11. Beauty in blood

Blessings were innate mana given abilities, granted at birth and were rare among humans—even rarer among Demi-humans. In human kingdoms, the blessed were pampered: given titles, lands, and put on the forefront of the world.

Among demihumans? A blessing was a target carved into your back.

And if you were born a minotaur?

It was a death sentence.

Minotaur culture glorified scars like medals and worshipped slaughter as sacrament. They razed everything, enemy villages, rival clans, even their own kin.

Their children learned this before they learned to walk. Siblings murdered each other in the womb or crushed skulls moments after birth. Only the strongest drew breath.

Fignar knew this better than most.

His brothers had plotted to kill him, then turn their clubs on each other—all for the faintest whiff of power, one step closer to the throne.

His father, Karni—named by some long-dead human before Mehr's barrier rose—had been the strongest of his era. Even he hadn't hesitated to cave in his own brother Joshu's skull. The first king's blood still etched in their history.

Then came Fignar's curse.

The moment his mana-sight manifested, the moment he confessed to sensing emotions like whispers, Karni's club found his ribs. A blessing that peeled back lies? A threat that couldn't be tolerated.

As his father beat him bloody, another male—Elpa—drove a spear through Karni's spine. No hesitation. No remorse.

Such was their way.

Fignar exhaled now, his warclub gouging the earth as he walked. Dirt clung to the iron spikes like old blood.

Skittering whispers followed Fignar through the forest, the sound of countless spiderlings scrambling across bark, their tiny legs tracing his every movement. They shadowed him from the trees, unaware his senses stretched far beyond their comprehension.

Harra had been one of the few kings to learn of his ability. The rest? Dead. Or collared like Rula had been. Until today.

Fignar marched forward, grip tight against his weapon. Behind him, the spider king moved like a phantom, twin daggers glinting as he debated targets: neck or skull? Not yet.

The canopy ahead thickened—trees pressing close, branches weaving the perfect site for their ambush.

An inconvenient battlefield for most.

Fignar didn't care.

Harra's scent still clung to his nostrils. The Fenrir king had slaughtered his entire war party. The loss meant nothing. New warriors would be whelped from Fenrir wombs soon enough. Different blood, same purpose.

He stepped into the grove's heart and halted. Arms spread. Club discarded. A slow exhale fogged the air.

The spiders froze.

Their mana pulsed—clear, predictable.

Then it fractured.

They were all thinking about what he was doing—hesitating, calculating—but in the chaos of thought, one didn't falter.

Eyes still closed, daggers gripped tightly.

Sirius lunged.

He tore through the air like a ghost, faster than ever before. The world blurred, the wind turned solid in his lungs—impossible to breathe.

His daggers didn't swing.

They simply disappeared.

Already at Fignar's throat.

But the Arachne King had turned, eyes locked with Sirius—emptied, dead, filled with killing intent.

The blades met skin and broke.

[Base twin daggers fatally damaged—Weapon cannot be recovered]

Fignar's fist arced toward Sirius's ribs—only to jerk sideways as Elendira's silk yanked it off course. 

Then the world turned blue. 

Mana spiraled. Crackling. "Desolate Lightning!" Alaric roared.

The bolt split the sky, drilling into Fignar's chest, lightning crawling down his veins, but instead of anger, a smile appeared on his face.

"You're one crazy freak!" Rune shouted, staff glowing at its tip. Beside him, Rue knelt.

"Now!" she screamed.

"TIDAL CRASH!"

Water crashed from the heavens, slamming into Fignar, lightning dancing across the splash, amplifying the current. His limbs locked, jaw clenched. Yet, the smile only continued to widen.

Now.

Sirius ran up his arm, feet slamming against flesh. From his palm, web burst forward, forming into a blade, hard as steel, sharp as his broken daggers.

He slashed.

The blade met Fignar's neck and carved in, tugging at the tip of his skin, but the muscle beneath felt like forged iron.

Then—

The lightning stopped.

Fignar's head whipped toward him, arm swinging.

Elendira, still tethered, was ripped off her feet, flung like a ragdoll into the trees, crashing hard, branches shattering under her body.

Sirius snarled, abandoning the lodged web-blade. Another one formed, but it was too late.

[HP: 10/250]

[Multiple compound fractures detected]

[Use high vitality blood vial?]

Fignar's blow connected.

A loud crunch—the sound of his bones snapping like twigs.

Sirius flew, body slamming through trunks, bark exploding, until he cratered into the earth. Blood poured from his mouth but he didn't stay down.

There wasn't time to feel pain.

"Use medium," Sirius commanded, a system screen appearing beside him.

[HP: 160/250]

He clicked his tongue. "Use another."

[HP: 250/250]

No overheal. Figures.

He flexed his hand, cracked from the fall, but with the healing, it moved fine now. No time to waste. He needed to get to Elendira.

Crack. His shoulder reset with a grunt as he dashed back toward the clearing.

"Searing Flame!"

A ball of fire burst through the trees but Fignar swatted it from the sky with a single hand, redirecting the blast so hard it didn't even touch the grass—it just dissipated.

This was a bad spot.

The spiders had the advantage here: they could rain spells from above, wear him down over time.

A terrible position.

Yet Fignar was smiling.

Ear to ear.

Drool slipped from the edge of his mouth, his arms twitching with anticipation.

He vanished, then reappeared at Rue's side, arm swinging toward the trees like a wrecking ball.

"You're too big to move like that!" Sirius shouted, a line of web snapping from his wrist, latching onto Fignar's arm and dragging it downward just in time to stop the blow from crushing Rue.

