The old port city of Krreat is separated into seven parts. Of the seven, one has been lost to the withering of time—its purpose devoured by time.

  Beneath the proud towers of Krreat lie the old war tunnels, a remnant of the First Expansion War and the long-gone age of the ENN.KORR. These labyrinthine tunnels were designed as a complex network of fortified vaults created to withstand the deep impact of a forlorn war long lost to the ages.

  But their seals have withered. Their steel guardians corrupted.

  In the damp, suffocating depths of their darkness, a ghostly, filth-worn mechanoid stared into a wall. A dull red glow pulsed from its jaws, the light reflecting off the coiling spiral tongues of monsters in the dark.

  It watched with eager hatred. Its visual module stared through unseen feeds—its burning gaze locked on the figure taking the stage beyond:

  Gira the Coarseblood.

  On the highest floor of the Cetarro Sky-Scraper aboard the largest of the towers that comprised the Skolas Sky Metropolis, there lay a massive arena like none other. Built out of the colossal remains of a Nókktald, it now held over 80 thousand roaring Servinae.

  The arena was encased in a clear glass dome and it sprawled out in a perfect circle, its surface a canvas of pale, almost ivory bone—polished smooth and eerily pristine. Pillars of bone and polished rib-like arcs jutted from the ground in symmetrical clusters, their once organic shapes placed spiraling toward the center, where four massive bone structures converged to cradle a wide, elevated platform.

  Crimson banners of the Onryō fluttered from seemingly impossible perches—wedged between vertebrae-like ridges trailing across the dome-like ceiling. Their vivid red hues clashed brilliantly against the bone-white surroundings, casting an orangey glow that painted the arena in a warm embrace.

  High above, the faded, shattered sky beamed through the colossal dome of glass and bony latticework. Sunlight filtered through the canopy of patchwork banners, refracting through the woven decorations, bathing the coliseum in streaks of flame-red and cool blue. There was an air of reverence in honor of all violence—sacred, surreal, and built for the Parabellum Onryō.

  Floating above it all was an Onryō Sombra, surveying the cheering crowds with a reverent clasp of its humanoid hands. Its red veils had been shed. Its welcome had been spoken. Now it was time to introduce the two souls that would clash in the name of Parabellum Onryō.

  Before Gira could proceed forward, the mechanoid with the female mask gestured him to stop as it patted him down. It gently felt his body until it landed on the lollipop in his pocket.

  “No external goods.”

  Gira hesitated, turning to Serfet, “Could you hold onto this for me?”

  “Sure,” Serfet put the lollipop in his pocket. The two exchanged weary looks. “Gira… I’ll be cheering you on. Just—don’t do anything crazy…”

  Gira gave Serfet an annoying smile before silently waving him farewell.

  Serfet held the candy tightly in his hands. Sweet Symbols, what in the world is he planning?

  The Onryō Sombra in the arena tapped its neck as its mouth began to glow. It extended an arm towards the Northern Gate of the arena.

  “FLESH. SCALE. METAL. BEHOLD!” it announced, with a booming enthusiasm.

  “FROM THE NORTHERN GATE STANDS A NAME CARVED INTO THE

  FRONTIERS OF THE SHATTERED EDGES OF THE SED—

  A FORMER MEMBER OF THE ORPA BLOOD!”

  “HE WHO FELL THE THIRD DRAGON GOD OF PERMANENCE!”

  “HE WHO AIDED IN THE HUNT OF THE SECOND DRAGON GOD OF IGNITION!”

  “THE SAVIOR OF THYMATHEA TRANSLATE—THE MAN WHO AIDED IN THE

  SLAYING OF THE VILE CALAMITY OF THE SWALLOWED SEA!”

  “NOW—AN ELITE ABYSSAL HUNTER OF THE VOLTASSAX SQUAD…”

  “I GIVE YOU—

  BORREN!!

  HIBEEEERRRRNNNN!”

  The crowd roared to life as Borren strode forth from the sharp shadows of the Northern Gate, every step soaked in a calculated bravado. The gleam of his loosely worn crimson Onryō shirt—draped carelessly over his bare chest—revealed a massive, strange scar that flared under the amber glow of the sunlit dome.

  Head held high, posture radiating reckless confidence, he threw his arms wide like a gladiator embracing the audience. The overhead light poured down onto him like a divine spotlight, gilding the contours of his muscles as he flexed with exaggerated flair like an overgrown child.

  A grin tugged at his lips, cocky and tight. His star-shaped shades slid just low enough down his chiseled nose bridge to reveal his twin crimson eyes, sharp as a dragon’s, locked with burning intent across the arena—fixed on the Southern Gate.

  The mechanoid extended its other arm to the Southern Gate.

  “FLESH. SCALE. METAL—BEHOLD!”

  “FROM THE SOUTHERN GATE… A KINDLING CALAMITY FROM THE CRIMSON UNKNOWN!”

  “COARSEBLOOD OF THE ABYSSAL FOREST.”

  “DEVOURER OF THE ABYSS!”

  “DESCENDANT OF THE ONRYō ITSELF—CHILD OF THE SCARLET HAUNT!”

  “I GIVE YOU—

  GIIIIIRAAAAAA—

  MOUUUURRRNS!!!”

  The crowd exploded into thunderous cheers as Gira stepped through the Southern Gate, his hair bits twitching in confusion. Scarlet Haunt? Why does that sound so darn familiar?

  Crimson light bled across his figure as he entered the arena, the glow of the Onryō banners casting shifting shadows over his face. He shrugged, pushing the thought aside.

  His bewildered eyes locked with Borren’s intense crimson stare. The two stared into one another across the white-cut bone stadium— the boy and the beast. Gira instinctively lowered his stance as he felt the cold edge of death brace against him. His jaw tightened. The crimson presence flushed away his careless notion as the eager motion of instinct embraced him.

  The mechanoid let the roar of the crowd settle into a charged silence before speaking again, its voice amplified and metallic, yet strangely reverent.

  “THE RULES ARE SIMPLE.”

  “THE PARABELLUM ONRYō DEMANDS BLOOD—OF BOTH VICTOR AND VANQUISHED.”

  “THIS IS NOT MERE COMBAT. THIS IS HONORABLE WAR.”

  It raised a crimson hand toward the sky, banners fluttering in the wind as if stirred by its words.

  “THIS BATTLE SHALL BE FOUGHT WITHIN THIS CONSECRATED

  DOMAIN—NOT ONLY IN MEMORY OF OUR FALLEN LORD, THE ONRYō…

  …BUT IN CELEBRATION OF THE SACRIFICE OF THE SYMBOL OF LOYALTY:

  THE ALBION ALBUS!”

  A rumble rolled through the arena, more ritual than response.

  “IN HONOR OF THE PENTHESTAT, EVERY FIVE MINUTES, NEW AFFIXES SHALL

  BE UNLEASHED INTO THE FIELD!”

  It leaned forward, its alabaster mask twisting, its tone lowering into something almost gleeful.

  “AND WORRY NOT, DEAR AUDIENCE—THESE TWO WERE CHOSEN WITH A

  LONG, BLOODY BATTLE IN MIND.”

  The audience cheered, booming with excitement, particularly when it mentioned blood.

  A smooth mechanical hiss followed as the wall beside Gira slid open, revealing an arsenal of weapons mounted like trophies. Guns of every shape and caliber. Blades, axes, spears, and knives—each one crimson red and gleaming in the light.

  “FOR THE FIRST AFFIX—BOTH CONTESTANTS MAY SELECT ONE

  WEAPON FROM THE ARMORY. OUTSIDE TOOLS ARE PROHIBITED.

