"The way to paradise is an uphill climb whereas hell is downhill. Hence, there is a struggle to get to paradise and not to hell."
-Al-Ghazali
"YOU DISGUST ME!!!"
The captain's roar shook the air, his voice a thunderclap of fury. Gine, the archer, flinched as if struck, his gaze locked on the floor-too ashamed to meet his commander's wrath. Beside him, Helga, the mage, stood with slumped shoulders, her fingers trembling at her sides.
"COWARDS!"
he bellowed, spitting the word like venom.
"FOOLS!"
Each syllable lashed at them, stripping away what little dignity they had left.
Then, with a voice so sharp it could flay skin, he snarled,
"HOW DARE YOU SHOW YOUR FACES HERE AFTER WHAT YOU'VE DONE?"
Neither dared to speak. Neither dared to breathe. The weight of their failure pressed down on them, heavier than any armor, crueler than any blade.
"You were ordered to follow Cabbel Carther's command—my command!"
The captain's voice was a rising storm, each word crashing harder than the last. His fists trembled at his sides, knuckles white with barely restrained fury.
"And what did you do?!"
The accusation hung in the air like a blade.Gine and Helga remained silent, their shame a suffocating weight.
Then, with a roar that shook the very walls, he unleashed his wrath
"You left him to rot in that hellhole-the
Imperial Dungeon!"
Spittle flew from his lips, his face contorted in disgust.
"You abandoned him!"
The words struck like a whip, leaving no room for excuses. No room for mercy.
"With all due respect, Captain..."
Gine's voice was a low grumble, edged with defiance. His fingers twitched at his side not quite a fist, but no longer relaxed.
"Cabbel's own recklessness got him into that mess. He wasn't thinking."
"And-"
Helga tried to interject, her voice frail compared to the brewing storm between them.
"We misunderstood it, Captain."
Helga's voice carried a scholar's patience, though her fingers still worried at the hem of her sleeve. She met Gine's defiant stare with weary resolve.
"The Imperial Dungeon is a crucible. A forge where ordinary souls are tempered into legends... or broken trying."
The wind moaned through the ruins like the dungeon's distant echoes.
"Every gateway-every realm it touches-exists to test us. The Fae's illusions teach cunning. The dragons' trials demand valor. Even the darkest abysses... they reveal what lurks in our own hearts."
Her staff glowed faintly, reacting to the weight of her words.
"Cabbel knew this. He chose the path of flames, believing himself ready. But the dungeon doesn't care for bravery alone.
It judges whether you're strong enough to survive becoming what it demands."
Gine's grip on his bow slackened.
Somewhere behind them, a lone wolf howled-or perhaps it was something far older.
Gine's grip tightened on his bowstring, his voice raw with frustration.
"We begged Cabbel to turn back after the third spatial shift. But every gateway just fueled his madness-'One more realm,' he'd say. 'One more challenge.' Like the damned dungeon had him under a spell."
A cold wind whistled through the ruins as Helga's gemstone bracelet flickered a phantom echo of their narrow escape. When she spoke, her words carried the weight of a funeral bell.
"The kingdom's arrogance blinds them.
Records show 98.99% of entrants never return-not knights, not scholars, not even the gifted. No one is spared."
Her fingers brushed the fractured Mathix gem at her throat.
"We only escaped because I reverse-engineered the dungeon's coordination with my Mathix into these gems... and even then, it nearly tore us apart."
The unspoken truth hung heavier than her words: Cabbel had refused a gem when she offered.
"Before we realized what was happening
_"
Helga's voice fractured like thin ice. Her fingers curled around her fractured Mathix gem, its dim glow reflecting in her hollow stare.
"Carther was already in Ifrit's grasp."
A silence thicker than dungeon fog settled over them. The air grew heavy with the scent of charred amber and something ancient-something that didn't belong in their world.
"Not just any demon..."
Her whisper carried the weight of a death sentence.
"The Ifrit. A Jinn of smoldering will from the deepest Islamic hells. It didn't kill him—it chose him."
