Fedran turned.
His gaze snapped back to Asepha like a noose tightening.
And then—his eyes began to glow.
This was no sorcery.
No blood magic.
This was something older.
His pupils dilated into pits of flame, a crimson radiance spilling out like coals beneath torn skin. His grin widened—twisted, feral. His teeth clenched and ground against each other with audible strain, blood seeping between them. It mixed with spit, drooling down his chin in thin strings.
His mouth bled.
His eyes wept—tears that shimmered red.
Not sorrow.
Not grief.
He had drowned in his own madness.
He opened his mouth, lips quivering with rage, and hissed through his clenched jaw:
"…what?"
Asepha froze.
Her breath caught in her throat.
Her spine stiffened, her limbs unresponsive.
She stared at him like one stares at a creature from the abyss—not a man, not even a beast, but something shaped in the dark and loosed upon the world by mistake.
She took a trembling step back.
Then another.
And then her legs gave out.
She collapsed to her knees in the mud, eyes wide and hollow, choking on a fear so vast it broke through every spell she had ever studied.
Her voice cracked as she looked up at him, barely more than a whisper:
"Curse you… and your mother's bones…" she rasped.
"…Demon… you'll doom us all…"
A red haze began to rise from Fedran's chest, pulsing softly like breath made visible. The air shimmered. Warped. As if refusing to hold his shape any longer.
And then—he vanished.
A blink.
A blur of red mist.
A flash of motion that left no sound but the sickening snap of impact.
The dagger pierced her from beneath the chin, the blade rising like judgment through soft flesh and bone. It skewered up through her jaw, splitting her tongue in half as it rose into the roof of her mouth.
Asepha tried to scream.
What came out was a thick, choking gurgle—nothing more.
Fedran didn't flinch.
He drew the dagger back with force, tearing it downward as he moved. The edge split her lower face in one clean, grotesque line—her tongue, her jaw, her chin cleaved apart in a single, wet motion.
A ribbon of blood curled through the air, catching the light.
Then—he seized her.
Both hands gripped her cheeks, forcing her mangled mouth open. Her body jerked beneath him, twitching in agony.
He leaned in.
And spat—hard—into the ruin of her mouth.
The blood. The hate. The contempt—it all landed there, where her voice had once lived.
Then—without ceremony—he grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanked her head back—
—and drove the dagger straight between her eyes.
Her skull cracked from the force. Her body fell backward, twitching once. Just once.
And then, as she slumped into the mud, he stepped forward and slammed the edge of his boot into her throat.
Bone shattered. Her body spasmed.
Blood erupted from her mouth like a final curse denied breath.
And then—
Silence.
Only the sound of Fedran's breathing remained.
Animal. Ragged. Deep.
Ralme stood frozen, rooted to the earth.
He had seen war. Death. Betrayal.
But this—
This was something else.
Asepha's corpse lay broken in the dirt, her eyes glassy, her mouth frozen open in a mockery of her final words. Blood pooled beneath her head, dark and thick, soaking into the earth like ink.
Fedran didn't move.
He just stood there, staring down at the body. His chest rose and fell, each breath less human than the last—like a beast coming down from the edge of frenzy.
Slowly, the pressure in the air began to ease.
The crimson haze around him faded.
Whatever had taken hold of him... began to loosen its grip.
His shoulders dropped.
His breath slowed.
He blinked.
But Ralme didn't move.
His bow hung slack in his hands.
And his eyes—
They never left Fedran.