  KYYR-BASED TOOLS—PERMITTED.”

  Gira stepped toward the display, overwhelmed. He scanned the selection, trying to concentrate—but the thousands of eyes that bore down on him felt like a burning radiation.

  Panicked, he grabbed a belt that held the weapon closest to him: a sleek crimson pistol with twelve rounds in the magazine sat neatly in a red holster connected to a black belt.

  “THE CONTESTANTS HAVE SELECTED THEIR WEAPONS!”

  The mechanoid’s voice cracked into static, then boomed with excitement.

  “LET THE PARABELLUM ONRYō… BEGIN!”

  The crowd screamed.

  BANG!

  A shot immediately broke through the cheers of the audience. Its echo deep-cut as it found its mark.

  Gira hit the ground hard, white dust blooming around him as his shoulder exploded into a red mangle of splintered bone. He gasped—a sharp, guttural breath—while pain screamed through his nerves. Tears welled in his eyes, his fading gaze catching the glint of a crimson rifle.

  On his side of the arena, Borren exhaled slowly, aligning his sights on Gira’s shivering body. Without allowing Gira any respite, he shot again.

  BANG!

  Gira’s body jolted as another bullet tore through him, slicing open his neck. Blood splattered from his throat, its glistening red staining the white ground in a vile arc.

  The crowd fell to a stunned silence.

  Borren’s beard scraped the stock of his rifle. With a blank stare, he pulled the trigger again.

  BANG!

  The next round punched into Gira’s lower jaw, the impact scattering dust down his bloodied throat as a hoarse croak erupted as he failed to breathe.

  BANG!

  Another shot ripped through the settling cloud.

  Borren didn’t move—only stared down his sights, waiting for the haze to clear.

  BANG—!?

  A shot rang. But it wasn’t Borren’s. The old ranger slid out of the open and out of sight. He pressed his back against one of the bony pillars. Exhilaration flared through him as a foul smile tugged at his mouth.

  “Heh…” he muttered, savoring the adrenaline in his brain. “Still kickin’, ey?”

  Following a trail of blood, we find Gira—still alive. His eyes crimson red as he catalyzed his Kyyr over his shredded wounds. That’s not fair! He shot us immediately!

  “Fair? It’s a fucking duel to the death!” Berserkrios growled.

  I know… I know but it’s still uncool! Gira glanced up at the red banners fluttering above. They didn’t provide us any Kyyr Boosters too…

  “Truly a tragedy they won’t see us at our prime! ” Savagrios grumbled as he finished patching up their wounds.

  Berserkrios took a deep breath. “It’s fine—we planned for this scenario… but I didn’t expect those bastards to provide us fucking guns.” he growled into the void.

  Gira steadied his breath, trying his best to sense where Borren had gone, but there was still painful ringing in his skull. How many shots does he have left? He glanced at the small crimson pistol he’d selected. It was in the open, a trail of blood leading from it to them. We gotta move! With a sharp breath, Gira slid forward and dropped down into the lower layer of the arena.

  The Skolas Sky Arena had two layers. The upper layer with the 4 main bone structures that led to a large raised platform in the middle. And the lower layer, which was comprised of a sea of pillars that sparsely led up into the second layer. The drop between the two wasn’t particularly bad, but traversing the terrain in the upper layer seemed like a great way to get shot.

  Where did star-eyed beardy even go?

  Gira tried to focus on his surroundings—but the roar of the crowd grated against his senses like jaws against metal. Chatter. Cheering. Screams. All of it drowned out the subtle cues he needed.

  Where?

  He peeked around the pillar, only to be met with a murky thicket of bone columns—an unnatural forest of petrified white that made it impossible to see.

  “Oi.”

  A massive boot stomped where Gira was sitting, the words giving him a fleeting second to evade. Then another! And another.

  BOOM.

  BOOM.

  BOOM.

  Borren stomped through the lower arena like a juggernaut, sending up dusty shockwaves with crushing force. Gira scrambled away as best he could, his eyes flashing with terror as the Kyyr in the atmosphere swirled around Borren’s muscles. The air hissed with a surge of energy as a meaty fist slammed into Gira’s gut.

  “GUHKKK!” Gira’s breath was forced from his lungs. Pain pierced his muscle, his shattering ribs ripping into his flesh. Blood and bile mixed with his breakfast spewed from his mouth in a spray of red.

  Borren pulled back, allowing the burning Kyyr to evaporate the sludge off his fist before he bore down on Gira, grabbing him by the throat and squeezing with all his might. He slammed his little body against the ground with a visceral crunch.

  “No hard feelin’s, little red!” Borren sneered, raising his other fist high above his head, a cruel, savage grin spreading across his face. “Just not one for theatrics, yeah?”

  “Lying bastard…ughk!”

  Gira’s throat gargled and fear overtook his face, his hands erupting into crimson claws that stabbed into the hand choking him. But Borren did not care.

  THUD!

  Borren’s fist descended with sickening force.

  CRACK—!

  A sickening crunch rang out so loud it eclipsed the screams of the crowd as Gira’s skull caved under the impact.

  —THUD!

  Another bone-crushing thud came as Gira’s body flailed around, convulsing.

  From the stands, Xizu stared with eyes wide and brimming with tears, her knuckles turning white as she clenched the armrests, the polymer audibly groaning beneath her tightening grip. Every muscle in her body was clenched, holding back the anger building in her heart.

  Holly had not been able to watch. She fled the instant the first shot was fired, Alice rushing after her sister.

  Morray, by contrast, hadn’t moved. He sat still, his face unreadable. No tremor. No breath. No emotion. His eyes were locked on Gira’s bloodied form—staring, silent, waiting.

  Lucas watched in horror from his hospital room, gripping the crystalcomm with his one arm as he watched his old friend reach out in agonized plight towards the unsympathetic Borren.

  The rangers of Krreat watched in a mix of terror, disgust, and bloodlust.

  Bern watched from his office in quiet regret as Borren assaulted the comparatively smaller Gira, who clawed in agony.

  Mera and Aria were lucky enough to still be on their way as they awkwardly argued over parking in the lower strata of the tower.

  THUD!

  Violence.

  Borren had not been born with a proclivity for it. Rather, he had been molded over time, twisted by the whispers of resentful calamity.

  He raised his fist once more—

  THU—

  CRRRK!

  “FUCK!” Borren roared, staggering back, he yanked his hand away from Gira’s bloodied body. What in the fifteen did he do? Me hand’s fecked?

  He stared down in disgust. Grotesquely emerging from his knuckles, there was something writhing under his skin—rip—small, twitching, bony fingers… extra ones.

  The drones zoomed in, capturing every horrific detail: a child's tiny hand appeared to claw desperately from within his own, bone-white and blood-slicked.

  “Ye filthy little—AGH!”

  Borren pulled his other hand away as he stared down at what appeared to be another set of invasive fingers erupted from his other hand too!

  “AAAARRRGGGHH!!!” He roared in pain, his Kyyr erupting, his body twisting into a rise as he got ready to slam down on…

  Gira?

  Borren raised his guard, his eyes and Kyyr sense flashing in bursts. He was right here—where the hell did he go?! His face… it was a mangled heap a’ shite just a second ago!

  But now there was nothing. Only a red stain.

  “Mangy little Curseblood…”

  Borren’s frown almost immediately turned upside down, Kyyr collecting in his lungs as he surged into the air, landing on top of one of the pillars with a heavy thud.

