The Hydra kept retreating, its massive body undulating slowly into the shadows.

  Its movements slithered across the frozen floor, as if it wanted to put as much distance as possible between itself and them.

  “What kind of mess did you drag us into, Little Wolf?” Alynia asked, her voice strained.

  Veil turned toward her, lips pressed tight, breath still uneven.

  “What was I supposed to do? Just let it reach you?” he shot back—sharp, though his voice trembled slightly.

  Alynia pressed a hand to her stomach. The pain still burned there, sharpened by fear.

  “No… but I told you not to cut its heads, idiot,” she breathed, panting.

  Veil frowned, confused.

  He searched his memory, replaying the moment in his mind.

  He was certain he’d understood her right.

  “No, Alynia… I’m sure you told me to cut it. I even signaled to you—don’t you remember?” he murmured, eyes wide.

  The words echoed clearly in his mind. Just before the Hydra had risen again, she’d screamed at him to cut. He was sure of it.

  Alynia stared at him for a long moment. She was certain she had told him not to cut the heads. Then she pressed her palm against her forehead with a sigh.

  “You only caught the start of my sentence, didn’t you…? When that thing screamed, you didn’t hear the rest, did you?” she asked, her tone weary.

  She didn’t wait for an answer.

  Her gaze shifted toward the door, to the inscription carved into the stone.

  Then, slowly, she lifted her eyes to the mural on the vaulted ceiling.

  “The heart beats… the heart…” she whispered under her breath.

  She spun around and pointed upward.

  “It’s not the crystal on its head we have to target—it’s its heart. That monster has a heart, Little Wolf,” she said, breath ragged.

  Veil turned his head as well, staring up at the mural, still not fully grasping.

  But he had no time to answer.

  A scream tore through the silence.

  The Hydra had stopped. It had backed all the way to the far wall, as if retreating into safety.

  The last head still attached to its body wheezed irregularly, each ragged breath echoing throughout the chamber. Then, with a sudden snap, it lunged at the limp, dangling head—its fangs tearing straight into the dead flesh, clamping down with brutal force.

  With a violent jerk, it pulled.

  Flesh stretched. Tendons snapped with a sickening tear.

  And with a wet, cracking sound, it ripped the head off completely—then hurled it aside like nothing more than discarded waste.

  The severed piece hit the floor with a heavy, lifeless thud.

  Veil and Alynia froze, breath held.

  They waited.

  Would the cycle begin again?

  But the Hydra didn’t stop there. Its breathing grew faster, harsher, as its massive body writhed with movements far stranger than before.

  Then its maw opened again.

  This time, it swallowed its own torso—clamping down and dragging the trunk into its gaping jaws.

  The glowing filaments beneath the Hydra’s scales converged toward its maw, condensing into a single, compact point of energy.

  Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  A thin mist seeped out.

  Then, in a dazzling exhale, it released its power.

  The trunk split along its entire length, the massive body swelling as if it were about to burst.

  The scales trembled, every shred of flesh throbbing under the unbearable pressure.

  It lasted only a few seconds.

  Then it released the carcass and lifted its head.

  A piercing howl erupted—saturated with both agony and raw power.

  Light seeped from the body, flowing outward slowly like a living fluid.

  The flesh began to climb back, reforming the original head, which floated upward—limp, lifeless, empty.

  But at the base of the severed wound, a gaping hole remained.

  Suddenly, a blue filament surged up from the body, splitting into several branches.

  Then came another—this one red—twisting itself around the first, fusing tightly.

  Together, they wove upward, serpentine, until at last a new shape emerged.

  Flesh grew over it, wrapping and molding around the glowing core.

  A third head took form.

  Complete.

  But Veil and Alynia…

  They both felt it instantly.

  Something was wrong.

  This head…

  It wasn’t like the other two.

  The first head stirred again.

  Its pupils lit up, shimmering with a sharp blue gleam—blades of frost, cold and merciless, cutting through the shadows with surgical precision. The very air froze around them, as though even the darkness itself dared not oppose them.

  But the third… remained utterly still.

  Suspended above the creature’s colossal body, it hung in perfect silence. No twitch, no quiver in the taut muscles of its neck. Nothing. As if the spark meant to awaken it still lingered somewhere far away, imprisoned in another realm.

  Something was missing. A piece of the puzzle. A spark to shatter the silence.

  Then, the two awakened heads slowly bent their necks. Their movement—fluid, symmetrical—unfolded with mechanical precision.

  Not a sound. Not even the faintest ripple of air.

  Just that solemn slowness—ritualistic, almost reverent—as if bowing before an invisible master.

  And then, without warning, a single, muffled beat cleaved through the air.

  Low. Profound.

  A vibration that pulsed through the floor, spreading into the stone walls. The cavernous rumble of a colossal heart, buried deep within the shadows.

  Veil and Alynia stared at the beast, their faces rigid, jaws locked, muscles stretched taut as bowstrings.

  “You think this is the right moment to finish it?” Veil asked in a low voice.

  But, as so often before, Alynia didn’t have the time to answer.

  A frigid breath burst from the Hydra’s very core—brutal, merciless.

  It wrapped them in a wave of biting cold, seeping into flesh, piercing skin and bone. A cursed wind, alive, as though it meant to rip their very souls away as it passed.

  The aura the Hydra had once radiated suddenly warped, as if some invisible dam had shattered under unbearable pressure.

  Mana gushed from its body in chaotic streams, furious, flooding the air like scalding vapor. It glowed with a searing blue, almost painful to behold, streaked with blood-red sparks—as though two rival forces battled for dominion within the beast.

