"It's simple."
Keith's voice was calm. Measured. Almost cold.
He looked at Calvin for a long time, his eyes unreadable.
"I can never have a brother who is useless. Who is horrible." He paused. "Who can't ever amount to anything."
He snorted, a sound of bitter amusement.
"Who is hated by his own younger brother. Who won't ever bring himself to talk to his own brother until I came to him."
Keith fell silent. His face shifted—the hardness cracking, just slightly. The low hum of the machines filled the space between them. The beeping monitors. The faint whir of the ventilation system.
Then he let out a low chuckle. It was hollow. Broken.
"Just because he thinks he is. And believes he is."
He paused. His voice dropped lower.
"Calvin, since I woke up from four years of coma, I just wanted one word from you. That word was sorry."
He bent his head low. His red hair fell across his eyes.
Calvin's eyes trembled heavily. His throat tightened. His lips parted—but no sound came out.
"But it seems you are the one holding grudges. Not me."
Keith stood up. His voice was still low, pitiful, almost a whisper.
"Which type of a big brother would see his younger one wake up from four years of sleep—and not have the guts to approach him? Just because of a fight?"
He paused. The question hung in the air like smoke.
"Who does that?"
Calvin was silent. Speechless. His mouth opened and closed, but the words wouldn't come.
"But don't worry." Keith's voice was flat now. Empty. "Maybe I found a replacement."
He walked to the door. Opened it. Paused.
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut.
Calvin stared at the empty space where his brother had been. His eyes were red. His chest heaved. His fists clenched so tight his nails bit into his palms.
All the memories came flooding back. The fight. The fall. The blood. Keith's body on the floor. The four years of silence.
There was one word he never knew how to say.
Sorry.
Tears flowed down his cheeks. He didn't try to stop them. He let them come—hot, heavy, endless.
He had cried before. Many times. But this time was different. This time, the tears didn't bring relief. They only made the weight in his chest heavier.
The machines kept beeping. The room kept humming.
And Calvin sat alone in the silence, drowning in the one word he could never say.
Mystical Eraland
The wind blew heavily across the crimson plains.
The sky was dark—but not the darkness of night. It was deeper than that, stained with a faint reddish shimmer, like blood diluted in water. The trees bent under the force of the gale, their leaves trembling and snapping.
A chain swept through the air.
It moved like a serpent—fast, precise, hungry—and ripped through a werewolf's neck. The edges of the chain caught the flesh, tearing it clean. The head rolled across the grass, eyes still wide.
Gina sprinted without stopping.
Her boots found the branches of trees, propelling her higher. She dove from trunk to trunk, her body a blur of motion, her chain spinning around her like a vortex of death.
She rotated in the air—high enough to see the battlefield below. The werewolves moved in packs, their claws flashing, their jaws snapping.
An epic-rank werewolf was already diving up towards her direction.
"Shit," she hissed, her voice laced with arrogance.
Her muscles swelled. Her chain flung up.
TIME TO DIE!
Her scream followed the immense splitting of the werewolf's head as the chain impacted with brutal force.
THWAACK!
Blood splattered across the air. She landed, her boots hitting the grassy ground with a heavy thud.
"Gina!" a voice called out. "Watch your back!"
One of her gangsmen sprinted—moving like water between the beasts. But he was too slow.
Claws ripped through his flesh, sending him flying inches away. His body slammed into a tree. He didn't get up.
Gina's back hit the ground hard. She coughed out blood.
"Damn," she moaned, staggering in pain. "I'm not going to give up easily."
She tried to rise. Her muscles screamed. Her ribs ached. Her vision blurred.
A werewolf was already heading towards her, its claws raised, ready to swipe her face.
Its head flew up.
CRACK!
Connie landed beside her, blade dripping with blood.
"Who told you I need your help?" Gina gasped.
Connie glared at her.
"Shit, I was just worried, you know?"
Gina rolled her eyes. She raised her leg, boosted forward, and Connie followed.
"No time to chit-chat," Gina said, her voice tightening. "We have to help the others and clear this place."
They spun in the air. Their weapons swept through the darkness, blood spraying across the battlefield. Heads of wolves fell to the ground. Bodies crumpled.
Until only three remained.
"Okay, guys." Gina's voice was sharp. Her boots hit the loamy soil. "All of you attack the three wolves from all directions. Slit their throats. Me and Connie will head for the boss. Understood?"
She boosted forward without waiting for an answer.
Everyone diverted. Running. Setting into position.
The three wolves dove—their claws snapping hunters' heads off. They were stronger. Faster. More ferocious.
But they were outnumbered.
Gina and Connie dove from tree to tree, heading toward the boss. They were almost above it. Almost ready.
They rotated down. Boosted. About to strike from each of its sides.
Only when it was too late—
Spikes filled the whole wolf's body.
"No!" Connie screamed.
Iron shafts fired from the beast's body, blasting everyone away. Hunters who hadn't noticed were shattered to pieces—flesh and blood spraying through the air.
Gina landed on the ground. Groaned heavily. Couldn't stand up.
Her back ached. Her armor was cracked. Crushed.
Blood gushed from her mouth. She could barely feel her limbs.
The boss wolf was approaching.
Its footsteps were heavy. Deliberate. Six limbs. Six red eyes. It was immense. Powerful. Terrifying.
Sweat poured from every pore on her body.
"No... no, Connie," she called out.
No reply.
"Is—is this how it ends?"
Her heart thumped against her ribs.
"How will my father survive?"
Her eyes widened. She shook.
"Am I going to die? Who will take care of him?"
She thought of her sick father in the hospital. Suffering from a virus. Alone. Dying.
"I don't want to die like this."
The wolf kept moving.
Its footsteps grew closer.
And then—
THUD.
The ground quaked.
THUD.
The whole sky turned purely red.
THUD.
Every tree within its path melted.
The werewolf paused. It couldn't withstand the heat. It couldn't move.
Gina turned her neck slowly to her right.
Meters away, a being moved.
Or was it a being?
Faceless. Red smoke rising from where a face should be. A blood moon shone above, mighty and powerful, casting its crimson glow across the land.
It had no arms. Only legs. Nine massive blood-red tails stretched across every angle from its back.
Wh—what is that?
Her voice was too small. Her whole body trembled.
Then the being stopped. A severe wind blew from the distance where it stood.
It turned around. Slowly. Impossibly.
It looked at her.
For a whole minute—or was it a minute? To her, it seemed like an eternity.
They stared at each other.
Gina felt numb. Her brain couldn't scream. Fear itself hesitated.
The being turned back. It kept moving its way.
Gina's eyes were wide open. She couldn't think. Couldn't hold her breath. Couldn't do anything.
The wind stopped moving.
Not even the creeping creatures made a noise.
She remained still.
For the first time in her life, Gina understood what true terror felt like.
End of Chapter Twenty-Five.