  He studied his hands. The bone had been warped? No, rather, it seems like it had grown. Grown beyond what his cells had once demanded and twisted against their host.

  He closed his eyes for a second before opening them, their crimson glow flashing through his star-shaped shades. Homeopathia… from ye’ to me… Borren stared into the crowd, unblinking. His intense glare then found one particular Servinae who unfortunately locked eyes.

  Tears welled in the Servinae’s eyes before their face twisted, agony splitting across his features. A silent scream broke from his lips as the Servinae collapsed, unconscious.

  Borren cracked his knuckles. “Good as bleedin’ new!”

  Across the Northern Sea, Lucas watched in analytic horror.

  Borren Hibern… how the hell did Gira end up in a fight with a guy like that? Especially in an arena with so many targets for him… He leaned back on his bed, exhaling a strained, uneasy sigh.

  Delíah had an unfeeling look on her face as she studied the feed. “You have quite the…” she paused smiling, “Interesting friend…”

  “Don’t even think about it!” Lucas hissed.

  “Jealous?” She mused.

  Lucas ignored her remark, turning back to the screen. It flickered with the live feed—showing Gira, bloodied and broken, crawling across the arena floor like some mangled spider.

  Borren studied the arena, his guard high as he looked for any sign of Gira. His regeneration was miles beyond what the feckin’ reports said. That bit about needin’ blood? Pure shite. No one normal just walks off havin’ their neck blown open… Unless? No…

  He looked down at his hands; there was no sign of the wounds anymore. What in the name of the Arcenais was that mad Kyyr? It was bone—clear as day—bloody shite banjaxxed my hands… A Calamity Catalyst? Feckin’ impossible, he’s a blood breed like Vire. Must’ve been his nasty native Kyyr ability—rank and deadly….

  Borren jumped to the elevated platform of the Southern Gate. He glanced at the crowd. They’re all focused on the screens… He picked up the small crimson handgun and checked the magazine. Leven’ shots… I’ll aim for his heid this time. By the Arcenais, I'm gonna blow the little bastard back to Khaum.

  Gira crawled across the arena floor, his movements driven by animal instinct alone. His skull reformed mid-motion, warping into a grotesque, toothy grimace as fractured bone twisted back into place.

  By the Eastern Gate, he collapsed beside a pillar, his body shaking uncontrollably.

  Thank the universe he randomly stopped! This miserable lingering warmth must’ve been death!

  A teary-eyed Gira clutched his head, breath ragged, as red scales slithered over his face—stitching shattered bone and torn muscle back together in a grotesque weave of pain and regeneration.

  “We must transform into our Nascent self!” Savagrios roared within their throne.

  “Not yet! Our transformation is our last resort. Without a Kyyr Booster, we’d just be draining stamina. We have to figure out what his Kyyr ability is first.” Berserkrios slid into the throne, merging with Gira. “Not to mention, what the announcer said has been bothering the hell out of me. A long, bloody battle… that guy’s definitely the endurance type.”

  “Dear me,” K spoke up, “ does that not narrow Beardy’s ability down to a regenerative or defensive ability?”

  Berserkrios frowned. “That narrows down his native Kyyr ability… but recall, they mentioned he was part of the Hunting King Clan, right?”

  Yeah, I’ve been meaning to ask… what even is that?

  “It’s a stupid club I—or rather—we used to be members off…”

  We used to be part of it?

  “Yes, but my stupid memory loss fucked me over, and I can’t remember shit. But there’s one thing I know for sure: if that bearded fucker was once a member of the Hunting King Clan, there’s no doubt he can use Kyyr runes.

  Kyyr Runes?

  “It’s a basic kind of ability exclusive to the Hunting King Clan. In essence, one inscribes a set of Kyyr equations on a location, and upon certain conditions, the rune is triggered. The most common kind is by simple touch—though the variety and complexity are dependent on the user. If we assume that bastard knows how to use Kyyr runes, that makes our fight against him that much more complicated.”

  Savagrios perked up, “Then let us transform!”

  Berserkrios groaned, “Our goal is to prove a point. We can’t half-ass our transformation—not with so many variables! Not to mention all these eyes.”

  “Cowardice!”

  Gira thought for a second, his mind coming to a twisted idea. We want to scare them, right?

  “Yes, they need to all know what we are.”

  Okay… well I’ve got an idea. It involves your plan too!

  “What is it?”

  So… remember back at St. Ables…

  They heard his plan with concern, discomfort, pride, and amusement.

  “We do not like this idea.” Savagrios mumbled.

  “It’s gonna fucking hurt ten-fold what plan C felt like.” Berserkrios hissed.

  “Quiet clever…” K muttered under his breath.

  And not far within the void, glee-filled golden eyes narrowed on their crimson throne.

  Borren had carefully made his way through the arena. He wasn’t just scanning the terrain—he was reading the audience. By measuring the crowd’s excitement, he’d figured out the general location of Gira.

  Without a word, he raised one hand, channeling Kyyr into his palm. He pressed it against his chest.

  A faint alien symbol flared before seeping into his skin.

  A Kyyr Rune had been set.

  A hand emerged from the first layer. Claws. Bone white, it gripped at the edges, pulling Gira up and onto the top layer.

  Borren’s eyes widened with predatory delight as Gira pushed himself onto a pillar. His uniform was tattered, but his wounds had been completely healed. But there was something different about him. His eyes—one a deep, haunting crimson, the other a pale sea-glass blue—stared back with unfamiliar weight. He had grown taller, his hair now streaked with a light brown, and his features had been pressed into a dreadful glare.

  Wordlessly the two watched each other, there strides marked by a rising tension, when—

  “FLESH. SCALE. METAL. THE SECOND AFFIX WILL BE ACTIVATED SHORTLY!

  RISING WATERS WILL FILL THE LOWER LAYER IN AN EXCITING HAZARD!”

  The mechanoid roared, interrupting the two as the sound of roaring water matched the audience.

  Gira/s/ rushed Borren, the echo of water and cheering matching his momentum as he clashed with Borren. Flesh on flesh, their bodies suddenly came together in a tangle of blows. The crashing of water hid the rending of muscle as the Kyyr-infused muscles of Borren tore through Gira’s arm.

  Their knuckles had come together, only for Borren’s massive fist to tear through Gira’s hand on impact. Bone and tendon gave way, but to his surprise, Gira didn’t flinch. His mismatched eyes burned as he twisted into the strike, the broken wrist snapping back into place. Crimson scales bloomed from his emerging bone like wildfire. His crimson claw tore across Borren’s knuckles—flesh and muscle peeling away as Gira’s claw slid across the side of his fist like wet paper.

  Borren gritted his jaws, twisting his core as his other hand swung from above, catching Gira with a Kyyr filled strike—

  THUD!

  Gira’s body swung down to the ground, bouncing off the white pillar floor, but it did not matter. Crimson tendrils erupted from his frame as flashes of Coarseblood erupted—long tendrils flashing forth and fighting to rip Borren’s leg off.

  Borren frowned, his Kyyr pulsing hard enough to save himself from deep wounds as he slid back, pivoting his weight.

  The hell happened? When’d he grow a pair?

  Gira’s crimson features receded as he slid back, propping himself back on two legs using his crimson tendrils.

  Borren bared his teeth, staring into the excited crowd once more. Homeopathia— from ye’ to me! Another Servinae collapsed in the stands, twitching violently before going still.

  The Gira/s/ watched in confusion as Borren’s skin stitched itself back together and his blood seeped back into his body. With a smug grin, he unholstered the crimson pistol and aimed.

