I ran with Lad. Takashi in a desperate race against death itself, as if we were shadows pursued by other shadows.
Our footsteps rang out in the forest's silence, our hearts pounding to a frantic rhythm—with that terrifying creature close behind.
With every step, the flapping sound drew closer.
The trees blurred into mere smudged lines in the backdrop of our flight, as though the world around us were melting away.
Our breaths came in ragged gasps, desperately clinging to the last remnants of thin air.
"Lad. Takashi… he's here!" I screamed, my trembling worsening with every approaching flap.
Lad. Takashi tightened his grip on my hand until it hurt, but he didn't stop or slow down.
He accelerated, and we ran—directionless—branches smashing into our bodies.
Sharp twigs scratched my face, arms, and legs, but nothing mattered in that moment.
Pain was nothing compared to the fear flooding my very being.
The sound of wings filled my world, deafening me—then suddenly… a heavy silence fell.
The flapping vanished. Even the rustle of leaves froze in place.
We stopped, hearts trembling as if about to burst from our chests, eyes whipping around in deep terror.
A cold shiver ran up my spine. Slowly, I turned my head forward—he was there.
Midway down the path, hunched over, his stretched black wings poised to tear us apart.
He breathed slowly, deliberately. His wicked smile revealed scalpel-sharp fangs, and his eyes glowed with bloodthirst.
He was no longer the thin human we'd seen before—but a Cebuan-bat creature.
I froze in place, paralyzed by fear—but Lad. Takashi suddenly shoved me behind him in a protective motion.
"Run!" It wasn't a command… it was a desperate plea, laced with deep fear.
I didn't run.
How could I leave him to face this alone? I was the reason he was here!
I saw him pull a small dagger from his waist pouch.
He trembled with fear, but for a moment, he stilled it.
But in the next instant, the stranger was already in front of him—faster than a blink.
Lad. Takashi rolled nimbly, his dagger barely deflecting the claws that nearly ripped open his chest.
Through my sensory net, I felt the malicious Kora energy surrounding the stranger's body.
There was no hope for Lad. Takashi in this fight.
Metal rang as it struck sharp claws. The stranger shoved him hard into a tree trunk.
Lad. Takashi's scream of pain jolted me out of my stupor.
His blood splattered the ground—and through my net, I felt every drop like pulses in my own body.
The stranger was playing with him, savoring his agony as if staging a grotesque performance.
"Stop!" I shouted, grabbing a large stone and hurling it at him without thinking.
The stranger turned toward me, eyes locking onto me as if I were his next delicious meal.
Before he could reach me, Lad. Takashi lunged onto his back in a final, desperate move.
The dagger sank into his shoulder—a deafening shriek tore through the forest.
But the stranger flung him away like a worthless ragdoll.
Lad. Takashi slammed hard into the earth, struggling to rise, blood pouring from his face.
The stranger smiled—a sickening, sadistic grin.
"Let me drink your blood first…" he whispered hoarsely.
This time, Lad. Takashi couldn't dodge.
Sharp claws pinned him to the ground, and long fangs inched toward his neck.
My mind screamed at me to do something! Anything!
I thought of that TRAITUM—of the ability I feared, the one I'd promised my father never to use.
Then I looked at Lad. Takashi bleeding before me—and remembered his sacrifice for me!
But… It would cause an even greater disaster.
Furious at myself and my helplessness, I grabbed a handful of small stones and threw them at the creature.
They didn't hurt him, of course—but they annoyed him.
He turned to me. "Seems you want to go first…" he said, his voice dripping with sadism.
He left Lad. Takashi and strode toward me with confident steps.
I spun and ran. If he followed me, maybe Lad. Takashi would survive—at least I'd give him a chance to escape.
But he was far faster than I could ever be.
His claws gripped my shoulder and yanked me backward with brutal force.
I crashed onto my back, the air knocked out of me in a painful gasp.
He loomed over me, his massive shadow swallowing me whole—his black wings a wall blocking out the sky.
