Domitius let out a low whistle as the dust and frost rained down around them. "By the gods," he breathed, eyes still on Okun as the chief steadied himself, "haven't seen you move like that in decades, sire. Especially when it comes to using your Soulful Technique: Terramold." He coughed into a fist before grasping his chin, smirking. "That was that was something else."

Okun only nodded once, palms still warm from the echo of his soulura. The old chief's chest rose and fell slowly, the aftershocks of channeling such force still humming in his limbs and aching bones.

The Oni's chest, too, rose and fell in rhythm of its own exhaustion, though obviously less than Okun. As its massive form blotted the sky, snarled a sound that curdled the blood.

Icy wind howled. Snow whipped sideways. The creature's gaze flicked between the ruined channel of rock protruding from its flank and the humans below who dared to stand against it.

It didn't bother to hide its irritation. The Oni's nostrils flared like storm-torn cliffs; remnants of shattered ice clung to its hide like barnacles. With a disdainful snort, it began to gather itself again, fingers already flexing to condense another world-breaking icicle high above them.

"Holy—!" Koul shouted through the gale, but his voice was cut by a dry, violent cough. The wind stole the rest from him, serrating the air with ice.

Okun watched, eyes cold and steady. He saw the creature's intent, the same pattern of motion as before: raise, condense, gather, form, then drop—the Oni was planning on doing the same giant icicle attack from earlier.

He didn't hesitate. There was no time for second thoughts or for measured parley—not when another block of ice falling would mean more crushed roofs, potentially more injured, God forbid more dead.

He inhaled. The breath was long and cavernous, and it seemed to suck the very temperature from the world for the space of a heartbeat. Then he roared—a sound that was less a voice and more the breaking of a boulder—spreading through the village like an answering bell. It matched with the Oni's own roar.

Okun's arms opened wide in a cross, muscles bunched and rooted like living stone, then slammed together with the force of a falling tree. Snow exploded outward from the impact; the ground answered him as if it had been waiting for that call.

"EARTH'S MAW!" He bellowed.

The word hit the white like thunder. From the snowy earth beneath Okun's feet, a mountain answered—an enormous, multi-tipped spike of rock and packed soil that tore upward in a violent, grinding roar that shook not only the village, but even the entire Briarstone Mountain Range. The surge of earth threw up a wall of debris and sent an avalanche of cold-dusted stones hurling.

Even though she saw it coming, interrupting her own attack and swaying to the left, the Oni reacted too slowly. Mid-dodge, the right side of her midsection met the charging mass. The spike sheared into her with a brutal, ear-splitting impact.

Her body rocked, her world tilted, and a chunk of the dark, frost-laced hide at the impact site was ripped free as the jagged earth tore through.

The fatal wound Okun inflicted on the Oni caused her to stagger midair, her massive form lurching forward as she tried to fight it—the urge to stay afloat and not pass out then and there.

With a guttural cry that shook the clouds, she was only able to accomplish one of the tasks as she tumbled from the sky. The impact sent a tremor through the village, snow and shards of ice erupting outward like shattered glass.

The Oni's body writhed in the now red-stained snow, its breaths ragged and feral. It pressed a trembling hand against its side, trying desperately to stifle the torrent of blood pouring from the gaping hole where its flesh had been torn away.

The sight was both terrifying and pitiful—a beast, a monster, now writhing on the ground like an injured animal, yet still clinging to fury rather than fear.

Its clawed fingers scraped against frozen earth as it tried to rise, the guttural sound of its pain echoing across the village. Each movement sent splatters of dark blood across the ground, hissing ever so faintly as it met the snow.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

But the victory was not without its cost.

Okun, still standing where he had unleashed his Soulful Technique, suddenly collapsed forward onto his hands and knees. His body trembled under its own weight, steam rising from his back where his cloak had been torn by the backlash of his own power. Each labored breath came with a sharp, wet cough, until a splatter of crimson painted the snow beneath him.

Domitius and Miuson shouted his name at once, their boots crunching over the frost as they rushed to his side. Domitius grabbed Okun by the shoulder to steady him, while Miuson crouched low, eyes darting between his chief's face and the crimson spreading beneath him.

"Chief! Chief, what's wrong!?" Miuson urged, his voice breaking with panic before he himself coughed into his hand.