  “Cowardice!” Savagrios roared, causing Gira’s one crimson eye to flash as his pose lowered into an animalistic stance.

  Borren fired away.

  BANG!

  BANG!

  BANG!

  The first two shots missed, slipping past the dexterous crimson flash, but the last shot struck his stomach, causing Gira to roll off a pillar and down into the water.

  “SHIT!” Gira roared from below.

  Borren felt the ancient tang of old titan’s bone broth flush from down below the pillars. He peered off the edge and found a bubbling hell below. The water that had been gushing into the arena was boiling hot, causing plumes of steam to erupt from the gaps between the pillars.

  Gira clawed his way back up, digging into the pillar’s side with blistered hands. Steam clung to him as skin peeled in sheets, boiling away. But he didn’t scream.

  Instead, crimson scales rippled across his body, replacing the ruined flesh.

  Curious gasps echoed throughout as the Servinae finally got a good look at Gira’s regeneration.

  This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Borren felt a searing emotion twist within as Gira repaired his body. That brat’s startin ta remind me’ that Kyyr… Best we splatter his heid fer good.

  He aimed the gun again, firing in succession.

  BANG!

  BANG!

  BANG!

  Gira wove low, his body still ensnared by his alien biology, as the Coarseblood Hybrid rushed, weaving in the mist, before slipping down and sticking his claws into the pillars as he wove under before erupting from the steam and slashing at Borren.

  Borren reacted in time with a smile as he tapped the ground beneath him as he jumped back towards the main platform.

  Fightin’ this lil fucker out ere’s a bad fecking call…

  Gira stood back up, watching Borren get swallowed by the steam.

  “Gira, how do you fare within?” Savagrios asked.

  “AGH—SYMBOLS—MY EVERYTHING BURNS! EVERYTHING HURTS!” He cried out as he writhed in skin-tearing agony within their throne.

  “We warned you about this wretched plan!” Savagrios grumbled.

  But it’s fucking working, no? Berserkrios chimed in.

  K held Gira tightly as he cried in his lap. “Hurry, dear us, you must end this match before another affix drops.”

  “Why, of course!”

  Consider it damn well done!

  The Giras crawled onto the pillar where Borren had stood, their gaze scanning across the mist-filled. He walked forward, his foot finding unfortunate solace in the place Borren had tapped as he retreated.

  FSSSSSHHHHHHHH!

  What the—?!

  FWOOOSH!

  A jet of Kyyr-compressed boiling water exploded from the floor beneath Gira’s foot, dousing his leg—and worse, his family jewels.

  “FUCK!” Gira screeched in pain, the searing pain permeating up his leg and burning his most human of weaknesses. “By the Symbols…”

  They dropped to a knee. Scales immediately replaced the shredded skin around his leg and groin.

  Berserkrios’s face tensed as he studied the terrain ahead. A Kyyr rune! Boiling water? He glanced down at the rising water. Is this some fucking twisted coincidence or what?

  Without a word, they fortified their lower half in crimson armor.

  Across the battlefield, Borren had reached the central platform.

  Steam now reached from all around like a living thing, rising in thick, swirling veils that cloaked the structure in a haze of dread. Within that shifting fog, Borren was planting Kyyr Runes along the floor, each one pulsing faintly before fading into the ground.

  He looked at the audience that was struggling to see into the arena. Lucky for him, he could still see the weary eyes of hundreds of Servinae.

  He settled into the steam, waiting with tense breath.

  SWOOOSH!

  A crimson tendril ripped through the air. He easily dodged the crimson blade, repositioning as another and another blade tip slashed in and out of the steam. Gira was keeping his distance, his blades slashing wildly at Borren.

  Annoyed, he focused on the interval of tendrils and— GOT EM!

  He managed to take hold of one of the tendrils, pulling with a gripping strength. Gira flew through the steam crashing onto the main platform with concerned glare when—

  FSSSSSHHHHHHHH!

  “AW, YOU DICK!” Berserkrios roared

  FWOOOSHH!

  Scalding water erupted from under Gira.

  Gira rolled to the side barely dodging the blistering heat—

  FSSSSSHHHHHHHH!!!

  FWOOOOSH!

  Another Kyyr rune ignited from below, burning his ribcage. He pulled away, encasing the wound in crimson scales.

  Before Gira could further recover Borren crashed down on him—he twisted his hips and dropped low, sweeping his leg and smashing into Gira’s unarmored side.

  Gira flew across the wider arena but managed to dig his claws into the bony ground. Gira’s eye flashed fully crimson red as Savagrios’s pulled himself forward, rushing Borren with animalistic rage. Borren dragged his body back, his hands high, his legs spreading.

  Savagrios dropped on all fours, aiming for his legs.

  Borren lowered one of his hands and braced his legs.

  The two clashed, with a crimson slash coming within centimeters of Borren, who expertly slammed down his expecting hand. Grabbing hold of Savagrios’s arm, he raised him into the air and punched him in the chest as hard as he could.

  Commotio Cordis—Gira within the throne felt his heart sting before suddenly fluttering within a bioelectric failure and stopping.

  Savagrios grimaced but remained unfazed as crimson scales blossomed from his chest, knitting his heart back together. And with a surge of Kyyr, crimson blades erupted into Borren’s hand.

  Borren panicked, punching Savagrios in a frenzy as he felt his hand’s tendons get eviscerated—GGRRRRRK!

  “AAAAAAAARRRGH!” Borren slammed Savagrios down and in his panic ripped his hand clean off his arm. Enraged, he kicked a battered Savagrios away from him as he stared at the mangled nub of bone and flesh that had once been his hand.

  “YA LITTLE SHITE’ I’M GONNA FECKING MURDER YA!” He roared, trying to find a victim in the crowd but—

  I can’t exchange such a wound with a bystander… But…

  Borren’s anguished face focused through the pain, locking eyes with the crimson-eyed Savagrios. He focused on the Kyyr in the arena, focusing it all within his glare as he pressed his Kyyr into Savagrios.

  “Homeopathia— from ye’ to me!” He roared, his eyes flashing ablaze.

  Gira felt a vile pain surge through him. He staggered, confusing the other Giras within the throne, then felt it too—a stinging, rippling pain that ebbed and flowed before burning the tip of his hand.

  “Sever your connection!” A vile voice erupted from the void.

  “Wha?” Gira turned to see Vaal’s golden glare.

  “SAVAGRIOS, DETACH YOURSELF FROM GIRA!” Vaal commanded.

  Savagrios heard the call and, with a pained gasp, severed the connection—shielding Gira from the flare of agonizing Kyyr that ripped his hands like a starving beast. The Kyyr’s vile force pulsed through Savagrios, striking his mind. He collapsed inward, his inner incarnation shuddering in agony before he collapsed unconscious.

  Outside, Berserkrios remained alone, staring at their mangled hand. He gritted his teeth and forced his bony Coarseblood tissue to obey, sinew and bone cracking as his hand slowly began to reform.

  Was that… his Kyyr ability?! The fuck did he do?!

  Across the mist-veiled arena, Borren smirked, flexing his fingers. He looked down at his restored hands with a complacent grin. “Still awake, are ya? Tough little Curseblood.”

  Savagrios was completely unresponsive, leaving Gira. K and Berserkrios to face Borren.

  “Wh-what did he do?” Gira asked, holding his hand painfully.

  Through their shared sight, Vaal peered coldly at Borren. He recovered his wounds—‘from ye to me’—what an annoying ability… The question is, how does he trigger it?

  K, can you bear the pain? Berserkrios asked.

