The Insane Regressor: Throne of Pride

Dooooooong!

The toll of the Black Bell was not merely a sound that swept through the main hall, but a heavy wave that pierced the walls, the floor, and both men’s bodies. Even the enormous pane of glass behind Ravian trembled as though something on the other side had struck it.

At that same moment, one of Bran’s axes came down toward Ravian’s head.

Ravian leaned aside at the last possible instant, allowing the blade to pass beside his white hair before crashing into the marble floor and spreading jagged cracks beneath their feet. The second axe immediately swept horizontally toward Ravian’s stomach, forcing him backward until his back struck the window frame.

The blade’s edge tore through his clothes and opened a shallow wound above his ribs, but Ravian did not look at it. His crimson eyes remained fixed on Bran as strands of pale mist crept into his field of vision.

{The accusation window has closed.}

{The final meaningful communication before nightfall has been confirmed.}

{Eligible target: Bran.}

{The Killer’s judgment will be carried out once night has fully fallen.}

Ravian’s smile widened slightly.

The first toll had sounded.

It no longer mattered whether Bran found Mirai and Aldric, nor did it matter whether he shouted their names or forced them to speak. The record had been sealed with the toll, confirming Ravian as the last person to have genuinely communicated with Bran before nightfall.

Bran tore his axe from the marble and charged forward again with a roar.

"What the fuck did you do, you son of a bitch?!"

Ravian slipped around one of the columns, and the axe shattered part of its edge instead of his shoulder.

"I killed you," Ravian said simply.

Bran’s smile vanished for only a moment.

"What?"

"You needed to kill me before the bell rang, or have someone else communicate with you after I did," Ravian continued, retreating in measured steps. "But you spent the last several hours chasing me, then returned here when you gave up hope of finding me in time. Mirai and Aldric are somewhere you’ll never reach, and the bell has already sealed your name."

Bran slowly turned toward him, and realization began to overtake the madness on his blood-smeared face.

He knew the Killer’s victory condition.

He also knew that Mirai was the Mage.

Worst of all, he finally understood why Ravian had risked showing himself instead of continuing to hide.

"Mirai won’t protect you tonight," Ravian said. "And you’re the last person I need to die. It’s already over for you, Bran."

Bran’s jaw clenched as both axes rose in his hands.

"Then I’ll kill you before the third toll."

"That’s your only option." Ravian nodded in agreement.

Ravian was incapable of attacking him.

The Traitor’s Tool had freed Bran alone from the prohibition against direct killing, while Ravian remained bound by the Nightmare’s laws no matter how close he came to victory. He could not seize either axe, break Bran’s neck when his guard opened, or even deliberately push him toward a fatal ledge.

He had come here because he had promised to save Mirai in exchange for her carrying out his instructions. Had he left Bran in that state of desperation, he was certain the man would have searched for anyone on whom he could vent his fury now that his fate had already been sealed. Finding Mirai and Aldric would not have been difficult if Bran had been given enough time, which was why Ravian had been forced to take this risk. Yet he preferred it to giving Bran the chance to reach Mirai, force her to protect him, and ruin the entire plan.

He only had to survive.

Yet the word "only" seemed almost mocking when he stood before a man who no longer had any reason to preserve either his strength or his body.

Bran descended upon him with a succession of relentless attacks, turning the vast hall into a battlefield of shattered marble and torn curtains. Each axe passed within inches of Ravian’s body, tearing chunks from columns, splitting heavy tables apart, or carving deep lines across the floor.

Ravian moved as little as possible.

His temporary body, no stronger than that of an ordinary human, could no longer endure another chase. His injured shoulder weighed down his arm, the dried blood covering his neck where his ear had been severed cracked with every movement, and the fresh wound above his ribs continued spilling warmth down his side.

Even so, he did not waste a single step, and his expression remained as calm as the surface of a lake at night.

When Bran swung his right axe down from above, Ravian advanced half a step instead of retreating, allowing the handle to pass beside his shoulder. When Bran tried to use the other axe at close range, Ravian circled around him and let the heavy curtain behind them fall between them.

This would have been difficult in the morning, when Bran had still been fresh and brimming with energy. But the chase had not exhausted Ravian alone; it had drained Bran even more, especially after he had spent all that time running while carrying two steel axes. With Absolute Focus, dealing with what remained was easy for Ravian now.

Bran cut through the fabric with a single blow, but the brief moment it obscured his vision was enough for Ravian to reach the next column.

"Run!" Bran shouted, laughter returning to his voice. "Keep running like you have all day! We’ll see which comes first—your death or the bell!"

Ravian did not answer him.

’He’s lost his mind.’

There was no need to provoke him any further. Everything Ravian had done since the chase began had been directed toward this moment, and every minute he had forced Bran to squander his strength had become a debt that was now coming due.

Bran suddenly hurled one of his axes.

Ravian saw it spinning through the air, but he did not have enough room to evade it completely. He ducked as far as he could, allowing the blade to pass over his shoulder, but its edge sliced through his flesh before striking the column behind him with a sharp crash.

Ravian’s body jolted, and one knee nearly touched the floor.

Bran appeared before him before he could regain his balance, swinging the remaining axe toward his neck.

Ravian raised his head at the last possible instant and threw himself backward. The blade passed over his throat, but Bran’s fist struck his chest and sent him rolling across the marble.

He came to a stop near the base of the enormous window.

Bran approached him, panting, sweat dripping from his chin and streaming over his entire body. Without taking his eyes off Ravian, he pulled his other axe from the column.

"Garrick died with that same look in his eyes," he said between ragged breaths, that sick pleasure returning to his gaze. "The look you all get at the very end, when you realize no one’s coming to save you."

"Pfft." Ravian laughed as he wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth, then slowly rose.

"You’re comparing me to someone else?" Ravian looked at Bran as though he were nothing more than a common thug rather than a man carrying two axes who could kill him at any moment. "Those words apply to you, not me."

"Every last one of them had the same look in their eyes when I destroyed them," Ravian said, appearing even more deranged than Bran at that moment. "The same look you have now—the look of victory and a false sense of security."

Ravian raised his right hand and clenched it tightly into a fist.

"Then they realized too late that they had been nothing more than puppets in my hands, Bran." Ravian’s contemptuous crimson gaze settled on him. "Exactly like you."

"That’s why you failed to notice the difference."

Bran frowned.

"What difference?"

"That I’m not waiting for a savior, Bran."

Ravian raised one finger toward the ceiling.

"Dong!"

Dooooooong!

The second toll of the Black Bell rang at the exact instant the word left Ravian’s lips, heralding the beginning of the end.

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