Ash falls from the sky like dead rain.
The air is saturated with the smell of fire, burnt flesh, as if
the city is exhaling its last breaths.
Beneath the feet, the ground is covered with burnt debris, ruins of buildings collapsed under the weight of hell. Every step on this wreckage emitted a muffled creak.
Every breath he took stung his lungs with the smell of fire. The air was heavy, as if the city itself refused to grant him life. Beneath his feet, the debris groaned, and the echoes of the collapse
reverberated in his ears like cries from the past. He saw nothing but endless ash falling, until he thought the sky itself had burned.
And yet, he stood atop the rubble, towering like a beast freed from its chains.
A dark Hok burst from his body as if it were a breathing curse, crushing the earth and air.
With a slight pressure of his will, the soldiers around him collapsed, their bones breaking under the suffocating pressure.
In his hands, corpses dangled like worn-out dolls, and on his face was a smile-
a smile of one who finally found freedom in the darkness of ruin.
But his ecstasy turned.
A flash of light tore through the air, a feminine sword strike but loaded with incredible power-fzzzz!
The blade pierced the Hok aura surrounding him as if tearing through worn fabric, and the scene exploded with a chilling coldness-splatter!
His surrounding shadows easily blocked the strike.
Morga slowly turned toward her... Morga's eyes glowed with anger like embers in the dark.
A woman.
She walked steadily over the rubble, her long white hair dancing with the wind, and her blue eyes shining like an ocean under sunlight.
Her appearance alone was enough to freeze the air around her.
The smile split his face.
"Oh... look who we have here."
She raised her sword toward him and declared in a tone devoid of emotion, as if a destined judgment:
"Here ends your savagery."
Then, without warning, she charged at him with a speed that shattered vision, and her sword rained down on him with a crushing blow, forcing him to block the attack with all his might, while sparks of clashing energy flew around them like tiny meteors.
The white woman surged like a snowy Hok storm, her black sword gleaming under the gray sky, and her bursts of strikes rained on Morga without stopping.
Each movement sliced the air, nearly breaking the void itself.
His shadows moved like arms, calmly blocking her attacks with provocative ease. Her eyes widened in shock, and she saw that indifferent smile forming on his lips.
"Stupid... and weak too. Disappointing."
He said quietly while dodging another strike, her sword piercing the air near his head.
Her brows furrowed, she gritted her teeth, her white fingers gripping the sword's hilt fiercely.
"Look who's talking... Griffin, the fool..."
Her strike came fast, and the blade tore through the Hok toward him. He barely managed to raise his shadow to block the attack, and its metallic echo resonated between them.
He stepped back, staring at her; her gaze was sharp and her body ready for the next attack.
Suddenly, in a fleeting moment, she vanished before his eyes.
There was only a brief void before he felt a violent force hit his head.
A sudden, fast kick struck its target precisely, sending him flying through the air, his body crashing through building remains, breaking walls, and scattering shards everywhere.
The sound of collapse echoed around, and sparks of fire danced among the debris, while silence reigned for moments, as if the world held its breath, waiting for what would happen.
Before he could even think of moving, the sword cut through his body, piercing his chest.
His eyes widened, a sudden pain swept over him, and drops of blood scattered in the air.
His heartbeat quickened, and within seconds, his thoughts froze on a single question: How did this happen?
How did the roles reverse so quickly?
He was the hunter, confident in his steps, and now he was the prey, his body trapped between her blade and her piercing gaze.
A cold smile appeared on her lips as her grip tightened on the sword embedded in his body.
Her voice flowed calmly, sharp and harsh:
"Your end... has come."
Her sharp voice awakened something inside him, a voice he could not ignore this time.
He heard it unknown. It was clear, brief, without any emotion.
"Run."
He did not know who the voice belonged to, and he had no time to think.
The taste of blood filled his mouth, and its heat brought him back to consciousness. Pain scattered the fog in his thoughts, and his eyes met his opponent's again.
Morga remained still, a calm smile appearing as if he knew exactly what to do. The pain in his chest was present, but it did not shake him.
Shadows began to ripple around him, emerging from nothing, like black arms crawling slowly, wrapping around him like a mysterious protection.
And despite the pain piercing his body, his voice flowed coldly with a dark expression on his face:
"You are not the one who decides the end..."
The density increased, wrapping around his body like snakes, resisting the sword embedded in him, and his words pierced the silence like a wicked mockery:
"See you later."
His words echoed around.
The woman tightened her grip on the sword, trying to do something, but his resistance increased, as if he held the blade to prevent her from finishing what she started.
"You bastard."
She faltered for a moment seeing him drown in his darkness.
What was happening?
He disappeared?
Her eyes scanned the shattered arena, searching for any trace of him.
But silence ruled the place, and little by little, the glow of her weapon faded, while she stood alone amid the rubble.
She sighed deeply, her breath's echo mingling with the smoke rising from the ruins.
She closed her eyes for a moment, her thoughts engulfed in a sea of anger and frustration.
"Damn."
She muttered through her teeth, and her grip on her sword loosened.
She looked at the darkness that surrounded her moments ago, at the void he left behind, and that mocking smile still etched in her memory.
She stood in place, her eyes fixed on the void where Morga disappeared, and silence wrapped her like a cold cloak. The air carried remnants of ash dancing in the faint light, while the thin ice beneath her feet cracked slowly.
The silence was broken by the sound of quick footsteps, followed by a heavy presence. A tall, broad-shouldered man, wearing dark armor, approached her, his eyes examining her with obvious concern.
"Lady... are you alright?"
She remained still for a moment, not turning, not blinking. The cold aura surrounding her thickened, like an invisible wall protecting her from anything... even worry itself.