  “O-Of course, dear me!”

  Good, Gira—join me in the throne. It’s time we end this.

  Got it! Gira joined his other self.

  All around them, condensation dripped down the bone pillars, collecting in puddles. The heat intensified—rising from below and pressing down from above. Both fighters stood slick with sweat, muscles gleaming under the oppressive heat.

  Borren ripped off his shirt, revealing his flowery tattoos that ended in entwined dragons. He tossed aside his now-fogged shades, letting his crimson glare show in full.

  “It’s gettin’ scorchin’ in here, Curseblood—let’s end this!”

  Gira’s uniform peeled away beneath shedding crimson armor. A bony crust forced the red scale off his body as he slowly became entwined with a skeletal frame that wove into interlacing armor growing from him, protecting his legs and arms. Most striking of all, a bone-forged tail uncoiled from his lower back, dragging behind like a blade. Bone crept up his neck, encasing his lower jaw in the monstrous maw of a new Coarseblood.

  Borren exhaled, rolling his shoulders loose. “Ye’re no simple Curseblood, that’s plain. A many-faced demon ye are—shifty-scaled and tricksy as an ol’dragon. Tch—annoyin’ as Morray, but I’ll give ye this—it stirs the old blood.”

  The very air bent to Borren’s will as compressed Kyyr twisted around him, dominating the arena’s atmosphere with his presence.

  Then the announcer’s voice boomed once more—

  “FLESH. SCALE. METAL. THE THIRD AFFIX WILL COME INTO PLAY SHORTLY!

  RISING AND SINKING PLATFORMS WILL NOW SHIFT THE TERRAIN!”

  The announcement faded into steam and thunder as the floor began to quake—pillars rising and falling at random, their groans echoing like deep breaths from the earth.

  But neither fighter waited.

  Their eyes locked.

  Their Kyyr flared.

  And then—

  They clashed.

  Flesh and claw collided in a storm of motion. Fists slipped past jaws, slashes missed by millimeters. The blur of movement carved deep streaks through the mist.

  Berserkrios, sharper and more composed than the other Giras, stood firm—his body pivoting, adjusting to every angle of Borren’s flurry.

  The intense permutation of punches flared in and around the two—left, right—the fierce weave of blows only interrupted by a successful strike—

  Berserkrios struck Borren’s chest—

  FSSSSSHHHHHHHH—FWOOOOSH!

  A Kyyr rune triggered.

  Scalding steam erupted from his frame. Berserkrios reeled at the hissing spray. He staggered back, allowing Borren to seize his arm, quickly swinging him into one of the rising pillars.

  CRACK!

  Berserkrios twisted mid-air, his spine blooming into bone-like branches that latched onto the side of the rising pillar.

  “Creepy, aren’t ye!” he whipped out the crimson pistol—

  BANG!

  BANG!

  BANG!

  Berserkrios leapt from pillar to pillar. The first two shots missed—but the third caught him in the hip.

  He spiraled.

  His arms flailed—but before he hit the ground, bony tendrils burst from his body, softening the fall. Bone rattled as he bounced away, edging the blistering heat below as he expertly adjusted his frame, shedding the tangled mass as he fluidly landed low on all fours. Berserkrios absorbed some of the bone mass into his frame as he began to circle around Borren like a cornered predator.

  FSSSSSHHHHHHHH—FWOOOOSH!

  Geysers erupted from the bony void, grazing him with their vile heat as he repositioned himself around a Borren who constantly held his right hand at the ready and his left one on the gun.

  That fucking gun is pissing me off! Berserkrios snarled, clawing his way up a rising pillar.

  Borren watched, annoyed, as Beserkrios disappeared high into the pillars. His breathing was ragged and burdened. The heat was rising and Borren was growing gradually worn by the steam that was singing his throat.

  All across the arena, bone pillars ascended at random, lifting steadily through the thick haze. Streams of steaming water spilled from their sides, splashing into the boiling flood below. The rising heat and mist turned the battlefield into a miserably hot forest of steam and gleaming ivory.

  Berserkrios rose high, close to the upper reaches of the arena; the steam was less thick at this point, letting him gasp for fresh air amidst the suffocating heat.

  Berserkrios had risen to the top out of animalistic instinct; the water molecules had begun to displace the oxygen in the room, making it harder and harder to breathe. He stared down at the hazy hellscape below.

  Borren had remained in the depths, his lungs burning under the rising heat. But it didn’t matter to Borren.

  Berserkrios felt it first—the shifting Kyyr in the arena when—

  SWOOOOOOOSH!

  Borren swiped at the air with a massive buildup of Kyyr that erupted up and towards the ceiling like a blistering plume.

  T-CHHKKRAASH!

  The surge of heat and energy was so impressive that it suddenly shattered the top off the arena’s glass cover.

  Gira held tight as the pillar shuddered under the pressure.

  He’s got that much Kyyr left?! Berserkrios braced himself, watching the Kyyr and steam surge into the sky as glass rained down on him, forcing him to cover himself as huge shards of heavy glass rained down on him.

  As glass crashed down on the huddled Coarseblood, the smug Borren exchanged a glare with another unfortunate soul. Fresh air, gave me a right lift… the steam was still rising but it could now escape out and into the air-conditioned arena.

  Aria and Mera reached the arena with bated breaths only to receive a blast of heat as they passed through the entrance. The two girls rushed ahead and stared at the misty mess in confusion.

  They gave each other confused looks before they found their eyes transfixed on a screen that showcased the menacing frame of Borren staring up and towards a bloody Berserkrios who’d shed most of his bony armor as his tail grew in length.

  Gira, let’s give plan C a good fucking shot!

  Gira shuddered, the bony mass coalescing in his tail, leaving him with fewer and fewer defensive options. “Aww man… fine!” he shouted hesitantly.

  He jumped down, letting Berserkrios manage their tail as it smashed into a pillar. It was now longer than Gira in length and was rather robust.

  Gira crashed down with a disgruntled look as he met once more with Borren on the main stage of the arena.

  “Nasty feckin’ creature, aren’t ya? Tryin’ to compensate for somethin’ with that grotesque yoke?” He jabbed a finger at Gira’s fat tail, which—thankfully—was starting to thin out.

  “I’m not!” Gira rushed Borren. “I’ve been meaning to ask!” Borren slammed down, blocking Gira’s approach as a surge of scalding water separated the two. “Why do you talk so funny?”

  “Huh? There’s nothin’ wrong with how I talk!” Borren released a wave of Kyyr that staggered Gira, letting him slash at his arm. The strength was so visceral in his form that he shattered Gira’s hand, causing bone to rupture through his skin.

  Gira didn’t react, bony Kyyr snapping his hand back into place. “You know… there was a little Hollow back at the manor—” Gira slid back, the weight of his tail pulling him back as he splintered bone mass from his hand, letting it fly into Borren, who swatted the meager attack away as he moved in for a blow. “Wow!” Borren tried to grab at Gira. “ have you met it? The little mechanoid—” He wove away from another Kyyr-filled swipe that was powerful enough to force Gira to balance himself on his tail.

  “I have. He’s a proper good friend—one of the best!!!” Borren smashed the ground with his fist so hard it splintered the arena and ruptured his hand.

  “Sheesh!” Gira kept to the edge of the arena.

  Borren glared deep into Gira’s gray-black gaze. He stared intently, pressing his Kyyr against the seemingly clueless Gira. Homeopathia—? “Tsk…” He swung his fierce stare into the audience and once again another Servinae collapsed.

