Silence.
The only thing moving was the wind.
Her hand had gone cold beside him.Her breathing had almost stopped.
But her words still echoed in his head.
"Live. Please... live."
And he did. Her healing had sealed the wound. Barely. But enough.
He lay there, staring at the burned ceiling.
Then something inside him snapped.
He began to laugh.
Quiet at first… then louder… then louder. The kind of laugh that didn't sound human anymore.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
He stood. His body cracked. His eyes glowed red, brighter than ever. His pain receptors almost inactive.
His sword glowed bright red. Brighter than usual.
Hardt turned, sensing something was wrong. He started to back away.
The man took a step forward.
Then vanished.
Hardt blinked.
Blood sprayed from his chest.
Another cut.
Another.
He didn't even see them coming.
"Blood Sword Technique – Slash of the Century."
A technique he had just learned but was very weak when he used initially. Now it's fast as fuck.
Too fast.
Hardt couldn't move. Couldn't react. Couldn't breathe.
The swordsman's body shook with fury and bloodlust.
His breathing was wild. Ran grabbed his wounded right arm, tore it open even further, and drank the blood that spilled from it.
His sword glowed even brighter, reacting to the madness.
His eyes were no longer human.
"More…" he whispered.
"MORE!"
He hacked and slashed at Hardt—over and over.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!! MORE MORE DIE DIE DIE"
In the verge of desperation Haredt unleashed his wind shied.
However, it broke like glass. Nothing stopped him. His sanity had completely shattered.
The sword tore through flesh, clothes, bones. The ground beneath them cracked with every step he took.
Hardt tried everything—blades of wind, blasts of pressure, air bombs but nothing touched him.
He was too fast.
Too mad.
Too far gone.
Finally, Hardt collapsed.
Blood spilled from dozens of cuts.
His body was twitching too wounded to fight. Too afraid to speak.
But it wasn't over.
Ran grinned wide. His eyes filled with ruthlessness. He grabbed Hardt's legs and cut them off.
A/N: It's a bit graphic so bear with me.
The screams echoed.
He held the severed legs up like trophies, laughing again like a maniac, and threw them into the fire nearby. The flames hissed as flesh burned.
Hardt cried in agony.
It still wasn't enough.
The man raised his sword again, cutting Hardt's other arm.
"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH"
But it wasn't over. He stabbed straight into his chest, twisting it slowly… savoring the pain and drinking the blood that was spilled.
He pulled it out then raised the blood-covered torso high above his head like a war prize.
Hardt was still conscious—barely.
All he could do was stare in horror at what remained of his body.
And then the man turned his back on him.
Left him there.
To suffer.
To rot.
He walked back slowly toward Dawn.
She was still lying in the same place. Still. Cold.
He looked down at her.
And everything hit him all at once.
Her words.
Her voice.
The memory of her smile.
The fact that she gave everything… for him.
His hands shook.
His sword dropped from his grip.
His knees hit the ground beside her.
"…Dawn!" he whispered.
His breath came heavy.
His eyes went normal.
The madness faded.
The bloodlust disappeared.
Only guilt remained.
He carried her body and rushed out of the underground.
He was desperate. Too desperate.
Huff huff!!
"Don't die don't die!! please don't die."
That was all he could say.
His voice cracked. His breath was shallow. His body was past its limit. Every step burned like fire shooting through his bones.
But he ran.
Faster than he ever had before.
Dawn's body was cold in his arms. Her head rested against his chest, limp. Blood soaked through both of their clothes.
He kept running.
There was only one place he trusted now.
Only one person who could help.
Yennefer.
* * * * * * * * *
Stacks of papers lay across a desk. The dim light of the early morning barely touched the edges of the room.
Yennefer, dressed in a red robe, sat with a tired expression, flipping through another report.
A servant entered quietly, holding a tray with coffee.
"You should rest, Lady Yennefer,"
she said, placing the cup down.
She didn't answer at first.
Then finally, she sighed.
"I'm not tired… just—"
"Worried?" the servant guessed.
She didn't deny it.
"He's been gone too long,"
she muttered.
"Ran. He went to gather information in Skyford's manor… but I haven't heard from him since."
"It's almost dawn."
"I know," she said quietly.
Just then
__________
A loud bang.
The front doors burst open.
Guards immediately reached for their weapons, rushing down the hallway.
Yennefer stood from her seat, her expression shifting to alert mode.
She moved fast, preparing for a fight.
Until she saw him.
Ran.
Covered in blood. His eyes red, breathing wild. Clothes torn.
In his arms—
A woman.
Unconscious.
Barely breathing.
Drenched in blood.
He took one more step before his knees gave out. He dropped to the floor, still holding her close, face twisted with pain.
"…Help her…" he muttered.
Yennefer's heart skipped a beat. She rushed toward him.
"Ran, what the fuck happened?!"
"First, save her!"
Tears welled up in his eyes, falling freely now.
"…Please. Just save her."
Yennefer knelt beside them, placing a hand over the woman's gut.
'It's too deep.'
Her expression hardened.
"…Get a medic. NOW!"
Guards sprinted off. The room filled with panic.
Ran held Dawn tighter, whispering again.
"Don't die… don't die… you said I should live, right…? So you have to live too…"
Yennefer stared at him. She never saw him this broken.
This desperate.
When she was dazed out, Ran suddenly collapsed. His body gave in.
"Oh fuck! NO."
She sat beside his collapsed body and noticed his wounds is far worse.
She hurriedly shouted at the servants.
"TAKE HIM TO MEDICAL CHAMBER. FAST!!!"