Profane Ascendant-Chapter 52: Lone Dog

A shiver ran through Ramon. The sound and the tone—he did not know why—but he felt a trace of fear, and that very sensation only fueled his rage.

What nonsense is he spouting! Damn it, what is this feeling? He's just a dying man rambling—I'll kill him and throw him to the rats as food! naaah~I'll devour him myself!'

Ramon stared at Miguel before him, unable to understand what he was talking about.

Had nearing death made him emotional—were these his last words? But that scar of his…

He watched him closely. Despite his anger and his desire to end Miguel's life quickly, he could not bring himself to approach without paying heed to the feeling that had seized him moments ago.

Let's see what he does first, and then we'll decide what to do with him. That was Ramon's thought.

A bloody smile spread across Miguel's face, like a man returned from death.

His fist was clenched tightly around something—as if gripping an invisible sword. Little by little, it became clear, as though a veil were being drawn aside.

The Scar!

The blade was slender at the grip, then gradually widened toward the edge, where the blade split into two sharp sections resembling the jaws of a cursed dog about to pounce.

But that was not the only strange thing. There was a bizarre figure etched in black upon the sword—a ferocious dog sinking its fangs into the blade as if resisting it; no, not resisting it, but as if trying to use it in place of its own teeth.

Even stranger was the sword itself. It was not in his hand—it emerged from it. It burst forth from beneath his palm, from where the nerves pulsed, as though his body had torn itself open to give birth to a blade of flesh and iron.

He was not holding the sword; the sword was a part of him, an extension of his body.

Miguel was breathing with difficulty. "Hah… hah… drops!" His fangs, too, were swelling, and half of his face was covered in hair, as if it had sprouted fur.

His clothes were completely shredded. His body was riddled with openings and tears—deformed, bleeding profusely—with blades protruding from between his ribs and flesh as if they were an inseparable part of him.

Ramon was in shock at what he was seeing. "What the hell am I looking at…! Wh—" In a tense, wavering tone, he shouted, fear unmistakable in his voice. "Who the hell are you?!"

Miguel's voice changed gradually. Saliva began to drip from his mouth; it was as if something had taken over his body. "I'm your killer!" In a lightning-fast motion, leaving the water behind as the floor cracked in two, he leapt at Ramon.

Slaaash! Bang!

"Aaaargh!" A scream of pain burst from Ramon. He managed to block Miguel's attack, but the latter was covered in blades jutting from his body, and Miguel himself sank his fangs into the left side of Ramon's neck.

Ramon struck Miguel with all his strength and threw him aside. "Argh! Damn it, you're biting!"

Miguel replied in a coarse voice, "I told you—I'm a dog."

Ramon's expression twisted as he stepped back. He had a chance to defeat him. Despite the blades, there were still vital areas he could target—his heart and his head.

Moreover, his body was not solid; it would not withstand the momentum of Ramon's blows, and he had not forgotten the poison.

Despite the rising power Miguel had gained from his Scar, Ramon was confident that Miguel could not sustain a war of attrition.

Wait—this stance… Ramon stared at Miguel. His posture was the same as before—the attack he had used: Claw Projectile!

I need to get away—!!

Slaaash splaash! In a lightning-fast burst with tremendous momentum, several bloody gashes tore open across Ramon's chest—huge ones. Bam! Miguel slammed into the iron wall from the force of the charge, while Ramon collapsed lifelessly onto the floor.

"Hah… hah… hah." Miguel let out a breath, but he knew the fight was not over. Ramon rose as well, staring at his blood-soaked body and chest.

He felt excruciating pain and could not move. It seemed as though the open wounds were increasing, growing larger and deeper the more he moved, causing unbearable agony.

Even so, he endured the pain with steady breathing.

Pain was not his priority now. He slipped his hand into his torn clothes. Miguel thought Ramon was checking his injuries, but he was surprised when Ramon pulled something out.

It was a piece of clothing—a woman's nightwear, torn in half and stained with blood. He brought it close to his face and inhaled its scent.

Sniff! sniff!

In a calm yet disturbingly unsteady voice, the veins in his eyes bulged, nearly turning crimson from sheer rage. In a low, wavering tone that made one shudder, he said, "My piece… my only piece… aaah… even the scent is gone, replaced! Why do you do this? You of the Ravenline! Why do you insist on making things difficult for me—aaaaaaargh!"

