…

  Several minutes earlier, on the opposite side of the chamber...

  “Ye know,” Bjoern rumbled, hefting his massive double-bladed axe onto one shoulder. The sheer weight of the weapon cracked the stone beneath his feet, fissures spiderwebbing outward with a low groan. “Ye could always lend a hand to them pups instead, eh?”

  The Quisunekin stood tall and broad, chestnut-brown fur catching glints of cavern light with every subtle movement. His long, fluffy ears—loosely bound with a leather strap to keep them in check—gave the occasional twitch, more out of amusement than alertness. Behind him, a thick, downy tail swayed once, already bristling with anticipation. His blue-grey eyes narrowed, not with fear—but with the quiet thrill of a fight about to begin.

  “Shut up and stay out of my way.” Isabella didn’t even look at him as she spoke, her voice smooth and clipped—like a noble giving orders, not advice.

  With a practiced flick, she gathered her long blond hair and tied it into a high ponytail, every motion crisp and economical. Only then did she draw her rapier, the blade singing free with a clean, resonant zing that cut through the tension like a razor note.

  In the dim light, the slender weapon gleamed like polished silver. Her emerald eyes stayed fixed ahead—sharp, focused, and utterly unbothered.

  Before them loomed the divine beast—an abomination of metal and flesh, as if a church had grown claws and learned to hate. Nearly six meters tall, it rose onto its hind legs with unnatural grace, every joint creaking like rusted iron under divine pressure. Overlapping plates of iridescent metal rippled across its frame, fused seamlessly with living muscle that flexed and coiled beneath the surface.

  Its dozens of ink-black eyes blinked in slow succession, scattered across its armored head like embedded shards of obsidian. Each one moved on its own axis, tracking Bjoern and Isabella with unnerving precision as the creature’s jagged muzzle twitched slightly.

  ?So these are the insects,? it said, voice slithering from the walls, the floor, the air itself—every syllable vibrating deep into their bones, bypassing the ears entirely.

  The elongated skull dipped lower as if to get a better look, plated joints creaking under the weight of its unnatural grace, the massive forearms barely holding its giant body upright. Rows of serrated fangs flexed in a half-snarl, the movement subtle but deliberate—almost amused. ?The Hero sends me to fight mongrels now??

  A pulse of divine [Energy] flared beneath its metallic skin, veins of molten gold briefly illuminating the twisted musculature beneath. It stepped forward with a heavy thud, claws dragging small trenches into the stone. ?This will not take long.?

  While the creature’s presence was overwhelming, both nobles recognized that its strength, though formidable, fell somewhere within the range they had experienced when sparring with their parents. The crushing [Aura] was intimidating but not the bone-deep terror that accompanied true death approaching.

  “I’ll take th’ legs,” Bjoern declared without further preamble, charging forward with the same spell-assisted technique Mathilda had employed, though his execution proved considerably clumsier, but more potent.

  Isabella rolled her eyes with practiced exasperation. “Head, then.” She vanished mid-leap, employing a series of [Flash] movements that carried her through the air with surgical precision. Her style relied far more on technique than magical enhancement—spell-casting wasn’t her strongest suit, and she preferred the traditional Feather-Paw combat methods that emphasized speed and precision over brute force or trickery.

  Materializing beside the divine beast’s massive hind leg, Bjoern swung his axe with all the force his body could muster—intending to sever the creature’s mobility in a single, brutal stroke.

  CLANG

  The blade slammed into its plating with a deafening crack of metal on metal. Sparks burst outward in a violent spray as the axe rebounded—harmless.

  The force of the failed strike slammed back into Bjoern, staggering him several steps as the shock trembled through his arms. “Damn it,” he growled through clenched teeth.

  ?Vermin,? the beast growled, its voice echoing from every angle—layered, distorted, like multiple mouths speaking in unison. Across its twisted frame, dozens of black eyes snapped toward Bjoern, each one narrowing with slow, deliberate hatred.

  A massive claw lifted, [Divine Energy] coiling around it like molten light as it leveled straight at Bjoern.

  ?Go to—?

  Before the creature could complete its attack, Isabella flickered into view—materializing mid-air directly in front of its skull. Her rapier gleamed, coated in a thin layer of tightly compressed [Energy], so precise it was nearly invisible.

