But soon, the Scarred Doll gave its answer.
"Huh?"
Lycaon's low murmur slipped out in surprise as he watched the doll's entire body begin to fade.
No—that wasn't it.
This time, he saw clearly: it wasn't the Scarred Doll turning transparent, but the very substance that made up its form beginning to break apart—disintegrating like fine dust, scattering slowly into the air.
Then, not far away, the drifting dust began to gather again, as if preparing to reassemble itself into the Scarred Doll's shape.
"Hmph!"
Seeing this, Lycaon didn't hesitate. He let out a sharp snort, stomping his foot down hard. Instantly, a frigid blast of air roared outward.
The dust reacted as if alive, trembling in fear. The instant it sensed the chill, it scattered and fled in all directions.
Even so, a portion of it was caught by the cold, frozen into tiny ice crystals before falling to the ground.
Lycaon stayed his hand, choosing to observe instead.
He wanted to see whether the Scarred Doll could reform completely now that part of its dust had been frozen solid.
The answer came quickly—no, it couldn't.
The scattered dust, terrified that Lycaon might freeze its fragments again, reassembled hastily at a speed far faster than before.
But this time, its form was incomplete—missing both its head and its left arm.
From a distance, Lycaon narrowed his eyes and muttered under his breath. "It's missing parts of its body, yet... its Ether concentration seems higher?"
Then his expression changed. "No... wait. Where's its [Core]?"
He'd been watching carefully this entire time, yet realized he had never once seen the Scarred Doll's [Core]—not even when it had turned to dust.
How could that be?
The thought sent a chill down his spine. He hadn't expected this at all, but the moment left him no time to think.
The Scarred Doll moved.
Its knees bent, and with an explosive burst of power, it launched high into the air before crashing down like a meteor. Lycaon had no choice but to leap backward to avoid the impact.
But before he could gain distance, the sharp edge of its scythe cut through the air with a piercing whistle.
Clang!
Lycaon raised his arm to block, brass knuckles locking against the blade.
The Scarred Doll's strength was immense—its pressure steadily forcing Lycaon's arm down toward his head.
His face twisted into a snarl. In that moment, he was like a true wolf, fangs bared, eyes gleaming with feral light as he stared down the headless doll.
Then, in a low, hollow voice, the headless Scarred Doll leaned forward slightly and whispered:
[Sorry... the... notoriety... behind me... they're angry...]
The faint words drifted away like mist. Lycaon's eyes flickered, but before he could respond, the Scarred Doll jumped again, kicking at him fiercely.
Thud!
Lycaon crossed his arms to block, sliding backward as sparks flew from his metal prosthetic scraping against the ground.
Not far away, the Scarred Doll stomped down on one of the frozen chunks Lycaon had created earlier. The shattered ice released a swirl of dust that quickly reassembled into its missing head and left arm.
Then, it turned toward him.
[You... won't escape. Since that's the case... use your full strength... kill me...]
The moment it spoke, it gripped its scythe tightly, the blade bursting into a vivid violet light.
With a sweeping motion, it released a slash of Ether energy that tore through the air.
Boom!
Through the lingering frost, Lycaon shattered the incoming blade of energy with a single kick.
Behind his raised leg, his crimson eyes gleamed with fierce determination.
"Thank you for the warning."
"Now..."
Boom!
Lycaon lowered his leg and stomped the ground, launching himself forward like a cannon shot.
"...I'll use this strength to send you to eternal rest!"
Icy blue light flared beneath white frost as the lone wolf lunged forward, a blur of savage grace.
The scythe swung down—but Lycaon twisted aside, kicking it away before spinning into a roundhouse strike that slammed squarely into the doll's abdomen.
The Scarred Doll flew back, crashing to the ground before scrambling up again. Abandoning the scythe, it swung its desiccated left arm toward him instead.
Lycaon narrowed his eyes and sidestepped.
As he expected, that mummified arm hid a trap—the moment it struck, a purple glow flared from within.
Its curled fingers clenched into a fist and smashed down, punching a hole straight through the floor.
Below, Ethereal beings looked up in confusion, their large [Cores] gleaming faintly through the gap.
Lycaon didn't waste the opening. The Scarred Doll's momentum was spent—now was the time to strike.
He stepped forward, his movement trailing a streak of pale blue light, and kicked through the air.
The surrounding frost gathered into a dense orb of ice, which Lycaon sent flying with a powerful kick.
The Scarred Doll caught it and crushed it effortlessly in one hand—
—but in the instant it shattered, the ice mist inside exploded outward, engulfing the entire area and blotting out its sight.
Expressionless, the Scarred Doll froze as unease crept up its chest.
Before it could react, a massive fist burst through the mist, slamming straight into its chest with overwhelming force.
Boom!
It stumbled backward several steps. Its scythe lashed out reflexively, but the hollow sensation told it everything—it hadn't hit a thing.
Lycaon had vanished into the mist, silent and lethal, like a snake coiling in the shadows, waiting for the next strike.
Buzz—buzz—
The Scarred Doll swung its blade twice at random, but struck nothing.
Then, sensing movement behind it, it turned—
Too late.
Lycaon's kick landed hard against its back, coating its sparse fur with a layer of frost.
The doll spun, slashing toward where he'd been, but the dense mist was no longer its territory.
Lycaon was already gone—circling behind again for another strike.
[Got... you...]
The moment his kick connected, Lycaon's eyes widened. The impact wasn't solid—it was like kicking into air.
The Scarred Doll had turned to dust again, only to reform instantly before him, now facing him head-on.
The scythe came down in a violent arc.
Clang!
Metal met metal. The clash drove Lycaon back several meters, his prosthetic screeching against the floor.
The Scarred Doll swung again—but Lycaon vanished into the mist once more.
It lost him again.
This mist... such a nuisance!
The Scarred Doll gripped its weapon tightly, the handle creaking under pressure.
Then, with a sudden motion, it slammed the scythe's haft into the ground.
At once, a brilliant violet glow erupted.
If this cursed mist was such a problem, then it would change the battlefield entirely—no more mist, no more concealment.
Boom!
In an instant, Ether light flared across the entire floor, blindingly bright.
Everyone could see it—Rina and the others racing toward the battle, Phaga and Ellen far away in the emergency power room. The thunderous explosion echoed through every level, leaving them stunned.
Falling...
Falling...
The Ballet Tower, the life's work of the Bale brothers, was magnificently built—every floor a monument of opulence.
But that luxury came at a price: each floor was at least five to seven meters high.
For Lycaon, locked in the heat of battle, the sudden loss of footing needed no explanation.
The Scarred Doll approached slowly, staring down at Lycaon, half-buried in rubble.
He was still moving—but he could no longer evade.
Raising its scythe high, the Scarred Doll prepared to strike.