The town of hunters was alive with noise. Men and women revelled in their debauchery, lost in their games and drinks, transforming what was once a tranquil settlement in the far west of the fourth realm into a haven for the treacherous and the cast-off.
The castle at the centre served as the home of their leader, the greatest swordsman in the world—a man destined to become Lord, not just of a single realm but of the entire kingdom. Because of him, hunters walked proudly in the realm, united by a shared dream.
As the morning sun cast long shadows across the snowy grounds and stormy clouds far ahead. Guards patrolled the town’s high walls, their faces hidden behind identical masks, each marked with a red claw scratch at the edge. Their eyes scanned the horizon, watching their camps scattered around the town, all residents are currently in the town celebrating their Lord’s victory. More than a thousand hunters called this place home, and hundreds among them possessed rare and dangerous gifts, making this town a place of certain death for outsiders.
On one of the towers, a bearded hunter peered through his scope, feeling the cold snow catch in his beard. His eyes narrowed as he focused on a figure approaching from the horizon—a man in a straw hat, walking steadily through the desolate landscape, a single string dangling from his hat.
“What’s a disciple doing out here?” he whispered unsure if he was seeing correctly.
A fellow hunter approached, curious. “See something?”
“Maybe I’m going mad, but isn’t that a disciple?”
“Let me see.” He took the scope and had a look. Remaining calm, he returned the lens. “Raise the alarm,” he said. “Something's not right.”
Loud and painful to one’s ears, bells were heard across the city. Hunters growled as they equipped themselves and made their way to the front gate. Others stayed within the town, prepared to defend against any breaches in their defences, while some continued with their frivolous activities.
Neil, one of the town’s generals, stood on the high walls, his fur-lined coat billowing slightly in the cold wind. He stroked his blonde beard as he observed the movement below, watching as his fellow hunters scrambled into formation.
“Damn it,” a hunter exclaimed as he walked up the stairs. Seeing the general, he cleared his throat and stood by his side. “It was a hassle getting those troublemakers together; it messes with my head.”
Neil remained focused on the sight below. “Thank our lord for making it a bit easier. Without him, controlling this many hunters would be impossible."
The hunter followed Neil’s gaze toward the horizon. "This man coming... are we sure all this is necessary?"
Neil moved his fingers across the edge of the walls, feeling the hard rocks beneath his fingertips. “So you’re saying this is too much for a likely disciple?” he asked.
Placing on his mask, the hunter said, “Right. It’s better we make this quick,” he stretched his fingers as long claws snapped out.
*
His legs felt numb from the biting cold. Holding down his hat to shield his eyes from the blizzard, he kept moving. The walls were in sight; his sister was somewhere within them.
Pasta stood still, observing the scattered towers and tents, with an army gathered by the gate. “Looks like I’m not welcome,” he whispered, drawing his blade. Overconfidence was a form of foolishness. Those thoughts were nothing more than distractions. Taking them all on would inevitably lead to his demise; he was certain of that.
But Emilia was close. What are they doing to her? Is she hurt? No matter what, he needed to rescue her. With or without their help.
Far above, the clouds churned, a storm raging in the sky. "Darius and that monster might be here too," Pasta said, his gaze fixed on the distant castle. His fist clenched. Is this a bad idea? Maybe. But there was no turning back.
He vanished into the blinding white of the storm.
Sir, I’ve lost him,” one of the hunters reported, peering into the storm. Minutes passed, and the others began to chuckle, relaxing as they headed back into the city.
“Probably ran off,” one said with a smirk. “Can’t blame him.”
The masked hunters roared with laughter, their fists pounding in celebration as they returned to conquer their drinks. Another hunter, feeling the sting of the cold on his neck, closed the town gates behind him. "Storm's gettin' rough. Let's finish up and—"
He whipped around, blade in hand. There was no one there.
“Must be my imagination,” he said, watching his comrades fall to the floor, their veins bulging grotesquely.
The bell tolled again.
“Intruder! Intruder!” The voice stopped as a head tumbled from the walls, its mask clattering to the ground, separated from his face.