Gine's breath hitched as the memory struck. Carther's body rigid before the flaming entity, his eyes glassy and vacant. No struggle. No scream. Just a vessel waiting to be filled.
Lumberjack stood like a siege tower-arms crossed over his barrel chest, his shadow swallowing the flickering torchlight between them. At seven-foot-eleven, he didn't just loom; he dwarfed, his fawn skin etched with scars that even the dungeon hadn't gifted him. His Balbo beard twitched as he ground his molars, black eyes pinning Gine and Helga where they stood.
"So let me summarize,"
he rumbled, voice like boulders colliding.
"You abandoned a comrade to a fate worse than death-because a sparkler with a bad temper hypnotized him?"
Helga's Mathix gem pulsed erratically against her collarbone. Gine opened his mouth—
"Save it."
Lumberjack's palm smacked the stone wall hard enough to crack mortar.
"Here's your redemption: You're going back. You're pulling Carther's soul out of that Jinn's clutches. And you're finishing your godsdamned mission."
The dungeon's distant winds howled like a chorus of the damned. He leaned down until his breath—hot with the stench of iron and cheap whiskey—washed over them.
"Or I'll show you what real hell fire feels like."
A crimson aura-thick like congealed blood-pulsed around Lumberjack's frame, warping the air with every heartbeat. It wasn't just the light that bent; the sound of his breathing seemed to slow, each exhale a growl that vibrated in their ribcages.
Gine's fingers twitched toward his dagger-not to fight, but because slitting his own throat suddenly felt kinder than disobedience. Helga's knees hit the ground first, her Mathix gem darkening as if the stone itself recoiled.
"Y-Yes, Captain..."
Their voices tangled into a single, strangled whisper. The dungeon's winds stilled. Even the torch flames froze mid-flicker, as though the world itself feared to interrupt.
Lumberjack's smile didn't touch his eyes.
"Glad we understand each other."
Gine and Helga turned toward the massive arched doorway-only to freeze as a figure burst through, silhouetted against the torchlight.
The first man collapsed forward, hands on his knees, his breath coming in ragged gulps like he'd outrun death itself. Sweat dripped from his brow, pooling on the stone floor.
"Captain! Captain!"
His sharp eyes darting between Gine and Helga as if already assessing their failures. Lumberjack didn't so much as blink.
"Taurus."
His voice could've chiseled stone.
"Took you long enough."
Taurus crunched forward, hands planted on his knees as sweat rained from his face onto the stone floor. His entire body heaved like a bellows, his reddened face glistening under the torchlight.
"Oh... jeez..." he wheezed, gulping air between words. "Ran... fifty-five….. kilometers... ten minutes... whole-ass..
other side... of the kingdom..."
A single, fat droplet fell from his nose with an audible plink.
Lumberjack stared. One thick, black eyebrow crept upward like a suspicious caterpillar.
"...Huh."
The grunt wasn't disbelief. Wasn't even judgment. Just pure, distilled what-the-hell-am-I-hearing confusion.
Behind him, Gine mouthed
"Fifty-five?"
to Helga, who could only shrug, her Mathix gem dimly pulsing in time with Taurus' hyperventilation.
"I don't recall ordering you to march here at full speed,"
Lumberjack said, his voice as dry as the dungeon's deepest crypts.
"N-no—! It was Zane-dono!"
Taurus wheezed, finally straightening up just enough to gesture wildly behind him.
"He bet me fifty gold I couldn't make it here first!"
As he spoke, his gaze swept across the guild's colossal entrance hall-the heart of the Solis Knights and Adventurers. The vaulted ceilings echoed with the clatter of tankards, the murmur of quest contracts, and the occasional burst of laughter. Parties huddled around worn oak tables, their gear as varied as their backgrounds, grizzled veterans sharpening blades, mages debating spellcraft over steaming teas, and rookie adventurers staring wide-eyed at bounty boards.
"Then you are quite late,"
the captain grumbled, his voice like gravel rolling downhill. Taurus blinked, sweat still dripping from his brow.
"Hah..? But I just—"
Lumberjack jerked his thumb toward the shadowed corner of the guild hall.
