Savagrios skidded to a stop, sand flying as they reached the beachfront of the manor. He snapped his head back—the faint murmur of waves against the shoreline was all that stirred.

  That presence… it was worse than last time… Savagrios felt a sickening twist in his nonexistent stomach. What was that thing? Our blades should’ve pierced true, but—

  Savagrios shook his head, letting Mera down unconsciously, but flinched when he felt her weight collapse in his arms. She fell on her knees, blankly staring at the ominous lull from where they had come. Her thoughts were in disarray, the grim memories of her time in that forest.

  “Miss, that thing—you felt it too. It was different than the others.”

  Mera struggled to stand, but her legs buckled. Savagrios reached down and offered his claw, helping her to her feet as she brushed the sand off her black uniform.

  “I…I’ve seen a soul like that only once before,” she murmured. Savagrios knelt down to hear more clearly. “It happened over a year ago—back at the Twin Stations. It was my first time doing fieldwork in the forest. I remember how excited I was. But all my hopes vanished when I saw that black mass on the horizon. It didn’t take long for me to realize there was something wrong.” Her voice cracked. “We were sent there to die—for the Cause.”

  “You were sent there to die? By the rangers?”

  Mera looked conflicted, opting to face the sea instead. “Not quite… Our station was supervised by a Revenant Stalker named Vizor. He knew…somehow, someway—that—that thing was there. He hid it from Command and he sent us to suffer. Why?”

  Mera’s long black hair fluttered in the breeze. Her teary eyes rested on an unseen shore beyond the sea.

  Savagrios was taken aback, her expression striking something within him. An echo. A reflection. The sentiment of a memory’s remains.

  She continued, her gaze dead, “That night I saw it. It was a soul like none other. A living, breathing thing—twisting and bending at the seams of itself. A painful existence.” Mera’s lips were trembling. “I tried to save my friend—but—I don’t think he ever left that forest.”

  “What do you mean by this?”

  Mera's face darkened, dread pooling in her unspoken words. “M-Mr. Coarseblood, have they told you how this strain works?”

  Savagrios shook his head.

  Mera swallowed. “It’s a disease that corrupts the body through the soul.”

  Savagrios tilted his head, his face cracking in confusion.

  “The Cause is a disease that can never be cured, a disease that doesn’t kill. A disease that takes—you—away—a disease that corrupts the most sacred.”

  Savagrios felt the unease from St.Able’s station envelope him.

  Mera had withered in place, her gaze once again averting to the lull of the sea.

  Savagrios processed her words, his brain fighting to fully comprehend the horrid weight of how the Abyssal Cause truly worked.

  “But miss, what was that presence we experienced?”

  Mera glanced back at the white beach that lined the alabaster cliffsides. “I don’t know.”

  The two returned to the manor in uneasy silence, their minds barely stitched back together after brushing against the Cause’s foul malice. Its otherworldly dread had burrowed itself deep within their minds. When they finally had to part ways, it was with a reluctant nod—an acknowledgment that neither had the emotion or motion to overcome the unsettling dread of not knowing.

  Mera offered a weak smile. “...I-I’ll update the Captains about what we saw in the forest. Umm…” She fiddled with her fingers, eyes flicking downward. “I’m sorry for getting all bossy back there… ”

  Savagrios smiled. “Worry not. We were impressed by your sudden strength!” Savagrios’s ear bits twitched. “Err… actually—would you mind telling us your name?”

  “Oh! I—M-my name is… Mera.” she mumbled, hiding behind her hair.

  “Aha! A lovely name! It is our pleasure, Miss Mera. We are Savagrios,” he pointed at himself, “the most charming and cool among the Giras!” he declared, puffing up with pride.

  Mera chuckled under her breath and gave him a small wave before turning away. “Savagrios… the red-eyed you.”

  “Yes! The crimson us!”

  “Tell the other yous I said hello.” Mera tried her best to smile wide.

  Savagrios smiled back, his face cracking, “We shall, Miss Mera. We shall indeed.”

  Exchanging waves, the two finally parted ways.

  Savagrios slinked off toward the ranger lodge, his form already beginning to shift. Scales peeled from his body like brittle red leaves, flaking to the floor as startled rangers stepped aside in the corridor. He didn’t meet their eyes—just kept walking as he shed the remnants of his beastly form until only the human remained.