Neil stood on the wall, lighting a cigarette. He took a slow puff. "He’s here, using the storm to hide himself. Clever, but pointless"
Pasta crouched in the shadows, his breath ragged. He could feel the strain—sealing his energy was taking its toll. His heart pounded in his chest as he held his life force tightly within, a gruelling task, almost like locking away his very soul. He couldn’t keep this up much longer.
Peeking from his hiding place, Pasta spotted Neil on the wall. "He must be one of their leaders. I need to avoid him and find Emilia. It's only a matter of time before my life force is revealed."
Pasta removed his hat and hung it across his back. The town below was teeming with hunters, making the journey to the castle seem impossible. But there was no time for hesitation. He had chosen to come here; now he had to see it through.
He braced himself. Emilia is going to be so mad. He smiled, already imagining her face when he rescues her. Then he dashed out of his hiding spot, catching the attention of the hunters below.
“There he is! Get him!”
Neil eyed the young man. What a foolhardy move, nothing like a disciple.
Pasta sprinted through the narrow streets, dodging hunters that swarmed him like wolves on prey. The first hunter swung, but Pasta dipped low, letting the attack sail over his head. He drew his sword, slicing through the man’s arm before running past.
More hunters closed in, all angry and filled with excitement. One, in particular, stood off in the distance, locking eyes with Pasta. Then, he vanished.
"Damn it, parallel space," Pasta hissed. Without wasting time, he ignored the hunters lunging toward him and vaulted onto the rooftops. He leapt from building to building, barely touching down before launching himself to the next. Many hunters didn’t bother chasing him—seeing him as just a running dead man.
As he soared through the air, Pasta suddenly felt a sharp sting across his cheek. Before he could react, a powerful kick slammed into his ribs, sending him crashing through the front of a bar. The force shattered the entrance, chairs, and bottles, scattering debris across the room.
The hunters sitting there were unfazed by the commotion. They heard the alarm and the noise—after all, it was no surprise that a weak man in a hat came crashing in. However, one of the hunters was furious. He left his companions behind and clenched his fist in anger.
"How dare you come crashing in here. Why haven’t you been killed yet?" he asked, glaring down at him. "Pathetic. The others must be having fun with you. I’ll just finish the job."
Pasta coughed, struggling to push himself up. He was hurt, but not fatally so.
The masked man from earlier appeared, his long, claw-like fingers glinting. "Back off. He’s mine, you piece of filth."
“Who’re you filth-“ The hunter's words cut off as his tongue fell to the floor. His scream of agony filled the room as he clutched his mouth, dropping to his knees.
A huge hunter with a plain, unflattering mask walked forward carrying a tray of drinks, eyeing the situation. He sighed and returned to work.
"Get them out of here," one of the patrons said, already bored of the scene.
Pasta was kicked out of the bar, landing hard on the snowy ground, right beside the still-writhing hunter. The other hunters gathered around, keeping their distance after witnessing their comrade’s gruesome injury.
“The hunters here already see you as a dead man, so stop struggling,” he said, kicking Pasta away. “We thought you were a disciple, that’s why we all gathered at the gate. The boys were itching for a real fight—turns out, it’s just some boy with a spine and no vigour”
Pasta staggered to his feet, gripping his blade. His eyes locked onto the man before him. This wasn’t a fight he was ready for. Not with the second power at play.
"And yet," the masked man said, eyeing Pasta curiously, "I commend you for breaking in, even as weak as you are. Tell me—are you here for the girl?" he paused, staring at the silent boy. “I see what a shame then”
Pasta frowned. “What do you mean?”
"Let’s exchange names first. It’s the warrior’s way." The man straightened, placing a hand over his chest. "My name is Dango R. Fein, the First. And you?"
“Pasta”
“Good, now die, Pasta. You were a strong soul”
He didn’t return to parallel space and ran to Pasta, who swung his blade to block the strike. Some escaped through, leaving marks on his chest.
