Shuzo still stood there — frozen.
Nebruel had done almost nothing — only tilted his head slightly,
as if he held time and space themselves in his control.
A lavender strand of hair fell across his eye,
half-veiling the glasslike shimmer of his pupilless iris.
His eyelids narrowed lazily,
as though savoring the moment,
as though he didn't need to act
to already possess everything within his reach.
"Shuzo Vynesalic…"
His voice was a murmur — deep, like the echo of an ancient thunderstorm.
He spoke the name slowly,
tasting it on his tongue —
as if testing whether it sounded as pitiful as it looked.
Shuzo flinched hard.
He could feel his fingers trembling at his sides.
Words pressed against his tongue, begging to be spoken —
but his throat was sealed shut.
Just moments ago he had shouted, defiant and foolish,
hurling his name into the night.
Now —
with danger standing before him in flesh and silence —
he was choking on his own naivety.
His body refused to obey.
He stumbled backward,
his soles slipping on the damp grass —
cold blades brushing against his calves.
"L–Leave… leave me alone!"
His voice cracked, pitching high and sharp —
stripped of any trace of threat.
It was an open confession of weakness.
Nebruel looked at him.
Then he raised his brows —
a smile crawled across his face.
It was no warm, no human smile —
but the slow tearing open of a wound.
His shoulders rose and fell as a faint, vibrating laugh slipped from his throat.
"Ohh… what a delight."
His fingers drifted over his own lips — slow, indulgent —
as though tasting a drop of blood.
"So these are the guardian warriors of tomorrow?"
The words cut like blades.
"A whimpering child… a feeble crybaby."
Shuzo gasped.
Anger, shame, panic —
all at once.
His jaw tightened, his lips trembled, his green eyes darted between fear and defiant fire.
He wanted to answer back,
to shout that Nebruel was wrong.
He planted his feet into the ground, raised his arm, forcing out a hoarse, "Shut your—"
But Nebruel merely tilted his chin.
"Hm?"
Barely a breath of movement—
and Shuzo recoiled in terror,
as though struck by an invisible blow.
That single gesture was enough
to throw him back —
deep into helplessness.
A roar split the silence.
A single sound — muffled, yet so immense that the earth itself trembled.
"SHUZO, RUN!"
Shuzo's head snapped around.
His heart stumbled.
"DON?!"
His voice — a sharp, high-pitched cry.
He lunged to the side,
catching himself unsteadily in the tall grass.
His eyes searched wildly —
and widened in panic when he saw him.
Donovan.
He was lying on the ground, only a few steps away.
How long had he been there?
His body trembled.
The muscles beneath his skin moved like stretched cords.
He breathed heavily — each inhale sounding like violence itself.
Then — finally.
Shuzo understood.
His gaze snapped back to Nebruel.
He was controlling it — gravity itself.
And that power pressed Donovan down,
forcing him to kiss the damned ground.
But he fought back.
"SHUZO!"
His fingers clawed into the wet, cold earth,
mud swelling up beneath his nails.
"COME ON—!"
His teeth ground together,
veins standing out along his temples and hands
as he slowly lifted his head.
The dark eyes burned—
not with mockery or that usual careless grin,
but with pure desperation.
"Run—!"
It came out strained, yet it carried everything:
the will to protect,
even if it meant being crushed for it.
"DONOVAN?!"
Shuzo screamed, his braid whipping over his shoulder.
He threw himself forward,
ran,
wanted to reach him— wanted to help.
His bodyguard.
His friend.
But Donovan roared again:
"NO— GET OUT OF HERE!"
Shuzo stumbled to a stop, confused.
His chest rose and fell faster,
his breath trembling.
"What?"
His voice was barely more than a whisper.
But Donovan didn't relent.
"THIS IS NO TIME FOR YOUR DEFIANCE!"
He panted, eyes burning with urgency.
"THIS ISN'T A GAME ANYMORE?!"
A plea.
A shout.
Protection.
"GO!"
The final word —
a command.
Shuzo understood,
slowly, painfully.
Don.
He wanted Shuzo to leave him behind.
Don… wanted to die —
to save him.
No—
His fingers trembled,
his vision blurred—
but he clenched his teeth.
"I'm not leaving you behind!"
His voice cracked, but he meant every word:
"FORGET IT!"
He had barely taken his first step—
when it happened.
A snap.
Soft. Precise.
And the world fell silent.
Shuzo's entire body froze.
Mid-movement — as if an invisible hand had seized him.
His eyes were wide open, pupils flickering —
the only thing he could still move.
Donovan had gone silent — frozen mid-scream.