But he did not retreat; he took another step forward, his voice more urgent:
"Madam, are you hurt? That boy..."
Only then did Ilia slowly raise her head and turn toward him. Her red eyes were steady, cold as undying ice, and her facial features reflected only the usual icy calm.
"I'm fine," she answered with a steady voice, but it carried a sharp firmness beneath. "More than you think."
The man hesitated for seconds, as if searching for other words, but eventually bowed slightly in respect and stepped back, content with the silence that once again enveloped the place, as if the whole world had frozen around her.
•
The mysterious man, hours earlier.
•
In a dimly lit room cluttered with wires and screens, the air was still, saturated with the smell of metal and drugs.
A broad-shouldered man stood, watching one of the screens with deadly focus. On the screen appeared a boy, chained like a beast, the chains embracing him but not restraining him, and his mouth covered with a piece of metal as if he were a dog or something similar.
The man said in a calm voice.
"It's been a long time, little Faari."
The voice was not heard only in the room but cut directly to the boy's ears through an internal speaker, louder than normal sound, designed to penetrate the skull and awaken the instinct.
Meanwhile, another was in the middle of the room, half shrouded in shadows dancing on his face due to the surrounding device lights. He did not move, but his eyes worked with a sharpness no less than surgical scalpel blades.
His face slowly turned toward the camera... the same camera from which the man watched the exhausted boy. It was not a fleeting glance but a focused, sharp look that almost pierced the lens itself.
As if he knew someone was watching... even as if he stared directly into the eyes of the man behind the screens, silently challenging, speaking in silence that words could not interpret.
He was like a living ghost, waiting for the moment of intervention.
Or explosion.
Amid the silence filled with anticipation, a voice came from behind him, calm, but that hidden tone of annoyance did not escape his ear.
"Silver... will you really free him?"
The man smiled, but his smile was not ordinary. It was neither warm nor even sarcastic... but that smile that comes when one feels the pleasure of the hunt before it begins.
"Don't worry... everything will go as I want."
His words were calm but loaded with the weight of absolute confidence, a tone that left no room for argument. The voice was not just a promise but a judgment, a fixed truth in a world swallowed by chaos.
He stared at the screen, into those eyes fixed on the lens, reading something others did not see. An unspoken challenge, a silent battle that began with a look and would end unexpectedly.
He rested his palm on the table before him and leaned in slightly, as if approaching the boy on the other side of the digital world.
"Today... you will become free, my little beast."
With those words, the sound of metal breaking echoed, and the chains fell to the ground like autumn leaves dropped by winds of freedom.
•
The present time, Morga.
•
A narrow, dark alley, pierced by neon lights from worn-out signs above, the city noise rising as if it did not care that someone was dying in its corner.
Morga staggered, leaning against the wall, blood stains soiling his clothes, and scratches on his face telling the story of escape more than any words.
His breath was broken, mixing with cold steam coming from his mouth, his whole body trembling as if trying to escape itself.
He looked at his bleeding chest, examining the wound as if it were strange to him, not yet comprehending what happened. Drops of blood slowly ran, staining the dirty ground.
He said in a low voice, with a hint of pain:
"That damn one."
He ran his hand over the wound, pressing slightly, then sighed with discomfort. He did not expect it to be so fast... or so precise.
He finally sat down, back against the wall, as if the whole universe pressed on his chest. He dug his hands into his sweat and blood-soaked hair and closed his eyes.
From the depths of the confusion in his chest, he whispered a cracked voice, lost between will and weakness:
"What should I do now...?"
Amid the thick fog dancing like ghosts, and the smell of mold enveloping the air, the sound of footsteps pierced the heavy silence. The sound was steady, approaching with confident steps, each step like a knock on the ground of his staggering consciousness.
He slowly turned, his body groaning under the weight of pain and exhaustion, and raised his head with difficulty. For a moment, he did not comprehend what his eyes saw. Then, his pupils widened, and surprise mixed with fear. Something deep inside told him what he saw could not be real... yet he was standing there.
Standing there, with the same cold posture Morga was used to seeing, but he was no longer sure if he really saw him or if his exhausted mind was playing tricks.
Everything around him began to fade, sounds blurred, and darkness danced at the edges of his vision. Was this his past coming to haunt him, or had the wound unbalanced him from reality?
The man approached him, his golden eyes shining with malice, his cloak flying lightly with every step he took, tilting his head slightly, and a sarcastic smile appeared on his lips like a scar.
"Well done, you survived."
Morga staggered, retreating with heavy steps, his feet betraying him, but his eyes remained fixed on him, examining him with muted despair, as if searching for a small proof... for anything to confirm he was not himself.
"Ahhhhhhh."
A loud scream erupted from Morga's throat, his body shuddered, and his hands clutched his head. His vision blurred, shapes around him merged, and everything began to spin.
He said, his voice barely audible, as if choking on words:
"What... is... this...?"
His voice came out like a muffled roar, as if tearing silence with suppressed bitterness:
"I will not allow you... to take me back to that hell."
"Don't worry... you are already inside it."
His words were not a threat but a cold fact, stripped of any mercy.
The man disappeared for a moment, then appeared before Morga, very close. Before Morga could comprehend what was happening, the man struck his stomach with a fist. It was not a strong blow, but it took the air out of his lungs, and a sharp metallic taste spread in his mouth.
Blood flowed from his lips, bright red, drops scattering on the ground, and he remained motionless between pain and shock.
The man said in a low voice, ba
rely audible but piercing the silence like a needle:
"Sweet dreams, boy."
At that moment, everything vanished. The ground shook beneath Morga's feet, and his vision faded into sudden emptiness.
He fell.
*
*
*
*
Lyoshi: Thanks for reading