Nobody can predict when death comes and takes the soul away with their cold hands.

But when it has arrived, even a baby can tell.

Kyran coughed a mouthful of blood and stared back at the Blood Moon. Its red light was a weight—a passive red that asked for nothing and offered less. Even knowing that he was going to stop the horde, the Blood Moon didn’t intervene.

It knew that he was not up to the task.

It knew that it was impossible for him to do anything meaningful.

It knew that in the end, he was only a fool who hoped to do what a hero does.

Protect Dargena City? Protect Calidora and the child in her belly? Kyran couldn’t even protect himself.

At this point, his entire body was already numb.

All the pain that had screamed through every nerve a minute ago had dulled into a distant hum, like the echoes of thunder retreating over the horizon. Now, there was only his mind—and death’s chilling cold that had wrapped around him.

’So this is it. This is how I’m going to die.’

The thought drifted through him without resistance.

He watched the Blood Moon, and the Blood Moon watched back—neither of them blinked.

’I gave everything. Everything. It wasn’t enough.’

Being close to death so many times already, he had thought of how he would die in the future. He was almost certain it would be a foolish death. Recklessness and mistakes always haunted him, and there’s no escaping this death.

Kyran got lucky once.

Now, his luck has run out.

’I’ve made so many mistakes. I’ve caused so much trouble. I’ve gotten so many chances.’

Recalling the mistakes he had made in the past, mistakes that led Rex and those close to him into trouble, starting from taking that wrong crate back then, Kyran wanted to cry. He could not. His body was already unresponsive to his mind.

Perhaps he was now only a head, reminiscing about the past before death.

’Enough. That’s enough.’

Kyran recalled how Adhara was holding back the powerful Godling.

He recalled how Flunra held back more than two-thirds of the crimson horde.

Both of them had done impeccably well.

The Clarentium Empire has a chance to resist this invasion because of them.

And all he had to do was stop a mere fraction of the crimson horde, less than a third—and he could not even manage that. He was given the simplest burden, and he failed. He, the second eldest of the Silverstar Pack, right after Adhara, was the most useless member.

’After this failure, I don’t deserve another chance. Death... I deserved it.’

Death was coming.

Despite having the Demon Origin Fragment, giving the Silverstar Pack multiple lives, Kyran could feel that this would be his death. He was fighting divine beings. Creatures that were sent from a realm that lies beyond his comprehension.

What is even a Demon Origin Fragment in the eyes of a God?

But it doesn’t matter.

Once the darkness took over, he could leave this all behind.

At least this way, if he ever met Rex again in the afterlife, he could say he had fought to the very end.

A shape blotted the crimson light—Maraka.

"Lord Kyran! Why did you do that?!" His eyes were wide in panic. He was still in shock after what had happened. Kyran knocked him over and took the attack, but it seemed he was still hurt from the charred wounds and the bleeding on his neck. "Why did you take the attack for me?! You do—"

Before he could finish, a crimson wolf bit Maraka’s shoulder.

He roared and decapitated the beast with his katana, and then began dragging Kyran away.

Kyran stared at Maraka’s face.

His eyes were still blazing with hope, darting left and right, sharply searching for a way out and to stop the crimson horde. He was still trying. Even though the wall was already shattered. Even though a stronger crimson wolf has manifested. Even though the armies were still shattered. He was still fighting.

Growl—!

A crimson shadow blindsided Maraka, tackling him from the side.

Kyran couldn’t turn his head; he had no idea what had happened, but Maraka came back into view a few breaths later, drenched in even more blood. Now standing directly over Kyran, he swung his katana in relentless arcs as one crimson wolf after another threw itself at him.

He was protecting Kyran.

Even when a crimson wolf bit off his arm, he used the bone protruding out to stab the beast fiercely.

’Just stop...’ Kyran thought inside. ’Just let me die. Go save the city. Go save Calidora. I don’t deserve to be saved. Not anymore.’

Not wanting to watch anymore, Kyran inhaled deeply, at least tried to inhale, and closed his eyes.

The living is no longer his concern.

He is dead.

Noises suddenly stopped, as though sucked into a vacuum. It seemed his hearing had abandoned him now, too. But this silence felt different. He could still hear the wind. Kyran opened his eyes slowly by degrees and realized in shock that he was standing again.

Bewildered, he looked down at the body beneath him only to understand it wasn’t his own.

No, it was his own, but from the past.

His body was still thin and frail, breakable, but there were scratches all over his arms and torso.

Just a few steps from him, there were the heads of four Goblins.

Almost instantly, Kyran recognized this moment.

He lifted his gaze and saw a figure towering before him.

Rex was there, imposing, his shadow stretched over and shrouding Kyran completely.

Back then, when he had first sought out Rex and begged for a way to become an Awakened, his situation had been as hopeless as it is right now. His entire family had been killed by Supernaturals. Every single one. And yet, the past Kyran had been relentless in his will to survive.

He had killed double the requested number of Goblins and carved the path to power through sheer grit.

As if the realization itself had unlocked something, his body began to grow.

