Chapter Thirteen
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The Crater Still Breathes
Black smoke rose from its glassy edges, mingling with a red vapor from blood that had yet to dry.
The fire at its base was slowly fading.
Karsu stood at the center.
His right arm hung motionless.
Blood flowed from a wound in his side and another in his chest, dripping onto the scorched soil beneath his feet.
His face was smeared with soot.
But his eyes—
His eyes were still open.
Wide.
Clear.
Watching.
---
Along the rim of the crater, they were spread out.
Rashid stood a few steps away from the edge, his brown eyes fixed on Karsu.
The vines around him still trembled, carrying messages from every direction.
He heard everything.
He saw everything.
Yet he did not move.
“What are you waiting for?”
The Lord of Gravity’s question came out as a whisper, but it carried urgency.
Rashid did not answer.
He was looking at Karsu—at those unblinking eyes, at the lifeless right hand, at the blood slowly flowing.
Then he said quietly, so only those nearby could hear:
“Let me stop the bleeding of the Lady of Radiance first. Besides… he is the one who needs to come out, not us.”
---
At the bottom of the crater, Karsu moved his fingers.
Only the left ones.
A single thin thread shot out from between them, clinging to the edge of the crater. Then he pulled—
A short, unexpected leap.
He emerged from the pit like a ghost.
Now he stood on the edge.
Before all of them.
Poison in his veins.
A wound in his abdomen.
A dead right hand.
His core nearly empty.
Yet he stood.
He looked at them one by one.
The Lord of Sand.
The Lord of Gravity.
The Lord of Mist.
The Lord of Grass.
In a hoarse voice, nearly swallowed by the smoke of the crater, he said:
“One of you remains… who will die next?”
---
“Heh.”
The Lord of Mist’s gaze slid toward Karsu as if touching his face before reaching him.
His silver eyes—the only clear features within the fog that masked his face—held cold arrogance, silent superiority, and above all else—
Unshakable confidence.
To be this confident…
Beside him, a small pink flower attached to one of the vines trembled.
A faint, quick shake.
Like someone trying to warn an absent-minded friend.
The Lord of Mist slowly turned his head toward it.
His gaze held no emotion—no affection, no hatred, not even curiosity.
Just the awareness that something required attention.
He moved his hand calmly.
A thin cloud of mist emerged from his sleeve, wrapped gently around the flower, and pulled it from its roots with a softness that contrasted sharply with the violence of the act.
He brought it before his face.
The flower was still alive.
Its severed roots trembled, and from that faint life came a distorted voice, as if spoken underwater:
“Lord of Mist… what are you doing? I signaled you several times. The wide-range attrition attack. Now.”
A sigh.
Light—barely audible—escaped from the fog covering his face.
His silver eyes remained cold and empty, like those of a corpse.
“Fine… fine, Lord Tree. I’ll attack.”
---
The Lord of Mist straightened.
His entire body was fog-like, barely distinguishable.
But this time he allowed the thin mist covering his lower face to disperse.
A silver beard appeared—whether from age or natural color was impossible to tell—along with a mustache of the same shade.
He blew.
A light breath.
Small and steady.
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A tiny cloud escaped his mouth.
It began to grow.
Grow.
At an unnatural speed.
Soon it was the size of a cloud.
Then larger.
A massive cloud floating in the air, casting a shadow over the entire battlefield.
---
On the other side, Karsu remained ready.
His eyes followed the cloud, but part of his mind was calculating.
Not harmful.
That isn’t its purpose.
He reviewed his reserves in an instant.
I recovered a fifth of my energy when I consumed my energy stone.
I have one stone left.
My Mother Aura… still cannot expand enough to manifest its form.
My situation is unfavorable.
I must open a gap in their formation and escape.
Otherwise—even if I kill them all here—I won’t be able to leave.
I’ll be exposed, and my plan will collapse.
---
The massive cloud swelled further.
Then—with a simple motion of the Lord of Mist’s eyes—it began to split.
