"He’s bound and can’t break free, so there’s no need to worry" he proclaims. "You may do as you wish to him"

To this, the expression of everyone perks up.

Confirming his statement, Ezra tosses him in front like a ragdoll yet again, but with more force this time, so he rolls and eats dust for a bit before coming to a halt.

Khasavar’s eyes darted around, his mind racing.

Even bound, he refused to believe he was truly powerless.

There had to be a way out, a weakness in these restraints, or in the crowd of transcendents who now looked at him with clear hostility and glee.

On cue, Frederick stomps the floor, launching himself towards Khasavar.

BAM!

A kick straight to the face!

In the face of this, even Ezra nods like "Damn!"

Khasavar’s face twisted with disdain as Frederick loomed over him.

His mocking laughter echoed across the dusty clearing.

"Is that all you’ve got?" he spat, blood trailing down his cheek. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶

Frederick doesn’t respond.

His eyes darkened, his silence heavier than any words.

Without hesitation, he hurled Khasavar into the air with a swift motion.

Khasavar barely had time to process what was happening before Roxanne intercepted him midair.

Her sidekick, charged with raw fury, connected with his face, sending him hurtling backward several meters.

His body slammed into the ground, raising a cloud of dust.

"Is it really taking all of you to fight me?" Khasavar taunted through gritted teeth as he staggered to his knees, only to freeze when a crackle of electricity filled the air.

Valentine appeared above him, her figure encased in a shroud of purple lightning.

"No, but it’s more fun this way" she sneered before descending like a lightning bolt.

Both her feet collided with his midsection, driving him into the dirt with enough force to kick up a massive plume of dust.

The ground quaked, a crater forming beneath the impact.

Khasavar groaned, the air forced from his lungs as his battered body crumpled into the debris.

Before the dust had a chance to settle, three figures emerged from the crowd.

Theron, Johan, and Ashton, the three brothers, advanced with their weapons glinting ominously in the light.

"Move aside," Theron barked at Valentine.

She steps away, her smirk never fading.

Theron raised his spiked halberd high, the weapon glowing faintly with his energy.

With a mighty roar, he brought it down, slamming the weapon into Khasavar’s torso.

The sharp points bit into his flesh, earning a guttural growl from the fallen warrior.

"DIE!" Johan bellows as he swung his massive hammer with full force of his amplified muscles into Khasavar’s face as a follow up.

...!

In a panic, Khasavar immediately sends all his energy to reinforce his skull to save himself from becoming mentally insane.

The impact echoes like a thunderclap, but thanks to timely action, only three of Khasavar’s teeth came flying out of his bloodied mouth.

Ashton was already moving, his arms radiating a pulsing energy.

With precise strikes, he unleashes a flurry of punches that struck every vulnerable part of Khasavar’s body.

His blows rained down relentlessly, each one fueled by the brothers’ collective hatred for the destruction Khasavar had wrought.

Ezra stood at a distance, his expression unreadable.

His sharp eyes analyzed every move.

Despite Khasavar’s restraints and his weakened state, Ezra noted the surprising strength of his allies.

"They’re more capable than I thought," he muttered to himself, almost feeling pity for Khasavar.

Almost.

The assault continued for nearly an hour, the group taking turns venting their fury.

Roxanne’s kicks grew more vicious.

Frederick’s strikes are more calculated.

Valentine unleashed bursts of lightning that seared Khasavar’s skin.

The brothers coordinated their attacks, never allowing him a moment’s respite.

At some point, Ezra casually strolls away, his demeanor calm and detached.

He disappears briefly, only to return moments later with a goblet in hand.

He sipped leisurely, as if watching an entertaining play.

When the dust finally began to settle, Khasavar was left battered, bruised, and utterly humiliated.

His once-arrogant demeanor had crumbled, replaced by the hollow gaze of a man who had endured the full wrath of those he had wronged.

Ezra stepped forward, his presence immediately commanding silence.

He grabbed Khasavar by the chains binding his wrists and ankles, dragging him effortlessly across the ruined terrain.

Khasavar groaned weakly, his strength completely sapped.

Reaching a less damaged part of Quartez, Ezra drills Khasavar to the ground with casual disdain, leaving only his head exposed.

Here, he summons Zydrax.

[Is it time?] says his advisor.

"Yes, you can begin"

Zydrax wastes no time.