“You did well to survive, Pasta,” Dango whispered, noticing the scratch on his arm. “You even managed to hit me. Let’s go again—"
He collapsed, slicing off his own arm. He fell to the snow, gasping. The surrounding hunters rushed forward in shock.
“What’s wrong Dango?” one asked.
Breathing heavily, Dango's face dripped with sweat. “He poisoned me… Cunning bastard! Get him! Get him now!”
Pasta held his chest, panting as he searched for any way to escape. His eyes darted to the snow beneath him. "Snow... is that an element? Nah"
The hunters charged toward him, weapons drawn. Feeling the rush to try something new, Pasta closed his eyes and focused. The wind howled, snow swirling around him in violent gusts. Summoning his life force, he commanded the air, unleashing a burst of snow that engulfed the street, creating a thick smokescreen.
Under the cover of snow, Pasta leapt atop the bar and sprinted toward the castle.
"Can't believe that actually worked," he smiled to himself, remembering Mr Swordsman's lessons. Pasta shook the thought away and faced forward. "I'm coming, Emilia"
*
The void stretched endlessly, filled with nothing but darkness and destruction. Darius took measured breaths, standing in the middle of this space of emptiness. Beneath his bare feet, shallow water rippled, reflecting the formless black. He stood naked, his eyes closed. When they opened, he finally saw his opponent.
There was no sky, but flashes of crimson lightning illuminated the endless expanse. Blue strikes followed, cutting through the void, and then came a white flash that revealed the true horror above—a writhing mass of mythical dragons, their bodies coiling and slithering through the air like serpents. Thousands upon thousands, overlapping and weaving through the void.
“The human mind is indeed a spectacle to withhold,” Darius said, stepping forward. “I have never seen your face. Yet, I can tell just how powerful you are only from that day. Leader of the Disciples”
He stumped his feet into the ground and leapt into the air, soaring toward the monstrous sea of dragons, determined to challenge whatever lurked within that abyss.
Suddenly, Darius snapped out of his trance, his eyes flickering open. He sensed the aura of someone far below. A familiar presence. “That boy... he’s here?” he said, standing up from his perch atop the castle amid the raging storm. He eyed the swirling snow and chaos below. “Kids these days... reckless as ever.”
The door behind him burst open with a crash, and a towering man lumbered inside, his face hidden behind a thick beard, his hand wrapped in bandage. "I've been looking for you," the man growled. "It’s time we move.”
Darius was fixated on the young lad. He really came all this way for her, what a boy.
“Darius!”
He walked toward the edge of the rooftop, stopping just before the drop. “Alright, let’s go. We don’t have all day, Thorne. Our job here is done.”
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Thorne shivered, standing by Darius' side. “That boy... he came.”
“A man loses all sense when it comes to someone they love, it’s a natural thing”
“Will you help him? There’s no chance he’ll survive”
Darius stayed silent for a moment, watching Pasta fight his way through. “Thorne... what makes a hunter? Why are we called that?”
Thorne peered down at Pasta. “Rejected by society, there are those adventurers who lost their status, as well as others who were born into the title. Most say it's because we hunt the innocent, causing chaos wherever we go.” He reached out, catching a snowflake as it drifted down. “But... I think there's another meaning.”
Darius smirked. “You’re right. Hunters... we’re the haunted ones, aren’t we? Unlike adventurers who seek to explore and solve quests. We are left to bear the crippling burden of simply existing. The ones down there… they joined that swordsman not for some noble cause but because they wanted to become something—anything. They're willing to do whatever it takes. In truth, we're the lost souls. Drifting without a destination.”
Thorne patted Darius' back. “You’ve finally gotten what you wanted, you have arrived at your destination. You’re no longer a haunted soul”
“No… not yet, ” Darius whispered. “There are men I must fight and a loved one to return to. Come, Thorne, let’s make ends meet and leave this broken kingdom.”
Thorne hesitated. “What about the Weeping Swordsman?”
Darius stopped, turning his gaze back toward Pasta, now in the thick of the fight. “We’ll meet again.” His voice was firm. "But... perhaps I’ll leave him with a parting gift."
