CHAPTER 185: FRACTURE

~3rd Person POV

"You piece of shit! Do you even realize what you’re doing?"

"You killed her!" Gork shouted, panic and fury warping his voice. His fingers trembled as he drew another arrow, this one glowing with intense mana, the shaft pulsing with volatile energy.

"DIE!"

He loosed it without hesitation.

The arrow streaked through the air, a blur of light and rage, but Hissra was faster. He thrust both hands forward, flames roaring outward to meet the incoming shot. The two attacks collided mid-air with a deafening explosion, the impact rattling the trees and sending waves of heat through the clearing.

"Gork?!" Druk’s voice rang out, sharp with disbelief. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?"

"Stay away!" Gork snapped back, his eyes never leaving Hissra.

He leapt onto a nearby tree, landing on a thick branch with practiced ease. Perched above, he drew again, his breathing steadying as he sought a cleaner angle.

But before he could release his next shot, a barrage of bone shards tore through the air like bullets, whistling with lethal precision. He barely managed to leap aside, diving to another tree just as the branch he’d stood on shattered into splinters behind him.

The blast of bone shredded the trunk, sending fragments flying in every direction.

Druk’s voice rang out through the smoke, cold and mocking.

"Losing your mind over a woman? Pathetic."

"You deserve to die!" Gork snarled, pressing his back to the bark of the tree for cover, his breath shallow and sharp.

"Druk?" he muttered, recognizing the voice.

"Come out, you lovesick simp!" Druk shouted from below, his armored form stomping into view, bone plating shifting with each step. "Stop hiding and die like a warrior!"

"You bastard!"

With a snarl, Gork stepped from cover, his bow already drawn. The arrow at his string blazed with concentrated mana, its tip glowing white-hot.

He fired.

Druk didn’t see it coming. The arrow struck him square in the chest—and exploded.

The blast rocked the clearing, engulfing Druk in fire and force, his silhouette briefly visible inside the shockwave before it was swallowed whole.

But the explosion gave away Gork’s position—lit him up like a signal flare.

Hissra didn’t hesitate.

He turned and unleashed a torrent of flames, the fiery stream roaring across the clearing and crashing into Gork’s perch with a violent boom. The blast shredded bark and branch alike, and Gork was ripped from the treetop, hurled to the forest floor like a ragdoll.

THUD!

He landed hard, the impact jarring enough to knock the breath from his lungs. A groan slipped from his lips as he rolled onto his side, clutching at his ribs.

But before he could recover, he heard footsteps—light but close.

His instincts flared, and he sprang to his feet, leaping backward to gain distance.

Too late.

Something struck him across the face mid-leap, a sharp sting raking across his cheek as he landed awkwardly. He stumbled but managed to draw an arrow, spinning with bow in hand, ready to fire—

Only to freeze.

Malvrik stood before him, one hand still raised, his fingers slick with a thin, glistening fluid that shimmered with a sickly green hue. A smirk curved his lips.

Gork’s expression twisted. He touched his cheek—and felt the warmth of blood. Then came the burning.

An ominous pulse radiated from the scratch, and within seconds, dark veins began to spider out from the wound, crawling along his skin like ink in water.

His face contorted in horror.

"Poison..." he muttered, voice already strained.

It was acting fast.

Gork quickly went into his inventory, his fingers shaky as he pulled out a vial and uncorked it. Without hesitation, he downed the potion in one swift gulp, the bitter liquid burning down his throat.

Across from him, Malvrik watched with an amused grin, arms crossed casually.

"It’s futile," he said, voice dripping with satisfaction. "That little tonic won’t be enough. It’ll take more than one potion to flush out what I gave you."

Gork gritted his teeth, wiping the blood from his mouth as he staggered upright. The potion had slowed the spread, but only barely—his veins still pulsed with a faint green glow. He didn’t get a chance to reply.

Because flames were already racing toward him.

Hissra struck again, sending a wall of fire crashing through the clearing, and Gork had to dive aside to avoid being incinerated. He barely found his footing when Druk came barreling in, bone-covered fists swinging with brutal weight.

They were relentless.

Two against one—and Gork, weakened, distracted, and poisoned—stood no chance.

All because of Nira.

As the chaos unfolded, Threl stood on the edge of the clearing, silent and unmoving. His fists were clenched, his face unreadable, but his eyes followed every movement.

He had known about Gork’s feelings.

He’d seen how Gork looked at Nira, how he always lingered too long when she spoke, how his mood shifted when she was wounded or praised. They were close. Closer than anyone else in their unit.

And that closeness had become a weakness.

Gork had been played.

Getting the seal was impossible. Threl knew that. Gork couldn’t match Hissra—not in power, not in control, not in mind.

And now... it was too late.

Even if Gork did manage to get the seal, there was no guarantee Eli would’ve kept his word and let Nira go.

Threl’s gaze swept across the scorched earth where Eli had last been seen—where he and Nira had supposedly taken the brunt of Hissra’s flame. But the ground told a different story. There were no signs of charred bodies, no ash, no blood—just the faint outline of burned foliage and displaced soil.

Eli and Nira hadn’t been caught in the blast. They were alive.

And if that was true... then Eli had likely escaped, taking Nira with him—either as a hostage, or worse.

They should have been chasing him.

Instead, they were wasting time turning on each other—blinded by emotion, pride, and betrayal.

Threl sighed.

He wasn’t about to run after Eli alone, not while this chaos raged around him.

But then he heard it, footsteps cutting through the sounds of battle.

He turned instinctively... and froze on Eli, running toward him with [Gravefang] drawn.

Threl’s heart skipped a beat. His instincts screamed at him.

And without thinking, he activated his skill—rock plates surged over his hands and forearms, encasing them in stone as he dropped into a defensive stance.

But what happened next caught him completely off guard.