With an invisible force, he began carving intricate patterns into the ground around Khasavar’s head.

The sigils glowed faintly, their power humming ominously as they came to life.

Ezra placed a hand on the sigil, channeling his energy into it.

A faint glow spread through the lines, and Khasavar’s body suddenly grew heavier.

A groan of agony escaped his lips as he was forced deeper into the ground, the weight multiplied fivefold by the spell.

"Consider this your new home" Ezra said coldly. "You won’t be escaping anytime soon"

Khasavar glared up at him, his face contorted with pain and fury.

But the fight had left his eyes, replaced by the quiet realization of his defeat.

Ezra turned to face the crowd of transcendents, their expressions ranging from satisfaction to discontent.

These were his allies, his friends, his companions in the fight against tyranny.

But they were also still very weak.

"This massacre, this destruction," Ezra began, his voice steady but sharp, "It happened because we weren’t strong enough"

The group shifted uncomfortably, his words cutting deep.

"If we want revenge, if we want to ensure this never happens again, we need strength. A lot of it"

He gestured to the sigil imprisoning Khasavar. "This is the result of power. Power that we lacked when it mattered most"

Silence followed his words, the weight of his message sinking in.

Slowly, the transcendents began to nod, their resolve hardening.

Ezra raised a hand, generating a Gatemark in the air.

The portal shimmered, its destination the Alchemist Tomb secret realm.

"Go," he said simply. "Train. Grow stronger. Make sure that the next time we face an enemy like him, there won’t be any doubt about the outcome"

One by one, the transcendents stepped through the portal, their determination etched into their faces.

Having already rested and recovered, they have no qualms about this, though they do, unsurprisingly, mutter words of discontent under their breath.

As the last of his allies disappeared into the portal, Ezra turned his gaze skyward.

For now, his Chapter with Khasavar had come to an end.

But of course, there are still things to be done.

For now, Ezra returns to the main universe and heads back to the red dragon clan, since after all, the assessment crew would arrive anytime from now, while wondering how things were going back at the Exalom house.

While it had only been a bit over two hours since he was abducted, Ezra expected that it could take them anywhere till the next day to learn of his disappearance.

’Since he liked reclusive training and cultivation so much. It should take a while for anyone to notice that he’s gone...except Millowan goes to check in on him, that is’ Ezra thought. ’Because if that’s the case..."

He smiles. "Then perhaps they already have"

And how right he was.

—-----------

Three hours later.

Millowan burst into Khasavar’s quarters, his chest heaving and eyes darting wildly around the room.

The place was eerily quiet, save for the faint creak of the wooden floor beneath his hurried steps.

Dust motes floated lazily in the rays of light, untouched by the chaos that now consumed his mind.

"Khasavar?" he called, though his voice faltered. There was no answer.

There hadn’t been for hours.

He slammed the door shut behind him, locking it with trembling hands.

His thoughts raced as he scanned the disheveled space.

His gaze settled on the slightly overturned chair—a clear sign of Khasavar’s abrupt departure or forceful removal.

"This isn’t happening," he whispered to himself, pacing back and forth.

His hands clutched at his hair, tugging in frustration.

He had already scoured the entire estate twice over, questioning the servants and guards, but no one had seen Khasavar leave.

No one knew anything.

The realization was like a noose tightening around his neck.

And yet, Millowan knew better than anyone else what Khasavar’s absence would mean.

He swallowed hard, his throat dry and aching.

"Damn it!"

His mind replayed the many confrontations he’d had with his siblings over the years, and he knew their shared disdain for him.

Although in context, it was not their fault to treat him this way.

Millowan, right from time, had built a reputation of being arrogant, ruthless, cunning and cruel, whilst doing many inhumane things that rubbed others wrongly.

So it was no wonder that despite being the eldest, and the first son of their lineage, his siblings-despite their rivalry-had banded together to make sure he wouldn’t be able to rise in power—which led to his stagnation as a rank four Transcendent.

And while the astral elixir had pushed him into the nascent realm, he wasn’t anywhere near the level of power to defy the power of his siblings.

With his sort of track record, Millowan can already picture their reactions.

"They’ll think it was me," Millowan muttered, his voice trembling. "They’ll say I orchestrated this. They’ll frame me!"

The thought was unbearable.

Ultimately, Millowan knew Khasavar’s disappearance would be the pin in the coffin for him.

