Kaiser paused, sword still held in that patient, vigilant angle, and allowed himself a single, measured breath. For the briefest moment, his gaze dropped to the trembling blue figure, and he asked to himself: What, precisely, was it that made this creature so unsettling?

The answer should have been simple. This was not his first brush with the monstrous. He had stared down things far more grotesque, survived the machinations of minds both brilliant and depraved, and endured torments that would have driven lesser men mad. He had felt fear, in his youth, cold, paralyzing terror, the kind that strips a person bare, but time and blood had taught him mastery over that emotion. Kaiser did not flinch, not anymore, not for anyone or anything. He had conquered fear so thoroughly that he sometimes doubted he could truly feel it at all anymore.

So why, then, did something in the presence of this creature: the blackened Sol, the gleaming blue flesh, the rasping, inhuman voice, set his nerves on edge? It was not physical threat; that much was already obvious. Even now, watching the blue man gibber and writhe, Kaiser could see the gaps in his form, the slackness of muscle, the hesitance of movement. This was no apex predator. The danger here was of another nature, deeper and more insidious.

He cursed himself, not for feeling it, but for not understanding it. He prided himself on knowing his enemies, dissecting their tactics, their motives, their weaknesses until the only mystery left was the moment of their death. But this one had slipped under his guard.

And that was the root of his agitation, the shadow that slithered beneath his thoughts: ignorance. He hated it, hated the feeling of being outmaneuvered even in the privacy of his own mind. The name "Herald" was unmistakable. The strange Sol, warped and black-centered, confirmed what his senses screamed: this was not a maniacal cultist nor some pitiful imitator, but the genuine article. An Unborn. The real kind, the kind you didn't kill unless you were prepared to stain your soul forever, the kind that never died clean.

He catalogued this all in the space of a heartbeat, even as the blue man's broken voice skittered across the ruined house, echoing from the splintered timbers and shattered glass. "Lucky… lucky… the Herald sees…"

Kaiser felt, rather than saw, the shift—the tension in the air sharpening to a fine point. The creature's muscles bunched, one foot sliding back, cleavers rising. If he was hoping for distraction, for even a moment's lapse in vigilance, he would find none. Kaiser's eyes tracked every twitch of sinew, every tightening of grip, and in that instant he found his answer. Fear was not his enemy. Ignorance was.

The Unborn lunged, cleavers flashing, but to Kaiser it was as if time itself had slowed. He saw the intent before the movement, read it in the tightening of the jaw, the sudden dilation of those bottomless black eyes. The blows came in an overhead arc, wild but heavy, meant to batter rather than slice. Kaiser did not so much react as anticipate. His stance flowed—weight shifting, knees flexing—and his sword moved with certainty, intercepting the cleavers with guidance. He caught the strike on the flat of his blade, absorbing the momentum and channeling it upward, sending the cleavers arcing harmlessly above his head.

The blue man's guard shattered. Kaiser let the moment linger just long enough for the monster to feel the futility, then pivoted smoothly, his entire body coiling like a spring. He struck with his booted heel, driving it square into the Unborn's abdomen. The sound was sickening: not the crack of ribs, but the deep, wet impact of something internal giving way. The monster flew backwards, crashing into the remnants of a wall, leaving a spiderweb of fractures and a spray of black vapor in its wake.

There was no satisfaction in the act. Kaiser advanced before the dust had even settled, moving with predatory intent, the world narrowing to a tunnel. His eyes flicked, noting the blue man's awkward scramble, the desperate way he clawed for leverage, cleavers momentarily forgotten. Before the Unborn could so much as gasp, Kaiser was on him, striking with a right hook so perfectly aligned with the previous kick that it seemed to land in the same spot. The force of it launched the creature bodily through the wall, the impact echoing like thunder.

Plaster and wood disintegrated around the monster's form, and for an instant, Kaiser glimpsed the street outside—a narrow lane, littered with broken tiles and the abandoned trappings of ordinary life. The blue man crashed into the next building, and Kaiser followed, never once breaking the seamless flow of his stance. His blade moved with him, always poised and always ready.

The second house was darker, cooler—its windows half-shuttered, dust motes swirling in the orange light. The Unborn lay sprawled amid the debris, limbs splayed awkwardly, cleavers somewhere in the house. For a lesser foe, the fight would have ended there, but Kaiser knew better. He advanced in silence, eyes tracking every movement and every ragged breath.

