As they stood before the door, time seemed to slow.
Nox had his hand on the rusted handle, waiting for Kealix to give the signal. His stance was tense, steady—but his eyes flickered toward Kealix, searching for certainty that no longer showed on his face.
Kealix hesitated.
Doubt crept in like a cold wind, whispering questions he couldn't ignore. Was this worth it? Was he truly willing to die for people he barely knew? For a chance, just a chance, that their sacrifice might mean something?
The storm of doubt thundered in his mind, each question louder than the last.
And then—clarity.
Like a gust of wind blowing away fog, something stirred inside him. A quiet voice, maybe his own, maybe something else, whispering a simple truth:
It doesn't matter whether we fight or run. We're going to die either way. But at least… at least this way, someone else might live.
He exhaled, slow and deep, the breath anchoring him to the present. The shaking in his fingers stopped. The pounding of his heart became a rhythm, not a warning. He was ready. Or as ready as one could be.
He turned to the others, his voice steady, but low.
"Are you guys ready?"
Silence answered him at first.
Nox. Alora. Lucius.
Each of them wore the same haunted expression—tight jaws, distant eyes, the silent weight of fear pulling them inward.
Then finally, Lucius spoke, voice thick with resignation.
"I don't think we'll ever be ready for something like this. But what choice do we have?"
"You're right," Nox added, signing slowly. "Even if we said we were ready, we'd just be lying."
Alora gave a small nod. "Let's just do our best—and buy as much time for the others as we can."
A faint smile tugged at the corner of Kealix's lips. Not out of joy—but relief. They were scared too. Just like him. And yet none of them were running.
The burden he carried—fear, doubt, responsibility—felt a little lighter.
"Alright," Kealix said, his voice calm, almost distant. "Nox, open the door on the count of three. Stay close to the wall. We need to see what we're dealing with before making any moves."
Nox nodded once.
"One…"
"Two…"
Kealix paused.
This was it.
Once he said three, there would be no turning back. He let the moment stretch—long enough to feel its weight. Long enough to say a quiet goodbye to all the things he might never see again.
I have regrets, he thought, but none strong enough to keep me from making this choice.
"Three."
Nox moved.
The door groaned as it resisted him, heavy with rubble and rust. Muscles strained beneath his shirt, his breath coming sharp and short as he forced it open. Inch by inch, then all at once—it gave.
The way ahead was open.
They pressed against the wall, exactly as planned. Kealix stepped forward, just enough to peer through the opening, his breath catching in his throat.
Sweat rolled down his temple.
Be ready for anything, he told himself.
But what he saw… was nothing.
Kealix looked again—closer this time.
His eyes scanned every inch of the ruined classroom, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of danger. But there was nothing—nothing but the fracture. It pulsed quietly in the center of the room, the tear in space radiating black and violet light that flickered against the crumbling walls. It was the only illumination in this suffocating, lightless dome—an eerie, living glow that painted everything in unnatural hues.
"I think it's safe," Kealix whispered. "The beast… it's not here. Not yet."
They stepped cautiously into what had once been a classroom—but now, it was a shattered relic of a forgotten world. Glass shards glinted like tiny knives in the fracture's glow. Dust and rubble covered the floor, and the remains of desks and chairs lay splintered and broken across the room.
Lucius knelt by a twisted frame, his voice flat. "These glass shards... they have blood on them."
Kealix noticed it too. The blood was still fresh enough to glisten. A sour metallic scent clung to the air, heavy and invasive, wrapping around their lungs like a disease.
For several tense minutes, the group searched in silence, picking through the wreckage with care—each footstep a whisper in the dead room.
Hero, Kealix thought, shouldn't the beast have appeared by now?
[To be honest with you, young master, I don't know why it hasn't.] Hero's voice, always calm, carried an unusual thread of uncertainty.
[It's possible the beast is… preoccupied. Perhaps it's still on the other side of the fracture.]
In other words, Kealix thought grimly, we're at its mercy. At any moment it could be here.
Hero said nothing in response—but Kealix could feel it: silent confirmation. The truth didn't need to be spoken. The creature could emerge at any moment—swift, merciless, and overwhelming.
He glanced at the others.
They continued scanning the room, sifting through debris, searching for clues, weapons—anything. But something was wrong. Their colors had shifted.
The closer they moved to the fracture, the more violent their auras became. Where once there had been calm or hesitation, now there was only fury, intensity. Their colors burned—no, raged—like an inferno barely contained, lashing out invisibly at whatever force stirred inside the fracture.
Kealix's gaze lingered on Nox.
His color hadn't just grown more violent—it had changed entirely. Flickers of black wove through his aura like ink in water, corrupting it, distorting it.
Kealix narrowed his eyes.
Then Nox caught him staring.
"…Is something wrong?" Nox asked cautiously.
Kealix hesitated. "...It's nothing."
Lucius broke the silence. "The beast isn't here. We should return to the hall and wait for it to show itself."
