AKIHIRO ATLAS
When I sat down at the table, the first thing I felt wasn't hunger... it was a strange sense of unfamiliarity. Everything was as it should be; the table was set, the food was still hot, and the sound of the fireplace filled the room with that familiar, comforting feeling. But this "order" was clashing with the chaos within me. Because I still hadn't fully emerged from there. It was as if my body had settled here, but my mind was still trapped in that battlefield, in a corner of that senselessly large and heavy scene. Magnus was sitting in the chair opposite me, as measured as always, as unchanging as always. He slowly lifted the glass in his hand and took a sip of the wine. As I watched him, the first thing that came to my mind was this: He is someone who is not affected by such things. Or even if he is affected, he has learned perfectly how to hide it.
And I... I can't hide it.
I take the fork in my hand but I just stand there without moving it for a while. Even though my eyes seem fixed on the plate, I'm actually not seeing anything. Because my mind keeps replaying the same scene over and over again. That war... those countless beings... and most of all, that voice. "Akihiro Atlas." This isn't like a memory; it's more like a repetition. As if my mind is reproducing it involuntarily, as if that moment never ended. And with each repetition, the weight of that feeling grows a little more. This is not just an image. This is... pressure. Something that comes from within, that cannot be silenced, that cannot be suppressed by reason.
I close my eyes for a moment, thinking maybe I can collect my thoughts for a few seconds. But this turns out to be a mistake. Because the darkness makes that image even clearer. Those enormous Avatars appear again, forms splitting the sky, dark figures swallowing light... and my name echoing amidst them. This time closer. More intense. It's not just that I hear it... I'm being exposed to it. My chest feels tight. My breathing becomes irregular. This feeling is similar to fear, but not quite fear. More like… something close to loss of control. It's as if my mind doesn't belong to me.
I open my eyes, with a somewhat forceful movement. To return to reality. To hold on to where I am now.
At that moment, Magnus's goblet touches the table. A thin, sharp sound. It's a small detail, but it serves as an anchor at that moment. It draws my attention back. I watch it. It sits there as if nothing happened. As if the things we just talked about weren't the gravest truths of the universe. This troubles me. Because if anyone could understand what I'm seeing... that person in this room is Magnus. But at the same time, if anyone truly knows the meaning of what I'm seeing... it's still him.
And this possibility... is not comforting.
I finally move the fork and put something in my mouth, but I don't even realize what I'm eating. No taste. No sensation. Just a mechanical action. My mind is still working somewhere else. But I don't know what you're trying to solve. Because it doesn't seem like there's a problem to solve... it seems more like something that needs to be accepted.
But I don't want to accept it just yet.
Meanwhile, Magnus continues drinking his wine. As always, too much, as always, calm. But as I watch him, I notice this: His drinking is not a habit, it's a rhythm. It's as if he aligns his thoughts with those sips. It's as if every sip completes something. And I... I'm so far from that feeling of completion.
The silence in the room stretches on. But this silence isn't empty. On the contrary... it's too full. Because the noise inside me makes the silence outside even more evident. And that noise reaches such a point that… it becomes impossible to ignore.
I slowly lift my head. I look at Magnus. I have to say something. Because if I don't say it now... these thoughts will grow on their own.
"Magnus…"
My voice comes out weaker than I expected. It's as if even pushing the words out requires effort. But I don't stop.
"Dreams..." I say, feeling tension inside me even as I choose the word. Because it's not just a word. This is a simplified version of what I experienced. And I don't want it to be this simple.
"…is it just a dream? "
The question remains unanswered. But that's not actually what I'm asking.
My problem isn't about the answer... it's about the source itself.
I'm asking this:
What I see… does it belong to me?
Or… does it come from somewhere?
As this thought echoes in my mind, even my own voice seems foreign to me. The words come out of my mouth, but their origins... don't feel like they're mine. It's as if I'm just a medium through which they're spoken. The real speaker... something deeper.
My eyes drift as I wait for Magnus' answer.
Unintentionally.
In an uncontrolled manner.
It's as if nothing catches my attention, yet it draws me in. My gaze shifts beyond my will. It's as if my eye muscles aren't my own. For even a moment, my control over my body is broken.
And then—
The world is changing.
For a second.
