------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Author Note:
' ' = When thinking in mind.
Italic = Dark Multiverse Whisper.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kaelthorn moved deeper into the forest, his steps deliberate, every sense sharpened. The silence was oppressive—too still, too measured—as though the world itself was holding its breath. He did not relax, not even for a moment. Stillness here was never safety, only the hush before something stirred. His goal was simple. Ascend the highest mountain, gain vantage for his next course of action.
The air grew heavier as he advanced, the trees pressing close, their branches knotted together like a cage. Then—faint, flickering—he saw it. A golden light pulsing in the distance. Without hesitation, he slid behind the thick trunk of a tree, body lowering into shadow.
Patience first. Action later.
From concealment, his eyes scanned the area. His instincts told him what his gaze confirmed—one Kabane wandered, but another lingered at the edges. Rather than charge in, he tested the terrain. With a leap, he was on the branches above, the canopy bending but not breaking under his weight. He moved swiftly but without wasted effort, each step flowing into the next as he traversed from bough to bough. The forest seemed to resist him, vines tugging, leaves whispering, but he cut through it until he reached the branch directly above the glowing heart.
Then he dropped.
THUD.
He landed on the Kabane's back, the force driving the creature to the earth. Without hesitation, his knife slid through decayed flesh and iron-hard tissue, plunging into the golden heart. A sharp convulsion, then stillness. Kaelthorn's right hand pressed against its cooling form, blood rushing upward into him. His veins pulsed, his crimson eyes flaring faintly as that molten ichor replenished him.
But before the husk beneath him had finished shrivelling, another shadow lunged. The second Kabane had been waiting, and now it surged forward, jaws snapping open, teeth poised to tear into his flesh. Its mouth hung a finger's breadth from his neck, straining, clawing—yet it could not reach him.
Kaelthorn did not even turn. His focus remained on absorbing the last of the first corpse's essence. The only thing keeping the attacker from completing its strike was three thin, glinting lines now visible under the moonlight—Blood Threads.
He had noticed this second one long before. He had allowed it to act, to test the reach of his refinement. The Kabane's body convulsed against the restraint, muscles bulging as it tried to break free. One thread cut into its neck, the other two binding its elbows. Its flesh tore under the pressure, rivulets of golden blood seeping where the threads dug deeper.
Kaelthorn raised his left hand slightly, fingers twitching, and the threads obeyed. They tightened.
The Kabane snarled in fury, black eyes burning, yet its movements slowed as the bindings sank further. Kaelthorn studied the reaction, not the threat itself—his eyes cold, analytical.
'Kaelthorn: Stronger than human tissue. Reinforced at the joints. The threads won't sever cleanly. If I force it, they'll snap first.'
He halted the pressure, conceding the limit. Then, with efficient precision, he turned and drove his knife into its heart. The golden cage shattered under the blood-honed tip, and the Kabane collapsed, twitching once before lying still.
THUD.
The dry husk fell beside the first. Kaelthorn absorbed its blood as well, the glow in his eyes intensifying before dimming to a steady burn. Retracting the threads, he stepped away without lingering, cape whispering across the earth as he pressed deeper into the forest's black veins.
The night seemed to close in behind him, the silence heavier now—as if the forest itself was aware that something more dangerous than Kabane walked among its trees.
.
.
A few hours later.
The morning light bled faintly through the thick canopy, but up here in the mountains, the forest floor was still drowned in shadows. Mist clung to the trunks of ancient cedars, curling and coiling like breath from unseen mouths. Kaelthorn's boots left no sound as he moved across the uneven ground, his crimson eyes scanning every hollow and every flicker of movement.
Hours of hunting had left the soil strewn with husks of Kabane, their desiccated bodies twisted into brittle shapes. Each kill poured haze into him, but his reservoir still felt like an ocean with only a trickle filling it. He could sense the slow, patient pull of "The Hollow Core" far away, reminding him how much more he would need before the next return.
