The sky above was cracked white. The ground beneath him, soaked in blood.
Toms Zano's body dissolved into glittering soul fragments, fading into the air like dying embers in the wind. One by one, the shreds disappeared, leaving only silence where his roar once echoed.
Yamino lay pinned, his body barely recognizable beneath the forest of spears skewering him to the earth. His arms were limp. His vision blurred. His own blood soaked into his tongue, choking his breath with the taste of iron.
"Is this it…?"
He thought, blinking slowly, pain lancing through every inch of him.
"Is this… my last breath?"
A cold voice cut through the air, too loud for a dying world.
Kairon stood over him, arms folded behind his back like a priest delivering a sermon. His skeletal face twisted in amusement, white hair fluttering in the breeze that only he seemed to feel.
"Well, well, Yamino," he said, casually stepping over one of the fallen spears. "You had potential, I'll give you that. That thing you summoned—it was special. But potential is… wasted on the unworthy."
Yamino grunted, blood seeping from his lips.
Kairon knelt beside him, voice soft but cruel.
"You know, I always wondered what made you so interesting to her. You're not handsome. Not strong. Not born of any great lineage. And yet… she looked at you."
He leaned closer, whispering into his ear.
"She chose you."
He stood and raised his hand, a spear forming in his palm from raw energy.
"It's insulting."
Yamino's fingers twitched. His eyes didn't close.
He wasn't dead yet.
Kairon pointed the spear toward his heart.
"Don't worry. I won't kill you just yet. I want you to watch everything crumble. I want your last breath to be regret."
He smirked.
"Isn't that what kings deserve?"
Kairon raised the spear high above his head, its tip aimed directly at Yamino's chest.
"This is the end," he whispered coldly.
But the moment the spear descended—
a blur of silver light cleaved the air.
Slash!
Kairon's wrist split cleanly, the severed hand and spear flying into the dirt.
"AHHHH!!"
Kairon screamed, stumbling back, clutching the stump. His wide, disbelieving eyes locked onto the figure before him.
A tall, battle-worn man stepped into the field, a dozen glimmering blades orbiting him like loyal ghosts. His aura was immense—silent, unyielding, a storm disguised in human skin.
"You…" Kairon gasped, voice trembling. "You're that servant… aren't you?! The monster of the Black Battlefield—!"
The man said nothing.
Only his eyes—glowing with violet fury—spoke for him.
Kairon snarled. "KILL HIM!! KILL HIM NOW!!"
His servants swarmed like insects, but—
It was over before it began.
Steel danced.
Limbs fell.
Bodies shattered midair as the servant of Yamino's father moved like death incarnate. Every strike was fatal. Every dodge perfect. Even when surrounded, he moved without fear, his blades intercepting attacks from all angles—even from behind.
Meanwhile, Yamino lay motionless, impaled by spears, his blood pooling into the soil. His body trembled.
"So tired…"
His eyelids drooped. His breath came in shallow gasps.
"Please… just… one chance. Let me kill that bastard…"
His thoughts blurred into agony.
Above him, the battlefield crackled. The ground trembled.
And then—
the air thickened.
From the shadows stepped a new entity, robed in swirling black mist. The being lifted its hand.
Ten thousand spears erupted from the sky like divine punishment, all aimed for Yamino's father's servant.
But—
CLANG—CLANG—CLANG!
None reached.
With a fierce roar, the blades circling the servant surged outward. Each one met a spear midair—parrying, breaking, shredding them in a storm of violence and light.
When the last spear fell, the field was silent.
And he was still standing.
Unharmed.
The monster… had arrived.
The final spear shattered against his orbiting blades, bursting into shards of ether and vanishing into the wind. The battlefield fell deathly quiet. Smoke from broken energies rose slowly, painting the air in a faint haze. The servant of Yamino's father stood alone in the center of the wreckage, his breathing steady but his gaze locked far ahead.
Then he felt it.
A tremble.
A pull.
Something deep and sacred unraveling.
His head turned sharply—toward Yamino.
The boy's body was sprawled in the dirt like a discarded doll, skewered by spears, blood seeping from every wound. His skin had gone pale, his lips tinged with blue. But that wasn't what made the servant's heart sink.
It was the soul—
Fragile. Flickering.
Drifting away from his core like smoke through a cracked window.
"No," the servant whispered. He took a step forward, then vanished.
He reappeared beside Yamino in a blink, the grass barely rustled by his movement. One knee hit the blood-soaked soil as his hand reached out, trembling for the first time in decades.
He placed it gently over Yamino's chest.
The boy's heartbeat was almost non-existent. Only the faintest flutter echoed beneath the skin, like the final echo of a long-dead drum. The spears remained lodged, cruel and absolute. The servant could hear the silent language of death pulling at Yamino's soul—a song that no mortal could return from.
His jaw clenched.
He didn't have time. No potion. No healer.
No pact could save Yamino now.
But maybe… I can.
The thought passed through his mind like a spark. Dangerous. Forbidden.
But necessary.
He closed his eyes.
"I was made to serve your father. But I watched you grow, Yamino. I watched the way you fought… the way you suffered. If anyone deserves a future, it's you."
The air around them thickened, charged with ancient energy.
The servant reached into his own chest. His fingers pierced through flesh and bone like mist. Inside, he grasped something unseen—something old, something sacred.
His core.
A burst of violent energy surged from the point of contact, a brilliant light exploding around them. Their bodies began to glow, as if the world itself recognized what was being done.
The light wasn't warm.
It was fierce.
It was sacred.
Every inch of the battlefield turned white. The wind howled. The sky cracked. The very laws of life and death paused to witness the ritual.
The servant's soul split, pouring into Yamino's body like a raging tide. He winced, blood dripping from his eyes, his strength failing. But he didn't stop. His will held firm. The energy of two lives—two souls—burned as one.
And then…
Stillness.
The light faded.
The wind fell.
Silence blanketed the battlefield again.
And Yamino's body lay there—motionless.
No rise of chest. No flicker of breath.
No glow in the eyes.
Dead.
The servant knelt beside him, his body hunched forward. His once-bright aura flickered, dim, fractured. Half of his soul… was gone.
But he didn't regret it.
He placed a hand gently on Yamino's shoulder, whispering one final sentence with what little energy he had left.
"Rest well, young master… the rest is up to you now."
And then his hand fell to the side.
His body collapsed.
And everything was still.