The Duskfang snarled and charged—massive hooves thundering across the ground, jaws gaping with a roar that split the sky.
"Gerald!" I screamed.
But he didn't flinch.
He planted his feet, shifted his stance—and coiled his right arm.
His muscles tensed, veins bulging beneath skin like writhing serpents, pulsing with restrained fury.
The air around him twisted.
Something primal rippled in the atmosphere, warping it like heat above fire.
Then he exhaled—and slammed his fist forward.
"ΩMEGA FIST OF DESTRUCTION."
The moment Gerald's fist launched forward, the world bent.
It was as if reality itself recoiled.
The air imploded with a deafening crack, followed by a thunderous shockwave that burst outward in every direction. Trees shuddered violently, their trunks groaning as if the forest itself had taken a blow to the chest. Leaves tore from branches, whirling into the air like startled birds.
The Duskfang never had a chance.
One moment it was mid-charge—massive, snarling, wild.
The next, Gerald's fist connected directly with its skull.
A sound like a war drum being split in half echoed through the clearing.
The beast's entire head caved in—not like flesh and bone, but like brittle porcelain under a hammer forged by the gods.
The upper half of its body snapped backward from the sheer kinetic force, its spine arching in an unnatural curve as the skin around its neck ruptured. Its ribcage buckled with a sickening crunch, and shockwaves raced through its limbs—cracking bones, bursting muscle.
Then came the explosion.
Not of fire.
But of raw force.
The impact ignited a burst of compressed wind and power, erupting from the point of contact and blasting through the Duskfang's torso. Chunks of fur, splinters of bone, and molten blood scattered in a wide arc behind it.
The entire front half of the creature was obliterated—turned into a mist of gore and pulverized meat.
What remained—its hind legs and half a torso—slammed into a tree twenty feet away, leaving a crater in the trunk before sliding down in a twitching, smoking heap.
Silence fell again.
Total. Crushing. Silence.
Even the wind dared not return yet.
Gerald stood in the center of the carnage, arm extended, steam rising from his skin. The earth beneath his feet was cracked and submerge.
He let out a slow breath, lowered his arm, and rolled his shoulder with a calm shrug.
"Too loud," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
"Should've gone for Delta Crush instead."
I just stared still on the ground, still aching, still human.
Where I had needed everything my Rune, my training, my very soul to defeat a single beast…
Gerald had vaporized another with a single strike.
My breath caught in my throat.
The stench of blood and smoke lingered in the air. The corpse—what was left of it—was still steaming, painting the forest floor in viscera and silence.
And Gerald… he just stood there.
Relaxed. Almost bored.
Like he hadn't just annihilated a magical beast with the flick of a wrist.
Like he hadn't just shown me the difference between strength…
…and something far beyond that.
My fingers dug into the dirt. Slowly, painfully, I forced myself upright—every muscle screaming from the strain.
My legs wobbled, but I kept standing.
I had to.
I had to look him in the eye.
Gerald turned toward me. Not smug. Not arrogant.
Just calm. As if he were waiting for me to speak first.
I stared at him. At the cracked earth beneath his feet. At the blood-spattered fragments of fur and bone behind him.
"…What are you?" I asked quietly.
The words slipped out before I could stop them.
Gerald blinked.
Then sighed.
"The real question is…" he said, tilting his head, "…why do you care?"
"And for the record," he added, raising an eyebrow, "I'm not spilling any beans. So if you're expecting a tragic backstory, a monologue about my power, or some great prophecy crap—don't."
He jabbed a finger at me.
"Don't ask."
I took a slow breath. Let the tension ease from my grip.
"…Fine." I muttered. "Keep your secrets, O Slayer of Beasts."
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Good." He turned back toward the trees, letting the silence stretch as he walked ahead. "Now come on, mystery girl. That punch probably alerted every damn predator within five kilometers."
I followed him, sword dragging lightly in the dirt.
But I didn't stop thinking.
About the impossible force I'd just witnessed.
About the way he moved like someone who had danced with death more than once—and didn't flinch anymore.
And most of all?
About the way my Rune still hadn't calmed.
{[]}{[]}{[]}{[]}{[]}{[]}
"So… what's your Rune anyway?" I asked, arms folded as I fell into step beside him.
Gerald gave me a sideways glance, one brow arching like it had a mind of its own.
"Didn't I just say I'm not telling you about my powers?"
I huffed, rolling my eyes dramatically.
"Ugh, yes, you did, but I'm a curious girl, alright? And you—you're some walking mystery meat who looks my age but hits like Thor with unresolved anger issues."
He snorted. "Mystery meat?"
"I will keep calling you that until you answer me." I pointed at him with theatrical menace.