  “[Energy Disruption] technique number three,” she murmured, voice calm. “Disruption of mind and reason.”

  She struck—swift and exact, the tip of her blade aiming for the dense cluster of eyes set into the beast’s forehead.

  For a single heartbeat, the world held its breath.

  A ripple of pressure rolled outward as her attack connected, warping the surrounding air.

  When it cleared, she remained suspended mid-air—still, sharp, poised. The divine beast’s dozens of eyes snapped toward her in unison, tracking her with mechanical precision. Its jagged muzzle curled slowly, the beginnings of a razor-edged smile spreading across its face.

  “Damn—”

  Before she could finish the curse, the creature’s massive forearm slammed across her like a siege weapon let loose.

  BOOM

  The impact launched her across the chamber. She hit the wall with a crack that echoed like splitting stone, her body folding into a crevice and leaving a spiderweb of fractures in the rock.

  One leg twisted at an ugly angle. She didn’t scream, but exhaled once, sharp and measured, already drawing in [Healing Energy] through gritted teeth as she assessed the damage—trapped, but thinking.

  ?I never understood why the Hero insisted we wait so long to eliminate you vermin,? the divine beast rumbled with obvious satisfaction, its voice carrying notes of sadistic anticipation. It opened its maw wide, condensing a sphere of lethal [Divine Energy] between its serrated fangs as it aimed directly at Isabella’s immobile form.

  Just as the creature prepared to release its devastating attack, something shifted—silent, invisible, and absolute. A dome of oppressive force enveloped its massive frame, crushing the flow of [Energy] like a clenched fist. The divine sphere between its jaws wavered, flickering and unraveling, no longer able to obey the creature’s will.

  ?What—argh!?

  Without warning, Bjoern’s massive axe spun through the air like a steel cyclone, its path tight and deliberate—more like a verdict than a weapon. It struck the beast’s jaw with bone-cracking force, snapping its muzzle shut mid-incantation.

  BOOM

  The unstable [Energy] detonated inside its own throat, shredding tissue and metal alike. The explosion didn’t blast outward—it imploded, ripping through the beast’s insides and sending it reeling, disoriented and wounded from within.

  While the divine beast struggled to comprehend what had just happened, a new sensation surged up through its limbs—hot, sharp, and immediate. Searing pain lanced through its legs, followed by the unmistakable sound of metal striking metal—unrelenting, like a blacksmith hammering iron against the world itself.

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  Its balance gave out.

  The beast staggered, collapsing sideways as its many eyes finally locked onto the source of the assault—Bjoern.

  The Iron-Claw heir stood at the center of the chaos, transformed. His muscles swelled past natural limits, leather straps snapping one by one, and armored joints groaning under the pressure. Every vein across his body pulsed violently, his entire frame radiating raw, unchecked force.

  His eyes were glazed over—not from madness, but from focus. No fear. No reverence for divinity. Just the kind of joy that could only come from meeting something worth breaking.

  “Hold yer tongue.” Bjoern vanished from his position, reappearing mere inches from the beast’s descending face with perfect timing. “It’s gonna hurt, lad!”

  Bjoern’s fist shot forward with impossible speed—his muscles exploding into motion, enhanced by a layered mesh of acceleration spells woven directly into his limbs and body. The strike didn’t just land—it arrived. One moment his arm was cocked back; the next, his fist had already buried itself in the divine beast’s head.

  The sound was beautiful for one of them, but for the other wrong. Too wrong.

  Not a thud, not a crunch—more like a sword snapping under pressure. The beast’s face, a fusion of metal and living stone, cracked wide, fractures spiderwebbing across its skull.

  The shockwave never had a chance to form—Bjoern was gone, nothing left but an afterimage.

  CRACK

  Another punch—this time from the side—his fist slowly bent metal and snapped it in parts.

  CRACK

  Gone again—another cracking sound was felt at the back.

  CRACK

  He didn’t stop.

  CRACK CRACK CRACK

  Again and again.

  Parts of the face bended in sheer moments.

  CRACK

  The body deformed, barely able to adjust.

  CRACK

  Each strike landed with brutal precision, each blow carving deeper into the beast’s frame. Flesh tore. Armor buckled. Stone shattered. It was not a simple assault but carnage.

