Ravan was panting like a madman—his breaths ragged, his chest rising and falling violently, as if the air itself were no longer enough for him. His laughter rose above the wind, above the creaking of burning wood—a laugh stripped of all human meaning.
Tormo stood frozen in place, stunned… his eyes darting around without focus. The village was burning, the snow melting beneath blood, and Ravan… was no longer the Ravan he knew.
Tormo began to think.
Not about how to defeat him.
But how to stop him.
Ravan charged with tremendous force toward Mok—a brutal, direct strike without hesitation.
But Mok vanished.
Emptiness.
Air.
Then he appeared behind Ravan.
A powerful blow landed in Ravan's back. The sound of flesh tearing was unmistakable. Blood burst forth.
Ravan stopped for a second.
Then… he laughed.
A louder, deeper, more terrifying laugh.
He reached back, touched the blood, then slowly raised his fingers and licked them. His eyes widened, as if tasting something entirely new.
"This is delicious,"
he said in a crazed voice, laughing.
Then he lunged.
He charged at Mok like a raging bull, the ground shaking beneath his steps.
Mok moved quickly—successive strikes, deep wounds: chest, shoulder, flank.
But Ravan… did not fall.
He took the blows and laughed.
His laughter grew louder with every wound.
Tormo felt terror seize him.
This wasn't a fight… this was a collapse.
Ravan was slowly losing his mind.
His movements became more violent, less precise—but stronger.
One strike hit Mok in the chest. An open wound. Blood spilled onto the snow.
Mok stepped back.
He had never wanted to kill Ravan.
He wanted to subdue him.
But now… he understood.
"If this continues… everyone will die."
Mok surged forward with greater force—a focused strike that pierced Ravan's abdomen.
Blood exploded.
Ravan was thrown backward, crashing into a crumbling house, shattering it completely, and fell amid wood and stone.
Silence.
Tormo held his breath.
Then…
Laughter.
From within the rubble, Ravan slowly emerged.
He stood.
He grabbed his own arm with the other hand and tore it open. Flesh split, bone warped.
And from inside his arm…
Blades emerged.
Sharp.
Wet with blood.
The snow around him began to turn red.
Ravan trembled, his body changing, his voice mixing with a hiss.
"Come closer…"
he said, like an invitation.
He charged toward Mok with whatever remained of his mind… or his madness.
Mok stood firm.
Raised his sword.
His eyes fixed on Ravan's neck.
This strike… would end it.
But at the last moment…
He saw Tormo.
Tormo was running.
A scream tore from his chest—not a scream of fear, but of shattering.
That sound.
A moment of hesitation.
Mok felt it.
But Tormo… was not conscious.
His mind exploded.
Images overlapped:
Ravan who once saved him.
His fear for something his brother had just obtained.
His fear that Ravan would take that thing away.
Ravan transforming.
His eyes flashing with a strange color.
Tormo's scream split the air.
Mok froze for a fraction of a second.
Ravan laughed, mind gone, laughing like a lunatic… running in madness.
Tormo's body trembled, his heart burned.
His voice was weak—but sincere.
Ravan did not look at him.
He laughed mockingly.
Something in his eyes wavered.
But Mok clenched his fist.
"Stay back, Tormo."
Tormo lunged forward—without awareness, without calculation.
He didn't think. He didn't hear his inner voice. He didn't even feel his feet striking the ground.
His body moved before his mind, as if something deeper than him had pushed him forward.
He saw Ravan… and he saw Mok.
But what he truly saw was his brother.
His eyes filled with tears—not tears of weakness, but the tears of a child whose entire world shattered at once.
He ran, screaming, but no sound came out.
The night air tore through his chest, the cold bit into his lungs, yet he did not stop.
Ravan charged as well, his mad laughter filling the place, his steps heavy, savage, without hesitation.
There was only one decision in his head: attack.
In that moment, Mok understood.
He needed no time.
He felt no regret.
He felt no fear.
He said to himself, with strange calm:
"I have lived long enough."
He abandoned the attack.
He abandoned defense.
He chose the end.
Mok vanished from before Ravan—and in the same instant appeared directly in front of him, close… far too close.
Before Tormo could understand what was happening, Ravan's hand had pierced Mok's chest.
The sound was muted.
No scream.
No explosion.
Just the penetration of flesh… bone… and heart.
Tormo froze in place.
He didn't move.
He didn't scream.
He didn't cry.
His eyes widened, his mouth slightly open, as if words had died before being born.
Only one question was written across his face:
Why?
Why is it always him?
Why do they always die in front of him?
Why is he the one who remains?
He stood like a small child—afraid, broken, wishing he could disappear.
Wishing he had never been born at all.
He never asked for life… so why was he forced into it?
Ravan slowly pulled his hand from Mok's chest.
Blood spilled onto the ground—dark, heavy.
Mok smiled.
A calm, sincere smile—like a final thank-you.
Then he fell to the ground.
The body hit the earth, but the sound was no louder than the shock inside Tormo.
Tormo suddenly bent forward—and ran.
Not toward Mok… but toward Ravan.
Rage exploded.
He punched Ravan with all his strength—one strike. His hand turned into solid ice, the cold splitting the air, the impact like a mountain shattering.
Ravan was thrown back and slammed into the ground.
The laughter stopped.
Ravan opened his eyes slowly.
He looked at Tormo—not with madness this time, but with sorrow and fear.
As if he had suddenly awakened from a nightmare.
Tormo turned.
Looked at Mok.
At his brother.
Dead.
And smiling.
The word did not leave his mouth, but it screamed inside his chest:
My brother…
Ravan tried to speak.
Tried to reach out his hand.
But Tormo did not hear.
He struck him with the chain with all his strength.
Once.
Then again.
Ravan took the blows without resistance.
He did not defend himself.
He did not get angry.
He sat on the ground, looking at Tormo with a gaze mixed with terror… and sorrow.
Tormo couldn't bear it.
He turned and ran toward the forest.
He ran, wishing to disappear.
To melt into the darkness.
To feel nothing… remember nothing… be nothing.
After a while, his steps slowed.
His body betrayed him.
He fell to the ground.
And the darkness swallowed him.