Harra turned his head toward the burst of magic, watching as the light flared in the distance. Around him, the Fenrir licked their wounds, mourning their dead, dragging broken bodies toward the burial site.
He wanted to help. If he were there, he could make a difference, tilt the battle just slightly, give them a better shot at winning.
But even now, as Fignar raged in the forest, one eye never left him. Watching. Waiting.
The threat had shifted. It wasn't just about killing him anymore—it was about wiping out his entire clan.
If he moved, he could add a twenty percent chance of winning to the fight, but then again. Was that twenty percent going to change anything if the original odds were zero?
There was no point in going, he told himself it was smarter to stay. Safer.
To remain and spend what time he had left with his people.
But even as he tried to believe it—
Harra started walking.
Then running.
"...I'm an idiot."
A massive surge of mana erupted from Sirius's hand, a giant sphere of fire spiraling downward. It wasn't refined. It wasn't elegant. It was raw, violent, as hot as a furnace, large as a boulder, and from where he floated, it looked like the sun itself crashing to earth.
The spell smashed into Fignar's chest.
The Minotaur King didn't flinch. He simply opened his arms wide, letting the flames swallow him whole.
The sky screamed. Air roared as fire consumed the oxygen, ripping it from the world. The trees, already torn from their roots were caught mid-air in the blaze, bark sizzling, leaves turning to ash before they hit the ground.
And yet—through the inferno—Sirius saw him.
Falling.
Still smiling.
The fire curled around Fignar's massive body like a serpent, licking and snapping, but never truly hurting him. He hit the ground with a crash, the spell still burning around him—proof of how much mana Sirius had poured into it.
The earth blackened. The battlefield was scorched into a warzone. And still—
Fignar stood up.
Licking his lips.
Sirius hit the earth behind him, a medium vitality blood vial clenched in his palm, eyes searching frantically for his allies.
Fignar was already walking toward him—through the dying flames, through the cinders, through the devastation.
Every step quaked the earth. The very mountains groaned.
The fur on his chest had burned away, his skin blistered red from the heat—but his eyes...
His eyes burned hotter than the fire ever could.
"You call that fire?" Fignar growled, smoke pouring from his mouth. "Let me show you real heat."
Fignar stepped forward.
He didn't raise his hands. He didn't channel his mana into any part of his body. As he walked, mana pooled around him, swirling in the air, sizzling and crackling like a storm about to break.
And then—his body ignited.
The flames roared to life, a blaze so intense, so consuming, that the very ground beneath him turned molten. The heat was so extreme it darkened the noon sky, turning the afternoon blaze into a stroke of twilight, almost as if the sun itself had been snuffed out by the fury of his fire.
Sirius stood panting, blades of hardened web forming in both hands.
His eyes were locked on him.
Every burning step he took.
Then... Fignar vanished.
The flames remained.
Sirius's eyes widened. The Minotaur King was already beside him, a monstrous arm slamming into his side and hurling him deeper into the forest like a ragdoll.
"I'm not done," Fignar growled.
He pointed toward the broken trees where Sirius had landed and the flames left behind surged.
It twisted midair, taking the form of a flaming phoenix, its wings unfurled, eyes burning with death.
It screeched.
Then dove.
Straight at him.
[Information Analysis: Unable to determine blessing's abilities.]
The explosion tore through the woods, dirt and bark mixing into one, scattering across the landscape.
Ash and flame lashed the ground.
A thin strand of web snapped against Fignar's body and in the same breath, Sirius reeled forward, blade in hand, momentum sharp and fast.
Fignar grimaced. His face twisted as he dashed backward, severing the web with a swipe and landing meters away with a heavy thud.
Sirius stared at him, chest heaving. 'Why'd he retreat?' He exhaled, head pounding.
"Use medium vial."
[HP: 160/250]
He dropped to one knee. The potion had mended the flesh, but not the fatigue. Not the hammering headache tearing at the side of his skull.
And it sure as hell hadn't fixed the problem that every single hit from Fignar left him a hair from death. He needed backup. If he could just heal his teammates, if he could get them back into the fight, if they could just distract him—just for a moment—
Fignar's hand wrapped around his throat. The second arm swung low.
"MEDIUM VIAL!"
[HP: 250/250]
[HP: 10/250]
The blow crashed into his gut. Blood exploded from the wound, splattering across the forest floor. Heat bloomed in his abdomen, so warm, so wet. Fignar's legs trembled with euphoria.
He looked down at Sirius, whose face was locked in a pain-tight grimace.
"You're probably wondering why I'm like this," Fignar muttered, voice oddly calm. "Or maybe if I was always like this."
Again with the dialogue.
Sirius winced. His ears buzzed, everything sounding both distant and close all at once.
"You think there's a story, right? A tragic past? Some childhood trauma? Maybe my father beat me or my mother left me. Maybe that's why I turned out this way..." He smiled. "But it doesn't matter."
"I—I wasn't really—"
[HP: 160/250]
Fignar twisted his hand.
Sirius screamed.
It echoed through the trees, a sound full of broken lungs and torn muscle. Fignar leaned in, his breath fever-hot. "Sometimes I wish I didn't have this blessing. It ruins the thrill."
[HP: 10/250]
Blessing... Sirius's thoughts scrambled. He glanced sideways, the screen coming into view once again.
[Information analysis: Cannot determine blessing's abilities]
[Use last medium blood vial?]
"Yeah."
[HP: 160/250]
His eyes fluttered shut. Fignar's fist came across his jaw a second later, snapping his head sideways. Blood sprayed as he crumpled, barely conscious, twitching in minotaur king's arms.