*
Pasta ran, eyes fixed on the castle ahead. But when he glanced back, the hunters were closing in.
His body ached, sliced by those who possessed the second power. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through the pain. They already think I’m dead, he thought, blood oozing from his wounds. I’m just a toy to them, something to entertain themselves with.
“Time to call it a day boy,” one hunter said.
“It’s been fun, but we can’t let you reach that gate”
From the monochrome world, Dango emerged, followed by two other hunters. His eyes burned with rage as he approached. “You little piece of trash,” he said, slashing across Pasta’s chest again and again. Blood spilt slowly in the air.
The other hunters joined in, cutting at Pasta without mercy. But Dango, furious, lashed out, shoving them aside. “He’s mine! Get out of here!” He turned back to Pasta, dragging his claws across the boy’s face. “I tried to noble, but you’re just a stain! I’ll tear you to pieces!”
Dango raised his arm for the final blow, the one that would split Pasta in two, but then—he froze. His eyes widened as he felt a powerful wind stir around them. It was moving faster.
“What... am I seeing things? Or... Am I leaving the space?”
An energy swirled around him, and he traced it to the roof. Where he saw two men. Aren’t they on our side?
He couldn't hear their words, but Darius's lips moved, sending an icy shiver down Dango’s spine.
Pasta fell to the floor, clutching his bleeding chest. Another wave of energy surged past him, and he realized he had suddenly stopped moving. He drew his blade, preparing to confront the hunters behind him. To his surprise, all of them were on the floor, unconscious.
“The heck?” He stared at the roof, “That’s Darius… and—is that the beast? He looks different... why did they help me?”
From above, Darius smirked down at him before vanishing into the storm with Thorne.
“He’s over there!”
“He’s still alive, what’s wrong with you all!”
The other hunters had felt the same energy blast, and they rushed toward Pasta’s position.
Pasta stood, sheathing his blade and adjusting his hat. “Okay, I need to focus. I did it last time—maybe I can do it again.”
He waited for a gust of wind, and as soon as it touched his skin, he commanded it, like an air explosion it sent Pasta to the skies. “Come on, come on, come on!”
He shook his legs, already losing balance and fearing he might fall to his death. Luckily, he burst through the window, landing on the velvet rug below.
“I’m close enough now,” he whispered. “Maybe now I can track her down”
Closing his eyes, Pasta focused, scanning the entire building for Emilia’s presence. But there was nothing. No trace of her anywhere.
“You really made it this far,” a deep voice said.
Pasta drew his weapon but he was too late. Chains snapped around him, coiling tight, locking his arms to his sides.
A towering, figure emerged from the darkness—a giant, masked man with a long contorted neck. “Caught myself a wild one,” he laughed, his voice a sickening blend of glee and madness
“What the? Let me go!”Pasta screamed. But his words fell on deaf ears. He swatted at the flies buzzing around him, grabbing one and sticking into inside his mask, eating it. Still laughing, the giant yanked the chains, dragging Pasta down the hall toward the dungeons below.
The chains rattled as Federick dragged Pasta deeper into the dungeon, past cells filled with decaying bodies. Each breath was heavy and suffocating. Water dripped from the walls, dampening the torches.
“Call me F-Federick,” he said, singing to himself, pulling Pasta down the path.
“Let go of me, I don’t need your name dammit!”
The man’s neck twitched and twisted, turning back to Pasta. “You see I’m a very flexible person, the guys call me Feddy the worm, you can call me Feddy too. My name’s Federick”
He stopped in front of a fire. As he stepped forward to Pasta, he carefully removed the blade and chained Pasta's hands and feet to a pole, also removing his garment.
Federick hummed to himself, placing the straw hat on a table and began to toss some chains into the fire. “Don’t even think about controlling the flames, it is already under my control. You can’t possibly command them even if you tried, hehehe, call me Federick”
Pasta lowered his head. “Damn I’m running out of energy”
Federick clapped over and over, dancing in front of the flames. “That’s good, that’s good, that’s good. Call me Federick”
Pasta’s vision blurred as he caught sight of something within the flames. A pouch burning inside, releasing an incense that made his head spin.