But that second... feels like eternity.
The person sitting across the table isn't Magnus.
That room doesn't exist.
There are no walls.
There is no light.
Instead... a battlefield.
The soil is burned. The air is heavy. Even breathing feels like admitting a crime. There is no horizon—because everywhere is an extension of the same destruction. There is silence, but it is not a peaceful silence... it is a silence weighed down by suppressed screams, unfinished cries, prayers that were never completed.
And in the midst of it—
Magnus.
But he's not alone.
What's standing behind him... more than just a figure.
Ares.
The word "to see" is inadequate to describe it. It is not an image. It is a presence forcibly imprinted on the mind. My eyes perceive it, but my mind rejects it. Because the existence of such a thing... is an affront to reality itself.
Gigantic.
But not just because of its size.
Great in its presence.
As if everything around it seems small compared to it. As if the world had been shaped around him but could not bear his weight, it cracked.
And that hand…
It moves slowly.
Its massive palm closes around Magnus.
But it doesn't seem like an attack.
This is... possessiveness.
Not just to control—
To define.
Like saying, "This is who you are."
While enveloping Magnus' body, that movement... occurs almost calmly. But beneath that calm lies such power... that the very idea of resisting becomes meaningless.
At that moment, it feels like my heart stops.
Really.
It's as if the thing in my chest isn't an organ but... a fragile piece of glass, and someone touched it.
My eyes widen like saucers.
But I can't escape.
Because it's not just something I see—
It's something I feel.
When that hand is squeezing Magnus... I feel the pressure.
That weight... is on me.
That possessiveness... it feels directed at me.
And the worst part—
It's not a feeling of unfamiliarity.
It's familiar.
Scarily familiar.
I feel like I've seen this before.
I've felt this before.
But when?
How?
I can't remember.
I can't remember, but... I don't feel like I've forgotten.
It's as if this memory doesn't belong to my mind.
But it hasn't been erased from me either.
Just... a trace left for me.
And as I walk on that trace, I'm like a traveler who doesn't know where it leads.
Then—
A blink.
Everything is going away.
That battlefield... that being... that pressure...
No.
The room again.
The table again.
Magnus again.
But nothing is the same.
Because the image fades away…
But the feeling remains.
In my chest.
Behind my mind.
Like an invisible shadow wandering among my thoughts.
I blink my eyes.
Once more.
Once more.
But to no avail.
That thing didn't go away.
It just… became invisible.
And at that moment, something very clear forms within me:
This isn't just a dream.
This isn't just a hallucination.
This… doesn't belong to me.
But it's still inside me.
This… is a mark.
Left by someone.
Left by something.
And I…
…am passing through that mark.
Without meaning to.
Without knowing.
But unable to stop.
Magnus didn't answer right away when he heard my question. Or, I must have been thinking so hard that I thought time hadn't passed at all. Anyway, during my time with him, I had learned that such questions don't yield quick answers. He never used words to fill empty spaces; every sentence of his was as if chosen to reveal an already existing truth. While slowly rotating the glass in his hand, he was watching the subtle waves forming on the surface of the wine inside. Even that small gesture... it was as if it were an extension of his thoughts. But what was truly disturbing was that his silence made the noise inside me even more pronounced. Because I was still caught up in that dream. Sitting at the table didn't stop my mind from hearing my name echoing across that battlefield. "Akihiro Atlas." This was no longer a memory; it was a repetitive mechanism lodged within my mind.
When Magnus finally spoke, his voice neither rose nor changed. But the weight it carried inside it... hit my mind directly.
"When nothing in this universe is as it seems, expecting dreams to be as they seem... is one of the least harmful lies one tells oneself. "
This sentence was not so much an answer as it was a framework. It was as if, instead of directly answering "yes" or "no," they were implying that I had approached the question from the wrong perspective. Magnus continued, but this time his voice seemed directed not only at me, but at existence itself.
Even what you call reality is not fixed, Aki. You think of it as something existing outside, whereas it is… a version rendered into a form your mind can process. What you call perception is not reality itself; it is its digestible form. You don't see the world as it is. You see it in a way you can handle."
At this point, a tension arises within me. Because what he says... isn't just a philosophical idea. It directly intersects with what I'm experiencing. The images in that dream... that pressure... that uncontrolled intensity... were truly beyond what I could bear.
