Blood trickled slowly down Isla's forearm, dark against his pale skin. He flexed his fingers, unbothered. Across from him, the Beast King's breath came heavy—shoulders rising and falling as steam poured from his fanged mouth.
"So... you bleed after all," the Beast King sneered, circling now, claws twitching. "I wonder how long you'll last once I get serious."
Isla's voice came like a blade on ice.
" Your peak is still..."
His foot shifted forward.
"... crawling below me."
The Beast King's patience snapped.
He slammed his fists into the ground and let loose a primal bellow that cracked the very earth beneath them.
"Beast Fang – Sixth Form: Beastquake Rampage!"
A violent shockwave exploded outward—floor splitting, debris flying, the whole palace trembling. Beast warriors in the room stumbled, some crushed by falling stone.
Jagged slabs of marble flew toward Isla—like mountains hurled at him.
But the shadows around Isla writhed in anticipation.
"First Form: Nihilist Cloak."
He vanished once more, becoming an intangible shadow. One boulder passed through him harmlessly—then another.
Then suddenly—
He reappeared midair.
Dark tendrils surged from the floor, propelling Isla into the air like a phantom rising from the abyss. His black cloak fluttered around him, aura surging.
Below, the Beast King leapt up to meet him—faster than expected, claws glowing crimson.
The two collided midair—shockwaves rippling outward, shattering the upper walls of the chamber. Beast warriors were thrown back like twigs in a storm.
Claw met blade—shadow met fang.
And yet, Isla had one more move.
"Second Form: Abyssal Bind."
In midair, the Beast King's shadow stretched unnaturally from the torchlight—and from it, chains of shadow whipped upward, wrapping around his legs
Isla spun, dragging him down like a meteor.
The floor cracked open as the Beast King was slammed into the ground, buried under rubble. Dust and flame spewed out from the impact zone. Even the throne of bones collapsed from the shock.
Isla landed lightly a few paces away, boots barely making a sound.
He stared into the crater.
And waited.
The silence lasted only a second.
With a roar that shook the dust from the air, the Beast King surged back up—body bruised, fur matted with blood, but eyes burning hotter than ever.
"I'll rip your bones apart!"
"Then try," Isla replied.
They rushed toward each other again—this time without words, only fury.
Claws and shadow collided again and again in a blur. One beastman tried to sneak toward Isla's blindside.
A tendril from Isla's cloak shot out without him looking, impaling the fool mid-step.
Every move Isla made was elegant, deliberate. He didn't fight like a man. He fought like an executioner—precise, emotionless, overwhelming.
But even he could feel it now.
The Beast King, wounded as he was, refused to slow. The longer this went on, the wilder his power became.
He's still adapting, Isla thought. Evolving like a true beast.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"You're worthy of extinction."
"Now let's end this," Isla said coldly, his voice like a blade across glass.
"I'll show you why you were never, and will never be, on my level."
He closed his eyes, centering himself. The battlefield fell silent. Even the beast warriors held their breath as the Emperor stilled, as though meditating amidst carnage.
Then, with a motion that was more art than attack, Isla raised his sword and brought it down in a graceful, almost divine arc.
Heavenly Dark Art – Final Form: Dimension Slash.
The blade shimmered black—darker than shadow, deeper than void. A curved stroke carved through reality itself. Space folded unnaturally, groaning under the weight of the slash. The air cracked. The sky howled.
The strike cut through the Beast King, through the throne, through the very heart of the castle all the way to the clouds on the sky
A shockwave followed—a thunderclap that shattered the upper spires and tore open the ceiling. The Beast King's body was swallowed by the collapsing space, twisted and compressed until only his severed head dropped to the floor with a hollow thud.
Isla opened his eyes slowly. Calm. Composed. His blade returned to his side in a single fluid motion.
Then he looked upward—to the upper floor, where the others watched in disbelief.
Without a word, Isla vanished into the shadows. A moment later, screams erupted above.
He reappeared like a wraith, moving from beast to beast—a storm of execution. Heads rolled. Blood soaked the stone. His movements were poetry wrapped in brutality, precise and unrelenting.
Targan made a move, trembling, but Isla's gaze turned toward him—a gaze that froze the soul.
"You. Wait your turn."
Targan didn't move again.
The slaughter continued. Blood fell like rain, coating Isla's armor, his face. And still, his expression never changed. A soft exhale escaped him as he closed his eyes, savoring the moment. Then he turned.
The Count of Valyria lay trembling at the base of the throne, hope flickering in his eyes.
"Thank you, Your Majesty… you saved me…"
Isla walked past Targan as if he were nothing but dust. The Count's thanks died in his throat when he saw Isla's sword was still drawn.
"You think I'm a fool?" Isla said quietly, but each word cut like steel.
"You're here because you tried to make a deal with the Beast King. And you failed."
The Count froze. He opened his mouth—but no lie came out.
"Who else was part of your betrayal?"isla asked
The Count spat, defiant.
"Go to hell, you hypocrite."
The answer was met with silence.
And then, without a word, Isla struck.
The Count's head fell beside the Beast King's.
Two enemies. Two warnings.
And the Emperor did not look back.