missing strength

As the head of Hephaestus began to reform, decomposing roots shot out from his neck. His severed head lay splattered on the ground, yet his body remained upright, undeterred. It took two minutes, but slowly—grotesquely—his entire head regenerated, flesh knitting itself back together as if reversing death itself.

Servus watched the entire process in silence, his golden eyes cold and unforgiving as he gazed at Hephaestus. Then, in a detached tone, he spoke:

"You may be weak, but I must admit—it's still impressive. Your regeneration is likely the fastest among all the Malvados. It makes sense, really… Your ability allows you to steal any power you're struck with and make it your own. But that would be useless if you died instantly before stealing anything. So, of course, you need to regenerate fast.

But let me tell you one thing, Hephaestus… Out of all of us, you are the least versatile—and you have the easiest weakness to exploit."

Hephaestus watched Servus with eyes filled with pure hatred—yet there was something else beneath it, something close to fear, but not quite. A single thought surfaced in his mind before he forced it away, erasing all hesitation in favor of his one true desire—to kill this man.

Why do they all have it, but I don't?

That woman… and him… No… everyone…

Hephaestus sprang to his feet and dashed toward Servus, swinging his crimson blade at his neck with enough force to shatter a massive building and enough speed to surpass the fastest bullet.

A hiss of steam rose from Servus's neck.

As the steam dissipated, Hephaestus saw the truth—Servus was completely unscathed. Not a single wound. He simply stood there, gazing at him with eyes full of pity.

Hephaestus gritted his teeth, his voice trembling with frustrated hatred.

"How?"

Servus looked at him coldly, his golden eyes piercing through him. Then, with detached finality, he spoke:

"It's simple, really… You're just too weak."

Hephaestus let out a furious scream, rage boiling inside him.

Is… is the gap between the lowest and highest among the Malvados really this vast?

They chose the ten of us to return to this world… yet we are not at the same level at all!

It pisses me off!

Hephaestus swung his sword again, this time aiming directly for Servus's head. But the blade couldn't even pierce his skin.

He let out a frustrated snarl, spitting his words in rage:

"Not that! Why… why can't my sword reach you!?"

Servus grabbed Hephaestus's blade and shattered it as if it were nothing more than brittle paper. He stared down at him with emotionless eyes, yet if Hephaestus had to guess the closest thing to an emotion in them… it would be pity.

Then—he was on the ground.

Blood spilled from his mouth, nose, and eyes as countless thoughts raced through his mind like a runaway storm. But amidst the chaos, one question repeated over and over:

What the hell just happened?

Servus's right hand gleamed crimson, coated in blood. With a flick of his wrist, the blood splattered onto the ground.

It was then that Hephaestus realized the truth.

With a speed beyond his comprehension, Servus had pierced his hand straight through his stomach—right through his body. And he only became aware of it when he was already on the ground.

This wasn't a fight.

It had never been a fight.

Servus was on an entirely different level—a whole other dimension beyond him.

No matter how close their numbers seemed, a mere Number Four could never reach Number One.

Hephaestus desperately tried to push himself up from the ground, his body already regenerating. Blood pooled beneath him, splattering as he struggled, his voice trembling with rage.

"YOU! YOU! ALL OF YOU! LOOK DOWN ON ME WHILE YOU STILL CAN!"

He glared up at Servus, his hatred burning hotter than ever.

"SERVUS IPSE! MY FIRE WILL BURN BRIGHTER THAN ANY FLAME THAT HAS EVER BLAZED! LAUGH AT ME FROM ABOVE WHILE YOU STILL CAN—BECAUSE SOON ENOUGH, THE ONLY THING YOU'LL BE LOOKING UP AT…"**

He clenched his fists, his voice rising into a furious roar.

"...WILL BE MY FEET FROM BELOW—WHEN I HAVE YOUR SEVERED HEAD AT MY FEET LIKE THE BUG YOU ARE!"