"You're so slow, you know that, Taurus?"
A crisp crunch punctuated the jab. From the corner, Zane strolled into the torchlight, lazily biting into a ruby-red apple. He'd even had time to peel the damn thing-the spiral of skin dangled from his fingers like a trophy.
"Mmf-had enough time to grab a snack and a nap,"
he added, tossing the apple core over his shoulder. It landed perfectly in a nearby waste bin.
Taurus' eye twitched. His fists clenched.
Somewhere in the hall, a rookie whispered,
"Wait, they both ran here from the eastern border?!"
Lumberjack sighed. "Gods spare me from idiots with endurance."
"What took you so long?"
Zane smirked, inspecting his nails with exaggerated boredom.
"I got here nine minutes ago."
Taurus' jaw dropped. Nine minutes? He'd poured every ounce of speed he had into this race-legs burning, lungs screaming-and Zane had still beaten him by nearly a decade?
A cold realization settled in his gut. This man wasn't just fast. He was a force of nature.
"You—!"
Before Taurus could sputter a reply, Zane's hand resting lazily on his hip, he sauntered forward-and flicked Taurus squarely on the forehead.
Tok!
The sound echoed absurdly loud in the guild hall. A few nearby adventurers snickered.
"Maybe next time,"
Zane said, grinning as Taurus' face flushed crimson.
"try running instead of jogging."
"Oww!"
Taurus clutched his forehead, fingers pressing into the spot where Zane's flick had landed. The tok still reverberated in his skull like a misfired spell.
"So much for the 'Fastest Man in Solis Kingdom',"
Zane sighed, shaking his head in exaggerated disappointment. He leaned in, close enough for Taurus to see his own pitiful reflection in Zane's smug grin.
"H-Hey!"
Taurus' voice cracked. His eyes shimmered with unshed tears-partly from the sting, mostly from the humiliation.
"Stop treating me like some-some kicked puppy!"
A nearby bartender snorted into a tankard.
Three rookies at the quest board were failing to hide their laughter behind poorly raised hands.
"Just you wait!"
Taurus jabbed a finger at Zane, his earlier tears replaced by fiery determination.
"I'll catch up to you in no time-and then you'll be the one eating my dust!"
Zane threw his head back and laughed—a rich, unrepentant sound that bounced off the guild's vaulted ceilings.
"Yeah, right."
He wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.
"Come back to me when you can outrun light itself. Maybe then I'll consider a rematch."
He punctuated the jab with a lazy flick of his wrist, as if swatting away Taurus' ambition like a bothersome fly.
Taurus' eye twitched.
"Until then—"
Tok!
Zane flicked him again-same spot, harder-before Taurus could finish. The elite knight yelped, more from indignation than pain, and stormed off with a string of muffled curses, his boots stomping echoes across the guildhall. Helga and Gine stood frozen near the ale barrels, exchanging glances.
This wasn't just unusual. It was unthinkable. Taurus-the same man who'd once dueled a frost wyrm bare-handed, who'd trained half the knights in this very hall-had just been reduced to a sputtering, red-eared mess by some grinning stranger in a travel-worn cloak.
"Do you have any idea who that is?"
Helga's whisper was barely audible-the kind meant for ears only inches away. Her breath stirred the stray hairs at Gine's temple as she leaned in, her Mathix gem dimming to avoid drawing attention. Gine tilted his head, lips nearly brushing her ear in return.
"Rumor is... the King's old adventuring partner invited him."
A pause.
"From his legendary party days."
The unspoken weight of that statement hung between them like a drawn blade.
"Maybe... that's him,"
Helga murmured.
Their eyes locked onto Zane in unison, scrutinizing every detail. No gilded armor. No heraldry. Just a dark grey shirt worn thin at the elbows, black jeans frayed at the cuffs, and that ever-present brown crossbody bag-its leather weathered by what looked like decades of travel. He looked less like a living legend and more like a wanderer who'd stumbled in from the rain.