  And then… everything changed.

  The flow, once wild and scattered, suddenly reversed in a soundless rush.

  All of it was pulled, in an instant, into the third head—still frozen, still silent. A void awakened at last.

  It rose. Slowly. Painfully slowly.

  Its sockets creaked open with a jagged, grating motion—sickly, unnatural. Within them, two spheres of shadow appeared: opaque, unreadable, drowned in shifting veils of dense darkness. No gaze. No focus. Only emptiness.

  A strange wave rippled through the chamber—subtle, yet heavier than all before. It throbbed in the walls, trembled in the stone beneath their feet, and the Hydra, in its entirety, responded.

  Its scales shuddered, seized by a sinister spasm.

  A brighter glow than any before erupted from its flanks—an organic pulse, throbbing, like a raw heart beating in the open air.

  Alynia leapt to her feet, eyes wide.

  She couldn’t fully see it—but she understood.

  “Little Wolf, there it is!” she cried, voice suddenly sharp, resolute.

  Her arm shot out, pointing toward the base of the beast’s body—where the pulse beat with a hypnotic rhythm.

  It was faint. Slippery. But visible. And undeniable.

  “I’m certain. That spot, on the mural… on the pillar… it matches. That’s where we strike. We have to destroy its heart!” she pressed, breath ragged.

  She spun toward Veil, her gaze no longer hesitant—razor-sharp, metallic, cold with certainty.

  “Cut another head, Little Wolf… and I’ll cut yours instead. Clear?” she hissed, half-mocking.

  Veil allowed himself a faint smile. Not arrogance—no smirk of bravado. Just the steady smile of someone who, this time, had understood exactly what mattered.

  His eyes hardened. The hesitation was gone.

  He knew where to strike.

  “That’s all well and good… but how the hell do I get close now?” he muttered through his teeth, never taking his eyes off the beast.

  The Hydra loomed, massive and relentless, its sheer bulk a living fortress of flesh and scale. It would never give him a clean opening—any attempt to approach meant certain death.

  Instinctively, Veil raised his dagger… only to find nothing.

  The blade was gone.

  Only the hilt remained, intact but useless, ending in a twisted shard of metal—blunt, pathetic, barely fit to scratch a man’s skin, let alone pierce a monster like this.

  His weapon was nothing but a husk now, unable to withstand the mana Veil had forced into it to sharpen its edge.

  He spun toward Alynia, brows furrowed. She understood instantly, without a word. Drawing her own dagger, she hurled it toward him with a precise, confident motion.

  He caught it midair, as though the gesture had been rehearsed countless times. The metal rang faintly in his palm—cold, sharp, carrying a silent promise.

  He gave her a brief nod of thanks, saying nothing.

  Then his eyes returned to the Hydra.

  His fingers tightened slowly around the dagger, silence weighing heavy. His gaze betrayed no fear, no hesitation. Only resolve. And the unspoken promise of the assault to come.

  Veil lunged forward, body propelled by battle-born instinct, senses honed, ready to strike.

  But after only a few steps, the Hydra’s glow shifted. The blue light coursing along its body began to pulse—faster, stronger—as though some monstrous heart beat beneath its scales. The red filament, vibrant and sinuous, aligned with that rhythm, echoing the growing intensity of the luminous surge.

  Veil froze, eyes locked on the beast. Something new. Another threshold. Another change.

  A flash. A red flare, sharp and blinding, like a blade ripping through the dark.

  The light burst atop the Hydra—brief, but terrifyingly clear.

  And in that suspended instant, the third head awoke.

  Its once-empty sockets hollowed out into distinct eyes. Two incandescent stones of deep, burning crimson, their gaze piercing everything they touched, as though stripping bare the very soul.

  The head moved. Slowly, solemnly. Its neck arched with deliberate grace, an undulation like the first breath of awareness.

  The other two heads went still—then turned toward it, drawn by a force greater than instinct. And they bowed. Their massive necks dipped in restrained arcs. A reverence.

  No roar followed. Only a sharp clack—the third head’s jaws snapping shut, sealing something unseen. A boundary, a silent decree. Authority had taken form. Absolute. Unshakable.

  “What the hell is this now…?” Veil muttered, voice trembling ever so slightly.

  It wasn’t fear. Not exactly. But a heavy chill slid down his spine—a verdict, a sentence already passed.

  The third head turned its gaze upon him. Veil froze.

  His breath caught. His legs refused to move, rooted to the ground as if chained by invisible force. His arms hung limp, nerves and muscles severed without pain, without appeal.

  It wasn’t paralysis. It was domination. Pure and merciless. A psychic weight crushing his will without lifting a single claw.

  That red gaze bound him. Claimed him. Consumed him.

  Behind the Hydra, its tail slowly rose—then lashed the air with brutal force. Once. Twice. Thrice. Each strike cleaved the air harder, faster, like raw fury sharpened into a blade.

  The creature was whole now. Three heads risen in sinister harmony, its full power restored, saturating the chamber like the storm before the strike.

  And its rage… it was alive. Fed by pain. By every wound they had inflicted. By the fire of revenge.

  This time, it would finish them.

  Veil grit his teeth. His throat tightened, breath ragged. His body faltered, energy draining from him like sand slipping through fingers.

  And Alynia… she was at her limit too. Her glow flickered faintly, unable to sustain another fight.

  They had figured it out. They knew the Hydra’s weakness at last. They knew where to strike.

  But this—this mistake. The one that had awakened the third head…

  It might have been the mistake that doomed them.

  If they couldn’t find a way past this new terror… this error would be their last.