His lips were parted, unable to finish the sound.
"Tch… what a performance."
Nebruel's voice echoed through the frozen world —
bored, mocking.
He stepped closer.
Each footfall was unhurried, deliberate —
and yet it felt like the drumbeat of fate,
a countdown to the end of life itself.
He stopped before Shuzo.
He didn't have to bend down —
he didn't need to.
His gaze slid down to Shuzo —
cold, ancient, untouchable.
"And you…"
His voice wasn't loud — yet it pierced everything.
"…are truly the spawn of the feared Kuroboshi?"
His eyes — empty, without pupils — caught the pale light of the moons in a strange, impossible way.
Within that bottomless white lay a darkness deeper than any night.
No mirror.
No window.
But a void — one that devoured everything reflected within it.
Shuzo could barely endure the gaze.
His toxic green eyes stared back,
his eyelids fluttering,
tears burning at their corners.
Fear —
it gnawed at him like the teeth of a starving beast.
Nebruel saw it.
He absorbed it —
he savored it.
A shadow flickered across the sharp, beautiful lines of the Kriegswächter's face.
His lips slowly curved into a smile — menacing, deliberate.
"How pathetic…" he breathed, lowering his chin.
It wasn't an expression of joy —
but a quiet promise of one thing:
Control.
The smile of a man who knew
he stood above everything —
above every life,
above every god.
Slowly, Nebruel's gaze drifted away from Shuzo — toward Donovan.
"And you…"
The demon didn't whimper. He couldn't.
His entire body strained against the invisible force pinning him to the ground.
His lips parted in silent cries of pain —
while his throat swelled, blue veins rising beneath the skin.
Nebruel's voice remained calm, almost bored.
"I don't recall giving you permission to speak."
A finger — no more than a twitch.
Donovan's chest jerked upward,
the unseen weight easing for just a moment.
With a harsh, rattling sound, he sucked in air greedily.
"N–No—"
He gasped, lifted his head.
His fingers clawed into the earth.
"Shuzo!" he choked out between ragged breaths.
"LET HIM… GO…"
Each word sounded like he was tearing his own voice from his throat:
"LEAVE HIM ALONE!"
It wasn't an act — it was despair in its purest form.
But his body stayed bent, pinned, helpless.
Nebruel hadn't released him. Not completely.
He let him breathe —
only so he could beg.
"Hm? Should I?"
Nebruel turned slowly back to Shuzo, studying him.
"What do you say?"
His gaze traveled slowly over the boy standing there —
teeth clenched,
unable to react,
unable to answer.
A cruel mockery.
"Nothing?"
Shuzo's face had gone pale.
Then softer — and far more dangerous:
"What a pity…"
He looked like a deer that had already recognized the hunter
and was merely waiting for the fatal arrow.
The Kriegswächter tilted his head —
and that's when he noticed the glimmer.
Tears in the corners of Shuzo's eyes.
"Oh…"
Nebruel's voice was so gentle it almost felt like a caress.
But beneath that softness lay an abyss —
a promise of pain.
"I haven't even started yet."
The emptiness of his eyes locked onto the prince.
For a moment, something seemed to stir within those eyes —
a question;
whether it was even worth wasting words on him.
"You don't have to wet yourself out of fear."
The words sounded casual.
"I won't hurt you."
A tiny pause.
Then:
"Not yet."
The silence between the sentences was worse than any blow.
Nebruel's eyes narrowed,
a faint twitch at the corner of his lips betraying impatience.
"I merely wish to ask you a question…"
In that moment, the last of Shuzo's paralysis broke.
His legs gave out beneath him.
He fell backward into the wet grass, the damp soil greedily swallowing his weight.
"Ha—"
A panicked sound tore from his throat — a whimper, thick with fear.
His small fingers clawed desperately at the ground,
gripping blades and roots as if they could anchor him.
His hair, braided at the nape of his neck, was disheveled.
"Ha—"
Black strands clung to his tear-streaked cheeks, glistening wet beneath the moonlight.
Those toxic green eyes darted wildly — searching for escape routes —
and found nothing.
Only him.
Nebruel.
"No… please!"
His voice broke as he slipped to the side, crawling backward through the grass.
"Please — don't hurt us!
I don't know anything, I swear! Please!"
A foot blocked his path.
Shuzo let out a strangled gasp and slowly looked up —
tear-streaked, terrified.
Above him loomed Nebruel,
a silhouette like a stone obelisk.
The shadow of his body fell across the boy,
making every twitch in Shuzo's face painfully visible.
Snot and tears streamed freely, dripping onto his shirt,
mixing with the dirt.
