Cedric **coughed**.
Wet.
Broken.
Blood bubbled from what remained of his mouth as his chest shuddered violently, one arm twitching weakly against the shattered ground. His body tried to respond—*tried* to rise—but the message never fully reached his limbs. Nerves screamed. Muscles refused.
He was still alive.
Barely.
Draven felt it without turning.
A slow breath left him. Not relief—**annoyance**.
"…You're one stubborn bastard," he said quietly.
He turned back.
The darkness around them thickened, pressing inward like a breath held too long. Draven crouched beside the crater, boots crunching against fractured stone, and seized Cedric by the hair once more, forcing his ruined face upward.
Cedric's remaining eye struggled to focus.
It found Draven.
Hate flared.
Faith tried to follow.
"G…Goddess…" Cedric rasped, his voice shredded beyond recognition. "J-judg—"
Draven slammed his head back down.
**CRACK.**
Not full force.
Just enough.
"Don't," Draven said flatly. "You don't get to call that bitch now."
He released him and stood, rolling one shoulder as if shaking off tension. Blood dripped from his knuckles, pattering softly into the crater below.
Cedric's mana **twitched** again.
A reflex.
A spark of defiance.
Lightning crawled weakly across his skin—erratic, unfocused—burning more of his own flesh than anything else. His fingers clawed at the ground, nails splitting and breaking as he tried—*tried*—to gather power.
Draven watched.
He didn't interrupt.
Didn't rush.
He tilted his head slightly, studying Cedric the way one might examine a cracked blade—deciding whether it was worth reforging or discarding.
"…You know what the difference is?" Draven asked, his voice calm, almost tired. "Between you and me?"
Cedric's jaw trembled. No words came.
Draven stepped closer, his shadow stretching beneath his feet.
"When I'm outmatched, I adapt," he continued. "When I'm wounded, I move. When I'm afraid—" his crimson eye narrowed "—actually, scratch that. I was never *afraid*."
He raised his boot.
Pressed it gently against Cedric's chest.
Lightning sputtered against Draven's leg—and died.
"You?" Draven said. "You pray."
The pressure increased.
Ribs **cracked** beneath the boot. Cedric gasped, the sound thin and broken, blood spilling freely now as his chest collapsed inward.
Draven leaned down, close enough that Cedric could feel his breath.
"This ends one of two ways," he said softly. "You tell me what I want to know."
The shadows crept closer, wrapping around Cedric's limbs as if pinning him in place.
"Or," Draven added, his voice dropping colder still, "I keep breaking you until even your damn goddess can't tell which pieces were yours."
The darkness fell silent.
Cedric's breathing hitched.
Once.
Twice.
And in that fragile pause—caught between faith and fear—the balance finally began to tilt.
The execution wasn't finished yet.
But it had **direction** now.
Draven exhaled slowly.
The pressure in the darkness eased—not because Cedric was spared, but because **Draven decided**.
"…Right," he muttered. "I forgot I don't have time for fucking around."
He stepped back. The shadows loosened their grip just enough for Cedric to gasp, his chest heaving violently as air scraped into ruined lungs. For a single, cruel heartbeat, Cedric thought—
*Mercy.*
Draven looked down at him, his expression unreadable.
"I was gonna take my time," he said calmly. "Show you what it feels like. Limbs first. One by one. Let you count."
Cedric's eye widened, terror finally overpowering fury.
Draven's mouth twitched—not quite a smile.
"But I'm on a schedule."
He turned one blade in his hand, blood sliding off the edge in a slow, deliberate line.
"So forget it."
The shadows **rose**.
Not in a surge.
Not in a storm.
They folded inward, wrapping around Draven's feet, his blade, his very intent—compressing into something thin, absolute, and terrifyingly precise.
Draven crouched slightly, bringing himself level with Cedric's face.
His crimson eye met Cedric's trembling gaze.
"You can pray if you want," Draven said softly. "Maybe if you do it hard enough, you'll make it to heaven as you die."
He straightened.
The blade moved.
No flourish.
No hesitation.
Just a single step forward—
—and **darkness passed through flesh**.
Cedric's prayer broke off in a wet, unfinished sound as the shadow-forged edge **slid cleanly through his throat**, severing everything in its path. Blood erupted in a violent arc, splashing across the ground as the shadows drank it in. Cedric's body went rigid—
—then slack.
His eye stared.
Unseeing.
Lightning flickered once.
Twice.
And went out.
Draven didn't wait for the body to fall.
He was already turning away as Cedric collapsed behind him, head separating with a dull, final thud.
The darkness stilled.
Draven stood motionless for a moment, his chest rising and falling as the last traces of adrenaline bled out of him.
"…Ma said it'd only hold for a few minutes," he muttered, glancing into the endless dark. "How long's it been already…?"
He clenched his jaw.
*Doesn't matter.*
It hadn't been long.
Not long enough to waste even a second.
*As long as it's still active… as long as she's still fighting… there's time.*
Draven straightened, rolling his shoulders once as if shrugging off the weight of what he'd just done. Blood dripped from his glove, vanishing into the darkness before it could touch the ground.
He lifted his head and spoke clearly into the void.
"Mom. I'm done here too."
Silence answered him for a heartbeat—
Then her voice came, calm and faintly amused, echoing from everywhere and nowhere at once.
"Hm~? That was quick. Way quicker than I thought."
Draven snorted softly.
"Yeah, I know, right? Didn't think the bastard would be *that* wack." His gaze hardened. "Now bring me to you. Let's not waste time."
There was a pause—brief, but heavy with unspoken concern.
Then—
"Alright," his mother said gently.
The shadows **answered immediately**.
Darkness rose around Draven's feet, coiling upward like familiar arms. It wrapped around his legs, his torso, his shoulders—warm, protective, absolute.
Just before it swallowed him completely, her voice reached him once more.
"Be careful, honey."
Draven smirked as he faded.
"Always am."
The shadows closed.
And he was gone.
The darkness **settled**.
No wind.
No echo.
No clash of steel.
Just silence—thick and absolute—pressing down on the ruined ground where shadow clung like drying blood.
At the center of it all lay **Cedric**.
Broken.
Still.
His body was half-sunken into the scarred earth, armor split and twisted, limbs bent at angles that spoke of violence finished—not paused. Blood pooled beneath him, blackened where shadow had touched it, sticky and cooling.
And yet—
A **soft golden glow** pulsed faintly from his chest.
Not blazing.
Not triumphant.
Weak.
Unsteady.
Like a dying ember struggling to remember it was once a flame.
The light seeped through cracks in his shattered armor, washing gently over torn cloth and ruined flesh. It flickered in slow, uneven beats—each one dimmer than the last—casting long, trembling shadows across the ground.
No chant followed.
No voice answered.
If the Goddess of Light was watching—
She was silent.
Cedric's eyes stared blankly into nothing, unfocused and unseeing. His lips remained parted as if he had meant to say something more—one final declaration, one last prayer—but whatever words he had intended never came.
The glow brightened once.
Just once.
Then it **fractured**.
Thin lines of light splintered outward across his chest, like cracks spreading through glass. The golden radiance leaked out in fragile streams, dissolving into the surrounding darkness without resistance.
Absorbed.
Smothered.
Gone.
The light faded.
Completely.
The darkness reclaimed the space without ceremony or cruelty—simply because there was nothing left to resist it.
Cedric did not move again.
And in the deep, soundless void where the execution had ended, only silence remained—
Heavy.
Final.
Absolute.