"You’re bluffing," the cloaked man growled, his eyes narrowing into slits as he glared daggers at Art. His hands trembled slightly at his sides, barely able to conceal the unease creeping into his bones.
Art tilted his head just slightly, green eyes gleaming with detached amusement. "Well... then let’s see if I am."
The next moment, Art vanished.
A violent shockwave tore through the space between them as Art reappeared mid-motion, his fist driving straight into the man’s gut with bone-crunching force.
The impact was monstrous. The man folded instantly—his body curling like crumpled parchment—before he was flung skyward like a ragdoll, blood erupting from his mouth in thick sputters.
Appearing above him, Art seized the man’s face mid-flight with one hand and hurled him like a javelin, arcing him over the rooftops and into the far distance—away from the alley, away from the civilians, away from the remnants of the guards still trembling behind them.
The body slammed into the earth with devastating force, causing the rocky ground to explode in shards and tremble with a muffled rumble.
The impact formed a crater near a serene stream where the water danced, almost mockingly, in its tranquil rhythm.
The cloaked man’s body convulsed. Bones were broken—several.
He spat a thick wad of blood as he raised his head, only to find Art slowly descending from above, his silhouette framed by the golden glow of his disintegration field, like a divine executioner come to pass judgment.
Art touched down gently, his boots crunching softly against the cracked earth.
He cocked his head again, but this time with a crueler edge to his voice. "Still think I was bluffing?"
The man didn’t answer. His hood was torn halfway, his robe now little more than shredded cloth barely hanging onto him. Beneath the rags, a familiar silver-plated knight garb gleamed dully under the moonlight.
Art’s eyes narrowed. "Ah... an Opalcrest Knight. That explains the inflated ego."
His grin curled into something darker.
"You’re going to talk."
The knight didn’t speak. His breath was ragged, but his silence was deliberate. He was stalling—calculating his odds.
If he could just get to the crowd again, blend into the chaos... maybe, just maybe, he could slip away. He still had one last trick.
With a silent motion, he ripped jagged metal spears from the surrounding earth and flung them toward Art in desperation. The shards hissed through the air with murderous intent—
And were immediately disintegrated mid-flight, melting into nothingness before they could even reach Art’s golden veil.
Using the momentary distraction, the man turned to flee, propelling himself backward using a surge of mana—
But the instant he moved, his legs buckled.
Both his legs twisted into unnatural angles as something invisible yanked them down. The man howled, a bloodcurdling scream tearing through his throat as he collapsed, face-first, into the dirt.
His legs—what remained of them—were bound in spectral chains made of radiant mana. Chains that crushed and mangled his bones with every second.
The chains slithered across the ground and led back to one source: Art.
Standing there, hand outstretched, Art smiled without warmth.
"Where do you think you’re going?" he said, voice calm, collected—merciless. "Didn’t I say you’d be giving me information?"
The knight’s face contorted in pure agony. Tears and snot streamed down as he writhed, his pride stripped bare along with his bones. The pain was blinding, and still, he resisted.
And he tried to. Desperation twisting his expression, he opened his mouth and bit down hard on his tongue—hoping to sever it and bleed out, or swallow it whole.
But before he could succeed—
Art was already in front of him. His hand gripped the man’s jaw and, with precise force, crushed every single tooth in his mouth.
The knight’s head jerked back with a muffled groan as blood gushed from his mangled gums, his teeth clattering onto the dirt like porcelain shards.
Art released his face and watched him fall limp.
"Now try biting it again," he muttered, wiping his hand on the knight’s ruined cloak with disgust.
The man couldn’t respond. He couldn’t even scream anymore. His mouth was a mangled mess of flesh and blood, and the agony was so intense his body twitched without rhythm.
Art crouched beside him, grabbing a handful of his hair and yanking his head up to meet his gaze. His green eyes bore down into the broken knight’s soul.
"You’re going to answer me," he whispered. "Or I’ll make sure you feel every second of the rest of your life in agony."
The man flailed weakly on the ground, limbs twitching in a grotesque rhythm.
His cloak had unraveled entirely, revealing a face so disfigured it looked as though acid had been poured over it.
Scars ran deep, flesh was melted in uneven patches, and where there should’ve been teeth, there was only blood and shattered fragments of bone.