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The blue man stirred, his head rolling to one side. That same, broken laugh bubbled up. "You… you're lucky… no one else… they all… scream…"

Kaiser's reply was ice. "You don't make sense, creature. What do you speak of?"

He pressed forward, driving the monster back with the inexorable force of his presence. The Unborn scrambled, finding one cleaver, then the other, but his movements were clumsy. Black vapor oozed from the wound in his neck, curling around his face, and for a heartbeat, Kaiser saw something writhing inside the cut, something alive.

Still, the monster came on, slashing wildly, twin blades whistling through the air. Kaiser met the assault with the unyielding discipline of Oppidum.

There was a rhythm to it, a dance—though the music was ugly and discordant. The Unborn fought with brute force, with desperation, and for all his speed and power, he could not break the fortress Kaiser had become. Each attack ended in futility, and with each failure, the blue man grew more frantic.

Kaiser studied him clinically, noting the tremors in his hands, the way his grip faltered. The creature was strong, yes, but undisciplined. His technique was nothing more than animal aggression. There was no artistry, no strategy, only rage and hunger.

He let the fight drag on for a moment longer, allowing the monster to exhaust itself. Each time the cleavers swung, Kaiser flowed around them, always one step ahead. He counted the creature's breaths, measured the growing slowness in his movements.

Then, with a precision that bordered on cruelty, Kaiser struck. He stepped inside the monster's reach, catching one wrist and twisting sharply. The cleaver dropped, clattering to the floor. Before the Unborn could react, Kaiser drove his knee into the creature's abdomen, folding him over.

Now unarmed, the blue man fell to his knees, hacking up black vapor. He looked up at Kaiser, eyes wide and terrified.

In all honesty, Kaiser had no intention of killing the creature. He acted swiftly, ruthlessly efficient, stepping forward and driving the heel of his boot into the side of the blue man's head. The Unborn collapsed, body twitching once before going limp, the rasping mantra dying in his throat. Kaiser's sword did not waver, his stance never softened; he regarded the slumped body for a moment, weighing the risks of his decision and measuring it against what the Liberatoriums might expect from him in this situation.

He sighed quietly, the sound almost lost amid the settling dust and the low creak of shattered beams. It wasn't the most ideal outcome, and certainly not the cleanest, but there were always eyes watching, records being kept, and reputations to uphold.

He glanced out through the splintered window frame, noting the ink monsters still gathered beyond the threshold. They held their distance now, silent and unmoving. The logic of their master's command was unclear, perhaps he had ordered them to stand down out of arrogance, or perhaps they served a more complex contingency, standing guard to keep interlopers out while he dealt with Kaiser himself. In either case, it spoke of a single-mindedness, a devotion to will above all else.

Moving through the ruin, Kaiser's eyes landed on a length of rope tangled amid the debris. He almost laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea—binding an Unborn with common cordage. It was the kind of plan only a desperate or unimaginative man would consider; the creature would snap free in an instant, should it wake.

But before he could finish the thought, a sharp crack sliced through the silence—a sound too clean, too sudden to be the settling of wood or stone. Instincts flared; Kaiser whirled, dropping the rope and drawing his sword to full readiness, body shifting into the posture that he so dearly loved. The air changed—a flicker of something alien and wrong, as if the world itself had taken a breath and decided not to let it go.

He saw the Unborn's body lift from the floor, limp at first, then stiffening, floating upward like a marionette with its strings newly pulled. Purple light spilled from the seams of its flesh, veins aglow with a radiance that was at once beautiful and revolting, a color that seemed to eat at the edges of reality itself. Even unconscious, the blue man let out a scream, a sound that rose not from the mouth but from everywhere at once, vibrating in the bones and the walls, rattling loose plaster from the ceiling.

Kaiser's eyes narrowed, watching with a kind of detached anticipation as the creature's head twisted at an impossible angle, neck snapping with a sound like dry branches breaking underfoot. A fine spray of black and purple mist burst from the wound, scattering into nothingness. Then, just as suddenly, the body fell still, a tiny purple dot burning in each eye socket, glowing with a malign intelligence that was not its own.

The presence that entered the room was not physical, but Kaiser could feel it all the same. He adjusted his stance, feet sliding back a fraction, weight perfectly balanced, sword angled to guard heart and throat alike.

The corpse settled slowly to the ruined floor, but the purple light remained, flickering in the air like the afterimage of a lightning strike. And then, with a jarring abruptness, a new voice spoke—a voice that seemed to echo both from within the shattered body and from the very air itself, layered and toneless, yet heavy with amusement.

"Greetings, Liberator."

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