Author's Note:This is a bonus chapter to celebrate reaching 9k views! Thank you all for your support. Enjoy the read!
The Count advanced with wavering steps through the inverted world, each movement echoing over a floor that seemed made of liquid shadows. His red eye shone in search of Ereon, but found nothing — only darkness and forms that twisted in the distance.
Then, the whispers began. At first, soft, like the crying of children, then growing, loaded with pain. Voices of mothers and fathers cursing him, crying for stolen children.
A shadow formed in front of him: a fallen woman, the body twisted by despair. Her voice cut the air, loaded with accusation:
"Give me back my son!"
The Count did not stop. He passed by her as if crossing smoke, the gaze cold and unshakable. The scream echoed behind him, but did not make him hesitate. To him, that was nothing more than another whisper among the darkness. The shadows around pulsed, frustrated, as if judging his indifference.
Soon after, another voice arose, fragile and childish, infiltrating directly into his mind:
"Count… don't do this, please… I will be a good boy…"
And then, the memory came with force: he saw himself pulling a child into a room, the small body resisting while the scream crossed the air:
"NOOOOO!"
The shadows began to twist, creating grotesque forms that slid over him, as if every piece of the inverted world was alive, whispering condemnations. The air was heavy, loaded with voices that demanded repentance.
The Count raised his chin, the crimson gaze sparkling, and his voice echoed firm, loaded with disdain:
"Is that all? A parade of ghosts?" the tone was almost mocking. "Do you want to break me with laments and screams? Do you want me to ask forgiveness?"
He opened a cold smile, which soon turned into muffled laughter.
"Forgiveness… repentance… those words have not served me for a long time." The laughter grew, filling the emptiness. "Try as much as you want, but nothing will change me."
The laughter echoed like a blade cutting the silence, and, for the first time, the inverted world seemed to hesitate before responding.
Ahead, a simple door, worn by time and by war, rose among the shadows. The Count stopped, watching as the world around twisted. The darkness receded like torn veils, revealing a narrow alley, taken by cracked walls, improvised roofs and remains of almost ruined houses.
A sweet voice, but loaded with poison, echoed in the air:
"Does this remind you of something?"
The Count turned sharply, eyes sparkling with fury. He whispered between his teeth:
"So… you came, Nika."
His lips sketched a smile, but all his features overflowed with hatred. Before he could react, a shadow leaned over his shoulder, murmuring low in his ear:
"Open."
He obeyed the whisper and pushed the door. What he saw made his body harden.
Inside, a frozen scene from his past unfolded: himself, kneeling over the body of a child. A boy of only six years, messy black hair and eyes of the same color, stared at him with an empty gaze.
Then, something clicked in the Count's mind. Each detail, each gesture, each moment of that memory began to fit together. The child… Ereon. Everything began to make sense.
His laughter broke out, low and loaded with fury, crossing the air like a contained thunder:
"So… all this… is for revenge!" He spoke, the voice trembling with anger and cruel pleasure at the same time, the red eyes sparkling with insane intensity.
The memory dissolved before him, but the revelation remained alive. Ereon's revenge was not only a whisper of the inverted world. It was personal. Direct. And the Count, even before that, did not retreat. He only laughed.
Then, Ereon's voice, cold and distant, tore the silence:
"Today… I will take more than just one eye."
The Count felt his presence behind him. He turned with a sharp and heavy movement, and his hand advanced like a blade, ripping Ereon's head off. But that was nothing more than a shadow. The decapitated body dissolved into smoke, which rose through the Count's arm like a serpent willing to swallow him.
Before he could free himself, another vision opened before him.
He saw himself dragging Diana, naked, across the filthy floor. The people around spat at her, kicked her and applauded her fall, as if they were part of a grotesque spectacle. Those who once called her a saint now amused themselves with her disgrace.
The parade ended before an improvised palanquin. There, without hesitation, the Count burned her alive.
When he opened his eyes, the shadow had already disappeared from his body. But Ereon's voice returned, echoing with even more weight:
"Tell me, Count… what was your sin?"
The Count smiled, a cold and crooked smile, the eyes sparkling with hatred:
"My only sin was not having killed that bitch slowly… nor making sure that all her offspring went along. But today… don't worry. I will finish what I started."
After the Count's answer, the air around trembled. The inverted world began to unravel, as if reality itself melted before an immense power. Shadows, forms and memories were sucked back into nothing, leaving only a heavy and oppressive void.
Ereon was there, firm, cold and inescapable. His presence hovered behind the Count, like a weight that threatened to crush the bones.
The Count turned in a sharp movement, but Ereon was already ready. Each second of hesitation was vulnerability. The direct confrontation would begin there, with no room for mistakes.
The air around seemed heavier, as if the world held its breath. Ereon, holding the sword with apparent fragility, moved with absolute calm. It was the phase of the New Moon: invisible, silent, preparing each strike at the perfect moment.
