I kept running.

Every step felt wrong. My torso burned like something had been set on fire beneath my ribs, heat spreading through my chest and up into my throat. Breathing didn’t help. It made it worse. Each inhale scraped against something raw, each exhale came out uneven, broken. I coughed again, and this time I tasted it before I saw it.

Blood.

It stained my lips, my hand, the ground as I kept moving.

I pushed forward anyway.

Did I screw up?

The thought forced its way in, sharp and unwelcome. I could have walked away. I could have ignored it. None of this had anything to do with me. I wasn’t obligated to interfere, wasn’t responsible for what happened in that place. I could have left that girl there and none of this would have followed me.

Would that have been the smarter choice?

Maybe.

But that wasn’t why I was here.

I didn’t come into this world to stand at a distance and watch it happen again. I didn’t come here to repeat the same passivity, to swallow my reactions and convince myself that staying uninvolved was the same as being right. That kind of thinking had already cost me more than I was willing to admit.

I wasn’t going to live like that again.

If something felt wrong, I would act. If something deserved to be stopped, I would step in. Not because I believed I was righteous, but because I refused to sit still and pretend I didn’t see it.

I wanted more than survival.

I wanted a world that made sense.

A kingdom. Something structured. A place where people didn’t have to justify cruelty just to make things function. A place where living together didn’t require someone else to suffer quietly in the background.

That was the idea.

But ideas didn’t hold weight on their own.

Understanding something was wrong didn’t mean you could fix it. Wanting a better world didn’t mean you had the power to build one. And right now, as my body struggled to keep moving, I had to question whether belief alone was enough to carry anything real.

The house came into view.

Just a few steps more.

I forced myself forward—

And the ground disappeared.

I stopped immediately, my body jerking back on instinct as the earth in front of me split open. A deep crack tore through the street, widening as I watched, the ground collapsing inward as if something beneath it had given way. The edges crumbled, dragging chunks of stone and dirt down into a growing void.

I stepped back, tightening my hold on the girl as I tried to steady myself.

The fracture spread, reaching the nearby houses. One of them tilted dangerously as its foundation gave way, though it didn’t collapse entirely. Not yet.

The path forward was gone.

Completely.

“What the hell—”

Then I felt it.

That same pressure.

Heavy. Ominous.

Plasma.

Dense enough to press against the air itself.

I turned slowly.

He stood there.

Big guy.

And behind him, rising like something summoned from the depth of his own existence, was his Eidolon.

It towered above him, a massive humanoid form bathed in red, its shape distorted and unnatural. Its head resembled a blade, elongated and sharp, and its arms carried that same cutting presence, as if the concept of severing had been given form.

The aura around them pulsed, thick and violent.

That crack in the ground.

That was his doing.

“You can’t run away,” he said.

My body was already at its limit. I could feel it clearly now. My plasma reserves were nearly gone, my chest still burning from pushing too far. If I forced Kronos again, I wasn’t sure what would happen.

I lowered the girl carefully onto the ground.

“Run,” she whispered, her voice dry and weak. “I’ll end this.”

I looked at her.

“You’re out of your mind if you think you can fight him,” I said.

“I won’t run,” she replied, her eyes steady despite everything. “I would rather die facing my enemy than survive by fleeing.”

That again.

That rigid sense of pride.

“You don’t need to fight,” I said. “I’ll talk to him. We can resolve this.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed,” she said quietly.

She was probably right.

I still didn’t understand how she was even conscious, let alone speaking.

“I’ll try not to die,” I muttered, pushing myself back to my feet.

I stepped forward, forcing my body to move despite the warning signs screaming through it.

“Please,” I said, raising my voice enough for him to hear. “We can talk. I have no intention of fighting you. I only want to get her out of this. There has to be a way we can reach an agreement.”

He approached slowly, each step deliberate.

As the distance between us closed, the pressure of his plasma grew heavier. It wasn’t just strong. It was controlled. Intentional.

“Hmm,” he grumbled.

“If you can’t buy her,” he said after a moment, “then there is no other way for you to take her.”

Seven hundred gold.

Of course.

I held his gaze, forcing my breathing to slow even as my chest burned with every inhale.

“You’re thinking too small,” I said. “Cutting her up like this, selling pieces here and there. You’re losing value.”

His expression didn’t change.

