It was the middle of the night. Rain poured heavily as the red glow of the flare lit up the sky. From the wreckage stood Liba and Felicia.
"Look at that! So this was your plan? Beautiful fireworks though—don't you agree?" Liba said, clapping his hands and smiling at the display. "I was the one who suggested the signal flare shouldn't be a boring one."
"Aren't you worried? Some of them used this as a chance to escape," Felicia said.
"Well, we do have contingencies. And it's not like they'll get very far," Liba replied.
Felicia looked at him, uneasy at his calm demeanor. Why is he so calm? Did he know about the plan? No… if he did, he would've acted sooner. It must be something else, Felicia thought. His anxiety grew—but now wasn't the time to dwell on it.
Seizing the moment while Liba was distracted, Felicia charged again.
Felicia charged, ducking just below Liba's line of sight, and landed a brutal uppercut—followed by a jab and a straight to the face. Blood sprayed from Liba's nose, but he kept smiling.
Liba countered with a headbutt. Felicia's vision blurred as he momentarily lost consciousness, just before a vicious front kick sent him crashing through the wall of a nearby house—right into a room where three soldiers were stationed.
"C'mon, Felicia! Is that all you've got? After everything I did? After killing all those people? After forcing that kid to turn~~!" Liba shouted, his voice rising into a sadistic, mocking laugh.
Suddenly—BANG. A shot rang out. A red mark bloomed on Liba's forehead.
"Hey! No fair!" he yelped.
From the settling dust stepped Felicia, holding a bolt-action rifle with a slick wooden frame. He fired again—this time hitting Liba in the lower jaw. Without hesitation, Felicia pulled the lever and took another shot, striking him right in the eye.
"OW! DAMN IT!" Liba squealed, stumbling back.
Felicia took aim at Liba's groin.
In response, Liba raised his hand and made a flicking gesture, taunting him. "Oh no you don't!"
"Huh? The hell…" Felicia muttered, confused. The two stared each other down, tension hanging in the air. Liba's gaze was locked onto him, unwavering.
Then—Felicia pulled the trigger.
The bullet tore through the air, heading straight for Liba—until, with a sudden snap of his fingers, Liba redirected it. Sparks flew past his face as the bullet ricocheted midair, striking the muzzle of Felicia's rifle and rendering it useless.
"ARE YOU FUCKING JOKING?!" Felicia roared, furious.
"HAVE SOME CLASS, FELICIA! I EVEN DROPPED MY WEAPONS FOR YOU!" Liba shouted back, indignant.
"Dropped your weapons, huh?" Felicia thought, narrowing his eyes as he subtly scanned the area for Liba's scythe.
Meanwhile, Peeros, Vina, and the other laborers were rushing toward the source of the commotion—only to be stopped by Bacon.
"I wouldn't interfere if I were you," Bacon said, stepping in front of them.
"And why not?" Vina asked, her expression sharp and serious.
"Liba fighting is like an animal in heat," Bacon replied calmly. "You don't want to be the one to interrupt him—unless you've got a death wish."
—
Back at the battle, Felicia launched into a flurry of strikes, now mixing in powerful kicks with his punches. Liba, still on the defensive, absorbed the jabs and blocked the straights and hooks with minimal effort. He wasn't losing ground—but he wasn't trying to end it either. His counterattacks were quick and minimal, short hits to Felicia's ribs or abdomen, almost like he was savoring the fight.
Felicia lunged with a knee strike—but Liba caught it with ease.
"You know," Liba said, grinning, "I'm really enjoying this. Not many people are crazy enough to fight me."
He followed up with a sudden palm strike to Felicia's chest, sending a shockwave through his body.
"I was told I could go ahead and help out with fighting the Decadents," Liba said casually, effortlessly dodging Felicia's strike. "But I told them I'm not interested. I'd rather watch you guys do it."
"Fighting Decadents feels empty. Their souls are already dried out. It's like hitting a dead man—no reaction, no kickback. But watching you all suffer? Now that's a treat. The way you form bonds and connections, only for those bonds to die. The way you're slowly drained of your will to live. The physical toll of fighting Decadents…"
Liba suddenly grabbed Felicia's arm, yanked it, and slammed him down—grinding his head against the pavement as Felicia screamed in pain. Leaning down, Liba whispered with a sick grin:
"I love it…"
Felicia, gritting his teeth, pushed back against him with raw effort.
"Whoa! Looks like you still have some fight left in you!" Liba laughed, then drove a kick into Felicia's gut, sending him crashing to the ground.
