Quickly pushing the chaos in his head aside, Sareth drew in a sharp breath and focused.
He didn't know where he was. He didn't know who these people were. He didn't even know why some unhinged red-haired lunatic wanted to kill him in the name of someone called Kaelen Virelius—but none of that mattered.
His instincts were screaming one thing loud and clear: survive.
Despite the sheer absurdity of the situation, despite having zero context about what the hell was going on, one thing was painfully obvious—if he wanted to live, he'd have to fight this psychopath.
But reality—cold, cruel, and ironic—mocked his determination.
Before he could even take a stance, Zoran snapped his fingers.
Just one snap.
Then he pointed.
That was all it took.
A blast of invisible force hurled Sareth off his feet and slammed him back into the ground like a rag doll. His body bounced once—limbs sprawled, breath knocked from his lungs—and then settled in the scorched dirt.
Zoran tilted his head slightly, smiling.
"I told them," he muttered, more to himself than to Sareth. "Idiots, the lot of them. All who didn't believe in me… fools. But now? Now they'll witness my greatness—my ascension!"
He stepped closer, the flames behind him casting his long shadow over Sareth's broken form.
"Especially your father, Kaelen. He was the reason I lost everything. But today—today, I take something precious from him. Just the thought makes me feel… ecstatic."
Zoran's eyes glinted. "You know what the saddest part of all this is?" he asked, smirking as if already savoring the answer he expected.
He waited, thinking Kaelen would beg. Plead. Offer some feeble attempt at survival. Something to make his torment even sweeter.
But none of that happened.
Instead, Sareth slowly pushed himself to his knees. He met Zoran's eyes without flinching.
Then, deadpan.
"The saddest part?" Sareth muttered.
"You've been dreaming about this moment for what, a decade? And that's the best villain speech you could come up with? Honestly, I expected more flair."
Silence.
Then—
Zoran's face twitched.
His left eye blinked once. His smile froze like a mask about to crack.
And then… laughter.
But not like before. This wasn't joyful. It was manic. Vicious. The kind of laugh you hear from someone moments before they kill everyone in the room.
"You… You little shit," he growled, a tremble in his voice. "Just like your father. Always with that sharp tongue. Always mocking, always arrogant."
He began pacing in short, sharp steps, venom pouring out with every word.
"You Virelius bastards think you're untouchable. Just because you're born into power, into privilege, with everything handed to you—title, power, wealth—you think the rest of us are just minor characters in your story."
He turned back, pointing a trembling finger.
"But when those 'minor characters' start to grow—when they dare to matter—you crush them. You break them. That's what he did to me. Your father didn't just humiliate me, he erased me from the records. Like I never existed."
Zoran's breath was ragged. His hands shook with rage.
He stared at Sareth—still waiting for fear, panic, anything.
But Sareth just frowned, eyes narrowed, clearly confused.
Zoran paused.
"…You really don't know, do you?"
Sareth stayed silent.
"Hah. Maybe you're not exactly like him, maybe you are somewhat like her" Zoran muttered. "But an apple never falls far from the tree."
A shadow curled at his fingertips as he raised one hand.
"Well, it'd be a shame to waste this catharsis. My condolences," he said, fingers twitching.
But just before Zoran could strike—
Sareth snapped.
"I'M NOT KAELEN, YOU DUMB, BLOOD-OBSESSED JACKASS!" he shouted, voice raw with rage. "I don't know who he is! I don't know who you are! I don't know what his father did to you, and honestly?"
"I don't give a shit! You keep yapping about revenge and legacy like I'm supposed to feel bad about it?! You're not scary—you're just another narcissistic maniac with daddy issues and a superiority complex!"
His breathing was heavy now, face flushed red with fury.
"And while we're at it—maybe if you weren't playing hacky-sack with people's organs, you could tell the difference between the guy you want to kill and the guy who just wants to go home!"
That did it.
Zoran's expression darkened. Not with anger. With hatred.
He stared at Sareth—not as an enemy, not even as a person. Just a target.
When they first met, Zoran had brushed off Sareth's earlier insult as childish naivety. A final spark before death. But this? This wasn't mockery.
It was insult.
It dug deep, slashing at old wounds still festering.
Zoran's hand lifted—and sliced through the air with a single motion.
Sareth screamed.
The pain came after the shock.
One moment his arm was there—the next, it was being ripped away by some invisible force, torn clean from the shoulder like wet paper. The ground splattered crimson as the limb spun through the air and landed with a wet thud.
His mind went blank for a heartbeat.
Then—
Agony.
Searing, primal, indescribable.
A white-hot spike drove through his entire right side. He couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't do anything but scream.
He collapsed, clutching at the space where his arm used to be. Blood poured through his fingers.
And then—
The other one.
Before the first wave of pain even subsided, another sickening snap echoed.
His left arm tore free next.
Another scream—hoarse, broken. It scraped from his throat like a rusted blade dragged across stone.
He thrashed on the ground, eyes wide, pupils blown, brain teetering on the edge of madness.
Still… he didn't beg.
He didn't plead.
He just… laughed. Weakly, deliriously.
Zoran stood above him, drenched in his own triumph, eyes glowing like embers.
"You should've just shut your mouth," Zoran sneered. "You should've just died quietly—"
But before he could finish, Sareth—bleeding out, broken and mangled—grinned.
Blood foamed at the edges of his lips.
"I'm already dying—but god, your yapping might finish me off before you do."
Zoran's face twitched.
Then contorted.
His eyes went blood-red with fury.
Without a word, he raised his hand.
That was the last thing Sareth saw before the world turned black.
No light. No sound. Just the fading echo of his own laughter.
His final thought before oblivion took him:
"Damn… that was a good run."