He collapsed into Khasavar’s dusty chair, gripping the edges of the desk as if it were the only thing anchoring him to reality.

His mind spiraled through the likely scenarios: his siblings accusing him, his name dragged through the mud, and the relentless, inescapable descent into ruin.

Even if he proclaimed his innocence, who would believe him?

His past misdeeds—his arrogance, his lies, his betrayals—were chains that bound him, heavy and unbreakable.

Khasavar’s disappearance was the perfect opportunity for his enemies to strike, and Millowan knew they would seize it without hesitation.

He took a deep, shuddering breath and forced himself to think rationally.

He couldn’t afford to let panic cloud his judgment.

But the more he analyzed the situation, the bleaker it became.

"If I report this..." Millowan began, his voice barely above a whisper. "If I tell them he’s gone..."

He trailed off, his thoughts completing the sentence for him.

’They’ll destroy me! They’ll see me as the prime suspect. They’ll ensure I’m locked away, and by the time the truth comes out—if it ever does—it’ll be too late!’ he cried inside.

Desperation clawed at him.

He stood abruptly, pacing once more.

His gaze flitted to the door, as if expecting someone to burst in and accuse him at any moment.

"I can’t stay here," he realizes, his voice steadier now, tinged with grim resolve. "Others will soon notice his disappearance, and once they do, it’ll be over"

The weight of his decision settled over him like a shroud.

He had to leave. It was the only option that offered even a sliver of hope.

Staying meant certain doom.

But where would he go? How would he escape without drawing suspicion? Millowan’s mind raced through the possibilities.

In anycase, Millowan understands that he couldn’t stay here any longer.

The faster he got to action, the faster he’d make his escape.

He needed to be smart and fast.

Without wasting another moment, Millowan rises and heads out of the room.

But as he exits, he pauses, his gaze sweeping over the room one last time.

The weight of what he was leaving behind—the fragile stability he’d clung to—pressed down on him.

His carefully crafted influence, reputation and even wealth, was turning to smoke right before his eyes.

But there was no time for regret.

"I’ll survive" he muttered, steeling himself. "I always do"

He slipped out of the room and down the hall, his steps light and deliberate.

The estate is quiet, the usual bustle of servants and guards much more mundane.

Millowan’s paranoia spiked, but he pushed it aside, focusing on his escape.

As he reached the outer courtyard, he hesitated.

The path ahead was uncertain, fraught with danger and risk. But it was also his only chance.

Without a backward glance, Millowan mentally leaves behind the estate and the life he had lived until now.

His mind raced as he calculated his next steps.

’I’ll head to the Black Market first’ he thought. ’Lay low, change my identity’

He would have to become something else, someone else, find himself a new identity to escape the pursuit team that would inevitably follow after him.

Reaching his abode, he rushes to the compartment where his things were kept, with hands trembling slightly as he pulls open a drawer and rummages through the documents.

Among the documents, he soon finds what he was looking for: maps, and financial records.

He stuffs them also into a large ordinary looking briefcase, his movements frantic but precise.

Next, he turned to the wardrobe, where his collection of fine robes and cloaks hung neatly.

Millowan selected a row of the simplest ones and those not too uncommon, knowing that flashy attire would make him an easy target.

But he doesn’t change clothes, as that would only raise suspicions with his own clan members.

His heart pounds as he puts the briefcase and his best weapons into individual storage rings to keep things discreet.

Finally, he grabs a book filled with contacts of people he had collected precisely to use whenever he was in a pinch

Brought about as a result of his paranoia, there wasn’t a better time to use such an item than now.

Completing his get up, Millowan behaves as he normally would, mentioning not to disturb Khasavar as he was in deep cultivation routine, before getting in his fastest spaceship with an excuse to wanting to visit another galaxy.

Like that, he leaves the premises of the Exalom house, before immediately pulling out of any investment he made in an effort to liquidate as much of his money as possible.

No matter what, Millowan was determined with at least a portion of his wealth.

Those stories of poor wanderers weren’t for him.

At his age and position, Millowan would rather die than live as a street rat scrounging for food.

He didn’t know what awaited him.

He didn’t know if his plan would work, or if his siblings would still find a way to track him down.

But one thing was certain: Millowan would rather face the dangers of the unknown than the wrath of his hateful family.

For better or worse, Millowan resolved to only look to the future from now on.