In that mont, a storm of thoughts tore through Rita's mind.
Too many.
Too fast.
She had so much to reflect on, but not enough ti to even grasp a single thought before it slipped away, lost to the flood.
She had lived a life of regrets.
And though she had welcod her own death, she detested it all the sa.
She hated it.
Hated the finality.
Hated the unfairness.
Hated that she hadn't been given more ti.
More ti to right her wrongs.
But what could she do?
Nothing.
A single, shattered fragnt of a second stretched out—too slow and too fast at once.
The monster's tentacles lashed toward her, carving through the air, yet the world around her seed to fracture and warp.
Everything was too slow. Too fast.
Too much, too little.
The hurried shouts, the gasps of horror—all of it blurred.
Sound collapsed in on itself, muffled and distant, like she had been sealed inside a soundproof void.
All except for one thought.
A single, piercing whisper in the darkness of her mind.
'...death.'
The tentacles tore through the air, closer than ever, their sheer speed ripping the wind apart as they closed in.
Each one crushed the space around it, displacing the air with a force so terrible it felt as though the very atmosphere was collapsing inward.
They were coming all at once.
A storm of devastation about to erase her from existence.
Rita knew.
She wouldn't even have the chance to process her own death.
Her bones, her neck, her entire being—
All of it would be shattered instantly.
And yet—
Sohow—
The impact rang through the air.
A deep, resounding tremor that sent her flying—not from pain, not from destruction, but from sothing else.
The tentacles recoiled sharply, twisting backward as if struck.
They trembled in the air.
Rita landed hard on her back, rolling away from the force. The shockwave was brutal. But... that was it.
No sharp, searing pain.
No instant death.
Nothing.
She could still feel.
She was still breathing.
…Still seeing.
"Am I alive?"
She wasn't sure.
Within the space of contact—the precise mont when the Black Eel's tentacles should have torn through her like paper—there had been no one fast enough to block it.
It was impossible.
Her wide eyes traced back to where she had been standing just seconds ago.
And there—
A boy stood.
His faded black hair whipped against the wind, strands lifting with the soft breeze that carried the scent of battle.
Encased in armor—black as abyssal stone—his form radiated an unnatural, malevolent presence.
Ragged orange veins coursed across the dark plating, glowing like cracks in the heart of a volcano.
A knight of ruin.
Standing between the monster and the humans.
And yet—
Only his clothes had changed.
The armor was new, but his presence was unmistakable.
They recognized him.
And they were horrified.
Especially Roma.
He stood so close, his features starkly visible to her, and her mind reeled with the only question that mattered.
If he was here…
Then who was fighting there?
But they had no answer.
The ashen fog behind them was still too thick, slowly crumbling but dense enough to hide what lay beyond.
And the monsters—
They were already slamming against the barrier, clawing, gnashing—so even climbing the bridge.
The wall wouldn't hold forever.
And neither would their certainty of what was truly happening.
Northern frowned darkly, rolling his shoulders as he let out a sharp curse. His gaze flicked backward, eyes widened as they saw what a baby in the arms of the old man… on a battlefield?—
"Damn it! What the hell happened here? And why is there a baby?!"
He paused, then shook his head with a frustrated sigh.
"Never mind. Why am I even asking? This isn't the ti for that."
His eyes shifted, sweeping over everyone, taking quick ntal notes.
They were fine—for now.
The only one who looked truly dire was Rita.
That was on the outside.
Then his gaze landed on Roma.
His frown deepened.
She looked fine—mostly.
Except for the steady stream of blood running from her nose.
His brows pulled into a deeper grimace.
"Why are you standing in the middle of a battle with a Devilish Hellion?!"
His voice cut through the air, sharp with anger—but not loud, not deafening.
Roma tried to respond, but the words scattered on her tongue.
The weight of his glare made it suddenly difficult to articulate.
Her fingers twitched at her sides.
She had helped.
She had done sothing right.
Why the hell was he mad about that?
But all she could do was lower her head.
Northern exhaled sharply, then flicked his hand backward, his motion curt and absolute.
"All of you—retreat. I'll take care of this quickly."
Kion hesitated.
Then, forcing himself to speak, he stepped forward.
"Excuse ..."
His voice carried both respect and unease.
"I don't an to sound rude, but this thing is powerful. We barely managed to land a critical hit, and it has regenerative abilities."
Northern's expression stilled.
He tilted his head slightly.
"It does...?"
Kion nodded.
"And that slimy skin you see—it's just an outer shell. It protects the real body underneath."
Northern's frown deepened for a mont—then almost imdiately relaxed.
"That's fine."
His voice was calm. Certain.
"I'll finish this quickly, nonetheless."
Before Kion could raise another objection,
Northern vanished.
The wind ruptured in his wake, a sharp blast forcing Kion to stagger backward.
All of them—every single pair of eyes—had been fixed on him.
And yet—
They lost him.
Even the monster.
Since Northern had appeared on the battlefield, the creature had been... different.
Tensed. Careful.
The air around it had shifted.
And now—
That change had beco undeniable.
The Ruin Knight appeared, a shadow against the cold embrace of the air.
He descended freely, his form carving through the sky with a fearso grace.
Northern's fingers curled into a fist—tightening, hardening—the sheer force behind it enough to shatter steel, to break tals.
But then, his eyes flicked to the bridge.
'It won't hold...'
His jaw tightened.
With a sharp exhale, he released the tension in his fist, allowing the power to unravel before it could be unleashed.
It was irritating—infuriating, even—that he wouldn't be able to gain anything from this battle.
But he had to prioritize.
His strength was too great.
If he wasn't careful, the bridge would collapse.
And that was not an option.
As Northern flowed downward, the air around him shifted.
Then-
Lances of ice burst into existence.
One by one, they manifested midair, forming jagged, crystalline spears that rained down beside him- missiles streaking toward their target.
The Black Eel shifted. Its massive form twisted, tentacles veering back-recoiling, tensing.
Then, they wiggled, coiled, and snapped taut-just for a fraction of a second.
And then-
They struck.
A blitz of motion-blinding, violent.
The tentacles shot upward in a devastating volley-A force so impossibly fast, so monstrously strong, it blasted through the air itself.
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