Meanwhile
The night sprawled beneath a sky pierced by a silver moon, its light pouring over the battlefield like a cold, shimmering tide. Shadows stretched long and jagged across the ground, cast by the mangled corpses strewn across the blood-soaked earth. The stench of iron clung to the air, thick and suffocating.
Kibo sat atop the mound of bodies, perched like a king upon a throne of slaughter. His elbow rested lazily on his knee, his katana lying across his lap, its edge painted in crimson. A hellhound's limp body slumped beneath him, its hide torn open, its lifeless maw still twisted in a final snarl.
Blood dripped. Somewhere in the distance, a dying beast wheezed.
His gaze flicked toward the kraggor, the last survivor. The creature clutched the stump of its severed hand, its massive chest rising and falling in panicked heaves. Its wide, terrified eyes locked onto Kibo, the moonlight making its fear all the more visible.
It knew.
Kibo's lips curled into a slow, menacing smile, teeth glinting in the pale glow.
The kraggor let out a strangled noise, half-growl, half-whimper, then bolted, kicking up dirt as it scrambled toward the forest's edge, legs pounding the ground in raw desperation.
Kibo didn't move—just exhaled, almost disappointed.
Then, with a flick of his wrist, his katana spun through the air, a streak of steel cutting through the darkness.
Thunk.
The blade buried itself deep in the kraggor's skull, pinning it mid-step to the trunk of a tree. The beast jerked, limbs twitching, before it crumpled forward, blood pouring down the bark in thick, red streams.
Silence.
Kibo remained still, his breath slow and steady as he let the moment settle. Then, almost as an afterthought, he dragged a bloodstained hand across his cheek, his fingers brushing over a fresh gash. A faint glow pulsed from his palm, slow and deliberate. The skin knit itself together, though the dried blood remained.
His smile lingered—dark, unyielding.
This... was good.
In his mind, Ignis's laughter erupted—raw, guttural, and vicious.
"Well, look at you, brat—a blood-soaked butcher stacking corpses like a damn trophy! And yet, you're still a miserable disappointment. Useless!" His voice was a savage lash, steeped in brutal truth.
Kibo tilted his head, a dry chuckle slipping out. "Oh yeah? What's your grand wisdom this time, oh wise one?"
Ignis didn't hold back, his words slicing through the silence like a rusted blade. "You know exactly what I mean, you brain-dead mongrel! This mess—these dead beasts, your pitiful little rampage—it'd all be nothing if you'd just embraced the lust before. That dark, hungry edge! But no… instead, you're too busy playing the noble idiot, too weak to even nick your sadistic aunt. She'd have crushed you like a bug, and you'd deserve it!"
Kibo's smirk twitched, then hardened. The thrill of the slaughter still pulsed beneath his skin, but the moment was already fading, replaced by that gnawing exhaustion creeping through his bones.
"What's the point of griping now?" he muttered, rolling his shoulder before pressing a bloodied hand against a cut on his arm. A faint glow flared beneath his palm, sluggish but steady as the wound began to knit itself shut. "I couldn't go all out—not with Lily and Syl there. You saw it."
"Oh, don't feed me that garbage, you sentimental fool!" Ignis's snarl crackled through his mind, sharp and merciless. "Those girls—your lover and that other one—they're a waste of your damn time! They've turned you soft, idiot—soft as a rotting corpse and twice as stupid. You're a shadow of what you could be, dragging your sorry ass around for their sake. Pathetic!"
Kibo exhaled slowly, dragging his hand down his face. His fingers came away streaked with drying blood. He shifted, boots sinking deeper into the blood-soaked dirt as he slid down from the mound of corpses.
Squelch.
The wet sound clung to the air as he landed, fresh blood splattering against his boots. He barely spared it a glance.
"You don't say," he muttered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "But that's done. I had to keep them alive—had to protect them."
"Protect them?!" Ignis's voice roared in his skull, each word crackling with venomous disdain. "You're delusional, you whining little cur! Who's protecting who here, huh? Me! I'm the one hauling your worthless hide out of the fire while you bleed and whimper! Or have you forgotten how helpless you'd be without me barking in your ear? You're a puppet—a broken, bleeding puppet!"
Kibo let out a short breath—half a chuckle, half a sigh. His feet dragged as he trudged toward the tree where his katana still jutted from the kraggor's skull, the beast's massive body still twitching in its final moments.
