The Epic of the Disc Chapter 65: Family Reunion 3

Chapter 65: Family Reunion 3

"How are you okay with this?"

The words forced their way out before he could stop them. He couldn’t look at Kuro’s face. That blank, expressionless, nothing face. And not being able to read this rock of a face only made Shiro angrier. He had statues with more expression than this, and he owned them.

"Because this is what’s best for the future of our nation and our clan," Kuro replied. Casually. Like he was talking about the weather, not the offering of his own children to some creepy god.

Shiro stared at him, just wondering how someone could be this heartless.

"Have you lost your mind?"

His voice came out quieter than he expected. Which somehow made it worse.

"They are kids, Kuro." He stepped closer, looking straight into the blindfold where his brother’s eyes should have been. "Your kids, man. You held them. You named them."

"I have never held them." Kuro’s voice didn’t waver. Didn’t crack. Didn’t do anything at all. "Nor have I named them."

Shiro’s eyes widened, before dropping to the ground.

Those words tore through him worse than any blade ever had. Worse than the pit. Worse than all the snake bites. Because those things made sense, and came from a man he already knew was a monster—not from a guy who shared Rei’s and Nilha’s blood.

His teeth clenched so hard his jaw ached, but he forced the next words out.

"Then why bring them into this world?"

"A mistake." Kuro said it without hesitation. Without pause. Without a single crack in that dead, flat voice. "I made the same mistake as our father."

His foot sank into the ground.

The island shook.

The ground split in jagged lines around his feet. The captains standing at the edges stumbled and fell backward.

He chuckled, broken. ’The same mistake as our father.’

’The same mistake.’

’Like we were mistakes. Like they are mistakes.’

He wanted to hit him. Wanted to grab Kuro by the throat and shake him until something human fell out of that empty shell of a brother.

But he didn’t.

He closed his eyes. Took a breath.

And when he opened his eyes again, he felt calm. Quiet.

Well, almost.

The sound of crying pierced his ears. Small. Fragile.

His eyes moved toward the main house just in time to see his mother leaping up the mountainside, carrying something in her arms. Something small. Something alive.

He looked at Kuro. Expressionless as always. Like a statue someone had forgotten to finish carving.

"Fine."

He took a single step forward.

And appeared.

He closed the distance in a blink. One moment he was at the bottom. The next he was right in front of his mother, close enough to see her eyes widen in surprise. The daggers had already materialized in his hands, and he brought them down aiming for her shoulders.

"Don’t worry," he said, grinning, full of excitement, "this is going to sting just a li—"

Before he could finish, Kuro loomed above him—a shadow that had learned violence. He swung his foot for a brutal clean hit, sending Shiro hurtling back down like a meteor with a grudge against the ground.

But he wasn’t stupid.

Well, he was. But not that stupid.

He twisted mid-fall, boots scraping against rock and dirt as he forced himself to a stop. A thin line of mana thread had already latched on to his mother’s ankle.

He tugged. His mother’s balance buckled mid-air. Her body tilted, the babies shifting in her grip as gravity remembered it had work to do.

He pulled harder, swinging her toward him like a pendulum. Arms ready to catch his nieces while slamming his foot onto his mother’s face.

And for once in his miserable life, everything was actually going to work—

The thread snapped.

’I gotta really learn to keep my mouth shut.’

His father pushed himself out of the rubble, reaching up and snapping his jaw back into place with a crack.

"That was a good punch," he muttered, moving his jaw, making sure it still worked.

"Took you long enough to get up," Shiro muttered as he wiped the dust off himself. "I thought I splattered you like a bug."

His father laughed. Low. Genuine. Proud. Almost made his skin crawl.

"I didn’t want to interrupt you two." Then his expression darkened. The air around him shifted like the temperature had just dropped ten degrees. "This time, I’ll kill you myself."

Shiro sighed and ignored him completely.

His eyes moved to Kuro instead.

