Even Death Grew Tired of Killing Me-Chapter 61 - 56

[Third POV - General]

The Grave Choir Thrall convulsed.

Its mouths opened wider and the tones climbed into a piercing scream. It was no longer layered bells. It was a sustained note, impossibly high, slicing through the chamber.

Kyren staggered half a step, eyes narrowing. Astrae pressed a hand to her temple.

Theo’s body arched violently against the stone, fingers clawing at nothing. A thin line of blood slipped from his nose.

"End it," Astrae rasped, forcing herself upright. "Now! Or he will not come back."

Kyren’s expression lost all trace of playfulness.

The Thrall pulsed, its bodies swelling and shrinking like a single breathing organism. The mouths trembled and the scream intensified. Old voices slipped into the sound now. Whispered words layered inside the tone.

Theo’s own voice.

Screaming.

Dying.

Again and again.

Kyren’s jaw tightened.

"This is enough."

He moved.

He did not rush blindly. He stepped into the stage with controlled speed, arcane energy tightening along his forearms.

Active Skill: Silent Draw.

Light flickered into existence in his hand without flare or sound. His weapon manifested instantly, smooth and seamless.

He stepped again.

Arcstep.

The world seemed to blur as he shifted position in a short burst, appearing beside the Thrall’s lower mass before the sound could track him.

Aether Edge ignited along his weapon, condensed arcane force sharpening the blade with a thin pale glow.

He cut.

The blade sank deep into fused flesh. Black sinew snapped and thick, dark fluid sprayed across the broken stage.

The Thrall recoiled violently, but the wound sealed in seconds, corpses dragging themselves back into shape like wet clay.

Kyren pivoted and drove his heel into the creature’s midsection, Paragon Frame enhancing the impact beyond what an Initiate should manage. The fused mass buckled backward, smashing into a half-collapsed column.

Astrae stepped in.

Though weakened, she lifted a trembling hand and summoned a flicker of iron-gray light, dull and restrained by the seals that still clung faintly to her aura.

The light struck the Thrall’s side, burning through black sinew and forcing several corpses to drop away.

The creature shrieked.

Not in pain.

In anger.

And something else.

Fear.

The scream shifted again.

It climbed higher than before, so sharp that even stone seemed to vibrate.

The broken theater trembled.

Kyren staggered this time. Astrae fell to one knee.

Theo’s body convulsed harder.

Inside his mind, the war accelerated.

Madison’s face flickered in and out, sometimes calm, sometimes stained red. Buildings collapsed behind her. Planets disintegrated into dust. Stars dimmed and blinked out one by one. Black holes swallowed light and then burst apart like fragile bubbles.

Her voice cut through everything.

"Theo."

Red across pale skin. Dripping from her hand. Splashed across the ground where nothing should stain.

His chest burned.

He felt it again, the anger that had no language. Not rage for battle. Not fury for dominance.

Fury because she was bleeding.

Because someone had forced her to bleed.

The scream of the Thrall outside intensified.

"Theo."

His name carried across collapsing galaxies.

Back in the theater, Astrae crawled to Theo’s side and lifted his head gently into her lap.

"Come back," she whispered hoarsely. "Fight whatever it is, do not succumb to your dark memories."

Kyren stood over them, weapon still glowing, eyes sharp and calculating.

The Thrall swelled larger than before, bodies stacking upward. Its mouths opened to impossible width, preparing to unleash another sustained scream that would finish the fracture in Theo’s mind.

Kyren inhaled slowly.

He could end it in one decisive strike.

He could.

But that would require more.

Astrae looked up at him, eyes fierce despite exhaustion.

"You are holding back."

"I am," he replied calmly.

"Why?"

"Because I have no choice, I’m tied..."

The Thrall’s scream began to peak.

Theo’s body jerked once more.

Then...

Everything stopped.

The scream froze mid-note.

Dust hung suspended in the air.

The light from the blue wall orbs held perfectly still.

Time did not fade.

It locked.

A presence filled the theater.

Not oppressive or loud.

Just undeniable.

Kyren’s expression changed instantly.

Recognition.

A familiarity so deep it bypassed surprise entirely.

"...You," he murmured under his breath.

The air felt heavier and lighter at the same time, like the world had taken a careful breath.

Even the Thrall, suspended in mid-scream, seemed smaller beneath it.

Kyren did not turn around.

He did not need to.

He knew that presence.

He had known it longer than this life, longer than this realm, longer than the concept of this palace.

The silence stretched.