  Only when Bjoern finally relented—when the speed bled out of him and the spell layers dropped—did reality catch up.

  And then—

  BOOOOM

  A cascade of shockwaves detonated in a single, drawn-out cacophony—less like separate impacts and more like one impossible explosion stretched over seconds. The divine beast’s massive frame jerked violently, as if yanked around by invisible forces, its body cracking open in places where Bjoern’s blows had buried themselves too deep to heal.

  Metal split. Stone ruptured. Divine tissue flared and tore.

  It staggered, not from confusion, but from damage it could no longer ignore.

  Bjoern sprinted toward his fallen axe, every step heavy with strain. His hands throbbed with raw pain—torn muscle, ruptured veins, fingers barely responding. Blood dripped freely, smearing across his arms as he moved. ’This isn’t gonna end well,’ he clicked his tongue in annoyance.

  The Iron-Claw household stood at the pinnacle of physical combat—descendants of a bloodline that rejected [Energy] entirely. They couldn’t wield it, and they didn’t need to. Instead, their very presence could disrupt the flow of [Energy] around them, unraveling spells and silencing techniques with brute defiance.

  But against enemies whose raw strength rivaled their own, that advantage vanished.

  In those rare moments, victory came down to one thing: the [Mystic Skills]—refined to push their bodies past all natural limits. Usually harmless, not this time, though. It was strength bought with pain. Power paid for in blood.

  Bjoern reached for his weapon, fingers closing around the familiar grip—just as a massive shadow swallowed the surrounding ground.

  ?Die, you filthy animal!?

  The divine beast’s enormous forearm came crashing down, slamming into the stone with enough force to crater the earth. Shards of rock and dust erupted in every direction, the impact sending shockwaves rippling through the cavern.

  ?Did you truly believe mere beastkin could challenge divinity?! Impossible—?

  “Gonna wake up earlier, lad!”

  To the creature’s shock, Bjoern’s voice came from below—somewhere near its legs, far from the crater it had just pounded into the ground. His body was already in motion, swollen beyond recognition. Muscle layered over muscle, flesh straining against its limits until the very structure of his form seemed on the verge of tearing apart. Leather straps snapped. Armor split at the seams. Veins bulged and burst, streaking his limbs with fresh blood. His skin glistened with sweat and open wounds, but his grip never wavered, and his smile only widened.

  He didn’t look mortal anymore.

  He looked like a weapon built to break gods.

  The axe swung in a flawless horizontal arc, carving through the air around the beast’s supporting limbs. For a single, crystalline heartbeat, everything held still—no sound, no motion—just the gleam of metal and the weight of what was about to come.

  ZING

  BOOM

  The explosion of force came a breath later. One of the divine beast’s legs was severed cleanly at the joint, the cut so precise it didn’t even bleed at first.

  Then the shockwave hit.

  The ground shattered.

  Stone buckled and collapsed in a wide ring around the impact. Entire sections of the cavern floor caved in, crushed by the raw pressure that rolled out from Bjoern’s strike. Debris flew in all directions. Cracks split across the walls like lightning.

  Everything near him ceased to exist in its previous shape.

  ?ARGH!?

  The divine beast collapsed, its scream a deafening mix of agony and fury that echoed through the cavern like a quake. It writhed across the fractured ground, golden ichor spilling from the stump of its severed limb.

  ?You will pay!?

  Its voice cracked with rage, its dozen black-inked eyes blinking erratically—opening, closing, twitching—like it was fighting to hold itself together, or suppress something worse.

  ?All of you animals… will pay for this!?

  Its [Aura] flared wildly, no longer divine but violent, unfocused—like a god bleeding fury into the air.

  Even as the beast thrashed in pain and fury, Bjoern felt the last of his strength leave him. His fingers loosened, and the axe slipped from his grip, clattering against the broken stone.

  His body deflated—muscle mass shrinking, skin paling, breath catching in his throat. Every nerve screamed, every limb trembled. The dome that had been suppressing the creature’s power flickered once, then vanished completely.

  ‘I’m done,’ he realized.

  A dozen malevolent eyes snapped toward him, locking onto his limp form with renewed hatred.

  ‘Come on... run.’