Magnus took another sip from his glass and continued.
"Dreams, on the other hand, are places where this boundary relaxes. The things you see there are not 'unreal.' They are just… unfiltered. It has not been processed. And most of the time... the human mind in its current state is unsuited to bear the truth. "
This sentence struck a chord within me. Because that's exactly what I felt in that dream. More than just an image. Not like information... like an exposure. As if I hadn't learned something... I had been thrust into something.
Magnus' gaze locked directly on me this time. This was the moment when he said, "I understand."
"And you," he said, his voice dropping slightly but without losing its impact, "have begun to see things that shouldn't be filtered out. "
With that sentence, something inside me tightened. Because up until that moment, I had been trying to pull myself together. I tried to make sense of what I saw, to gain control over it... but what Magnus said was the exact opposite. This wasn't something that could be controlled. This... was something that was already beyond control.
There was no point in trying to hide this from me anyway. I could feel my hands trembling slightly. I noticed that my gaze couldn't stay steady, drifting off into space involuntarily at times. That battle scene, that name, that image... still haunted the back of my mind. And Magnus saw it all.
He set his glass down on the table.
Even this small gesture... felt like a transition.
"This isn't anything new," he said, his voice clearer, sharper. "It's just... new to you."
He paused for a moment, then continued, choosing his words more carefully.
"You have become one of the kings, Aki."
I've heard this sentence before. But at that moment... this sentence didn't feel like information; it felt like a definition. It wasn't like a label for who I am... it was the result of what I had become.
"This is not just a title," Magnus continued, "it is a burden. And every burden… does not merely remain unmoved. It also changes the one who bears it." His eyes were still on me. "You are no longer just yourself. What you carry... existed before you. And it will continue to exist after you."
These sentences resonated with me. Because that's exactly what I felt in the dream. That war wasn't mine... but I was in it. That call was using my name... but it wasn't mine.
Magnus leaned back, but it wasn't a gesture of relief. It was more like an acknowledgment of the scope of what he was about to say.
"War…" he said, almost weighing the word, "is not what you think it is."
A brief pause.
"War… is one of the themes of this universe."
This sentence sank deeply into my mind. Because it transformed war from being a condition into… a structure.
"It is everywhere. It has always been there. And it never ends." Magnus's voice remained unchanged, but the meaning within it deepened. "Because war is not the product of an outcome. It is… a process itself. It is a flow formed by the convergence of an infinite number of small conflicts, wills, desires, and fears." Her eyes turned back to me. "You… saw only a part of this flow."
Just a part.
This thought... caused a heaviness within me.
"And if that war calls to you," Magnus said, his voice this time lower but sharper, "it is no coincidence."
With this sentence, nothing inside me broke.
But the place had changed.
Magnus's last words were almost like a verdict.
"Because you are no longer just a spectator."
Silence returned.
But this time... there was no noise inside me.
Instead... there was something heavier.
Agreed.
I breathe slowly. That pressure in my chest is still not completely gone. That battle scene, those sounds... still linger in a corner of my mind. But I no longer try to run away from them. Because Magnus' words make it clear that there is no escaping.
I bear this burden.
And this burden... carries me.
This awareness is heavier than fear. Because fear provokes a reaction. But this... it sets a course.
One day... I will be in that war.
This no longer feels like a possibility.
It feels like a pattern.
And the most disturbing thing is this:
I don't even question whether this is true.
It's just…
…I wonder when it will happen.
"If war... is, as you say, an inevitable part of this universe, I will not run from it, Magnus. But I will not let it define me either. Because I am not here to get lost in that war... I am here to give direction. "
I pause for a moment; I no longer weigh my words; they come out as I feel them, but for the first time, they emerge so clearly.
"Kings… High Kings… no matter who they are. Anyone who uses their power to oppress people, spread fear, and disregard lives... will face me. Because I have seen what that power can turn into. And if there is anything that can stop it... it is power again. "
My eyes involuntarily harden, but it's not anger—it's just determination.
"Perhaps I did not choose to bear this title… but I will choose how I use it. If this war is inevitable… then I will not be among those who get lost in it, but among those who break it. "
My breathing is becoming a little labored, but I do not stop.