Into dozens of pieces.
Then hundreds.
Each fragment shaped itself into a small soldier carrying a spear.
Within seconds, the battlefield was flooded with an army of mist soldiers.
They charged.
All at once.
---
Karsu looked at the advancing army without emotion.
He moved his hand.
Five metallic threads emerged from his fingertips, dangling downward like dead wires.
Then he began waving his arm in a circular motion.
Slow at first.
Then faster.
The threads responded.
They became a giant fan.
He coated them lightly with aura, increasing their length until they covered the entire front before him.
With every rotation, they produced a powerful wave of wind, shredding anything that passed through.
But the Lord of Mist did not care.
His soldiers rushed toward the spinning fan without fear.
Each soldier that reached it was cut mercilessly, dissolving into mist within seconds.
Behind one came ten.
Behind ten came hundreds.
They fell like autumn leaves, turning into faint clouds that drifted upward.
Karsu understood the plan immediately.
He wants to blind me, not exhaust me.
The appearance is attrition.
The essence is distraction.
---
Rashid did not waste the opportunity.
He began to move—
But stopped.
The Lady of Radiance surged past him.
Her severed arm had stopped bleeding, but the rage in her eyes bled endlessly.
She charged toward the battlefield.
Toward Karsu.
Toward the falling mist soldiers.
For a moment, Rashid hesitated.
If we attack now, the mass assault will hit her too.
In this chaos, friend and foe are indistinguishable.
And in that distracted moment—
Sand.
It erupted beneath the Lady of Radiance’s feet.
Giant fists of sand grabbed her waist, covering her lower half and pinning her to the ground.
The Lord of Sand.
He was there.
Watching.
Waiting.
---
Meanwhile, Karsu destroyed the last mist soldier.
He stopped spinning.
The fan ceased.
The threads drooped again.
And he found himself surrounded by a dense cloud of fog that blinded him completely.
---
Rashid’s shout cut through the mist:
“Attack now! The Ajjad first!”
The two Ajjad launched from the walls, climbing the air as they rushed toward Karsu.
Behind them, in the shadows—
The Lord of Shadow moved.
---
The fog was thick.
Karsu could see nothing.
But he could hear.
Claws scraping against stone.
Two breaths behind him—one to the left, one to the right.
Fast.
Light.
The Ajjad.
They pounced.
Karsu did not see them, but he felt the disturbance in the air.
His hand moved instinctively.
Five threads shot from his fingers—three to the left, two to the right.
They wrapped around two bodies.
But—
The grip failed.
The first Ajjad twisted its body with strange flexibility, slipping through the threads like oil on water.
The second leapt into the air, spun, and landed atop one of the threads, balancing on it like a branch.
It looked at Karsu.
And its eyes shone with an intelligence it did not possess minutes ago.
They learned.
Karsu realized.
The threads were no longer a surprise weapon.
The Ajjad had been watching the entire time, storing every movement, every pattern.
Now they knew how the threads moved, how they wrapped, how they tightened.
Now they played with them.
---
The first Ajjad leapt again—directly toward Karsu.
Threads whipped around it, but it avoided them easily, weaving between them like a dancer.
The second climbed a dangling thread, swung from it, then launched itself through the air toward Karsu’s head from a blind angle.
Karsu stepped back.
The threads were useless.
That was clear.
He cast the remaining threads aside and reached with his left hand for his sword.
He drew it.
---
The dance changed.
The first Ajjad lunged, claws aiming for his abdomen.
This time Karsu did not retreat.
One step forward.
A slight twist of the torso.
The claw passed beside his shirt without touching him.
At that exact moment, his sword moved.
Not a wide swing.
Just a flash.
A thin line of silver cut the air.
The Ajjad retreated quickly—but not quickly enough.
The tip of the blade touched its shoulder, slicing skin and forcing it to leap back with a short howl.
The second exploited the opening, attacking from behind.
Karsu turned in a circular slash, forcing it to duck.