“That,” Federick whispered, leaning close to Pasta, “is my little trick. You’ll fall asleep, and if it takes too long, you’ll die.” His twisted grin stretched wider. “Call me F-Federick.”
“Jokes on you,” Pasta whispered, still dizzy. “I’m immune”
Federick struck a pose, his neck curling like a swan. “Oh, I know. She said the same thing”
Pasta forced his eyes open, though the sleep was drawing him near. “Emilia… What did you do to her you freak!”
“Call me Federick, first,” he chuckled.
“Tell me where’s Emilia?! Damn you!”
“Call me Federick”
“Where is she, you worm?!”
Federick’s face twisted with rage. He struck Pasta hard, forcing their faces inches apart. “Call me Federick, or I’ll slit your throat, you worthless piece of trash,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “You want to know what happened to your precious sister so bad?”
Pasta glared at him. “If you hurt Emilia in any way I swear I’ll kill you”
Federick chuckled, returning to the fire. “What a treat she was, pure, innocent. Oh I had fun”
Pasta glared at the burning red steel brought out, “What did you do to Emilia”
Federick only laughed, retreating to the fire. “What a treat she was. Pure, innocent... her screams were delightful.” He retrieved the red-hot chains from the fire, his neck twitching as he spoke. “Her cries were so beautiful, they fed my soul, enriching my body. Oh, how splendid...”
“DAMM YOU!!” Pasta thrashed against the chains. “Let me out of here!”
Federick eyed him with a wide grin. “Yes, yes, show me more fear, pain, anger, all your emotions. I am Federick”
He whipped the scorching chains across Pasta’s back, each strike followed by a maniacal laugh
“Yes, yes, show me. Scream louder, fill my excitement, FILL ME!!” he yelled, rubbing his neck with one hand and whipping Pasta with the other.
The dungeon echoed with Pasta’s screams, but slowly, they began to fade. Blood dripped onto the stone floor, pooling beneath him.
Federick crouched, observing Pasta’s still body. “You died too easily,” he whispered, pushing Pasta’s head to the side. “Your sister endured far worse than this. What does that make you?” He chuckled softly, a sinister gleam in his eyes. “You should’ve seen your face. She was only chained up, nothing more. The lord wouldn’t let me have any fun with her. Torture... it’s not an easy job, you know. Especially when you are restricted. I am Federick”
Torture?
Pasta’s mind raced. The underground prison at home. Deep in the cold darkness. Floors were scattered with bloody blades and used syringes. Emilia experienced torture, she saw those things. She…. She cried and suffered. My sister suffered. You hurt her.
“She suffered,” he whispered.
Federick turned to leave, but then he stopped, feeling a sudden tug. The chains were wrapped around Pasta’s arm.
“I see, I see. You are still alive. I take back my word, you are strong. I am Fed-“
The chains blazed with heat, growing hotter and hotter. At first, Federick was unfazed, but soon the heat began to burn his flesh. “Get it off, get it off!” he screamed, thrashing his arm. The fire flickered violently, its intensity surging.
Pasta lifted his head, his eyes filled with hate. The entire room erupted into flames.
Federick finally broke free from the chains, but his other chains melted under the intense heat. “What the...?” He stumbled, hearing footsteps approaching through the fire. His legs refused to move, paralysed by fear.
He tried begging but his lips refused to move. At this moment, he felt the aura of something that wasn’t human. A power he never felt before.
The flames cast a monstrous shadow on the wall—a dragon twisting with a serpent. Beneath it stood Pasta, blood running down his body like sweat, his blade gleaming in one hand, a crimson chain wrapped around the other.
Federick’s smirk faltered. “It’s just you... I thought it was someone else.” He attempted to rise, but one of his legs—burned beyond recognition—wouldn’t respond. “My feet! Damn, when did you—?”
Pasta stepped closer, the dragon-like shadow fading behind him. “Where’s Emilia?”
Federick screamed in pain. “I’m Federick, can’t you see I’m hurt, help me and I’ll tell you”
“You tortured Emilia?” Pasta whispered, drawing his blade, slowly.