"I will protect those I love... everything I believe needs to be protected in this world... to the very end. Even if everyone stands against me if necessary. Even against that 'title' you call it, if necessary." "
I look at Magnus for a moment.
And this time my voice is calmer... but deeper.
"If I am to be a king… not like them. Not someone people fear… I will be someone darkness fears. "
Even after my words, Magnus looks at me without reacting or any facial expression. He slowly takes another sip and finishes his wine. After wiping his mouth with a small napkin, he begins to speak.
"I am the very darkness itself. Yet there is not a single king I fear. The goal you're aiming for should be more general, Aki."
Magnus's words instantly rendered everything on the table meaningless. Everything I had just said—my determination, my belief, the idea of that "light" I had envisioned for myself—seemed to be tested by his single sentence. "I am the very essence of darkness. " While saying this, there was neither a rise in his voice nor the slightest change on his face. It was as if he wasn't even defining himself… he was merely stating a fact. And what was even more strange was that there wasn't the slightest hint of exaggeration in this sentence. This... wasn't a claim.
This was a situation.
A short, sharp emptiness formed inside me. Because this sentence wasn't just a counterargument to what I said; it was something that could render them meaningless. If even darkness itself fears no king... then what did it mean for me to say, "I will be someone darkness will fear"?
But I did not retreat.
To retreat... that would be the worst thing I could do right now.
I spoke without taking my eyes off him, without trying to suppress the discomfort I felt inside.
"What do you mean… when you say 'I am the very essence of darkness'? "
This time my voice was more careful. More cautious. Because this wasn't just a random question. This... was stepping over a line.
Magnus bowed his head slightly, but it was neither an affirmation nor a denial. Rather, it was an acknowledgment that the question was expected. His fingers traced the rim of the empty glass. For a moment, I thought he wouldn't speak. But then…
He spoke.
"People always misinterpret darkness," he said slowly. "They think it's a deficiency. The absence of light. Yet darkness… is often not where light cannot reach. It is the place where light does not want to reach. "
This sentence... was disturbing.
"If I were truly light, Magnus... I wouldn't just be an ordinary glow that dispels darkness; I would be a light that touches the deep, silent void within you that no one dares to see. Not to change you—because I wouldn't want to erase the darkness that made you who you are-but I would be a patient light that could find every part of you that you thought was lost in that darkness one by one and tell them 'you're still here'... a light that reaches even the places you hide the most, that can continue to see you even when you miss your eyes. And if one day you truly look upon me... I would like to be remembered not for my brilliance, but for being able to illuminate you. "
For the first time, Magnus was not holding his gaze directly toward mine. While staring at our dinner table with inattention and squinted eyes, he spoke up about what I had said.
"Enlightenment… was never an uplifting experience for me; it was merely the name given to those moments when I realized what had been irrevocably lost. People think they fear the darkness because they don't know it, but I learned it and could never forget it. There are some things that, once learned, rewrite not only your mind but also your entire past; they retroactively make sense of every choice you made, every decision you took, every life you destroyed—and that meaning... it doesn't save you, it pulls you deeper still. At some point, you learn not to distinguish between the names of the races, the weight of the titles, who is 'innocent' and who is 'guilty'; because they all lead to the same outcome: silence. And that silence... is not a victory. Every living being has a story; mine, however, is not a story but a process of diminution—the gradual reduction of everything until only function remains. What they call enlightenment... for me, it was simply realizing this: destruction is easier than understanding, and once you choose that... everything else is just a delayed repetition. "
I felt crushed by Magnus's words. This was perhaps the first time he had spoken about himself in this way. His words were again carefully chosen. Even for me, standing in front of him, it was very difficult to understand him. However, even the only thing I was sure of was that he didn't want to understand himself right now...
But what was truly disturbing was that I felt this was an introductory sentence.
Magnus continued, his voice still calm but each word beginning to feel a little heavier.
"Once upon a time... there were those who tried to establish order. Those who tried to impose their own truths on the universe. Those who believed their own 'rightness' to be absolute. " A brief pause. "And there were those who stopped them. But most of the time… stopping wasn't enough."
Their eyes drifted away for a moment. But it wasn't like remembering a moment. It was more like repeating something that had already been accepted.
