The battlefield was drenched in blood and steel, the scent of death thick in the air.
Asael, Kenta, and Anne fought like demons, their bodies pushed to the brink of exhaustion.
Neither side held the advantage.
Every warrior that fell was replaced by another.
Every beastman cut down only made way for another, more ferocious than the last.
And then—
The tide shifted.
"Proceed with transformation."
Korran’s voice cut through the chaos like a blade, calm and absolute.
For a moment, everything stilled.
The beastmen froze mid-fight, their weapons slipping from their hands.
At first, Asael didn''t understand.
Then it began.
A grotesque symphony of agony filled the air as their bodies convulsed.
Bones cracked like splintering wood.
Flesh twisted, stretched, and reformed in unnatural ways.
Limbs elongated or thickened, muscles pulsing with unnatural power.
Human features melted away, replaced by something raw and monstrous.
Fur sprouted in thick patches, claws sharpened into razors, and eyes—those once filled with intelligence—now burned with nothing but savage hunger.
Some became towering bears, their hides thick as steel.
Others turned into wolves, their bodies sleek and built for blinding speed.
Snakes slithered with new, grotesque length, their fangs dripping venom.
Lions, tigers, panthers, apes—each one took the form of the deadliest predator they could become.
This wasn’t a natural ability.
Not all beastmen could do this.
But Korran’s army could.
And now, they were unstoppable.
A deafening roar shook the battlefield, and then they charged.
Asael swung his blade with all his might, cleaving through the throat of a lunging tiger.
The beast staggered but did not fall, its hide too thick for a clean kill.
A shadow loomed to his side.
A massive bear’s paw, larger than a shield, slammed into him with the force of a battering ram.
The impact sent him flying, his body crashing against the dirt with a sickening thud.
A sharp, unbearable pain exploded in his ribs. Something had cracked—no, shattered.
Before the agony could fully register, Anne''s golden aura pulsed, knitting his broken bones together in an instant.
He gasped for breath, barely rolling away as a wolf’s fangs snapped inches from his throat.
His sword lashed out, severing its snout in a spray of hot blood.
But another beast was already upon him.
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They were too fast. Too strong.
His divine energy kept him from dying, but it wasn''t enough.
---
Kenta was barely keeping up.
His speed had always been his greatest strength.
But now, it was matched—no, outclassed.
A panther beastman leapt from the shadows, claws gleaming in the firelight.
Kenta twisted, but not fast enough.
A flash of pain.
Blood burst from his arm, the flesh torn down to the bone.
He didn''t scream.
Teeth clenched, he vanished in a blur, reappearing behind the panther, his dagger plunging deep into its spine.
The beast howled, collapsing.
But two more took its place.
He was losing ground.
---
Anne stood in the heart of the battlefield, hands trembling, golden light pouring from her fingertips.
She was the only thing keeping them alive.
A shadow loomed over her.
She turned, breath catching in her throat.
A monstrous gorilla-like beastman towered above her, its crimson eyes locked onto hers.
"No…"
It raised both arms—muscles rippling, veins bulging.
Then it struck.
The ground shattered beneath her as she was hurled through the air like a ragdoll.
Her body slammed into a stone pillar, her bones screaming in protest.
Blood spilled from her lips.
Her vision blurred.
Her magic flickered.
And then—
Her healing stopped.
---
Asael saw Anne collapse.
Saw Kenta struggling to even stand.
Saw the monstrous horde closing in.
No.
His fingers tightened around his sword.
His golden aura flared, surging wildly, breath ragged and unsteady.
He had only one choice.
Korran.
The bastard was watching, perched atop the ruined stone steps, amusement flickering in his cold eyes.
If he could just kill Korran, this nightmare would end.
No matter the cost.
With a furious roar, Asael charged straight through the battlefield.
A lion lunged at him.
He ducked, severing its legs in a single stroke.
A snake beast coiled around his torso, fangs bared. He drove his elbow into its skull, feeling the bone crack beneath his strike.
A boar gored him through the side, its tusks sinking deep.
He ripped them out with a snarl, divine energy sealing the wound as he pressed forward.
But it was getting harder.
His bones cracked under the pressure.
His muscles screamed in agony.
Yet he did not stop.
Blood streamed from his body, his armor battered and broken.
Every beast was after him now.
But he didn’t care.
Step by step, he reached the top.
Korran stood there, waiting.
Asael raised his sword, every last ounce of strength pouring into a single, final strike.
A blow meant to cleave through the heavens themselves.
A finishing blow.
