Beyond the Apocalypse-Chapter 996: Kinto and Akai

Vlad could not help but reflect on the journey through the stronghold of the Faerathia Empire within the Dark Land. The fortress was, undeniably, magnificent, grand spires carved from glowing crystal, streams of light flowing through intricate runic veins, and shimmering domes that painted the air in colors unseen in any other world.

It was impressive, yes— impressive and utterly wasteful.

There was enough divine energy and precious material in those walls to build a hundred fortifications or forge ten thousand weapons. This was, after all, a Doomsday World—a place where existence itself trembled under the weight of eternal war. Yet the Faelaras had filled it with glittering fountains and celestial murals, as though trying to make a dying world forget its own decay.

Still, Vlad kept his thoughts to himself. He had come to forge an alliance, not to lecture them on efficiency. But he made a quiet note: when the time came for the invasion, he would need to remind his new "allies" that beauty could not shield one from annihilation.

The chamber in which he waited was just as lavish as the city—walls adorned with goldleaf sigils, crystal chandeliers humming with faint light, and a carpet that seemed woven from starlight itself. It was extravagant to the point of absurdity.

But what truly tested Vlad’s patience was not the decor—it was the delay.

He had been waiting for nearly three hours.

According to Casira, the Imperial Envoy—a representative of the Faerathian royal line—was to receive him immediately upon arrival. Yet the appointed time had long since passed. For a man like Vlad, whose every decision balanced worlds and wars, such waiting was not simply an inconvenience. It was an insult.

He was patient when it came to the grand movements of war—when timing meant life or death for entire civilizations. But this was different. This was politics, and politics had rules. Making another ruler wait was a statement.

At last, the ornate doors opened.

The man who entered was radiant and terrible in equal measure. His silver hair flowed like liquid moonlight, cascading over black and gold armor etched with runes that pulsed faintly with life. From his temples curved dark antlers, symbols of dominion among the Faelaras. Around his neck and ears shimmered emerald jewels, glowing faintly with cold, sentient magic.

He walked as though the very ground should be grateful to touch his feet. His eyes were closed, his expression serene, almost divine—but the arrogance that rolled off him was suffocating.

Vlad’s brow furrowed. He had met gods, demons, and things far beyond either—and yet few radiated such smug disdain.

Behind the silver-haired figure followed Damian and Casira, their heads bowed low. Even so, Vlad noticed the conflict in their faces—the restrained frustration, the shame they tried to hide.

The figure stopped a few meters before Vlad and stood tall, chin raised. Casira stepped forward, voice trembling with formality.

"This is His Highness, Kinto Faer, Second Prince of the Faerathia Empire."

The prince gave a faint sigh, as if the act of being introduced exhausted him. Then, in a tone dripping with entitlement, he added:

"You may bow in reverence."

Vlad blinked once, then twice. For a brief, disbelieving moment, he thought he might have misheard.

Bow?

He was the King of the Xaos Kingdom, a sovereign power that commanded two Lords and had shaken entire planes of existence. Even the White Death himself—ruler of the Graecia Empire—addressed him as an equal. And now this boy, a mere Superior Legendary, dared to demand that he kneel?

A low sigh escaped Vlad’s lips as he shook his head slowly. He had hoped—after meeting Damian and Casira—that their people had learned humility through war. He had even imagined that the Faerathia might prove worthy allies in the coming conflict. But this display shattered that illusion.

"So this," Vlad murmured, turning away, "is how the Imperial Family chooses to greet their guests."

He began walking toward the exit.

"What do you think you are doing?!"

The prince’s voice thundered across the chamber, trembling with disbelief and fury.

Vlad didn’t even glance back.

"Leaving," he said simply. "There is no point in speaking with someone like you."

The words struck like a slap. Kinto’s elegant face twisted in rage, the air around him flickering with golden fire.

"Insolent insect!" he roared. "We came here to help you—our Empire offers aid in your struggle against the Vorometallicae—and this is how you repay our generosity?!"

Casira and Damian froze, shame burning through them. They knew the truth. It was Vlad who had saved their armies, Vlad who had destroyed the Vorometallicae strongholds that had nearly crushed them. Their empire owed him. And yet their prince spat words that made them sound like benefactors.

