His red gaze sharpened, piercing like twin blades forged in fire, and in that moment all his focus and fury doubled onto his foe. His fist clenched tight, veins bulging across his hand as though his very anger had carved paths across his skin.

Slowly, deliberately, a transformation began. From his fist, scarlet, glass-like scales unfurled like molten petals curling open, spiraling upward until they armored his forearm all the way to the elbow.

He exhaled through clenched teeth and opened his hand slightly, there, a hilt emerged, glowing faintly, as if the world itself forged it for him. In the span of a breath, the hilt birthed a massive blade:

edges sharp, body radiant red, traced with ethereal white patterns that glowed like sacred runes etched across molten steel. The glow shimmered in a beautiful, dangerous harmony, white purity staining crimson wrath, an unsettling yet magnificent marriage of destruction and divinity.

The Singrith before him merely gripped his axe tighter, its chipped edge gleaming dully in the dim light. A smirk twitched across his face, as if he'd been waiting for this moment, hungry, mocking, cruel.

Simma's jaw clenched so hard his fangs pressed against his lip. His body vibrated with rage, each muscle tight, carved like stone.

Puum!

In a sudden, thunderous burst, he launched forward. His white hair whipped backward in a violent gust, following his speed like a banner of war. His motion was pristine, sharp as a hawk's dive.

Sensing him, the Singrith also surged forward, axe drawn behind like a beast poised for slaughter. That twisted grin never left his scarred face, it only widened as he rushed, enjoying the chase of death.

In a blur that almost broke sight, they collided. Sword met axe with a deafening crash, and the force of their strike birthed a wave that rippled outward, sweeping through the lingering dust until the whole battlefield shook.

When the haze cleared, their weapons remained locked together. Sparks crackled, shrieking out of the collision as each forced against the other. Simma pressed with all his might, veins bulging along his neck, his muscles taut with strain, his sword trembling but unyielding. The Singrith pressed back, his rotten grin splitting wider as he met the challenge.

"You…" Simma snarled, his voice rumbling like thunder from deep within his chest. His fangs gleamed, his fury pouring out with every syllable.

"I will make you suffer like you did to her."

Their weapons scraped and groaned together like wailing beasts, neither giving ground.

The Singrith tilted his head, face twisted in mock confusion.

"Who the hell are you?" His tone was tauntingly innocent, like a child asking a stupid question, but on his face, that mockery was unbearable.

To Simma, the words rang like nails dragged against stone. His rage boiled over.

"You're about to FIND OUT! YAAAGH!"

With a roar, he rammed his foot into the Singrith's abdomen. The impact thundered out, forcing the monster backward. Their weapons clanged apart as the Singrith screeched, staggering.

But the fiend only grinned again, fangs bloodstained, face twisted with scars and deep wrinkles that warped his flesh. His green eyes gleamed like rotting emeralds, their sickly glow almost zombified.

Then, with no pause, he bolted forward once more. His axe rose high, aimed for Simma's skull like a guillotine descending.

Simma saw it early. He shoved himself sideways, his black kimono whipping with his motion, the blade cleaving the air where his head had just been. The axe slammed the ground with a shattering crack, splitting stone and kicking up dust.

But the Singrith was relentless. In the same heartbeat his axe hit the ground, he sprung upward with monstrous agility. His claws shot forward, long and sharp, slashing at Simma with a motion too quick, and too vicious.

Simma noticed it late. He strained backward desperately. The claws scraped through the shoulder of his kimono, tearing fabric like paper, and sliced a shallow cut across his flesh. Blood seeped out, red against black cloth.

"I'd like to taste that blood, soldier," the Singrith sneered, his voice coarse, decayed, carrying the stench of death itself.

But Simma's fury only grew. His entire body shook with rage. His head pounded as his demonic aura flared higher, thick as a storm cloud ready to burst. The air around him warped, suffocating, as though even the atmosphere feared him.

His gaze fell upon his kimono. His favorite kimono. Yes stained with Blood, he could tolerate that, it could be washed, cleaned, forgiven. But this? This rip, this cut in his most cherished garment? That was an offense too far.

"He'll regret that," Simma growled, his voice low yet thunderous, more curse than speech.

He raised his sword, covering his eyes with his free hand. The aura around him spiked, black, red, and wild, growing sharper and sharper until the ground itself trembled beneath its weight.

"Blade of Hell… Demonic Flare!" His voice was both a chant and a threat.

His eyes shot open, glowing with killing intent, and he screamed,

"IGNICARIS!"

Lightning erupted. His sword burned red, its edge sparking alive with energy as crimson bolts snapped around him. Power surged, so violent the air shrieked in protest.

BOOM!

