Dust was still settling when Kaerath finally turned his gaze away from Ethan's corpse.
For a moment, the demon didn't speak. He merely observed the body—almost as if studying the aftermath of his own action. His four arms rested loosely at his sides, blood dripping quietly from the fingertips of the one that had ended the boy's life.
Akira remained kneeling on the rubble. His hand still rested on Ethan's, fingers wrapped around the coldness that refused to return the gesture. His eyes remained lowered, as though he couldn't lift them without breaking something inside.
Kaerath's voice cut the silence.
"You should be dead."
It was not a threat, nor an accusation. It sounded more like a factual observation.
Akira did not respond. He didn't have the strength for words, nor the clarity for anger. Only numbness pressed against his chest—heavy, unmoving.
"You survived the sphere," Kaerath continued, walking toward him with calm steps that barely disturbed the ground. "Barely. A broken leg. Internal bleeding. Your aura flickers like a candle about to go out."
The demon stopped a short distance away.
Then he smiled.
A thin, sharp smile that carried neither joy nor cruelty—just a reflection of how insignificant everything was to him.
"And yet," Kaerath said softly, "you're still breathing."
Akira finally lifted his gaze. Not fully—just enough to see the blurred outline of the demon's form. His vision was still hazy around the edges, but Kaerath's presence was impossible to miss. It pressed down like a weight on his lungs.
The demon gestured toward Ethan's body with one of his hands.
"That boy." His tone was almost bored. "He screamed for you when I crushed his ribs. Did you hear him?"
Akira didn't answer.
Kaerath didn't expect him to.
"He kept calling your name," the demon continued, two heads speaking in alternating cadence—one calm, one amused. "Pathetic, really. Humans always cling to someone when death approaches."
Akira's fingers tightened around Ethan's hand.
The motion was small—barely noticeable.
But Kaerath saw it.
His smile widened a fraction.
"And the girl…" Kaerath shifted his attention to Hyejin's motionless figure in the distance. "She died protecting you. Or perhaps she simply died too slowly. Hard to tell with weaklings."
Akira's breath halted.
Kaerath tapped one of his claws lightly against his own chest, a casual gesture.
"Before she died," he said, voice dropping lower, "she whispered something."
Akira's heart throbbed painfully.
"She said," Kaerath paused, letting the silence stretch, "Tell Akira he is the best brother."
The words landed softly.
Too softly.
Akira exhaled shakily, a breath that didn't quite reach his lungs.
Kaerath tilted his head, observing him.
"Oh? That surprises you?" the demon asked. "Did you not consider her family? She certainly did. Quite touching—if it wasn't so pointless."
He crouched slightly, bringing his gaze level with Akira's.
"She died with a smile," Kaerath added. "A weak one. But a smile nonetheless. Humans and their attachments… always so fragile."
Akira's hand trembled once.
Not from anger.
Not yet.
More from something fragile pulling at the edges of his chest. Something he didn't have the strength to name.
Kaerath wasn't done.
"And the boy?" He gestured casually toward Ethan. "He worried about you even as I held him in the air. Couldn't even open his eyes, yet he was still trying to find you."
There was a faint amusement in his tone now.
"Did you know?" Kaerath said, leaning slightly closer. "Those two loved each other. Quite obviously, in fact. But both were too shy to admit it."
Akira's throat tightened.
The demon continued:
"They planned to confess to each other after this battle."
A pause.
A soft, cold chuckle.
"But now? Both are dead meat."
Something inside Akira shifted.
Not violently.
Not suddenly.
It was almost like a thread being pulled taut—quiet, gradual, inevitable.
Kaerath straightened and wiped the remaining blood from his hand with the other. His posture relaxed, as though he had just finished a trivial chore.
Then he spoke again, this time with a detached curiosity.
"When you collapsed earlier," Kaerath said, "I assumed you had died. I even pierced your lung to ensure it. But you clung to life anyway."
Akira blinked slowly.
His breathing was irregular—shallow, sharp, and uneven. Each inhale felt like a blade scraping inside his ribs.
"You humans," Kaerath murmured, "are resilient in the most inconvenient ways."
He stepped closer, the shadow of his large frame falling over Akira like a curtain of darkness.
"I targeted you first," Kaerath said, "so you wouldn't witness their end."
A pause.
"But perhaps," he continued, two voices merging into one, "it is better that you did."
Akira lifted his head.
A little higher this time.
His eyes—ringed with exhaustion and pain—locked onto Kaerath's.
The demon studied the expression.
Not despair.
Not rage.
Not yet.
What he saw was emptiness.
A hollow space where something important had just died.
"Tell me," Kaerath said, softly. "Does it hurt?"
Akira didn't blink.
The demon's smile sharpened.
"Good."
For the first time, Kaerath's voice carried something resembling emotion. Not satisfaction. Not cruelty.
Interest.
"You have lost everything again," he said. "Your sister, long ago. Your companions, now. The world seems quite intent on stripping you bare."
Akira's hand slipped from Ethan's.
He placed his palm on the ground. Slowly. Quietly. Steadily.
Kaerath watched.
"Trying to stand?" the demon asked. "With that leg? Interesting."
Akira didn't speak.
He didn't need to.
His movement—the slow, deliberate rise of someone held together by will alone—was answer enough.
Kaerath's eyes narrowed with mild intrigue.
"You are not crying," he noted. "Are humans not supposed to weep at loss?"
Akira's voice, when it finally emerged, was quiet.
Almost too quiet.
"…I'm tired of crying."
He didn't shout.
Didn't tremble.
Didn't falter.
He simply stood—on one leg, on raw determination, on a promise he had once broken and refused to break again.
Kaerath exhaled, amused.
"There it is," he murmured. "Something new. Something sharp."
Akira lifted his head fully.
His hair matted with blood.
His face streaked with dust.
His eyes dim but steady.
Kaerath smiled.
"Then show me," the demon said. "Show me the face of a human who has nothing left to lose."
Akira's fingers curled.
His aura—weak, nearly extinguished—shifted.
Just a flicker at first.
Then a faint resonance.
A slow, gathering hum.
Kaerath's smile widened.
"Good," he said again, almost pleased. "Do not disappoint me."
Akira's voice answered him.
Not loud.
Not dramatic.
Just… clear.
"I won't."
The air shifted.
A faint breeze circled Akira's form, carrying dust and fragments into a slow orbit around him.
Kaerath recognized what it was.
Resolve.
Pure, unfiltered resolve—the kind that didn't burn bright, but burned deep.
He stepped back, giving Akira the space he didn't need to give.
"Then rise," Kaerath declared, two voices echoing in perfect unison. "Rise, Weapon Wielder. I want to see how a broken human fights."
Akira did rise—slowly, painfully, but without hesitation.
His sword dragged across the ground before he lifted it. The blade trembled slightly in his grasp.
Not from weakness.
From the beginnings of something else.
Something cold.
Something steady.
Something lethal.
Kaerath's smile thinned.
"…Good."
The demon leaned forward.
"Now entertain me."