Extra word counts readers due to the late upload
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Sabre's body hit the scorched floor with a dull thud.
For a brief moment, there was nothing—no sound, no pain, no thought. Just a hollow stillness, like the pause between two heartbeats. Then his fingers twitched.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
He pushed himself up on trembling arms. His muscles screamed in protest, not from weakness this time, but from excess—too much power surging through flesh that had never known how to carry it. Every movement felt foreign, as if his body no longer obeyed the rules it once lived by.
He inhaled.
The air burned, but it no longer suffocated him.
Sabre clenched his fist.
The moment he did, the ground beneath his hand cracked.
Fine fractures spider-webbed across the chamber floor, spreading outward from his knuckles. He froze, eyes narrowing, then slowly loosened his grip. The cracks stopped growing—but they did not heal.
A low, unsteady laugh escaped his throat.
"So this is… Night Pulse."
The words felt strange in his mouth. He could feel the cultivation flowing through him now—not as a faint spark, but as a steady, violent rhythm. It surged through his meridians like a second heartbeat, dark and fast, carrying with it the residue of the prismatic soul flame.
He stood.
The chains that once bound him slid off his wrists and ankles, melting into useless slag the moment his aura brushed against them. Sabre barely noticed. His attention was inward, focused on the overwhelming sensations tearing through him.
Strength.
Speed.
Awareness.
Every sound beyond the chamber walls reached him clearly now—the uneasy shifting of armored feet, the shallow breaths of frightened knights, the barely restrained tension in the princess' stance.
And beneath it all…
Bloodlust.
It came suddenly, violently, like a tide crashing through his mind. Images flashed unbidden—flesh tearing, bones snapping, screams echoing in the dark. His pulse spiked, vision narrowing as a savage urge crawled up from his soul.
To kill.
To burn.
To erase everything standing before him.
Sabre staggered, teeth grinding as he forced himself to stay upright.
"No…" he muttered hoarsely.
This wasn't him. Or at least—it wasn't supposed to be. But the prismatic soul flame responded eagerly to that murderous intent, flaring brighter within him, feeding the darkness instead of resisting it.
He understood then.
The power wasn't cruel.
It was honest.
It reflected what lived inside him—his resentment, his rage, his regret. Everything he had buried while running, hiding, surviving.
And right now… all of it wanted blood.
The chamber gate groaned.
With a shrill screech of tortured metal, it began to open.
Light spilled in, cold and white, cutting through the heat-scorched darkness. The knights outside recoiled instinctively as Sabre's aura washed over them—dense, heavy, oppressive.
Several took a step back.
One dropped his weapon.
The princess stood at the front, her expression locked in disbelief that bordered on fury. Her eyes swept over Sabre—his scorched yet restored body, the faint prismatic glow lingering around him, the shattered remains of the purgatory chamber.
"…You survived," she said quietly.
Sabre lifted his head.
For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke.
Then his lips curved—not into a smile, but something colder.
"Looks like I disappointed you."
The air between them thickened.
The knights shifted nervously. They could feel it too now—the pressure, the suffocating weight of Sabre's presence. This wasn't the broken fugitive they had dragged through the forest.
This was something sharpened by death.
The princess raised her hand, frost gathering instinctively around her fingers—but for the first time, there was hesitation in her eyes.
Sabre took one step forward.
The stone beneath his foot shattered.
Bloodlust surged again, stronger this time, flooding his senses. His vision tinted red as instinct screamed at him to move, to strike, to slaughter his way out of the palace.
Another step.
The knights flinched.
"Hold your ground!" the princess snapped, though her voice lacked its earlier certainty.
Bloodlust.
It flooded his mind like a breaking dam.
Images rose unbidden—steel piercing flesh, bones shattering, bodies collapsing at his feet. The urge was raw, instinctive, and terrifyingly sweet. His fingers twitched as if remembering how to kill long before his mind gave permission.
The knights felt it before he moved.
An invisible pressure slammed into them, forcing several to their knees. Armor rattled violently. One man screamed as his blade slipped from numb fingers and clattered uselessly across the floor.
The princess stepped forward, frost exploding around her feet as she summoned her power instinctively. Her eyes were sharp, furious—but beneath it all, something else had crept in.
Fear.
