The metal door burst open with a hollow clang, echoing across the rooftop. Cold wind rushed in, carrying the endless rain with it.
Aren Cross stumbled forward as he made his rush over to what looked like a helicopter pad. He ran to its edge without thinking, boots sliding against the wet stone, only to freeze as he looked down.
Below, the city unfolded as an endless sea of lights swallowed everything.
Hundreds of meters below.
There was no way out.
Footsteps followed as the sound emerged from the staircase he came from. Aren turned, chest heaving, and saw them emerging one by one.
Men with blank expressions and black suits, with eyes that had no fear, only obedience.
His Ether stirred weakly within him, responding to danger out of instinct rather than strength.
In that moment, standing between the sky and abyss, Aren finally understood: his fate had been sealed from the start.
Then came the applause. Slow claps echoed, even through the heavy rain.
Aren turned just as two figures emerged from the stairwell, walking past the suited men as though they were little more than scenery.
The man in front wore an immaculate smile. His blond hair and perfect face bright against the gray clouds above. His steps were slow and unhurried, confident as he already knew the outcome. There wasn't even killing intent on him, only the small mocking smile that pissed Aren off.
Beside him walked a woman in a delicate dress. Her long pink hair flowed freely in the wind. One hand rested lightly around the man's arm, eyes bright with petty curiosity as they looked down on Aren.
"Senior," the man said gently. "Why do you look so surprised?"
Aren clenched his fists, energy surging painfully through his veins.
"Lucas! Maya!" he shouted. "Both of you have completely lost your minds! Delusional!"
Lucas sighed softly, as if disappointed.
"Delusional?" he repeated, shaking his head. "Senior, you still don't understand the situation."
He loosened Maya's arm and took a few steps forward, stopping just short of the helipad's inner circle. Rain slid down his coat, yet not a single drop seemed to touch him.
His gaze settled on Aren, not with hatred, but with something closer to pity.
"Thank you, truly," Lucas continued calmly. "You and the others have really ushered in an era of peace."
"And for that, we appreciate you dearly," he said softly. "But your era is now over."
Aren's breath hitched; he tried to activate his Arts, but it sputtered uselessly.
Lucas spread his hands, as if presenting an unavoidable truth.
"It's time for us to take care of things."
"Because of that…" Aren coughed, blood dripping from his lips. "You killed your father?!"
Lucas looked downward, placing a hand to cover his face in sadness. But Aren could already tell it was hiding a wicked smile.
"It was for the greater good."
He looked up again, the mask gone.
"Be happy, Senior," His smile returned, faint and confident. "You will be as well. In fact, you will be the catalyst that made it happen!"
Aren laughed hoarsely.
The sound was dirty, torn from his chest, more like a cough than laughter.
"You think you can get away with this?" he snarled. "After killing your own father?"
"You think framing me will let you escape the consequences?"
Maya finally spoke.
Her voice was soft, almost bored.
"Escape?" she repeated, tilting her head slightly. "Senior, you still don't understand."
She took a step forward, heels clicking lightly against the wet stone. Her grip around Lucas' arm tightened just a little, possessive even.
"We have money," she said calmly. "We have influence. When the story is told, it won't be yours—it will be ours."
Her eyes met Aren's, bright and unwavering.
"The public will believe what we allow them to believe."
"After all…" Her lips curved faintly, "Truth is a luxury for those without power."
"Ha…" Aren laughed softly this time.
"I must've been too close to my own cultivation," he said slowly. "So focused on the Snake… that I failed to notice the real ones standing beside me."
"So that's what you've been reduced to," Lucas said, shaking his head. "Mad words from a man at the end of his road."
He turned away from Aren, already losing interest.
"Enough," he said calmly. "End it."
The suited men moved as one.
Killing intent surged across the rooftop, pressing down on Aren like a collapsing sky. The rain seemed to freeze midair as Ether glowed from every direction.
Maya didn't look back.
"Make it quick," she added idly. "We still have things to prepare."