He launched forward, sword raised high. The Singrith defended with his axe, but the clash was catastrophic. The impact shattered the axe into pieces, shards scattering into the air. The explosive wave hurled the Singrith backwards like a ragdoll, the ground quaking beneath him.

Even Delilah, far away in her own fight, felt the shockwave tear through the battlefield.

The Singrith slammed to the ground, spine cracking against stone, groaning as he staggered up. He shook his head like a wounded bulldog, blood drooling down his lip. But as his sight cleared, his eyes widened.

From the air, descending like wrath given form, was Simma. His sword pulsed crimson lightning, crackling like a thunderstorm condensed into steel. The storm followed his blade, ready to divide flesh from bone, to split the monster clean in half.

The Singrith's panic exploded. His eyes stretched wide with primal fear. He rolled to the side at the last possible second...

BOOM!

Simma's sword struck the ground. The explosion was immense. Crimson lightning screamed through the earth, carving scars across stone, leaving it charred, dented, and ruined.

The Singrith scrambled up. Pride broken, his grin gone, replaced with sheer terror. He no longer wanted his blood. No, not anymore. Not against this. Not when survival was slipping away with each breath. He had underestimated his foe, and the realization crushed him.

He turned and ran.

Simma's eyes tracked him. His anger didn't waver. Then, from his back, a new manifestation tore forth, a massive, serpent-like tail, glowing red and ethereal, scales shimmering like liquid fire. It lashed forward with bone-snapping force.

CRASH!

The tail whipped the Singrith, slamming him through the wall of a nearby house. Stone cracked, wood splintered, the entire structure quaking under the impact. Dust and rubble poured down as the Singrith crashed through, leaving a ragged, gaping hole. The house groaned, near collapse, but stubbornly stood.

This was Simma's within lucent beast, summoned in fragments. Like other Azren, he could call forth parts of his inner monster, shaping its presence as far it is in its lucent form. And right now, that wrathful tail was enough.

He strode toward the ruin, sword in hand. It was time to end this. Revenge demanded it. Sonja's memory demanded it. Nothing, nothing, would stop him from killing this wretch.

But then, something changed.

From the broken body of the already killed Singriths, lights began to leak. Blue, pristine, crystal-like. They pulsed with life, glowing so bright they lit the battlefield. But not just blue, also; purple, crimson, weaving together in dazzling streams.

They floated upward, swirling like fireflies before darting into Simma. He felt them pierce his chest, sinking into his core. Others flew to Azren still fighting.

Simma froze. He knew immediately. These were kernels.

The blue ones that entrred him was because his soul core aspect was blue, which is same for all flux bornthe. The Purple ones are for the Xenon. Crimson for the Accrehx, and they were numerous and plentiful, pouring out like a bloody tide.

He realized then: kernel color evolving mirrored the soul core aspect of the Azren that slayed the singriths it evolved from; They were a few purple, fewer blue, for he was the only Fluxborn here. But crimson… crimson overflowed. Since many there were Accrehx ranked Azren.

Simma turned and continued his movement towards the house his enemy broke into. His grip tightened. He was still absorbing the blue kernels.

But something stopped him in his tracks.

Behind him, a war cry rose, the reinforcements had arrived. The sound of Azren reinforcements thundered through the battlefield. Likely Accrehx ranks, maybe even high top ranking Xenon. They were close.

Simma stiffened. He couldn't be seen like this. Not in his demon form.

He cast one look back at the ruin, then vanished into the shadows, disappearing before the others arrived.

Delilah searched, but caught only a glimpse of him, high above, riding his dragon into the sky.

The Azren swarmed the battlefield. They drove the Singrith into retreat, freed hostages, and restored order. But their arrival revealed the devastation left behind. Burnt houses, families broken, corpses littering the streets. The stench of char and grief spread through the city. Fear had rooted itself deep.

Simma's eyes, far above, were heavy with grief. He had failed Sonja. The one thing he swore to do for her, he had failed.

As they soared through the clouds, the demonic patterns on his skin faded, claws retracting into fingers, fangs dulling, eyes returning to normal.

"You did well, Master," Goody murmured, trying to ease him.

But then, the cold voice of his core sigil spoke:

=============≈=================

[You have killed a defiled Singrith ×76 "Kernel Evolved: 76"]

[You have killed a tainted Singrith ×38 "Kernel Evolved: 38"]

[You have killed a ruined Singrith ×8 "Kernel Evolved: 32"]

===============≈===============

Simma's eyes widened. He hadn't realized he killed so many.

"I should be leveling up to Xenon now… or maybe even Accrehx, with all these kernels," he whispered, his voice drifting into the wind as he and Goody landed back on the Citadel's rooftop.

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