“It was a joke! Just a joke! Federick loves telling jokes” he laughed nervously, glancing at Pasta’s blade. “I’m immune to your poison, fool. Ha! That doesn't faze me, I am Federick!”
Pasta's eyes went dark, as ash and smoke enveloped the room. “Better,” he whispered, cutting off Federick's other leg.
He screamed again, holding his bleeding leg, his mask falling off to reveal the face of a boy, eyes red from crying.
Pasta knelt beside him, his gaze icy. “I’ll have fun disassembling you slowly then, piece by piece”
As the flames engulfed the dungeon, the floor began to crumble, screams of the other prisoners were drowned by the destruction. And Federick’s own cries of torment echoed from the lower chambers, lost in the roar of the inferno.
*
The vibrant colours of flames lit up the lower floor of the castle, thick black smoke billowing into the sky,
"Fire! Fire! Move it, all of you!"
A group of unconscious hunters awoke, eyes wide, fixated on the rising smoke from their lord’s domain.
Dango gazed at the large group of hunters who were trying to stop the fire from spreading. The flames were hot but couldn’t compare to the furnace he held within. “That boy made it that far?”
He tied a cloth around his arm and made his way to the castle, followed by the others.
They reached the second floor, just beneath their master's quarters. The aura felt was that of anger and hate. Life forces flickered out one by one above them. Dango quickened his pace, along with the masked hunters at his side.
The entrance to the prison loomed ahead, smoke creeping from the stairway and the faint flicker of fire casting reflections on the walls.
A hunter stumbled out, collapsing at the threshold, eyes wide with terror. “Help… me…” he whispered, his body trembling before he spat out blood. His veins twisted itself granting him death
The hunters tightened their grips on their weapons, bracing themselves.
A figure stepped out from the stairway—a man clad in a crimson, burning cloak, wearing a straw hat, and a blade dripping with blood. “Where’s my sister?”
Dango chuckled, stepping forward with a smirk, his lone arm swinging at his side. “You think you’re some hotshot now, just because you took down a few weaklings?” He cracked his neck. “Alright, tell you what—if you manage to land a hit on me, I’ll tell you where your sister is.”
Pasta remained silent, the weight of his gaze unnerving. "Did you hurt her? Tell me"
After a moment, his eyes darkened beneath the brim of his hat. “No need to answer. I already know... that worm told me everything.”
“Then let's get this over with,” Dango said, vanishing into the parallel space. In an instant, his claws were at Pasta’s throat. “I’m not playing around, kid. You die now.”
But as he grinned, Pasta’s body vanished from sight. “An afterimage? He was hiding?” he said, confused, searching around, his breathing growing erratic. His energy levels were fluctuating. He was near his limit. "What the hell kind of trouble did I get myself into? If I deactivate the space, where’ll he—"
Suddenly, a blade pierced his throat the moment the space collapsed.
"I never intended to listen to your nonsense," Pasta whispered, twisting his blade deeper into Dango’s neck.
He fell to the floor, his neck gushing out blood. Pasta turned his eyes toward the remaining hunters, his chains glowing hotter and hotter, burning with intensity.
Without a word, Pasta lowered his eyes, shrouded in the shadow of his hat. He strolled towards the hunters before he picked up the pacing. They charged at him, weapons raised. He focused, watching their arm movements and the strength of their swing. Moving his blade, he aimed to strike swiftly and land only grazes.
He shot his chains forward, every heated molecule increasing in intensity as the searing links burrowed into a hunter’s eye, bursting out the other side.
Pasta yanked the chain back, and with a single swing, sliced another hunter clean in half. The chains danced, following his every move, cutting down every man in his path.
More hunters surrounded him, their weapons poised for the kill. Pasta leapt into the air, twisting his body as his chains whipped in a deadly circle, decapitating them all. Their heads, hitting the floor.
As soon as he sensed a strange energy nearby, he activated Burst, knocking the second power users who were close to him to the ground.