This was no longer a battle of threads.
It was physical.
Pure.
Sword against claws.
Speed against speed.
---
The Ajjad began adapting again.
Studying his movements.
How he turned.
How he struck.
How he lifted his sword.
After each attack, they returned slightly wiser, slightly faster in dodging the next strike.
Karsu felt it.
They’re evolving.
Even against the sword.
He struck quickly toward the first one’s head.
It ducked.
He struck the second.
It jumped back.
But Karsu was not fighting like someone studying.
He fought like someone who already knew.
Between strikes, he noticed something.
The Ajjad adapted to patterns.
To shapes.
To repetition.
But they could not predict the unpredictable.
So he did something they had never seen.
He stopped attacking.
---
For a moment—
He froze.
The Ajjad hesitated.
This was outside what they had learned.
And in that moment—
He attacked.
But not with the sword.
He kicked.
A powerful kick with his right foot—the one that should have been dead—slammed into the chest of the first Ajjad and hurled it to the ground.
The second rushed to save its companion.
Karsu turned.
His sword remained in his left hand.
His right—his dead right hand—grabbed the Ajjad’s arm despite the blood flowing from it.
He pulled it close.
Then—
A headbutt.
His forehead smashed into the beast’s face.
Its nose shattered.
A howl erupted.
It staggered back.
Karsu gave it no time.
His sword plunged into its shoulder.
---
“Amazing.”
The Lord of Shadow whispered the word while observing from the darkness.
He had not expected this level of close combat.
He himself—the master of direct combat, the lord of knives and daggers—knew this was his domain.
His territory.
His superiority.
Yet now he watched Karsu fight with his entire body—flesh and blood—like a man born with a sword in hand.
This was not merely a Qaz Lord.
This was a warrior.
A true warrior.
---
But the Lord of Shadow did not hesitate.
This was the moment.
He moved.
He did not emerge from the shadow all at once.
He appeared in stages—first a hand, then a shoulder, then a blade.
He burst from nothing beside Karsu, his knife aimed at the man’s left kidney.
Karsu sensed him before he arrived.
He turned.
The blades collided.
A sharp metallic clang.
Sparks flew.
The Lord of Shadow smiled beneath his mask.
Finally.
He struck once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each strike faster than the last.
The knife in his right hand danced like a living thing—aiming for the neck, the eye, the heart.
Karsu avoided them all.
Calmly.
As though reading the attacks before they were made.
---
The Lord of Shadow increased his speed.
His body became a phantom, appearing and disappearing, striking from the right then vanishing to attack from the left.
Assassin techniques.
Speed.
Deception.
Disorientation.
Karsu stood still.
Only his sword moved.
Slightly.
Precisely.
Every strike was blocked.
Every attack neutralized.
“How?” the Lord of Shadow whispered to himself.
Impossible.
This is my domain.
I am the fastest.
I am the closest.
But Karsu was—
Better.
---
Suddenly, instead of blocking the next attack, Karsu stepped forward.
Inside the Lord of Shadow’s range.
A deadly distance.
A distance only entered by those seeking death.
The Lord of Shadow did not understand.
Then he felt the cold.
Karsu’s sword did not strike.
But his left hand had seized the assassin’s right wrist.
He pulled.
Unbalancing him.
And in that moment, Karsu’s knee rose.
It slammed into his stomach.
Air exploded from his lungs.
He stumbled back.
Nearly fell.
He looked at Karsu with wide eyes.
This man… fights as if he grew up in slaughter pits.
---
From afar, the Lord of Mist raised his hand.
A mist spear formed behind Karsu.
It shot forward like a gray arrow—silent, swift—making only the faintest whisper as it cut through the air.
Karsu did not look.
His body leaned slightly to the left—just centimeters.
The spear passed beside his shoulder, pierced the ground before him, and exploded into fog.
---
“Now!” Rashid’s voice carried faintly.
