Ever since the battle began between Atticus and Yorowin, Atticus, along with the human paragons, had known deep down where it would lead.
This wasn't a battle between nobodies; it was a battle between paragons of each race.
It was an event as serious as its consequences, a battle that could only end with one victor.
And given the already tense relationship between the different races, it was clear there was no way in hell the losing side would let it go, especially when that side believed themselves to be superior.
Scenes flashed in their minds. For Atticus, he was already thinking of ways to protect his family. But for the human paragons, who had experienced it before, they saw the inevitable: carnage and bloodshed on an unimaginable scale.
There was only one path forward: War.
Jezeneth's voice rumbled as she spoke, the entire scene still.
"I, Jezeneth Bloodveil, declare—"
Jezeneth abruptly froze, her head tilting slightly to the side as though she had just heard something absurd.
Her expression flickered, shifting from shock to bafflement, and then to uncontained anger.
Jezeneth clenched her fist so tightly that the abyssal black armor around her arm shattered. Her teeth ground against each other so harshly that, had her mouth been open, sparks would've been visible.
She took in a deep breath and exhaled heavily, repeating the action a few more times.
The onlookers stared at Jezeneth in confusion. But none of their bafflement matched that of the Vampyros elders. They were stunned. Just what was happening?
After a moment, Jezeneth opened her eyes, removing her gaze from the battlefield and turning toward the elders.
"We're retreating."
Shock.
That was the only emotion the elders felt. It was so intense they wondered if they had misheard her.
But Jezeneth didn't seem to care about how they felt. Without another word, she turned and shot into the skies, a streak of abyssal black, disappearing from the scene.
The elders gazes sharpened. What was going on?
They turned their focus to the monster of a child, Atticus. Their thoughts churned.
Their queen had called for a retreat, but were they really supposed to leave this child alive?
His danger to the future of their race was immeasurable. His rise was certain, and today, they had made an enemy of him.
Leaving him alive was reckless.
Yet Atticus returned their stares, his aura calm, his katana trembling slightly in its hilt. His blazing gaze held a clear message:
Come for your deaths.
The human paragons unleashed their battle intent as well, ready to clash at a moment's notice.
As the tension reached its peak, Whisker's voice broke the silence.
"If your mother has already tucked her tail and run, I suggest her children do the same. I'd hate to have to discipline a bunch of unruly kids today."
The elders expressions darkened at the blatant disrespect, not only to them but also to their queen.
Yet none of them spoke. They had noticed the shift.
When they turned their focus back to Whisker, their hearts skipped a beat.
He had lost his smile.
The carefree aura that had surrounded him moments ago was gone, replaced by a cold, placid gaze. His patience was visibly thin, and his intent was undeniable.
The grand elders clenched their fists in frustration. But they had no choice.
They turned into streaks of crimson, vanishing into the horizon.
The battlefield descended into silence as the humans turned toward Whisker. His mood had clearly soured, but none of them knew why.
'Looks like he found out about him.'
Whisker's cold eyes lingered on the spot where Jezeneth had disappeared.
Then Whisker turned and gave Atticus a long, deep look. After a moment, he sighed, his expression briefly unreadable. But then, as if flipping a switch, his cheerful smile suddenly returned.
"See ya, kid!" he said with exaggerated enthusiasm, waving cheerfully at Atticus and the other paragons. And just like that, he vanished.
'What just happened?'
Atticus's thoughts churned at lightning speed. The look Whisker had just given him… Jezeneth's abrupt retreat… Both were strange.
He had been fully expecting a declaration of war, and instead, she had chosen to leave without another word. It didn't make sense.
He replayed every single movement Jezeneth had made. He had seen her changes in expression, the frustration that flashed across her face, and most importantly, the reluctant, almost defeated look in her eyes.
'She's being ordered,' Ozeroth remarked with certainty.
'I think so too,' Atticus replied, his mind racing. Her actions point to it. But…
That was the crux of the problem.
Atticus couldn't imagine it. Who on this planet could order the Blood Queen Jezeneth? And especially in a situation this critical?
As he pondered, a streak of lightning shot toward him, and Magnus appeared in a burst of crackling energy.
The worry on Magnus's face was palpable.
"Are you okay?" Magnus asked.
The last time Atticus had used a paragon-level power, he had fainted and been unconscious for a month. Magnus had no intention of letting something similar happen again.
Atticus smiled faintly. "I'm fine. Everything is normal," he reassured him with a nod.
Magnus scrutinized him closely, his eyes flickering over every detail as if searching for any signs of discomfort.
Suddenly, Thorn Alverian's voice chimed in from the side.
"I don't think 'normal' has any business being in a sentence that describes you," Thorn said dryly as he approached, visibly exhausted from the battle.
He stopped a few paces away, his tone more serious as he added, "At this point, we all just really want to know, what the hell are you?"
The human paragons began to converge around Atticus, their gazes filled with a wave of different emotions.
Atticus smiled faintly again. "I'm just a 17-year-old boy."
The human paragons almost scoffed in unison.
Despite the exhaustion and the toll the battle had taken on them, chuckles began to spread among the group.
It started small but quickly grew until all the paragons, even Magnus, were laughing. It wasn't just amusement, it was the release of tension, the catharsis of surviving something that should have been impossible.
They had won.
Against a superior fucking race.
They laughed harder, the sound carrying over the scarred battlefield. Despite their weariness, none of them could suppress the rush of pride and exhilaration surging through them.
Finally, as the laughter faded and the weight of what they had achieved began to settle in, Atticus broke the silence with the question that was on everyone's mind.
"What now?"