At last, he reached the mountain's peak, the forest below stretching in endless waves of dark green. His gaze shifted to the tallest tree, a solitary giant reaching higher than the rest. Climbing it with effortless precision, Kaelthorn perched on a branch that swayed under his weight. Pulling his phone from beneath his coat, he entered a sequence of commands — data uplinks, silent coordinates, layers of unseen preparation. Once done, he slid the device away and dropped back down into the damp earth.
That was when he saw it.
A Kabane lumbered into view, its heart glowing like molten gold within its ribcage. Unlike the others he had slain, this one carried an axe, its blade jagged and blackened with rust.
Kaelthorn's eyes narrowed. He advanced.
The Kabane saw him and, instead of leaping mindlessly, it swung the axe with surprising force. The weapon howled through the air and smashed into the ground where Kaelthorn had stood, soil and stone bursting outward. Kaelthorn sidestepped smoothly, his cape flickering like smoke. He drove a boot upward at its skull, but the Kabane abandoned its grip on the axe and hurled itself backwards, avoiding the blow with unnatural instinct.
'Kaelthorn: Not the usual kind…'
His knife flashed in his hand, and he lunged. The Kabane's fist shot out, but Kaelthorn tilted his head, letting the blow graze past as the blade arced toward its chest. The creature crossed its arms in defence. Kaelthorn twisted the angle at the last second, slashing upward across its throat.
SPLURT.
The head severed cleanly, rolling into the grass as its body stumbled, blood spraying in great fans before collapsing.
Kaelthorn crouched, hand extended to absorb the blood—
—but his instincts prickled. He froze, eyes narrowing.
**Note: "Samurai" would be changed to "Bushi".
From the mist, ten more Kabane emerged in silence, their glowing hearts thudding like war drums. Each held a sword, their stances disturbingly disciplined, like soldiers of a forgotten age. Behind them, five more stepped forward, their hands gripping old steam rifles, the metal frames corroded but functional. Their blackened eyes locked onto him with unnatural intent.
And then, the ground shook. Three shapes approached from another direction — taller, broader, grotesquely muscled Kabane, their veins pulsing like molten rivers beneath their ashen skin. Each exhaled a guttural snarl that reverberated across the trees.
Eighteen in total.
Kaelthorn rose, his knife in one hand, the Desert Eagle gleaming in the other. His crimson gaze swept the circle forming around him. The mist thickened, pressing in like a second wall of enemies. The forest was silent except for the rasping growls and the steady churning of Kabane hearts.
'Kaelthorn: Sword-wielders — controlled but predictable. Gunmen — problematic at range. Brutes — the real threat. Priorities: eliminate the rifles first, restrict the circle, break the formation.'
His body stilled, every muscle coiled, his cape swaying faintly in the mountain wind. He knew this wouldn't be easy. The air tasted of iron and ash, promising blood.
The Kabane tightened their circle. Glowing hearts throbbed in the shadows.
Kaelthorn readied himself.
.
.
The circle tightened. Eighteen Kabane pressed in around Kaelthorn, the glow of their molten hearts flickering like a field of dying furnaces, illuminating teeth, steel, and sinew. Their weapons gleamed in the pallid dawn—the long, chipped swords of the former Bushi, the crude steam guns clutched in skeletal hands, and the brutish fists of the larger ones, thick as tree trunks.
Kaelthorn stood motionless, cape fluttering in the mountain wind. Knife in one hand, Desert Eagle in the other. His crimson eyes narrowed, calculating angles, distances, timing. Every twitch of a Kabane's limb was an equation solved, every shallow exhale a prelude to violence.
SWOOSH!!
The first sword-wielder darted forward, its speed unnatural—blurring faster than even Mumei had managed in their clash.
CLANG!!
Steel shrieked as Kaelthorn's knife intercepted, sparks scattering. The sheer momentum reverberated up his arm.
Another shadow. Another blade.
SWOOSH!!
Kaelthorn tilted his head back an inch, the edge kissing air where his throat had been. He raised the Desert Eagle to fire—
BANG!!
