Now fully transformed into his shapeshifter form, Lonor was a blur of muscle and claws—his jaguar body slicing through the battlefield like a storm made flesh. With a furious roar, he launched himself at Tornem, whose body jerked under each strike like a corpse strung on invisible wires.
Every blow fed Tornem's trait, his strength blooming with pain like poison spreading through a wound—but it didn't matter. The chasm between them was too wide. His growth was a candle in a hurricane.
With a savage cry, Lonor's claws drove through Tornem's chest. Blood gushed. Tornem's body spasmed.
"This is the end," Lonor said coldly, his fangs stained red, his breath thick with the scent of fresh kill.
Tornem looked down at the gaping wound in his chest and then back at the beast looming over him. His grin never wavered.
"To think… you were this strong in your true form. Incredible," he rasped, teeth pink with blood. "I admit it—it's my defeat…"
"At least you know," Lonor muttered, his voice like gravel soaked in rage.
Tornem nodded, still grinning. But something behind his eyes gleamed darkly.
"Yes… my defeat… as Tornem the Grey."
Before Lonor could blink, a dark crystal embedded in Tornem's discarded spear trembled—then dislodged. It pulsed violently, a cursed seed ripened in agony. It rocketed through the air, forcing itself into Tornem's mouth.
He swallowed it like venom returning to the serpent.
His body convulsed. Skin turned from ash-grey to void-black. His armor dripped from him like tar, sucked into the writhing shadows. His eyes became bottomless wells—no iris, no whites—just pure oblivion.
The spear dissolved, consumed by the ether.
"This… is my full power," he hissed, his voice laced with the whispers of things that should not speak. "And the power… that will kill you, Lonor the Beast."
Lonor stepped back, something primal in him flinching. His pupils narrowed.
"What is this…? His mana—it just doubled. His claws—longer. Body—twisted. There's something wrong. He's not the same creature anymore."
"Let's end this," Tornem snarled.
He burst forward—one fist from the right, a clawed slash from the left, then a knee like a hammer smashing Lonor's gut.
BOOM.
Lonor flew back, coughing blood midair, bouncing through trees like a stone across water. Bark shattered. Roots snapped. The forest trembled.
"I'm losing… in strength?" he thought, blood trickling from his jaw. "That damn red crystal… it changed everything. His trait makes him stronger with pain, and now—he's overwhelming."
"If this keeps going—I'm dead."
A guttural snarl broke from Lonor's throat. He lunged again, a bolt of death and desperation. His claws flashed like silver lightning tearing through night.
Speed. That was still his edge.
Tornem spun in place, eyes wide, as Lonor became a phantom—claws slashing from every direction. Wind howled with each near-miss. His movements bled into the air, a whirlwind of killing instinct.
"Is that how you wanna play—!" Tornem growled.
"Skill: Purple Storm – Active!" he roared.
Wind shrieked. A violent tornado wrapped itself around Tornem like a lover made of blades, repelling Lonor in a blast of screaming air and violet light.
"What!?" Lonor gasped, shielding his eyes. "He… has skills!?"
"You're shocked?" Tornem said, grinning. "What are you—stupid? You think you're the only one with a gift?"
"You're… a superhuman!?"
Tornem laughed, deep and mocking.
"Superhuman? Are you a beast in the head, too?"
"We intelligent monsters don't need to awaken to get skills. Our bodies are already strong enough to hold them. Humans only awaken so they don't break under the strain."
He stepped forward. The air around him bent in submission.
"Guess living with the elves made you soft."
"Shut up!" Lonor snarled and lunged again.
But Purple Storm surged. A smaller tornado blasted from Tornem's palm, homing in like a predator. Lonor barely dodged, spinning midair. He dashed sideways—trying to flank, trying to breathe.
Too slow.
Tornem was already there.
He weaved past Lonor's claw, then slammed both fists into the jaguar's ribs—once, twice, thrice. Bones cracked. Blood erupted from Lonor's mouth.
He staggered back, panting. His limbs trembled.
"...Shit," he whispered. "He's too strong now…"
"You weren't bad, Lonor," Tornem said. "Not at all. I'll remember you."
Lonor raised both arms for a final strike—his claws gleamed with desperate fury.
Tornem caught them with ease. A wall of strength.
"It's meaningless," he said. "You can't win. No matter how much you try."
