The air split.
Steel sang through frost. Two blades collided in mid-arc — the clash of Zander and Raixin forming a shockwave that rippled the snow-laden air into trembling rings of light. For an instant, time seemed to freeze between the twin flashes of silver. Sparks sprayed outward like scattering stars.
Then, in that stretched instant, Aethros moved.
The creature's pupils narrowed to pinpoints of gold. He saw the path of Raixin's blade — a diagonal arc of death aimed directly for Zander's throat. Instinct screamed before thought. The massive feline lunged forward, snow exploding beneath his paws.
"Aethros—!"
Zander's shout came too late.
The beast's paw struck out, claws igniting with a faint metallic gleam as they met the shortblade's edge. The sound was like glass grinding against bone. Then —
CRACK.
The claw shattered. The fracture ran up the limb in an instant, splitting open flesh and fur. Blood sprayed into the snow like spilled ink on white parchment. The blow continued, biting across Aethros's ribs with a sickening shhkkt!
Aethros's roar tore through the valley, low and guttural — not of rage, but raw pain. He stumbled sideways, his right paw twisted and broken, a deep gash tearing from shoulder to flank.
But in that same heartbeat — Zander's strike landed.
His twin blades traced a crimson arc, glinting with reflected light. The diagonal cut bit through Raixin's guard, shearing across his jaw and temple. Time stuttered.
A look of disbelief crossed Raixin's face.
Then his head parted. Half of it flew in a slow, grotesque tumble through the air, trailing ribbons of red mist. The body staggered, knees buckling before collapsing into the snow.
For a moment, silence.
Only the hiss of falling blood onto frost.
Zander's chest heaved, his breath coming out in clouds of vapor. He looked to Aethros — to the beast struggling to stay upright, golden eyes dimming, chest heaving with uneven rhythm.
"Aethros…"
The name barely escaped him, a whisper caught in a tremor.
Then something in his chest cracked.
It was small — a hairline fracture in his restraint — but it spread fast. The sight of his companion bleeding out, fur matted crimson against white snow, tore through the last threads of balance that held him together.
A pulse began to pound inside his skull.
Thump.Thump.Thump.
His breath shortened. His vision narrowed. The Resonant Equilibrium that had once flowed through him like calm water began to twist. It darkened — faster, heavier — the rhythm of his pulse overtaking the rhythm of the world.
And then it broke.
Zander let out a sound that wasn't human — a half-snarl, half-roar — and his blades came alive.
He moved like a storm given shape.
The nearby mammoths bellowed, their eyes rolling white in panic. One stomped, shaking the frozen ground, and the tremor sent loose shards of rock cascading down the cliffs. A dire wolf lunged toward him — too slow. Zander's blade slashed through its midsection in a blur of silver and red.
Another came from behind. He spun, ducked low, and severed its head in a clean diagonal cut.
He was no longer moving with measured rhythm. He was a force unleashed — primal, relentless, terrifying.
A mammoth charged, tusks gleaming with frost. Zander leapt — not away, but toward it — twisting midair to land on its back. Both swords plunged downward, sinking into the thick hide. The beast screamed, thrashing, but Zander rode the motion like a rider taming fury itself. With one heave, he tore his blades free and slashed downward again — and the creature collapsed, snow exploding around it like a wave.
Blood. Steam. The smell of iron filled the valley.
Above, the Haas eagles — great shadows with wingspans like warships — dove through the smoky air. One swooped low, talons flashing. Zander's arm snapped up — blade slicing through its throat — and he spun to the next without pause.
The world became chaos.
Snow churned with blood. Mammoths crashed through wolves, wolves tore into eagles, eagles screamed as their wings broke against tusks and stone. But through it all, Zander stood at the center — not as man nor beast, but something between.
His movements were a blur of silver arcs and sharp turns — too fluid to be human, too precise to be animal.
When the final dire wolf whimpered and fled, tail tucked and muzzle bleeding, the silence that followed was deafening.
The snow fell again, softly, covering corpses.
Zander stood, chest heaving. His eyes were no longer brown — they glowed faintly red, veins webbing across them like cracks in glass. His blades dripped crimson.
He turned.
Aethros lay still in the snow, breath shallow. The beast's chest rose and fell weakly, blood soaking into the frost around him. His single good eye flickered open, focusing on Zander — and for a moment, there was recognition.
Then Zander's gaze changed.
He took a step forward. His fingers tightened around his blades. His breathing grew harsher.
Something inside him whispered — end it.
He raised one blade.
And then—
"ZANDER!"
The voice cut through the frozen air like thunder.
A figure emerged through the veil of snow — walking calmly from the ridge above, cloak rippling in the wind. The air around him was unnaturally still, the blizzard parting as though unwilling to touch him.
