Smoke was everywhere.
It filled the air like a choking curtain, coiling around Ronin's feet and wafting past his face in thick, grey waves. His lungs burned, his eyes watered, but he didn't care. He stood still, breath steady, body tense. The air sizzled around him, heat radiating from the scorched earth where his ability had just gone off.
Ember Touch.
He flexed his fingers. The glow around them faded, but the aftershock still echoed in his bones. That explosion? That wasn't the Ember Touch he used to know. It had detonated with far more force than he ever expected—and the best part?
He wasn't drained.
Mana still surged through him like a second pulse, hot and ready, flowing through veins that felt freshly forged for this power. His grin widened.
Across the battlefield, the goblin stood.
Its clothes were gone, burned to ragged scraps barely clinging to its lanky green frame. Its body, while still recognizably goblin-like, had a disturbing sharpness to its features—cheekbones too high, muscles too lean, movements too precise. But what made Ronin narrow his eyes were the goblin's eyes.
Glowing blue. Not like mana glow—something deeper. Unnatural. Wrong.
The creature let out a roar, a high-pitched, keening scream that made Ronin wince. He barely had time to react before the thing blitzed forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat.
Ronin threw a punch, fire trailing behind his knuckles like a comet's tail.
The goblin ducked under the swing and drove its fist into Ronin's ribs.
CRACK.
His body launched backward, skipping off the ground like a stone on water. Pain burst in his side—but even mid-flight, Ronin grinned. He'd moved his mana just in time, focusing it at the impact point. The blow hurt, but didn't break him.
Midair, he aimed his palm down.
Ember Touch.
Another blast erupted from beneath the goblin. Fire and smoke ballooned into the sky, but the creature was already moving—zig-zagging through the haze and reappearing in front of him again.
Its fists rained down like a storm.
Ronin met them with his own.
Fist against fist. Elbow against jaw. Knee against gut. The two collided in a blur of violence, dust and sparks exploding around them. Every time Ronin struck, he felt his mana move better, cleaner. Faster. Stronger.
He muttered it under his breath like a chant.
"Faster… stronger…"
Again. Again. Again.
Each movement became smoother, more lethal. He didn't need to think about it anymore—his body knew what to do. He wasn't fighting the mana anymore. He was one with it.
And it showed.
The goblin began to falter.
It tried to leap back, but Ronin surged forward with it, never giving it space. His fists hammered the creature's face, chest, stomach—every blow exploded with force. The goblin tried to guard, but its arms were failing. Blood sprayed in the air. Its bright blue eyes dimmed with each hit.
Then he saw it—that look.
Fear.
The goblin's face twisted in panic as it stumbled back, feet dragging through the dust. Ronin's lips curled up.
"So you can feel fear after all," he said.
His final blow cracked against its jaw. The goblin collapsed, limbs useless, body broken, slumped forward on its knees. It breathed in shallow gasps, glowing blood trickling from its mouth.
Ronin stood over it.
His messy, unkempt black hair was matted with sweat. His beard had grown wild—patchy, uneven. His face was splattered with ash and blood, but his eyes… his eyes glowed like molten gold. He looked like a man who'd crawled out of a grave and decided to burn down the world.
"This," he whispered, "is power."
But it wasn't enough. Not yet.
He grabbed the goblin's head with one hand, stared into its terrified eyes, and spoke one word.
"Burn."
Flames exploded from his palm.
The goblin didn't even scream. It turned to ash in seconds, its silhouette crumbling into the wind. Ronin stood amidst the swirling dust, staring down at the remains. Beneath them, nestled in soot, was what he came for.
A crystal.
Fist-sized. Glowing blue with a strange pattern etched through its center, like veins.
He picked it up. Held it for a second. Then slipped it into his bag.
He turned.
At the far end of the clearing, Kara and Leroy stood side by side. Kara's long reddish-brown hair was tied back, face streaked with dirt but still alert. Her leather armor was singed at the edges, and her green eyes watched him with something like awe. Beside her, Leroy stood stiff, dark skin pale with shock, black cloak fluttering behind him. His hand was clenched tightly around the hilt of his sword—but he wasn't moving. Just staring.
Their eyes widened when they saw him approach.
His clothes were torn and scorched, but he walked like nothing touched him. No limp. No hesitation. Just a calm, steady gait like a soldier returning from war.
"You guys ready?" Ronin asked. His voice was hoarse, but steady. "We can finally leave this hell."
Neither replied right away. But both nodded.
He turned toward the exit, toward the swirling vortex that marked the gate's end. But as he walked, a thought pressed against the back of his skull.
This hell was necessary.
He wasn't the same.
And he never wanted to be that man again.