Yet—
The way Lumberjack subtly shifted to give him space at the bar. The way the guild's shadows seemed to cling to him just wrong. The way his fingers tapped an arrhythmic pattern against his thigh-
In the Solis Kingdom, where tailored frock coats and polished pocket watches marked nobility, and even commoners wore structured vests and pressed slacks, Zane stood out like a stain on silk.
His sleeves rolled haphazardly, his jeans clearly tailored for movement, not fashion, and that weathered crossbody bag-it all screamed outsider. In a kingdom that prized appearances as much as results, his very presence was a provocation.
Yet there he was, lounging at the guild's bar like he owned it, Lumberjack himself refilling his ale without a word.
Gine's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Only someone tied to the King could waltz around dressed like that and not get tossed into the stocks."
"Or someone the King fears."
A beat. Somewhere in the rafters, a crow cawed-too early for its night roost.
Gine looked over to Helga as he blinked. Then blinked again.
Helga-ever the composed scholar, the one who'd once scolded him for daring to lick a dungeon rune-was now openly ogling Zane like a starved wolf eyeing a feast.
Her lips were parted, a thin trail of drool glistening at the corner. Her cheeks burned crimson. Hot steam puffed from her nostrils with each heavy breath.
And her words—
"Such... a perfect physique..."
Her fingers twitched, as if already mapping the terrain of his shoulders.
"The balance-masculine strength, yet that elegant taper at the waist—"
A shuddering inhale.
"The things I could do with him—"
Gine's expression flatlined.
"H-Helga!?"
Carther's voice cracked like a whip-half horrified, half fascinated. He'd seen her dissect cursed artifacts without blinking, recite ancient incantations in her sleep... but this? This was uncharted territory. Helga jolted back to reality, her entire face burning scarlet.
"D-Did I say that out loud?!"
From across the guild hall, Zane's voice carried like a well-aimed dart.
"Every. Word."
He flashed a grin, running a hand through his hair with theatrical flair.
"And thank you, darling-I do take pride in my upkeep."
A strangled squeak escaped Helga's throat. Her eyes rolled back.
"Whoa—!"
Carther barely caught her as she crumpled forward, her limp body slumping against his chest. He fumbled for a moment-then awkwardly patted her back, his own ears turning pink.
"Uh.There, there...?"
"Enough tomfoolery."
Lumberjack's voice didn't raise. It didn't need to.
The guild's chatter died mid-laugh. Tankards froze halfway to lips. Even Zane's smirk faded a fraction as the captain's gaze locked onto Carther-still holding the unconscious Helga like a bride in some absurd ceremony.
"You're going back to that dungeon."
The words were ice wrapped in steel.
"And you will not return without Cabbel."
A beat. The torchlight guttered, casting Lumberjack's shadow monstrously across the wall.
"Understood?"
It wasn't a question. It was a last chance.
Carther's throat bobbed. He hitched Helga higher onto his back in a clumsy piggyback, her arms dangling limp over his shoulders.
"C-Crystal, Captain!"
Lumberjack exhaled-a slow, measured breath that carried the weight of a dozen unspoken curses. Then he turned.
At 7'11", he loomed over Zane like a monolith, his shadow swallowing the smaller man whole. The guild's ambient noise faded to a hush.
Zane tilted his head back, unfazed, his grin never slipping.
"Been a while, hasn't it, Lumberjack?"
A muscle twitched in the captain's jaw.
"Zane."
That single syllable held years of history—warnings, grudges, maybe even a flicker of respect. Then, without another word, Lumberjack pivoted on his heel and strode toward the back corridors.
"Come with me."
Zane followed, his boots clicking rhythmically against the guild's polished marble floors. Sunlight streamed through the arched windows, painting the blue-grey halls in shifting patterns-illuminating knights in antiquated plate armor debating with mages in modern tactical gear. The air hummed with overlapping conversations, quest scrolls, and the occasional burst of spellfire from a training chamber. Zane drawled, hands laced behind his head,
"heard from your little minions that you're babysitting the new Hollow Star hostess."
Lumberjack didn't break stride.
"She's under my supervision."
"Yup!"
Zane popped the 'p,' grinning at a passing group of wide-eyed novices.
