Noxis straightened, standing tall like a steel statue in the middle of the silent white chamber. In the way he looked at Kael, there was no predictable outburst of rage—only embers long kept alive: cold, restrained, and lethal.
His long-beaked mask swallowed his cheeks and lips, hiding whatever face lay beneath. Yet when he spoke, his voice came out heavy, echoing like a deceptive invitation meant to fuse two souls into one—an anger that claimed chaos as its origin.
"Ohh…" he hissed, soft yet drawn out, the sound rebounding and leaving behind an echo like a whisper in an empty corridor. "So now you want to have a little fun first? Very well."
Kael smirked—not the grin of triumph, but a faint curve of the lips that bloomed even as blood still dripped from beneath his nose, staining his pale skin with a deep crimson sheen.
"Yeah. Why? Are you scared?" His tone was low. "It's fine… just think of this as your last chance to exist." His voice carried the weight of a promise—spoken by someone who had swallowed pain too many times, and finally learned how to turn it into fuel.
There was a pause from Noxis; not one of hesitation, but of savoring the pain and challenge laid out before him.
And when he finally replied, his tone was steady, flat, without the slightest tremor—an acceptance that, strangely enough, carried the scent of respect.
"Interesting," he said. "If that's what you desire… I'll gladly accept. I'll carve the agony into your bones, flesh, and fresh blood—slowly. And remember this one thing—"
He stopped, then raised a single index finger. It was a small gesture, yet it made the air grow heavier, as if the white space itself had drawn a breath.
"In this place… I cannot die. Even if you slice my body apart, reduce me to drifting ash, or erase my existence altogether." The words slid out flat and deadly, clinging to Kael's ears like a slow-acting poison.
Kael remained standing. His body still held the sting of the chains that had just crushed his throat. Blood continued to trail from beneath his nose; he wiped it away with the back of his hand—a simple motion, yet one filled with dignity.
His gaze stayed locked forward. A thin smile formed—not to hide fear, but to affirm that this was a path he had chosen himself.
"I see. By the way…" His voice stayed low, each word pressed with intent. "…thank you for hurting me earlier."
For a brief moment, Noxis seemed taken aback. The mask showed nothing, but his body stiffened—then he smothered it with cold composure. "You're… thanking me?"
"Yes. I meant it." Kael lowered his head for a moment, as if weighing his words, then looked up again, his gaze reddening from within.
"Because back there, I could finally feel what physical pain was like. Before that, all I ever felt was pain on the inside—not bleeding wounds, not shattered bones, but a heart and memories that kept tightening around me. Being forced to accept a truth I had buried and carried alone."
Noxis snorted, a small sound steeped in undisguised contempt. "Pathetic. No matter how much time passes, you'll never be able to run from it."
Kael took a few steps forward, his movements calm, certain—like the hands of a clock that could not be stopped.
"No. Now, I can move past it." His voice was firm, unshaken.
Then he continued. "I know you're strong. So there's no reason for a being like you to refuse a challenge from someone weak like me. This should be easy… think of it as training."
Noxis answered with a low growl, his tone sinking into a buried prediction. "Training? So I'm nothing more than a whetstone for you?"
"Exactly." Kael's faint smile returned—unclear whether it was mockery or honest admission. "My body is weak, and my memories haven't fully returned. I need this trial to bring my fighting style back to life."
Noxis let out a heavy breath, yet his reply was steady. "I see. So the reason you dare face me is to turn me into a tool… to prepare yourself for someone stronger than I am."
"Of course," Kael answered without hesitation. "Because there's still one final act I have to finish… with that bastard." The last words were heavy, brimming with irritation that nearly burned, even as the smile remained etched on his lips.
Noxis fell silent, his body rigid as the faint red glow behind his mask flickered. He knew exactly who Kael meant. To answer would only add words that did not need to be spoken.
The silence was broken by Kael himself.
"And now… I'll show you."
Slowly, he raised both hands to the back of his neck.
"Who it is that stands before you now…"
He pulled the hood of his cloak over his head, then lowered his right hand to the level of his face. His gaze sharpened, as though every second of the motion was a confession directed at himself.
"I know… how victory works."
From his palm, a faint light seeped out, taking shape as a white wolf mask—glowing dimly, like fragments of moonlight fallen into darkness.
"…And I know… how to survive destruction."
Kael studied it for a moment, then placed it over his face. When his voice emerged again from behind the mask, it was steadier, thicker with conviction, accompanied by the bright blaze of his red eyes.