"Some things... don't end until they're eliminated, Aki."
This sentence changed the atmosphere in the room.
And I... now understood where it was going.
Magnus's voice didn't change. But his words... became more naked.
"I didn't make a choice," he said. "I… implemented it."
Something inside me tightened.
Because this wasn't a defense.
This… wasn't an admission either.
This… was a description.
"A race, a title, or a side didn't matter. If something... is part of a greater decay by its very existence... it must be cut out." His fingers still traced the rim of the glass. "People like to give it a name. Massacre. Genocide. Cleansing.A short pause.
"I call this… the result."
At this point, it became difficult to suppress my internal reaction. Because what he said… wasn't just on a large scale. It was cheap. It was affordable. And the scariest part…
This wasn't the voice of someone who believed they were right.
It was the voice of someone who thought it didn't matter whether they were right or not.
I wanted to ask, "How many people?"
But I realized this question didn't make any sense.
Because the answer... wouldn't be a number.
Magnus looked at me again. This time there was something in his eyes—but it wasn't an emotion. More like... a measurement.
"You were surprised," he said.
It wasn't a question.
It was an observation.
And I... couldn't deny it.
Because this wasn't just something I heard.
This… was my first concrete feeling that it was really that thing.
Darkness.
And at that moment, two things existed within me at the same time.
One… a part that wants to distance itself from it.
The other is…
…a part that wants to understand it more.
"You are not human. There is no humanity in you either."I said to Magnus. I never showed him the surprise he mentioned. I wore a determined expression, confident in what I was saying.
Magnus smiled bitterly.
"I never wanted to be like this. "
…
I averted my gaze to the last bites left on my plate on the table. I felt this issue was bothering us both. Therefore, I wanted to remain silent for now. If he said anything, I was going to continue.
There was a wait.
But this waiting was not something patiently endured. It was more like a void in which existence tense itself, where even breathing halted in fear that "something would happen." As if everything in the house—the flickering flame of the fireplace, the ancient silence permeating the walls, the faint groaning of the wooden floor—had suddenly united in the same common thought: it's coming.
And then…
Everything stopped.
Not a moment, but a snapshot. Like a piece cut out of time with scissors. Even the flame of the fireplace had forgotten to move; the light had frozen, the shadows were pinned to the walls. Even the sound of the wind brushing against the windows had vanished. The house was no longer a place but a thought left breathless. And right in the middle of that thought... reality began to crack.
The air tore apart.
It wasn't like the fabric tearing down the middle, but more like realizing something was "wrong" and pulling back. The gap opened up like a physical thing. But it wasn't a door. Nor was it a passage. It was like a wound left by two different orders refusing to coexist simultaneously and forcibly coming into contact with each other. The energy seeping through it carried a familiar echo—that heaviness I had felt on the battlefield before, that sense of suppressed reality, was taking shape here anew.
And then…
A spear appeared.
It was silent. Too silent.
It leapt out of the void like a long, thin line, determined as death. But it wasn't just an attack. It wasn't an action. It was a thought. It was a "must be" decision. That sword was advancing with a certainty whose existence could not be denied.
My reflexes acted before me. I knocked over the chair, and my body was thrown backward. The wood creaked, and metal parts clashed. At the same time, Magnus also stood up. But there was not the slightest sign of panic in him. As if such things did not even count as "unusual" in his world. As if reality was constantly breaking down and being rewritten around him.
The spear split the table in two.
It passed right through us.
And when it hit the wall behind us, the house itself shook.
The wood splintered. The stone groaned. Even the fireplace momentarily lost its presence.
The air became thick.
Breathing became difficult.
There wasn't pressure in my chest, there was denial. It was as if my body was resisting, saying "this can't be real."
And then my voice came out, uncontrolled, filled with half-shock, half-absurd anger:
"You said this place was safe!" I shouted. "A new disaster happens every day!"
My words hung in the air. Even my own sentence seemed out of place in this scene. The gap between what we were experiencing and what I was saying was so vast that for a moment I was caught between laughing and screaming.
But Magnus…
He never spoke.
He didn't even look.
Not in the direction the spear strike came from.
He stared into space.
As if the thing attacking didn't matter.
As if the enemy wasn't already "something."