Sensei.
His steps were slow but firm. His gaze locked on Zander — unflinching, resolute.
For a heartbeat, the valley felt smaller, quieter.
"Put it down," Sensei said. His voice carried weight — not of anger, but command. "That's enough."
Zander's head tilted, eyes flickering with confusion — or perhaps recognition buried too deep beneath the haze of rage. He growled low, a sound too feral to belong to a man.
Sensei sighed — a breath heavy with grief. "You've let the serum devour your balance." His tone dropped lower. "This isn't who you are."
Zander's only answer was a roar.
Then he moved.
He lunged, blades flashing.
Sensei barely shifted. His body turned with the motion, sidestepping the twin slashes in a fluid twist that carried the grace of a leaf on wind. His own weapon — a straight, single-edged blade — flickered up, deflecting Zander's second strike with a precise clang.
"Still fast," Sensei murmured. "But reckless."
Zander snarled again, attacking in a flurry — spinning, pivoting, cutting high and low in erratic patterns that blurred into one. Sensei parried each strike with minimal motion, letting Zander's momentum exhaust itself.
Their blades met again and again, sparks glinting off their faces.
"Your balance is gone," Sensei said between clashes, voice sharp. "You're fighting the world, not flowing with it!"
Zander roared wordlessly, pushing harder. Their swords locked, steel grinding against steel, both sets of arms trembling from the strain.
For a brief instant, Sensei's eyes softened. "Remember your father's voice, Zander. The lessons he gave you. The warmth of your mother's hands."
The words hit something deep, but distorted. Zander's expression twisted — for a split second, a flicker of pain, confusion, maybe memory.
Then it vanished in a snarl.
Sensei exhaled, stepping back into stance. "Then I'll bring you back the only way left."
The valley erupted again.
They clashed — over and over — the sound of their blades echoing across the cliffs. Sensei moved with unshakable precision, every motion born from decades of mastery. Zander countered with raw instinct, fury fueling his every step.
The snow exploded beneath their feet. Blades cut arcs of silver through the air.
A high kick from Zander — blocked. A spinning slash — parried. Sensei countered with a lightning-fast palm strike to the ribs, sending Zander staggering backward.
But Zander only grinned — a feral, bloodied grin — and surged forward again.
Sensei's brow furrowed. He's getting faster…
Each motion of Zander's became smoother, sharper — a rhythm starting to form beneath the chaos. His fury wasn't wild anymore; it was… focused.
Sensei recognized it. He's adapting — even now.
Their blades met again. Snow burst outward. The impact cracked the frozen ground beneath them.
Sensei stepped in, grabbed Zander's wrist mid-swing, and twisted — forcing one blade to fall from his grip. But Zander pivoted, slashing with the other, the motion fluid and vicious. Sensei barely ducked under it, feeling the wind of the blade kiss his cheek.
"Zander! Listen to me!"
No response. Only breath and rage.
Their movements grew faster — strikes too rapid to follow. The clanging rhythm of steel filled the air like a percussive storm.
Sensei blocked a low sweep, countered with a backhand strike that cut through Zander's shoulder guard, drawing blood. Zander didn't even flinch — he retaliated immediately, twisting his blade upward in a fluid, animalistic spin.
The clash flared bright — sparks, frost, and blood all scattering in the air.
Sensei felt his arm shake. He could sense the shift.
Something in Zander's resonance was… mutating. The rhythm — once stable, then shattered — was now reforming into something else. It pulsed like a living thing, wild but purposeful.
Sensei's eyes narrowed. No… he's—
The ground beneath them split as Zander's aura surged outward, a shockwave of sheer will.
His movements changed — the fury was still there, but it was guided now, the storm curving into shape.
He spun, blades crossing in a twin arc that glowed faintly crimson. His entire body followed through in perfect, terrifying harmony — every muscle, every breath, every beat of his heart synchronized into one motion.
Sensei braced himself, sensing what was coming.
"Zander—"
But it was too late.
The air howled. The snow lifted like wings.
Zander's blades cut downward in a spiral of scarlet light.
Heaven's Duality Flow — Crimson Fangs.
The strike split the storm itself. Twin arcs of red energy tore through the air, spiraling with feral grace — the fluidity of water and the ferocity of a predator combined into one perfect motion.
The world went silent for a heartbeat.
Then — impact.
The valley floor erupted, sending a shockwave of snow and dust into the air.
When the haze settled, Zander stood in the crater — blades lowered, breath heaving, eyes glowing faintly beneath the flickering twilight.
Sensei stood across from him, sword drawn, expression unreadable — both calm and grave.
The storm around them stilled.
Only the wind whispered through the valley.
And in that silence, Sensei looked at him — his student, his almost-son — and knew that something irreversible had just awakened.