37. Une ballade de trois hommes!!

Both men moved in perfect sync, weapons shrieking through the air like war cries, each swing cleaving reality itself as they advanced.

Osiris was clearly faster, reaching him first—blade slicing upward in a vicious arc so sharp the ceiling above cracked from the sheer pressure before the edge even made contact.

Knox darted back, narrowly evading the strike as it whistled past.

Without hesitation, he forced the iron in his blood to converge, wrapping it tightly around his bones. The blood solidified to a near-steel density, but even as he felt the protective barrier take form, a cold certainty settled over him—this defense wouldn't be enough.

Massiah was already next to him, scythe sweeping low in a wide slash, too wide for Knox to retreat from.

"What a nasty partnership!" Knox growled, forcing his earlier blood constructs down to intercept, hardening them into a makeshift shield.

Osiris pivoted, his foot whipping through the air and slamming into Knox's chest.

The blow hurled him backward, through the crumbling wall and into another room, red strobe lights flickering on the walls like a warning siren.

Massiah followed, scythe gleaming as it came down in a deadly arc. Knox dodged, barely, just as blood tendrils lashed in from the other room, aimed for the exterminators back.

But they struck Osiris's blade instead. Elucadite cut through them like paper.

Knox grimaced as his legs were severed by Massiah, and even before he even hit the floor, the falling scythe clipped his face, ripping through his jaw, blood spraying in the air.

Quickly blood tendrils snaked out, reattaching his limbs in a messy, rushed patchwork. He stumbled back as quickly as his body allowed, regeneration taking hold.

He hated close combat.

Despite the strength of his blood at short range, Knox thrived on control, manipulating the battlefield, wearing enemies down from a distance. But there was no space. No air. No pause.

They didn't let him breathe.

Osiris was already on him, moving like a phantom through strobe-lit shadows. One blink—blade black. The next—red. The sword disappeared as the lights died and reappeared buried in the ground, Knox's arm tumbling from his shoulder.

He panicked, retreating fast, trying to reposition.

Too fast. Too much pressure.

Massiah was already there, scythe cleaving toward his neck. Knox jerked his head back, just barely dodging the blow, the blade kissing his skin as he slammed against the wall, colliding with one of the lights.

"I'm being pushed back—" he muttered, breath trembling as his arm reattached. Then he roared, voice laced with anger. "YOU DON'T GET TO DO THAT TO ME!"

His arms flung forward. Blood erupted—tendrils and spikes slicing through the air.

Osiris met them head-on, blade cutting through the dense coils.

Massiah followed, his scythe a crashing wave of silver, splitting spikes apart like twigs.

Knox extended his hands again—nothing came.

He grimaced, yanking his arm backward. Blood peeled from the walls, the floor, even their clothes, ripping away in thin streams.

He was gathering everything.

They didn't need to speak.

They already knew.

He had no more blood to use.

They dashed forward again.

Knox grimaced, yanking his arms up just in time. Osiris's blade tore through blood and bone, carving a clean path through his limbs—and this time, there was no recovery. No blood strings pulled them back. No patchwork mending. His severed arms hit the floor with a dull thud.

He blinked, dazed, only for Massiah to appear in his periphery, scythe raised and then falling. The exterminators eyes were bloodshot, yet not an iota of emotion on his face.

Knox panicked.

"You don't get to do that to me!" he screamed, forcing blood to gush from his core.

But this wasn't the usual crimson.

It was a deep black.

The core of his body, the remaining blood that kept him functional. It was a gamble.

And as it sprayed into the air, he clenched his jaw and bit down hard.

The blood ignited.

The resulting explosion cracked the walls open like eggshells, swallowing the entire room in fire and force. Concrete burst. Metal shrieked. The roof caved in as the blast hurled everything into ruin.

Silence followed.

The only light was the soft gold of a passing sun, shining over the dust and debris.

Knox's body began to knit itself together from the inside out. He had sacrificed the remaining blood in his own body—the core of his structure—for that ignition. A risky move. One he couldn't make on any other day.

That was how far these bastards had pushed him.

The returning blood snaked through the ground, seeping into what was left of him, recreating his body.

His limbs reformed, muscles realigned, and skin stretched across raw bone, then Knox staggered upright. His clothes were gone, burnt to a crisp, but his eyes never left the destruction he'd caused.

Osiris rose from the rubble, one eye shut, blade buried deep into the concrete. Blood trickled down his face, but he stood tall.

On the other side, Massiah held his scythe steady, two fingers missing from his right hand. He didn't flinch. He didn't even seem to notice the pain.

"You still stand..." Knox muttered, staring at them both. His voice, for once, didn't carry anger or irritation. Just disbelief. "Why do you do this to yourselves? Why do you ache and keep standing, keep going? For what reason? What could possibly drive you this far?"

None of them responded. They only breathed—faint and shallow.

They only stood—bent and broken, hands shaking, eyes half closed.

Massiah had lost too much blood. So much that his wounds had stopped bleeding. So much that his brain had stopped processing.

And yet he stood.

Knox saw it.

And for the first time in this fight, he hesitated.

The exterminator was upright. Breathing. Moving.

But he wasn't conscious. He was running on something else.

Knox's hands lifted, uncertain. "What... what drives a man to keep going after the mind gives out?"

His voice cracked.

"...What are you people?"

Massiah answered the only way he could.

With steel.

The scythe came from below, cleaving through the air. Knox's eyes widened, hands scrambling to create a defense. His usual grin was gone. His composure, shattered.

He panicked.

Blood burst from his palm, molding midair into a shield. It collided with the scythe just before it could take his head.

Metal sparked.

Blood hissed.

And Knox stumbled back, shaken to his core.

Distance. He needed distance.

But Osiris was already behind him. Again.