There was recognition in that look. Not a calculation. Something deeper, something more disturbing. It was as if Magnus wasn't seeing what was happening for the first time... he was just repeating it.
And when the second blow came, it left no room for even thinking.
The gap reopened.
This time, it's wider.
More determined.
More "conscious."
What was within him no longer felt like a single entity. It was a pressure. Not a will, but the will itself. A weight that pushes against reality, trying to bend it.
The spear descended upon us again.
But Magnus did not wait for me.
He suddenly pulled me by the arm. His movement was firm but not uncontrolled—it was as if he was rearranging the scene rather than saving me. The place we were in at that moment disintegrated, not as if it had existed a second ago, but as if it were an error that never should have existed. The table, the wall, the ceiling... all lost their meaning at once.
When the blow struck, not only the space but even the possibility was shattered.
If we had stayed there even one more moment... there would be no "after."
"We can't stay here," I said breathlessly, my voice now more serious, more raw.
But Magnus didn't answer.
Because he didn't need to answer.
He was just moving.
We broke the window.
The cold air hit my face like a slap. The world outside continued as before, but even the word "world" seemed too ordinary now. Whether what lay beneath us was a city or just a shaped void was indistinguishable. Even colors were unreliable.
We fell.
Or we landed.
Or reality pulled us down.
When the ground touched our feet, Magnus stopped.
I was still trying to catch my breath. My heart wasn't just beating; it was as if it was rewriting something with each beat. But Magnus… was just waiting.
Without even lifting his head.
And that's when I realized.
This wasn't an attack.
It wasn't a hunt.
It wasn't a mistake at all.
This…
It was an answer.
The void stirred again.
But this time it was different.
Not more cautious.
Not more patient.
More knowingly.
It was as if he could see us now.
It was as if he had "found" us."
And we…
For the first time, we were truly waiting.
The moment we jumped out of the window, even as the air hit my face, the sense of reality inside me hadn't fully returned. It was as if we had fallen not from inside the house to the outside, but to another layer. When our feet touched the ground, even the word "ground" became meaningless; for I could not tell whether what I was standing on was earth, stone, or a fragment of shattered reality leaking from that Sacred Domain fissure. When I turned around, the house was no longer a house; that secure structure that had seemed stable for a moment now trembled like a shell bearing fine cracks on its surface. The echo of that rupture still lingered within me, and each echo seemed to imprint a little more of the feeling that "we shouldn't have been here" upon my mind.
Magnus, on the other hand, was completely different. There was no panic in him, no accelerated heartbeat, not even the reflex of a person caught off guard. As if this scene... wasn't something new in his life, but merely a recurring version. Their eyes were not focused on the point where the house had been breached, but on the "reason why" that breach had occurred. Even this glance conveyed an unsettling clarity to me: We had not been attacked; we had been... targeted. And this targeting was not random.
The weather changed once more.
This change was now a palpable pressure. It was as if the atmosphere itself were bending. Then, the familiar ripping sound came again—this time closer, sharper, more impatient. The gap didn't just open; it was forced to open. And this time, what came through wasn't a single sword strike, but a "cutting intent." I felt it without seeing it. Something wanted to divide the space we were in in two.
The moment Magnus grabbed my arm and pulled me aside, the impact erased the mark completely. This wasn't just physical destruction; it was as if the spot where that line had passed through had momentarily chosen not to exist. The earth split open, the air vibrated, and what remained was... just an overwhelming sense of emptiness. My breath caught in my throat. This was no longer something we could escape from with a reflexive reaction; it was a will determined to tear us from our foundations.
"This… is not just another stalking case," I said, my voice rising uncontrollably. "This person knows the exact coordinates!"
Magnus did not answer. But his gaze had changed. For the first time, he seemed to be "calculating" something truly. That serenity was still on his face, but another layer had opened within him. It was as if they had now moved from being mere observers to reorganizing the scene.
And then the third transformation occurred.
This time, even the location of the house was forgotten. Because the crack was no longer at a single point—it had become an area. The sky, the ground, and all the space in between suddenly warped. This time, what emerged from within was not a sword. It was a sensation of presence. It was invisible, yet it had weight. It was as if an army that didn't exist had gathered into a single consciousness, and this consciousness "knew" us.