The gunman Kabane fired first, its bullet splitting the moment with a deafening crack. Kaelthorn twisted away, boots skidding on damp earth.
Another shot.
BANG!!
A round screamed toward him—he dipped his head, the slug ripping past his cheek with a burning whisper. But the reprieve was gone—behind him, a Kabane's sword came down like an executioner's axe.
CLANG!!
Knife met steel above his head, arms shuddering at the impact. He glimpsed the red gleam of two more swords lunging for his neck from the front. Kaelthorn started to pivot the Desert Eagle toward them—
BANG!!
Another bullet spat fire from a gunman, cutting off his attack.
His expression hardened.
A flick of his left hand—
Thin blood threads hissed into existence, lashing onto a tree trunk. They pulled tight, yanking his body sideways.
SWOOSH!!
He swung clear of the blades, cape tearing at the edges. But the arc carried him straight into the path of another waiting sword.
BANG!!
He snapped a shot—
The brute stepped forward, intercepting. The bullet from the Desert Eagle slammed into its chest—only to flatten uselessly against the hardened, blackened hide.
The brute's massive hand lashed out, fingers like iron shackles reaching for Kaelthorn's skull.
SNAP!!
Kaelthorn's blood threads coiled around its wrist, pulling taut. For a fraction of a second the brute slowed—but the cords screamed and snapped like dry twigs under its strength.
Its hand closed in.
Kaelthorn released the line pulling him forward, killing his momentum. His body shifted just enough—its grasp scraped air. But now he was plunging toward its gaping mouth.
Another thread. Another anchor. He wrenched himself upward.
BANG!!
A bullet screamed past, forcing him to sever the tether mid-flight. He dropped again—straight into the brute's reach.
Another thread fired sideways, dragging him across the dirt in a skid.
BANG!!
Another bullet tore toward him.
Two threads now, pulling in opposite directions. Kaelthorn snapped his body through the air, a pendulum between gunfire.
Two sword-wielders awaited his landing.
CLANG!!
Knife against one, the Desert Eagle's lower frame against the other. The shock jarred his bones, but he twisted with the momentum, vaulting over them—
Only for another sword to slice upward.
A thread flicked out, coiling the Kabane's wrist, yanking its aim aside. Kaelthorn dropped into the gap. Knife angled—
BANG!!
A gunshot cut the moment. He veered, abandoning the kill. To the Kabane, it looked like an opening. To Kaelthorn, it was preparation.
Spinning, cape whipping, his body turned with the dodge. Blood spooled from his palm, condensing mid-spin. A dart.
It flashed crimson in the dim.
FWOOSH!!
The dart tore through the air like a streak of lightning.
THUCH!!
It punched through the Kabane's heart cage, sinking into molten light.
The creature froze, trembling, before its knees buckled.
THUD!!
The body hit the dirt, lifeless.
Kaelthorn's eyes gleamed. His chest rose and fell with measured calm, the battlefield tightening around him again.
'Kaelthorn: One down. Seventeen more to go.'
The Kabane hissed and howled, pressing closer, their glowing hearts casting a furnace-red halo around the lone man who stood unshaken in the center.
.
.
The death of the first Kabane was not just an execution.
It was a disruption.
The others stopped, their rhythm stuttering like a machine missing a cog. For an instant, Kaelthorn had air, distance, and the illusion of control. He used it without hesitation, feet cutting backward through the soil, calculating.
The picture was clear.
Sword-wielders were faster, sharper in reflex.
Brutes carried a monstrous strength that would flatten even armored resistance.
Gunmen saw through chaos itself—their aim anchored, their dynamic vision uncanny.
If these traits were isolated, Kaelthorn could dismantle them, piece by piece. But they weren't. Their coordination was the true threat.
The timing of their attacks, the angles, the seamless transitions from close-range pressure to suppressive fire—this wasn't instinct. This was trained discipline. Something seen in armies, and the rhythm was familiar. Years, decades, centuries of soldiers sweating into drills could forge this kind of unison.
