"Captain, get out now!"
Dante's voice was sharp, edged with urgency, but Garrick wasn't moving.
His body had frozen, his mind shattered, trapped in the horrific loop of Corbin's brutal execution. The blood-streaked floor, the vacant stare of his closest friend, the taunting voice of the Ashborne still lingering in the air. He couldn't move.
But Dante couldn't wait.
Sand surged like a living beast, wrapping around the Ashborne in an instant. She had been toying with them for too long, too engrossed in her sadistic amusement. For the first time, she was caught off guard.
The granules hardened, forming a dome-like prison around her, layers upon layers compacting together, trapping her inside.
With a swift motion, Dante directed a thin stream of sand toward Garrick, forming a circular sawblade. It moved with deadly precision, slicing through the metal bindings, snapping them apart in a single fluid motion.
Garrick collapsed onto the ground, but still, he did not move.
"Come on, Cap, MOVE! I can't keep her locked away for long!"
Dante's voice was strained, his veins bulging as he poured every ounce of Mana into reinforcing the sand prison. His vision blurred slightly, his Mana burning away at an alarming rate. The dome began to crack.
Inside, a soft chuckle echoed. A deep, dark amusement.
"You…" her voice slithered through the fractures. "…I really like that sand of yours."
The cracks widened, faint glimmers of metal glinting through the fractures.
Her tone shifted, growing sharp, predatory. "…But how long can you entertain me?"
Then—the dome exploded.
Dante barely reacted in time, his sand shifting beneath his feet, carrying him away from the rain of shattered granules and twisted metal. She had shattered his strongest defense with a mere flex of power.
She was done playing passive.
The entire battlefield twisted in her control, metal slithering from the ground like living vines, razor-sharp edges gleaming beneath the dim underground light.
Dante moved.
His body glided low, sand wrapping around his legs, making his movements unnaturally swift. Every time her metal spears lunged toward him, he was already gone, weaving through the storm of death.
The Ashborne tilted her head, watching him with mild curiosity.
"You're fast," she mused. "I like fast."
Dante's sand struck, whipping toward her like a coiling serpent.
She barely dodged, but the tip of the attack caught her ankle, twisting around it.
Dante smirked.
The moment he had been waiting for.
With a single thought, the sand spun violently, slamming her into the ground with crushing force. The impact cracked the metal beneath her, the entire lab trembling.
For a brief moment, there was silence.
Then—
She laughed.
A long, slow chuckle that sent a wave of dread through Dante's chest.
She lifted her head, her eyes burning with delight.
Blood smeared across her lips.
And then she smiled—a gruesome, bloody grin.
"That's more like it."
The metal beneath her shivered.
Dante's gut clenched as his sand retreated instinctively, sensing the sheer force radiating from her.
Then—the entire battlefield darkened.
From every corner of the underground, metal spikes rose. Hundreds of them, sharpened into lethal spears, hovering ominously above him like the swords of an executioner.
The Ashborne lifted a single hand. The air crackled with unseen energy.
"Let's see how long your pretty sand can last."
She snapped her fingers.
The spikes descended. Like a metallic hailstorm.
Dante's sand exploded outward, forming a massive shield around him. The moment the metal clashed against the barrier, the entire battlefield roared.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
Each impact sent shockwaves through his body. His sand thinned with every second, grains shattering under the sheer force of the assault.
Dante clenched his fists, teeth grinding.
"Shit… I need to do something fast before my Mana runs out."
More and more of his sand shifted to the front, reinforcing the barrier, leaving his backside dangerously unprotected.
And then he turned—
His eyes met Garrick's, who was still motionless, still drowning in shock.
"Captain, pull yourself together! Get out of here! We can't beat her—"
A whisper. A shift in the air. A sense of pure dread.
Dante's entire body locked up.
From behind him, a voice.
Cold. Amused. Patient.
"With all that effort defending your front and talking…"
A breath against his ear. Close. Too close.
"…How much mana do you have left to defend your back?"
His heart stopped.
He turned—
Too late.
Her fist, wrapped in glimmering metal, plunged through his back.
Tearing through muscle. Through bone.
His entire body arched violently, his breath vanishing in a strangled gasp.
Something warm dripped from his lips.
His heart was in her grasp.
His sand collapsed instantly, the grains falling uselessly to the ground, lifeless.
The metal shards around him froze midair, hovering like a sea of deadly needles.
She exhaled. A long, satisfied sigh.
Then—she ripped her hand back.
His heart came with it.
Dante's body twitched violently, the last flicker of life fading from his gaze. He collapsed forward, chest gaping open, blood pouring onto the floor.
His lifeless eyes landed on Garrick. Empty. Pleading.
Garrick didn't move.
His body was locked in place. Paralyzed.
