If he lost focus now—he'd fail.
The Divine General took one step forward. Wounded pride in every motion.
But then—
He nodded. Once.
"I accept my defeat."
The Dreamrealm cracked.
And the two of them jolted back into their bodies, like drowning men breaking the surface.
Kael gasped.
Pain surged through every vein in his head—a pounding, blinding throb.
His mind was fire. His vision blurred.
The Dreamweaver trembled, humming low in his grip before falling silent once more.
But there was no time to recover.
Footsteps. Voices.
The sound of metal.
Of trained urgency.
The house guards.
Half a dozen men—Rank 2, armed, warded—stormed into the chamber.
Circles of binding already glowing beneath their boots.
"Stop! You are surrounded! Any struggle will be met with force!"
Kael's breath caught.
He couldn't move, not yet.
Not fast enough.
But his instincts screamed one thing: keep the General alive.
In a flash, Kael pulled the vial from within his robes—a shimmering Rank 4 Healing Potion, its liquid swirling with golden threads of condensed life force.
System reward.
He didn't hesitate.
He threw it.
The vial arced through the smoky air—catching the glint of flickering torches—and spun once before landing in the Divine General's outstretched hand.
Without thinking, still riding the high of near-death and dream-madness, the General popped the cork and drank.
Every drop.
Heat flooded his veins.
A low, guttural exhale followed.
His body twitched. Then convulsed.
The soldiers flinched as the transformation began.
Bones cracked. Flesh snapped back together.
The Divine General's shattered leg twisted and mended, muscle knitting as if it were clay.
His missing eye glowed, then blinked open—reborn.
He rolled his neck. Laughed, low and cruel.
"You should have fought this version of me. Might've been fun."
The guards stumbled back, several of them raising their weapons—but their hands were trembling.
One whispered:
"W-we weren't briefed for this…"
Another backed into the wall.
The Divine General turned, flashing them a sharp-toothed grin.
"Well, boys? Still want to arrest someone?"
The answer was silence.
Fear.
Kael, still barely upright, exhaled sharply. Blood on his tongue. He rasped:
"Quickly…"
The Divine General gave a crisp nod—finally serious again.
The soldiers barely had time to react.
His hand rose, fingers carving through the air in brutal precision.
"Ashgate Rend."
The name struck the chamber like a curse.
Boom.
A concussive detonation of black flame and red lightning erupted from his palm.
The nearest three guards were lifted off their feet—slammed into stone pillars and dropped like broken dolls.
The air filled with ash and screams.
A way forward opened.
Kael, swaying on his feet, eyes bloodshot behind the mask, ran.
His lungs burned, each step a leaden thud, vision tunneling with exhaustion and blood loss.
Beside him, the Divine General tore through the corridor like a storm—spells carving ruin, bodies falling like wheat to the scythe.
Kael stumbled through broken stone and smoke, boots skidding on blood-slick tiles.
They reached the stairwell—spiraled up through firelight and shouting.
Then—
The third floor.
And standing in the corridor, flanked by two dozen armored guards—
Veyran.
Kael's first brother.
Rank 3.
Steel-eyed. Smirking.
"Devil, haaa—I've heard the whispers. What madness is this? You've freed the traitor of our house, brought ruin upon our blood! Do you think this is a game? Prepare yourself—we will be the ones to end you!"
Kael's heart plummeted.
He couldn't fight Veyran.
Not like this.
But the Divine General didn't flinch.
He stepped forward, barely giving Kael a glance.
His voice was dry. Amused.
"You should've sent someone harder."
He raised his hand.
Spoke just one word.
"Ash Requiem."
The walls wept flame.
A sphere of red light detonated outward, swallowing Veyran, the guards, and half the corridor in a deafening roar.
Kael shielded his face—heat licking through his robes. The floor shook. The smell of burning metal filled the air.
Silence followed.
Only crackling fire remained.
Kael stared at the destruction.
Cold sweat trickled down his back.
If he had healed the Divine General before fighting him...
He would've died in seconds.
Veyran staggered to his feet—armor cracked, lips bleeding, eyes lit with something between awe and rage.
"You…" he said, voice raw. "Uncle—you're really as powerful as the rumors claimed."
The Divine General turned, wiping soot from his jaw with the back of his hand. He gave a short, barked laugh.
"And you're as persistent as a proper nephew."
But Kael wasn't in the mood for another fight. Blood still dripped from beneath his mask. His body trembled.
"Enough," he said quietly, voice like gravel. "Leave. Now."
The General glanced at him, then without warning, grabbed Kael by the shoulder.
"So be it. We'll meet again nephew. ....Soon."
Veyran's eyes widened as he lunged forward.
"Stop!"
But it was too late.
The Divine General whispered a word—"Autumn Fade"
The air around them shimmered—warped—fractured like glass catching firelight.
Then, piece by piece, like autumn leaves dissolving into wind, their bodies began to flake away. Petals of crimson and pink, drifting in slow motion.
Kael's eyes widened. His last thought:
Teleportation? No… something deeper.
And then they were gone.
The corridor was silent.
Only embers floated where they once stood.
Veyran stood still, fists clenched, breathing hard.
"…that bastard."
He spat blood.
"How will I face Father now?"
But then, slowly… he smiled. A cold, cruel curve of the mouth.
"…Well. Father won't have much time left either."