Kota clenched his jaw, teeth grinding like gravel, his muscles twitching as blood ran down his side. The mountain groaned around him, the wind pulling at the edges of his cloak. He felt it—the weight of what was coming. The moment his fingers twitched toward the chains, the twins' eyes dilated. Gunthr's half-beast snout flared. Zekka's feet shifted, poised. They could smell it—the shift, the merge—and they weren't going to let it happen.
Lyzelle started to speak, reaching for him, blindfold half-lifted.
"Kota—merge with m—"
But they were already there.
The world snapped. A blink—gone. The twins were in front of him, myth in motion, claws out. Kota reacted before thought could form.
'I knew it…!'
"Go..!" He shouted.
He snatched Lyzelle by the arm, pivoted, and hurled her with every last shred of his strength. She crashed through the cave wall in an eruption of rock and wind and vanished, flailing through the air as the mountain's edge dropped beneath her.
She fell fast, the wind shrieking past her ears, the ground rushing up like an angry tide. Her wings burst open—ragged, desperate flaps—then steadied, catching her fall. Her chest heaved from pain, her arms trembling, but she roared and conjured her hammer in a flare of pink fire and ember mist.
'No way he just launched me through a cave wall!'
She surged back up toward the cave with a destructive flap of her wings—then the mountain exploded.
A roar of light and shrapnel ripped through the stone, the mouth of the cave bursting open with pink and white flames, streaks of electricity lancing skyward like celestial blood. Rubble sprayed like ash across the air. Lyzelle screamed, spiraling back.
"KOTA!!"
Panic rose sharp in her throat. Her contract—if Kota died—something would happen to her. Maybe death. Maybe worse. She didn't know. Didn't want to know.
Another blast followed—a deafening cleave of air and pressure as a slash split the mountain in half. The force sent Lyzelle rocketing back, tumbling through the air like a leaf in a hurricane, before she slammed into the rocky ground below. She wheezed, curling around her pain, blood running from reopened wounds. But she gritted her teeth and forced herself up.
She staggered to her knees.
"What the hell can I even do right now?" she groaned. "I'm weak as shit… Kota…"
She panted. The hammer disappeared from her hand. She winced and looked up at the fractured mountain.
"He's been fighting them already… That's why he looked like that. That's why…"
'He knew them..he memorized their attacks…their movements..he knew this would all happen…so he's one of those humans who adapts..and not just takes everything. Defying his own fate..'
She stood—barely. Her legs shook, but her heart was screaming louder.
'Don't you dare fucking die..'
Up the mountainside, falling fast in chaos, Kota was still fighting.
He brawled with the twins as rock and stone shattered around them. His chains whipped through the air like snarling serpents. Gunthr, feral and frenzied, struck wild, while Zekka moved in harmony, blades flashing. They fell down the crumbling slope, fists and claws and steel colliding as gravity pulled them toward the ravine below.
Kota was bleeding, but not beaten. His eyes flicked between the twins—watching, remembering. Their patterns. Their strikes. Gunthr always lunged right after a howl. Always favored the same stabbing arc. Kota ducked one swing, let the next come—straight through his left shoulder. Pain exploded. But he grinned through it.
"Got you," he growled.
He seized Gunthr's wrist with his good hand, twisted it, and drove his chainblade up under Gunthr's chin, through the roof of his mouth, out the top of his skull.
Gunthr's eyes went wide.
Zekka howled.
"BROTHER!!"
In a frenzy, Zekka lunged, driving his blade toward Kota, but Kota yanked Gunthr's limp body in front of him, using it like a shield. Zekka stabbed it—again, and again, and again—screaming as the corpse absorbed the hits.
Then, splash—they hit the water. A shallow body, only four feet deep. The impact slammed them hard, but not hard enough to kill.
Kota rose first, panting, drenched, still gripping his chain.
"Ha!…Ha…Ha…" Kota snarled trying to catch his breath.
