Once Zeroth obeyed his own magic, the nightmare stopped resisting him.
He was still lying on the ground, ribs screaming, lungs burning, his vision blurred by tears he didn't remember shedding. The sky above him was wrong—cracked like shattered glass, bleeding fire and ash instead of light. Screams echoed endlessly, layered atop each other until they stopped sounding human.
His leg burned.
No—glowed.
Black energy crawled over his skin, coiling around bone and muscle like something alive, whispering to him without words.
Move.
Zeroth didn't think. He listened.
His leg snapped upward in a sharp, violent arc.
The ground answered instantly.
Stone collapsed beneath Zayn's feet, dragging him down with brutal force. His balance shattered, his sword arm flailing as he slammed into broken rock, air exploding from his lungs. Dust swallowed him whole.
Zeroth forced himself upright, his body trembling, every nerve screaming—but he stood.
Zayn lay beneath him now.
Pinned. Exposed.
For the first time, his older brother's eyes held something other than contempt.
Fear.
Zayn grunted, trying to rise, muscles straining uselessly against the broken terrain.
Zeroth stepped closer.
With every step, the battlefield around them pulsed—people dying in the distance, steel clashing, bodies burning, a child screaming somewhere far away and never stopping.
Zeroth barely noticed.
He remembered Kaelor's voice, calm and absolute, cutting through chaos.
"Kill your enemy with the same weapon they tried to kill you."
His gaze dropped to Zayn's sword.
Before Zayn could react, Zeroth lunged forward, ripping the blade from his brother's grip with savage force. The steel felt heavier than it should have—familiar, cursed, soaked in history.
Zayn's breathing turned ragged.
"Z-Zeroth—wait—"
The first slash came fast.
Not lethal.
Steel tore into flesh, shallow but precise. Blood sprayed across the stone, warm, real. Zayn screamed, his voice cracking into something animal.
Zeroth slashed again.
And again.
He was careful. Deliberate.
Pain without release.
Zayn thrashed beneath him, sobbing, screaming, begging in a voice Zeroth had never heard before.
"PLEASE—STOP—PLEASE—I'M SORRY—PLEASE—!"
Zeroth laughed.
At first it was quiet, broken—then it grew louder, sharper, spiraling into something hysterical. His laughter echoed across the battlefield, drowning out screams that weren't Zayn's.
Fear hollowed Zayn's eyes.
"I WON'T BULLY YOU ANYMORE! PLEASE! PLEASE—I BEG YOU!"
Zeroth stopped.
He stood over him, shadow stretching unnaturally long beneath the burning sky. His eyes glowed faintly, black light flickering within them.
"You know," Zeroth said softly, tilting his head, "I'm the disgrace."
He leaned closer.
"The weakest. The nothing."
His smile widened.
"So why are you begging me now?"
Zayn broke completely.
His body shook, tears streaking down his blood-soaked face, dignity crushed beyond recovery. Zeroth watched it all—watched the collapse, the fear, the humiliation—and something inside him thrilled.
And that scared him.
The world snapped violently.
War returned. Screams. Fire. Rotting bodies.
The voice whispered, calm and merciless.
"Three."
Zeroth turned away.
Three steps.
Then Zayn's head rolled across the stone behind him, separating cleanly from the body.
Zeroth didn't look back.
He slid the sword into its sheath instinctively.
"Shadow Slash," he murmured.
Only later did it register.
He hadn't felt the kill.
Even the figure appeared, its presence heavier, closer.
"Well," it said, amused, impressed, "that was unexpected. You're changing faster than I thought, Zukiro Zeroth. Minutes ago, you claimed you didn't enjoy killing."
Zeroth kept walking.
"I don't enjoy killing," he replied flatly. "I do it for my dream. For nothing else."
He paused.
"I enjoy pulling off the moves sometimes," he admitted. "But after the kill… there's nothing."
The figure laughed softly.
"You are lying to yourself."
And vanished.
Zeroth walked.