  Borren growled at Gira as he rushed him with a fierce wave of Kyyr, swinging wildly at the sparsely armored Gira, who was no more so slithering on his tail than actually walking. Why didn’t it feckin’ work?! Does he—does he not get he’s goin’ to die?!

  Borren shook the thought away as he tapped the underside of his right arm.

  Gira kept his distance, his eyes gravitating to the gun in his holster. He slithered in with his now increasingly long tail dragging behind.

  Borren swung, his fist clashing with Gira’s face, but he didn’t relent—bone flashed, regenerating his face as he wildly slashed. Borren slammed down again, and again, and again, striking Gira over and over.

  “Yer gettin’ sloppy!”

  Borren charged Kyyr into his fist, raising his elbow high before punching Gira’s face so hard his eyeball popped out.

  The bloodthirsty crowd seemed to retch at this development as Gira pulled back using his tail.

  Xizu flinched in her seat, putting a hand over her eye. “Gira…”

  Mera covered her mouth, her gaze locked on the screen as Borrem closed the distance and punched Gira so hard in the chest his ribs caved inward as blood gushed from his mouth.

  Serfet, who’d finally managed to find his way to the arena floor, watched in sorrowful disgust as Borren swung again, his fist smashing Gira’s jaw so hard an arc of teeth and blood sprayed out and onto the bloodied white arena floor.

  Borren went in for a killing blow but Gira’s body slammed down onto the ground like a ragdoll puppet, dragging his own mangled body across the arena floor like a fucked-up paintbrush.

  Borren recoiled as he watched the half-dead Gira burst with bony growths.

  Gira’s hand shuddered as a bony fist slammed into the ground as he stood half-transformed into some aberrant mix of a Coarseblood and man. Gira tenderly pushed his own eyeball back into his eye socket as bony scales slithered across his face, mending the bloodied wound.

  The shocked audience watched in horror as the pained, deformed mass of bone slowly reformed into Gira’s innocent smile.

  Borren’s whole face contorted—a mix of fear and twisted nostalgia overtook the man.

  Borren had seen his share of horror—but there was one job that had changed everything.

  It was years ago, back when he still wore the ORPA Blood badge, back when his hands were a little cleaner and his heart not yet ironed flat.

  At the edge of the Swallowed Zone, near the Tymathea Translate, something wrong had taken root—something the locals whispered about but never named outright.

  Young women were vanishing. Taken from the villages and outposts within the Translate—gone without a sound. There were never any signs of struggle. There was never any sign anything had happened at all; they were just… gone.

  Some came back. Not many. But those who did weren’t really back.

  Their eyes held an emptiness, a loss of self. Their mouths rarely opened. When they spoke, it was nonsense—things that didn’t belong, lullabies, and whimpers.

  Others never returned at all. And sometimes—

  Sometimes—

  children would appear in their place.

  Born of an unfortunate unknown. Bearing a face that shouldn’t be familiar… but was.

  Borren remembered holding one of those infants in his arms once.

  It looked up at him with an innocent smile.

  Yet he felt no empathy for the child, for there was something wrong about it.

  That faint smile was innocence born of terror.

  That was the first time Borren had seen a glimpse of Calamity.

  Calamity Entities have but one instinctual goal: to multiply.

  Children born of the embrace of one of these beasts and of a host mother rarely bore the gene of calamity.

  First of all, only males could hear the call of Khaum.

  Second, even those born with the gene rarely could ignite that cursed blaze at the edge of death, the flame of all ends meet.

  Third, children born of Calamity and a weak host mother would lead to stillbirth. A loss of not only life but of something irreparable. The death of a mother’s child is, after all, something personal—too personal for the unfortunate circumstances of their suffering.

  Fourth, to deny the will of the God of Body and Mind, even if against their choice, would bring down its wrath upon the victims.

  The leader of the ORPA Blood Acroc Emperar, a Calamity Entity, recognized almost instantly what was happening in the Tymathae Translate. He knew that among his brethren were those who were weak to the call of Khaum— those who could not overcome their vile nature.

  The one responsible was found.

  But nothing was done.

  You see, there were two laws among the Calamity Entities: they could not kill one another and they would not interfere with the business of other Houses of Calamity.

  It didn’t matter what had been done. It didn’t matter who had suffered.

  Borren was enraged.

  Disobeying the order to retreat and to forget.

  He pursued the beast.

  Behind his superiors backs, he came into contact with the Hunting King Clan and together they organized a hunt.

  Agwen Astralar.

  Borren never forgot that name.

  On that hunt he witnessed the true terror of Calamity—the way their bodies burned like stars, their blackened scales, their many faces, and their grotesque regeneration.

  It was a terrible hunt.

  The loss of life was beyond expectation.

  Many more were robbed of their normal lives—crippled, burned, or left hollow by the loss of dear friends.

  But the beast was felled.

  And to this day, its black skull hangs in the highest hall of the Hunting King’s domain—a grim reminder of what it means to hunt Calamity.

  Borren’s demeanor changed as Gira snapped his body back into place. Something in the old ranger’s posture changed—like a switch had flipped.

  A tense weight came over the arena as he charged Kyyr into his fists, but instead of unleashing it, his hand drifted toward the crimson pistol at his side. His fingers brushed the weapon with an odd tenderness.

  Then, slowly, he began channeling his Kyyr—not into his fists, but into the bullet chambered inside the gun.

  “Oh shoot!” Gira sensed the compounding Kyyr and rushed Borren with all the Kyyr he had to spare.

  Borren evaded easily, sidestepping the charge as his Kyyr deepened—folding in tighter around the bullet, packing it heavier and heavier with potential energy.

  “Berserkrios, hurry up!” Gira shouted, his voice cracking as the air around them warped. The pistol began to hum. The thunder of Borren’s Kyyr cracked like invisible lightning, and the waves of bloodlust pouring from him made Gira’s instincts flare.

  “Yer no Coarseblood, are ya, kid?” Borren’s voice was low, dark, and coiling. “There’s no hidin’ what ya really are!”

  “What are you on about?” Gira barked, lunging forward, clumsily swiping at the gun as his bladed tail shrunk, allowing him more mobility.

  RUMBLE!!!

  The pistol began to glow—Kyyr rippling in tumultuous waves as all the available Kyyr in the arena was siphoned into the now glowing red pistol.

  In the crowd, the Servinae staggered. Some clutched their heads; others collapsed as the life was drained from their surroundings. The loud beating of the thunderous Kyyr around the bullet echoed with a grating wringing as Gira’s eyes teared up in horror as terror overtook his senses.

  Morray suddenly stood from his seat. That idiot's going to blow a hole through the entire arena!

  Within his throne, Vaal began to panic as death compelled the vile golden gaze of his to call out to his lesser self. “RAT, GRAB THAT FUCKING GUN—NO MATTER WHAT!”

  Gira spread his arms wide. Kyyr pulsed outward as his limbs cracked, reshaping into long, whip-like bony appendages. With no hesitation, he rushed Borren, who jumped back, but Gira swung his arms, using all the Kyyr that Berserkrios could spare him to extend out and grab the muscly ranger.

  “Die screamin’, MONSTER! Yer cursed kind don’t deserve breath!” Borren whipped out the gun, aiming it down at Gira.

  “The only thing that can kill me!” Gira’s tendrils that were wrapped around Borren tightened, “IS MYSELF!” They exploded inward, bony spikes ripping into his guts.

  Borren gritted his teeth and shoved the barrel toward Gira’s head—only for Gira’s jaws to snap open and bite down on his hand before he could pull the trigger.

  “FECK!”