Drool dripped from his long fangs.
My hands shook. Should I fight?
Should I open my eyes and damn the consequences? I thought of my promise to my father, of all his warnings…
But I clenched my fists, held my breath, and ignored the thought.
His mouth neared my neck—his fangs gleaming in the dark like polished blades.
My body began to struggle instinctively, a primal reflex for survival—
Suddenly, a swift stab pierced his neck from behind.
It was Lad. Takashi—standing, leaning against a tree, his small dagger buried in the stranger's flesh.
"I told you… to run…" His voice was hoarse, barely audible, yet filled with exhaustion.
"I'm sorry…" I whispered, tears welling in my eyes.
The stranger roared, kicked Lad. Takashi hard, and sent him flying through the air.
He yanked the dagger from his neck without care—the wound began slowly healing.
He shot into the air, intercepted Lad. Takashi before he hit the ground, and slashed his chest and arms in one swift motion.
"No!" I screamed, covering my mouth in horror.
He threw Lad. Takashi's body down mercilessly. He didn't move.
The stranger landed before me, eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction.
"This is what happens when you disobey me—"
But he never finished his sentence.
Behind him, Lad. Takashi moved again.
He rose with difficulty, his body drenched in blood, eyes blazing with strange, unconscious resolve.
"You stubborn fool!" the stranger snarled, lunging at him immediately.
But Lad. Takashi took a fighting stance—strangely familiar.
In an instant, just one meter away, Lad. Takashi grabbed the stranger's collar, pivoted on his heel with astonishing skill, lifted him into the air, and slammed him to the ground.
My eyelashes fluttered in shock.
*That move!*
My net had subtly coiled around him—and his motion was a near-perfect replica of Boris's throw against Jon.
The stranger crashed into the earth, dust billowing around him.
The forest fell silent for a fraction of a second… then he moved.
He rose slowly, head tilted, eyes burning with pure rage.
His smile vanished—his features twisted into the face of a true monster.
"You… have angered me." His voice grew deeper, heavier—laden with unbearable threat.
In a flash, he stood before Lad. Takashi.
His claws seized Lad. Takashi's chest and crushed him to the ground viciously.
Air burst from Lad. Takashi's lungs in a pained gasp—blood spurted from his mouth.
He tried to grab his nearby dagger, but the stranger pinned his arms down with crushing strength.
"It's over…" the stranger whispered, his head lowering toward Lad. Takashi's neck, fangs glistening in moonlight.
Lad. Takashi tried pushing him with his knees—but his body was exhausted, broken, unable to resist.
He was a hair's breadth from being bitten—when—
***
For Sior, toying with his prey was pleasure beyond all else—
like nobles who hunt not for food, but for the ecstasy of killing.
Now, he was about to end his game and claim the blood of the youth before him.
But the very moment his fangs were about to sink into Takashi's neck, his body exploded outward—hurled four meters sideways through the air.
Sior rose on pure Cebuan instinct, hand clutching the strike point, eyes narrowed—his claws still stained with Takashi's blood.
The light dimmed. A little girl stepped forward from among the trees.
She couldn't have been older than seven—pale skin, faint blond hair falling to her shoulders.
Her silver eyes were calm, observing the chaos around her with no expression at all.
Barefoot, dressed in a simple white dress—as if stepped from a fairy tale.
She showed no anger, no pity—not even when seeing the blood on the ground.
Her mere presence was enough to halt everything.
Sior growled—the interruption displeased him. "Ah… so you finally hunted me down, little one…"
Lia didn't answer.
She slowly raised her small hand—and this time, no Kona energy or visible encryptions appeared.
Suddenly, a field of air blades erupted around Sior—interlocking rings striking him from every direction.
Sior screamed in pain, his wings trembling—as if caught in invisible threads.
His Kora aura couldn't protect him.
Then, a stone orb launched him violently into a tree trunk—he collapsed to his knees.
