Comodo spat a mouthful of blood that he didn't even have time to clean up with the tattered sleeve of his tunic. He crept to the side, dodging another scarlet bolt. Vlad's blows seemed like divine bolts, descending upon him as a punishment higher than heaven itself. The Goblin rolled over, did a somersault and another piece of flesh was nonetheless ripped off.

The pain travelled at high speed from his peripheral nerves to his brain, making him tremble like a leaf. Going on all fours on his stomach, despite being able to fly, he managed to minimize the impact of the explosion of another dart, which had grazed his pale green cheek. He licked a drop of blood, while his eyes remained fixed on the enemy.

Vlad hadn't moved an inch since the fight had begun. Comodo used his Poison Mana to hurl bright green rays, which shattered before touching him . The half Goblin was above every strong point of his enemy, immovable, invincible.

In every version of reality in front of him, Vlad was slowly killing Comodo.

Comodo dragged his body half a second too late and another arrow from Mana slammed into his side, tearing away the flesh on the surface. He crawled on the ground and gnashed his teeth, quickly searching with his eyes an opening in the forms of attack of his enemy; however, there was nothing, absolutely nothing.

Although he possessed the Poison Mana belonging to the Hydra and all his attacks could be potentially deadly, Vlad's offensive power seemed to surpass even that of the gods. Burning one's life to defeat an enemy was no small thing.

It took much more than mere will to sacrifice one's life and convert it into pure power. For suicide not to be in vain, one had to have a refined and very high control over their own meridians. Had it been otherwise, the clans would have used kamikaze warriors to raze enemy territory. And, even in Vlad's case, the Mana actually converted from the loss of his life amounted to no more than a fifth.

For a young man of the half-Goblin age it was already an unprecedented feat. The turbulent mana generated by that process could not be easily controlled. The fact that he did it without too much trouble and without exploding on the spot showed that he had already reached a level beyond any other imagination.

Yet another snake of light shattered into a myriad of splinters as Comodo dived sideways. His every move was hideous to see. He wasn't a warrior, he was a pig headed for slaughter. There was nothing heroic about his way of fighting, nothing honourable or dignified.

He threw himself from side to side with his whole body, avoiding the blows in every way, tearing his clothes to save his life. To keep his wounds superficial, he had sacrificed several items of protection and his face was a mask of blood.

Comodo now resembled a bright green snake, crushed under the feet of a tiger with a bright red coat. Although he managed to raise his head from time to time to try to bite his tormentor, the fate of the Goblin seemed to be fulfilled slowly and inevitably.

Lumia watched with concern the clash between Helial and the Assassin, biting her nails; in these rare moments, instead of a fearless warrior, she finally looked like an ordinary girl.

Snowflake, on the other hand, observed Vlad. He wanted to dissuade him from his decision, he wanted him to go back, to think about what he was doing and take a step back. It had to be possible to have Vlad's life saved.

The cat mulled over, thinking of any options that might help his friend. He could have called his mother or father and got them there in a few moments. What would it have been for an Immortal to restore vitality to a child in the Third Phase?

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But every second of indecision, more and more vitality flowed from the body of the young half Goblin, whose face was austere and full of dignity.

In front of that austere face, the huge cat remembered Vlad's smile. A very rare and therefore very precious smile. He wished he could see it one more time.

Is it possible that in this stupid world everything would be reduced to living or not living?

And here they are... Vlad, Frankenstein, and Snowflake coming out of the guild of Life and Death, fearing for their lives and laughing like lunatics. Then back in several restaurants, while Snowflake kept at the expense of Nelia and Frankenstein, accustomed to a lean and hard-working life, kept drooling on every dish for whole minutes before eating it.

And now?

One dead, and the other too. Only the huge cat, in a truly unstoic solitude, remained the last member of Los Gatos.

He didn't know why there were all those problems inside Orma, he didn't really know. But he knew that once the conflict was resolved, he would find those responsible and tear them to pieces with his own paws.

But, as his killer thoughts wandered, he noticed some strange movements from Comodo. It was like he was following... a pattern?

He jumped to the right and left, at first glance for no further reason besides saving his life. One moment he seemed on the verge of receiving the coup de grace, the next he saved his ass for half an inch.

It was now more than several minutes before the fight went on like this.

And that's when Snowflake had a bad feeling.

Why did Comodo's movements seem to follow a strange sequence and the places where he leaned continued to be the same? Of course, Vlad didn't notice, too intent on trying to kill his opponent before the time he had.

But... if Comodo had taken this into account? What if he knew about his distraction and exploited it? What was the point of plotting some sort of dodging pattern around the enemy?

Range of attack, security, speed, possible counterattacks?

The more Snowflake observed Comodo, the more the feeling of discomfort continued to rise. It was as if a detail kept evading him and was about to witness a tragedy.

It was just then, as Snowflake decided whether to warn Vlad or not, that the unthinkable happened.

The Goblin medium was now panting and tired, with vitality falling exponentially. As much as he was trying to hold vitality in hia own hands, this, just like water, kept flowing away. Time never seemed enough to kill Comodo.

Although Vlad continually had the feeling that he had it in his hand, he had not yet managed to inflict a mortal wound on him.

Then, suddenly, Comodo froze.

He didn't dodge any shots.

Vlad's dart missed its target.

With a snap of his fingers, Aure's son summoned an infinity of green flashes.

Skill Activated:

Poisonous Psalm

All the points where Comodo had landed had been covered with Poison Man, because he had often crawled onto the ground.

Each of his movements had been functional in hiding the traces of Mana necessary for his attack.

Vlad had been blind.

If he had the same acute vision as Helial or snowflake's Intuition, he would have noticed it.

Instead he had been blinded by vengeance and so had given up killing his enemy.

A very high number of Rays of Mana del Veleno catapulted on to Vlad. That was Comodo's first real attack during the fight and it would also be the last.

Comodo was slimy, incorrect, but he was also a very good strategist.

He had been patient, had waited and delayed in every way the execution of the attack and, when he had put it in place, he had scored.

A perfect, masterful shot.

That's why Comodo was hated by everyone, and he was covered in contempt.

And so, Vlad died without any glory.

His fatigued heart was crossed by poisonous rays. Then, his body began to solidify.

In his death, Vlad had approached his closest friends, Frankenstein and Francesca; just like them, he had unnecessarily sacrificed and achieved no goal. Fate had been cruel to them. The promises of the Kingdom of Orma had been wiped out by a death that did not render them any dignity. Death ridicules the lives of the great, rendering them as helpless as the weakest.

Vlad had hoped to be able to say farewell to all his companions for the last time, to be able to embrace Circe and Snowflake.

He would pat Helial on the back, pretending to be strong, and kiss on Lumia's cheek, telling her not to repeate his mistakes.

But Comodo didn't let him. He had made a mockery of his dreams, of his sacrifice. Vlad had been dragged down from being a martyr to being a stupid victim.

Despite this, Vlad did not despair much. In the world of the living he was leaving real friends, but in that of the dead he would embrace true love.

At the end of the day, whether his death was heroic or insignificant, whether revenge had been accomplished or not, this mattered no longer.

What mattered was that Vlad was gone.

And no more.