But Kabane?
They weren't supposed to think.
'Kaelthorn: If there are more of such Kabanes out there, then humanity here has no chance of survival.'
The thought was a verdict, not speculation. He had seen how fragile this world's humans were. They couldn't even face suspicion of infection without breaking. Against a true unit of Kabane, they wouldn't last hours.
The world snapped.
BANG!
Kaelthorn slipped sideways, the bullet tearing bark where his skull had been. His body pressed tight to the tree's shadow, movements economical, always measured.
SWOOSH!
SWOOSH!
Twin swords screamed down, splitting the trunk with brutal precision. But Kaelthorn was already gone, the wood screaming as steel bit deep and jammed.
The gunners above had tracked him.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Muzzle-flashes lit the canopy. Steam hissed from their rifles. Bullets punched through branches, showering splinters. Kaelthorn burst upward, boots crushing a branch, vaulting into higher ground. He became a phantom darting from tree to tree, each leap misdirecting, each landing angled away from their predictions.
But his mind was locked on them—the shooters. They were the linchpins of the formation. If he reached them, the coordination collapsed.
And yet the sword-wielders below had adapted. Their aggression sharpened.
The hiss came first.
FWOOSH!
FWOOSH!
Sharp stones whistled past, skimming bark, grazing air. Kaelthorn twisted mid-jump, cape snapping as he barely cleared the arc. Sword-bearers had abandoned the chase to pelt him from below—an ugly, efficient strategy. It forced him into constant redirection.
Blood threads cracked into existence, crimson lines hooking branches, yanking him faster, sharper, altering angles before bullets could anticipate. He was weaving chaos, stitching survival from threads of blood and timing.
The Kabane below mirrored him, never falling behind. Their cohesion was relentless, as if they were a reflection of his own persistence.
Then—instinct flared. Danger screamed.
From the side, the brute's shadow eclipsed the trees. Its massive arms had hurled a boulder, the size of a carriage, roaring through the air.
Impact meant obliteration.
Kaelthorn retracted his threads instantly. His left palm blossomed with blood, congealing into jagged armor. He braced, thrust his hand against the rushing stone.
SHATTER!
The hardened blood cracked apart on impact, dispersing the destructive momentum. His arm held firm, unbroken.
Using the boulder's own force, Kaelthorn flipped backward, somersaulting high over the spinning mass. For a heartbeat, his inverted form framed against the sky looked like a crimson shadow dancing above death.
Then the gunner's answer came.
BANG!
The bullet found his skull.
The impact snapped his body back, flinging him into a tree.
CRACK!
Bark fractured, splinters exploded. His body slid down the trunk, settling limp at its roots. His head sagged, motionless.
The forest seemed to hush, waiting.
The gunners didn't.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Each shot slammed into his still form. His body jerked only with the force of impact, sliding lower, leaving streaks of disturbed bark. No resistance. No response.
The Kabane encircled.
They had patience. They had order.
The brute stood foremost, towering over him, its steaming breath dripping heat and stench. The swords flanked—left, right, behind. They watched, disciplined, waiting their turn.
The brute lowered, its cavernous mouth opening wide.
Teeth poised.
Kaelthorn's skull a breath away—
Eyes.
Crimson light ignited beneath the shadow of his hood. Piercing. Unblinking. Alive.
Kaelthorn's right hand surged upward, shoving something into the brute's throat. His left hand rose, gun steady, mechanical.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Three shots, three directions—right, left, behind.
Each bullet split air with surgical certainty, piercing the heart cages of the sword-wielders before realization could twitch their muscles. They collapsed instantly, weapons clattering into soil.
Kaelthorn rolled backward, dust curling around him as he reset the field. The brute, choking on the foreign object jammed in its throat, looked down in confusion.
A string dangled from Kaelthorn's hand.
He gave it the faintest tug.
BOOM!!!
