Vesper
The dust settled.
And Evan…
Was on the ground.
Broken.
His body was no longer regenerating.
The damage—too severe.
His right leg was gone.
His left arm was charred beyond repair.
His torso—mangled.
He struggled, clawing at the ground, but his body wasn't responding.
His healing factor—had failed.
The battlefield was silent.
All eyes turned to Max.
He pointed his sword at Evan again.
His voice was calm.
"You lost."
Evan didn't speak.
He couldn't.
His mangled body twitched on the ground, his remaining limb clawing at the dirt, his once-overwhelming aura flickering—weak, unstable.
Max exhaled, lowering his sword slightly.
He turned toward Cain, about to speak—
Then.
It hit him.
A feeling of absolute dread.
Like an invisible blade pressed against his throat.
Like the hand of Death itself had reached out to claim him.