Vlad did not stop. He didn’t even acknowledge the insult. His silence alone was enough to deepen the humiliation.

Kinto’s composure shattered. He trembled with fury, his teeth grinding audibly. Then, with a roar, he gathered divine energy into his hand, golden flames coiling around his arm like serpents.

"Kneel before your betters!"

He lunged.

Vlad sighed once more—a weary sound, like a man disappointed rather than threatened. His sword appeared in his hand with a flicker of crimson light. The Soul Blade pulsed softly, and for an instant the air around it rippled as though space itself bent in fear.

"You should not have done that," Vlad said quietly.

The prince’s strike was swift, but the gap between them was vast. Vlad had no intention of killing him—not yet—but he would not let arrogance go unpunished. His blade arced upward in a blur, its edge whispering through the air like the breath of death itself, aimed to sever the prince’s arm before the flames could strike.

But just as the blade was about to connect, a new presence exploded into the room.

It was fast—impossibly fast. Even Vlad’s sharp eyes barely caught the movement: a streak of silver and blue, a surge of divine pressure that rattled the chamber. He reacted instantly, halting his strike a hair’s breadth from Kinto’s arm as another figure appeared between them.

The floor cracked beneath the newcomer’s feet, the air shattering with the force of his arrival.

Vlad’s pupils narrowed, his instincts sharpening. For the first time since stepping into the Faerathia stronghold, he felt something resembling surprise.

The newcomer threw his hand forward with a motion that cracked the air. Vlad’s hand flashed instinctively, Soul Blade answering his will, but he didn’t strike—his blade readied, waiting for the threat to commit. The thrust, however, wasn’t aimed at Vlad at all. It was aimed at the second prince.

Before Kinto could make sense of the movement, something seized the back of his wrist and slammed him to the floor. The newcomer resembled Kinto in build and bearing, but that was where the similarities ended. Where Kinto had radiated petulant arrogance, the man who now held him radiated control: a cold, honed severity that belonged to a veteran warrior. His eyes were sharpened steel; his presence announced a Lord’s authority.

The newcomer didn’t loosen his grip. He yanked Kinto up and drove the prince’s head into the carved wall with a wet, awful sound. Bone protested. Blood painted the prince’s mouth. He sagged under the force, clutching at his shattered jaw.

"Brother—Akai!" Kinto gasped, terror stealing the arrogance from his features. The word was a plea, not a command.

Akai gave Kinto no pity. He tightened his hold and slammed Kinto’s skull against the stone a second time, not to kill, but to make a point—each strike a punctuation mark on the prince’s folly. Kinto’s face blurred with pain; the prince’s voice whined and broke.

"Brother, please—let me go!" he screamed, voice a ragged thing. His nails dug at Akai’s forearm, slick with blood, but the attempt at struggle only made the sound of snapping cartilage more distinct.

Akai’s voice, when it came, was cold and quiet, a blade wrapped in calm. "You took the message meant for me. You intercepted the envoy. You usurped my place." He crushed the head until the prince’s teeth ground in agony. "Do you understand what you did? We were given a chance to fix what our people have lost. We were given a path to reclaim honor—and you almost ruined it because you wanted to be seen."

With every word, the pressure on Kinto’s head increased. Bone cracked under Akai’s grip; crimson beaded at the prince’s eyes. Kinto’s face was a mask of raw fear now, his earlier confidence obliterated by the reality of a brother who would not tolerate incompetence.

Akai’s face, by contrast, wore something like sorrow. "You have always been reckless, Kinto. You court arrogance like a lover courts flame. If you want the throne, learn restraint. If you want soldiers to follow you, learn to earn it."

For a moment, as if some private ruler had passed sentence, Akai’s fingers relaxed. He released Kinto and let him drop to the floor, crumpled and gasping. The prince’s breath came in ragged, shallow pulls.

"For our father," Akai said at last, his voice flat and final, "I will let you leave. For now. This is the last time you put us at risk for your vanity."

Kinto coughed, a wet, broken sound, and tried to form a protest. His mouth worked, but words failed him; the pride had been beaten out of him, at least for now.