Valgean stared at Cyn as if he were looking at some unspeakable monster—especially that body of his.

The scar on Cyn's chest had evolved into something resembling tendrils, curling around his torso and neck. Violet petals and glowing blue Roses were woven together through crimson, blood-soaked roots.

That dripping blood looked like nectar falling to the ground, sprouting new tendrils wherever it touched. Valgean had never seen anything like this in his life. Even though he himself bore a living scar, the horror and grotesqueness before him made his skin crawl. Yet… under the sunset, for a brief moment—

it almost resembled a painting.

What ruined it were the twisted, sadistic expressions carved onto Cyn's face.

Inside, Valgean was already taking precautions. Full Encasing… I need to meet him with everything I have if I don't want to die.

A voice interrupted his thoughts—the voice of his scar.

"Valgean, the living scar you're facing isn't something ordinary. Even among our kind, differences are obvious. But a living scar that changes forms along with its host… even I can't determine its nature. Whatever it is, we cannot confront it head-on right now.

But we can deal with it. I can sense Tristan approaching the battlefield. I'll link up with him so we can create an opening. Those tendrils won't let us land a direct hit—only a strike from a blind spot will give us a chance. Especially since that boy isn't in his right mind. We can use that against him and bring him down."

A bit of relief washed over Valgean. Tristan was close—he would join soon. Valgean only needed to distract Cyn long enough to create an opening.

But there was a problem…

Valgean hesitated.

He didn't want to kill him. He wanted him alive. A person with a scar like this, that Syringe and its contents… the laboratory… A swarm of secrets surrounded him. Secrets Valgean needed answers to. And the orders were clear.

A rumble jolted him—the very ground shook.

His scar's voice screamed, "Below you!"

Valgean looked down just as massive tendrils tore through the earth beneath him. He leaped away in time, but they followed him into the sky—inescapable.

He grabbed one in mid-air, using all his strength to hurl it aside.

Another tendril slammed him from behind, sending him crashing through the trees with overwhelming force.

BAAAAM!

Luckily, in the last instant, Valgean activated Full Encasing. His entire body wrapped in his black Ink—squid ink armor!.Even his once-white beard turned pitch black.

His pupils and sclera darkened as well. There was no time to relax. He had to output everything.

More tendrils rushed toward him. Valgean was impressed—their attack range stretched over forty meters, and they seemed capable of even more.

With raw strength, Valgean punched one of the tendrils and shattered it completely. Rancid, organ-like chunks and rotten fluids splattered over him. Disgust twisted his face. Whatever these tendrils were made of, it wasn't anything good.

He began fighting them off, destroying them one after another. But more kept coming—and every time he destroyed one, two took its place.

A hopeless cycle.

Whenever he blocked an attack, another tendril slammed him from a blind angle. He was being tossed around like a ball between them.

"Retreat, Valgean! You can't fight the tendrils head-on. Our target is the one at the center—not the tendrils."

His scar warned him sharply.

Valgean dropped the Curtain of Darkness, drenching the entire area in pitch-black. This was his domain. His comfort. When the curtain descended—he turned into a killing machine.

But something felt… wrong.

He wasn't alone.

In this place—his place, a world where only he should exist—he felt something watching him. Something that did not belong. Something invading his space. Something observing him, stealing control from him.

A faint voice brushed against his mind—his scar trying to give him one last warning:

"Valgean, be carefu—"

Everything after that dissolved into pure darkness.

He was drowning in it, trapped. He felt something watching his naked body within that pitch-black void. A hollow voice echoed, sending chills through his bones—cold, empty, hateful.

Who was there?

Valgean shouted, demanding an answer.

If he could identify the presence, he'd feel safer somehow. That was how his mind worked.

The voice spoke again.

"Really…? You really want to know me, Valgean? I thought you wanted to forget. Isn't that right? Years of insomnia, dread, the danger stalking you every night in your dreams—that is what I am, Valgean. That is my nature.

Did you forget me?"

"Can you remember me… or do you need my help? Should I show you?"

Valgean's eyes lost focus, but his ears listened sharply.

Before him appeared a military camp—tents near a forest. From one tent came the cries of a small child. Whimpers. Pleas. Sobs.

Slowly… the crying stopped. The child broke. Only muffled sounds remained—soldiers' groans. A line formed outside the tent, maybe twenty men or more. One entered as another left.

As if waiting eagerly for their "turn."

No—that wasn't it. Valgean knew exactly what was happening inside.

He turned his face away.

But the hollow voice echoed again—cold, deranged, hateful.

"Valgean! Not like that! Look. I'm giving you a chance. Face your past. See them clearly—the faces behind your suffering. You never got the chance to know them, to see them up close. Look at them. Their expressions… drunk on ecstasy. Your sobs, your pleas, your crying—those fed them. They couldn't wait for their turn.

Some even bet about who could make you scream the loudest."

"That's what forged your scars—the ones that made you hate your body, abandon your own skin, and grow a new one. I know them, Valgean. Some are dead. And deep down…

you want revenge, don't you?"

"What do you say, Valgean? Their names? Their families? Their descendants? Should I give you all of it?"

His mind cracked under the pressure. Tears slipped down the old man's eyes. His private domain had been violated, broken by an outside force. His secret shattered. His past ripped open.

It was terrifying… horrifying…

yet a path to vengeance had appeared.

The faces he never saw that night—now they were right before him.

A chance—

A sharp pain dragged him back to reality.

His mind screamed: "Don't sink!"

His eyes were wide open but empty, lifeless—until awareness slammed back into him.

He was dangerously close.

Face-to-face with that young man—

that handsome, insane face.

Tendrils wrapped around him, binding him like a giant swamp serpent ready to devour its prey.

Pain stabbed into his back—someone had struck him.

It was Tristan.

"Damn it, old man! Move! I broke the plan to save your sorry skin!"

Valgean found an opening and tore himself free using every ounce of strength left.

There was only one thought in his mind—escape.

"Tristan! Run! We can't beat him!"

Confusion twisted Tristan's expression. What do you mean?

Valgean sprinted toward the forest, but his scar remained silent—exhausted. His strength was fading. He looked back—

Only to see Tristan fighting the tendrils.

That idiot… what was he doing?!

Valgean roared with everything he had,

"TRISTAAAAN!! MOVE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Too late.

A tendril pierced Tristan from his right side. Valgean froze as Tristan collapsed.

He wasn't staring at Tristan.

His eyes were locked onto Cyn.

No—onto the monster standing behind Cyn.

Cyn's living scar.

Those breathing, writhing tendrils.

As if saying:

'There will be a next time.'

VAAAALGEAN!

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