Vines exploded from the ground—dozens, hundreds—rushing toward Karsu from every direction.
Not ordinary vines.
Armed with sharp thorns.
Moving like serpents.
Karsu leapt high.
In midair he felt sudden heaviness.
The Lord of Gravity had doubled his weight.
He fell faster than he intended.
But he twisted as he fell, his sword cutting half the vines before he struck the ground.
He hit hard.
Rolled.
Rose again.
---
From afar, the Lord of Sand unleashed a wave.
Sand surged like a flood toward Karsu from behind.
He dodged with a side leap.
Midair, he sensed them.
The Lord of Stealth.
And the Lord of Shadow.
The first appeared suddenly before him, knife aimed at his eye.
The second emerged from his shadow below, dagger rising toward his stomach.
Karsu could not avoid both.
He chose.
His left hand—holding the sword—slashed the extended arm of the Lord of Stealth before the knife reached him.
The blade did not sever it, but carved a deep wound into the forearm, forcing a scream and retreat.
As for the Lord of Shadow—
His dagger had already touched Karsu’s stomach.
But Karsu twisted his body midair, and the blade tore only cloth.
Then—
A kick.
From his dead right leg.
Strong enough to send the Lord of Shadow flying backward.
---
Karsu landed, breathing heavily.
Blood flowed from three separate wounds.
Poison crawled through his veins.
His right hand nearly paralyzed.
Yet he still stood.
He looked around.
The first Ajjad was dead.
The second dying.
The Lord of Stealth badly wounded.
The Lord of Shadow clutching his broken wrist, retreating.
The Lady of Radiance still pinned in sand.
The Lord of Gravity panting, his energy fading.
The Lord of Sand gathering his last strength.
The Lord of Mist—still standing, untouched.
And Rashid—
Still watching.
Karsu looked at them one by one.
Blood filled his mouth.
Wounds covered his body.
The poison nearly reached his heart.
Yet he smiled.
A cold smile.
A bloody one.
And in a hoarse voice, he said:
“Next.”
---
At that moment, the mist vanished entirely.
It dispersed as if it had never existed.
The battlefield became clear again under a sky turning yellow.
The Lords all stepped back.
One step.
Then another.
They formed a semicircle around Karsu, studying the situation with unblinking eyes.
The Lord of Mist stood at the center, fog once again covering his face. Yet his silver eyes focused on one thing only—
Karsu’s left hand, still gripping the sword firmly.
The Lord of Gravity wiped sweat from his brow. His energy nearly depleted, yet he could still fight.
The Lord of Sand stood behind them, gathering drifting grains around him, shaping them into small shields floating in the air.
The Lady of Radiance remained trapped in sand, but her eyes glowed faintly as she slowly recovered.
The Lord of Stealth clutched his wounded arm to his chest, breathing quickly, yet he had not withdrawn.
The Lord of Shadow stood at the far right, rubbing his broken wrist, his gaze fixed on Karsu.
And Rashid.
He stood there, a few meters away among the vines that had begun to calm.
He looked at Karsu.
At those clear eyes despite everything.
At the stance that had not wavered.
Then he said quietly:
“You know you won’t leave here alive.”
Karsu looked at him.
And did not answer.
---
The silence stretched.
Then—slowly—Karsu moved his left hand.
The sword returned to its sheath.
The Lords stiffened.
Was he surrendering?
But Karsu did not raise his hands.
Instead, he reached into his inner pocket with his left hand and pulled something out.
A small object.
The energy stone.
The last one.
He looked at it for a moment.
Then lifted his eyes to the sky.
Everyone followed his gaze.
In the sky, something began to form.
A black spot.
Small at first.
Then growing.
Growing.
Widening.
As if someone were tearing the sky itself.
---
From the black rift, something began to descend.
Slowly.
Massive.
Black.
No one could stare at it for long—their eyes began watering the moment they tried.
Karsu whispered, sweat sliding slowly down his forehead:
“Damn it… is that… a meteor?!”
