncontrollable.
The woman who tried to give herself to him—not out of lust, but to feel wanted.
The woman who walked away.
And regretted it every day since.
Adriel didn't respond.
His white, beast-like eyes locked on her but saw nothing. His breathing was a snarl. A warning.
But still—
She reached for him.
And Sentry?
He moved.
Not fast.
Not flashy.
Just there.
Standing between them.
He looked Elen up and down like a judge inspecting a failed prototype.
"I should've known it'd be you," he said. "The one who always shows up too late."
Elen didn't back down.
"I'm not here for you."
"I know," he replied, then slapped her across the face again.
She dropped to her knees.
But stayed conscious.
Sentry crouched beside her, voice suddenly gentle.
"You're so easy to unravel," he said. "It started when you thought you could control him. 'He's mine,' remember? Like he was some exotic beast. You thought he was a tool. A sword you could swing."
Elen tried to rise.
He kicked her down again.
"And when you saw how powerful he really was—when he slaughtered a Dark army with a smile—you got scared. So what did you do? You buried it. Flirted harder. Laughed louder."
He crouched by her head, eyes gleaming.
"And when he gave you Alsace... you were angry. Because deep down, you knew you didn't deserve that kind of trust. You hadn't earned it. He handed you a part of a kingdom like it was a birthday gift."
Elen's hands trembled beneath her.
Sentry leaned in, whispering now.
"And when he hesitated in the manor—when you tried to throw yourself at him—he didn't say no to hurt you."
He paused.
"He said no because he still sees them. Chisato. Rebecca."
Elen's heart cracked audibly in her chest.
"You weren't first. You weren't special. You were next."
Her hand curled into a fist.
"And when he used your title, marched you to the throne room like a pawn—just to get to the King—oh, that broke something, didn't it?"
Sentry stood.
"You weren't scared of him."
He looked at Adriel now.
"You were scared of how much you loved him."
He turned to her again, and this time the venom dripped slow and deliberate.
"And when he said he'd do it again... you ran."
He kicked her once in the ribs—hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.
"And you made it toxic. You let jealousy twist your words. Watched Mila and Sofy stand by him with full access while you seethed from the sidelines."
Another strike.
"And when Tigre broke Adriel's plan because you couldn't bare being out of the picture?"
Sentry knelt, grabbed her by the hair, and forced her face up.
"You gave him the final push."
He looked Adriel dead in the eye.
"You remember what she said, don't you?"
He mimicked her voice—cold, hollow, final.
"Then protect us from this... from you."
Adriel twitched.
Hard.
Sentry dropped her.
She collapsed beside Adriel, gasping, bleeding, half-conscious—but her hand still reached for his.
"I didn't mean it," she whispered.
Adriel snarled.
And nearly hit her.
He almost did.
But again—
He stopped.
Inches from her face.
His breathing came in ragged bursts. His body shook like a cornered animal. Berserk fire raged around him.
But his fist didn't fall.
Because even in this state—
He remembered.
And Sentry?
He laughed.
Long.
Loud.
Joyful.
"Oh, this part is always the same," he said, grinning like a devil at confession.
"The girl begs. The monster pauses. The audience hopes."
He crouched once more by Elen, eyes cruel.
"But not this time."
And then he beat her.
Not to kill.
Not to maim.
But to humiliate.
Backhands. Kicks. Slaps.
Each one measured.
Each one slow enough for Adriel to watch.
"This," he said, "is the legacy of your mercy."
Sentry stood over Elen's broken body.
Breathing steady.
Expression unreadable.
She twitched—barely.
One eye swollen shut. Blood pooled beneath her mouth. Her limbs no longer moved in unison. Her breath came in hollow rattles, like a body trying to forget it was still alive.
Sentry crouched.
Calm. Curious.
"Final words?" he asked softly, like he was offering a drink of water.
Elen coughed—once.
Then again.
And then—
She smiled.
Tiny. Weak. Barely visible through the blood.
But it was real.
"Adriel..." she breathed.
He didn't move.
Still crouched. Still beast-like. Still trembling with barely restrained fury.
Her voice was no longer a whisper.
It was a plea.
"I didn't love the title," she said. "I didn't love the power. I didn't love the mystery."
She looked up at him—barely conscious—but clear.
"I loved the boy who made Rurik laugh. Who said 'bruh' and shaved a soldier's head because it was a 'canon event.' Who treated me like I was worth protecting... without asking for anything in return."
Adriel's breathing slowed.
Ever so slightly.
Elen's voice cracked.
"You made me feel like I could matter. Not as a Vanadis. Not as a commander. Just... as me."
She reached for him again—just a few inches.
"I'm sorry I flinched when you needed me to stand still."
She closed her eyes.
"And I forgive you... for not choosing me."
A pause.
"I just wanted to be yours. Even if it wasn't the way I dreamed."
Sentry blinked.
Then—
BEAM.
A blast of heat vision, fast as thought, erased her.
No scream. No time.
Just light.
And then—
Dust.
Her hand was the last to go.
Ash curled in the wind like burned flower petals.
And Adriel?
He just stared.
Eyes wide.
Unblinking.
The white glow of Berserk mode flickered—
Then vanished.
And in its place?
Human.
Adriel's eyes.
Color returned to his irises like dawn through storm clouds.
But he didn't cry.
He didn't speak.
He just looked at the pile of dust where Elen used to be.
And suddenly—
The world went silent.
The wind stopped.
The rubble, the flames, even Sentry's breath—it all muted.
Deaf.
Numb.
He couldn't feel the parasite.
He couldn't feel his wounds.
Only loss.
And in the quiet of his own mind...
A voice.
His voice.
Internal.
"Maybe he was right."
"Maybe I was never supposed to win this war."
"Not as a hero."
"Not as a Guardian."
"They feared me for the right reasons. She... was the last one who still saw the boy underneath the Godlike power. And I let her die."
"For what?"
"To prove I was better?"
"To be noble?"
"Noble got her killed."
He took a step toward the ashes.
And another.
His breath still steady.
Still human.
But his soul?
Something had cracked open.
"Maybe I was never meant to choose one path."
"Not light."
"Not dark."
"What if... I chose both?"
His fingers twitched—subtly.
"Starkiller did it."
"He used the Force, both sides. He bent it. Tamed it."
"He didn't reject the Dark."
"He used it."
The parasite inside him stirred again.
Expecting to take control.
But Adriel?
Smiled
"You think I'm afraid of falling?"
"You think I'm afraid of you?"
"You infected the wrong Guardian."
One more step.
And his eyes narrowed—not with rage.
But understanding.
The wind returned.
Sentry tilted his head.
Confused.
"You're... calm now?" he asked. "After all that?"
Adriel looked up.
Not broken.
Not feral.
But aware.
"No," he said quietly.
"I'm done holding back."
Adriel stood still for one long moment.
Then—he exhaled.
Slowly, he raised his arms. Blood poured down them in thick streams.
"Symbiote..." he whispered.
The remains of Toxin, barely clinging to his body like tattered shadows, responded. What little of it remained hissed in pain—but obeyed.
"Huo Huan," he whispered next.
The orange ribbons flickered like dying flames, frayed at the edges—but they wrapped around him anyway. Not for offense. Not yet.
For stabilization.
The ribbons tightened around his broken arms. Compressed shattered ribs. Realigned a dislocated spine with a sickening crack. Toxin stitched his flesh together—not healing, just reinforcing. Enough to move.
Enough to fight.
To Be Continued...