The battlefield stretched endlessly—piles of corpses stacked like offerings, rivers of blood soaking into the ground, smoke so thick it burned his lungs. Soldiers fought, screamed, died, begged.
A man crawled toward him, leg missing, eyes full of terror.
Zeroth stepped around him.
A woman clutched her child, sobbing, running past him.
Zeroth didn't look at them.
Someone lunged at him from the side—Zeroth reacted instantly, shadow erupting, killing the attacker in one clean motion.
He didn't slow down.
He didn't hunt the helpless.
He didn't kill those who didn't come for him.
"Three left," he muttered.
Pain clung to him constantly. His wounds weren't real, but the agony was. Every breath hurt. Every step burned.
"Adapt," he whispered. "Adapt. Adapt. Adapt."
The voice returned.
"You want stronger opponents."
Zeroth smiled faintly.
"Yes."
"Very well."
The world vanished.
And standing before him was his father.
The man who beat his mother.
The man who broke her.
The source of her suffering.
Rage exploded.
Zeroth charged screaming, reckless, wild.
His father didn't flinch.
The first strike was dodged.
The second blocked.
"You're still weak," his father said coldly. "I regret wasting my blood on you."
Zeroth attacked again, screaming.
Steel flashed.
Zeroth barely raised Shadow Block as the blade came for his neck.
"Magic?" his father sneered, spitting. "You're nothing."
Then—
"I wonder who taught it to you. He must be filth too."
Something snapped.
"DON'T CALL HIM A FILTH!" Zeroth screamed.
"You bark like a dog," his father replied. "Be silent."
The blade cut deep into Zeroth's arm.
Pain exploded.
Zeroth fell, screaming, memories of his mother crushing him.
Then—
Silence.
Only the strongest stay calm under the storm.
Zeroth stood.
Too calm.
"Is my mother filth too," he asked quietly, "for birthing me?"
His father laughed.
"Of course."
Zeroth focused.
Analyzed.
Snow began to fall.
Shadow absorbed his blade.
Black Breaker.
Steel shattered.
Zeroth dropped his weapon.
Raised his hand.
Telekinesis seized his father, lifting him screaming into the air.
Fire ignited. Earth reshaped. Spikes rose.
Zeroth slammed his hand down.
Thud.
His father screamed as burning stone pierced him slowly.
Zeroth watched.
"All equal…" he whispered.
"One superior."
The voice echoed.
"Two."
Everything came back at once.
The screams.
The fire.
The corpses stacked so high they felt like walls instead of bodies.
Zeroth stood in the middle of it, unmoving.
He had taken revenge—at least, that was what he told himself. His chest felt hollow, as if something had been ripped out and never replaced. The rage that had burned so fiercely moments ago was gone, leaving behind only exhaustion and a quiet, aching emptiness.
The figure's presence pressed in from all sides.
"Did killing your own father," it asked calmly, almost gently, "in your own mind… make you feel satisfied?"
Zeroth didn't answer right away.
He searched himself.
He searched the place where the anger had been.
The place where relief should have been.
There was nothing.
His lips parted, his voice shaking—not from fear, but from uncertainty.
"I… I g-guess…" He swallowed. "I guess it was for my dream."
The words felt weak the moment they left his mouth.
The figure chuckled softly.
"You broke the rules of this world," it said. "Even in dreams—no matter how real they are—no one should be able to wield more than one magic."
There was something new in its voice.
Confusion.
Zeroth lifted his head.
"I'm not like others," he said, more firmly now. "No one wants their dream more than I do. Everyone only thinks about themselves. Their dreams are for them."
His hands clenched.
"My dream isn't for me," he continued. "It's for my mother."
For the first time, the figure didn't speak immediately.
Its silhouette seemed to lean closer, interest sharpening its presence.
"Tell me, kid," it finally said, voice low and measured. "Do you believe in the God of Fate?"
Zeroth stared into the ruined horizon.
He thought of Kaelor's words.
Of choice.
Of inevitability.
Of paths that couldn't be escaped.
"I don't know," he answered quietly.
And for the first time since the nightmare began—
He wasn't sure if he wanted to.