[HP: 50/250]
"I want a fair, bloody dance," Fignar snarled. "I want to slaughter and get so broken I can't move. My life is too perfect—too hideously dull."
He flung Sirius aside like a ragdoll. "Heal yourself. Do it again. Then come at me. Make this worth something. Hurt me. Rip into my flesh. MAKE ME BLEED! LET US DIE AT EACH OTHER'S HANDS!"
"You're a fucking psycho," Elendira spat and raised her hand. It wasn't much, but she wanted to help—to do anything she could to assist Sirius. Mana coiled in her palm, building fast. But before the spell could form—
Snap.
Fignar crouched in front of her, his hand crushing Elendira's wrist inward, bone grinding like tin beneath a hammer.
"I don't hate much," Fignar said calmly, over the screams. "But there's a reason I dealt with the rest of you first. I gave you time. I let you go. Because only one of you could hurt me."
Elendira wailed again as Fignar ripped her arm free, blood spraying, nerves snapping.
"Do not interrupt me again," Fignar whispered. "Not in this life, not in the next."
Sirius was already on his feet beside him.
He was stupid.
As dumb as rocks.
He laughed—quiet, cracked—and slammed a hand against his face.
[System notification: Health critically low]
[System advice: Use high vitality blood vial]
Fignar turned, laughing too, his feet cracking the ground as he walked.
Sirius's laughter grew.
"Elendira had no mana left," Sirius said, voice low, trembling. "But the second she got it back, she cast a spell and you noticed immediately."
Fignar squinted, still approaching.
"You didn't even look at her. She was hidden behind the rocks. Her mana wasn't strong enough to detect at that range. So how exactly did you know?"
Fignar slowed.
"That's why you dodged when I rushed you earlier," Sirius continued. "I didn't have any mana—so you couldn't read me."
Fignar stopped just short of him.
"That's your blessing, right?" Sirius muttered, nearly collapsing before catching himself. "It's hard to counter... everyone has mana, after all."
Fignar nodded slowly. "That is the essence of my blessing. I can sense intent—read thoughts—through—"
He froze.
He couldn't.
There was mana in the air. There was always mana. Demi-humans—every living thing—regenerated it constantly, automatically. So why... why hadn't Sirius?
Sirius chuckled, "So that's it. All that talk about fair fights, about craving pain, but the second you lose your edge, you're helpless."
"You..." Fignar snarled, eyes wide. "Why isn't your mana coming back?! Why can't I read you?!"
Sirius raised his sword, the tip glowing faintly.
"I tried channeling mana into my blade—maybe it would've cut you then. But it was an accident, really. I went to cast a spell the moment my mana started regenerating... and this happened instead."
Fignar's face twisted in rage.
"It doesn't seem like you can read the emotions of a sword," Sirius said. "And here I was thinking you were strong. Honestly... I almost gave up."
Fignar lunged, fury blazing through his veins.
But Sirius didn't move.
Then—Fignar stopped, feet skidding, eyes flicking side to side.
He stepped back.
For the first time in his life... He couldn't read the enemy in front of him.
"What's the matter?" Sirius said. "Scared?"
Fignar shot into the air, his body soaring as he tried to create space—but in that instant, he realized just how badly he'd messed up.
Sirius was gone.
Fignar's gaze snapped to the ground, scanning every shadow, every corner. He searched with everything he had, but found nothing.
He landed hard a few meters away, forcing calm, trying to sense even the faintest wisp of mana. Anything. Even a trace channeled into a weapon.
But there was nothing.
A rustle came from behind. He whipped around and swung.
Empty air.
The sky had darkened completely, night falling faster than expected. His eyes widened, searching, until something gripped his leg.
He struck again.
Another touch—his arm, wrapped.
He tried moving, lashing out—
His torso tightened.
Webbing.
He was being bound—layered strands hardened by mana. He could break it, but as he tried pulling his hands outward. The sharpened edges sliced into him, blood slowly trickling down his form.
He thrashed, annoyance etched against his face. He hadn't bled in decades. There was no way—no way—a fledgling king with mana thinner than a twig should've been the one to draw it.
But then it hit him.
Why hadn't Sirius collapsed yet?
He was burning through his mana as quickly as it came, pouring it into the webbing, his sword—anything. Keeping himself empty. Undetectable.
Smart. Too smart. And reckless. Mana sickness should've held him by now, so why wasn't that the case?
"You've probably spent your whole life on top, haven't you?" Sirius's voice echoed from the trees, his form hidden. "Crushing everything beneath your feet—not for power, not for territory. But because you wanted death."
Fignar screamed and with a burst of raw strength, tore through the webbing. But in the same instant, he collapsed.
His Achilles tendon had been sliced clean through.
He tried to rise, fury burning in his eyes, but as he staggered upright and swung blindly—
His other Achilles tore.
He crashed to the ground again, both hands digging into the dirt, horns gleaming beneath the diverging clouds.
The moon broke through.
And beneath its glow stood Sirius, his expression blank.
"You hurt the people I cared about," Sirius said, voice so hollow, Fignar wondered if he could read his intentions even if he had mana. "You hurt my family."
"Did that blow a little fuse in your head?" Fignar wheezed a laugh, already channeling mana to his heels, tendons stitching back. "If I knew you cared that much, I would've made sure they actually died—"
Slice.
Both legs, severed at the knees.
Fignar screamed—a short, choked burst of sound that transformed into a deep, agonized grunt.
"You said you wanted to bleed. To suffer." Sirius stepped back, watching him writhe. "You said you wanted to die."
He raised his blade, the sharpened silver edge glimmering beneath the moonlight—pointed directly at Fignar's eye.
"Do you still feel that way?"