"And wow, what a prodigy! That girl's potential?"
He whistled.
"No ceiling. No floor. Just infinite boom waiting to happen."
"Zane,"
Lumberjack rumbled,
"if I got a coin for every time you said that when a new Host appears, I'd be swimming in gold like Scrooge McDuck."
The air between them shifted. Zane's grin slipped-not faded, but dropped, like a mask tossed aside. His usual playful glint hardened into something sharper, older.
"I know."
Two words, weighted with centuries of failures.
"I won't fail this time."
Lumberjack studied him-the tension in his jaw, the white-knuckle grip on that ever-present crossbody bag.
"I hope so. For your sake."
Then, the doors."Zane," Lumberjack rumbled,
They swung open to reveal a colossal chamber, its walls lined with floor-to-ceiling windows, each pane etched with glowing runes that pulsed like veins. A crimson carpet unfurled toward the room's heart, so deep in color it seemed to drink the light. Somewhere beyond, a clock ticked.
Zane's boots clicked against the marble as he stepped forward-no swagger now, just purpose.
Lumberjack's knee struck the crimson carpet with a resonant thud, his head bowing until his brow nearly brushed the woven threads.
"My King,"
his voice echoed in the vast chamber,
"as you commanded-he stands before you."
The throne loomed ahead, its gilded edges cutting through the dim light like molten sunbeams. And upon it—a figure of two natures.
From the waist up, a man. his beard a cascade of paper-white strands pooling at the throne's base, his hands-broad and scarred-resting on the armrests like battle-worn relics. Each knuckle told stories of wars won and lost, each ridge of flesh a map of forgotten campaigns.
Yet below...
The throne's shadows clung thickly, obscuring where man ended and something other began.
Zane, for once, stood perfectly still.
The throne's shadows clung thickly-but not enough to hide the truth.Where man ended, serpent began: a coil of light-green scales, each one etched with scars that mirrored those on his hands. Some were jagged, the marks of blades; others smooth and sinuous, as if carved by claws or curses.
Together, they wove the same story—a chronicle written in pain and perseverance. This was no ordinary king. This was a being who had fought time itself and emerged neither victor nor vanquished, but something in between. A man who had tasted the infinite-and found it bitter.
His voice, when it came, was the sound of mountains grinding to dust.
"Zane..."
The name hung in the air like a blade on a frayed thread.
Zane's usual smirk was nowhere to be found.
"It's been a while, hasn't it?"
Zane's voice was uncharacteristically quiet
-almost reverent. The kind of tone one used in crypts and sacred groves. Then, with deliberate precision.
"Cecrops. The diphuês."
The throne room's air grew heavier, as if the name itself carried the weight of forgotten epochs.
For a moment, the serpent-king's scars seemed to glow faintly-old wounds remembering old battles. Then, a sound like dry parchment unfurling: his laughter. Soft. Wistful.
"I haven't been called that in ages..."
His beard shifted like a living thing, strands whispering against his scaled coils. Somewhere in the chamber's depths, torchlight caught the edge of something metallic—a discarded crown? A broken sword?—half-buried in shadow.
The king's hands trembled as he gripped the armrests, his once-mighty frame now straining against the weight of centuries. His serpentine coils shifted uneasily, scales rasping against stone like whispered confessions of frailty.
Zane moved before conscious thought-his usual swagger replaced by something quieter, softer.
He caught Cecrops' hand between his own, fingers cradling parchment-thin skin over battle-hardened knuckles. For a heartbeat, he looked less like a rogue and more like a grandson steadying his elder.
"It truly has been a long while,"
Zane murmured, voice rough with uncharacteristic gentleness. As Cecrops rose, Zane released him-but not before surreptitiously ensuring his balance. The old king cleared his throat, the sound like autumn leaves scraping stone, and for a moment, neither spoke.
"My age is finally catching up to me..."
Cecrops sighed, his serpentine coils settling heavily around the throne's base like weary vines. Zane's eyebrows shot up.
"What?"
He waved a hand dismissively.