Towering upward into his werewolf form—the kind of form that could shatter even the hardest wills.

But what mattered was that he no longer stood in Rex’s shadow.

Once his transformation was completed, his head poked out of Rex’s shadow.

It was a testament to how far he had gotten.

Back then, he suffered scratches and almost died at the hands of Goblins. Now, he was facing Godlings.

"Did I make a mistake?"

Kyran blinked and stared at Rex ahead with wide eyes.

"Is this your limit?"

Even though Rex’s voice was flat, devoid of any outward emotion, he couldn’t help but feel—and hear the disappointment laced beneath it. As if Rex had expected more of him. Had believed he would grow far stronger than this.

After all, why else would Rex have accepted him in the first place if not for his potential?

"No..."

Kyran’s voice was firm and slowly turned into a rumbling growl.

Around him, the world that had been empty slowly returned to normal.

Crimson wolves, Maraka, the Blood Moon—everything crashed back into his vision at once as his mind snapped back to reality. He ground his sharp teeth, seething. He must’ve lost his mind for a second. He had sworn an oath to fight until his very last breath, and hadn’t drawn it yet!

A growl tore out of his throat as he grabbed a crimson wolf by its tail, stopping its dash.

It turned around and snarled, but Kyran already pulled on it.

Swish—!

Just as the crimson wolf lunged, choosing not to resist the pull but committing everything to finish him off, an ice spike erupted from the ground at the same time. The beast had no time to evade as the frozen tip drove clean through its neck and snapped its spine.

Realizing that Kyran hadn’t given up yet, another crimson wolf lunged.

It bit Kyran’s shoulder and dragged him violently.

Blood drained from his body faster than he could recover.

Kyran could feel the temperature dropping, but he kept fighting back. Trying his best to break free from the beast’s jaws. All the time, even when he was losing consciousness again, he kept glaring at the red eye above like it was his sworn enemy.

His gaze was an oath.

Even if he died, he would claw his way back to the world of the living.

Even if he died, he would climb to the realm of the Gods and kill the deity behind the Blood Moon.

Rapidly, the temperature plummeted again unnaturally, and it had nothing to do with the blood draining from his body. The cold came from somewhere else. Frost crawled across his open wounds, sealing the still-weeping gashes in crystalline white.

His mind spun, but through the haze, he saw that the Blood Moon’s light was deeming.

Like another power was taking over.

But Kyran didn’t care.

He kept trying to break free. Kept trying to draw one more breath.

Do anything he could to prolong his life and fight.

Death was seconds away, and when he was about to run out of time, a voice crept to his mind.

’I see you. Do you want the strength to overcome this invasion?’

Kyran searched for the voice, but couldn’t find anything but the red blur of the world.

His heart beats weakly inside his chest, knowing that he is seconds away from death.

’Yes!’ He roared inside his mind. ’Lend me the strength to destroy my enemies!’

’Close your eyes.’

’Let death claim you.’

The world stilled as Kyran heard the last, labouring drumbeat of his weak, blood-deprived heart. With the dying flame of defiance still burning inside him, he closed his eyes and cast everything into a final, reckless gamble.

He could see the glimpse of darkness that death brought.

See the glimpse of the abyss that waits a fool’s death, the hollow silence of surrender.

But the coldness of death and its darkness pulled away soon as if it was repelled by his will to survive.

In the pitch-black void, a single light blue moon shattered the darkness.

And from its heart, Rex emerged and stretched forth a hand forward.

He accepted the helping hand and held it tightly as he was pulled back to the world once again.

Kyran is the left-hand of the Alpha, the reflection of Rex’s dark side—death has no power over him.

’And rise. Be reborn as the Shadow Prince of Ice and Snow.’

Boom—!

In the real world, Maraka had his back against the earth.

Above him was a ferocious crimson wolf, clamping down its jaws repeatedly—while he did his best to hold it back with one arm. He had been trying his best to protect Kyran and bring him to safety, but the endless crimson horde wouldn’t let him.

For humiliating the horde, Maraka wouldn’t be spared.

But as he accepted his fate, feeling that his arm was above to give at any moment, something happened.

A thunderous explosion—the shockwave it produced hammered the crimson wolf off of him.

Maraka panted heavily, looking around in a total loss of words.

He turned and pushed himself to sit up.

"What is this heat...? It burns and freezes at the same time." A rush of searing warmth washed over his skin—and when he turned toward its source, he finally saw it. A figure stood wreathed in a raging storm of energy, an azure vortex roaring around him with overwhelming force. "Lord Kyran?!"

For a second, Maraka was completely stunned.

Not even a minute ago, Kyran had been sliced into two cleanly, detaching his torso from his legs.

But now, he was standing and exuding enormous waves of energy.

It wasn’t moonlight energy. Not like his energy earlier.

And then Maraka saw it—a mark manifesting to life on Kyran’s forehead, the very source of the raging energy. His lips curled into a smile. He laughed, loud and unrestrained, as realization crashed over him. The power flooding his senses was unmistakable.

It was the higher energy of the werewolf race.

Kingly energy.

"He awakened a King Mark!"