The monk walked patiently to the temple's courtyard. Then bowed to Kevin.
"You're quite brave, young man. Defying Lord Kelya is just defying life itself. You should be honored to become one with the mountain god," the monk said.
Kevin frowned, "Calling a soulborne a god. You must be out of your mind, old man?"
The monk shook his head, "You're just blinded by not seeing the miracles that the Lord Kelya did to this village."
He sighed and continued, "Since you chose to die fighting rather than accepting being sacrificed to Lord Kelya, then I should kill you."
Kevin scoffed, "I'll die either way, so enough of this nonsense."
Without any hesitation, he charged—not out of confidence, but because if they fought near the unconscious villagers, the monk might aim for them too.
The monk dashed forward at the same time, robes fluttering like wings. His movements were fluid, almost weightless, and his strikes were precise. His palm shot forward.
Kevin blocked with his forearm but felt the shock reverberate through his bones.
He's fast and powerful.
Kevin tried a quick slash toward the monk's shoulder, but the man twisted aside effortlessly, his robes brushing the blade. In the same motion, he reached for Kevin's wrist with two fingers—like he intended to snap bone with a pinch. Kevin jerked his arm back just in time.
They circled each other for half a breath.
Then the monk closed the distance again.
This time, the monk begun serious attacks. He was going for clean, efficient hits. A palm to the chest, a chop toward the neck, a sweeping kick. Kevin blocked one, deflected another, ducked under the third. But the fourth strike got through. A palm strike hit his shoulder hard enough to numb his whole arm.
He felt his dagger slip in his grip.
"Tch—damn it—"
Kevin backed up, shaking feeling back into his fingers. But the monk didn't give him space. He pressed in again, striking with a controlled rhythm.
Kevin had no room to think. He ducked under a strike and swept at the monk's legs. The monk hopped lightly over it, then came down with a heel aimed at Kevin's skull. Kevin rolled out of the way, and the stone where he'd stood cracked like brittle ice.
If that landed, I'd be gone.
Kevin tried again, feinting with his dagger before punching with his off-hand. The monk blocked it with the back of his wrist, then shoved forward to break Kevin's balance. Kevin stumbled—only for a second—but the monk drove a palm into his diaphragm.
Kevin folded, gasping for breath.
The monk was already stepping in to end it with a precise strike to the throat.
Kevin twisted just enough. The blow grazed his skin, and he retaliated with a desperate upward slash.
This time, he actually made contact.
The dagger sliced through part of the monk's robe, cutting clean fabric instead of flesh, but the monk still flinched. It was the first real reaction Kevin had gotten out of him.
"You have skill," the monk said quietly. "But not enough."
He slid into a lower stance.
Then monk moved.
He didn't blur or vanish; he just became fast. Faster than Kevin expected. Too fast for Kevin to bring his dagger up in time. The monk struck with both palms in rapid sequence—one to the shoulder, one toward the ribs, one aimed at Kevin's throat.
Kevin blocked the first, twisted away from the second, but the third clipped him and sent him skidding back, boots scraping a harsh line across the stone.
His forearms tingled. His neck throbbed.
When the monk struck again, aiming for the temple. Still disoriented, Kevin moved slower than the monk expected. However, that misstep caused the monk to misjudge the distance by a fraction.
The strike only grazed.
And that tiny flaw opened a moment.
Kevin didn't think. He reacted. He twisted his wrist, reversed the grip, and sliced upward.
The dagger's edge cut across the monk's jawline—shallow but shocking.
The monk jerked back, hand touched the wound. His eyes widened, for the first time, serenity cracked. Kevin lunged, adrenaline washing away the fog of pain. His dagger flashed in tight, fast arcs, forcing the monk into a defensive retreat.
Now Kevin pressed him.
A diagonal slash nearly clipped the monk's rib, yet the monk barely managed to deflect it with his forearm. Kevin followed with a knee, then a backhand slash. The monk stumbled, a sandal skidding on stone.
The tide had turned.
But something else was happening.
Behind them, the air began to thrum.
Kevin sensed it.
Black Rabbit sensed it faster.
Lira—Kelya—was gathering power. The mist swirled toward her like she was inhaling the mountain itself.
Black Rabbit burst from the shadows in a streak of black lightning.
"Wait—!" Kevin tried to warn him.
Too late.
The rabbit lunged at the monk, claws extending, a ripple of shadow energy trailing behind him. The monk spun, palm striking…
…but the rabbit was faster.
One slash.
Then another.
The monk's body jerked, blood misting the air.
He collapsed silently.
Black Rabbit landed in front of Kevin, eyes locked on Kelya.
The child-god rose slowly from her throne of mist.
Her small body cracked—bones shifting, reshaping. Her silhouette expanded, stretching monstrous.
Lira was gone.
A massive white tiger stood before them, five meters at the shoulder, its fur snow-bright and striped faintly in storm-gray. Three thick tails, plated in overlapping natural armor, swept behind it, gouging deep scars into the floor with each slow, rhythmic sway. Lightning crackled along its body in thin arcs, tracing the curve of muscle and bone.
Celize's breath escaped in a thin whisper.
"Storm Tiger…"
Even Kevin felt the hair along his neck rise. Instinct screamed at him—this was not something a normal person could fight.
Kelya lowered her massive head, yellow eyes glinting with ancient disdain.
"It has been long since I assumed my true form. You should feel honored… humans…that a god like me will kill you."
She vanished.
Just—gone. The air didn't even ripple.
Her voice rumbled through the air, deep and resonant.
"Now," she growled, "the true fight begins."