Only Brama and Ruda remained. Two figures now facing this sudden trial. On a battlefield that had shredded sanity, stripped flesh, and tested the soul to the brink of madness.
Brama looked down. His breathing was shallow. His face expressionless, but his eyes blazed.
> "Ruda… be careful. Rest for now."
The voice was hoarse, more growl than sentence. But firm. Like a command hammer in an execution chamber.
Ruda didn't reply. He simply opened his wings, and from his eyes surged a wave of spiritual energy. Like an invisible radar, it swept across the battlefield. The air trembled. Thin mist rose from the earth and sky, following the scan's arc that circled the valley like a holy fog.
Silence. One second. Two seconds. Five seconds.
Then Ruda's head tensed. Calmly, he tapped his claws twice on the stone before him.
Military code: three enemies remaining. Direction: north.
Brama didn't speak. He didn't need to. He leapt.
His body slammed into the cliffside hard, his knee screaming near fracture, but no complaint escaped. Only the thud of earth and a body that refused to fall. Brama ran—past scattered corpses, over charred bodies no longer resembling living beings, across blood-soaked puddles indistinguishable from the ground.
One goal: Cleanse. Leave nothing behind.
The wind shifted as Brama entered the northern valley. The air thickened, tinged with sulfur and rotting flesh. Fog blanketed the ground like the slow tongues of demons licking from behind the rocks. The temperature rose gradually. Each step brought Brama closer to the cursed heart of this trial.
The earth changed color. From muddy brown to deep red, then bruised purple, like an open wound on the world's body. Thick liquid oozed across the ground—blood, poison, or something worse. No one wanted to know. No one needed to.
And in the center of the valley… they stood.
The final three enemies. Motionless. But not idle. Their auras flared—not as light, but as pressure. As if each heartbeat created an explosion of silence in the air.
Two Fire Foxes.
Each two meters tall, but their presence towered beyond that. Their fur burned like living embers. Every breath released smoke. Their breath wasn't air, but flame. Their fangs dripped glowing orange liquid—molten fire, slithering like demon spit.
And one Mutant Snake-Man.
His body was tall, slender, yet not weak. His skin was layered with thin steel scales—interlocked like chains wrapping human muscle. Long arms ended in sharp, flexible claws. His eyes were not of a living creature. Pale gray. Dead. And ever open, unblinking, as if staring at an apocalypse repeated endlessly.
His forked tongue flicked. Greenish slime dripped, scorching the ground with a hiss like molten iron hitting water.
Brama stopped just five meters away.
Alone. Burned. Bleeding.
But still walking onto the field like a war god who refused to die.
He took a deep breath.
And charged.
No signal. No words. No warning.
The first Fox moved first, spewing a five-meter wall of flame. Not mere heat, but living napalm devouring all. But Brama didn't hesitate. He dove into the fire. Directly.
The fire consumed him. His skin blistered. Flesh blackened. But his eyes locked on his prey.
He leapt through the blaze.
And as the Fox gasped—Brama was already there.
With a hoarse roar like splintering steel, he swung the broken blade in his hand toward the Fox's skull.
CRAAKKK!!
Skull cracked. Fiery blood spurted.
The creature fell—but Brama didn't stop. He drew a backup knife from his belt and slammed it into the Fox's face again and again.
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The blade danced through flesh, crushing bone. Blood burst from its eyes, ears, and snout.
Eight stabs.
Then fifteen.
Twenty.
Until the brain turned to red sludge.
The Fox no longer lived. But Brama stabbed once more—just to be sure.
Heavy steps from the right.
The second Fox lunged.
Glowing fangs slashed the air and sank into Brama's shoulder—tearing into muscle. Brama roared. But not from pain.
From rage.
He turned and slammed into the Fox. Their bodies tumbled. Brama stomped on its front leg, pinning it. With one hand, he grabbed the fang embedded in his shoulder, then—
Ripped it out.
CRACK!!
The fang tore free with blood and flesh from the gum.
The beast shrieked.
And Brama, without pause, smashed the fang into its face.
Once.
CRACK!! Skull split.
Twice.
SPLAT!! Right eye burst.
Three times.
BLURGGHH! Jaw shattered, teeth scattered across the ground.
Four.
Five.
Six.
No face remained. Only red-black pulp bubbling into the dirt.
Brama rose, soaked in blood. Breathing hard. But alive.
From the sky, Ruda descended. His wings spread like a molten shield. He landed before Brama and planted a magma spear into the ground—parting the mist between them and the final foe.
The tall figure stepped forward.
The Mutant Snake-Man.
The last creature stood before Brama. Towering over three meters. Muscles stretched along a spine too long—grown for hunting, not standing. His steel scales clinked as he moved, like blades grinding. His forked tongue flicked, tasting the air, then dripped green slime—melting stone as it touched the ground.
The creature grinned. Its voice deep, rattling the chest.
Brama didn't answer.
He dropped all his weapons.
The spear fell onto blood-soaked earth.
Bare hands.
Dead gaze.
Ruda stood ready behind him, wings flaring slightly to keep the spiritual pressure steady. But this was a duel. Between human will and monstrous madness.
The Snake-Man struck first.
Screeeech!
Twin blades emerged from beneath its arms—curved like scorpion tails. It darted, zig-zagging in unpredictable bursts like a dancing arrow.
Brama ducked. Then twisted, spinning his torso like a wave, locking the creature's arm under his armpit. In one fluid move, he slammed the massive body into the ground.
C-R-A-S-H!!
Earth cracked. Dust erupted. Bones didn't break, but shuddered.
The beast writhed, coiling around Brama like a giant serpent. Its grip pressed against Brama's spine, trying to snap it. His breath hitched. But he didn't panic.
He bit the creature's neck brutally, tearing steel scales off with his own teeth. The taste of metal and blood filled his mouth.
Then, with his left hand, he gouged out the monster's right eye.
BLOOP! The eyeball popped. Blood sprayed like steam from a cracked engine.
The creature screamed. A long, two-toned wail—part human, part inhuman.
Brama rolled to the side, grabbing a sharp rock shard from the ground.
Then—
He bashed its neck.
Once.
THUMP!!
Twice.
THUMP!!
Three. Four. Five. Twenty. Thirty.
Each strike a miniature explosion. Scales shattered. Neck tendons burst. But the creature still clung to life.
Brama jammed his thumb into its nostril, drove it through to the throat from inside, then grabbed the forked tongue—
And RIPPED IT OUT.
CRRRAAAKKHH!!!
The tongue tore from its root. Green blood gushed. The creature spasmed. Its limbs flailed wildly, claws raking the air, then slowly… went still.
Brama sat atop its chest. Head bowed. Blood dripped from his face onto the Snake's torso.
He waited.
Until the body ceased all movement.
---
After the Silence
Ruda landed gently. His great wings stretched wide, shielding Brama from the cold, rancid valley winds. Brama's breath was ragged. His chest heaved. Sweat and blood mixed, running into his eyes. But he was still conscious.
Still alive.
> [System Active: Fourth Wave fully cleared.]
> Status: Survived – No external assistance.
> Courage Rating: Beyond human threshold.
> Physical Condition: 19%. Combat Capacity: 11%.
> Recovery Option: Unavailable at this time.
Brama closed his eyes for a moment.
Then opened them again, gazing at the darkening sky. Rain had not yet fallen, but the clouds rolled like ancient wounds about to burst. He lifted his face—not in defiance, but in readiness.
His lips moved.
A faint smile. Trembling lips. And in his heart, like a whisper to the heavens themselves, he said:
> "Bring the fifth wave. I'm still alive."