"It’s sad," he said quietly.

Then he grabbed Kuro’s face. His fingers clamped down hard, pressing into the blindfold.

"Those kids will never know their father."

And he hurled him.

Kuro’s body tore through the air, crashing into the crop field behind him—hard enough to leave a crater.

Shiro turned toward Boris and Noris.

"Keep that fool busy."

Then he turned his attention back to his father. Smiled. The dangerous kind.

"After I’m done with you," he said, rolling his shoulder, "I’m going to beat some sense into my idiot brother."

"Alright, old man. We start at three."

"Three."

His fist was already moving.

The uppercut caught his father clean under the jaw, snapping his head back, feet lifting off the ground. Before gravity could even think about pulling him down, Shiro followed up—driving his foot into the old man’s gut with everything he had. His father flew backward, crashing back into the rubble he’d just climbed out of.

But he wasn’t done.

From behind him, a thousand arrows materialized in the air, humming with gray light, each one locked on target. They rained down on the rubble like a storm that had a personal vendetta. At the same time, he charged a massive one—dense, heavy, glowing bright enough to cast shadows in every direction—and sent it screaming toward his father.

The explosion shook the ground.

"That’s cheating, kid! You didn’t count right!" one of the captains shouted from behind him.

"Oh, shut up."

He turned, ready to fire back another insult, and froze.

Nora. Standing next to Richard. On the battlefield. Where they were absolutely, one hundred percent not supposed to be.

"What are you doing here?"

And for that brief, stupid moment, he lost focus.

His father lunged out of the wreckage.

But Shiro’s senses were faster than his mistakes. He spun just in time to see his father’s massive arm reaching for him—fingers wide enough to crush his skull like a grape.

Instinct took over.

He grabbed the arm, planted his feet, and slammed his father’s massive body into the ground. The earth cracked under the impact, dust erupting outward in a wave.

In the same motion, he was on top of him.

Fist after fist rained down. A barrage with no rhythm, just raw, furious, relentless. Each blow landing with a sound that made the captains wince.

And behind him, the dust in the air pulled together—forming another massive arrow.

"Here, catch."

He fired it point-blank into his father’s face.

Then leapt backward, boots skidding across the dirt, putting distance between them.

"Damn it."

His father lay there, giggling under his clenched teeth while holding the arrow between his beast-like jagged fangs. He pushed himself up slowly, cracking his joints one by one like he’d just gotten the best massage of his life—not a battle to the death.

And with one brutal bite, the arrow detonated between his teeth.

’Oh. That’s not good.’

"Is this all you got?" he asked.

"Not even close," Shiro said confidently.

It was a lie. He had nothing left.

"That’s good. Don’t disappoint me."

With that, the air thickened. Almost suffocating. The kind of pressure that didn’t just push down on your body but pressed against your lungs from the inside—like the atmosphere itself had decided breathing was a privilege Shiro hadn’t earned yet.

But he didn’t flinch.

He turned toward the others, all of them feeling it too—the weight of his father’s presence crushing down on them like invisible hands.

"I will tell you once more. Leave this area." His voice was flat. "I will count to three."

"Three."

They all vanished.

Every single one of them, because at this point they’d figured out that Shiro’s version of counting involved skipping every number that wasn’t the last one.

’I was going to count to zero this time too. They’re learning.’

Richard grabbed Nora before she could protest, practically dragging her backward. She fought it. Of course she did. But Richard’s grip held, and all Shiro caught before they disappeared into the distance was her face.

Watching him. Carrying that look.

The look made of fear and worry—twisted together so tightly he couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

He looked away.

’Don’t make that face. I’ll be fine.’

He wasn’t sure if he believed that.

But she didn’t need to know that.

’Please, Richard. Take her away from here.’

A quieter thought. The kind he’d never let reach his mouth.

’I don’t know if I can do this.’

And for the first time since he climbed out of that well—Shiro could feel his luck running out.????????????????????????????????