The Nameless Heir-Chapter 60: End of Hero’s

"Be glad," Kael muttered, gripping the scythe tight. "I kept this a secret—even from the gods."

The weapon trembled in his hands.

It wasn’t listening.

It kept twisting, trying to pull free—like it still wanted to return to its old master. The more Kael held on, the more it drained from him. His arms were shaking now.

Time was running out. Kael could feel it in his bones—if he didn’t end this soon, the weapon would tear itself from him.

He stepped forward, dragging the scythe behind him. The blade scraped across the dirt, leaving a long, shallow scar on the ground.

That’s when Victor roared and lunged, his massive body shattering the ground beneath him. His claws swept forward, aimed straight for Kael’s chest—fast and heavy.

That moment time itself slowed down. He could see his movement—like time itself bowed to him.

He wondered to himself as he dodged, Is this how Kronos sees the world?

He turned his body slightly—just enough to avoid the claw—and then he brought the scythe up in a clean arc. The shaft slid under Victor’s arm, redirecting the momentum. His feet shifted once, then again.

He spun. Continued to build up speed.

His coat lifted with the motion, twisting around him like a second skin. Shadows curled off his body, pulled into the rotation. For a second, it was hard to tell where Kael ended and the weapon began.

The scythe turned with him. Full circle. Then again. It was a perfect defense and offense.

Every sweep came with purpose—tight, close, measured.

The blade bit into Victor’s side. Then his shoulder. Then his thigh.

He tried to block Kael’s attacks, but he couldn’t tell where the next strike would come from.

He never stopped spinning. His boots glided across the ground in a controlled arc, the hilt shifting from one hand to the other without pause.

Another cut. Deep. Clean.

Victor stumbled back, arms raised, trying to protect his face.

Too late.

The scythe curved upward one last time, catching his wrist and slashing across his chest.

Then Kael stopped.

He stood still. One hand on the scythe’s shaft, the blade lowered.

Victor bled from five different wounds. His breathing was shallow.

Kael didn’t speak.

He just looked at him—calm, steady, unreadable. But inside, he was slowly losing control.

Victor took a shaky step back. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

And Kael stepped forward again.

"Is that all you’ve got, Dragon God?" Kael muttered, eyes steady.

His voice was flat—like he wasn’t even trying to taunt, just tired.

Victor’s wings snapped open.

Wider than before.

The wind shifted. Clouds gathered above them, thick and dark. Lightning sparked between them, flashing veins of red through the sky.

"This ends now," Victor shouted, eyes burning. "Even if it kills me—I’ll drag you, and this whole world, down with me!"

He shot upward—straight into the storm.

The clouds swallowed him whole.

Everything went quiet for a moment.

Then the sky cracked.

The air turned sharp like blades. Heavy. Like the whole world was holding its breath.

Deep in the clouds, a red glow flickered—faint at first, then pulsing brighter with each second, like something trapped inside, struggling to escape.

Electricity snapped across the sky, wild and uneven. The storm beat like it had a heart of its own.

Kael didn’t move. More like he couldn’t move.

He took a slow breath. Planted his foot against the ground.

The grip on his scythe tightened, and it started to fight him harder. It twisted in his hands—alive, angry—trying to break free. But he held on. Harder. It started to drain the strength from his arms, trying to prevent him from using its power.

The shadows coiled tighter around his arms, trying to help him maintain control. They held him together—barely.

The wind howled. The sky turned crimson red.

Then—

Victor unleashed it.

A beam. Massive. Bright. Violent.

It tore through the clouds like a spear of fire, wrapped in lightning. It screamed downward—wider, faster than before.

Kael stood still.

His eyes narrowed.

And he raised the scythe.

Slow. Heavy.

Every bone in his arm groaned from the weight. His muscles locked up. His breath caught halfway through his chest.

The blade didn’t want to listen. It fought him with every pulse—shaking like it still remembered someone else’s hand.

He planted his feet.

Lowered his stance.

Let the shadows crawl up from the earth, winding around his legs like chains. They held him steady. Held him together.

His fingers dug deeper into the hilt.

The air felt thin. Cold.

He let out a soft whisper under his breath, barely loud enough for the word to escape his lips—

"...Fall."

The scythe pulsed once like a heartbeat.

Then again.

A faint glow sparked along the curve of the blade. Just a flicker. Nothing more.

He grit his teeth and pulled back.

Then swung.

One clean arc.

The air screamed as the weapon moved. Shadows tore loose from the edge and curved through the sky—wide, sharp, hungry.

The crescent slash shot forward.

It wasn’t just power.

It struck Victor’s beam head-on.

For a second, everything froze.

Then—it cracked.

The slash tore through Victor’s beam without slowing.

The dark clouds split—drifting in opposite directions, his attack torn the sky in half.

Victor didn’t scream.

He looked down. His eyes widened in shock. A clean cut across his chest, from shoulder to hip. It didn’t bleed. It decayed.

His body was cleaved in two. There was no anger in his eyes, nor did he have any pain. It was somewhat a look of relief. His mouth twitched slightly, like he wanted to say something but forgot how.

Then nothing.

His arms went slack. His wings gave out.

He started to fall—silent, weightless.

One half dropped first. Then the other.

While he fell, his limbs began to thin. His skin cracked like dry clay. Wrinkles spread across his face. His eyes lost their color.

Like time had caught up all at once.

By the time he reached the ground, he wasn’t a man.

He wasn’t a god.

He was dust.

A breeze passed through and carried him away.

And then—

Complete silence.

Kael stood there.

Barely upright.

The scythe in his hands shook uncontrollably, still trying to break free. But it couldn’t.

So it turned its sharp edge toward Kael and lunged.