  Borren roared as he violently pulled his mangled fingers out of his jaws.

  BOOM!!!

  A shockwave erupted from the Kyyr coalesced within the gun chamber, causing the air to rupture with a thunderous boom that sent Borren and Gira flying across the arena.

  The bloodied Borren cratered into a floating pillar, his enraged gaze crossing an unfortunate Servinae that suddenly exploded into a bloody mess beyond the arena’s stage.

  Gira was caught midair by his tail that was eerily shaking out from somewhere beneath the churning steam. With a sickening crack, he snapped his jaw back into place and dropped low, eyes flashing as he glimpsed something gleaming below.

  The pistol!

  Gira lowered himself, rushing towards the gun.

  “Got it—”

  CRACK!

  A heavy boot smashed into his face, sending him sprawling backwards. Blood streamed from his crushed nose, yet he clutched the gun tightly to his chest, fingers trembling as he took wobbly aim.

  But Borren didn’t relent.

  Before Gira could regain his bearings, the hulking ranger was upon him again, driving a savage fist deep into Gira's stomach while seizing his wrist.

  “Oh, for the Arcenais’ sake—FUCK off, ya filthy growths!”

  The gun was encased in bony matter that held it tightly in Gira’s hand. Gira’s wrist then erupted with bony tendrils that forced an enraged Borren to let go of Gira.

  Gira fell flat on his stomach, the gun still tightly woven onto his hand.

  Gira collapsed face-first, gasping sharply, pistol still tangled in bone. Undeterred, Borren rammed his knee viciously into Gira’s spine, grasping his arm and twisting it mercilessly.

  “AGH!” Gira choked, pain exploding through every nerve as bone ground violently against muscle. He strained, angling the pistol toward himself in desperation. “BERSERKRIOS!” he screamed.

  Within his throne K had passed out from the amount of pain he had endured for Gira. Only Gira, Vaal, and Berserkrios remained conscious amidst the unbearable pain.

  The grating sensation of his bone cutting into his muscle was a sting like none other. A betrayal of the soma and disgrace against his flesh. Borren twisted harder, but more bone surged protectively around Gira’s mangled hand, reinforcing his grip even as fresh blood spurted from shredded skin and down his trembling arm.

  Bone desperately cut into Borren’s hand, only for him to glare into the roaring audience, causing another Servinae to collapse as his wounds mended against the invasive bone.

  Locked in desperate struggle, they wrestled over the pistol, which shook violently between them as it slowly but surely was angled closer and closer to Gira’s face.

  Plan C is complete! Berserkrios finally called out.

  Gira managed a trembling, anxious smile, tears streaming down his cheeks as fresh waves of searing pain radiated through his body. His expression soured as he felt the sickening crunch of his tail receding into his spine. The grating sensation of bone getting compressed along with Borren’s weight caused cascading tears to pour down his face as a frankly stupid idea crossed his mind.

  The audience watched in tense excitement and horror as Gira suddenly shoved the crimson pistol’s barrel into his mouth.

  “Stop that! What the hell are you doing!?” Vaal screamed.

  Borren hesitated, looking down in wild confusion, loosening his hold just enough for Gira’s stupid idea to come to fruition.

  Gira twisted his head defiantly, his gray-black eye gleaming with cocky confidence as the cold barrel pressed into the inside of his cheek.

  BANG!

  Lucas’s jaw dropped.

  Xizu shot upright, eyes wide with disbelief.

  Mera shut her eyes tightly, unable to watch.

  Aria stared, paralyzed by shock.

  The crowd fell into stunned silence.

  Borren’s head snapped violently backward, his jaw shattered, blood cascading from his hanging jaw. His crimson gaze bearing down on the painfully smug and bloodied face of Gira.

  “BERSERKRIOS!” Gira cried into their throne.

  HERE WE FUCKING GO!

  Gira’s bony tail retracted into his body with horrific speed as a monstrous figure emerged from the swirling steam.

  Borren whirled around, eyes wide with shock, just in time to glimpse a monstrous silhouette emerging from the steam—pale-white, savage, and baring lethal fangs.

  SKRRRRRRCH!

  A visceral echo of flesh resonated through the arena as pale claws tore into Borren’s back. The powerful strike hurled him violently off Gira, sending his mangled body tumbling across the tainted arena, sharing his blood with the long-dead Nókktald.

  All those who were watching the exchange felt their breaths stolen by the strange vision. Towering protectively above the battered, bleeding form of Gira stood the upper half of an alabaster-white Coarseblood. Its imposing figure melded seamlessly downward into a serpentine tail, grotesquely tethered to Gira’s spine like a monstrous, bone-white umbilical cord.

  It let out a deep, piercing roar into the stunned silence.

  A heartbeat passed—and then came the cheers. The Servinae erupted into a thunderous celebration as Berserkrios reached down, gently lifting his weaker counterpart from the blood-soaked ground. His shattered face mending under the brutish bone of the Coarseblood Berserkrios.

  “Dude!” Gira sobbed, tears streaking down his bruised face. “This hurts so fucking much!” Gira shuddered. His body jolting as Berserkrios moved around, every rattle of his bony armor reverbrating through Gira in searing jolts of agony.

  “Better than dying to fucking Beardy, no?” Berserkrios growled roughly.

  Gira weakly nodded, coughing out a strained laugh. “Did...did we win?”

  A guttural groan echoed ominously through the steam. “Nrrrrghooo...”

  “Oh no…”

  Through the thick veil of vapor, Borren emerged—burnt, battered, but impossibly, horribly standing. He turned his savage gaze toward the stands, locking eyes with another unfortunate Servinae.

  The Servinae practically exploded in wounds before collapsing, his bloodied remains ignored by the other Servinae.

  Borren’s body stitched itself back together as he walked forward with a smoldering wrath.

  “What the heck! How does he keep regenerating?” Gira cried out.

  “Fuck! No clue! Gira, let’s merge into our nascent form—plan c was only good for one big surprise attack.”

  “Oh man, all that and he’s still freaking standing!”

  The bone tail retreated back into his spine, the Coarseblood construct mending with Gira’s fleshy body, causing him to grit his teeth in agony.

  Gira I’ll take the wheel I’m sorry to ask you to bear our pain again, but—

  “It’s fine…” Gira grumbled from within, bracing himself for a world of pain.

  “Wait,” a voice purred smoothly from the darkness of their shared consciousness. Golden eyes flashed as Vaal stepped forward. “At this rate, you pilfering rats will kill us.”

  Fuck off, Vaal! Berserkrios snarled. We don’t need your lip service right now!

  Gira hesitated, meeting the golden-eyed incarnation’s gaze cautiously. “What do you want, Vaal?”

  Beyond their throne, Borren glared murderously at Gira’s suddenly azure eyes. “Yer not gettin’ out of here alive—not a chance,” he hissed. “To think… filth like you would cross my path. Do ya even realise what kind o’ monster ya are?”

  Berserkrios didn’t respond, caught between Borren and Vaal.

  Vaal spoke, silky and cold, “Listen, Gira, I may hate you—but I refuse to die today. So let me take the wheel and I promise I’ll beat that stupid Vileblood for you.”

  Don’t trust him, Gira—that guy’s a fucking monster! I’ve seen his memory!

  “Are you for real?” Gira protested weakly. “Last time you tried to eat someone! And since I’m not allowed to kill him, you definitely can’t eat him!” Gira said, pointing at the golden-eyed version of himself.