“If you keep her alive,” I continued, pushing through the strain, “she’s worth more. Rare species, right? There are collectors, nobles, people who would pay far more than seven hundred gold for something like that. I can help you find them. Better buyers.”

For a moment, there was nothing.

Then he exhaled through his nose, something between a scoff and a laugh.

“I’m not a merchant,” he said. “I don’t wait for better deals.”

So much for that.

I swallowed, adjusting my stance slightly, buying myself a fraction more time.

“She’s still alive,” I said. “You know that. You can see it. You’re choosing to ignore it.”

“I’m choosing nothing,” he replied. “I’m doing what I do.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“It is,” he said, stepping closer. “You just don’t like it.”

The pressure of his plasma thickened as he moved, pushing against me, testing what I had left.

I held my ground.

“You’re calling her livestock because it’s convenient,” I said. “Because it makes it easier to do this. But if you were the one on that table, you wouldn’t call it that. You’d call it what it is.”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“And what is that?” he asked.

“Murder.”

The word hung there.

He tilted his head, studying me in a way that felt more curious than offended.

“Everything eats something,” he said after a moment. “Everything tears something apart to survive. You’re just uncomfortable watching it happen up close.”

“That’s not the same.”

“It is,” he said. “You just draw your line in a different place.”

I felt my jaw tighten.

“You’re pretending your line is better,” he continued. “That makes you feel clean. It doesn’t change anything.”

For a second, I didn’t answer.

Because part of me knew what he was doing.

He wasn’t arguing to convince me.

He was stripping the idea down until it stopped feeling solid.

“You weren’t born like this,” I said instead. “No one is. Something made you choose this.”

That got a reaction.

Small, but there.

“Choice?” he repeated.

“Yes. There was a point where you could have done something else.”

He stared at me for a long moment.

Then he shook his head slowly.

“This is what I am,” he said. “You’re the one pretending you’re something better.”

The words landed heavier than they should have.

Because I didn’t have an answer for that.

Not a clean one.

I shifted my weight slightly, keeping myself between him and the girl, trying to stretch the moment just a little longer. My body was still screaming at me, plasma barely holding together, but if I could just keep him talking—

“You’re stalling,” he said.

My breath caught.

“You’re exhausted,” he continued, his voice calm, almost analytical. “Your plasma density is thin. Your pushing your soul to it's limit. You’re buying time you don’t have.”

Of course he could see it.

Of course he understood.

His Eidolon loomed behind him, that blade-like form pulsing faintly, reacting to his will.

“I don’t want to fight you,” I said.

“That’s not your choice anymore.”

He stepped forward again.

The ground shifted slightly under his weight, cracks forming and spreading along the edge of the ravine.

Behind me, I could feel the girl trying to push herself up, weak and unsteady.

“Stop,” I said quietly, not taking my eyes off him.

“If you won’t fight,” he said, “then move.”

He took another step.

Closer now.

Too close.

“If I can’t buy her,” I said, my voice tightening despite myself, “then we find another way. There’s always another way.”

“No,” he said simply. “There isn’t.”

He reached forward.

Not fast.

Not rushed.

Certain.

Like this was already decided.

Something inside me tightened.

This wasn’t going to work.

No matter what I said, no matter how I framed it, no matter how reasonable I tried to be, there were people who wouldn’t meet me halfway. People who didn’t share the same assumptions, the same limits, the same definitions of what mattered.

I had walked into this thinking I could resolve it.

That understanding would be enough.

That if I explained things the right way, I could avoid crossing that line.

But standing here now, barely able to breathe, watching him reach for her like it was inevitable, I felt that belief crack.

If I couldn’t even save one person without breaking myself like this…

What did it mean to build anything larger?

A kingdom.

A place where everyone could live in peace.

The idea felt distant all of a sudden.

Fragile.

Naive.

Because peace wasn’t just something you decided on.

It was something you enforced.

Something you protected.

And I wasn’t even sure I could protect this.

But do you need force to protect something?

Do I have no other choice but to fight him? To kill him?

My fingers twitched.

I couldn't draw out Kronos.

There was barely anything left to draw on.

One more push and I didn’t know what it would cost.

The butcher moved closer to me.

And I realized, too late, that I was out of time.

Then the air changed.

Sharp.

Clean.

A pressure cut through the space between us, slicing straight through his aura like it didn’t belong there.

The butcher stopped.

For the first time since I had seen him, he hesitated.

A voice followed.

Calm. Familiar.

“Step away from him.”

Reesay.