"Ha—" He gasped for air.
But Nebruel's grin had vanished.
His gaze was now as empty as his eyes themselves.
Only his voice remained —
colder,
harder,
devoid of patience.
Whatever emotion he showed:
"Although I suspect that asking a question to a pitiful failure like you…
would be nothing but a waste of time."
His words sank like stones into Shuzo's heart.
"I—I really don't know anything!"
Shuzo's voice cracked again — shrill, panicked.
Tears streamed down his cheeks as he shook his head violently.
His body trembled; he wanted to run,
to escape this encounter.
"We… we have to go home… please!"
But Nebruel showed no sign of softening.
Not an inch.
No mercy.
Never.
Not a single muscle in his face betrayed emotion.
His words cut through the night — calm, yet sharp as a blade.
"Have you seen a woman who looks like me?"
Shuzo froze for a heartbeat.
Then shook his head even harder, gasping as if the answer had to be forced from his lungs.
"No!—
No, I swear!"
"Violet hair. White eyes."
Nebruel didn't wait.
He pressed on — every whimper was a waste of time.
His eyelids narrowed to cold slits.
"Stop crying."
Not a request.
A command.
"N-no… I haven't! I don't know anyone, sir!"
A plea.
His small chest rose and fell so fast he kept gasping for air.
And his voice—
nothing but a pitiful shriek in every word, unbearable to anyone who heard it—
and to Nebruel, nothing but noise.
A faint, irritated hiss escaped the Kriegswächter before he raised his hand.
"Enough!"
A snap.
Donovan's roar ripped through the night.
It wasn't a normal scream.
Not the cry of a man who merely knew pain.
It was animal—deep—
a roar that tore across the steppe like a storm.
It sank into bone, made even the air vibrate—
as if the earth itself shared the agony.
Every beat of Shuzo's heart was drowned out by that sound.
The roar fractured into raw pain,
its echoes slamming against the trees—
until it suddenly cut off,
as though a fist had crushed his lungs.
"DONOVAN!!"
Shuzo screamed so loud his voice broke.
His small body lurched forward,
as if pulled by invisible threads,
straight toward his only source of protection.
Panic drove him—
every muscle screaming for motion,
any motion—
as long as it led to Don.
Nebruel's lips curled —
a barely visible motion, not of joy,
but of superiority.
Then, slowly, he closed his hand into a fist.
Shuzo saw it — and at the same instant saw Donovan's body jerk violently upward from the ground.
Invisible fingers seized him,
tore him into the air as if he were nothing but a piece of meat.
His hair whipped wildly,
muscles straining against the unseen grip —
in vain.
Then his body rushed through the air
and came to a sudden, thunderous stop before Nebruel.
His limbs hung stiff, bound by invisible chains of iron.
He didn't just control gravity.
No — he was gravity itself.
"DONOVAN!!"
Shuzo's scream turned into a howl — shrill, shattering, torn from the core of his being.
Before his eyes, his protector writhed — the Tyrant Demon.
His best, his only friend.
A deafening, guttural rumble tore through the steppe —
deeper than any beast could ever produce.
Every muscle on his body stood out like it had been carved from stone,
skin and sinew stretching grotesquely over bone
as Nebruel's fist continued to close.
Donovan's arms twisted into unnatural angles,
his fingers splaying wide as if they were about to snap.
His eyes rolled back, the whites showing hideously.
Spit ran from his open mouth.
He was going to die.
He gagged, choked — but it was no use.
The pressure kept building.
Unstoppable.
"You know, kid?"
Nebruel's voice sounded almost casual,
as if he were sharing some trivial thought.
He didn't even really look at Don
while twisting his body like a toy.
"I hate it… when someone annoys me."
His fist —
closed,
final.
And with a single motion —
Silence.
A disgusting click escaped his lips,
dismissive, degrading —
as if the sight of torture were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.
Then he opened his fingers.
Donovan fell.
He hit the ground with a crash.
The earth shuddered.
Soil burst upward.
Shuzo's small body trembled at the sight,
each breath shaking through him.
He forced himself to stay quiet —
no sound,
no more weakness.
This was his fault.
But the tears wouldn't stop.
They ran — hot, burning —
dripping onto the grass.
"Don…"
His lips barely shaped the name.
"Oh no… Donovan…"
He lay there for a moment,
curled in on himself, motionless —
wrapped in blood and sweat.
Nebruel stood over him, upright —
like a judge
who had just carried out the sentence.
His white, pupilless eyes drifted slowly back to Shuzo.
No anger in them.
Only cold calculation.
"Well then," he said quietly,
"Where were we?"