Then—a presence. Behind him. Cold steel kissed his throat.
A sword.
And a voice like cold iron wrapped in prayer.
"Enough."
Knight-Captain Halven stood behind Kota, his blade glinting with divine precision. His armor was dark and plated in runes of silent judgment. His eyes—hollow, gray, with circles of insomnia carved beneath them.
Across the shallow water, Zekka rose. His breath came in furious gasps, his body twisting—mutating—losing control. Horns, wings, gills, fur—beast after beast spilled out of him, his form flickering with cursed evolution.
"Back away from the boy…he's my prey.."
Halven didn't flinch.
"Over one boy," he said, voice calm. "Over one child, a hundred of our strongest failed."
He pressed the blade harder against Kota's skin.
"Retribution must always be exact. I fast for days when I fail. I break my fingers when I hesitate. I do not eat, I do not rest, until the scales are balanced. Pain is the cure for error."
He lifted his head, eyes turning toward the distance—toward the trees beyond the clearing.
He shouted.
"CUPID!"
His voice echoed like a war drum.
"I have your bonded one. He is wounded, tired. But he lives. For now. If you come, I will kill you quickly. Cleanly."
His blade flickered with white light.
"If you do not… I will make him suffer until you beg for mercy."
From the tree line, Lyzelle stood, trembling, watching it all. She gripped the bark of a nearby tree, nails digging in.
Kota's eyes found hers.
They stared.
Everything quieted.
Zekka trembled, his body twitching with barely-contained mythic rage. Foam strung from his sharp teeth. Halven's blade still rested gently at Kota's throat, unwavering. Water lapped around their knees, rippling outward in perfect rings.
"I said," Halven roared again, voice cleaving through the mist like an executioner's axe, "Cupid! I hold your bond. You know what that means. Give yourself up now."
From a distant clearing, Lyzelle crouched low, muscles quivering, lip trembling. Her blindfold pulsed faintly, the celestial fire in her veins aching to ignite. She saw the glint of blood on Kota's cheek. Her fingers twitched toward her bow.
But then Kota looked at her—just a subtle glance—and shook his head, almost imperceptibly.
Don't. Most likely…he won't do anything to me. I know this because I'm needed. But eventually, they'll try and use me against Lyzelle. But for now what's most important is survival..'
Lyzelle bit her lip hard enough to draw blood.
Halven continued, now in a calm, near-reverent voice. "She'll come. Eventually. She'll try to break the contract. That's how it always goes."
He turned slightly, addressing Kota now, the blade still at his neck.
"Everything in this world binds itself to contract, boy. Even the things you don't think about. Fire to fuel. Breath to air. Pain to memory. Blade to oath. A lie…that's a contract waiting to be broken. A promise…That's a dagger in the dark." Halven stepped forward slowly, dragging Kota behind him like a leashed dog. "You break the rules, and it breaks you. Unless a shaman cuts the thread… it takes. That's the cost."
He looked at the woods again.
"She'll come for you. Or she'll burn trying not to."
He raised his voice, booming.
"Zekka. You're done. Head north. Knights await. You will be escorted back to the prison."
THOOM.
A pulse. A blink.
And Zekka erupted.
He morphed in a flash of warped light and mythic collapse, his scream warping into a soundless howl. His flesh spiraled open, bones cracking, joints twisting, until he became something other—something broken from the world's natural laws.
He became half of a Vor'kaarin, —a beast of fractured time and ruptured sound.
His arms split into six elongated limbs, each tipped with resonance claws—pronged, crystalline, and vibrating at destructive frequencies. His spine curved with a halo of glitching rune-circles, spinning erratically like a broken metronome. Every few seconds, a note rang out from the rings—a bone-deep hum that shattered stone, bent water upward, and detuned air itself.
Zekka launched forward, tearing toward Halven and Kota like a primal god of chaos.
And Halven… met him calmly.