The explosion tore through the brute's skull. Its head disintegrated in fire, fragments of bone and steam scattering into the air. Its titanic body crashed forward, shaking the earth as it fell headless into ruin.
Kaelthorn stood, eyes still burning, cape shifting in the aftermath. His voice cut through the silence, devoid of triumph, only cold arithmetic.
Kaelthorn: Five down. Thirteen more to go.
.
.
It was his turn now.
The air itself seemed to shift as Kaelthorn straightened, crimson gaze cutting into the battlefield. His cold calculation turned to aggression. No hesitation, no wasted breath—just a silent predator ready to cull the next prey.
He closed the distance to another sword-wielder, its stance faltering under the shock of watching four of its kin collapse moments before. Its reaction lagged by a fraction—and that was all Kaelthorn required.
Before its blade could rise, he rammed the steel edge of his Desert Eagle against its wrist.
CRACK!
The bone-jarring strike jarred its arm, making the grip falter. In that stolen second, Kaelthorn's knife flashed, the blade's tip laced with his own hardened blood, edge honed sharper than any forge could manage.
THUCH!
The knife buried itself deep into the Kabane's chest, punching through the cage and finding the vile heart within. The body convulsed once, then sagged, lifeless, collapsing at his feet.
Gunfire barked instantly.
BANG!
BANG!
Kaelthorn didn't flinch. He seized the falling corpse, hefting it like a shield, the impact of bullets thudding into dead flesh. In the same motion he slipped behind a nearby tree, cover absorbing the next volley. His knife slid back into its sheath as his free hand tore a fresh magazine from his belt.
But fate gave him no pause.
Two more sword-bearers lunged from his flank. Their speed was sharp, their intent absolute. Blades swept for his throat—
And then both stumbled. Their legs snapped taut against something unseen.
Blood threads. Kaelthorn had strung them taut across either side of the tree in preparation. The Kabane, blinded by rage, had never noticed. Their charge collapsed into a tumble, bodies rolling past the trunk where Kaelthorn crouched.
When their vacant eyes flicked toward him, the last thing they saw was the barrel of his gun.
BANG!
BANG!
Both cages shattered. Both bodies rolled lifeless across the soil, inertia carrying them until they finally slumped still. Kaelthorn ejected the magazine, sliding the new one into place. He noted the irony. The last two bullets in the old clip had claimed the last two lives.
'Kaelthorn: Last magazine. Ten more to go.'
The forest trembled with a roar.
ROAR!!
One of the remaining brutes, maddened beyond coordination, thundered toward Kaelthorn. Its rage had broken its discipline. Every step shook branches, every breath vented steam. With a bellow, its colossal arm scythed through the tree Kaelthorn hid behind, ripping the trunk from earth and hurling it aside.
Kaelthorn had already rolled clear, cape cutting arcs of dust as he avoided the pulverized remains.
But the second brute was different. It had not surrendered to frenzy. While its brother wasted energy, this one moved with grim calculation. It cut off Kaelthorn's retreat, fists curling into stone-crushing weapons.
Its strike fell.
Kaelthorn twisted at the last heartbeat, the punch hammering the ground instead.
BOOM!!
The soil cratered. Fissures split outward, a shallow pit carved where Kaelthorn's body had just been. The concussive shockwave hurled him through the air.
He adjusted mid-flight, body disciplined even as momentum carried him. Boots struck earth, dragging trenches across dirt as his weight slowed. He dropped to one knee, right forearm braced on his leg, chest rising and falling in one measured breath.
Before him, both brutes advanced. Behind them, three swordsmen broke into a sprint, eager to carve vengeance for their fallen
Something metallic fell from Kaelthorn's left hand, clattering onto the ground.
A pin.
The swordsmen didn't see. Their speed outpaced the brutes, dragging them into the kill-zone Kaelthorn had calculated.
From above, the grenade dropped into the gap.
BOOM!!
The blast engulfed the trio from behind, fire and fragments ripping across their spines. The shockwave punched into the brutes at their front, staggering their massive frames.
