After the explosion, Erymas left the scene without a single word.
The rhythm of his steps was like the march of death itself.
Soldiers had locked down the corridors, trying to corner him.
The clang of steel armor and the glint of spearheads filled the dark hallways.
But not a trace of panic touched his face.
Every obstacle in his path was cut down with surgical precision.
He caught a soldier's blade mid-swing and drove it into his shoulder;
another he pinned to the wall in a single, fluid motion.
Every movement was part of his escape—no strike slowed him for long.
Then, behind him, the rhythm changed.
These footsteps… were not the sound of a simple chase.
They were the sound of the gap between hunter and prey collapsing.
From the mist, Nujah burst forth like an arrow loosed from a broken chain.
The look on his face was an ice-forged fury.
His eyes locked on his target, each stride slamming into the ground with bone-breaking force.
Erymas tossed the first bombs from his pocket onto the ground.
The metal casings hit with a dull clink.
A dense green toxin began to flood the corridor.
From his pack, he yanked more pins free and hurled the bombs behind him without looking back.
The blasts didn't just bring smoke—they spewed a stinging, lung-burning venom into the air.
But from within the haze, another sound rose—
an unseen pressure, like thousands of whispers breathed into the ear at once.
The spirits of Vercurius.
From both ends of the corridor, translucent forms swept in.
Some took the shapes of wolves; others were like black veils rippling in water.
Each one devoured the poisonous gas as it passed, restoring the air to a suffocating silence.
Erymas burst through the great door ahead.
Outside lay a city drowned in night.
He vaulted onto the rooftops, shingles shattering underfoot.
Behind him, Nujah was closing the gap with every second.
Leaping from one roof to the next, Erymas dove into a narrow street sloping toward the sea.
In the distance, the dark surface of the waves gleamed under the moonlight.
At the shore, a rusted hatch hid the entrance to an old mine.
He tore it free in one motion and plunged into darkness.
The mine's air was damp and close, the walls crumbling in places, water dripping from the ceiling.
Erymas moved quickly—until he saw it.
A vast, half-transparent barrier stretched across the tunnel.
Beyond it lay the hidden path to the dark side.
He stepped forward—
and a shadow fell across his path.
Nujah.
Breathing hard… but with the calm gaze of a predator.
Without slowing his steps, his hands moved slowly to his sword.
— "It's over, Master."
Erymas pulled the mask from his face.
Golden hair gleamed in the dim light; his yellow spear shone like a royal insignia in his grip.
— "If you think it's over…" he said, a cold smile curling his lips,
"…we're only just getting started, rookie."
Nujah's mouth twisted into a smile of his own, laced with fury.
— "So you've sunk this low… for power."
He stepped forward, voice hardening.
— "Low enough to kill my brothers… to steal their blood?"
Not a flicker of remorse crossed Erymas's gaze.
— "Your brothers? They were nothing more than resources… in the right place, at the right time."
He lifted his spear, resting it on his shoulder.
— "And you… will be the last piece that carries their blood."
The silence shattered.
Nujah struck first—
His blade carved a deadly arc downward, met by Erymas's spear in a cross-guard.
Metal screamed against metal.
Sparks burst between their faces.
Nujah pulled back, unleashing a flurry of strikes—
Each blow the echo of his rage.
But Erymas, as if he had been waiting for this moment for years, deflected every strike with icy mastery.
Erymas slammed his spear into the ground.
The mine's floor cracked; stone fragments erupted upward.
The quake staggered Nujah—
and Erymas swept his spear in a deadly arc.
Nujah tilted his head just enough for the blade to slice past his cheek.
— "Too slow," Erymas whispered.
Nujah dropped low, weaving through the narrow ground to flank him.
His sword rose for the killing blow—
but Erymas spun the spear backward, catching the blade an inch from his neck.
Their eyes locked in the clash.
— "Good try," Erymas said.
— "This is only the beginning," Nujah answered.
The clash exploded anew.
Spear strikes tore into the stone; sword strikes scattered showers of sparks.
Footsteps thundered through the mine, shaking loose chunks from the ceiling.
Erymas gathered yellow energy at the spear's tip and hurled it forward.
The massive wave of power surged toward Nujah—
but Nujah held his sword upright, cleaving the wave in two before bursting through the haze.
Their weapons clashed again.
Erymas retreated, spinning his spear overhead; yellow energy spiraled like a storm.
He brought it down in one crushing strike—
the blast flung Nujah backward into the wall.
— "Your power is impressive…" Erymas said, raising his spear again,
"…but your anger blinds you."
Nujah's grip tightened on his sword.
— "My anger… will be the thing that buries you."
They both readied for the final strike.
Time seemed to slow.
Erymas lunged, spear aimed for the kill—
But before it could land…
White light flooded the mine.
The pressure in the air shifted—
and from the light stepped Vercurius.
In an instant, he was behind Erymas.
The spear clattered to the ground.
Vercurius's hand clamped around his neck like steel.
Erymas could not breathe.
— "Enough," Vercurius said—calm, cold, and absolute.
In the stillness of the mine, his words were the only sound.