A thunderous scream shattered the silence, sending the rats scurrying to hide in their burrows. Then came the sound of clothes tearing completely—shreeeek! Not a single piece remained on his body. Miguel would not have noticed such a thing at a time like this, but his eyes were drawn to Ramon's groin—it was exceedingly small.

How can he face the world with something like that? I pity him!

Then Ramon swelled as well, becoming like a giant rat.

The sole spectator to this battle could almost swear it was an epic clash between two packs of animals—dogs versus rats.

His tendons bulged beneath massive muscles; his nails lengthened into claws, and of course his strength increased as well.

There were faint black markings—circles appearing on his legs and arms, one circle in each place. That was his Scar!

What followed between them was a fight to the death. Ramon roared as he charged at Miguel.

"Aaah!" They began trading blows. Ramon was out of his mind, screaming violently. "Graah—take this! And this! This too—this! Damn it, die, you cursed dog! Take this hit! And this one too! Haah haah—graah—die!"

Miguel was like a feral dog, yet now he was calm, exercising precise control over himself—defending and striking his opponent's blind spots effectively.

Ramon, on the other hand, became covered in scratches all over his body. Although his latest transformation had granted him endurance and solid defense, Miguel's offensive power was stronger, his reactions faster, and the difference in their body sizes made grabbing and hitting Miguel far more difficult.

Miguel thought through it all. My fangs are bigger than your claws, and your little nails won't be able to hurt me. By "fangs," he meant the blades and claws emerging from his body!

Ramon endured the pain, and in a move Miguel did not anticipate, Ramon did not dodge the blade bursting from beneath Miguel's palm—no! He let it sink into him. Thak! "Ugh—!" Despite the cry of pain and the spraying blood, Ramon gathered all his strength and grabbed the sword.

Heeeyah—there's no escape for you now! Ramon thought.

Miguel was startled. He could not move, nor break free from Ramon's grip. He lunged with his fangs and bit Ramon's neck again. Ramon screamed and punched him in the face, slicing chunks of flesh from Miguel's cheek with his claws.

"Aaagh! Damn it, take this! Sshh—hiss!"

Despite everything, Ramon did not let go. He tightened his grip on the sword, turned, slammed Miguel to the ground, pinned him, and began raining brutal punches and blows onto his face. Miguel felt searing pain—some of his teeth shifted, no—were torn from their sockets!

Ramon did not stop until Miguel's face was drenched in blood, barely recognizable.

But from the womb of suffering, victory is born!

A grotesque, blood-soaked smile formed on Miguel's face, forcing Ramon—who had believed Miguel already dead—to reassess.

Why is he laughing—ugh—

Thaaak! With disbelieving eyes and an expression that showed he had never expected this—

The blades protruding from Miguel's abdomen suddenly expanded and grew, piercing through Ramon's chest and upper body and bursting out the other side.

They had been short blades, meant for close combat, acting as a defense so no one would target that area—but in a single moment, the short blades extended by a meter, widening as they pierced through Ramon's bone and flesh.

Baakh! Ramon vomited mouthfuls of blood and fell to the side, muttering through sobs and whispers, "Ugh… h-how?!"

A victorious smile crossed Miguel's blood-smeared face—a mixture of flesh and blood. His nose had been torn away, his teeth as well, yet a clear, transparent line of moisture slid down from between his eyes.

Were those tears?

That was what crossed Miguel's mind. I feel at ease… despite the pain. My muscles, my face, my blood—I feel death knocking at the door… but what is this sense of relief taking over my body? It feels good to be a dog—for myself. Who knows, maybe this is what everyone feels when they win—the thrill of victory… for the first time, my fangs have won.

It seemed as though Miguel was looking upward, toward the door that led here. He did not think about how to leave; instead, he was gazing at the shadow of someone, as if saying, Thank you…

Thank you for not interfering.

From above, Cyn looked down at Miguel with a calm smile, his usual soft tone following him. "Heeh, so you're no longer the Mad Dog, huh?"

He paused for a moment, as if thinking. "So… who are you going to be now?"

With a chuckle, "Mmmh… I just found it." He smiled faintly.

"Lone Dog."