The ash had begun to settle.
Kael stood in the middle of the ruined square, unmoving. His skin was marked with the fading trails of black, glowing lines. The Devourers around him were nothing but smoldering remains, scattered like burned leaves.
But he didn't lower his guard.
Something was wrong.
The silence was too heavy. The air... too still.
And then—he saw him.
At the edge of the square, walking calmly over the rubble with a soundless grace, was a man. Not a beast. Not a creature. A man.
Tall. Lean. Clad in sleek black clothing that didn't seem touched by dirt or war. His hair was white, slicked back with uncanny precision. Eyes—violet, glowing faintly—locked onto Kael like they were studying something beneath his skin.
Kael's fingers curled slowly into fists. This presence—this weight—was unlike any Devourer before.
He didn't need to think. He just moved.
Kael dashed forward.
In a breath, he closed the distance, his fist trailing black energy as it snapped toward the figure's jaw.
It never landed.
The man tilted his head an inch.
Kael's strike tore past him, meeting only air.
Before Kael could adjust, he spun, launching another blow. Then a third. Then a blast of his awakened force.
Still—nothing.
The man danced around him, not with speed, but with grace. Each dodge was effortless. His expression didn't even change.
Kael leapt back, reevaluated, and launched again—this time with more precision, feinting high and releasing a burst of pressure from his palm low.
It brushed the figure's side—his coat ruffled.
He didn't even blink.
Then, casually, he raised one hand and caught Kael's next punch with two fingers.
Kael pushed. His markings lit up again, raw energy surging through his veins.
Nothing.
The man held him still, like he was testing something. Measuring weight. Observing structure.
"Hmm," he finally said, his voice smooth, disarmingly calm. "You don't feel anything at all, do you?"
Kael didn't respond. He yanked his hand back, dropped low, and spun into a wide arc kick.
The man stepped over it.
"Strange," he mused, placing one hand behind his back. "No fear. No hatred. No confusion. Not even hunger." He smiled faintly. "You're... quiet."
Kael released another pulse of power—a sharp burst aimed straight for the chest.
It hit.
The man's body tilted back slightly.
But when the light cleared, he was still standing. Unharmed.
Kael's breathing grew shallow. His energy reserves were dropping. But he didn't stop.
He launched again—faster, more frantic. Left. Right. Strike. Burn. Kick. Step. Repeat.
The man didn't even look like he was trying.
Finally, with a bored sigh, the figure flicked his wrist.
Kael was thrown back—not from a punch, not from a blast—but from raw force.
He hit the ground, slid across broken pavement, and stopped only when a chunk of debris caught his ribs. He got up instantly. Shaky. Eyes still locked forward.
The man approached slowly.
"I'm impressed," he said. "You don't know what you are... and yet you keep moving forward like it's programmed into you."
Kael's fists clenched.
His markings flickered.
"I've broken warlords with less effort than you," the man continued. "But you... you're not resisting.
Kael didn't speak. He didn't need to.
His body lunged forward again, ignoring the pain.
The leader raised a single hand—and stopped him mid-step. Not physically. Just… stopped him.
Kael's body froze. His limbs refused to respond. The pressure around him thickened like tar.
The man leaned in close, eye-to-eye.
"You're not ready," he said, quiet now. "But I wonder... when you are, will you still be this dull little thing pretending to be human?"
Kael's vision blurred. Static hissed at the edge of his mind. His body shuddered from the invisible force.
The man straightened. He still didn't leave.
He just stood there, hands behind his back, head tilted slightly.
Watching.