The first clash was a cyclone of precision and madness. Zekka's claws carved rifts through the air itself, opening distorted trails that pulled gravity sideways. He struck with impossible angles, limbs folding in unnatural patterns, dragging temporal skips behind them—ghost slashes milliseconds ahead of each real one. Each claw sang a different frequency, tuned to rupture bone, melt muscle, or numb the senses.
But Halven—still holding Kota with one hand—parried with surgical brilliance. His blade wove between the slashes like it had been born inside them. He vaulted, spun, braced, never breaking momentum, dragging Kota in seamless pivots and counter-steps. He used water splashes to mask his footwork, sliding, hurling, and ducking under fracturing strikes that detonated trees behind him.
Still calm, still cold.
Zekka snarled. "I earned this! I won my freedom!"
"You earned nothing," Halven said coolly. "You'll be used—like the others."
And then, as they clashed again—ferocious speed, slashes and parries shattering the river's surface—Halven spoke over the chaos.
"You think you're the first monster who fought like a god?"
"Pyun." He dodged left, the claws barely missing. "All strength. All chaos. Her kinetic detonations meant nothing when I made her strike air."
He flipped backwards, lifting Kota with him mid-leap.
"Threm. The mute. Summons spiraling blades with a whisper and a blink. Only 5% of warriors can see his attacks. I still beat him. With patience. With rhythm."
Zekka lunged, claws forming a harmonic convergence, a devastating multi-frequency burst that vibrated Halven's bones.
He took the hit, twisting into the blow to redirect it, sliding back, boots gouging deep into mud.
"Sen. The venomous bastard with snakes for skin. Regenerates. But I found his core. Regeneration doesn't matter when your soul's the thing that dies."
Zekka tried again, his limbs forming a rotating pattern that opened a reality fold—he dived through and reappeared behind Halven, claws crashing down.
But Halven spun and carved upward, blade striking the perfect moment between phases—cutting through the distortion.
"Vexxan. The most dangerous of them all. Calm. With a blood scythe that burns like hellfire. Every glyph he carved was a countdown. Every breath was a trap."
Zekka hissed, red mist pouring from his joints. Halven's coat was torn. Blood on his face. But his hand was still on Kota, guiding him like a dancer mid-duet.
"They all left scars on me, no one has ever left a scar on me before. All but Sen I had left alive, everyone else will be used as strong arms for King Rellka."
He narrowed his eyes.
"As will you also. You are nothing but muscle, and magic from the God Flower."
Zekka screamed and ascended.
His magic erupted into full invocation—the runes around him began ringing in unison, and a harmonic storm engulfed the area. Water levitated, trees warped and collapsed, birds fell from the sky.
He lunged forward one last time, every limb vibrating, the air around him shattering from raw frequency—
And Halven sighed softly.
The world flipped; Suddenly, everything fell silent. Zekka blinked. They were no longer in the forest—but in a vast field of quiet snowfall. Snow drifted down in soft spirals. The sky was violet, dreamlike. Halven was behind him, sword low.
Zekka turned, Blood traced a clean line from his throat to chest. A gaping cavity had been carved open, deep and silent, as if the blade hadn't struck with force—but with truth. Snowflakes turned into light blue runes, falling like feathers.
Zekka's body split, slowly. His head slid sideways. His chest unraveled, blood fanning out in a halo. Then, the real world snapped back—trees, water, dirt—and he collapsed in a thunderous crash.
Kota stumbled back, in awe. "That… that was…"
'To think magic from the gods reached this high for humans to contain..and possible even higher!'
Lyzelle's breath caught in her throat, trembling.
She looked to the horizon, to the battle just lost, and knew—magic, contract, power—it could go even further. Even more deadly. Even more beautiful. And she had no idea where the god-flowers came from, nor what it meant when someone gave up their soul to reach that height… but Kota was close.
And now, Halven had his eyes on him.
Halven stood still, blade humming faintly, as blood mist drifted away on the breeze. His hand still rested lightly on Kota's shoulder until the boy flinched slightly.
