The plaza was no longer a battlefield.

  It was a grave.

  The giant carcass lay motionless at its center—charred, cracked, steaming.

  Its lightning-warped flesh glowed faintly in the settling dust, like embers cooling in a dying forge.

  Rina Everhart pushed herself up on trembling elbows, coughing painfully.

  Smoke stung her eyes.

  Her leg wouldn’t move.

  Her ribs felt shattered.

  “…w-who… was he…?”

  No answer came.

  Only ringing silence and the echo of her own breath.

  Her vision blurred.

  She collapsed face-first onto the ground, unconscious, her drone hovering loyally above her—its recording light still blinking red.

  Azhareth stepped through the lingering dust cloud, holding his ruined arm close to his chest.

  Every step sent a shock through his bones.

  Every breath stung.

  His fingers were burned black, skin peeling.

  His nerves flickered with dying sparks.

  Yet his expression remained calm.

  He approached the fallen behemoth slowly.

  “…You waited too long, old friend.”

  Lightning still clung to the creature’s body—weak, fading.

  The glowing tear-marks across its face dimmed with each passing moment.

  Around them, the dust was thick enough to hide everything but vague shapes.

  Perfect cover.

  No A.R.E.S. sensors could scan clearly.

  No drones could capture fine detail.

  No witnesses were awake.

  Azhareth knelt beside the creature.

  For a moment, he simply rested his charred palm against its warm hide.

  “…I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  Something stirred inside the behemoth’s corpse.

  A pulse.

  A flicker.

  A low, mournful hum.

  Then—

  A faint sphere of blue-white light rose from the ribs, drifting upward like a lost ember.

  It shimmered weakly.

  Trembled.

  As if afraid.

  Azhareth inhaled sharply.

  “…You held on… just for me.”

  Flercher’s fading voice echoed faintly from deep within:

  “Take him.

  He has no place left… except with you.”

  Azhareth reached out.

  The soul floated toward his burned hand.

  When it touched his palm—

  chime

  —a soft, wet sound like a raindrop hitting glass.

  The sphere pulsed once.

  Twice.

  Then collapsed into a swirl of mist and sparks.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Azhareth blinked.

  And in his hands…

  …lay a tiny creature.

  It was a puppy.

  A trembling, lightning-marked puppy.

  Its fur was soft gray-blue, glowing faintly with electricity.

  Its tiny horn nubs peeked from its head.

  A pair of tear-like lightning streaks ran down its face just like the titan’s.

  Its little tail flickered with sparks.

  It opened its glowing white eyes and made a small, broken sound—

  “…ruu…”

  Azhareth froze.

  His throat tightened.

  This…

  This was Gorvath’s soul—

  reborn, innocent, fragile, free.

  The puppy crawled weakly toward his burned finger and nuzzled it.

  Azhareth flinched—

  not from pain (he had disabled that)

  but from emotion he had not allowed himself in centuries.

  “I can’t feel you right now…” he murmured softly.

  “My nerves are deadened.”

  The puppy pressed harder, as if insisting.

  Azhareth sighed.

  “…Fine.”

  He stroked its head with his good hand.

  “You deserve a new name,” he said quietly. “A new start.”

  He thought for a moment, looking at the sparks dancing around the puppy’s fur.

  “…Rai.”

  The puppy’s tail crackled happily.

  The name fits.

  Lightning.

  A spark.

  A new life.

  Sirens wailed in the distance.

  Dozens.

  Hundreds.

  A.R.E.S. reinforcement teams, emergency units, mana scanners.

  He lifted Rai gently into his jacket, shielding the small form inside.

  His body nearly gave out as he stood.

  His legs shook violently.

  His vision sliced in and out of darkness.

  But he forced himself forward with tiny remnants of Flercher Reflex—

  just enough to move silently, precisely, efficiently.

  He slipped through a broken barricade.

  Down a side alley.

  Into the smoke.

  By the time the dust cleared—

  he was gone.

  And Origin Skills left no mana residue behind.

  No scanner detected him.

  No drone saw him.

  He vanished like a ghost.

  Dozens of armored officers stormed the plaza.

  “Clear the perimeter!”

  “Check for survivors!”

  “Find Everhart—NOW!”

  “WHAT is that monster corpse?!”

  They approached the behemoth’s body in terror.

  “This… this hide…”

  “No weapon in the world can make cuts like these!”

  “Where is the hunter who killed it?!”

  “There’s no mana signature—nothing!”

  “Did a god descend?!”

  Rina was found half-conscious.

  When they lifted her onto a stretcher, she mumbled:

  “…broom…

  man with…

  a broom…”

  The officers exchanged uneasy looks.

  “What?

  Did she… say broom?”

  “…What rank of hunter uses a broom?!”

  One officer grabbed the drone.

  “This thing recorded everything. Secure it!”

  The sponsor of Rina’s channel shouted over comms:

  “Delete the footage. Do NOT release anything.

  This goes straight to level-black clearance.”

  The officer hesitated.

  “…Understood.”

  But deep inside its locked memory card—

  the drone held the truth.

  A man with a broom.

  A flash of impossible light.

  A titan kneeling.

  A mercy killing.

  A disappearing figure.

  Someone, someday, would see it.

  Meanwhile, in an empty alley two blocks away—

  Azhareth finally leaned against a wall, sliding down to one knee.

  Blood dripped steadily from his fingertips.

  His arm was nearly unusable.

  His ribs throbbed faintly through the pain-nullification.

  Rai poked its head out of his jacket and whimpered.

  Azhareth stroked its head weakly.

  “…Don’t worry.

  We’ll rest soon.”

  He stood again, trembling but steady.

  And walked into the night, a lightning puppy curled at his chest.