The battlefield was a maelstrom of blood, fire, and steel. The dying sun bathed the land in a deep orange glow, painting the ruins of the tavern and the surrounding trees in long, flickering shadows. Smoke rose in tendrils from the charred earth, mixing with the distant howl of the wind as the distant forest whispered with unseen dangers.
But Nebula was already in motion.
His movements were a blur against the dying light. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a handful of flipping coins into the air—the metallic discs glinting as they spun against the twilight sky. Then he whipped up his twin revolvers, spinning them with lethal precision before aiming at the airborne coins… and unleashed hell.
Gunfire erupted.
Each bullet masterfully found their mark on a flipped, airborne coin, bouncing off the metal with a change of trajectory toward unsuspecting enemies. The bullets whistled through the air like messengers of death, shredding through the ranks of several bounty hunters and lower-tier guardians scattered across the battlefield.
And then, Oni struck.
Intent on supporting its master, the smilodon charged into the fray with beastly grace, its brown fur streaked with the blood of its victims. It leapt upon an armored bear, its saber fangs crunching through metal and bone alike. The bear's host screamed as Oni's claws ripped through his chest, his blood splattering across the battlefield like a gruesome rain.
Above the carnage, Jasmin took his shot.
Perched atop his colossal mammoth guardian, he notched an arrow, his eyes sharp as a hawk's. His gaze locked onto a bounty hunter in the midst of summoning his guardian—too slow.
The arrow whistled through the air.
It struck home—piercing clean through the hunter's throat. The man gurgled, his summoning dying with him as his body slumped lifelessly into the dirt.
Laria unveiled twin daggers, their edges gleaming faintly in the twilight. With fluid, dance-like motion, she moved through the chaos, slicing down anyone who dared to stand in both hers and Naritsa's path.
An approaching bounty hunter swung at her but she dipped low, evading his strike like a shadow slipping through moonlight. Before he could recover, her dagger found his ribs, slicing through his flesh with lethal precision. She spun, plunging her second blade into another foe's throat.
With a whisper of power, she summoned Selami—her towering bigfoot guardian.
The beast roared as it barreled into the fray, its massive fists shattering ribs, its feet stomping foes into the bloodied earth.
And then—Naritsa moved.
She stood at the heart of the chaos, her silhouette outlined by the flickering sapphire flames of Haila as she raised her right hand.
Haila responded instantly.
With a deafening screech, the phoenix descended upon the battlefield like a falling sun, its blazing talons crushing hunters beneath its divine weight. A single flap of its wings sent a wave of searing sapphire flames across the battlefield, reducing hosts and guardians alike to ashes.
Gregor stumbled backward, hands shaking, sweat pooling at his temple.
His hands trembled as he clutched his bounty papers—his last, fragile tether to the will of heaven. But even divinity had abandoned him tonight. His forces lay in ruin, several of his comrades reduced to ash.
His heart pounded as he scanned the devastation. He had no choice. He had to flee.
He had severely underestimated the power of the Vessel. This was no longer a battle. This was an extermination.
The bounty priest's command rang through the blood-soaked battlefield, a desperate plea laced with defeat.
"Retreat, brethren!" his voice trembled as he called to the remnants of his forces, his tone lacking its former composure. "Save your strengths and live to hunt another day!"
But Naritsa's burning gaze locked onto him from across the destruction.
"Not happening."
Her voice was like an impending storm—low, unwavering, deadly. The fire in her right palm swirled violently, the sapphire flames crackling like vengeful spirits awaiting release.
"No one leaves under my watch—especially you."
Her voice carried the weight of judgment, like an executioner sealing a fate long overdue.
And then—she struck.
With a flick of her wrist, she unleashed an unrelenting torrent of blue flames. Like a storm of destruction, the fireballs streaked through the battlefield, exploding upon impact, swallowing fleeing enemies in an instant.
Screams pierced the night.
The last remnants of Gregor's forces were engulfed in sapphire fury, their bodies consumed before they could take another step. Their deaths were swift. Their sins, unforgiven.
But Gregor himself—he was not granted the mercy of a quick death.
A shadow loomed overhead.
Haila, the majestic yet vengeful phoenix, had locked onto her prey. She took to the skies, her enormous wings carving through the twilight, her predatory gaze fixed on the priest.
Gregor ran.
His minotaur—Vengeance, weakened but loyal, roared and threw its massive form between him and the incoming wrath of the phoenix. It bolted toward the trees, carrying its master in its protective grasp, its hooves thundering against the ground.
But Haila was faster.
With a single, thunderous flap of her wings, she propelled herself forward, her massive form slicing through the night like an avenging star. As she soared, her feathers detached—only to ignite into searing projectiles mid-air.
A rain of fire descended.
The minotaur barely had time to react before the fiery feathers struck its back. The beast bellowed in sheer agony, its thick hide sizzling, the stench of burning fur filling the air.
It stumbled, its monstrous strength faltering. The momentum carried it forward, but the pain was unbearable—it crashed, tumbling wildly down a sloping ridge within the forest, smashing through ancient trees like brittle twigs.