"You will be taken to King Rellka," Halven said quietly. "Wielder of the Five God Affinities."
Kota's brow tensed, his body weak but his mouth still sharp.
"The what of the what now—?"
In a blur, Halven vanished from view and reappeared behind him. With effortless precision, he delivered a swift, flat chop to the back of Kota's neck. The boy's eyes rolled back as he dropped into unconsciousness.
Halven caught him before his body touched the dirt.
From the surrounding clearing, the leaves shifted—no wind, only weight.
Three shapes landed feet-first into the soil like falling stars without sound.
The King's Champions.
They didn't need an introduction. Their presence gnawed at the air like rusted blades scraping bone.
First was the woman. Captain Kytha Veyrix. Her armor resembled layered obsidian scaleplates, but each segment shimmered subtly with pale silver veins. Her face was pale and long, with angular cheekbones and steel-colored lips, her eyes a dull crimson, almost tired, like war was an ancient friend. A long black braid coiled around her shoulder like a rope. She wore no helmet. Her voice, when she spoke, sounded like iron dipped in honey.
"We missed the battle."
Second, Sir Draeven Khorr. Towering and skeletal-thin, with armor that looked half-melted—caved in around the shoulders and chest like it had been punched inward by a god. One of his arms was exposed: skinless, with burn-black sinew, almost ceremonial. His face was hollow-eyed, his lips sewn at the edges with silver thread in mockery of silence. He smiled anyway, showing too many teeth.
Third, Aerek Morvain, shorter than the others, but wide and brutish. His armor was blunt, heavy, iron-stamped with rectangular glyphs of unknown language. His jaw was squared like a carved stone, eyes bright yellow with flecks of dark blue. His hair was shorn on the sides, the top thick and tangled into a wild crest. He didn't speak yet. He just watched.
Halven adjusted Kota over his shoulder.
"You were to remain by the king's side," Halven said without looking.
Kytha stepped forward, brushing a strand of hair back.
"He vanished. Again. You know what that means."
"He's probably in the vault," Halven muttered. "The one only he and the daughter can see."
Draeven leaned forward slightly, examining Kota with a curious tilt of the head.
"So this is the contracted boy. Doesn't look like much."
"I heard he killed seventy of them," Aerek finally said, his voice low and thick like a boulder grinding loose.
Halven answered, tone grim.
"He did. The rest killed each other trying to beat each other to take this boy's head. This kid can't be older than 19 or 20. Yet, even as an inexperienced fighter, he managed to slaughter over half of the kingdom's most dangerous mages and warriors, and even former Hunters and Adventurers."
Kytha whistled once, short and sharp. "Seventy. That's more than we've claimed in the last year. Maybe the king will use him."
"He won't," Halven said bluntly. "He already has me to enact judgment.."
Aerek frowned. "Why not kill him now then?"
Halven's eyes narrowed. "Because if he dies now… there's no telling what would happen to the Cupid. The bond is still active."
Kytha looked disgusted. "Love, harmony, song… That's what the myths say they are. But this Cupid—"
Halven cut her off.
"King Rellka wants her head intact. On the lap of his dead daughter."
The Champions fell silent for a beat.
Then Draeven chuckled dryly.
"Lovely kingdom we've sworn our blades to."
Kytha smirked. "We'll follow you around until Rellka shows up. Like the good old days."
Halven exhaled deeply, already tired of them.
As they turned and departed through the clearing, Kota unconscious in Halven's arms, the four warriors moved like a godbound procession—silent, precise, fanged with history.
Lyzelle watched from a high ridge between the trees, hidden but shaking. Her wings tucked tight, her wound still aching.
She had wanted to fly in. Wanted to break the world to get Kota back. But she knew—She wouldn't stand a chance, not in her current state.
So she whispered to herself, swallowing the fear, the guilt, the guilt again.
"I'll need a plan. A badass plan..!"