Servus did not respond.

Instead, he raised one leg—then brought it down at monstrous speed, stomping directly onto the gaping hole in Hephaestus's back.

A scream of pure agony tore from Hephaestus's throat.

Then Servus did it again.

And again.

And again.

Blood splattered across the ground, pooling in thick, crimson puddles. Hephaestus's body writhed, desperately struggling to regenerate—but it wasn't fast enough. His screams only grew louder, more desperate, raw with pain.

Up. Down.

Up. Down.

Up. Down.

Up. Down.

Up. Down.

For hours, that was the only motion. The relentless, methodical rise and fall of Servus's leg.

At some point, Hephaestus stopped screaming.

Servus lifted his leg—but this time, not to strike. Instead, he placed it firmly on the ground and lowered himself onto one knee, bringing himself level with Hephaestus's face.

His expression remained emotionless, yet in his golden eyes, there was something—not quite hatred, but something close.

Then, in a voice as cold as death, he spoke:

"Do you see now what happens when a slave disobeys his master while being weak? You suffer far more than if you had never rebelled at all."

He paused, his gaze unwavering.

"This pain, this spilled blood… it is the price of your own weakness."

He then grasped his voodoo necklace, holding it tightly in his palm.

"Your greatest weakness is your reliance on your own ability."

His voice remained cold, unwavering.

"All I had to do was avoid using my ability entirely—and even then, you were completely overwhelmed by nothing but my physical strength."

Servus's golden eyes bore into Hephaestus, filled with something between pity and contempt.

"Your power lets you steal the abilities of those who strike you… but out of all of us, you received the one I pity the most. Every ability you gain belongs to an enemy who has likely spent years mastering it—while you can only mimic one at a time."

He stood up, looking down at Hephaestus's battered body.

"If you're still this weak when the events ahead unfold… trust me, you won't survive, Cuarto Malvado."

Servus sighed and took a step back.

Hephaestus's body took longer to regenerate than usual—he had used all his spiritual energy just to keep himself from falling apart.

In a cold, detached tone, Servus spoke:

"It's simple, really. All you need to do is explore the full potential of the body that Hell gave us… our corrupted spirit bodies. There's more to us than just the abilities the cocoon bestowed upon us after escaping it."

He turned away, but glanced back at Hephaestus. His voice remained as cold as before:

"You asked me why your sword couldn't reach me. It's simple. It's because of my technique… one I learned in Hell. Piel de Diamante."

Hephaestus, still reeling from the pain, growled in a low, rage-filled voice:

"What the hell are you talking about?"

Servus sighed, then continued in the same cold, emotionless tone:

"You've seen how corrupted spirits like us can create weapons or materials from hardened, resistant roots that appear decayed, haven't you? It seems our bodies are made of that same substance. In Hell, before I encountered one of the Wicked's followers, I learned how to create a thin layer of that hardened root, just a centimeter above my skin. I also made it resilient enough to absorb the shock from impact."

Hephaestus struggled to push himself up, finally managing to stand. His voice, still filled with murderous hatred, came out confused:

"Why are you telling me all of this?"

Servus didn't hesitate for even a second. His cold, emotionless response followed:

"Isn't it wrong for a master to show even a sliver of clemency to its slave?"

Servus's expression shifted slightly, a rare smile twisting his lips—one full of malice.

"But I guess, more than anything, it's that you're so pathetic… I pity you."

Hephaestus's fury erupted. With incredible speed, he dashed forward and spat:

"You can screw your damn lessons! I'll just learn them all by myself after I murder you!"

As he charged, his thoughts raced with fiery determination:

I don't know what the future holds, but one thing is certain—I won't watch it from below, crushed like a bug underfoot. I'll kill that man over and over if I have to. I'll steal everything he has to offer… and use him as a stepping stone to reach the heavens.

Footsteps on the Endless Shore arc part one end..

chapter seventy-eight end