Art crouched beside him, uncaring of the blood that soaked the air or the tremors shaking the man’s limbs.
He grabbed a handful of his matted, bloodied hair and yanked his head up again, forcing him to meet his gaze.
"I’ll be generous," Art said, tone smooth like venom. "How about you write what you Opalcrest bastards are plotting? Use your metal ability, if you can still manage that much. If not—"
He held up two fingers, dripping with blood.
"—I’ll even give you your own blood to write it with."
The man’s eyes, one swollen shut and the other twitching from the pain, trembled as they locked onto Art’s.
The golden hue in Art’s irises shimmered unnaturally, like a flickering flame feeding on the very soul of the man before him.
Yet despite the pain, despite his broken body, he summoned the last of his strength. The blood around him shimmered faintly, then metal shards sprouted and shifted, coalescing into crude letters on the ground.
"Victory to Opalcrest."
Then groaned loudly, dragging his hand down his face in theatrical exhaustion. "Really? That’s what you write?"
He stood up and looked down at the knight with something bordering on pity.
"I genuinely don’t get it. Loyalty? Patriotism? What’s the point of dying for a flag? A name?" He waved vaguely toward the insignia still barely clinging to the tattered uniform. "What do you get from dying here like a dog? Bravery? Recognition? Newsflash—you’ll be forgotten. Just another grunt in the mud."
More letters formed on the ground, slowly this time, as if the very act of crafting them hurt.
"Some things are above our lives... I don’t regret what I did."
Art stared at the message for a long moment. His eyes, though still shining gold, dulled with disinterest.
"You didn’t do anything," he muttered. "You didn’t kill anyone. You didn’t protect anything. You just got caught. So what’s there to be proud of?"
The knight didn’t respond. His body trembled more from blood loss than from conviction now.
Art gave a soft, dry chuckle. "You never had a life to begin with, did you?"
Then, without another word, he grabbed the man by the head once more and dragged him toward the nearby stream.
The brook trickled gently, completely disconnected from the violence around it. The water moved serenely, as if untouched by the horrors just a few feet away.
Art stood at the edge of the stream, gazing down at the clear, glassy surface.
"People like you," he said, voice almost philosophical, "love to die for your people, for your kingdom, for your nation. You think there’s honor in it. That it means something."
He knelt, lowering the knight’s ruined face toward the stream.
"Fine then... Let me honor you."
And with that, he plunged the man’s head into the water.
The man thrashed instantly, his mangled hands slapping at the stream, sending ripples outward.
Bubbles and muffled gasps broke the surface. His hands flailed helplessly, and his torso twisted—but Art’s grip was iron. Unrelenting.
He simply held him there, watching.
No emotion. No hesitation. Just stillness.
Then, without warning, something shifted.
Tiny movements. Beneath the surface.
From the depths came a swarm—hundreds of tiny fish, no longer than an inch each, slithering out from the current like living shadows.
Their eyes glinted crimson. Their tiny mouths snapped open and closed, revealing rows of needle-like teeth.
Art blinked once. Then smiled.
"Well now... Looks like someone’s come to give you a proper send-off."
The first of the creatures darted forward. It circled the man’s submerged head once, then lunged. A splash of blood bloomed beneath the surface as it tore a chunk of flesh from his cheek.
The reaction was immediate.
The fish vibrated with excitement—its body shivering from the taste. Then, in a frenzied blur, it went back in, biting again.
Within seconds, the entire swarm descended. The water boiled with motion as hundreds—no, thousands—of these vicious little predators began to devour the man alive.
The knight’s body convulsed violently. His screams were drowned beneath the water, reduced to wet, gurgling noises as flesh was stripped from his face and scalp. The water turned red, cloudy and thick.
Art didn’t move. He just stood there. Holding the man down with one hand, watching dispassionately as the swarm fed.
"A fitting end," he murmured. "Not by my hand, but by the world you swore to protect."
And finally, the struggling stopped.
Only the water moved now, rippling lazily as if nothing had happened. The fish dispersed just as quickly as they had come, leaving behind a shredded corpse and a trail of crimson that flowed downstream.
The body drifted gently to the edge, unmoving, faceless.
He stood up and turned, brushing the dirt off his hands.
"I told you I’d honor you."