Chapter 65: Space vs Thunder
Zephyr stood motionless, swaying. His ribs ached, his scythe was fused to his hand, his vision swam in red. The air still hissed with heat, filled with the sickening stench of scorched flesh and vaporized blood. And yet, none of that clung to him as tightly as the scene before him.
The boy was crouched now—knees bent, face stretched into a grin too wide, too crooked. His eyes gleamed with something darker than bloodlust. He wasn’t here for vengeance. He wasn’t mourning a friend. No—he was entertained.
And then he moved.
He pressed his foot against Lyria’s lifeless backside, grinding it slowly, deliberately. A moan escaped him, followed by a muffled grunt as his hand slid under his waistband.
Zephyr didn’t blink.
He should’ve shouted. He should’ve vomited. He should’ve screamed that it was wrong, that this wasn’t war or justice or revenge—it was filth.
Instead, he thought.
’Has it always been this way? Does humanity need a leash—an overlord, a god, a tyrant—to behave like people? Was this it? The true form of man?’
He felt no divine revelation, only a hollow understanding.
It had barely been hours. Hours since the school was over turned. Since he’d fought for survival, bled, broken bones, nearly died. And now—he was watching evil unfold. Not in some grand throne room or monstrous battlefield. Just here, in the ruins of a crumbling school, with corpses still warm.
’Was I part of it now? Would someone watching me think the same?’.