"Yeah, yeah, your nagging's a real lifesaver," he said dryly, fingers curling around the hilt.
With a slow pull, he wrenched the blade free.
The kraggor sagged forward.
THUD.
Its lifeless weight collapsed to the ground, sending up a thick spray of blood as its severed flesh gave way. Dark crimson spattered across Kibo's katana, clinging to the steel in thick, sluggish rivulets.
He watched the mess for a second, then let out a breath, flicking his wrist in a sharp motion.
Blood splattered across the dirt, flung from the blade's edge in thin arcs.
Only then did he sheathe it.
He exhaled, tilting his head back slightly, the cold night air filling his lungs. His gaze flicked toward the distant treetops, the direction he had come from. His body ached, but he pushed forward, muttering under his breath, "But I've got no time for this—I need to find Li—"
"Find your lover? Why bother, you lovesick moron?" Ignis cut in, voice curling like smoke in the back of his mind. "You need to track down the other girl. Or are you too dense to see what's at stake?"
Kibo paused, his hand lingering on the hilt. His exhaustion didn't waver, but something in Ignis's tone made him narrow his eyes.
"Why Syl first?" His voice was low, probing.
"Because she's my target, you blind, bumbling jackass!" Ignis snapped, ruthless and direct. "You don't let her die—not ever. She's got power, potential you can't even wrap your tiny brain around. I won't let you screw this up chasing after your precious Love like some lost mutt!"
Kibo exhaled sharply through his nose. His fingers twitched against the hilt, but he didn't argue. He just turned, boots crunching through the grass as he neared the forest's edge.
"You've been obsessed with Syl since you sniffed out that 'potential,'" he muttered, tone sharpening. "What's your game?"
"My game?!" Ignis's laugh was jagged, mocking. "What's it to you, you dim-witted oaf? I've told you—she's vital, she's got what I need! Or have you been too busy mooning over your lover to listen? You're a distraction, Brat—a walking, bleeding waste of space!"
Kibo sighed, stepping beneath the twisted branches, the moonlight dimming as the forest swallowed him.
"Fine, I won't dig," he muttered, resigned. "I'll find Syl. Lily can handle herself—I know that much."
"Handle herself? Ha!" Ignis's voice turned venomous. "Why wouldn't she, you blind fool? That girl's a born killer—sharp, cold, and deadly. You'd see it if you weren't so busy playing the lovesick hero!"
Kibo rolled his eyes, brushing a stray leaf off his sleeve as he pushed deeper into the undergrowth. "Right, the 'born killer' line again," he said, sarcasm thick. "You never drop that."
"Keep deluding yourself, you thick-headed brat," Ignis shot back, his savagery unrelenting. "And while we're at it—why the hell haven't you learned to heal yourself properly, you ignorant slug? You're sitting there smearing your grubby hands over scratches like a damn toddler! You should've mastered self-healing by now—real healing, the kind that kicks in mid-fight without you fumbling around like a clown!"
Kibo exhaled through his nose, glancing down at his hand. The glow had already started to fade from a half-healed cut. He flexed his fingers, watching the slow, sluggish mend.
"What, this isn't good enough?" he muttered, voice dry but edged with defiance. "It's working."
"Working?!" Ignis's tone was a brutal snarl. "You call that working, you miserable wretch? That's a sad little parlor trick! If you'd learned to heal yourself—really heal, without your hands—you'd have stopped bleeding out and maybe tapped into the real power rotting inside you!"
Kibo let out a long, heavy sigh, his boots crunching over fallen leaves. His limbs ached, weighed down by exhaustion, but he kept moving forward.
"Whatever, Ignis," he muttered. "I got through it. That's what counts."
"Got through it?!" Ignis's voice was pure contempt. "You limped through it, you sniveling fool! You've got power in you—raw, untapped power—but you're too busy sulking and shielding your little friends to claim it! Keep ignoring me, and you'll die a weakling!"
Kibo didn't answer immediately. He rubbed his thumb over his knuckles, eyes narrowing
A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he stepped over a fallen branch. "Yeah, yeah, keep preaching," he muttered. "I'll find Syl, like you want. Happy now?"
"Happy? With you?!" Ignis's laugh was dark and biting. "I'd sooner be happy with a rotting carcass than your sorry ass! Just move, you idiot—don't screw this up!"
Kibo scoffed, his smirk lingering. He stepped forward, the forest swallowing him whole.