  Bare and breathless, Savagrios returned to his room, falling on his bed with outstretched arms as he glanced up at the metal bars above. A disease that does not kill? It takes us? Corrupts us? These ideas are new. What could this mean? This—unknown.

  Somewhere within the throne of their minds, an exhausted Gira and Berserkrios ripped themselves off each other like sweaty clothes. The bony frame of Berserkrios painfully pulled away from Gira’s fleshy human body, his massive form catching itself. On the other hand, Gira stumbled into K’s arms as he collapsed from exhaustion.

  “Oww… that technique hurts so much. I’d need to get my brain blasted to do that in an actual fight.” Gira complained as he let all his weight fall on a passively smiling K.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  Berserkrios cracked his own spine, the sound bone rasping against bone, causing Gira to shudder. The pale Coarseblood stretched, half-parting his jaw, “ It’ll be our ace if we get absolutely fucked,” he growled, “If anything, you have to practice running with our tail—it makes me feel lame as hell when you default to that stupid waddle!”

  Gira rolled his eyes from the safety of K’s embrace. “Yeah, yeah, I’m getting there…”

  K raised Gira up like a kitten. “Dear me, perhaps a break is due.”

  Gira nodded in agreement.

  Berserkrios growled. “We merge again in 10.”

  “Aye aye…” Gira mumbled as K carefully dropped him on the forest floor of Berserkrios’s memory.

  K sat down beside Gira. Once more, the two twin Giras were alone, gazing up at the soft, drifting clouds of this forlorn memory. The trees rustled faintly, their whispers lulling through the liminal hush of Beserkrios’s desiccating home—a place caught between what once was and what could never be again.

  K broke the silence, “Dear me, would you like to learn how to use my Kyyr technique?”

  Gira raised a brow. “The electric thingy?”

  “Ah—well. I can teach you that too, but I have better technique, one only I can do, and hopefully maybe you.”

  “Oooh! Does it have a cool name?”

  “My unique Kyyr ability is called Omkull Deu’am Ani’Som Li’Venir. It’s an ancient name, spoken in the old tongue of the Esthos. Though, I…don’t actually recall what it means anymore, but it’s a relatively neat technique.”

  “Okay! What does… whatever the heck you just said do?”

  K's excitement faltered slightly. “Umm, well so far I’ve only discerned it can help us sense souls—I think. But I’m confident it possesses additional applications! Probably… I mean, imagine how invaluable such an ability would have been during the encounter with Gael!”

  “Okay… but isn’t that just Mera’s ability? But again?”

  “Not exactly. While both abilities are soul-based, they both manifest in distinct ways. Her Kyyr ability, as I understand, manifests through physical means—allowing the user to perceive traces of Kyyr and, more importantly, to visually discern the Soul itself. Ours, by contrast, is more akin to an advanced or refined form of Kyyr Insight.”

  “And—what is that?”

  “Kyyr Insight is a universal ability—one that most people can wrap their heads around. At its simplest, it allows us to detect Kyyr itself. In fact, you’ve already been using it quite frequently while in your transformed state. The technique, however, has tiers—levels of complexity and refinement. As it evolves, certain manifestations become so distinct that they resemble entirely separate abilities. My own Kyyr ability may very well be one of these advanced forms… though, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m forgetting something.”

  “Well, learning any Kyyr outside our Coarseblood form is bound to be useful, no? So let’s give it a shot!”

  K got up. “Alright, the only problem is we need to practice outside our throne. I’ve tried using it in here, but it’s like a sensory flashbang in here since we’re in our souls already.”

  “Ooh—is it bad I kinda wanna try?”

  “Ehh, we can give it a shot.” K shrugged.

  “Alright, let’s merge!”

  The twin Giras got up, and with open hands, they met each other's hands with a loud clasp that echoed off the walls of Berserkrios’s memory.

  After about 15 minutes or so, Berserkrios emerged from a pool of crystalline water, his bony mass clattering as he rose tall above the water. He let out a deep, animalistic whimper as he made his way back to where they had been training.

  “Gyaaaaaah!”

  Berserkrios’s auricular organs shifted as he heard Gira scream in pain. Panicked, he rushed to the scene, bursting through the forest and maneuvering expertly through his domain until he reached the plateau they had been training on.