Then—Lonor's voice dropped low.
"Do you know why they call me The Beast… even when I walk like a man and shift between skins?"
"Why they don't call me just Jaguar?"
Tornem's grin faltered.
Lonor's jaws opened wide, fangs like daggers forged in madness, blood dripping, breath reeking of rot and ancient hunger.
"When I can't win with strategy… I stop thinking like a man."
His glowing green eyes locked on Tornem's soul.
"I fight on instinct. Not a man's. Not a monster's. A beast's."
Tornem froze.
If he let go—he'd be ripped apart.
If he didn't—he'd be consumed whole.
"Shit—! Shit! You fucker! Even monsters don't fight like this—!"
CHOMP.
Tornem's head vanished.
Blood sprayed like a geyser. Trees dripped crimson. The forest floor drank it like a hungry god.
Lonor stood over the twitching, headless corpse. His fur was soaked. His chest heaved.
He growled low, fangs still bared.
"But beasts do."
His knees buckled. Drained, he collapsed onto his back, jaguar form melting into human flesh. Each breath was ragged, like his lungs were stitched from knives.
"I couldn't lose here. Not now. Not after leaving someone like me behind… without ever learning about him."
He thought of Icariel.
"I… I need to move. I need to warn the others…" he muttered, pushing himself up with trembling arms.
Blood ran down his side.
"That red crystal… it was embedded in his weapon. If the others have them too… and if they grow stronger from it…"
His vision swam.
"Damn it… I have to tell them to be careful…"
He staggered to his feet.
"Ahh… ahhh… I'm so… tired…"
In a distant forest clearing, lit by sparks of steel and ripples of magic, Eldrin exchanged blow after blow with Ginis, their clash a storm of fire and fury.
Then—Ginis froze. Her pupils flicked toward the distant woods.
"Tornem…" she thought. "He lost. Even with the crystal, he lost. What a failure."
Near the castle outskirts, Aelar fought a dark-haired warrior of the Godless Abyss, blades grinding, their duel carving lines into the earth.
Aelar's sword sliced forward, opening a line across the man's cheek.
"Something's on your mind," Aelar said calmly. "Did something happen to your companions?"
The man's eye twitched—but his smile didn't falter.
"Tornem… you fool. Even the crystal couldn't save you. Good thing we planned ahead. If not…"
He glanced at Aelar again.
"And this warleader… Something's wrong. The more I wound him, the faster he heals. He doesn't stop. So this is the elf they warned me about…"
"Oh, nothing," he said, grinning. "Just one pest died. No big loss. You'll be joining him soon anyway."
Aelar smirked, eyes gleaming.
"It's good to dream. I like that."
BAM.
They charged again, swords howling, sparks flying.
Far from the chaos, one of the Four Pillars, Tessara, arrived at the elven village.
What met her was carnage—scorched bodies, shattered homes. Crogs prowled among the dead. Shadows moved like predators.
A sharp, shrill laugh pierced the silence.
Tessara vanished, stealth wrapping around her like mist.
On a broken platform stood a blue-haired woman in torn black armor, bearing the twisted emblem of the Abyss. Her chest and legs were exposed in sadistic confidence. Her eyes gleamed with manic joy.
She held a screaming elven child by the throat.
"I love this part," she giggled. "That look—so much fear. So much hate. AHAHA… Do you hate me? I killed your family. Do you despise me?"
Her grip tightened.
"Say it! Say it! Scream your hate like it means something!"
FWIP.
A knife whistled through the air.
The woman dodged, barely. It slashed her shoulder. The child fell, gasping.
She turned, eyes glowing.
"Ohhh?" she whispered. "Look at that… Some bitch just ruined my fun."
She licked her blood from the knife's edge.
"You'll pay for that," she growled.
From the smoke stepped Tessara, face masked, silver eyes burning.
"I'll kill you," she said, her voice like frostbite. "And I'll make you suffer."
Deep underground, behind glowing white stone, Icariel sat quietly. Elena and Elif lay nearby, sleeping uneasily.
Then—
The voice returned.
"Get ready. Right now."
Icariel froze. His heartbeat spiked.
"It's time."
The air thickened.
"You need to awaken… as a superhuman."
The silence cracked.
"It's time to obtain your second power. And you need to obtain it now."
Icariel's eyes widened.
[End of Chapter 45]