And in that stillness, something stepped into the broken theater without disturbing a single grain of dust.

~~~

Time held its breath.

Dust hung in the air like frozen ash. The Grave Choir Thrall remained twisted on the ruined stage, its fused bodies locked mid-convulsion, mouths stretched wide in a scream that no longer made sound. Astrae was bent over Theo, her fingers still gripping his collar. Kyrene stood a few steps ahead, blade half lifted.

Then a shadow peeled away from the far wall.

It did not ripple or distort. It simply separated, like ink loosening from stone.

A young man stepped out from it.

He was slightly taller than Kyrene, lean without looking fragile. Long jet black hair fell down his back, half of it pulled loosely behind with a thin red tie that caught the faint blue light from the wall orbs. His irises were a deep ruby red, not glowing, not flashing, just steady and unsettling. His face held no visible emotion, smooth and calm as if this frozen world were nothing more than a mild inconvenience.

He stopped beside Kyrene.

Close enough to be deliberate.

Kyrene’s jaw tightened. "...You."

The young man turned his head just slightly, a reserved smirk touching the corner of his mouth. It was not warm and not mocking, just knowing.

"I’m Theron for now," he uttered lightly.

Kyrene’s brows knotted in irritation. "You’re not needed here."

Theron glanced at him sideways, eyes calm and sharp at the same time. "Really? You’re too tied to him. You can barely use your base power."

Kyrene did not answer immediately. His jaw tightened further, the muscle jumping once. That silence was answer enough.

Theron shifted his attention forward, toward the frozen mass of the Thrall.

"Madison said to intervene," he continued, voice even. "Theo is very prematurely awakening."

Astrae’s head snapped up. "Who is Madison and what do you mean Theo is awakening? To what?"

Theron barely spared her a glance. His eyes moved over her like one might look at a cracked relic.

"So she doesn’t know," he muttered.

Kyrene shook his head once.

Astrae’s voice trembled despite her effort to steady it. "Doesn’t know what?"

Theron finally turned fully toward her.

When his ruby eyes met hers, Astrae stiffened.

There was something in that gaze that did not press down violently and did not flare with hostility. It was simply depth. Endless and consuming, as if being looked at meant being measured and weighed at the core of one’s existence.

For a brief second, she felt exposed. Not physically. Not magically. Fundamentally.

Theron’s expression did not change.

"There’s no point keeping it from you," he replied calmly. "Theo the human will awaken into your liege so early in the game, it would put all the plan into chaos."

Astrae froze.

Her fingers tightened involuntarily on Theo’s collar.

"W-what do you mean my liege?"

Theron’s brows lowered slightly, irritation flickering across his otherwise controlled face. "Don’t act stupid. I don’t tolerate stupid. And don’t question me with stupidity."

Kyrene reached out and touched his arm lightly. "Hey."

The contact was not forceful. It was enough.

Theron exhaled softly, as if deciding not to push further. "I’ll fix this for now as per Madison," he stated. "You continue whatever you’re doing after."

He turned away from them and faced the stage.

Time resumed.

The scream exploded back into existence.

The Thrall’s mouths snapped wider, the sound tearing through the theater again, but this time it faltered almost immediately.

Theron did not move as soon.

His right hand lowered casually to his side.

From empty air, something unfolded.

Segment by segment.

Click.

Click.

Click.

Vyr’Kael, the Null Fang.

It did not flash into existence. It assembled itself, black matte segments locking together with soft metallic snaps, faint crimson fractures pulsing within the metal like cooled magma holding something alive. The weapon extended into a long spear, perfectly balanced in his grip.

The Thrall crashed down toward him.

Theron stepped forward.

His footwork was clean and deliberate, heel to toe, shoulders aligned. The spear lifted just enough to intercept.

He did not aim for flesh.

The spear tip slid into the mass where the black sinew converged near its upper torso. The strike looked almost gentle.

The effect was not.

Where Vyr’Kael pierced, the Thrall’s internal binding spasmed violently. The crimson fractures along the weapon glowed faintly as if tasting something. The black sinew that held multiple corpses together snapped inward first, not cut physically, but severed at its source. Mana channels collapsed. Regeneration loops stuttered and failed before flesh even began to tear.

The Thrall’s scream warped mid-sound.

Theron twisted the spear and pulled it free in one smooth motion.

The wound did not bleed first.

It flickered.

The area around the puncture dimmed, as if something essential had been drained.

Only then did flesh split.

The Thrall retaliated instantly. A fused arm slammed down like a falling beam.

Theron shifted his stance and pivoted under it, the blow grazing his shoulder by inches. He rotated with the momentum, spear retracting in his grip as segments collapsed inward. The long shaft shortened, the weapon reconfiguring fluidly.

