The grunted whaling of Malgareth subtly filled the surrounding as black tears continued to gush out from his already void eyes, flowing steadily from the holes of his broken helt.
It wasn’t loud—it wasn’t even a cry of defiance.
It was hollow, guttural, filled with sothing far worse than pain.
Regret.
Madness.
Suffering.
The surrounding air stood still.
No one moved.
Even the wind held its breath.
Venedix’s golden eyes narrowed slightly, her swords still cracking with dormant power, but held at bay.
The rest of the group stood in silent curiosity, cautious but unwilling to break the mont, all their attention locked on Jinn.
His steps were steady.
His expression unreadable.
He walked.
Not fast.
Not slow.
asured—like his body moved on its own.
Jinn’s grip tightened on his sword, his brow lowering.
The veins in his arm pulsed with dark and golden energy as the blade responded to his silent resolve.
Still, his thoughts buzzed in quiet confusion.
He moved forward...
But why?
Why was he doing this?
His chest rose and fell, his breathing quiet but deep.
Each step forward felt deliberate, but he didn’t rember deciding to take it.
His heart wasn’t racing, and there was no fear.
Only the weight of purpose—foreign, yet familiar.
Jinn blinked, his brows twitching slightly.
He was being pulled.
Not by Malgareth.
But by sothing else.
Sothing within.
Muradryn.
It wasn’t just calling—it was guiding.
Not with words.
Not with force.
But with a feeling.
A silent beckoning.
Jinn’s soul stirred as a warmth filled his core, wrapping around his heart, his limbs, and his thoughts. The Muradryn’s presence was there, watching, waiting, and now... urging him.
Toward what?
He didn’t know yet.
But the answer lay just a few steps away.
His steps continued, each one echoing softly against the cracked and battle-worn earth, until they finally reached just a few ters away from what remained of Malgareth.
Jinn stopped.
He raised his head slowly, locking his gaze on Malgareth’s broken helt.
The guttural gasps for air that escaped from within were weak and inconsistent, more like the final dying breaths of a fading creature than any form of defiance.
And through the shattered gaps of that helt, black rivers of tears flowed—heavy, endless, soaking the ground beneath with corrupted sorrow.
Jinn’s eyes lowered.
The once-proud body of the corrupted warlord was unrecognizable.
Flesh burst out between twisted gaps in his armor.
Black blood dripped, thick and slow, painting the shattered plates of tal like oil on rusted steel.
His limbs—gone.
Severed entirely.
What was left of him sat limp, hunched within the hollow casing of his mangled shell.
A husk.
That was all he was now.
Stripped of everything.
The power, the pride, the nace that once made Malgareth a na spoken in whispers—gone.
His intimidating aura, shattered.
His sentience, lost.
No thoughts.
No will.
Just agony echoing from a shell that should’ve already died.
And yet...
Jinn felt nothing.
No sympathy.
No remorse.
Nothing.
Only mory.
Painful, scorching mory.
This was the monster who tore him away.
Who shackled him.
Who caused him pain.
Jinn’s jaw tightened.
"You get what’s coming for you... one way or another," he muttered under his breath, low and cold.
His hand clenched his blade tighter, and in response, it blazed—brighter than ever.
The white light of Muradryn blood from the sword’s edge, pulsing with power, as if alive.
It humd through the silence like a vow made manifest, piercing through the lingering fog of darkness.
And all that shadow?
It began to retreat.
Venedix’s eyes widened—just for a mont, before narrowing once again.
It was clear now.
Undeniable.
Jinn had truly awakened.
Not just as a warrior, not just as her ’would-be’ apprentice... but as the bearer of Muradryn’s fragnt.
The very soul of that ancient power pulsed within him—quiet but resolute—resonating from the core of his being.
It danced along his blade, radiating outwards in waves that pushed the surrounding darkness back like the breaking of dawn.
This was no longer a sliver of power left behind by accident.
It was destiny.
And it was now his burden to carry.
Her gaze lingered on him, watching the way he stood—not with arrogance, not with fear—but with the weight of understanding.
Venedix knew.
She knew this was only the beginning.
That the path ahead would stretch far beyond this ruined battlefield, across stars and dying worlds, to ancient ruins and lost empires.
She knew that Jinn would have to chase the remaining fragnts—across the cold, unforgiving expanse of space—each one guarded by calamities far worse than Malgareth.
Gods.
Primordials.
Things so old and powerful that even whispers of their existence were buried beneath myth and ti.
And Jinn?
He wasn’t ready.
Not yet.
His sword was sharp, his resolve steady—but his lack of experience would surely be the death of him.
And yet...
Perhaps that was why Venedix had chosen him.
Why her own eidra—when she had resurrected him, when she had poured her power into his broken form—had stirred.
Had recognized sothing.
A flicker.
A pulse.
A hidden ember of fate waiting to be set ablaze.
She didn’t fully understand it then.
But now?
Now she knew.
She had given him that second chance—for this mont, and for everything that would follow.
The path of Muradryn was his to walk now.
And the stars would burn to witness it.