Kaelthorn had predicted it all. The rage of one brute, the discipline of the other, the speed of the swordsmen—they were pieces on his board. He had hurled the grenade skyward earlier, measuring its fall, its timing, its blast radius. Now it bloomed exactly where he needed it.
The Kabane staggered, but not broken. Their flesh was steel, their bodies too dense for a mere fragmentation grenade to kill. Kaelthorn hadn't expected otherwise. That was why he had fed a grenade down the throat of the previous brute—because the outside was too strong.
Kaelthorn's crimson eyes narrowed. He exploded forward, ignoring the writhing swordsmen on the ground. His target was the brutes.
The pistol vanished into his belt. Instead, two more grenades gleamed in his hands. These weren't fragmentation. They were thermite.
Pins pulled. Flames promised.
Kaelthorn vaulted, blood threads and momentum carrying him high over the hulking figures. In ordinary combat, they would have seized him mid-air. But still reeling from the last blast, their hands rose too slowly.
He drove both grenades into their gaping maws.
Gunfire thundered behind him.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
But Kaelthorn anticipated it. He planted boots on each brute's jaw, kicking downward to shove the grenades deeper. Using that force as a springboard, he launched backward, cape flaring crimson-black as bullets hissed past, missing flesh.
He spun in the air, eyes never softening, arms whipping outward.
Two blood darts hissed from his palms.
FWOOSH!
FWOOSH!
Both darts speared into the fallen swordsmen still twitching on the soil, bursting their heart cages with surgical cruelty.
Kaelthorn landed directly on the chest of the last swordsman, knife already in his hand. The blade plunged straight into its heart, extinguishing it before it could rise again.
The brutes convulsed. Then the thermite ignited.
Molten plasma poured through their throats, fire consuming them from within. Their titanic bodies writhed before collapsing in tandem.
THUD!!
THUD!!
The ground shook under their fall, black smoke curling upward like incense from a battlefield altar.
Kaelthorn straightened slowly, rising from the corpses. His crimson eyes burned brighter against the gloom. He turned, cape brushing dust from the earth.
Five shapes still stood in the distance.
Their rifles gleamed in the shadows. Their breath hissed steam.
Five Kabane gunmen.
.
.
The forest had grown too quiet. Even the insects had withdrawn, as if unwilling to witness what remained. Kaelthorn advanced, body low, cape slicing shadows as he wove between trees. His eyes were fixed, cold, reading angles and cover with the precision of a predator closing the distance.
The five Kabane gunmen reacted in fractured unison. They scattered like startled carrion birds, steam rifles snapping up, muzzles flaring.
BANG!
BANG!
Bullets tore through bark and leaf, splinters showering Kaelthorn's path. He did not falter. These were not swordsmen nor brutes — their movements were sluggish, almost crude. Slower even than Mumei. Their strength, speed, and endurance existed only on the baseline of Kabane. Dangerous to humans, meaningless to him.
He was already inside their perimeter.
Kaelthorn lunged, accelerating through the lattice of trunks, momentum carrying him shoulder-first into the nearest gunman.
BAM!
Both figures crashed into the dirt. Gunfire cracked overhead — two bullets seared the space his head had occupied a second earlier. The tackle had not only grounded his prey but saved him from being ventilated by crossfire.
The Kabane beneath him snarled, weapon raising, muzzle pressing into his chest. At point-blank, the trigger snapped.
BANG!
The round struck Kaelthorn's body. The Kabane expected flesh to yield, for bone to shatter, for its prey to bleed. Instead, its rotting eyes widened.
The bullet deformed against him, metal crumpling like softened clay. Not a drop of blood. Not a crack. Not even penetration. For the first time, a Kabane's face twisted into something approaching shock.
'Kaelthorn: Predictable.'