Zofia stood frozen, heart pounding fiercely. *Who is she?* she wondered silently.
Even Takashi—panting and bleeding—stared at the girl in awe, eyes wide, but speechless.
Sior rose slowly, a twisted smile on his face.
"You… this time you're not showing your Kona visibly, huh?" His eyes held genuine caution.
Lia didn't reply.
She took one step forward—and flicked her finger gently.
Sior suddenly felt something wrong. Suffocation.
His eyes widened. He released a powerful Kora aura to move the air, flapped his wings—but the air was gone.
*She cut off the oxygen around me…*
His right hand whitened—and a thin black rod appeared from nothing in his grip. With subtle motions, he restructured the air again.
Lia watched closely. *He altered my encryption… this is how he manipulated the fog without using Kona…*
In a flash, Sior vanished into the trees—his voice fading as he laughed savagely.
"Haha!" He suddenly appeared behind Lia.
But she flicked her fingers—and disappeared in the same instant, reappearing behind him. In a blink, Sior's body exploded in a fireball.
The body burned—but it wasn't Sior. It was a Koshin-made duplicate.
Lia held a straw doll sealed with Koshin marks.
*Koshin doll… high quality.*
The forest fell silent. In that stillness, Zofia didn't hesitate.
She pushed her fear aside and ran to Takashi, who lay gasping on the ground, body drenched in blood.
When she knelt beside him, she saw his body stretched unnaturally—eyes barely open.
He was clearly suffering—but alive.
She grabbed his hand—it was cold.
She looked up—and found the strange girl, Lia, suddenly standing before her.
*When?!* Zofia was startled by her sudden appearance.
"Take off his shirt…" Lia said in a calm, cold voice.
Zofia obeyed immediately, tearing Takashi's blood-soaked shirt away.
What she saw revealed the true extent of his injuries—they weren't mere scratches, but deep, torn gashes.
The largest wound stretched from his right shoulder across his entire chest—a vivid red line slowly dripping, edges torn as if skin had been ripped away.
Other branching wounds covered his stomach, arms, even his neck—some so deep they exposed muscle.
Zofia couldn't see color, but the contrast between wounds and flesh was clear to her.
She nearly covered her mouth in horror—but Lia studied the injuries intently.
She leaned slightly, her silver eyes tracing every cut with surgical precision.
It was as if she were reading a complex map.
Her gaze moved slowly from wound to wound, analyzing every tear, searching for something.
Her expression was utterly devoid of emotion—as if examining a piece of wood, not a human body.
Then, without touching Takashi, she waved her fingers and hands in graceful motions—as if conducting an orchestra.
No visible Kona or encryptions appeared—but Lia's encryptions and Kona were spreading invisibly across Takashi's body.
Before Zofia's eyes, the wounds began closing—not magically, but unnervingly naturally, in perfect logical sequence.
Bleeding stopped first.
Then, slowly, torn tissues contracted and fused together.
Deep wounds closed first—edges sealing gradually.
It resembled regeneration, not stitching—leaving no trace behind.
Black lines at wound edges faded slowly, as if absorbed inward.
Then shallower cuts healed—shrinking to faint red lines, then vanishing entirely.
Within minutes, all of Takashi's wounds were gone.
Only pink scars remained—and even those began fading, as if being erased from existence.
"Ahh… ahh!" Takashi coughed and took a deep breath.
He opened his eyes slowly and looked at Zofia. "What happened?"
Zofia helped him sit up.
But when she looked up—Lia was gone.
Only faint scorch marks and traces of fire remained on the soil.
"Who… was she?" Takashi whispered hoarsely.
Zofia didn't answer.
She had no answer.
All she knew was that this little girl had saved them from certain death.
***
After the rapid events that unfolded for me, the bandits—those NPCs in my miserable life's theater—decided to go do… something.
Maybe rob a legendary train, fight a sleeping dragon, or even something more practical—like buying expired milk.
I don't know exactly, and honestly, I don't care—what matters is they left me alone with the one I assume is their leader.