"Come on, you don't look a day older than five million. Heck, with that legendary charm? You could pass for four-point-nine!"
The king's laughter unfurled like an ancient scroll-cracked at the edges but rich with memory. It shook the dust from the chandeliers, stirred the tapestries into brief, dancing life.
"Thank you, my friend,"
The rumbled, the words steeped in a warmth that defied the cold marble halls. For a moment, the scars on his hands and scales seemed to fade-not gone, but softened by the light of camaraderie. Even the torches burned brighter, as if in tribute to this rare, unguarded joy.
"But we both know my time runs short."
The words lingered like a death knell. For a being born where past and future blurred into one, there was only one meaning: his thread in the tapestry of Rox was fraying.
Zane's grin faltered. For once, he had no quip-just a silence that stretched taut between them. Cecrops exhaled, the sound like wind through ancient ruins, and straightened with visible effort.
"Enough about me."
His serpent's tail coiled tighter, scales clicking like a countdown.
"The girl."
The torches guttered. Somewhere in the castle's depths, a clockwork mechanism stuttered, as if the very world hesitated.
"Where is she?"
"She's undergoing training."
Zane's voice was deliberately light, but the way his fingers tightened around his crossbody strap betrayed him. No coordinates. No names. Just enough truth to placate, not satisfy.
Silence…
Cecrops didn't move at first. Then, with the slow, inevitable turn of a celestial body, he pivoted away, his serpent's tail whispering against the marble. His scarred hands clasped behind his back—a king's posture, but the white-knuckle grip told another story. The throne room's runed windows dimmed, as if the very castle held its breath. When Cecrops finally spoke, his voice was softer than falling ash.
"I see."
Two words that meant everything and nothing. A chasm of implication yawned between them. Zane's jaw clenched. He recognized that tone-the calm before the storm.
"Zane."
Cecrops' voice carried the weight of crumbling empires.
"You've stood by me since the old ages. Since the world was young."
A pause. The torches flickered, casting their shadows twisted and monstrous against the rune-carved walls.
"Long ago..."
The king's serpentine tail coiled tighter, scales rasping like a blade being drawn.
"An incident in Arcane City shattered the balance. Darkness spilled into our world —true darkness, the kind that gnaws at the roots of reality."
Zane's usual smirk was absent. His fingers drummed once on his crossbody bag—a nervous tic older than most civilizations.
"Thirty years."
Cecrops exhaled, and the air smelled suddenly of burnt ozone and forgotten graves.
"Thirty years since they clawed their way to a Type Vsociety.
Since they learned to weave the darkness into their machines, their magic, their bones."
A shattered mosaic on the far wall depicted it: a city of spires piercing a bleeding sky, its streets thrumming with something that was neither light nor shadow.
"A society that plays at at falsehood,"
Cecrops hissed, his serpent-half coiling so tightly the marble beneath it cracked.
"Dressing their hubris in starlight and calling it divinity."
The throne room's runes flickered erratically, reacting to his ire. Somewhere in the castle's depths, ancient wards hummed as if straining to contain his power.
Zane watched a shard of broken stone skitter across the floor, his reflection warping in its jagged surface.
"False deities, then,"
he mused.
"All that power, and not a drop of true holiness in it."
Cecrops' laugh was a thunderclap of disdain.
"They wield forces they cannot comprehend! Their 'miracles' are but stolen sparks—"
A sudden pause. The king's claws dug into his armrests, splintering the gold like dry kindling. When he spoke again, his voice was low and grudging.
"...And yet. Their achievements are extraordinary."
The admission cost him. The torches dimmed briefly, as though the flames themselves mourned the concession.
Zane tilted his head, eyes glinting with something perilously close to hope.
The silence that followed vibrated with possibility-and peril.
"Every second, their legions swell,"
Cecrops growled, his serpentine coils crushing the dais to powdered stone. The runes along the walls flared crimson, etching warnings in the air.
"Their weapons evolve beyond reckoning. They harness absolute energy-limitless, inexhaustible."
Zane's usual smirk had vanished. He stared at the cracked reflection of his face in the rubble, distorted like the future itself.
