Valgean couldn't believe what he was witnessing.

The wounds—

They were closing.

The withering aura around Cyn was swelling with vigor, pulsing with raw life.

And his hands…!

Those ruined, shattered, mangled hands… they twitched—then throbbed—then knit themselves back together. Bone reformed. Muscle fibers braided anew. The inner flesh drew tight as if some ancient elixir of immortality had been poured through his veins.

Valgean wasn't a fool.

What was in that vial? What kind of blood was that? What impossible substance gave him such monstrous regenerative power?

He cursed himself.

Yes—back then! In mid-air, He saw it inside my inner pocket… that's why he smiled. He planned it perfectly. He knew his hands were useless, so he used his jaw—his teeth—to steal it!

"But the mistake… was mine," Valgean muttered, eyes wide. "I let him get too close!"

He stared at Cyn, voice cracking, "By hell… what is this?!"

Then he noticed something forming on Cyn's chest—thin crimson lines carving themselves across skin and bone, bleeding freely.

His Scar was returning—etching itself back into place.

Cyn dragged his palm across the blood, tasted it off his fingertips, and his eyes lit with renewed intensity.

When he looked at Valgean again, the temperature dropped. His gaze was ice.

"I've got a list of questions," Cyn said calmly.

"Starting with how you found my lab… and why A scar bearer is hunting me instead of someone blessed with a Sacred Halo.

And… why you had that syringe."

He exhaled softly.

"But those are minor details. For now?"

A faint smirk twisted his lips.

"I just want to thank you.

Because of you… my Scar is back."

Valgean stood frozen. He didn't understand a single damn thing coming out of the boy's mouth. What miracle—or curse—had he swallowed?

"Back…?" he echoed.

He didn't get to finish.

Cyn vanished—

—and a fist exploded into Valgean's face.

BAAAM!

The impact hurled him through trees, ripping them from their roots as if they were twigs. Valgean clutched his face in disbelief. That punch hurt.

Cyn didn't give him time to breathe.

BAAM!

BAAM!

BAAM!

Punches, kicks—he seized Valgean by the neck with one leg, lifted him off the ground, then kicked him mid-air and launched him into a tree so hard he hung there.

It was enough lumber for winter—at least for every farmer in the north quarter.

Valgean rose slowly, rubbing his throat and smiling—

that madman's smile of a warrior who finally found a worthy fight.

He inhaled deeply.

Exhaled.

Cracked his knuckles.

"Just to let you know," he said, voice thrilled, "the questions I have right now make me want to stop fighting altogether and just talk. Then kill each other afterward. If I die, I'll die satisfied with the answers. If you die, you'll know exactly who's hunting you."

He rolled his shoulders.

"But life rarely gives us what we want. And I doubt you care for conversation now."

He grinned.

"So… thank you as well. It's been a long time since I fought seriously."

Cyn didn't respond.

He just watched him—eyes cold, calculating—trying to synchronize with the overwhelming power surging through his veins after reclaiming the Scar of Pride.

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

Then the darkness spread.

From Valgean's hands… to his arms… to his chest… to his legs—

a black, ink-like shroud coated his skin, as if he'd been dipped in living shadow.

Valgean flexed his fingers. "Phase Two," he announced.

"Half-Ink Encapsulation. I've never seen a Scar like yours… but this much I know—yours is a living one ."

He smiled wider.

"And the coincidence?

Mine is a living one too.

Squid ink Scar, The same ink that creature uses to vanish. Consider that your introduction."

He didn't understand the science, but Cyn did.

Cephalopod ink––rich in melanin, the pigment that gave color to skin and hair.

A perfect medium for camouflage, distortion, and momentary blindness.

Valgean wasn't a brawler.

He was an assassin.

His Scar specialized in stealth, speed, deception—killing before the victim even sensed danger.

Black curtains of ink billowed outward.

They swallowed the world.

Within seconds, Cyn stood inside a dense shroud of shifting darkness.

His senses sharpened—anticipating.

Side? Back? Above?

BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM!

Hits from every angle.

He didn't see them—but he felt each one.

If this had happened before his Scar reawakened, he'd already be dead.

But now? His body was twenty times tougher. His senses razor-sharp. Reflexes feral.

Even so—

He couldn't keep up with the relentless storm of strikes.

Valgean clicked his tongue in surprise.

The kid's body was absurdly durable—none of the blows pierced him.

He mocked him from the darkness.

"What's wrong? Given up alrea—"

BAAAAAAAAAANG!

A fist drove into Valgean's gut. Cyn appeared in front of him, eyes closed, smirking.

"You talk too much for an old man."

Valgean spat blood, flew back, and disappeared into the ink again.

Damn it… this brat tracked my position from a single sentence—just from sound… outrageous.

The barrage resumed—faster, harder.

But Cyn had begun adapting to the rhythm.

He still couldn't see the attacks—

But he knew when each one would hit.

His blood boiled.

His skin reddened.

His pulse thundered.

He couldn't keep up with the violent growth of strength in his own body.

It was consuming him.

I can't win if I stay defensive. But this ink… damn it—Fortunately, he Hasn't paralyzed my limbs or my senses — but even so, being boxed into a corner like this…

In a moment, something switched inside him.

Something stirred.

Something primal.

Something feral.

Something that had slept deep within him—

the instinct that kept him alive in his past life,

the instinct that transformed him into a living abomination.

His sadistic nature.

His blood simmered.

A deranged smile stretched across his face.

Sanity slipped.

He stood there—motionless—drowning in madness.

Valgean's eyes widened.

A blind spot!

He lunged, both hands aiming for the back of Cyn's neck like a spear.

But then—

Something nearly ripped Valgean in two.

He twisted mid-air, barely avoiding a fatal blow.

Blood splattered the ground.

If he hadn't reacted instantly—Cyn's counter-strike would've gutted him.

The ink veil scattered.

Sunset light washed over the clearing––a battlefield torn to shreds.

Valgean stared, breath caught in his throat.

Thorned tendrils—massive, pulsing, veined with blue flowers and violet thistle petals—rose from the earth.

Dozens.

Hundreds.

Living appendages brimming with blood-like energy, swirling around Cyn like the limbs of a waking deity.

Cyn's mind was gone.

Only madness remained.

The dying light behind him cast an orange glow on his twisted grin.

A predator savoring the moment before the feast.

Valgean barked an incredulous laugh.

"You damned monster!"

Cyn didn't hear him.

His consciousness was elsewhere.

Yet something—something—had forcefully awakened the second phase of his Scar.

A whisper rippled through the air—

like a system notification from a merciless god:

PHASE II

CYANIC THORNS

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