Asael struggled against the beastmen’s grip, but their iron-like hands held him firmly in place.
Two on his left arm and shoulder, two on his right, their claws dug into his flesh, pressing him down to his knees.
Despite the pressure, despite the pain—his golden eyes remained locked onto Korran.
Korran raised his hand, his claws gleaming like polished daggers.
He was about to strike.
And Asael could do nothing.
Then—
A shadow lunged from behind.
A flash of movement—silent, precise, deadly.
Kenta.
His dagger gripped tight, his small form barely making a sound as he darted toward Korran''s exposed back.
His blade was aimed straight for the throat.
It would have been a perfect kill.
But Korran…
Knew.
Faster than the eye could follow, his arm shot out.
A sickening crack echoed through the air.
Korran’s clawed hand wrapped around Kenta’s throat mid-air, halting him just inches before the dagger could make contact.
The impact sent a violent jolt through Kenta’s small frame.
His eyes widened in shock.
His dagger slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the stone.
Korran looked at him with amusement, as if a child had just attempted to punch a giant.
“That’s not how you attack someone.”
His voice was calm, almost mocking.
He placed Kenta down on the ground, his grip still firm on the young assassin’s throat.
“Let me show you how it’s really done.”
Korran’s claws extended, their razor edges glistening with malice.
His voice was smooth, almost like a teacher giving a lesson.
“You should always aim for the veins, the heart, or the neck. Like this—”
Then, without hesitation—
A wet, sickening sound filled the air as Korran’s claws plunged deep into Kenta’s chest.
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Straight into his heart.
Kenta’s body jolted, his spine arching in agony.
His breath hitched, sharp and desperate, his hands twitching as if trying to grasp onto something—anything.
Blood erupted from his mouth, spilling over his chin, drenching his shirt in a deep crimson stain.
His pupils dilated, his eyes wild, confused, terrified.
For the first time—
He realized he was dying.
Korran twisted his claws, stirring them inside the still-beating heart.
Kenta’s body convulsed. A strangled gasp left his lips, his breath trembling, fragile, fleeting.
But Korran wasn’t done.
"But just to be sure…"
His other hand flashed forward—
A brutal slash tore across Kenta’s throat, severing flesh, veins, life itself.
A thick stream of blood burst forth, spraying the cold stone floor like a crimson fountain.
Kenta let out a gurgled, wet gasp, his voice lost in the flood of blood drowning his throat.
His knees buckled.
His small hands, once trained to kill in silence, now clutched desperately at his own throat, as if trying to hold his life inside.
But it was useless.
His vision blurred.
His strength faded.
The world around him grew distant, dark, cold.
And then—
He collapsed.
Korran let go.
Kenta’s lifeless body crumpled onto the stone floor.
The sound of a life ending.
Blood pooled beneath him, soaking the stone, soaking the ground, soaking everything.
Asael and Anne could only watch.
Frozen.
Helpless.
A single warm splash of blood landed on Asael’s cheek.
His golden aura flickered—dimmed.
His friend—his comrade—lay before him.
Lifeless.
Eyes empty, staring at nothing.
A boy who had fought for his life, for his friends—
Now nothing more than a corpse.
Korran slowly turned back to Asael, smirking.
"Your turn."
----
The battlefield stood frozen.
Cold. Unforgiving.
A hushed silence loomed, thick as a storm about to break.
The air was damp with the scent of iron, the ground painted with fresh blood.
And at the center of it all, Korran stood tall, his hulking form barely illuminated by the dim torchlight.
He tilted his head, the corner of his lips curling into a smirk as he raised his blood-soaked claws.
Thick, crimson liquid dripped from his fingertips, tracing slow, deliberate paths down his fur.
It fell in rhythmic droplets, staining the ground like ink bleeding into parchment.
"Shall we finish this?" His voice was smooth, almost mocking, as though he were savoring the moment.
The beastmen tightened their grip on their weapons, their muscles coiling as they prepared to strike down the lone warrior before them.
Asael remained motionless.
His knees pressed against the cold, unforgiving stone.
His hands limp at his sides.
His golden eyes fixed—not on Korran, nor the snarling beasts encircling him—but on Kenta’s lifeless body.
Small. Still. Soaked in blood.
And something inside Asael broke.
His fault.
He had let Kenta come. He had promised to protect him. He had sworn it.
And he had failed.
Memories of the boy flashed like shattered glass in his mind.
The mischievous smirk when he’d boasted about becoming the greatest assassin.
The quiet fire in his eyes when he swore to stand by them no matter what.
The way his small hands had once grasped his own, steady and unwavering.
But that warmth was gone now.
All that remained was cold. Stillness. Silence.
Asael’s breath hitched.
The edges of his vision blurred, warped.
The world around him twisted, colors bleeding together like ink running in the rain.
The distant echoes of battle faded, replaced by something else.
Screams.
Pain.
Nothing.
His mind cracked, spiraling into something raw, primal, uncontrollable.
And then—
The heavens trembled.
A sudden gust of wind howled through the battlefield.
Then, without warning, a golden explosion erupted from Asael’s body.
It wasn’t just light—it was fury incarnate.
Blinding, chaotic, alive.
The beastmen staggered back, their instincts screaming at them. Danger.
Korran’s smirk faltered, his expression tightening. He took a step forward, claws tensing. "Kill him. Now."
The beastmen lunged.
But before they could reach him—
Boom.
A shockwave of golden energy blasted outward, sending them hurtling through the air like ragdolls.
They slammed against the stone walls, their bones snapping like brittle twigs.
Some landed in crumpled heaps, others lay twitching in agony.
Asael no longer knelt.
He no longer even stood.
He floated—suspended above the battlefield as though gravity itself no longer dared touch him.
His eyes, once golden orbs filled with warmth and determination, had become something else entirely.
They no longer held pupils. No irises. Just endless, searing gold—pure, radiant, consuming.
Golden lines etched themselves across his face, down his arms, spreading over his armor as though divine hands were reforging him in celestial fire.
His wounds vanished, but they did not merely heal.
They burned with molten light, glowing like sunfire, as if he had become something beyond flesh and blood.
And then—his weapons answered the call.
His sword lifted on its own, rising beside him, vibrating with newfound energy.
But it was no longer alone.
From the air, weapons began to materialize, forming out of the very light that poured from his soul.
A spear, its tip blazing like a falling star.
An axe, crackling with raw power.
A lance, its edge sharp enough to carve through mountains.
A bow, its string drawn by unseen hands, golden arrows forming in midair.
They hovered around him, orbiting like celestial sentinels awaiting his command.
His armor shifted, reshaped, reinforced by the divine energy coursing through him.
Runes glowed across each plate, pulsing with the heartbeat of a god.
The battlefield stood in stunned silence.
The beastmen could do nothing but stare, their feral instincts overtaken by a deeper, more primal fear.
Korran took another step forward, but this time—his movements were slower.
Measured. For the first time, unease flickered in his eyes.
Asael slowly turned his head toward him.
There was no rage in his gaze. No sorrow.
Only judgment.
He was no longer just a warrior. No longer just a man.
At that moment—he had become something beyond them.