Ivan stood whole once more.
Skin unmarked. Flesh restored.
**Completely bare**, save for a single strip of torn cloth clinging uselessly to his upper body, fluttering in the violent mana currents that churned between them. His golden eyes gleamed with calm amusement—as if death itself had grown tiresome.
Kaelen's hand was already tightening.
His fingers **crushed Ivan's skull again**.
Bone collapsed. Blood and matter burst outward as Kaelen tore through him without hesitation, **splitting Ivan down the center**, rending him apart like something disposable.
The air screamed.
Kaelen didn't stop.
His glare widened—not with rage alone, but with something darker. Something feral.
> "Good," Kaelen growled, his voice low, vibrating with restrained power.
> "Now I don't have to hold back."
Mana **flooded the space** around him—thick, oppressive, kingly. The pressure alone warped the battlefield, bending light, cracking the ground beneath his feet, forcing the world to acknowledge his presence.
Ivan's body **regenerated again**, flesh knitting together instantly. A new head formed as he rose from the ruin—still smiling.
Kaelen's aura expanded further.
This time, **the world itself recoiled**.
No seals.
No restraint.
No concern for collateral.
For the first time, Kaelen was preparing to fight **without limits**.
And Ivan felt it.
The smile on his face thinned—just slightly.
Kaelen pressed a hand against his own chest.
Blood answered.
It didn't spill.
It **rose**—drawn from nothing and everywhere at once, spiraling inward as ancient sigils burned through the air. The mana around him condensed, compressed, **forced into obedience** by sheer authority.
A heart began to form.
Not flesh.
**A construct of blood-law and royal will**, beating into existence with a sound like a war drum. Each pulse sent a pressure wave through reality itself, stabilizing what Ivan had torn away.
Kaelen grinned wide—feral, unapologetic.
> "This will do," he said calmly.
> "No need to end things too soon."
The new heart **locked into place**.
The world shuddered.
Ivan froze for half a breath.
Then he laughed.
Not mockery—**delight**.
> "Yes… that's it," Ivan said, golden eyes blazing.
> "Nothing less from you, brother."
He spread his arms, mana flaring as if welcoming annihilation.
> "Come. Show me the Descendants of what a King who ruled before gods learned how to lie—"
He never finished.
Kaelen **vanished**.
No flash.
No sound.
No transition.
Ivan's smile was still forming when **his body came apart**.
Not struck—**dismantled**.
Space folded inward as Kaelen's hand passed through him, **unmaking structure**, severing cause from effect. Ivan's torso fragmented without ever touching the ground, limbs tearing away as if the very concept of "together" had been revoked.
Blood magic didn't slash.
It **judged**.
Ivan was torn apart at every level—physical, spiritual, conceptual—his form scattering like an idea that no longer made sense.
For the first time—
Ivan screamed.
Golden light erupted from the fragments, struggling to reassemble, false immortality asserting itself with desperate insistence.
Kaelen stood amid the storm of reforming flesh and light, the blood-heart **thundering**, crimson eyes burning.
> "You mistake persistence for eternity," Kaelen said coldly.
> "And survival for victory."
He raised his hand.
The blood around him answered like a loyal army.
This was no longer a fight.
This was a **King deciding how a mistake ends**.
Ivan's body **reformed**.
Not hurried.
Not strained.
Blood stitched flesh. Bone remembered shape. Veins refilled as if time itself had been corrected. In moments, he stood whole again—golden eyes steady, expression almost patient.
He looked at Kaelen the way one looks at a storm they've already survived.
> "You know it's useless," Ivan said calmly.
> "No matter how many times you tear me apart, the result doesn't change."
He tapped his chest once—slow, deliberate.
> "You can't kill me."
The battlefield went still.
Kaelen didn't answer immediately.
The blood-heart in his chest **beat once**—deep, heavy.
Then again.
Each pulse bent the air.
> "You're wrong," Kaelen said at last, his voice quiet.
Ivan raised a brow, faint amusement returning.
> "Am I? You've already proven it. My existence is anchored beyond your reach—outside the world, outside consequence."
Kaelen's grin returned—but this time it wasn't feral.
It was **regal**.
> "I know."
Ivan's smile faltered—just a fraction.
Kaelen took a step forward.
The ground didn't crack.
**Reality yielded**.
> "You keep repeating the same line," Kaelen continued.
> "That because I can't kill you, you've won."
His eyes burned brighter.
> "But death isn't the only end."
Ivan's golden light flared defensively.
> "Careful, brother. Even you—"
Kaelen raised a hand.
The blood in the air **stopped moving**.
> "You separated my heart from the world," Kaelen said evenly.
> "So you think I can't regenerate. Can't finish you."
He leaned closer—close enough that Ivan could feel the pressure of a true king's presence.
> "What you failed to consider—"
The blood-heart **changed its rhythm**.
The space around Ivan **tightened**.
> "—is that I don't need to kill you."
Ivan's eyes widened as something unseen **latched onto him**.
Not his body.
Not his soul.
**His connection.**
> "I only need to rule you."
For the first time since reforming—
Ivan felt it.
A weight.
A claim.
A law older than gods pressing down on his existence.
Kaelen straightened, voice absolute.
> "You will regenerate," he said.
> "You will persist."
His hand closed into a fist.
> "And you will suffer every moment of it."
The false immortal finally understood.
This had never been about killing Ivan.
This was about **making him irrelevant forever**.