The light from Jinn’s blade burst forward as he snapped it toward the vulnerable spot on Malgareth’s body where corrupted flesh still clung beneath the cracks of his armor.
The blade, humming with power, pierced through with ease
*Shhhnk!
sliding deep into the foul, writhing tissue like it was nothing.
For a split second, everything stood still.
Then it began.
Tiny fragnts of pure white light started to flicker out from within Malgareth’s torso, pushing outward like tiny sparks from a sealed furnace.
Thin cracks of light spread across his chest and stomach, webbing out and growing wider with each passing mont.
The cursed armor that had once protected him now betrayed him, unable to contain the sacred force swelling from inside.
*Crack! *Pop!
The sound of the rupturing light echoed out in rhythmic bursts.
Rays began to spill through the openings, streaking into the air like tendrils of the sun piercing through storm clouds.
The corrupted darkness inside Malgareth was being swallowed whole.
His once terrifying figure was now covered in glowing fractures, like a statue breaking apart under holy judgnt.
And then
*BOOOM!
A powerful explosion of radiant light erupted from Malgareth’s body, consuming the area in a blinding flash that forced everyone to shield their eyes.
The wave of light wasn’t harsh, though.
It wasn’t destructive or cruel.
Instead, it carried a soothing warmth, like sunlight after a long storm.
It gently touched their skin—Venedix, Troy, Garan, Biyo, Kain, Orin, Ophelia, all of them—and they could feel it deep in their bones.
The warmth.
The peace.
The power of the Muradryn.
They didn’t just see the light—they felt it.
It wasn’t just Jinn’s power now... it was sothing more.
Sothing eternal.
A few seconds passed after the eruption of radiant light, and from above, dark corrupted particles began to drift down like ash—soft and eerie, as if the dark corrupted sky itself was starting to crumble apart.
The air still humd with the fading echoes of the explosion, and the warm light slowly faded, dimming down into silence.
But Jinn’s blade... it was still lodged into sothing.
He looked down, realizing it wasn’t the sa writhing corrupted mass from before.
It was flesh..
Blood red.
Dripping from the blade’s insertion point, staining the ground below.
Before him stood—not the armored monster—but a thin, fragile man, trembling, struggling to stay upright as he gasped for air.
His form was pale, ribs almost visible through his skin, and his eyes hollowed by pain and sothing deeper... sorrow maybe.
The light had not killed him entirely.
No... it had brought him back.
Zendrell stepped forward, already beside Jinn, his expression darkening the mont he laid eyes on the man.
"Malgareth..." he muttered, then corrected himself.
"No... Garian."
The na struck through the air like a silent thunder.
Garian trembled violently now, both hands weakly clutching at the sword still embedded in his gut.
Red blood splattered from his mouth as he gasped, struggling to speak.
"Y-You... all of you are... blind...!" he croaked, every word cut by coughing fits and more blood.
"T-The empire... it’s not what... it s-seems..."
His voice was failing, desperate.
"T-They... they’re trying to r-revive... t-the—"
But then, sothing twisted within his throat.
A shudder.
A choke.
It was as if sothing unseen, sothing unnatural, had seized his voice—cutting him off, silencing him.
"Revive what!?" Zendrell shouted, grabbing Garian’s shoulder roughly.
But it was too late.
Garian’s body began to glow, fragnts of his form lifting into the air like golden dust, breaking apart and fluttering like autumn leaves in the breeze.
With one final glance, Garian turned his head—not towards Zendrell, who stood close beside him—but instead towards Jinn, the very one who had finished him off.
Their eyes locked for a brief mont, but it wasn’t a look filled with hatred, or rage, or even regret.
It wasn’t even sorrow.
It was peace.
Strangely enough, the pain that once twisted Garian’s face was now gone.
His features were calm, softened even as his body continued to break apart, fading bit by bit into drifting fragnts of light.
The only thing left of him now was his head, gently glowing as it hovered in the air.
Then, slowly... he closed his eyes.
As if accepting what was to co.
No resistance.
No fight.
Only quiet surrender.
Peace at last.
And then—he was gone.
His head broke apart into shimring light, dancing through the wind before disappearing completely into the air.
His essence flowed outward, vanishing into the very world around them, exactly how Verkaryon had once vanished when Jinn had struck him down.
No corpse.
No grave.
Just light.
For a mont, there was only stillness.
The air was cold and quiet, and a heavy silence wrapped the area like a thick cloak, pressing on everyone’s chest.
No one spoke.
Not even the wind dared to move.
Then
*thud! *thud! *thud!
Footsteps echoed from behind, steady and calm.
It was Venedix, erging from the fading shadows as she approached Jinn.
Her eyes were fixed on him, her expression unreadable, but there was sothing new in her gaze now—sothing quiet... sothing knowing.
"So, you have finally grasped at least a part of the power within you, child," she said, voice low but clear.
Then she turned slightly, her eyes glancing over her shoulder where a portal swirled open, created by Troy’s power.
The twisted dark world around them was already crumbling slowly, fading just like Malgareth had.
"It is ti," she continued, her gaze returning to Jinn.
"Co... you will now decide your fate... and the fate of the slaves."
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