"Rox isn't just falling to Elard and his Star Chasers,"
the king continued, his voice a blade dragged across bone.
"They're not conquering a society-they're consuming the fabric of the realm."
"Then we're not just fighting an empire,"
he muttered.
"We're fighting an entropy."
Cecrops' eyes-one human, one slit-pupiled-burned with grim agreement.
"The Solis Kingdom can't afford to make them our enemy."
Silence…
Not the quiet of contemplation, but the hush before execution. The torches guttered low, their light shrinking away as if fearing what came next. Zane exhaled through his nose-not a sigh, but the sound of a man settling a debt.
"So."
A dry chuckle.
"You're ratting me out, huh?"
His tone held no surprise. Only the weary acceptance of someone who'd seen this script play out before.
Cecrops' claws flexed against the throne.
"You knew this would come."
"Yeah, yeah."
Zane waved a hand.
"You always knew, of course."
Cecrops' voice was almost fond, the way one might mourn a doomed masterpiece.
"You're the cleverest creature I've ever known."
Zane's grin was all teeth, no joy.
"Yeah. Regrettably a gift-and clearly a curse."
The admission hung between them like smoke after gunfire.
Then—
Cecrops raised his hands. Not in surrender, but command. His gnarled fingers curled into a sorcerer's snap-a gesture that had once unmade armies. Torchlight slithered away from the motion, as if afraid of what came next.
"Then you won't blame me,"
the king murmured,
"for what I must do."
"Forgive me, old friend me."
Snap.
The sound cracked reality like a spine. Zane didn't turn. Didn't need to. The shadow looming behind him was a living thing—a monstrosity of condensed darkness, its form flickering between a dozen nightmare shapes. But the fist it threw was terribly, beautifully precise.
"No time to dodge!!"
Zane thought to himself as in a attosecond, Zane whirled around, arms crossed in an X-guard just as the blow landed. A shockwave erupted from the impact.
His body shot across the room like a ragdoll.
CRASH!
The moment he smashed into the wall, the impact sent jagged cracks tearing up to the ceiling. A thick cloud of dust exploded outward, swirling in the aftermath of the brutal hit.
Lumberjack's fist with floating numbers left out smoke from heat. He whirled around his hand making it more relaxed from the pain.
"He blocked that attack less then a hair thread away. The way he blocked my attack as he knew I was going to aim for his chest."
Zane pushed himself out of the crater in the wall, brushing dust off his shoulder without a single scratch. He flashed a grin, sharp as a blade.
"Yeesh, Lumberjack. Ever heard of restraint?"
"Or do you just hit everything like a runaway boulder?"
Lumberjack's voice boomed across the battlefield, louder now, tinged with irritation.
"Don't get cocky just because you blocked one hit. Surviving don't mean you're winning."
Zane smirked, tilting his head.
"Trust me, my cockiness got nothing on your size. I'd need a miracle to compete."
A throbbing vein bulged on Lumberjack's forehead as his face flushed crimson. His massive hands clenched into wrecking-ball fists, knuckles cracking like gunshots.
"Next one will pulverize you."
he growled, the ground trembling beneath his stomp forward.
Zane's grin turned razor-sharp as he lunged forward, his right fist erupting in spiraling flames. Tiny holographic numbers [37][38][39] flashed across his knuckles like a charging gauge.
"Let's see who really hits harder!"
The air screamed as their fists hurtled toward each other, heat distorting the space between them. Half a breath before collision.
Their fists collided-
A sunburst of flames and kinetic force exploded outward that was felt across the entire kingdom. The chamber shattered like glass, shockwaves ripping through stone as a visible dome of pressure expanded—then erupted.
Windows blew out miles away. Birds fell mid-flight. The castle's tallest spire cracked like a twig.Their fists collided. The windows blew out miles away. Birds fell mid-flight. The castle's tallest spire cracked like a twig.
For one terrifying second, the entire kingdom held its breath.
Then-silence. Zane and Lumberjack stood frozen, fists still locked. Zane's smirk was the first thing to move.
"Heh. Guess we both forgot to hold back."