That dream inside me suddenly returned.
"Akihiro Atlas."
There was no sound, but there was an echo.
Magnus took a step forward. This movement appeared to be a "guard" stance for the first time. But still, there was no panic on his face. It was just... an expression accepting something inevitable.
"They found us," Magnus said, for the first time uttering a direct statement.
"Us? Me?" I asked, because this distinction was now important.
He didn't answer.
Because at that moment, the answer had already arrived.
The ground cracked.
But this wasn't a break... it was like an opening.
The third attack emerged through pressure rising not from beneath the ground, but from the ground itself. This time, the impact was not directional; it aimed to wipe out the entire area. Magnus pulled me back, but this time it wasn't enough. As the ground beneath our feet collapsed, the sense of reality began to completely disintegrate. We weren't falling... we were retreating.
And at that moment, Magnus' voice changed.
"Now pay attention."
Just this.
And then, for the first time, I saw something in his hand. It wasn't a simple action. It wasn't a reaction. It was more like... drawing a line. The air paused for a moment. A void opened in the midst of the collapse, and before that void could swallow us completely, Magnus pushed me into it.
The last thing I felt was falling.
But this fall wasn't physical.
It was a deeper place.
And then… everything stopped.
—
When my breath returned, I was on the ground. Or I was somewhere. There was sky, but it wasn't the same sky. There was earth, but it wasn't familiar. Magnus was standing up a few meters away. And the surroundings... were no longer quiet.
It was just waiting.
Because the attack wasn't over yet.
It was just... the scene had changed.
And on that stage, we were no longer the ones being watched; we were the ones being called upon.
I turned my gaze directly toward them with fear. Because Magnus was also looking in that direction. I fixed my gaze on the passage formed in the slowly splitting air.
The silence within the void no longer felt like mere absence; it was more like everything that existed had retreated. It was as if even the sky had held its breath, and even the earth had contracted itself. The edges of that opened passage were unstable; it quivered not like a door but like a wound. What seeped through was not light. Nor was it darkness. Rather, it was… depth. A feeling of inferiority of a kind that the human mind finds difficult to describe.
And from that feeling, someone emerged.
The first thing I saw was his gun.
A long spear... but even that word fell short. Because that thing wasn't just carried like a weapon; it was as if it were alive. Its black body shone not like smooth metal, but like an organism that had grown for years at the bottom of the deep sea. Blood-red veins coiled upon it... or roots... seemed to move constantly. It was as if the weapon breathed alongside its wielder, rather than in the wielder's grasp. The knotted, crown-like structure at its top screamed to my eyes, "This is not a normal weapon of war." This wasn't a weapon. It was... an extension. It was the way an entity manifests its nature outwardly.
Then I saw it.
And the first reaction within me when I saw it wasn't fear... it was perceptual distortion.
Because it wasn't starting out like a human.
Her pale skin seemed to absorb the light. Her slender figure did not appear emaciated; on the contrary, fragility itself had become a kind of threat. Her presence weighed down the space she occupied. It was as if the place where he stood was no longer a "void" but another physical law.
Her hair was... something between silver and white, but it wasn't a color description. It was more of a flow. It cascaded messily down her shoulders, gently billowing with every movement. But this fluctuation wasn't caused by the wind; it seemed to be created by the vibration of the reality around her. Even her hair wasn't "static."
And her face…
She had no face.
Or rather... her face was covered.
Their eyes were completely invisible. They were covered by a mask. That mask consisted of organic structures growing from both sides of their face. Like coral… but coral seemed too simple a description. This was a form that was pale gray and white in hue, having grown as if it had never seen light on the sea floor; hard yet living. And at its very center... there was an ammonite spiral.
That spiral didn't just seem like a shape to me; it felt like a loop. Like the eye of something that has no beginning or end.
It had no gaze.
But it felt like it was being looked at.
Nothing could be made out except the mouth and jawline. And that deficiency did not make him more human. On the contrary… it revealed the stark reality of not being human.
Then I noticed his clothing.
