Aramith stood up and yanked the dagger from his palm with a grunt of pain. Blood dripped from his hand as he clenched it tightly, his gaze now fierce with determination. His vision turned darker, everything turning into an uncomfortable monochrome.
"Are you the one who hurt Lia?" he demanded, voice low but filled with rage.
He noticed that the other two had vanished, replaced by three new figures—underlings, it seemed. Without hesitation, they rushed to attack him, but Aramith was gone in an instant, vanishing into thin air before reappearing right in front of the one who had thrown the dagger.
The man stood unfazed, watching Aramith approach with a smirk on his face.
"You really are quick, boy," he muttered. "But you don't know what's waiting for you." His eyes glinted with a quiet confidence, though there was an edge to his words.
The other three, who had been ignored by Aramith, exchanged uncertain glances but felt calm, noticing the unperturbed expression on the man's face, and the silver-white sheen on his skin, signifying his gate. In his early twenties, this man had already broken to the platinum gate.
[ In case you've forgotten.- Genesis Gate comes first with 1 step, then comes the bronze gate with 3 steps. Silver comes next with 4 steps. Before Gold at 5 steps before one could break through to the Platinum Gate. A total of 13 gates. Quite a feat to be able to reach such a level.]
Perfect, the man thought. Aramith's anger clouded his judgment. That's what he was counting on.
As Aramith leaped towards him, his fist raised, ready to strike, the man's shield, invisible to the eye, was waiting for him.
Huh?
The punch connected with a violent shattering sound, and the man's smirk faltered, his nose breaking on impact. He was thrown back, crashing to the ground with such force that he lost track of time. He could feel his skull crack beneath him.
Before he could process what had happened, Aramith threw the dagger with terrifying precision and force. Bone cracked as the blade sank deep into his shoulder, pinning him to the ground.
The man with the dagger in his shoulder let out a guttural scream, his fingers trembling as he clutched at the hilt. Blood seeped through his tunic, but sheer desperation forced him to move. He tried to stand—knees wobbling, breath ragged—but faltered, barely managing to lean against a fallen comrade for support.
His voice came out strained, a mix of rage and fear. "D-don't—don't just stand there! Kill him—" His words hitched as pain shot through his ribs. His men hesitated. They had seen it too. The way Aramith moved. The way he killed.
His lips trembled. He wanted to order them forward. He wanted to believe they could still win. But the way the boy's glowing eyes fixed on him, cold and unfeeling… He knew. This wasn't a battle anymore. It was a massacre.
Aramith turned his head just in time to see another figure rushing toward him with a sword aimed at his heart.
Aramith sidestepped the attack, swiftly striking the sword in the middle, breaking it in two. Without pausing, he kicked the broken end at the attacker, sending the man sprawling backward.
The man scrambled to defend himself, using his bare hands to block. The edge of the sword cut deep into his palm, but he was relieved to avoid a fatal blow. However, as he was distracted by the pain, he realized the second half of the sword hadn't fallen to the ground as he'd expected.
Before he could react, Aramith struck him from behind with brutal efficiency. The back of his head snapped forward with a sickening crunch as Aramith ended his life in an instant.
Aramith paused, panting from the effort. But before he could take another breath, something sharp shot at him. An arrowhead, attached to a chain, pierced his thigh. He gritted his teeth as it was yanked back, tearing through his flesh. Dropping to one knee, he fought through the pain. His vision blurred—poison. Lethal.
As he stood up, barely able to put weight on his injured leg, he noticed the third figure had disappeared from view.
The man, wielding a three-foot-long staff with a retracting chain, swung it toward him, the chain shooting out in an attempt to ensnare him. Aramith's eyes narrowed. He didn't dodge. Instead, he grabbed the chain with one hand, his muscles straining with the effort.
Without warning, the man infused energy into his feet, dodging at the last moment and pulling it from Aramith. The chain, now free from Aramith's grasp, lashed around him, attempting to bind him in place.