  But his legs wouldn’t move. His body was no longer listening.

  The divine beast, blinded by rage, abandoned all trace of strategy. Revenge eclipsed thought. Its wounds, its pride—everything demanded blood.

  ?Die, you miserable insect!?

  Without warning, the divine beast reared back and brought one colossal forearm down.

  BOOM

  The first strike landed squarely on Bjoern’s back with a sound like mountains colliding.

  His body slammed into the stone floor with bone-crushing force, armor buckling, flesh tearing on impact. The ground beneath him didn’t just crack—it cratered, erupting outward in a jagged ring as if the earth recoiled from the blow.

  Everything shook—his ribs, his vision, the very air in his lungs.

  Then the second hit came.

  Then the third.

  Again and again.

  ?DIE! DIE! DIE—!?

  The divine beast roared, driven by pure wrath, and pounded its massive forearms down in a frenzy. Each blow crushed him deeper into the shattered floor, snapping stone and sending blood splattering across the dust-choked air.

  There was no precision—only violence. No tactics—only hate.

  ?You filth—! You dare—! You exist!?

  The hits kept coming.

  Not to kill. To annihilate.

  Before the creature could rip Bjoern apart, a streak of pure white light cut through the air—slow at first, then impossibly fast.

  Isabella descended like a falling star, her form wreathed in condensed [Energy], every line of her motion clean, deliberate, precise. She emerged above the divine beast’s shoulder, hovering for the briefest instant, as if gravity itself had paused to bear witness.

  “Technique thirty-one,” she whispered. “Lawful Guillotine.”

  Her rapier shimmered—pure white, tightly controlled, not a flicker of waste.

  Then she moved.

  A perfect arc.

  The blade sliced through metal and divine flesh like gossamer, clean and silent. A crescent of pure [Energy] followed in its wake, arcing through the creature’s arm and shoulder—elegant, precise—before fading into nothing, like a drop of water vanishing before it touched the ground.

  No wasted movement. No collateral damage.

  Perfect execution.

  The severed limb dropped with a heavy, reluctant thud, as if even the beast’s body hesitated to part with it. Dark golden blood erupted from the wound in thick, pulsing streams, painting the stone in arcs of divine ichor.

  Isabella didn’t press the attack.

  She could’ve gone for the head, or driven her blade through its core—but something in her instincts screamed against it. Not fear. Clarity.

  This wasn’t the moment for martyrdom.

  Whatever writhed beneath that divine shell... it wasn’t done yet.

  The divine beast’s eyes snapped toward Isabella—dozens of them locking in perfect, predatory alignment.

  Its cracked muzzle split open, throat pulsing with molten light.

  It fired.

  A beam of concentrated [Divine Energy] tore through the air with impossible speed—no buildup, no warning—just obliteration.

  BOOM

  The chamber lit up in white-hot fury as the explosion rocked the world behind her. Stone melted. Air turned to fire.

  Mid-air, Isabella jerked—frozen.

  She looked down.

  Half her torso was gone.

  Not bleeding. Not wounded. Simply… erased.

  ‘What…?’

  Her vision swam. Instinct triggered her [Mystic Skills], trying to survive the attack—but her strength was gone. Her [Energy] reserves barely available, spent.

  Another glow began to build in the beast’s throat.

  She was still in its sights.

  And there was nothing left to block the next one.

  The air trembled.

  “Enough.”

  The word wasn’t shouted—it was spoken.

  But it rang louder than the explosion, louder than the beast’s fury. A single voice, spoken in perfect harmony by three mouths. A chorus without discord.

  Then came the fire.

  A tsunami of molten lava surged from across the chamber—fast, deliberate, unstoppable. It crashed into the divine beast like a divine punishment, scouring it away from Isabella’s broken form in a tide of incandescent fury. Stone hissed. Light screamed.

  The monster roared as it was driven back, not by raw power alone, but by precision—the kind of control that could only be wielded by a unit acting as one.

  The triplets stepped through the glare as one—no longer entirely mortal.

  Wreathed in flame, their outlines shimmered with molten heat, limbs elongated, features warped by something ancient and furious. Power clung to them like a second skin—radiant, untamed, and wrong in all the right ways.

  Not beastkin.

  Not anymore.

  But Cerberus incarnate.

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