A shiny black jumpsuit... but it wasn't clothing. It clung to her body like a second skin. But that wasn't the most disturbing part. There were asymmetrical, circular gaps on it. And these gaps... it was as if they had cut through not the fabric but existence itself. What was visible through those gaps was not merely skin, but existence itself. Her white skin seeped through these openings, but this seepage did not seem natural. It was as if that body was a form that didn't even acknowledge its own boundaries.
And those "growths"...
Clusters of coral protruding from her left hip, under her breast, and from her shoulder... anemones... mussel shells... these were not an ornament, not an anomaly. On the contrary, they were an extension of her nature. It was as if some parts of his body had "refused to remain human" and begun to transform into something else. White and gray tones enveloped him like living armor. But this armor wasn't meant for protection... it existed to adapt.
And her bare feet…
Even that nakedness touching the ground was disturbing. Because for this being, the concept of ground was unnecessary. It did not remain in one place. It redefined its surroundings according to its own existence.
When the spear he held in his right hand bent slightly, the black, ink-like tentacles around him moved. They were floating as if weightless. But this floating wasn't due to lightness; it stemmed from an uncontrollable heaviness. It was as if even the shadow tried to become something "living" in his presence.
And at that moment... I understood.
This wasn't just an enemy.
This... was a way of existence.
Magnus was with me. But for the first time, even his presence did not give me a sense of security. Because his calmness was not in the same category as this calmness. Magnus's silence was something controlled. The silence of this... is something that doesn't need to be controlled.
I held my breath.
Without meaning to.
My body was reacting, but my mind was lagging behind.
When this being completely emerged from the passage, it was as if the world "changed its definition" for a moment. There was no longer a person in front of us.
In the blink of an eye, it appeared before me and pointed its spear at my neck.
I couldn't even make a single move. It was so fast, I couldn't even keep up with it. I couldn't even follow it with my eyes.
At that moment, it hadn't "moved" or "approached." As if the distance between us had never existed. That being, which had been a few steps away a second ago, had entered my very breath in the next moment. The tip of the spear was fixed against my neck, and this simple fact had frozen all commands in my body. My muscles were waiting for an order, but no order was coming. My mind was trying to escape, to attack, at least to show a reflex... but nothing could produce anything other than falling short of that speed.
Time had become strange. It was as if the world had momentarily excluded me, accepting only it and its weapon as "real." The red veins at the tip of that spear were pulsating slightly, breathing like a living thing. And that breath... was more regular than mine.
I couldn't take even a single step.
At that moment, not even Magnus' voice was heard.
There was just... movement.
The ground.
The ground beneath us shifted, as if it suddenly remembered. And then darkness.
Black flames.
What rose from the ground was not fire. There was no heat. There was no light. There was only the "idea of burning." The black, dense flames, rising not like smoke but like an entity, suddenly surrounded everything. It was as if the ground had begun to vomit out all the darkness within it.
This was the first time I saw Magnus's movement so clearly.
He took a step forward without losing his composure. Not even his hand trembled. It was as if it wasn't reacting to the attack but recording its outcome. The black flames shot forth like an arrow, targeting not the spot where it was, but the "spot where it would be."
There was an explosion.
But this explosion was not audible.
Rather, it filled the void.
The woman was thrown backward.
But this was not a retreat; it felt like forced displacement. The spear spun in the air for a moment, the shadowy tentacles whirled around it, and it was dragged toward the edge of the gorge. Even that move was flawless—but Magnus' attack had disrupted even perfection.
And then Magnus advanced.
His movement was not hasty. But there was nothing hesitant about it either. They walked as if they had never been part of this scene, as if they were meant to be here from the very beginning. Black flames still swirled around them, the ground cracking and closing at times.
As for me, I was where I was... just trying to remember to breathe.
When the woman stood up again, she was right in front of us.
But this time there was distance.
Not short distance. And it's not safe either.
It's just... a redefined distance.
She shifted his spear slightly. Even that movement tense the air around us. I couldn't see her face, but her presence was clearer now. It was as if she was looking even though she wasn't looking. It was as if she knew even though he wasn't seeing.
Magnus' black flames continued to swirl around him.
And he spoke for the first time.
His voice remained calm, but now this calmness was not a surface but a boundary.
"The mask, huh?" said Magnus, as if he knew something.
The woman didn't answer.
But the spear bent slightly.
And that bend was the beginning of the next attack.
END OF CHAPTER