"ELENDIRA!"

[Medium Vitality Blood Vial—Equipped]

He hurled it, a red streak spiraling through the air. Elendira, barely conscious, hand pressed to her ribs, caught it with one hand.

She drank—red light pulsed through her veins. In a breath, she was already back in motion, leaping into the trees in a flash of gold and silver.

"Let's get him webbed up!" Garura roared, both arms outstretched as he dashed across the canopy. Rue, Alaric, and Rune mirrored him, shooting forward along the trees.

Thick strands of webbing launched out, wrapping around the twenty-foot titan in a net-like cocoon. They constricted him limb by limb, each thread hardening into sharp edges as it latched, digging in—trying to bleed him.

But no blood came.

Fignar stood, motionless at the forest's heart, encased in silver webbing. Not struggling. Not roaring.

Just smiling.

His legs twitched slightly, as if savoring the restraint.

Rue's stomach turned at the sight. That expression... he was enjoying this.

Her hand rose, palm aimed at his head. She had a large-scale fire spell ready to burn him out. But if she cast it here, she'd scorch the trees, the main thing making this ambush possible in the first place.

"Do it!" Fignar screamed, his voice booming through the forest. "I'll take it all—SO DO IT!"

Rue froze. She hadn't even spoken, yet he'd answered.

She turned to the others, Alaric and Rune were still weaving, still reinforcing the cocoon. The sharpened webs weren't hurting him, but they were holding him still. He couldn't dodge.

"If you want it so badly—" Rue snarled, darting through the branches, hurling line after line of webbing toward the minotaur king.

Twelve in total.

Then, she crouched low, mana pooling in her palm—more than necessary for the spell. Way more.

The air ignited, sparks dancing in the rising heat. She slammed her hand against the web, and flames surged, racing down each line like fuses on a bomb.

"Turn to ash!"

A thunderous explosion rocked the clearing. Flames bloomed, consuming everything. Leaves disintegrated midair. Ash spiraled upward, caught in the updraft of the blast.

When the smoke cleared—

Fignar still stood.

Not a bruise. Not a scratch.

Then with an almost instant change, the smile died. Leaving only some kind of annoyance against his face.

"You know," Fignar said, exhaling like a disappointed teacher. "I understand you're all trying your best, getting real creative with those little spells of yours. But come on..." He lifted his hand, flexing his fingers. "If there's no PUNCH behind them—what's the point?"

No one answered.

They scattered into the trees, shadows leaping from branch to branch, eyes sharp with survival, not victory.

Fignar's head tilted slightly, his voice low. "You hide and recoil in the darkness... Was this truly it? Was this the power you believed could defeat me—"

Sirius was already behind him, blade in hand, web hardened to its sharpest point. He slashed—clean, fast, focused—right at the base of the neck.

The strike landed.

And again... it chipped.

But still didn't cut. Still didn't bleed.

"I had hoped my reputation preceded me!" Fignar said, not even flinching, his voice calm like thunder before the sky cracked. "I had hoped I was feared. Respected. Revered."

He sighed again, slowly turning his head.

"Harra knows. He remembers how frightening I am. But you—" his eyes twitched, voice hardening, "you don't seem to understand."

Sirius didn't hesitate. Another blade was already forming in his hand.

"You don't seem to fear me..." Fignar's voice dropped, his expression weaving into rage. "And it grates my skin."

His pupils dilated.

"IT IRKS ME!" he roared, a shockwave of mana crackling from his body. "I THOUGHT IT WAS CONFIDENCE! I THOUGHT IT WAS ARROGANCE!"

Then he spun—

"BUT IT WAS JUST STUPIDITY!"

The forest rose.

Trees—dozens of them—tore from the earth, flung skyward in a storm of roots and soil. At the center of it all stood Fignar, hunched over, gripping his massive club with one hand, finger tight around the wooden base.

"I believed you were a healthy battle!" he roared, eyes wild. "A challenge! A beast that could make me bleed!"

He swung.

Rue hit the ground with a crack, air punched from her lungs.

"I HOPED YOU COULD MAKE ME CRY!"

Rune's body folded as he crashed into the dirt, limbs scattering like broken branches.

"I HOPED YOU COULD MAKE ME FEEL TRUE FEAR!"

Elendira flew through the air, slammed into a tree, then hit the ground hard enough to shake it.

"I HOPED YOU COULD KILL ME!"

Alaric and Garura were swatted down like flies, blood spraying in the air, then falling down to the grass.

And above, Sirius clung to a rising tree, the world spinning below him. In an instant, Fignar vanished—blurring toward the airborne forest, tearing through it one victim at a time.

Sirius grimaced, leaking webbing from his palms, his mind racing.

Too fast.

The tree under him peaked, beginning to descend. He scanned the battlefield, frantic, eyes flicking left to right—

And then he locked eyes with Fignar.

The club came like an envoy of death.

Sirius yanked his arms up, the web lines he'd quietly attached to the lower trees yanked tight, pulling him off course just in time. The club missed by inches, splintering the tree trunk with a loud crack.

As the splinters rained down, Fignar's gaze snapped to his back, drawn by the swell of mana gathering behind him.

Above, Sirius hung midair, his body tilting forward in freefall, one arm stretched outward, trembling with effort.

It was the only spell he knew. Basic, unrefined—but it would have to be enough. They were airborne anyway.

What's the worst that could happen?

[MP: 0/250]

"SEARING FLAME!"