Then—a final impact.
The beast collided with a boulder, its massive body slamming against the unyielding rock. The forest trembled from the force of the collision. Birds scattered from the treetops.
And then—stillness.
The once-mighty minotaur lay slumped against the boulder, its breathing ragged, its flesh charred. The air around it steamed from the heat of its wounds. It gave a weak, painful grunt before its massive arms released Gregor.
The Bounty Priest fell to the forest floor, his robes tattered, his hands shaking. He turned to his guardian, his face twisted with something he had never shown before.
Despair.
His minotaur—his greatest shield, his unwavering protector—was broken.
Gregor clenched his jaw, his fingers gently gripping his guardian's burned hide. "Vengeance…" he murmured, his voice heavy with raw emotion. His minotaur, despite its suffering, shifted its gaze toward him, loyalty shining in its pain-clouded eyes.
But then—footsteps.
A slow, haunting approach.
Gregor turned, his breath hitching.
Emerging from the darkness, Haila stepped forward.
Her claws left scorch marks on the grass, each step deliberate, her massive wings folding close as she stalked toward the priest and his wounded guardian. The glow of her sapphire fire illuminated the trees, the surrounding shadows flickering like wraiths.
Her cyan eyes bore into him—silent, merciless.
Gregor exhaled shakily, his fingers still curled into his minotaur's bloodied fur. His body trembled—not from pain, not from exhaustion, but from the cold embrace of death pressing upon him.
Still, he refused to let fear show. He straightened his posture toward the looming phoenix, lifting his chin with the last remnants of his pride.
"Finish it."
His voice did not shake.
He would not beg. He would not cower. If this was his end, then so be it.
"But know that my demise won't be the end for me," he added, his voice unwavering. "I will rise beyond this flesh. My soul is bound to heaven's will. I'd be eternal—"
He closed his eyes, awaiting the inevitable—the cleansing fire, the swift release of death.
But the inferno never came.
Instead, Haila stirred.
The towering phoenix, wreathed in sapphire fire, suddenly let out a low, cryptic screech—its head tilting sharply as if sensing something beyond the mortal realm. Then, with an abrupt flap of its wings, it turned away, soaring into the sky with a haunting, screeching cry.
Gregor's eyes snapped open.
He watched in shock as his executioner abandoned him. His breath caught in his throat. He blinked once, twice.
And then, a grin. A wide, twisted grin.
"Hah!" He threw his head back and laughed—a single, manic chuckle escaped his throat before swelling into a full, deranged laughter.
"Even legendary beasts hesitate to harm me!" His voice rang out through the forest, arrogance seeping into every word. "I am untouchable! I am divine! I am a true saint—"
"—Says who?"
The voice came from the darkness.
Low. Abyssal. Ancient.
It did not belong to any man. It belonged to something else.
Gregor's triumphant smirk froze on his lips. His blood turned cold.
The shadows of the smoldering forest stirred, twisting unnaturally, contorting into a singular silhouette.
At first, it looked small—like the frail outline of a child. But the moment it took another step forward, Gregor realized…
Something was terribly wrong.
The air grew dense. The trees groaned as if under the weight of something colossal, something unnatural. The very ground beneath him pulsed like a living thing, rejecting his presence.
The figure stood at the edge of the firelight, its face obscured, its body wrapped in unnatural shadows. But then, it tilted its head.
Slowly.
Too slowly.
Then, from the abyss of its face, two glowing, blood-red eyes sliced through the darkness.
Eyes that held no mercy. No warmth.
Only malice.
A suffocating pressure wrapped around Gregor's chest.
His breath hitched. His fingers went numb.
This wasn't a mere enemy.
This was something far worse.
Gregor forced himself to speak, though his voice came out as a hoarse whisper.
"Who's there? Who are you?"
Silence.
Then—the figure took another step forward.
The moment their foot touched the ashen ground, Gregor felt his stomach lurch. A raw, primal fear gripped his soul, one he had never known before—not even in the face of execution.
His instincts screamed at him to run, to get away from whatever this thing was.
But he could not move.
"You failed," the figure finally spoke, its voice like shattered glass and the whispers of the damned all at once.
Gregor's lips parted, but no words came.
"You failed to retrieve the two Guardian Vessels," the figure continued, stepping forward. "And now, you are doomed for eternity in hell."
Gregor's heart slammed against his ribs, confusion flickering across his features.
Two Guardian Vessels?
His mind raced. What did they mean, two?
Naritsa was the only known vessel in Nebula's group. That was an undeniable fact.
So who?
Was it the Lord of Shade Vermilion? But he was no fugitive—
Then, realization struck the priest like a divine curse.
Someone else among the fugitives… was also a Guardian Vessel.
His breath grew ragged. His eyes widened in sheer disbelief.
But he never got the chance to dwell on it.
Because by the time he processed the truth—the figure had already moved.
Too fast. Too precise.
The last thing Gregor saw was those glowing red eyes.
Then—pain.
A sickening, wet tear of flesh.
His final cry of agony tore through the forest, echoing into the night.
And then—silence.
***