The Heart Nexus thrummed with life, its pulsing echoes syncing with the frantic beating of Luke's heart. The distorted battlefield stretched around them—a twisted canvas painted with blood, shattered stone, and raw desperation.
But something fundamental had changed.
The rhythm of the battle, once dictated by Ashtor's cruel tempo, had been shattered.
We're not prey anymore.
Luke's breath was ragged, every inhale scraping against the burning pain in his chest. Blood seeped from the wounds on his arms, warm and sticky, mixing with sweat and dirt. His vision blurred around the edges, but his mind—his mind was sharp.
This is our chance.
Across the ruined field, Ashtor stood trembling.
The arrow remained embedded in his left eye, crimson leaking in rivulets down his face, mingling with sweat and the faint shimmer of his fading Advent. His right eye—wild, furious—burned with disbelief and something else.
Fear.
For the first time, Ashtor was afraid.
Eleanor moved first.
Fluid, confident, like she had always belonged here—standing at the apex between life and death, her bow an extension of her will.
"What's the matter, Ashtor?" she called out, voice dripping with mock sympathy, her smirk sharp enough to cut glass. "Not so invincible without your little intangibility trick, huh?"
Ashtor snarled, his grip tightening around the hilt of his blade. His fingers trembled—not from weakness, but from rage. Pure, unfiltered rage.
"I'll tear you apart!" he bellowed, his voice cracking under the strain.
He charged.
No vanishing. No phasing. Just raw, feral aggression.
Luke's instincts screamed.
Move. Fight. Do something.
But his body was sluggish, weighed down by pain and exhaustion.
Then—Kuro stepped forward.
Kuro's form had stabilized, his recovery complete. The glossy red fur of his Base Form glistened under the Nexus's eerie light, his muscles dense and coiled like steel cables.
Ashtor's blade swung down with brutal force—an arc of silver meant to cleave Kuro in half.
But Kuro caught it.
One hand.
The clash echoed like a thunderclap, shockwaves rippling through the ground beneath them.
Kuro's eyes glinted with something dark, something dangerous. "Not this time."
With a roar, he drove his fist into Ashtor's gut.
Crack.
Bones shattered beneath the impact. Ashtor's body folded, the breath ripped from his lungs in a violent gasp. But he didn't fall. His fury kept him upright, kept him swinging.
They moved like titans, trading blows that left craters in the ground, shockwaves splitting the air.
But Ashtor was slowing.
Without his Intangibility, he couldn't avoid damage. He couldn't cheat death anymore.
And Kuro?
Kuro was relentless.
Luke watched, his heart pounding.
I can't just stand here.
He forced his body to move, every step a battle against the screaming protests of his injuries. His muscles felt like lead, his vision swam—but he kept going.
I'm not useless. Not now.
His hands trembled as he summoned the last reserves of his Advent. The faint, flickering glow of his essence danced along his fingertips—a weak echo of the power he'd wielded at his peak, but it was enough.
Enough to make a difference.
Ashtor roared, slamming his blade down in a desperate, wide arc. Kuro dodged, sliding under the swing with inhuman speed, his counterstrike landing squarely against Ashtor's ribs.
More cracks. More blood.
But Ashtor wouldn't fall. His hatred was the glue holding him together, his pride refusing to let him die quietly.
Luke reached them just as Ashtor raised his blade again.
Now.
Luke surged forward, pouring every ounce of remaining energy into the ground. The floor, crackling with binary coding, emerged and collided with Ashtor's side—right where Kuro had broken his ribs.
The explosion of impact sent Ashtor sprawling, skidding across the ground in a trail of blood and dust.
But he wasn't dead.
Not yet.
Ashtor coughed, blood splattering from his mouth. He tried to stand, his legs trembling beneath him.
Eleanor was already there.
Bow drawn. Arrow nocked. Her eyes—a predator's gaze—locked onto him with lethal precision.
"It's over."
Ashtor's single, bloodshot eye burned with defiance. "I… can't… lose…"
Thwip.
The arrow penetrated his chest, embedding itself deeply in his heart.
Ashtor inhaled sharply—a damp, sharp noise—before sinking to his knees. His sword fell from his grip, clanging ineffectively against the floor.
For a brief instant, he stood tall, swaying like a marionette with its strings severed.
After that—he tumbled.
Nose down in the ground.
Dead.
A heavy, suffocating silence descended upon the battlefield.
Luke fell to his knees, fatigue ultimately overcoming him. His arms drooped loosely by his sides, and he breathed in shallow panting.
Kuro remained still, his chest heaving as he breathed heavily. Blood flowed from new injuries, yet his demeanor remained serene.
Eleanor neared Ashtor's body, hovering above him with her bow still grasped. She gazed for an extended moment before at last breathing out, her shoulders easing.
"Looks like you weren't as invulnerable as you thought," she whispered.
Luke let out a weak laugh, his voice hoarse. "Nice shot."
Eleanor turned, flashing him a grin. "Told you. Hunter."
Kuro chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Damn right."
The battle was over.
The cycle was broken.
And for the first time in what felt like forever—they had won.