Them is now "there," and where should that "there" be?
Morgan with the three...
The first: Frederick—the eldest among them, tall with a lean yet taut body, his eyes cold, and his golden hair cascading over his shoulders. He wore light armor, indicating his preference for speed and agility. His grip rested on the hilt of a long spear.
The second: Reinhardt—the bulkiest of the brothers, his body sculpted like a golden statue, his eyes gleaming beneath thick brows. His hair was short and messy, with a deep scar adorning his neck.
The third: Silan—the youngest, his eyes sharp as daggers. He carried nothing, relying instead on the immense maga he inherited, along with his sweeping offensive movements. He wore a long golden coat, ready to pounce at any moment.
Facing them was the bull, Howard, nicknamed "The Collapse," with a vile smile as steam rose from his nostrils with every inhale and exhale. He lowed slowly, then addressed them in a contemptuous tone:
"You know, Golden Boy... Since the old king's departure... this kingdom hasn't been the same. Immortality has been broken—even that of the one always deemed the strongest, Valeras... perished... in a way no one understood."
Silan furrowed his brows and asked, "What does this fool think he is? A cow like him?"
"Fish..... Oh Fish! His guts were torn apart between shit-fish fangs, despite all that everyone believed about him."
Morgan was no fool; he knew what Howard was trying to convey, he said:
"So, did you come here to talk to me about death? Or something else, Howard?"
Howard roared, then continued:
"I came to see if you're ready... to bear the consequences of weak kings."
Morgan stepped forward, one step at a time, his voice steady:
"I didn't expect this, Howard. I thought you'd disappeared with those whose time has passed. still consider you nothing but a destructive entity."
Howard smiled—or so it seemed behind his thick black fur. He lifted his axe slightly, testing its weight, then said:
"You've grown, Golden Boy. You didn't come alone, either."
He raised his axe high, hurling it into the sky. His second eye glowed like embers, and from that gaze alone, they understood the battle had already begun.
Morgan charged first, his body leaning forward, his steps swift, his fist glowing gold as he struck toward Howard, who twisted around it. His axe—that axe—fell from the sky like a predator under his command. But the younger man had already moved, leaping, spinning mid-air, and lunging with a kick straight at Howard's neck.
A cracking sound! But Howard smiled. His palm tried to catch the kick, but Morgan was faster, landing on the ground and delivering a punch from his glowing state...
The impact struck Howard's fist. The ground shattered beneath them, the earth splitting as light erupted. Morgan's aura began to invade Howard's outstretched hand.
The axe was there, returning to carve its path toward Morgan, who noticed it and smoothly disengaged to evade it...
That was exactly what Howard needed. He pursued him in that instant, his grasping palm extending toward Morgan's neck. But Morgan preempted him with an ascending vertical kick, striking him like a solar explosion.
Howard was lifted violently, golden blows raining upon him, one after another... Then Morgan spun to finish the strikes with a side kick that embedded itself in Howard's waist, hurling him away. He landed steadily, delivering his prepared words:
"We are more than that, Howard."
Morgan was in constant vigilance. The punches pierced through the monstrous defenses with ease—flexible, penetrating, golden radiant. A strike to the chest squeezed the breath out of Howard, followed by a devastating fist aimed at his mouth.
But before the impact, Morgan's eyes widened—his punch was engulfed in the bull's maw. Pressure!Pressure!Pressure!
Morgan smirked coldly: 'How grotesque.'
His fist glowed. A radiance as if the sun had formed beneath his skin. Explosion. Blood splattered. Teeth scattered. The nose shattered. The face deformed into a grotesque, mangled mess.
He withdrew his fist only to drive it forward again, this time into the abdomen, tearing through flesh and bone, launching Howard like a meteor. He crashed, smoke billowing upon impact. But he wasn't alone—an onslaught of aerial punches followed, Morgan's aura manifesting in thousands of blows, raining down like celestial artillery on the point of impact.
Morgan halted. Regained his breath. Focused. This required everything.
As for the three sons, they stood, the silence between them heavier than any blow.
"Damn... Is this beast truly this strong?"
"We see him being restrained before our father."
"I question people's sanity these days."
"No doubt, I agree... Valeras too, as you know."
Morgan, ever alert, listened to their murmurs. Disgust crept onto his face. Then, in the smoke, he glimpsed something—air tearing apart, a void splitting open, a movement beyond sight.
A supersonic gust—Howard was now before the sons. A punch tore through the pressure, crushing the ribs of the first until his bones screamed. The impact sent them all flying as if yanked out of time, crashing violently, the earth fracturing beneath the force of his strike.
Howard regained his stance. Exhaled forcefully. Roared—the bellow of the raging bulls:
"He brought you all here to fight, not to watch, you puppets."
He glared at them, steam snorting from his nostrils.
"The fall of this kingdom starts with this."
Morgan responded in a calm tone, born of conviction:
"You are right about that, Howard... You right the biggest reason for all of this... But that does not apply to these ones."
Howard, steam rising from his nose, lifted his gaze to the sky. Deeply, as if the answer lay there.
"I truly see it."
Frederick in the sky lunged.
His golden spear spun, firm, acrobatic.He dived toward the ground, falling like a whirling meteor....
Howard dodged. The dust exploded around him.
Then the spear emerged from the smoke—Howard deflected it, pushing it aside with his joint, but the other end of the spear whipped across his face...
its golden gleam flashing for a moment!