Kaelen emerged from the cavern, his form slipping through the shadows like a wraith, stepping into the pale moonlight that gleamed on the still, black waters of the pool.
The broken sword—an ancient relic, steeped in malevolence—remained hidden in the cavern's bowels, untouched. Kaelen wasn't foolish enough to let anyone learn the secret it guarded. The Immortal Body, that twisted, unspeakable thing, was his burden to bear. And he alone would decide its fate.
The sword was no simple weapon. If the Mystic Dawn Pavallion discovered it, their hunger for control would be insatiable, and Kaelen had no interest in feeding their greed. The Dreadcoil Leviathan's core, however, that was something worth possessing. Its power would give him the strength to rise beyond any confines.
"Darian?"
Kaelen's voice was like the chill of an autumn wind, sharp and cutting. His eyes fixed on the figures standing at the pool's edge. He hadn't expected company—especially not him. Darian stood there, flanked by his Three loyal dogs, smirking in that infuriatingly smug way that always made Kaelen's blood burn.
"Kaelen?" Darian's voice was thick with disbelief. "I thought you'd been swallowed by the earth, never to crawl out again."
He laughed, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes—just a brief hesitation. The mask of confidence wavered.
"Hmph."
Kaelen moved in an instant, his soaked body blending with the night, his form a blur to anyone who might've tried to track him. In a single breath, he was upon them. No words, no grand gestures—just the grim inevitability of his arrival.
His fist flew.
The air trembled as Kaelen's punch struck true.
Crunch.
The first of Darian's lackeys didn't have time to scream. His ribs shattered under the force, and a sickening spray of blood erupted from his mouth, painting the ground in crimson. His body whipped back as if a ragdoll had been tossed aside, slamming against a jagged stone protruding from the ground. There was a wet, unnatural snap as his neck snapped sideways.
Dead before he even knew what happened.
Kaelen didn't spare the corpse a second glance.
Darian's face twisted in disbelief, his eyes widening as the sheer brutality of it hit him. He took a step back, mouth open, the words dying in his throat. "Y-You—"
Kaelen wasn't finished.
Before Darian could even process the situation, Kaelen was already moving again, like a predator closing in on its prey. His palm found Darian's chest with a muffled boom.
Thwack.
Darian's feet left the ground, his body soaring back, blood spraying from his mouth as he collided with the black stone behind him. His body skidded along the uneven surface, leaving a smear of blood and broken flesh, until he finally came to a halt several meters away.
"Tell me, Darian…" Kaelen's voice was a low growl, carrying with it a venomous satisfaction. "How does it feel to bleed?"
Kaelen's cold, unfeeling eyes locked with Darian's. A jagged, cruel smile stretched across his lips.
He took a step closer, his presence suffocating, the dark weight of his anger palpable.
Darian struggled to rise, his chest heaving as he coughed up more blood, staining the dirt beneath him. The scent of iron hung thick in the air. Kaelen's boot came down hard on his hand, crushing it beneath his heel.
Crack.
A sickening, wet sound filled the silence, and Darian screamed, his voice breaking in agony.
"Where's your bravado now?" Kaelen asked softly, leaning in until his breath brushed against Darian's ear. His eyes were like ice, his words a taunt—a mockery of everything Darian had ever been.
"You used to laugh at me. Mocked me. You said I was nothing." Kaelen's voice dropped to a whisper, a dangerous hiss. "Now, you're nothing."
He twisted his foot.
The bones under his boot cracked, splintering like dry wood. Darian screamed again, the sound more animal than human.
Kaelen turned his gaze to the remaining acolytes—young boys, wide-eyed and paralyzed in terror, their hands shaking. The smell of their fear hit him like a physical thing, sharp and suffocating.
"If I were you," Kaelen's voice came like a whisper of death, "I wouldn't move a muscle."
The two acolytes froze, their limbs stiff, faces pale, barely able to breathe under Kaelen's oppressive presence.
Kaelen looked at one of them and pointed.
"Take off your Possession. Throw it here."
The acolyte didn't hesitate, his hands trembling as he stripped the white robe from his shoulders and tossed it to Kaelen. It fluttered through the air, landing in Kaelen's outstretched hands.
Without a word, Kaelen pulled the robe on. His bloodstained skin was now hidden beneath the white fabric, but it did little to conceal the violence radiating off of him.
He turned his cold eyes back to Darian, who was still struggling to breathe, clutching his broken body.
"Do you know what the difference is between us, Darian?" Kaelen asked, his voice carrying a deadly calm. "You think you've won. That because you have power, it makes you untouchable."
Kaelen crouched down, leaning over him, his face just inches from Darian's. "You never understood that the true power lies in choosing when to kill."
He slowly dragged Darian by the collar, his grip like iron. The weight of Darian's body scraped against the earth as Kaelen dragged him, not with any care, but with the inevitability of death itself.
They reached the edge of the pool—the one Kaelen had risen from moments ago, the water reflecting the moon's light in unnatural stillness.
"No…" Darian gasped, his eyes wide in terror. He fought, trying to rise, but it was useless. Kaelen's grip was unyielding.
Kaelen shoved Darian's face into the water, forcing him to look at his own reflection. The once-proud young man was now reduced to a bloodied, gasping wreck, struggling beneath Kaelen's weight.
The water trembled as Darian's face sank lower, his desperate attempts to breathe causing ripples to dance across the surface.
"Tell me," Kaelen's voice was a soft murmur, "What do you see in the water, Darian?"
The reflection didn't lie. The face that stared back at Darian wasn't the man he once was. It was a broken, desperate thing.
Kaelen held him there, letting the panic surge through Darian's chest as he gasped for air, unable to escape the suffocating reality of his defeat.
With one final motion, Kaelen released him, watching as Darian's body collapsed into the pool. The water turned dark, tainted with the blood of a broken man.
Kaelen took a slow, deliberate step back, his gaze sweeping over the two remaining acolytes. They didn't dare move.
Then, he turned his attention to the other two men standing by the poolside—the ones who had witnessed everything. They had yet to make a move, perhaps in shock, or maybe still processing the gruesome spectacle that had just unfolded.
But their hesitation wouldn't save them.
Kaelen moved again, a blur of darkness. His hands were the only weapon he needed. He slammed his fist into the first acolyte's chest. The sound of cracking ribs echoed through the air, followed by a sickening gurgle. The man's mouth opened, blood pouring out, but his body wasn't allowed to scream.
With a brutal shove, Kaelen crushed his windpipe, watching as life drained from the man's eyes, leaving them empty and cold.
He didn't pause.
The last acolyte, paralyzed in terror, was next. Kaelen's hand shot out like a serpent, grabbing him by the throat. He lifted the boy off his feet, squeezing tighter as the acolyte's frantic gasps grew louder, more desperate. His hands clawed at Kaelen's wrist, but the grip was iron.
Snap.
Kaelen let the lifeless body drop, the young man's eyes now staring blankly at the moonlit sky.
Kaelen turned, his eyes scanning the now-quiet area. There was no evidence of what had happened—nothing but stillness and the dark ripples in the pool.
He turned his back on the scene, leaving without a trace of his presence. No blood remained where the men had fallen, no sign of struggle. Only the moonlight danced on the water's surface, undisturbed.
"Mercy is a myth they preach to the weak…
I am the truth that silence speaks."