"SABRE!" she shouted. "You think you've won? You are still inside my palace—"
He vanished.
One moment he stood before them, the next the space he occupied collapsed inward with a thunderous crack. A knight barely had time to widen his eyes before Sabre appeared in front of him, hand already gripping his throat.
There was no technique.
No mercy.
Sabre squeezed.
Bone crushed. Flesh caved. The knight's scream ended in a wet, choking sound as his body went limp. Sabre released him casually, letting the corpse hit the ground like discarded trash.
The bloodlust howled.
He turned.
Another knight raised his spear in panic.
Too slow.
Sabre stepped into the strike, letting the blade scrape uselessly across his side. Pain flared—but the prismatic flame devoured it instantly. He drove his elbow into the man's chest.
CRACK.
Ribs shattered inward. The knight flew backward, crashing into the wall with such force that stone fractured behind him. He slid down slowly, leaving a smear of blood.
Chaos erupted.
"Kill him!"
"Fall back!"
"Protect the princess!"
Ice arrows tore through the air, frost blades descended from above—but Sabre moved like a shadow untethered from reality. Each step cracked the ground. Each strike ended a life.
A sword came down toward his neck.
He caught it.
The metal screamed as his fingers tightened, the blade crumpling like soft clay. Sabre ripped it free and drove the shattered edge into the knight's chest.
Blood sprayed across his face.
Something inside him snapped.
He laughed.
A harsh, broken sound ripped from his throat as he spun, tearing through the remaining knights with savage efficiency. Every movement was instinct. Every strike fed the hunger clawing at his soul.
The princess unleashed her power.
A wave of glacial frost surged forward, freezing the air itself. Ice spears formed instantly, launching toward Sabre from every direction.
They shattered against him.
Not because he blocked them—but because his aura burned too fiercely. The prismatic flame flared, melting ice into steam before it could touch him.
She stepped back, disbelief twisting her features.
"You—what have you become?!"
Sabre turned slowly.
Blood dripped from his fingers. His chest rose and fell violently. His eyes—once human—now glowed faintly with swirling, unnatural light.
He took a step toward her.
She struck first.
A blade of condensed ice slammed into his torso, detonating in a violent burst of frost that sent him skidding backward. For a moment, the knights dared to hope.
Then the ice cracked.
Sabre walked out of it.
His wounds closed before their eyes, flesh knitting together as if time itself had reversed. He wiped frost from his lips and looked at her—really looked at her.
"You wanted me to feel pain," he said softly.
"Congratulations."
He moved.
The distance between them vanished.
Sabre slammed his fist into her guard, shattering her ice barrier instantly. The impact sent her flying across the hall, crashing through a marble pillar and into the far wall.
She coughed, blood staining her lips.
Before she could rise, Sabre was there.
He grabbed her by the collar and lifted her off the ground, slamming her back against the stone hard enough to crack it. Frost leaked uncontrollably from her body as her cultivation wavered under his grip.
The hall fell silent.
The surviving knights froze, terror carved deep into their faces.
"This is impossible…" one whispered.
Sabre leaned closer to the princess, his voice low and burning.
"Where was your strength when I was running?"
"Where was your mercy when you condemned me to that chamber?"
His grip tightened.
She gasped, fingers clawing uselessly at his wrist.
For a heartbeat—just one—death hovered inches away.
Then—
The bloodlust paused.
Not faded.
Paused.
A pressure descended upon the hall like the weight of a falling mountain. Flames flickered. Frost shattered. Sabre's aura stuttered violently, as if something vast had pressed down upon it.
Footsteps echoed.
Slow. Calm. Certain.
Sabre released the princess abruptly, letting her collapse to the floor as he turned toward the corridor.
An elderly figure stepped into the hall.
Crimson robes embroidered with ancient flame sigils. White hair flowing loosely down his back. Eyes glowing faintly, like embers buried beneath centuries of ash.
He surveyed the destruction.
The corpses.
The shattered pillars.
The ruined purgatory chamber.
Then his gaze settled on Sabre.
A faint smile tugged at his lips.
"…So," the elder said quietly, "you are the one who devoured my flame."
The bloodlust inside Sabre roared in response.
But for the first time since awakening—
He felt something stronger than hunger.
Danger.