Aren moved first.
The moment killing intent crashed down on him, his hand snapped upward. A dull green glow flickered as a thin sword shot from his sleeve, spinning through the rain like a butterfly.
Flying Poison Sword.
The blade twisted through the air, grazing wrists, necks, and shoulders. A single scratch was all it took. Wherever the sword passed, veins turned black instantly as the poison invaded their body.
The suited men froze mid-step.
One dropped to a knee.
Another clawed at his throat, eyes wide in disbelief.
Then they fell one after another.
The flying sword returned to Aren's hand, trembling violently.
He stood there, chest heaving, blood dripping freely now. His Ether burned hot and unstable, tearing through his meridians as he forced it to obey
Lucas' smile faded.
"…Poison," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "I forgot."
He raised his hand.
The air twisted.
Something unseen lunged forward, an invisible maw formed entirely out of condensed Ether. Aren's eyes widened as his instincts told him to move, but his body was already too slow.
Crunch.
Pain exploded through him.
The force slammed into his stomach, tearing flesh apart as if gnawed by a giant beast. Flesh and blood scattered as a chunk of his stomach was ripped away.
He was barely able to stand.
Lucas lowered his hand slowly.
"Did you really think," he said quietly, "that a mad dog's final bite would change the outcome?"
Rain washed the blood toward the edge of the rooftop.
Aren coughed, blood spilling freely from his lips.
Yet he laughed.
"That…" he rasped, lifting his head to meet Lucas' gaze, eyes burning bright despite everything, "wasn't my final bite."
Lucas frowned.
Aren raised the Flying Poison Sword.
"For snakes," he continued hoarsely, lips curling upward, "the deadliest strike is the one they turn on themselves."
Before anyone could react, he dragged the blade across his own palm.
The cut was shallow.
It was enough.
Venom-laced Ether surged instantly, flooding his veins like a raging fire. His skin cracked, veins crawling dark as it slowly melted away.
Lucas eyes widened.
"STOP!" he shouted, all calm gone in an instant. "Aren—are you insane?!"
Aren laughed again.
With shaking fingers, he raised his hand.
And gave Lucas the middle finger.
"For once," Aren said softly, as his body began to collapse in on itself, "you don't get to decide how this ends."
"Have fun with whatever mess is left of my body."
With those final words, Aren threw himself off the edge of the skyscraper.
Wind roared past him as his body fell, flesh corroding by the second. His vision blurred as darkness crept in from the edges.
But if Lucas thought this was his end, then he was far from correct.
Aren closed his eyes in a last-ditch effort as he drew his attention to his Internal Canvas.
The world beneath him was vast and empty, an endless expanse stretching without sky.
He collapsed onto his hands and knees.
His limbs shook violently as blood dripped from him, each drop vanishing the moment it touched the ground.
The brush lay ahead of him.
His Internal Brush.
It rested where it always had, its shaft embedded lightly into the white ground like a relic waiting to be claimed.
"Move…" he whispered.
Aren dragged himself forward, fingers clawing uselessly at the Canvas as his Ether bled away with every second. His core screamed as he forced what little remained to circulate, the flow jagged and broken, tearing more than it repaired.
At last, his trembling hand closed around the brush.
The moment he touched it, green light flared.
Ether poured from him uncontrollably, flooding into the brush as if it were a bottomless abyss. The Internal Brush drank greedily, its tip flushed with black ink.
He lifted the brush.
And dragged it down.
The moment the tip touched the Canvas, reality shuddered.
The white beneath the stroke fractured like glass, cracks stretching outward as the line carved itself into existence.
This stroke, this final Line, was his only chance to step into the realm of godhood.
The Canvas split wider as he felt the world around him crack.
Halfway through the stroke, the brush trembled violently.
His grip slipped.
Aren's eyelids grew impossibly heavy.
"No…" he whispered. "Not here—"
"Just a bit more…"
His sentence died out, and the world turned black.