Blade swinging.

Knox screamed, his words lost to panic. He unleashed a burst of blood from his hands, tendrils slamming both Osiris and Massiah into the floor with enough force to shake the foundation.

They hit hard. Bone meeting concrete.

"I am perfect," Knox panted, retreating. "I am humanity's final form! You're flawed, you're pure, you don't deserve to be on my level!"

He kept moving, throwing blood spikes in desperate waves. "You don't deserve to make me feel like this. You don't deserve to make me afraid!"

Massiah surged to his feet, already dashing toward him. His lips were busted, eyes closed. His body moved with purpose—no hesitation, no thought.

Osiris mirrored him, flanking with lethal intent.

"SAY SOMETHING!" Knox screamed, raising his trembling fingers. He was drained—once again, out of blood. "SCREAM! YELL! YOU'RE ALL IN PAIN, WHY DO YOU ACT LIKE YOU'RE NOT? WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE IN TROUBLE? WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE—"

Before he could finish, Knox's head flew from his shoulders, his expression frozen in a grotesque grimace as his wide, panicked eyes glanced down.

Osiris's blade gleamed, stained with blood.

'This isn't fair,' Knox's mind screamed. 'They were unfinished, pure. Massiah had never been touched by Visca. Osiris... Osiris was nothing more than a man. They shouldn't have this strength. They should be groveling at my feet, crawling like the insects they are!'

His rage boiled over as he saw the relief spreading across their faces. They were ready to holster their blades. Ready to write him off, dismiss him as nothing more than a casualty.

And the thought of it—of being erased so easily—only fueled his fury.

No.

No.

No.

NO!

He wasn't just another one of his siblings, he was complete. He was Knox Lafyret, the brother of Visca. This... this wasn't possible. It couldn't be true.

"I AM STRONGER THAN YOU!"

Massiah collapsed, his remaining blood rising into the air.

"I AM BETTER THAN YOU!"

The blood pulled forward, slithering through the air, attaching itself to Knox's decapitated head. With a violent snap, the blood threaded through his neck and reattached him.

"YOU DON'T HAVE THE RIGHT TO KILL ME!"

Knox screamed.

"NONE OF YOU DO!"

Osiris spun around, eyes wide with disbelief. Massiah had fallen, his blood now fused with Knox's. Had he always been able to do that? No, it didn't make sense. If that were the case, he would've taken Osiris's blood instead of the other exterminator's. Was it because the Massiah had a mutation of his own?

But there was no time to question it further.

Osiris lunged forward, blade raised, aiming to sever Knox's neck once again.

But Knox was faster. He was already in front of him, veins pulsing across his face, blood claws sprouting from his fingers.

One slash.

Osiris took the hit first, square across the chest. The slash tore through his flesh, carving deep into bone, blood gushing from the wound.

But Osiris's blade didn't stop, it screamed through the air, carving through molecules with surgical intent.

It missed.

Just barely. A graze to the ear.

Osiris's swing faltered. His vision had lied, his damaged eye had misjudged the angle and then his footing slipped.

And in that split second, Knox was already there.

His fist punched straight through Osiris's chest. The breath of the exterminator ceasing as they collided.

A crude smile curled across his face.

"I will not be killed by one whose foot hasn't even touched the door of perfection," Knox said. "I will not be outdone by your kind, never!"

Then, with a sickening rip, he pulled his hand clean from Osiris's chest, blood splattering across the rubble.

Osiris crumpled, his blade falling to the ground with a hollow thud.

Knox stood amidst the chaos, his breath steady, panic subsiding. His heart thumped as the wind whipped against his skin, the silence stretching for a long moment. He should have relished the victory, taunted their lifeless bodies. But he neither had the strength.

Nor the time.

He could no longer feel his siblings. No pulse. No trace. Just like he had feared from the beginning, they were gone. All killed.

But their sacrifice wouldn't go undone. Not yet.

What little of Massiah's blood Knox had taken was enough to revitalize him. With calming breaths and finally regaining control, he walked toward the other room, where Ansel knelt beside Dahlia, hands shaking as he desperately tried to wake her.

"Dahlia, please wake up!" Ansel cried, pulling her toward him. His head lowered to her chest, but there was no rise, no fall, no breath. "Please... please!"

"Leave her," Knox said, his voice flat, as he outstretched his hand toward Ansel. "In a few minutes, this place will be swarming with more of those pests. I'd rather not stick around."

Ansel refused to look up from Dahlia. "Dahlia, please..."

Knox's eyes hardened, and his hand remained extended, a blood tendril sprouted, snaking toward Ansel and wrapping around his arm. He yanked him away, forcing him to stand.

Immediately, the tug came. Ansel glanced at Knox, locking eyes with him.

Anger.

"If she dies," Ansel said, eyes bloodshot. "you'll never get anything from me. I'm the cure to whatever disease you think you have, right? Trust me, you can stab me, torture me, kill me—I will never do anything for you."

"All because of one measly human," Knox sighed, his blood tendril wrapping around Dahlia's lifeless form. He forced it into her body, a violent, precise movement that slammed against her heart.

A beat.

Her breath returned. Weak, faint, but there.

"She's alive," Knox said coldly. "Now, just as I gave her life, I can take it away." His hand extended again, a cold command. "Let's go."

Ansel rose slowly, the red strobe lights blaring harsh lines across his face, his entirety glowing like fire beneath them. He took one step toward Knox.

"Good decision," Knox murmured.

Then—fingers. Weak, trembling.

Ansel turned back.

Dahlia's hand had found his pants, her head barely lifted, grip already fading.

"Please... don't... go," she whispered.

His breath caught in his throat.

"I'm sorry," Ansel said quietly, his voice hollow. He turned away, walking out of the building alongside Knox.

"I'm sorry."