A massive man with teeth that don't belong to humans—his fangs resemble those of a predatory crocodile, or maybe a wild electric saw.
I sometimes wonder if he's secretly running an ad campaign for cheap toothpaste.
I've nicknamed him "Mr. Fangs"—and I'm proud of this name. I'm brilliant at naming things, believe me.
Maybe the reader is nodding in agreement right now at the sheer genius of it—or maybe this is just an internal monologue with myself… or with you, dear scene.
Yes, I'm talking to the fourth wall now.
Have I gone mad?
Probably yes—but who could blame me after all this?
Mr. Fangs sat by the glowing fire, speaking in a voice like a boulder rolling inside an empty metal barrel.
To me, everything he said sounded like: "@#$&-)/)(+-&$#@@#."
Good heavens! What poetic eloquence! If my hands and feet weren't bound, I'd applaud enthusiastically…
But I settled for a forced smile and a nod—the classic survival protocol: "pretend to understand even if you're utterly lost."
You don't want him thinking you're ignoring him—his reaction might be turning you from prisoner to fast food.
Then suddenly… he fell asleep!
With unprecedented simplicity, he leaned his head on his palm, closed his eyes, and began snoring like an old diesel engine.
A perfect escape opportunity…
If only I weren't tied up like a holiday chicken—ready for roasting.
My mind—which loves generating brilliant ideas at the worst possible moments—decided this was the ideal time to discover my superpower…
Foot-clapping!
Pat! Pat! Pat!
Ah, what a heroic epic! I've finally found my true role in this world: the tragic circus clown.
Maybe I should start selling tickets later.
But alas—Mr. Fangs suddenly woke up.
He opened his eyes and stared at me with profound boredom, as if thinking, "Who's this fool…"—then remembered I was his prisoner.
He pulled a piece of hard bread from his pocket—resembling a rock disguised as food—and began chewing it as if grinding stones.
At that exact moment, my stomach let out a thunderous roar—a scream closer to a declaration of war than hunger.
He stopped chewing, looked at me for a moment, then tossed me a tiny piece of that rocky bread—
No bigger than a fist.
Yet to me, it looked like a royal banquet.
I tried reaching for it in vain. He let out a long sigh, then untied my hands—perhaps convinced I was utterly incapable of escape.
And he was right.
I didn't even have the strength to stand, let alone flee.
I ate the bread with the ecstasy of someone who hadn't eaten in a century.
Each bite felt like a message from hidden spectators: "You're still alive, you miserable wretch."
While I savored this nutritional miracle, he resumed his strange rambling.
I tried improvising a translation of his theatrical hand gestures—and concluded they might mean "I'll build my own kingdom" or "This is how I wash my clothes in this primitive world."
Then… the dramatic twist I never expected happened.
Someone leapt from the treetops—not an ordinary jump, but the kind action heroes practice for months in front of mirrors.
His copper-brown hair shimmered under moonlight, his eyes entirely silver with no black pupils, wearing a black shawl wrapped around his neck with golden threads glowing in the dark.
In short—he looked like a ready-made catalog model from "Manga Heroes Who Stole the Spotlight."
He spoke in a cold, cliché-heroic tone: "Darmon."
Ah, I guess that's Mr. Fangs' real name…
Darmon—let's call him that now—turned slowly, eyes widening in surprise… then grinned widely like a waterfall of blood and said: "@#&--@&-, Boris."
As always, I understood nothing he said—but that last word came out after an overly dramatic pause.
Yes, that's the protagonist's name.
I'm a genius at guessing. My mom fed me raisins instead of fish when I was little—but the results seem excellent.
And so, we witnessed a dramatic name exchange—announcing the beginning of the "Revenge Chapter" in my pathetic theater.
As for me—Ethan—I remain just a hungry prisoner, watching this free show from the front row.
All I wish for now?
A bag of barbecue-flavored crisps.
Yes—something simple and respectable.