The words fell from his lips like a whisper laced with inevitability.
From his outstretched hand, a mist appeared—pure white, almost transparent, like the breath of something ancient itself. It floated silently, with a ghostly elegance, curling and twisting in the air as if alive.
Straight toward the glowing amber eye, unhesitating.
The moment it made contact—everything changed.
The eye—once wide, burning, menacing—began to shrink.
Not with a blink. Not with a flinch.
It caved in on itself, as if something was tearing it apart from the inside. Like a whirlpool devouring the surface of a calm lake.
A low tremor rumbled beneath their feet. The earth began to quake violently.
And from outside, a guttural, inhuman scream erupted—a sound so deep, so raw, it seemed to shake the very atmosphere. The kind of sound that didn’t just pierce the ears—it rattled the soul.
The Elder Crocdaemon jerked violently, pulling away from the cavern’s entrance. Its massive body twisted in pain as it staggered back, limbs flailing in wild disarray.
It thrashed its tail, smashing through boulders like paper. The quakes worsened.
It howled again, louder this time—lava bursting from its maw as it thrashed in agony.
The eye—the source of its vision—was now a hollow, churning cavity. A swirling void of wind and silence. Transparent, formless, yet destructive.
The molten energy in its veins surged outward. Its body glowed brighter. Lava pooled beneath its feet.
But the eye—the wound—refused to close.
The mist had left something behind.
Something unhealable.
From behind the rocks, Freya watched in silent horror. Her mouth parted, but no words came out.
She couldn’t even breathe.
Her thoughts spiraled.
’If he was this strong...’
’If he could do something ...’
"Then why?" she thought, her hands clenching. "Why didn’t he help the others? Why didn’t he fight back before the group was wiped out?"
But the thought—raw and bitter—died just as fast as it came.
Because this wasn’t him.
Whatever was guiding his actions now—it wasn’t the Cassius she remembered.
His eyes were too blank.
His expression too hollow.
And before she could piece together another thought, Cassius moved.
Launched forward like a missile.
Straight toward the beast.
"C-Cassius!" Freya shouted, standing abruptly.
The cavern trembled again. Rocks crumbled above her. The ceiling creaked dangerously.
She ran after him, heart pounding, breath short.
Outside, chaos reigned.
The Elder Crocdaemon had lost all composure. Its body glowed from within, magma leaking through cracks in its thick, armored hide.
Every step it took shattered the earth beneath it—fissures spreading like spiderwebs across the scorched land. Lava boiled at its feet, forming a pool that hissed and spat as the air turned suffocatingly hot.
Its jaws hung open, spewing molten rock and burning gas. The stench of brimstone filled the air.
A calamity given form.
His body was small compared to the beast—a mere flicker of motion against the towering monster. An ant against a mountain.
But even ants could kill if they struck in the right place.
And this ant... had already done the impossible.
Freya stumbled out behind him, shielding her face from the sudden heatwave. Her eyes widened, barely keeping up.
Cassius raised his arm.
At first, nothing happened.
Then—like smoke forming from the folds of the world itself—a blade appeared in his hand.
It was a long, jagged sword made of the same swirling white mist—transparent and ethereal, but sharp enough to cleave the sky.
The [Null Blade] came down.
It simply moved—a slashing arc of absence, like the world itself was being cut apart by something it wasn’t meant to understand.
The sound wasn’t metallic—it was like tearing through reality itself.
The blade passed cleanly across the Crocdaemon’s armored snout—and through it.
For a heartbeat, nothing changed.
Then came the aftershock.
A line of steam hissed across the monster’s face. Its hide, thick as enchanted steel and reinforced with natural magma-tempered armor, split open in an instant. No blood. No gore. Just... erasure.
A portion of its snout had simply vanished—neatly removed as if it had never been there.
The Elder Crocdaemon froze.
An unholy roar erupted from its throat—louder than before, so loud that the ground beneath Freya’s feet cracked. Boulders split. Dust shot into the air in waves. It wasn’t just sound—it was pressure.
Freya dropped to her knees, clutching her head.
It felt like her skull was going to burst.
The heat flared even more. The ground ignited into patches of flame around the monster as its rage peaked.
Its body flared brighter, veins of lava pulsing violently across its limbs. And with a roar of wrath, it charged—the ground trembling under its monstrous steps.
Each step was an explosion. Grasses that had long since withered were blown to dust. The cracked earth split further, magma seeping up through new faults.
And still—Cassius stood unmoving.
Blade at his side. Expression unreadable.
In a blur, Cassius vanished from sight.
Freya barely tracked his movement—he was already midair again, dashing across sky-like footholds of compressed mana that sparkled only for an instant under his steps.
The monster’s molten jaws snapped up at him—trying to crush him whole.
But he was already gone.
He appeared on its back.
Freya’s breath caught in her throat.
There was no chant this time. No signal. Just a motion.
Cassius raised the blade again.
But this time... it wasn’t just a cut.
A clean vertical slash down the Crocdaemon’s spine.
And suddenly—the monster stopped.
It simply stood there.
As if frozen mid-attack.
From the tip of its snout to the base of its tail... a clean line of dissolution.
The monster split in half.
Not with blood, not with viscera—just a quiet, gradual parting of two halves, like paper sliced by a knife too sharp for the eye to follow.
The ground shattered as the two halves of the creature crashed down with deafening force.
Dust and ash exploded into the sky.
The heat from the body still radiated—but it was dying. Fading. Already the lava flow was cooling, turning black and cracked. The embers dimmed.
And in the eye of it all—stood Cassius.
His blade gone. His stance relaxed.
He didn’t even look back.
Her lips parted, whispering:
"...What... are you?"
It wasn’t a question for him to hear.
It was a question she wasn’t sure she wanted answered.