Okun tried to respond, but his first attempt came out as little more than a wheeze. His throat convulsed as another cough wracked through him, staining his chin with more blood.

Seeing this, Koul, who had been standing near Mumu, staggered forward with an alarmed expression. But as he tried to take another step, his legs gave out beneath him. The world tilted violently; his vision swam. He fell to one knee, catching himself with one trembling hand in the snow, coughing violently into the other.

Mumu immediately darted to his side, eyes wide with alarm. He caught Koul before he could fall completely, steadying him with an arm around his back. Mumu then patted Koul's back whilst using his other arm to rub his shoulder.

Even though Koul didn't have the connection that Dama had with the plushes to understand them, Mumu;s message was clear: "Are you okay!?"

Koul nodded weakly in thanks, still coughing. When he finally managed to pull his hand away from his mouth, his stomach dropped—the sight of dark blood smeared across his palm sent a jolt of confusion and fear through him. "What the…!?" He whispered, voice trembling.

Hearing the confusion and slight fear in Koul's voice, Mumu thought to himself how rather uncharacteristic it was of Enohay's Handyman. That was until Mumu looked at Koul's hand. Even though it was physically impossible for all intents and purposes, a chill ran up Mumu's spine.

Domitius glanced over just in time to see it, his brow furrowing deeply. "You too?" He muttered under his breath, realization dawning that this wasn't mere exhaustion. As he coughed himself again, it was starting to set in that something was wrong.

"I'm… fine…" Okun managed to say between ragged, uneven breaths. His voice was low, forced through clenched teeth, every word trembling from pain. "Just…need to—catch my… breath…"

But Domitius and Miuson could see it—the unnatural pallor in Okun's face, the dimming light in his eyes.

Even through the exhaustion, Okun's mind was racing. He knew his Soulful Technique drained him, but this… "This isn't normal." His chest felt tight, heavy, as though something invisible was leeching his strength away.

He turned his gaze to Koul, still being supported by Mumu. The man was trembling, coughing more blood into the snow despite never having to raise so much as a finger. The realization hit Okun like a hammer.

"This isn't just the strain of power…something...something's wrong..." Okun's breathing grew shallower as he forced his mind to steady itself. "If even Koul…who doesn't use soulura...nor took any damage…is weakening like this…" He clenched his trembling hand against the ground, his mind connecting the dots through sheer instinct. "Then this must mean…the Oni's power...the ice...!"

The chief's gaze, heavy and unyielding despite his state, lifted to the monstrous figure writhing in the snow ahead—the Oni, bleeding but alive. Even wounded, its presence was suffocating. Its hateful eyes glinting through the storm.

However, there was one with even more hatred in his eyes: Miuson.

Without a word, Miuson staggered upright and, slowly but surely, made advancing footsteps towards the Oni.

"Miuson...?"" Domitius' uttered before snapping out of his minor shock. "Hey, boy! Where are you going?"

Miuson didn't listen. His rage had deafened him to reason. On his way, he plucked a speared half buried in a hill of snow.

His breaths came in ragged gasps, periodically cut by a harsh cough. White clouds with some red billowed from his mouth, but his eyes—those burning, bloodshot eyes—never wavered.

Each step forward took effort and left deep imprints in the snow as he dragged the spear behind him, the blade leaving a thin, sharp trail toward the writhing Oni.

"Mi—Miuson!" Okun's voice cracked, but the boy didn't stop. He couldn't. His mind replayed the screams of the fleeing helpless, the collapse of the eastern barricade, the sight of Sinolto nearly crushed beneath that monstrous shard of ice, and the painful state the Oni has his chief in.

Every wound, every cry for help, every drop of blood, even every minor grevice—he pinned it all on the Oni before him.

"Like I said—" Miuson's voice trembled with venom, his grip tightening around the shaft of the spear, "—you don't belong here...!"

The Oni groaned, its massive frame twitching as it attempted to rise. Steam rose from its breath, hot against the frigid air, and for a brief moment, its single visible eye flicked toward Miuson. There was something strange in that gaze—not malice, not rage—but something faintly resembling confusion… or even pain.

Okun's raised hand trembled. "Miuson, stop!"

But the boy didn't hear him—or perhaps he chose not to. With a final, hoarse cry, Miuson lifted the spear overhead, poised to end it once and for all.

-

Next: (Chapter 98) Crystallization

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.