Alora nodded in agreement. Without the element of surprise, they had no hope. If the creature appeared while they were exposed, they wouldn't stand a chance.
So the group retreated, leaving the fractured room behind.
Nox held a length of metal pipe in his hands—a makeshift weapon, crude and uneven. But better than nothing. Better than being unarmed when the moment came.
Hero, Kealix thought as they walked, their colors—they're burning brighter. But... their powers aren't manifesting. Why?
Hero paused before responding.
[From what I know, there are only a few ways a soulbound power awakens.]
[Either a god forces the awakening… or they come into contact with the source of their power… or they face a truly overwhelming enemy. Beyond that... I don't know.]
So they're close, Kealix realized. Right on the edge. All it would take is one spark, one breath in the wrong direction—and everything could change.
That must be why Joshua awakened so early, Kealix thought. He was holding a flame when it happened… and his powers were clearly fire-related—or at least, they looked that way.
He fell silent, his mind still turning, searching for the next question. And when it came to him, it struck deeper than he expected.
But what is the source of our powers? he asked Hero. It can't just be… reality, right? That feels too simple.
[You're wrong, young master,] Hero replied, his voice carrying an odd tone—hesitant, uncertain. [The source of your abilities is reality—or, more precisely, it's the ability to transmute reality into a different form of itself.]
Kealix slowed his steps, absorbing the words.
[Whether you're enhancing your physical strength or summoning flame, all that's truly happening is the reshaping of existing matter into a new form—one that you can control. The matter is always there. You're simply… bending it.]
Hero paused.
[I could be mistaken, but that's what I heard during my time in the spiritrealm.]
Kealix was quiet. Transmuting reality…? The idea felt massive—too large to truly hold in his mind. They weren't just using powers. They were reshaping the very structure of existence, manipulating what was into something new.
It sounded impossible. Divine.
And then the inevitable thought followed—a power like that must come with a price.
What's the cost, Hero? Kealix asked, more cautiously this time. What's the downside to this kind of power?
Hero didn't respond immediately.
When he did, his voice was heavy—distant and sorrowful.
[Those who reach too far, who become too ambitious… or who are deemed unworthy by the Will of Existence itself… they are unmade.]
[Not killed, young master—erased. No body. No soul. No memory. Not even a whisper left in the divine scriptures. It's as if they never existed.]
Kealix froze.
His heart beat slower, heavier.
Unmade? Not slain, not imprisoned—erased. That was a kind of death beyond comprehension. A deletion from the fabric of reality itself.
Why would such a consequence exist? Why would the Will of Existence allow anyone to wield such power, only to erase them completely if they dared go too far?
He didn't know.
"Are you alright?" Alora's voice cut through his trance.
Kealix blinked. His eyes shifted to her, then to the rest of the group—still walking, unaware of the weight now pressing against his chest.
He hesitated.
Then said, quietly, dread bleeding into his voice, "It's nothing."
And just as the last word left his mouth, he saw it.
A flicker of violet light danced against the wall beside them, bright and alien.
A moment later, the light vanished—swallowed by a rising tide of shadow.
Kealix felt it—a breath on his back.
Cold. Immense. Not like a whisper of wind, but a wave, rolling over him with such force it nearly stole the air from his lungs.
But it didn't stop.
It passed through and kept going, as if the thing that breathed it wasn't merely behind him—but towering over everything.
His body stiffened.
Slowly, he turned his gaze to his friends through his left eye. Their faces said everything. Alora. Lucius. Nox. Each one of them frozen in place, their expressions twisted in terror, eyes wide and unblinking.
Something was behind him. And judging by their horror—it wasn't just something.
It was the beast.
But that breath… it had felt too vast, too massive, like a storm exhaling. No creature that size should move so quietly, yet there it was—right behind him.
Kealix didn't move.
Couldn't.
Then, slowly, as if waking from a nightmare, he turned.
And nothing—nothing—could have prepared him for what he saw.
There it stood.
A colossal monster, its form stretched toward the ceiling, its skull-like head easily reaching the height of the third floor. It had to be at least eighteen meters tall. Perhaps more.
It looked wolflike, but no wolf had ever been so unnatural.
It was skeletal—more bone than flesh. Thick strands of muscle, sinew, and half-decayed organs hung from its ribcage like wet ropes. Much of its skull was exposed, parts of its face stripped down to bare bone.
It had four eye sockets—or what might've once been eyes.
Only one of them still held something resembling an eye. The others gaped empty, black hollows filled with a darkness that felt conscious. Watching.
Its fur was thick and matted, pitch black, but soaked through with fresh blood—so much of it that it still dripped, drop by drop, onto the broken tiles below.
Kealix felt the full weight of its presence pressing down on him like gravity itself had turned against him.
This is it, he realized. This is the predator. The one from that horrid place.
The breath he had felt hadn't been a warning.
It had been a greeting.