The night was pitch-black. Cold wind swept across the broken ground, carrying the faint scent of blood.
Ali Arkman lay sprawled on the ground, his body twisted unnaturally. Several bones were shattered, and every breath sent waves of agony through his chest. Internal organs were heavily damaged — he could feel it clearly.
His spatial ring lay open beside him. Empty.
All his healing elixirs were gone. Already used.
His vision blurred, darkness creeping in from the edges. Footsteps approached. Slow. Unhurried.
Gazel and Sirus stood before him, looking down with expressions of cold satisfaction. Their clothes were clean, their breathing steady. This fight had never been equal.
"So this is the strongest person in this territory," Gazel said mockingly. "Pathetic."
Sirus tilted his head slightly. "At least his body will be useful."
They stepped forward, ready to collect what remained.
But just then...
Rustle! Rustle!
Multiple presences appeared at once.
