As the figure walked in. The smoke parted around him like it was alive.
Slow. Purposeful. Like he wanted to drag it out, wanted them to feel every second.
His shape grew clearer with each step. A man—tall, lean, his body wrapped in torn, blood-stained leathers.
The skin on his face was pale and smooth, too clean.
And the mana rolling off him. Thick, oily, choking.
Everyone froze, their instincts screaming danger.
Kyle’s breath caught in his throat as his fingers curled tighter around Zalrielle’s hilt. The tachi trembled slightly in his grip.
Eleanora moved beside him. Her estoc shimmering with a pulse of dark energy. Her face was blank, cold. But Kyle could see the tension in her jaw.
Reo raised his spear, spinning it once, then braced his stance.
Aaron shifted forward, holding his axe in his one working hand. He didn’t speak. But the way he stood. He was ready to fight to the death.
The man finally stepped into full view, green eyes gleaming. He stopped a few paces away from them.
It was a wide, broken grin. The kind that didn’t reach the eyes. A smile made by someone who found pain funny.
"Oh," the man said, his voice smooth, calm. Too calm.
"Still breathing, are we? That’s... disappointing. I was hoping you would be corpses by now."
He took another step.
The temperature dropped. The mana grew heavier, more twisted. It coiled like a predator around them.
"I must admit," he said, voice still soft but filled with something darker, "I didn’t think you’d make it through the others. The corrupted, the traps.... But here you are."
Reo narrowed his eyes. "Who the hell are you?"
The man tilted his head.
"Just a humble servant," he said with a crooked smile. "Of madness."
His mana surged. Thick tendrils of demonic energy spreading out, licking across the floor.
Kyle’s legs tensed. His heart pounded in his chest.
"You have reached the end of the line," the cultist said. He raised one of his daggers.
The curved blade dripping fresh blood. "This is where it ends."
Eleanora’s voice cut through the silence. "What did you do to the others on this train?"
A loud. Unhinged. Echoing laugh.
"Oh, the others?" he said, as if remembering. "Yes. I killed them... One. By. One."
He held up his second dagger. It was soaked in blood.
"The children screamed the loudest," he whispered, licking the blade. "Especially that little girl in the pink dress and pig tails."
Kyle’s eyes widened in realization.
’Anaya’. His heart dropped.
He couldn’t breathe for a second.
He remembered her face. Her smile.
"You monster..." Kyle muttered. Stepping forward slightly.
The cultist grinned wider.
"I know," he said happily.
Faster than they could react.
One moment he was standing still, and the next— He was right in front of Kyle.
Kyle’s eyes widened. He barely had time to react. He raised Zalrielle, his tachi, just in time to block the first strike.
Steel met steel with a loud screech. Sparks flying as the curved dagger scraped across the blade.
But he wasn’t fast enough.
Pain flared along Kyle’s ribs. The cultist’s second dagger had slipped through, cutting just beneath his arm.
It wasn’t deep. But it was sharp. Precise. The kind of wound meant to weaken, not kill.
Kyle gasped and staggered back.
The cultist twirled his daggers, his grin widening. "Mmm," he hummed, tilting his head. "You bleed so nicely."
He turned before Kyle could recover.
His body twisted like smoke as he lunged at Reo.
Reo blocked the first strike with the shaft of his spear, the metal clanging loudly.
But the cultist was already moving around him. Too fast. Too fluid. With a flick of his wrist, one dagger dragged across Reo’s thigh.
Reo winced, stumbling back.
"So fragile," the cultist whispered. He brought the blade to his tongue and licked the blood. "All of you."
Eleanora didn’t wait.
She darted in from the side. Her estoc flashing with a pulse of darkness. She aimed straight for his heart.
The cultist twisted, barely avoiding the thrust. Her blade still grazed his side, cutting through cloth and drawing blood.
But instead of flinching, he laughed.
A wild, broken laugh.
"You want to hurt me?" he said, voice rising. "Come on then. Cut me. Bleed me!"
He slashed at her with both daggers.
Eleanora ducked the first, caught the second with her estoc’s guard. But the force pushed her back a step.
Kyle growled and charged in again. Ignoring the pain in his ribs and legs. Lightning sparked along Zalrielle as he swung it in a wide arc, aiming for the cultist’s side.
But the cultist ducked under the blade like it was nothing and rolled away, nimble and fast. He bounced to his feet, spinning once, blades out.
His coat fluttered, blood dripping from fresh cuts. And still, that grin never faded.
He looked like he was enjoying every second of this.
The cultist jumped back. Landing lightly on his feet.
"Ah, now this is fun!" the cultist shouted. Spinning in place like he was dancing.
Aaron roared in answer, his voice full of rage. He charged, his axe glowing faintly with wind energy. Every step shook the floor.
He raised his weapon high and brought it down with all his strength.
The cultist caught the axe between his twin daggers, metal grinding against metal. The force of the hit pushed him back a few steps. But he didn’t flinch.
Aaron didn’t let up. He yanked his axe back and swung again, aiming to split the man in two.
"Why?" Aaron shouted, voice shaking. "Why did you do it? Those people... they were innocent!"
The cultist stopped moving.
No longer playful. No longer amused.
His green eyes met Aaron’s. Colder now. Cruel.
"Innocent?" the cultist said softly. "You think that matters?"
He took a small step forward, daggers at his sides.
"They screamed," he continued. "They begged. Cried. And then..."
He chuckled, low and bitter.
Aaron’s face twisted in anger. He stepped forward again. Raising his axe once more.
The cultist didn’t back away.
Aaron barely had time to react.
In the blink of an eye. The cultist ducked under the swing, slipping right past the axe’s arc. He drove one dagger forward—
Straight into Aaron’s chest.
Aaron’s body went stiff. His eyes wide with shock.
Blood dripped from the corner of his mouth, trailing down his chin.
The cultist leaned in. His face inches from Aaron’s.
"You’re boring," he whispered.
He twisted the blade.