The Count advanced, the superhuman speed turning each step into blur. His sharp claws ripped the air, cutting stones and debris, spreading fragments on the floor. Ereon, however, disappeared for an instant, reappearing behind a fallen column — using the half-moon mark to switch places with deadly precision.
He slid in silence, almost imperceptible, preparing the attack of the New Moon. The strike came fast, strategic and accurate, aiming at the vital point of the Count, a space that not even his sharp claws and monstrous reflexes could easily reach.
The Count dodged by a hair, the impact scraping his arm, spreading sparks through the air. He roared, furious. Each charge of the opponent showed that it was not brute force that dominated now, but strategy and precision.
And so began the deadly ballet: Ereon appeared and disappeared, switching places with the points he had marked, each attack of the New Moon hitting the slightest fraction of vulnerability; the Count advanced, attacked and regenerated instantly, each strike of his launching waves of destruction through the ruin of the castle. The void of the New Moon enveloped everything, making each instant unpredictable, each movement a dance of life or death.
Ereon disappeared suddenly, reappearing behind the Count in an almost imperceptible movement.
The Count turned, a sarcastic smile on his lips, the voice loaded with mockery:
"So… you are their weapon? I heard that Theseus was training assassins in that orphanage. And you… are one of them." He gave a slight smile, as if amusing himself with the situation. "Nika taught you the fighting style of Diana. And now I am here, facing the three stones of my county in one person… really...."
Before he could finish, Ereon appeared before the Count, the sword shining in the air:
"Totsuka no Tsurugi," he murmured.
He kept the firm posture, measuring the terrain, each movement calculated. Then, with light and precise steps, he adjusted position, preparing for the second form of the sword: the Crescent Moon.
The blade seemed to gain a life of its own while a sequence of quick and precise strikes swept the space in front of the Count, each attack seeking to press him, giving no time to react. The reach of the sword expanded abruptly, catching the Count completely by surprise.
Even with superhuman speed, monstrous strength and sharp claws, the Count was hit in points he thought inaccessible. Wounds opened quickly, showing that Ereon could really threaten him.
The Count fell to his knees, surprised by the speed and precision of the attacks. Then, a whisper cut the air, almost inaudible:
"Moon Dance… second phase: Crescent Blade."
Each word seemed to weigh more than a ton, echoing in the Count's mind. Blood ran from his wounds, and Ereon continued to keep the pressure, appearing on the opposite side with the use of Reversum.
"If you bleed… it means you can die," said Ereon, the voice low, cutting like blade.
The Count felt fury explode inside him. Each wound that closed instantly fed his rage, and he began to attack with even more speed and strength, the red eyes sparkling while he roared:
"All this… is because of that mark!"
Even when Ereon disappeared again, the enemy's presence pulsed in the air, reminding that each movement now was a real threat.
The fight ceased for an instant. Ereon remained still, looking indifferent at the Count.
"There are still two phases left, Count," he said, the voice cold and calculating.
The Count interrupted, raising an eyebrow, sarcastic:
"Does your body endure all that? I won't lie… for a moment I was worried. But I realized that you are gaining distance to recover. That show you gave earlier must have cost you a lot." He cracked his neck, eyes sparkling with malice. "And that mark… active, is draining your strength slowly."
A cold smile formed on his face. Without warning, he advanced. Ereon felt something different: the Count's speed seemed to have increased… but in fact, it was Ereon's own speed that was decreasing, drained gradually by the mark.
The Count delivered a powerful punch. Ereon protected himself with the sword, but the wound that the Count had opened earlier still remained open, reminding him that the combat was wearing him down slowly.
Even coughing blood and colliding with a wall, Ereon did not avert his eyes from the enemy who approached with a predatory smile.
Stopping before him, the Count spoke, the voice loaded with coldness and contained fury:
"I said… I have been in this for much longer. Now… die!"
In a brutal movement, he ripped Ereon's head off. A moment of heavy silence followed… until a whisper cut the air:
"Kai…"
The world around trembled. Each whisper, each shadow, each distortion of the inverted world dissolved like smoke in the wind, leaving only the concrete devastation of the castle. The Count felt something strange and, when looking at the destroyed throne, found Ereon sitting, watching him with icy calm. For an instant, even his arrogance wavered before the emptiness that now surrounded him.
"Shadow Marionette," murmured Ereon, the voice cold and cutting.
The Count advanced disoriented, trying to maintain control, but Ereon did not retreat. With a smooth and fluid movement, he rose, turned and brought down his katana:
"Full Moon… Sudden Death!"
The Count felt, too late, a cold and implacable presence running down his spine, as if death itself was there, behind him. For an instant, his crooked smile wavered, and even his arrogance trembled before that sensation.