ECHOBURN

The cave was quiet again. The corpses didn't twitch.

Aoto stood in the center of it all.

Not because he was unhurt.But because something inside him refused to kneel.

The cursed blade hummed low in his hand, warm with the memory of the Entity's death. His breath came steady. The ache in his limbs was real—but distant.

And the Alpha was still watching him.

Towering. Silent. Its moonlit antlers scraped the stone above. One eye scarred shut, the other glowing with a steady white burn. It made no move. It didn't growl.

It waited.

Aoto stepped forward.

He struck first.

The blade swept in a clean arc. The Alpha dodged, barely. Its flank was scratched, silver blood glinting in the dim light.

Another step.

A slash—too low. The Alpha ducked, countered, and Aoto spun away, narrowly avoiding a neck-breaking bite.

They danced.

And Aoto kept up.

Every second, he moved sharper. Cleaner. His feet planted with precision. His swings became intentional, not wild. The cursed blade obeyed him like a limb now.

He wasn't just surviving.

He was fighting.

He wasn't sure when he started grinning.

The moment came.

The Alpha lunged. Aoto dropped low, pivoted on his heel, and drove the blade straight up into the Alpha's chest.

The impact split the air like thunder.

White blood burst across the walls. The cave trembled.

The Alpha staggered. Its breath hitched. It collapsed to one knee, massive paw catching the ground.

Aoto gasped, coughing blood. His legs were shaking. But he stayed standing.

He looked up at the fallen beast. Blade still humming in his grip.

"I did it…"

Then the world shifted.

The temperature plummeted.

The shadows stretched along the walls, like they were afraid.

The Alpha's body convulsed once.Then rose.

Higher. Taller. Transcendent.

Its silver fur peeled back, revealing armorlike bone that glowed with soft moonlight. Its antlers twisted into jagged, blade-like horns. Its eye—its single, open eye—burned white hot, erasing color and casting the cave in monochrome.

No growl.No roar.

Just a single thought that crushed itself into Aoto's skull like a mountain:

"You presumed."

Aoto blinked. The blade in his hand snapped in half.

The Alpha moved.

One blink—

—and it was behind him.

Aoto screamed as his leg broke sideways.

He spun, blindly slashing with the broken blade.

The Alpha caught his wrist in its jaws, crushed it, and flung him through a stone pillar.

He hit the ground hard, skidding across bone and ash.

He tried to stand—The Alpha stepped on his chest. Slowly. Deliberately.

Ribs cracked. Blood bubbled in his mouth.

He looked up through red haze.

The Alpha stared down at him, head tilted. No hate. No triumph. No pleasure.

Just decision.

Then it stepped off him.

And walked away.

Aoto didn't move.

Not for a long time.

When he did, he coughed blood and grit. His right arm hung useless. One leg wouldn't bend. His eye throbbed, vision blurring black and red.

But he was breathing.

Aoto was alive.

Why?

He didn't know.

Maybe it spared him.

Maybe it didn't care anymore.

Or maybe—worst of all—he just wasn't worth killing.

He crawled, dragging himself from the wreckage.

But he whispered anyway:

"I'm still alive?"

He clenched his broken hand. Felt the sharp edge of the shattered blade digging into his palm.

He coughed again. Spit blood into the dirt.

And smiled. Weak. Ugly. Defiant.

"Then I'll crawl."