  “You insufferable dolt—I was paying attention when the half-breed was instructing you. Listen, I’ve figured out how that loser heals himself! Just let me take the wheel for a second! You can easily revoke my control, after all? There’s no loss; simply put, I refuse to perish because of you idiots!”

  “Hmmm…” Gira thought, when a sudden surge of pain erupted from his gut.

  Beyond their throne, Borren had already closed the gap, slamming a brutal fist into Berserkrios’s stomach. The impact alone sent him flying back, but Borren caught him by the foot and smashed him into the tarnished grounds.

  Amidst the agonized pain from beyond, Gira didn’t particularly give it much thought as he surrendered his body to Vaal.

  Berserkrios blinked and found himself sitting on a red velvet sofa. Next to him was an unconscious Savagrios. Sitting passed out on a nearby couch was K and writhing in pain beneath him was Gira.

  “You fucking idiot…” Berserkrios murmured. “Are you crazy? He’s going to kill Beardy!”

  Outside, Borren viciously smashed Gira’s body into the bloodied floor—until crimson tendrils surged upward, slicing his fingers clean off.

  “AUGH!” Borren recoiled, clutching his bleeding hands as Vaal rose elegantly, effortlessly regaining his footing.

  “Ye cursed little—” Borren’s fury vanished into stunned dread. “Sweet Symbols above… those eyes—”

  Vaal stood tall, golden eyes radiating sheer contempt as they pinned Borren like a wriggling insect. The ranger’s bravado collapsed instantly, replaced by a cold, consuming terror. He felt Gira’s once quiet Kyyr bubble with deep, palpable malice.

  Xizu felt her stomach drop sharply as a familiar dread washed over her senses. The sinister, unmistakable Kyyr from the Pool Room surged violently throughout the arena, seeping beyond its confines like an insidious tide, descending through the tower’s corridors and saturating the floors below.

  In the lower levels, Holly and Alice were struck by the presence, overcome with familiar terror and anxiety as Vaal’s malevolent Kyyr coiled tightly around them—suffocating.

  Mera swallowed hard, clasping her hands in nervous expectation. Beside her, Aria’s eyes widened, sparkling with exhilaration as she felt the intoxicating surge of Vaal’s Kyyr ripple through her.

  Across the northern sea, Lucas watched the screen in bewildered concern. Even from afar, he could tell something had changed within his friend—a dark, troubling alteration that made the hairs on his neck stand on end.

  Beside him, Delíah leaned forward slightly, captivated by every subtle change manifesting in Gira as the battle unfolded, a fascinated gleam illuminating her calculating eyes.

  Morray rose sharply from his seat, his own Kyyr flaring defensively. Vaal spared him a dismissive, mocking smile before turning back to Borren.

  “Hello, hello, Mr. Worm,” Vaal purred menacingly. “Ready to cry?”

  Borren was cold with rage and terror as he watched the golden gaze of Vaal disappear as his body was swallowed in crimson scales.

  The horrific form of a Coarseblood erupted from where Vaal once stood. His crimson jaws snapping as his face cracked under the malicious sneer that spread across his featureless visage.

  The crowd went wild with the crimson transformation.

  Gira peered through Vaal’s perception, faintly falling to his knees in a disorienting haze.

  “How is his nascent form so large?!” Berserkrios exclaimed, horrified.

  Only then did he notice the sprawling tendrils extending from Vaal’s spine, drawing deeply from pools of Kyyr-rich blood scattered across the arena. Vaal had opportunistically fed on the carnage, growing monstrous and nearly complete in form.

  Vaal now loomed over a terrified Borren, whose Kyyr sensors replayed Agwen’s demise on loop over and over within his mind.

  This dreadful Kyyr.

  It did not belong to a Coarseblood.

  The Coarseblood rushed Borren.

  The old ranger staggered back, trying to create space for himself, but it was for naught. He was overshadowed almost instantly by the Coarseblood form. The beast grabbed both his arms and shot bladed tendrils deep into his knees.

  “AAAUGHH!!!” Borren wailed helplessly.

  Vaal leaned in, his jaws parting slightly. “I’ve figured out how your pathetic little ability works. To think that half-breed would organize such an unfair fight…”

  Borren struggled, pulling with all his might as the Coarseblood’s jaw grew closer and closer to his face. The beast’s throat emitted a low, rhythmic click-click-click as its long, bladed tongue dropped with its jaws.

  It was wet and warm—the slick underside of the Coarseblood’s tongue dragging across his cheek in a slow, deliberate stroke. The bladed tip traced upward, playful in its cruelty, until it halted just beneath the rim of his eye.

  “It was a pleasure seeing you eye to eye, worm.” Vaal hissed cruelly, delivering a final slash across Borren’s face.

  Borren fell screaming, clutching his eyes desperately as blood streamed through his fingers.

  “Surrender to my glory, wretched Vileblood!” Vaal growled triumphantly, chittering mockingly.

  The crowd watched with bated breaths, hoping perhaps to see Borren rise once more. But he didn’t. He lay in the arena, clutching his eyes—whimpering.

  The Coarseblood looked up at the Onryō Sombra with a strange recognition. The porcelain-faced mechanoid bowed his head in reverence before raising his arms with an excited delight.

  “FLESH. SCALE. METAL. A WINNER HAS BEEN DECIDED!

  DUE TO BORREN HIBERNS INABILITY TO CONTINUE I AM PROUD TO

  ANNOUNCE THE VICTOR OF THIS PARABELLUM ONRYō!

  THAT BEING…

  GIRA MOURNS!!!”

  The arena exploded into ecstatic cheers as all the cameras focused on the crimson beast that stood proudly by the Southern Gate. The shimmering glow of the Onryō banners decorating his crimson scales in a beautifully sinister shine.

  Vaal slowly turned to face Morray. His face cracking with delight as he savored the moment before disappearing through the Southern Gate’s opening doors.

  Gira blinked, his gray-black eyes slowly taking in the long crimson hallway before he shakily stumbled against a wall.

  “Wha—huh? Where—? D-did we win?”

  “Yes.” Berserkrios sighed. “Vaal defeated Borren. He accomplished our goal.”

  “Oh sweet… where’s Vaal?”

  “The piss-eyed bastard left without a word,” Berserkrios muttered bitterly. “Smug twat even had a stupid smile on his face…”

  Gira slid down, exhausted, collapsing onto the carpeted floor, naked and completely spent.

  “Hmmm, welp, at least we didn’t die, but I do feel like passing out or crying. Or both.”

  “Rest well, Gira, for there is more to do soon.” Berserkrios said, resting his head on the sofa within their throne. “Rest well…”

  Finally giving in to their exhaustion, both Giras succumbed gratefully to darkness.

  In the depths of Krreat, Vizor severed the feed.

  All the sinew mass had been reduced to crisp black remains by a fading blue flame. Before him, the wall had been marred with a massive smoldering gouge that illuminated the dark in a sinister blue hue.

  “I can not wait any longer.” He staggered back into the dark, “AEGIZ has wasted too much time!” The refinement in his voice cracked, giving way to a distorted, grinding roar—“And the rangers have chosen to harbor that disgusting aberration…”

  He placed a claw on whatever pulsed beneath his drab veil. “IT called to ME!” A mechanical rasp escaped his jaws as he tightened his hold on his chest. “And I will fulfill my duty. I cannot fail. Never again.”

  Vizor’s mechanical silhouette began to fade into the abyss, his form swallowed by the void as the faint blue glow of the smoldering gouge flickered—then faded—into the unknown.

  SORRY FOR THE DELAY! Also, I totally missed the one checkpoint for the Writathon... whoops.

  -L. Osric