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The Reaper Knight shrieked as its second form emerged—twice the size, now cloaked in spectral armor, wielding twin scythes of cursed mana. The pressure on the field spiked. Most hunters dropped to their knees.
Only three stood firm.
Selene.
Aeris.
Cain.
Selene's frost shields cracked under the pressure. "That thing… it's drawing mana from the tower itself!"
Aeris gritted her teeth. "We need to retreat—this isn't a normal raid!"
But Cain didn't move.
Instead, he lowered his stance, one hand gripping the air… and conjured a phantom blade from nothing. Crimson lines traced the weapon's edge—runes written in a forgotten tongue. His aura shifted, no longer passive, but commanding.
Selene's heart stopped.
That sword—
That form—
It couldn't be.
"That can't be real…" she whispered.
Cain dashed forward, his blade dragging a trail of burning shadows. The Reaper Knight swung—
Cain vanished.
Appearing mid-air behind it, blade already slashing through cursed armor with precise, impossible elegance.
A single strike.
And the Reaper froze.
A second later—
It shattered into dust, like it had never existed.
The field went dead silent.
Cain turned to leave, but Selene stepped forward, her voice unsteady.
"Where did you learn that technique?"
He paused. "Read it somewhere."
"No," she said coldly, stepping closer. "Only one person ever used that style. Only one."
Aeris narrowed her eyes too, quietly drawing one dagger behind her back.
Cain tilted his head, his voice casual but heavy.
"Then maybe I'm just a ghost… picking up what others left behind."
He stepped into the mist and vanished before either woman could stop him.
Selene stood frozen, her fists clenched.
"…Rael."
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