But—
Korran was already gone.
Asael’s blade sliced through nothing but empty air.
Before he could even comprehend what had happened—
A knee slammed into his stomach.
His ribs caved in with a sickening crunch.
Blood exploded from his mouth.
His body folded from the sheer force, launching him backward.
The world spun before he crashed into the shattered ruins, pain erupting in every nerve.
He couldn''t breathe.
Couldn’t move.
Korran’s chuckle echoed through the battlefield.
"You’re too predictable." His voice dripped with amusement, as if he were scolding a child.
Asael stood up again.
He charged forward, his golden aura flaring like a wildfire, his sword a streak of divine radiance cutting through the dimly lit arena.
His breath was steady, his grip firm—each step fueled by desperation, by purpose.
But Korran was already moving.
With a casual grace, he sidestepped, his inhuman reflexes turning what should have been a fatal strike into nothing but a wasted effort.
His eyes, sharp and calculating, never left Asael.
He saw the attack before it even happened.
Then came the counter.
A brutal kick struck Asael’s back like a battering ram, the force sending him stumbling forward.
His boots scraped against the stone floor, barely keeping him upright.
Pain flared across his spine, but he gritted his teeth, shoving it aside.
He wouldn’t fall.
He couldn’t afford to.
He turned sharply and attacked again, his sword slicing through the air with blinding speed.
But once more—he struck nothing.
A whisper of movement. A breath of wind.
And Korran was gone.
"I told you," Korran’s voice drifted through the arena, calm, amused, mocking. "It’s too obvious."
Asael barely registered the words before something crashed into his stomach.
A fist.
Not just any fist—Korran’s.
The force drove into him like a sledgehammer, sinking deep into his gut.
His ribs cracked under the sheer power of the blow, splintering like brittle wood.
His body folded inward, his breath vanishing in an instant.
His sword slipped from his grasp, metal clattering against stone.
A ragged cough tore from his throat, and with it came blood, thick and dark, dripping from his lips.
The world blurred, twisting and tilting, but he forced himself to stay conscious.
His fingers twitched.
His will refused to break.
Through sheer determination, he summoned his sword back to his grasp, its golden glow flickering, its once-mighty brilliance now dimming in his trembling hands.
He refused to fall.
Even as his legs trembled beneath him, even as pain carved itself into every fiber of his being—he would fight.
He had to.
---
Among the Demon King’s generals, each was a master of something.
Movok was destruction incarnate, a force of raw, overwhelming strength.
Torex wielded sorcery that turned dreams into nightmares, bending darkness to his will.
And Korran was a strategist whose intellect carved paths to victory before a battle even began.
His power wasn’t brute force. It wasn’t magic.
It was something far more terrifying—foresight.
He saw every opening before it even appeared.
Every swing of a sword, every shift in stance, every flicker of hesitation—he saw it all, calculated it, turned it against his enemy.
To fight Korran was to battle someone who had already won.
---
Asael lunged, pushing past the searing pain in his ribs.
His golden sword flashed toward Korran’s heart, a desperate, final gambit.
But the moment the attack began, it was already over.
Korran moved like a shadow slipping through cracks in the light, sidestepping as if he had read Asael’s thoughts before the strike even began.
Then, the counter.
A sharp, brutal kick lashed out.
Bone shattered.
Pain unlike anything Asael had ever known roared through his leg.
His knee gave out, and he collapsed onto the cold, unforgiving ground.
He gasped, trying to rise, but hands—too many hands—clawed at him.
Beastmen.
They surged forward, their snarling faces twisted with anticipation.
Their claws dug into his flesh, gripping his arms, wrenching them back with impossible strength.
He thrashed. He kicked. He fought with everything he had left.
It wasn’t enough.
They pinned him down.
The hot breath of the beastmen brushed against his skin, their growls rumbling through his bones like distant thunder.
Then they stopped.
The air shifted.
Korran was approaching.
The beastmen parted, giving way to their master.
Slow, deliberate footsteps echoed through the arena.
Korran’s gaze locked onto Asael, cold and unreadable.
He raised a clawed hand, talons glinting under the pale arena lights, their edges wickedly sharp.
He smiled—a cruel, knowing smirk.
"Let’s finish this."
Asael’s heart pounded, a frantic drum against his chest.
He could heal wounds. He could mend broken bones.
But he could not regrow a heart once it was ripped out.
He could not reattach a severed head.
"Can you?"
Korran wondered.
His mouth formed a cruel grin.
The claws descended.
And Asael could do nothing but watch.