"I didn't learn from a worthy teacher, nor from books filled with dead theory. I learned from a book that could only give me answers as fast as the wounds I carved into myself. I learned from the collapse of everything—from shattered bones, from worlds brought low. That was my teacher."
Noxis let out a quiet laugh, sharp and half-mocking. "A madman. How can someone do anything when he doesn't even know how to use what he has?"
Kael answered without flinching, his voice clear and calm.
"You mean theory? Yes, it matters. But I don't need it to be called great. I didn't learn from theory, Noxis. I learned by seeing, feeling, and absorbing destruction itself—pain you can't imagine, sorrow you've never touched, and wounds of loneliness you've never known."
"And that is what you will never be able to understand. Because you—are nothing more than the anger born from every one of my failures… from me, who was unable to protect them all."
He added, his voice cutting sharp, like pressing down on the deepest wound. "Isn't that right? My other self."
Noxis lowered his head slightly, the red lenses behind his mask dimming for a brief instant.
"Tch…!" he hissed. His voice dropped, slowing, yet growing far more menacing. "On the contrary…."
Slowly, four crimson iron chains emerged from his back, one by one, glowing with heat as if freshly forged in layered hellfires.
Their forms were grotesque and irregular—as though shaped by rage rather than logic. Yet even within that chaos, there was a faint sense of order; the four did not extend at random, but moved with distinct shapes and motions, as if each had been forged for a different purpose.
Two rose above his head, long and rigid, their tips tapering into blade-like points, starving for blood.
On the lower right, one chain spun and coiled into a serrated disc, emitting a low hum like a living saw, eager to tear apart anything that drew near.
Meanwhile, on the lower left, the final chain contracted and molded itself into a mechanical hand with four elongated fingers, each ending in a claw. It opened and closed slowly—mimicking the motion of a human hand preparing to seize the throat of its prey.
They were alive. The clatter and grinding of metal echoed through the white space, like the fusion of machinery and flesh. Their shadows danced across the floor, carving feral silhouettes, as if the world itself were trembling.
Noxis lifted his head again, the red lenses flaring violently, and roared as he hurled the chains forward.
"I will never let you escape these wounds of rage!"
"You must return… return and plant them again, until the universe collapses once more into hatred and fury!!!"
With that scream, all four chain-limbs lunged toward Kael at once, unbound by any limit of length—and the battle began. Not merely a clash of flesh, but of memory and soul.
In response, Kael instantly spread his right hand out to the side.
Then—
"Come forth, Astra."
The words slipped out naturally—soft, steady, devoid of excess emotion—like a command his lips had repeated long before memory ever took shape.
From his palm, a thin golden light ignited. It wasn't blinding, but focused. The glow stretched forward, solidified, forming a straight line that sharpened toward its tip. In an instant, a silvery-white metallic structure manifested, encasing a softly pulsing red core that ran along the blade's center.
Astra stood complete—a longsword, slender and perfectly symmetrical. Its blade was straight, without curvature, as if it refused compromise. At its base, an angular guard enclosed a geometric red crystal, radiating a calm yet perilous glow, like a heart that never ceased to beat.
Kael fell silent for a fraction of a second. Not out of awe—but because his body recognized the weapon faster than his mind ever could.
He did not remember learning how to summon it. There had been no teacher, no ritual. Yet his hand knew how to grip it, and his soul knew this sword had not been created just now.
Astra had merely returned.
This blade… was not simply a weapon. He felt something different—something beyond logic—as if the sword were a shadow of himself, made manifest through the subtle pulse of Aetherial Logic resonating with the Abyssal Seal bound to his body.
Not magic. Not a technique he fully understood. Just instinct.
An instinct etched into him since a past blurred from memory, yet never truly erased from his flesh.
Kael tightened his grip on Astra, lowered his center of gravity, and let a faint smile surface.
"I understand… and I can still do it."
As the murmur faded, his body moved at once. His feet shifted sideways, settling into a low, solid stance. His gaze sharpened, tracking the wild motion of the chains cutting through the air.
With a smooth, measured motion, he drew his arm to the right, swinging the blade as if to slice the air itself. Then his left hand rose—index and middle fingers brushing gently along Astra's blade from hilt to tip. The golden light trembled softly, as if answering its master's touch.
Kael held his breath for an instant. He dipped forward slightly, his body like a bow drawn to its final tension.
"Prepare yourself…" His lips hardened, his eyes burning with cold resolve. "I'm coming."
And in the next heartbeat, his muscles detonated. His body shot forward—an arrow loosed from a bow that could never be broken.
***