He had long since catalogued his biology. His flesh had surpassed humanity, his durability far beyond the limits of prey. Blunt trauma, slashing blades, common firearms — none of them could reduce him to meat. These steam rifles bit harder, yes, but they were no true rifles. Their bark was sharp, their bite dulled. To withstand one or two was trivial. But even his strength was not without limits — sustained volleys could tear down anything.
Which is why he never relied solely on endurance.
The Kabane was still staring at the ruined bullet when Kaelthorn's knife slid free. Blood hardened its tip to a scalpel's perfection.
THUCH!
The blade punched into its heart cage, silencing it instantly.
Kaelthorn ripped the steam gun from its corpse, rolling across the soil as the other four opened fire. Bark exploded where he had lain seconds before. He slid behind a boulder, checking the weapon. Ammunition remained. He holstered his Desert Eagle — last magazine, reserved for necessity.
Leaning against stone, he listened. The air quivered with steam and echo. Faint footfalls receded. The four gunmen were not advancing. They were scattering wider, desperate for distance.
'Kaelthorn: No concept of retreat. They will circle back. Hunger will drive them. Always.'
He did not pursue. Instead, his gaze tracked upward to a tree thick with branches and leaves. Cover. Concealment. Advantage. He ascended without a sound, movements precise, and settled into the shadows above.
He stilled his breath until even his lungs obeyed silence.
Time stretched. One hour. Two.
The forest whispered in slow pulses, as if the world itself held breath.
You wait too. Your skin prickles, your ears strain. What if they see you? What if they find you first? What if they are already behind you?
Kaelthorn's ears caught them before his eyes did. Soft tread, careful but not enough. The four circled back, scanning the ground beneath his perch. Their dynamic eyesight flicked across the undergrowth, hunting for the faintest stir.
Kaelthorn opened his eyes.
He fell like a blade.
THUD!
Landing atop one, he jammed the stolen rifle into its back and fired.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
The heart cage cracked, fragments spraying outward as its chest collapsed inward. He kicked free, steam gun still in hand, now dual-wielding as he pivoted.
BANG!
BANG!
Shots lanced out, striking the flanks. Two Kabane staggered sideways, dropping to the dirt with ruptured frames. Not fatal — but broken enough.
The last raised its weapon. Kaelthorn's barrels turned in perfect unison.
BANG!
BANG!
Two rounds found its heart, splintering it into silence.
One weapon empty, he discarded it, walking toward the fallen.
The nearest gunman groaned, dragging itself upright. Kaelthorn was already upon it. A muzzle to its chest.
BANG!
BANG!
THUCH!
The heart cage split, the light inside extinguished.
The last one attempted to retreat, instincts gnawing at survival. But a blood thread licked out, tethering its leg. It fell hard, clawing dirt, raising its rifle.
BANG!
Kaelthorn did not move. The bullet struck his torso, crumpling harmlessly. The Kabane fired again.
BANG!
BANG!
BANG!
Each round smashed into him, each one denied. He walked forward, inexorable, crimson eyes unblinking. The Kabane's panic grew as its chamber clicked empty. Still, it pulled the trigger, desperate, blind. Nothing.
It lunged instead, mouth tearing wide, fangs snapping for his throat.
Kaelthorn jammed the steam gun into its gullet and fired.
BANG!
SPLURT!
Blood burst through the back of its skull. It collapsed, twitching. Kaelthorn removed the weapon, then calmly placed two final rounds into its heart cage.
BANG!
BANG!
THUCH!
Silence.
The last Kabane twitched once, then stilled. The air reeked of blood, iron, and scorched steam.
Kaelthorn stood amidst five ruined corpses, cape heavy with dust and smoke. His crimson eyes glowed faintly beneath the shadows of trees. He exhaled once, controlled, steady.
The forest swallowed the noise, leaving only silence. Not peace — never peace. Only the breath of something vast and watching.
You think this is victory?
No. It is survival borrowed on time already spent.
The Dark Multiverse whispered, unseen but present, reminding you — reminding him — that the spiral never ends.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*A/N: Please throw some power stones.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------