Vorthak's talon pressed against Itsuki's chest.
The razor point dimpled his skin, drawing a single drop of blood.
My master had use for you.
The creature's mental voice carried cold amusement.
He believed you were important somehow. A key to some grand design.
The pressure increased.
But I don't care about his plans.
I don't care about prophecies or destinies.
I only care about the hunt.
The talon pierced skin.
Then muscle.
Then deeper.
And you... have been hunted.
The scream that tore from Itsuki's throat was nothing like the battle cries of warriors.
It wasn't the controlled shout of someone channeling essence into combat.
It wasn't the determined roar of a hero facing impossible odds.
It was the raw, primal shriek of a seventeen-year-old boy who was about to die.
Terror given voice.
Pure and unfiltered.
The sound exploded from him with such force that his throat felt like it was tearing apart. Blood flecked his lips as the scream went on and on, carrying all of his fear, his pain, his desperate refusal to simply disappear.
"NOOOOOOOOO!"
The white void around them began to shake.
Not ripples this time—violent tremors that seemed to crack the very foundation of this impossible space.
His scream carried everything he'd never said:
I don't want to die!
I want to see my friends again!
I want to go home!
I want to tell my parents I love them one more time!
Please—someone—anyone—
HELP ME!
The sound reverberated through the void in ways that defied physics. It bounced off nothing and echoed everywhere, growing louder instead of fading.
As if the emptiness itself was amplifying his desperation.
Carrying it beyond the boundaries of this sealed space.
Broadcasting it across impossible distances.
In the obsidian halls of his fortress, Tsuyari paused mid-step.
The Nullweaver's silver eyes narrowed.
What was that?
He had been walking toward his training chambers, where Shion waited with blade in hand, when something... touched his awareness.
A presence.
Faint.
Familiar.
The boy.
A thin smile curved across Tsuyari's pale lips.
So. That beast has found you at last.
He extended his senses, probing the edges of reality for the source of that desperate cry.
There.
Hidden.
Sealed away in a space between spaces.
His smile widened.
Vorthak, you predictable creature. Did you think I wouldn't sense what you were doing?
Tsuyari began to weave essence around himself, preparing to tear through dimensional barriers.
But as his power reached toward Itsuki's location, it met... resistance.
What?
The space where the boy was trapped had been reinforced. Locked away behind layers of dimensional barriers that even Tsuyari's reality-erasure couldn't easily penetrate.
Clever.
Someone doesn't want the boy to be rescued.
Or perhaps...
His eyes gleamed with sudden understanding.
Someone wants him to suffer first.
To break completely.
Before they make their move.
Tsuyari pressed harder against the barriers, his essence flaring with annihilation-force.
But whoever had sealed that space had done their work well. Each barrier he destroyed was immediately replaced by two more.
A trap within a trap.
How deliciously complicated.
He stopped his assault and stepped back, his smile turning predatory.
Very well. Let the boy face his trial alone.
When he emerges...
If he emerges...
He will be exactly what I need him to be.
Broken.
Desperate.
Ready to accept any offer of power.
No matter the price.
Vorthak twisted the talon deeper.
Itsuki's scream cut off abruptly, replaced by a wet, choking gasp.
There.
Much quieter now.
The creature withdrew its weapon slowly, savoring the way Itsuki's body convulsed around the wound.
Blood welled up from the puncture, bright crimson against his pale skin.
Still alive.
Good.
Dying immediately would be too merciful.
Itsuki tried to speak, to curse, to do anything other than lie there bleeding.
But his lungs wouldn't work properly anymore.
Each breath sent liquid fire through his chest.
Punctured lung.
Maybe both.
Definitely going to die.
His ribs were shattered, grinding against each other with every shallow gasp. His essence flickered like a candle in a hurricane—weak, unstable, fading fast.
Is this what death feels like?
This cold spreading through my chest?
This darkness creeping in from the edges of my vision?
Vorthak stepped back, admiring his handiwork.
I could finish you now.
One quick strike to end your misery.
The creature tilted its massive head, considering.
But where would be the artistry in that?
No. You will die slowly.
Alone.
With nothing but your failures for company.
And when the last of your blood has soaked into this pristine white ground...
I will return to your world.
I will find that little kingdom you call home.
And I will show them what true despair looks like.
The Verythra turned away, dismissing Itsuki as easily as one might discard a broken toy.
Its form began to blur, dissolving back into the white void from which it had emerged.
Goodbye, little godling.
Die well.
And then it was gone.
Leaving Itsuki alone with his wounds and his fading consciousness.
Maybe...
Maybe I should just die already.
The thought drifted through Itsuki's mind like a leaf on still water.
Peaceful.
Almost welcoming.
What's the point of fighting anymore?
I couldn't save Astralyn.
I couldn't protect my friends.
I couldn't even defend myself against one beast.
Some hero I turned out to be.
The white void around him began to blur.
Whether from tears or blood loss, he couldn't tell.
Mom would be disappointed.
Dad too.
They raised me to be strong. To never give up.
But I'm so tired.
So tired of failing.
So tired of being weak.
Blood continued to seep from his wounds, creating an ever-widening pool beneath him.
The only color in the endless white.
Like spilled paint on fresh snow.
His breathing grew shallower.
More labored.
Just let go.
It would be so easy.
Just... let go.
His ice-blue eyes began to flutter closed.
I'm sorry, everyone.
I'm sorry I wasn't—
Enough.
But as his consciousness began to fade, as the cold embrace of death reached up to claim him...
Something stirred in the depths of his essence.
Not Abstract Shift.
Not any power he recognized.
Something deeper.
Older.
Angrier.
And very, very tired of watching him suffer.
The white void around his dying form began to crack.
Not ripples this time.
Fractures.
Like breaking glass.
Or a hatching egg.
And from those cracks, a different kind of light began to seep through.
Not white.
Not crimson.
But silver.