From both sides of the hallway, more came. Pasta sighted the biggest out of them. He dashed towards him, dodging the other hunters in his way.
The giant swung down his hammer, but Pasta stepped onto the weapon, launching himself high into the air, his chains coiling tightly around his fist.
The huge man grinned, unleashing a burst of energy that shattered the walls and cracked the floor. But Pasta remained undeterred in the air, his blood dripping from his nose.
Pasta slammed the giant into the ground, the impact reducing the floor to rubble. He stood atop the fallen man’s chest, raining down punch after punch, smashing the man’s face into an unrecognisable pulp before they crashed to the upper dungeon.
The other hunters rushed to Pasta who kept punching the man’s face. He slammed the man’s chest into the ground destroying it again and sending them deeper into the burning dungeon. The scorching flames burned some of the hunters despite their coating.
Hunters jumped into the gaping hole to meet Pasta who left the giant and began to slice through every one of them, as they landed. While for the others he broke their necks, blinded some and killed the rest died from poison.
As the hunters writhed in agony, Pasta turned, hurling his blade into the air. It cut through a bullet and buried itself in the skull of another hunter. He stepped forward, pulling the blade free before wiping the blood from its edge with his elbow.
“They retreated,” Pasta whispered, looking at the hole, his hand steadying the brim of his hat. “Yet you remained”
A man stood amidst the flames, his mouth hidden beneath a half-mask, his dark attire covering him entirely. Beside him, a much larger man grinned from ear to ear.
“I know you two, you’re a friend of Darius”
Bastian wasted no time. In a blink, he was right in front of Pasta, arms stretched wide. "Hehe, time for you to die—"
His sentence was cut short as his throat was slit in an instant, sending him crumpling to the floor. Pasta's glare shifted toward Ryder.
"Where's Emilia?"
Ryder stared at him for a while and sighed. “I see so you’re not the one,”
“What do you mean”
Your sister was kidnapped from our base a few days ago. I was sure you may have evolved and done it sneakily, but I guess I was wrong. No mater, you’ll die here”
Pasta's eyes went wide as Bastian stood back up, cracking his neck. “I wasn’t expecting that. Crazy reflexes, this one got”
How? He thought. It takes ten seconds for my poison to spread and kill. How is he still standing?
“Bastian, leave this one to me,” Ryder said. “It won’t take long.”
“Alright, boss,” Bastian saluted, stepping back with a smirk.
Rocks erupted from the ground, shooting toward Pasta. His instincts flared, but something about the power felt oddly familiar. He dodged, moving toward Ryder, but the man vanished in an instant.
Pasta activated his burst, but it was futile—stones pummeled him from all directions, launching him across the room. Before Ryder appeared mid-air, kicking Pasta sending him to the upper floor.
Dazed, Pasta pushed himself to his feet, his vision blurred. His energy was waning. He blinked, suddenly seeing mountains in the distance. What? He didn't remember going outside. The castle was gone, replaced by a vast white storm. He blinked again and found himself back inside the castle’s walls.
"You’ve caused quite a bit of damage for someone who came alone," Ryder said. “But it all ends here.”
Spiked rocks shot from the ground, rushing toward Pasta’s broken form. Just as they were about to strike, a massive figure broke through the window, his plain mask concealing his face. With a mighty swing of his axe, the stones shattered into dust.
The giant man lifted Pasta’s body and jumped out of the castle as rocks continued to spew behind them.
Ryder remained calm and began strolling back. “I wanted to end him quickly, considering how weak he is. Shame.”
Bastian casually strolled up behind Ryder, stretching out his arm. But before he could say anything, his body disintegrated into dust.
“There’s going to be a bigger fight anytime soon anyways,” he said. “Let’s hope for the best”
*
A lone swordsman stood still, a dark scarf draped around his neck, fluttering with the cold wind. His sword rested in its sheath on his back, and a delicate flower was strapped to his waist, with a gourd and a small assassin knife.
Each step he took left a faint trail behind him in the snow, leading away from the ancient temple.
He gazed at the distant mountains, hoping for another chance to make things right.