Felicia, however, raised his fist once more. He was only a few steps away from Liba's scythe—and the only thing standing in his way was Liba. Felicia was shaking, but he still had just enough strength left for one final push.
He took a deep breath. A moment of focus.
Then, he dashed forward.
Liba reached out, grabbing Felicia's face as he approached—but Felicia swiftly knocked the hand away with his right arm, twisting his body and delivering a devastating hook to Liba's jaw. Liba staggered but recovered quickly—only for Felicia to follow up with a left hook to his side. Liba's face twisted in pain from the blow.
But Felicia wasn't done.
He kicked a clump of dirt into Liba's eyes, temporarily blinding him, and then launched one final uppercut to his chin—shaking Liba to his core.
Felicia didn't hesitate. He sprinted toward the scythe, grabbed it, and unleashed a powerful air slash. Liba, surprisingly, dodged.
"YOU'RE A CRAFTY ONE, AREN'T YOU!?" Liba laughed, raising his hand to summon one of his scythes. "BUT I THINK IT'S TIME WE END THIS!"
"HOW DID YOU DODGE THAT?!" Felicia shouted in disbelief.
Liba pointed to his ear with a grin.
"You just need to listen."
Felicia breathed heavily, both of them locked in a tense standoff, waiting for the other to make a move. But between the two, it was clear—Felicia was the one against the wall.
A moment of silence fell over them. The only sound was the steady patter of rain hitting the soil. Both men were soaked—drenched in rain, sweat, and blood. Steam rose from their bodies, the heat of battle clashing with the cold night air.
Then, finally, Felicia gripped the scythe.
Veins bulged along the weapon's handle. His hand trembled as he poured every ounce of strength into his next strike. And then—he unleashed it.
A powerful horizontal wind slash tore through the air.
At the same time, Liba swung his own scythe—his slash vertical.
The two attacks collided in midair. Liba's strike tore straight through Felicia's, and then through Felicia himself—cleaving into his left arm and leg.
Liba was struck too—a deep horizontal cut across his abdomen—but he didn't even flinch.
Felicia, on the other hand, was screaming—squealing in agony. Liba approached, stepping over him and kneeling down, eager to take in every detail of Felicia's suffering.
"YES! YES! HAHAHAHA!" Liba laughed hysterically, bathing in Felicia's flowing blood. He took a deep breath, savoring the moment, and whispered:
"Felicia… there are a lot of evil people in this world. Some do evil because of how they were raised. Some because they feel they must. And some... some just don't understand the wrong they do. But rarely—very rarely—there are those who were simply born that way." He smiled wide. "I'm the latter."
Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through Liba's gut.
He looked down in surprise—Felicia had driven his middle finger deep into the wound he'd left on Liba's abdomen.
Felicia grinned through the blood. "Rebellious… till the end."
Liba chuckled. "I like that."
Then, without hesitation, he began to beat Felicia—again and again and again—until his body finally went still.
Liba stood, blood dripping from his fists. Around him, the soldiers looked on—paralyzed by fear and horror at what they had just witnessed.
"You! Clean up this mess," Liba ordered one of the soldiers.
As the soldier approached, he saw Felicia's face—pummeled and unrecognizable. The imprint of Liba's fists was carved into his skull. Bone jutted through torn flesh, his eyes hung loose from their sockets, and with each faint, ragged breath, fresh spurts of blood trickled from the ruins of his face.
"Shit…" the soldier muttered, frozen for a moment.
Some of the laborers gathered behind him, drawn by the commotion. Their faces twisted in horror. Bolca immediately turned away, unable to stomach the sight, while Vina and Peeros lingered in the back, refusing to look at their friend's mangled corpse.
Nula left without a word after seeing the body—his face expressionless, but inside, he was shaken. He had seen death before, but nothing like this. Nothing this brutal. As he walked past Liba, the man didn't even acknowledge him. Liba stood there smiling—eyes wide, still drunk on adrenaline, like he was high.
He looked at Nula briefly.
No words. Just a gaze of pure, unfiltered ecstasy.
It sent a chill straight down Nula's spine.
Meanwhile, the chase continued.
Cleo's group raced through the rain-slick road, tires splashing through mud, while the unknown assailant closed in—riding atop a pursuing vehicle, spear in hand. Each throw came closer than the last, deliberately near-misses meant to rattle, not kill.
Inside the vehicle, tension was thick.
Until finally, the hooded figure whispered with a grin, "Alright. Let's go for real this time."