He caught it. Both hands gripped the dark weapon, muscles trembling as he held it at bay. His feet scraped back across the dirt.

The arrows came out of nowhere—dozens of them.

For a second, time seemed to slow.

One was inches from his chest. Hanging there, mid-air. Like the world just... paused.

Kael’s eyes flicked to it.

He let go of the scythe, kicked back, and flipped backwards.

The blade stabbed into the ground beside him, and the arrow missed.

He didn’t stop.

With one hand, he snatched the scythe and morphed it back into Shadowbane. His grip was weak. Movement—sluggish. His vision blurred from exhaustion. His eyes could barely keep up.

Another wave of arrows tore through the air.

He didn’t know where they were coming from—only that they were meant to kill him.

His body moved before his mind could process what was happening.

He couldn’t dodge them all, so he cut down the ones he couldn’t—once, twice—cutting through the arrows mid-flight.

Sparks flew where steel met steel.

Shadows flared with each swing, cleaving the air apart.

He had no cover. Just an open farmland.

Then silence.

He looked up.

One arrow—high above—split the clouds.

Then, it multiplied.

Hundreds. Thousands.

His eyes widened.

"Envy—help me!"

She rose from his shadow instantly, arms wide. A black barrier formed overhead, stretching to shield him.

Then—she vanished.

He didn’t have the energy to keep her around.

The barrier held, barely. Arrows rained down like divine punishment. The barrier cracked. Groaned.

Then—

Shattered.

Before the dust could settle, another volley came straight at him.

Kael dodged four. Quick steps. Tight turns.

Then one curved mid-air.

It struck his shoulder.

Not a cut. Not a graze.

The arrow tore through—one end in, one end out.

He screamed.

Blood poured.

More arrows.

He raised his hand, and the shadow beneath him stirred. It wrapped around him—soft and squishy.

The arrows couldn’t pierce through it. The moment they hit the sphere, they slowed—losing speed and power. But still, he didn’t know how long he could hold on.

He stayed still inside his shadowy sphere, eyes shut. His fingers clenched over his pierced shoulder—tight, shaking.

Blood seeped through his palm, warm.

His breath came shallow.

The shadows slid into the wound—slow, uncertain. They curled around the torn flesh, pressing in, trying to stitch it back together.

Not just the skin.

Everything.

From the inside out.

But the healing was slow.

"Gluttony... go," he muttered.

The word came out ragged. Low. Like it scraped past his throat on the way out.

Gluttony slithered toward the direction the arrows came from—silent, low to the ground, like prey hunting the hunter.

The hero didn’t notice the shadow.

He was too focused on Kael.

He was confident—too confident—that he didn’t notice the shadow creeping toward him. It curled through the field, from shadows to shadows, silently.

And through Gluttony, Kael could see everything.

Each heartbeat.

Every breath.

The forest twisted into a map of darkness, every living thing outlined in shadow.

When he realized something was off. He moved.

He moved fast. He darted through the forest, hopping from trees to trees, ducking low under the branches.

His breaths came sharp, quick, uneven. He kept glancing over his shoulder, trying to stay away from the moonlight—like it could protect him from what followed.

But Gluttony was patient.

A black trail slithered across the treetops, like a snake hunting a bird. Every time the hero stepped into the light, Gluttony struck.

A clawed hand would tear from the shadows, aiming for his legs.

The hero twisted away—just barely avoiding the hit. But Gluttony never stopped.

He kept the hero moving, forced him to stay sharp, and left him no time to breathe.

But soon, he began to understand.

He started avoiding the light, thinking it would keep him safe.

But Gluttony found a way to reach him anyway—cutting down tree branches and leaves, letting more moonlight slip through the canopy.

The shadow wasn’t chasing him.

It was leading him.

The hero twisted away—barely. Gluttony kept him on his toes, never letting him rest.

Every time he stepped into another patch of moonlight, another attack came.

Each time he landed, Gluttony was already there, waiting.

Even when the hero’s movements were fast—precise, deadly—Gluttony didn’t strike to kill.

He was only leading him, step by step, straight to his master.

Just as the hero reached for another shaft of light, hoping to break free—Kael’s hand rose from the shadow and caught him by the throat, midair.

Slowly, his whole body followed, rising from the dark like a god clawing his way out of the earth.

Kael stood balanced on a branch, the Helm of Darkness covering his face like a god of judgment.

His body throbbed with pain. Blood poured from his shoulder—but he didn’t flinch.

He remained calm.

Then he shot upward, snapping the branch beneath his feet as he lifted the man higher.

Moonlight shined behind him while he dangled the hero in the air.

The man screamed.

He struggled.

Then Kael grabbed one of his arms and squeezed—breaking it.

He did the same to the other.

Both hands—useless now. Broken. Limp.

He didn’t have the strength to fight another hero.

At least now, the hero couldn’t fight.

Kael lowered him to the ground and released him from his grip.

The man collapsed instantly, falling to his knees, mouth open in silent agony.

Kael didn’t speak.

He just stood there.

Shadows crawling over his skin.

The Helm still covering his face.

He didn’t need to fight. Not right now.

He couldn’t.

But this... was enough.

He leaned in close.

"You’re not worth killing," he said softly.

Then shoved him back with one hand.

"Run."

The man didn’t move at first.

He couldn’t. He was paralyzed by fear.

Kael stepped forward. He could barely move his shoulder now, and whispered again—

"Run."

The man scrambled to his feet, gasping, and ran off.

Kael didn’t follow.

He dropped to one knee, body shaking.

His heart raced.

Every limb screamed.

But in the distance—through the trees and smoke and moonlight—he saw the dragon.

Wounded.

So he kept going.

Crawling.

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