But then, Aramith was already behind him, and before the man could react, Aramith quickly grabbed and thrust the arrowhead into his back. He kicked the man hard, sending him spinning to the floor. The man landed face first, but as he tried to turn, the tangled chain twisted the arrowhead, driving it deeper into his back, and causing him to grunt in pain.
He was getting weaker.
Aramith remembered the words of his mentor:
Never leave your back to your enemy.
The lesson rang in his mind as he seized a piece of the chain, yanking it out with brutal force. Flesh tore away with a sickening sound as he pulled the chain free. The man arched his back in agony, but Aramith wasted no time. He jumped onto the man's chest, his foot crashing down with the full force of his anger. Bones shattered under the weight of his attack, and blood spilled from the man's mouth as Aramith stomped on his face over and over again.
The man's body grew limp, but Aramith wasn't done. With a primal scream, he raised both fists and brought them crashing down on the man's chest, ending his life in a final, brutal blow.
"You were supposed to come with us. This is your last chance. Obey, or regret it," a voice commanded from behind him.
Aramith's head snapped up as the one he'd pinned earlier stood, his left arm limp. He had covered it with rocks, his earth attribute making it functional again. Several other figures stood behind him, ready for a fight.
Aramith slowly raised his blood-soaked fists and stared down at them, his darkening eyes burning with hatred. His chest heaved as he clenched and unclenched his fists. Thick, congealing blood dripped in heavy drops, merging with the growing pool at his feet. The night wind blew through the air, cold against his heated skin.
"Blood," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "That's all it is. Blood. There's nothing more. Only blood." He raised his head to the sky and screamed into the night, his voice raw with fury.
The onlookers froze, chills running down their spines. His scream sounded heavy, suppressing them.
This was no boy. No, this was a demon in the guise of a man. The strength, the speed, the sheer violence—how could someone at the Bronze Gate be capable of such feats? The man he had just killed was at the Gold Gate, someone far stronger.
What terrified them even more was the fact that all his injuries seemed to heal almost instantaneously. What power did he wield? What was his true nature? Their informant said he was at the Bronze Gate and a Damned. So what was going on?
They weren't given the chance to think.
"Flame users. Go!" A command. The ground erupted in movement. A few of them leaped onto buildings, arrows of fire notched and ready. There were five of them, all fire attribute users. They aimed and released their arrows in unison.
Aramith stood still, his gaze unwavering.
As the arrows neared, a new force from the shadows took hold of the flames and they shifted from red to an eerie, bright blue, then shot back at them. Their limp bodies fell to the ground.
New arrows appeared, and before the remaining could react, they too were struck down by fire from different directions, their lives snuffed out in seconds.
The ground was littered with their corpses.
They had been killed before they even knew what had hit them.
Only two remained: a wind user and the man whose shoulder Aramith had pierced earlier. The wind user increased his output, trying to trap Aramith with a whirlwind but he was too late. Aramith vanished, reappearing behind him in an instant.
His companion never saw it coming as the rocks surrounding him burst apart, sending debris flying in all directions.
The wind user staggered back, panting, his fingers forming another seal—faster, faster—but he hesitated.
That hesitation... it was the last mistake he'd ever make.
Aramith was already moving.
"W-wait—" The words barely left his lips before darkness curled around his throat. He clutched at the tendrils, his feet leaving the ground. His vision swam as his body fought for air, but what terrified him most wasn't the suffocation. It was the thing in front of him—the boy with glowing violet eyes, standing still, watching him struggle.
He wasn't even in a hurry.
The wind user thrashed, his vision growing dim. His mind screamed at him. I should have run.
The last rock-attribute man tried to flee. He bolted, nearly tripping over the corpse of his fallen ally. He didn't care. He just needed to get away. But the weight of something invisible yanked him back.
A blade of darkness slid through his chest.
He coughed, mouth filling with blood, and choked out a broken whisper.
"W-we were played..."