Spear became long blade.

The black metal extended sideways with a sharp metallic whisper, forming a single-edged weapon nearly as tall as he was.

Theron stepped inside the Thrall’s reach.

His blade cut horizontally.

Again, it did not carve flesh first.

The edge passed through the mass and left a faint red line suspended in air for half a second. The Thrall’s layered whispers faltered. The cut severed aether flow between upper and lower segments of the fused bodies. The regeneration matrix linking them fractured.

Then the physical split followed.

Bone and sinew separated violently, collapsing in uneven halves.

The Thrall attempted to compensate.

Its lower mass liquefied, reforming into crawling tendrils that lashed outward in wide arcs, seeking to entangle his legs and drag him down.

Theron released the blade.

It did not fall.

It segmented mid-air and extended outward into a whip edge chain, each black link connected by thin crimson-lit joints. The tip snapped forward with precise control.

He flicked his wrist once.

The chain sliced through the incoming tendrils in rapid succession, not hacking but unraveling them. Wherever the edge passed, the black sinew went slack first, mana lines extinguished, and only then did the flesh fall apart like something that had forgotten how to hold itself together.

The Thrall recoiled, compressing its remaining mass back toward the stage. Multiple faces formed along its surface, mouths opening wider, preparing another layered sonic assault.

Theron retracted the chain. Segments snapped back together.

Vyr’Kael shortened again, collapsing into a compact dagger in his hand.

He ran.

This time he moved with visible speed.

Not teleportation or distortion.

Pure physical acceleration.

His stride was low and efficient, steps placed exactly between the broken boards and scattered debris. A fused limb swung toward him. He slid beneath it, shoulder brushing against wet flesh without hesitation.

He drove the dagger upward.

The blade entered at the base of a fused jaw.

Again, it cut deeper than bone.

The internal whispering stopped abruptly in that region. The mouths around it twitched uselessly as the command pathways linking them collapsed.

Theron planted his free hand against the Thrall’s surface and pushed off, flipping backward as the mass convulsed.

He landed lightly, boots barely making sound.

The Thrall gathered itself for one final surge, compressing everything inward into a single core mass. Black sinew tightened and layered, forming a thick shell around something pulsing faintly at its center.

Theron watched.

He adjusted his grip.

Vyr’Kael extended once more, this time into its full spear form, segments locking with clean, decisive clicks. The crimson fractures glowed slightly brighter.

He inhaled.

Then moved.

The Thrall lunged simultaneously, meeting him halfway.

They collided mid-stage.

Theron did not block. He angled his body, letting the outer mass scrape across his shoulder while he drove the spear directly toward the faint pulsing core. The tip pierced through layers of bone, then through the thick shell of sinew.

The resistance lasted less than a second.

When the spear struck the core, the red fractures along Vyr’Kael brightened sharply.

The Thrall’s entire structure spasmed.

Not from pain but from interruption.

Every regeneration loop, every fear amplification thread, every mental erosion channel it had built collapsed at once. The layered whispers died mid-formation. The mouths froze open, unable to produce sound.

Theron leaned in slightly, voice low and calm.

"You built yourself wrong."

He twisted the spear.

The core dimmed.

The Thrall’s mass did not explode. It sagged. Collapsed. Segments lost cohesion and slid apart as if gravity had finally remembered them.

Within seconds, the towering horror was nothing more than inert fragments and torn black sinew scattered across the stage.

Vyr’Kael retracted smoothly, segments folding into themselves until nothing remained in Theron’s hand.

Silence settled over the ruined theater.

He glanced at Kyrene then walked straight toward Theo.

Astrae instinctively stiffened but did not move to block him. Something told her that resistance would not help and might make things worse.

Theron crouched beside Theo and studied his face.

Theo’s eyes were still white.

His breathing shallow.

Theron sat down cross-legged next to him, posture relaxed as if settling into a quiet room rather than a battlefield.

"Now we need to push it back," he murmured calmly. "And sew the cracks."

Kyrene stepped closer, his gaze sharp. "Can you? You don’t have that ability..."

Theron didn’t look up. "If I couldn’t, I wouldn’t be here."

Kyrene’s eyes narrowed. "You can’t. Not unless Madison gave you instructions."

Astrae frowned, curiosity plain on her face. "Who is this Madison you’re talking about?"

Kyrene glanced at her and flashed a wide grin. "You know her. You just don’t know her name this time."

"What?"

He ignored the question and turned his attention back to Theron, watching closely.

Theron lifted his hand, hovering it just above Theo’s forehead.

"Stay quiet," he said softly. "This part is delicate. Very delicate."