She flicked the still-beating heart into the air, watching it with mild curiosity before—
She threw it.
It rolled across the ground.
Stopping right before Garrick.
His fingers twitched. His breathing shallow.
He stared at it.
And then, slowly—his eyes lifted to meet hers.
His voice was barely a whisper.
"…Why?"
The Ashborne tilted her head, her expression shifting from amusement to exaggerated mockery as she cupped a hand around her ear.
"Huh? I can't hear you." Her voice dripped with condescension, her lips curling in a cruel, teasing smirk. "Come on now, Garrick, speak up. A little louder for me."
Garrick's throat burned as he forced the words from his chest, his voice raw, heavy with rage and grief. "Why… why all this? What do you gain from doing such things?"
The Ashborne's shoulders quivered slightly, and for a moment, silence hung between them. Then—
Laughter.
It exploded from her, loud and manic, the sound bouncing off the cold steel walls, cutting through the weight of death that lingered in the air. It was unhinged, unrestrained, devoid of remorse. Garrick's stomach churned as he felt something beyond power radiating from her—pure, unwavering madness.
She dragged her gaze back to him, her eyes gleaming beneath her mask, her lips stretching into something terrifying. "Why, you ask?"
She extended her arms outwards, as if welcoming the very chaos and destruction she had caused.
"Purely for entertainment."
Garrick's breath hitched.
She let out another laugh, spinning on her heel with exaggerated delight, her arms waving dramatically in the air as if performing before an invisible audience.
"Why else does anyone need to live, if not to be entertained by life itself?"
Her voice was sharp, theatrical, filled with deranged excitement. She stepped forward, gliding through the battlefield untouched by the blood that stained the floor. The metal floating around her began to shift, twisting and bending into intricate patterns. Letters formed in the air—one after another—until a single word materialized before Garrick's eyes.
ENTERTAINMENT.
Her fingers traced the air beneath the glowing metal letters, her nails tapping against them as though they were real, tangible things.
"Artists sing to entertain their audience." Her voice lowered, almost hypnotic. "Painters create their masterpieces to enthrall those who gaze upon them. Actors, performers, musicians—they all devote themselves to their craft, to the stage, to the endless pursuit of applause."
She paused, her smile widening, her gaze sharpening into something far more terrifying. "And warriors like us?"
Her metal letters twisted violently, reforming into the shape of weapons—swords, axes, spears, all floating in perfect synchronicity.
"We exist to fight. To bleed. To kill. To entertain one another with our strength."
She stepped closer to Garrick, tilting her head as if studying him, as if savoring his grief. "That is why I honor you and your little team." Her voice softened, becoming something almost affectionate. "By lowering myself to your level. By fighting you as you are. Because that… is where I find the most entertainment."
She gestured upward, and the floating weapons in the air disassembled, forming the word strength by twisting strands of metal.
A slow, boiling rage ignited within Garrick.
Each word she spoke was like a hammer, striking against the fragile control he had left. His body trembled, his fingers twitching toward his spear. His pulse pounded like a war drum, his vision blurred at the edges, but it was not from fear.
It was from something deeper. Something darker.
His lips curled into a snarl as he spoke, his voice low, guttural, dangerous. "So you're telling me… that all of this—" he gestured to the bodies of his fallen comrades, the blood that painted the walls, the countless innocent children experimented on, discarded, butchered—"all this suffering, this loss of life… all of it was just because you wanted to be entertained?"
His hands clenched around the familiar grip of his spear. His knees, once weighted by grief, lifted from the cold steel ground.
The air thickened.
A slow, subtle shift at first, but the room began to feel heavier, suffocating.
The Ashborne's smile never wavered. If anything, it grew wider, her eyes twinkling with unrestrained anticipation.
Garrick rose from the ground.
But he did not stand.
He floated.
His aura exploded, a swirling maelstrom of royal purple essence bursting outward, shaking the very foundations of the room.
His veins glowed, his body pulsing with unnatural energy.
He was burning through his life force.
A skill—a desperate, all-consuming technique—meant for warriors who had nothing left to lose.
The Ashborne watched, entranced. Her hands slowly lifted, her body trembling—not from fear, but from excitement. From sheer, unfiltered delight.
She licked her lips. "Oh…" she exhaled softly. "…Now, this is interesting."
Garrick hovered above the battlefield, his spear gripped tightly, his essence so thick it distorted the very air around him. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark, hollow, filled with something far beyond simple fury.
His voice dropped to a chilling whisper, carrying through the air with an unmistakable finality.
"If entertainment is what you seek…"
His spear pulsed with raw, uncontained energy, the blade glowing like a dying star.
"…Then come. I'll give you a show you'll never forget."
The Ashborne's head tilted back, her arms spreading wide as her laughter rang through the room, filled with nothing but sheer, overwhelming ecstasy.