Then the world faded to black.
The battlefield had gone still. Or maybe he had stopped hearing it. The sound of his own breathing was deafening.
The blade in his hands was slick with blood.
Aramith exhaled slowly. His muscles felt wired, charged with energy that demanded more, demanded movement—demanded blood. The purple glow in his eyes pulsed as he took a step forward, staring at the last man who lay sprawled before him.
The man was still alive. Barely. His chest rose and fell in ragged bursts, fingers weakly clawing at the dirt, trying to drag himself away.
Aramith raised his sword.
Then—hesitation.
His breath hitched.
A flicker of something—a memory, a voice—What are you doing?
His grip tightened around the hilt. He could end this. One swing. It would be easy.
So why did it feel... wrong?
"Aramith."
Mozrael's voice shattered through the haze.
He flinched. The weight of everything—the bodies, the blood, the fear in their eyes—slammed into him all at once. His glowing gaze flickered, uncertainty creeping in.
He hadn't even realized how far he had gone.
Mozrael stood between him and the dying man, her expression unreadable. But she didn't need to say anything. The moment he saw her, the moment he registered her, he felt it.
The thing clawing at his mind—the thing that wanted him to keep going—began to subside.
Slowly, his fingers uncurled from the hilt of his sword and it disappeared.
Aramith stood still, surveying everything, his gaze falling on Lia. He started toward her, but before he could reach her,cMozrael quickly moved ahead, scooping Lia up and moving her several steps away.
Aramith stopped in his tracks.
"Don't come closer. You're not in your right mind," Mozrael warned, her voice firm.
Aramith blinked several times, trying to clear his mind, but his vision remained blurry. He looked at Mozrael again, recognition flickering in his eyes.
"Mozrael?" he asked, his voice soft but tinged with confusion.
"Please, keep your distance. You might lose control again," she pleaded, her eyes filled with worry.
Aramith didn't move, his body trembling with the strain of his transformation. But a loud boom interrupted their conversation. The first two men Aramith had seen before reappeared, ready for a final confrontation.
"We're not done yet, boy," the first one growled and threw a fist, firing an attack directly at Aramith.
Aramith crossed his arms to block it. The impact threw him against the wall of a nearby house with a deafening boom.
Mozrael stepped away with Lia in her arms, her heart pounding as she moved further from the battle. Lia stirred weakly in her arms.
"Mozrael…" Lia whispered.
Mozrael stopped and gently lowered Lia to the ground. She took out a glass vial containing a strange liquid that shimmered in the light and made Lia drink it.
Lia sat up, feeling a bit better, though still weak.
"Where's Aramith?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
"He's...not himself now. I'll get you safe then help him," Mozrael answered softly, her eyes filled with concern.
Lia frowned. "You need help, Mozrael. You can't do this alone. Go and find Dad, or Mom, or Gebreth. The soldiers too."
"I can't. It's too risky," Mozrael replied, shaking her head.
"We might lose him again," Lia said, her voice thick with emotion.
Mozrael paused, her heart aching.
"I'll stop him myself," she said, her tone resolute.
"No. What if you lose control, too?" Lia urged, fear and worry evident in
"Lia, there are ways to control him, but right now we have run out of options. There might be people looking for us who might end up heading this way, but by the time they get here, it might be too late. The only choice we have is for me to beat some sense into him. When he's too weak to fight, he can calm down," Mozrael explained.
Lia shook her head. "I can't let you do that, I can use my power to-"
"No. You're too weak. It will put you in a terrible state."
Their talk ended when the other man came before them. A tall, slender man. He left his muscular partner to deal with Aramith, knowing that one person would be enough to deal with that brat.
"I don't like hurting girls, but since you saw us, I need to kill you two," He smiled as he made his way to the two. Mozrael got up and stepped protectively in front of Lia. Lia grabbed her foot weakly.
"Don't transform. Please..." she begged.
Mozrael only gave a wry smile as she went forward to face the threat.