"You can't just show up, vaporize a Duskfang, and expect me not to question your very existence."
He stayed quiet, but I caught the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.
Encouraged, I pressed on.
"Besides," I added, chin tilted upward, "I'm the strongest in my generation. Top of my cohort. My Master said so. And now some weird forest hobo who looks like he hasn't bathed in three days just annihilates a monster I nearly died fighting?" I jabbed a thumb at myself, proud. "If anyone deserves answers, it's me."
Gerald finally stopped walking. Turned. Faced me fully.
His eyes, dull-blue and unreadable, locked onto mine.
"You're strong, huh?" he said slowly. "Strongest of your generation?"
"Damn right I am," I replied with a smirk.
He studied me for a beat longer… then shrugged and started walking again.
"That's cute."
"CUTE?!" I choked, sprinting after him. "Hey! Take that back! I could slice you in half with my Third Form right now!"
"Sure," he said dryly, "just give me ten minutes to yawn and stretch first."
"You arrogant—!"
We bickered all the way to find a safe camp, but the tension from before had softened. The shock, the dread, the silence from the kill site… it was fading now.
Later that night, as I sat across from him by the fire, I found my gaze drifting again to his arms—the ones that could end beasts with a single strike.
There were no visible Runes.
No markings.
No glow.
Nothing.
And that? That bothered me more than anything.
Because it meant whatever he was using—wasn't normal.
"You know," he said lazily, not even looking up from the fire, "if you keep staring at me like that, I'd start thinking you have a crush on me."
My brain short-circuited.
"Wha—!?" I jolted upright, nearly knocking over my cup.
My face went hot. My voice pitched into full panic mode.
"I-I am not—! You smug, smug—abortion monkey!"
Gerald blinked. Then laughed.
Like, actually laughed. A deep, sharp, chest-shaking laugh that echoed through the clearing.
"'Abortion monkey'? Is that a local insult or did you invent that just for me?"
"Shut up!" I shouted, crossing my arms and trying to disappear into my own hood. "You're distracting me from how weird you are!"
"Mission accomplished then." He leaned back, hands behind his head again, eyes drifting to the stars. "You really are easy to fluster."
"And you're easy to punch," I muttered.
"Please. Your third form couldn't even cut my breakfast toast."
"You ate berries, you uncultured goat."
"Delicious berries," he grinned. "Especially when not served with a side of death glare."
I groaned and turned away, tugging my cloak tighter around me. But inside…
Inside, I wasn't just annoyed.
I was curious.
Because no matter how much he joked or teased, no matter how relaxed he looked now—I'd seen him punch reality into submission.
That kind of power didn't come from nowhere.
And if he wasn't using Runes… then what the Helheim was he using?
{[] The Next Day []}
"Ready?" Gerald asked, standing barefoot in the clearing.
He hadn't even drawn a weapon.
Meanwhile, I had my sword raised, stance set, and the [Miðgarðr Rune] humming like a warning bell under my skin.
"You're not even armed."
"Neither are bears. But they'll still rip you in half."
I lunged without warning—fast and low.
He sidestepped.
Effortlessly.
I pivoted mid-strike, bringing my blade up in a vertical arc.
He leaned just out of reach, fingers grazing the flat of my sword, deflecting it with maddening ease.
"Better. Still slow."
"I hate you."
"Good. That means you're learning."
{[] Day 2 []}
This time, I didn't wait. I attacked first—hard, fast, no warning.
Ljósbrandr – First Form: Dawnbreaker Slash.
The clearing flashed with silver light. My sword cut forward like a comet streaking across sky.
Gerald caught the flat of my blade with his palm.
Just—caught it.
The impact sent a shockwave through my arms.
"Your form's tighter," he said. "But your body's still telling me what you'll do next."
I gritted my teeth, breathing hard.
"Then maybe I should stop telegraphing and start stabbing."
"Progress." He smirked. "But save the death threats for when you're not wheezing like a dying goat."
I charged again.
This time, he parried with a low kick that knocked the wind out of me and sent me skidding backward in the dirt.
{[] Day 3 []}
Sweat dripped into my eyes. My arms burned. My legs felt like they were made of wood.
But I wasn't going to stop.
Not today.
"Again," I panted, pulling myself up from the ground.
Gerald arched a brow. "You're bleeding."
"Not dead though, am I?"
He looked at me for a long moment… then nodded. "Alright, berserker girl. Let's see what you've got."
We clashed again—blade against hand, movement against instinct.
He never used his full strength. I knew that. But he moved fast enough now that I could barely keep up.
Still, something had changed.
I was hitting back.
Not just reacting—responding.
Every failure was followed by a lesson.
Every bruise was a mark of progress.