  “What’s wrong?!” Berserkrios roared as he arrived.

  “BY THE FREAKING FIFTEEN, THAT HURTS!” Gira cried in agony as he rolled on the ground, clasping his face.

  “Huh? The hell did you do?” He rushed over to Gira, trying to figure out what was wrong, but Gira’s incessant squirming was making it hard to tell.

  Splrkkkk!

  Gira froze in place. A hand emerged from his spine, causing Berserkrios to stagger back in disgust as he watched K grotesquely rip out of a writhing Gira.

  After an agonizing six minutes of gross, sweaty, slimy tearing and pulling apart, the two Giras came undone.

  The two now lay on the ground panting like thirsty dogs.

  “Hhhhhh—huhhh—hhuhhh… Let’s… never…do… that again!” Gira managed to squeak out.

  “mhhhmmm….” K groaned, his face planted into the ground, his legs twitching.

  “The fuck were the two of you idiots even doing?”

  “Mmmmm…mmmhmhm…” K mumbled into the ground.

  “What?”

  Gira painfully pushed himself up. “I was trying to learn K’s kyyr abilities, and…” Gira explained what they were doing.

  “K, come on! I swear every time you hang out with Gira, your IQ drops.”

  K ripped himself off the ground with an agonized groan, “Egh… at least I’ve shared the basics of Electrosynthesis…”

  Gira gave a weak thumbs-up.

  Berserkrios stomped over to Gira and picked him up like a limp ragdoll. “You ready for some more practice?”

  “N-no…”

  “Too bad.”

  And so we find ourselves on the morning of the Parabellum Onryō.

  An alarm shrieked through the room, dragging awake a man, built like ancient stone—heavy but chiseled. He sat up, the weak sun fading through the blinds, illuminating a spiraling floral tattoo that coiled up his back and down his arms, ending in a cryptic mark: two dragons, entwined and choking each other. He sat on the edge of his bed, the sheets rustling beneath him. All around, the floor was scattered with Servinae—tired, half-covered, their breath slow from a long night spent on anything but sleep.

  The bearded man reached for a coral-colored shirt draped over the ground, its colors loud in the morning haze.

  “Tsk.”

  He dropped to all fours, rummaging with the intensity of someone who really should’ve been up hours ago. Eventually, he snatched up a pair of dark blue shorts and threw them on with practiced chaos.

  As he fastened the waistband, he flicked open his crystalcomm, squinting against its glow.

  “Fer feck’s sake… I’m already late!”

  Borren Hibern was his name—an ex-ORPA Blood enforcer and a former member of the infamous Hunting King Clan.

  He was a bastard, born of an unknown Vileblood’s escapade—the result of some reckless indulgence with the wrong woman at the wrong time. His father had died at the beck and call of his own greed, leaving behind nothing but a trail of loss he never bothered to trace.

  Borren had been born with their crimson gaze ablaze. He carried their Kyyr in his veins, yes… but not their refinement. Not their grace.

  He stumbled out of one of the many odd buildings that lined the streets of M?ry’Plu. Fumbling through his pockets, he pulled out a small device that, with a sharp snap, unfolded into a sleek pair of shades.

  To his surprise, there were Servinae already out and about—excitedly weaving through the glassy streets in clusters, voices rising in a storm of chatter. The clash between the Coarseblood and Ranger Borren on the grounds of Parabellum Onryō had stirred the city awake, just in time for the Penthestat.

  Borren smiled. Guess I’m pretty popular.

  He was not.

  He scrolled through his inbox, landing on the message detailing his duel. “Course it’s on the feckin Skolas Sky Metropolis! Why wouldn’t it be?” he groaned, tilting his head back to glare at the sky.

  Penthestat has finally begun—we’re officially 50% through this arc! Honestly, Trepidatio Artificialis and Pale Marrowbrand ended up being way longer than I expected. Oh well—more content for now and more pacing headaches for future me to deal with.

  bam, Steel Dragon really kicks off and takes us through the next 25%. And finally… [REDACTED].

  Steel Dragon, we’ve got two possible routes: either we dive into a Lucas mini-arc (about the same length as Trepidatio Artificialis), or we raw-dog straight into Arc 3 and loop back to the Lucas stuff afterward. I mean, It has to happen eventually— since it sets up future plotlines involving the Abyss and the Court of Dissipation.