Silence was kin, darkness benevolent—the hole I was in wasn't worth a minute.
"Shadow Leap," I whispered.
Engulfed in a shadow-like aura, my body became a black mist. In an instant, I reappeared before my father, the mist solidifying into flesh and form.
"Teleportation magic," he said. "I see you still have some tricks left."
"Johannes, you talk like you're in control of your body, but your eyes... they're lifeless. You claim the sword is controlling you, but I've never known a sword to control a man. Not even the scriptures speak of such a thing."
My mind was no longer mine. I spoke like I was free, but I was trapped inside myself.
CLUNG.
Steel met steel. Knights clashed.
We moved fast—blinding flashes danced around us. But then, I realized: my father was done playing.
"Thunder Clap," he said.
Tears ran down his eyes. What he was about to do was something no father wished upon his son.
What I saw next was pure power. A hand descended from the heavens , not made of flesh but rather lightning.
Massive, divine, it crushed me to the ground. My organs compressed.
I heard them—bones snapping like instruments in a twisted symphony.
My tissues tore.
Blood.
I coughed up blood—rivers of it. The pain was unbearable.
"So... this is my father's power," I said, screaming through excruciating agony.
My legs trembled. My arms shook. I had nothing left—but my body, as if possessed, still wanted to fight.
"So... you still want more," he said.
Then he dropped his sword.
He stretched out his hand, leaving himself wide open, inviting the final strike.
"Johannes, if this is really you... do it. End my life, so I'll know you're not the son I believed in."
"Fool," I hissed. "You think I won't kill you? You think I won't take a cheap shot?"
I lunged. "Crimson Blast!" I roared.
My sword ignited in flames, ready to end it all.
---
But—
With every step I took, a mist of darkness followed. I saw my father—arms wide open. And then... I saw myself, sword raised, fire raging, ready to strike him down.
"What madness is this? Are the gods toying with me? Why am I attacking my father?"
"Has my mind been swapped? No... this place, this is my dormant mind. My body—it holds two minds now."
"Someone… or something… cast an S-rank mind-spell on me. And only one person could do that—the High Bishop."
"What do I do? I have no time. My father's life hangs by a thread."
With every ounce of strength, I screamed.
Hopelessness swallowed me whole.
"Sword of Judgment, hear my call! Help me!"
I believed the sword would save me—but I was wrong.
BASH. BASH. BASH.
I smashed my head against my sword's hilt, again and again. Blood dripped, soaking the floor.
Innocence Arc—the words echoed in my mind, as if whispered by the divine.
"INNOCENCE ARC!" I cried out.
Light flooded the room. My vision blurred. I floated.
A door appeared—woven from light. I reached for its handle, wondering: Can a man touch the rays of God?
As the door opened, I saw my father—arms still outstretched.
And there I was again, charging toward him, blade ablaze.
Confused... until I understood.
I dropped the sword.
Fell to my knees.
I wept.
My body was wrecked—but it was my heart that ached most. Shame swallowed me whole—for the sister I struck, the father I dishonored. I was scum. Nothing more.
Then—
I was embraced.
His arms wrapped around me.
My father held me.
"Don't be ashamed, son. None of this was your doing. It was the work of forces beyond you."
He carried me on his back.
Battered, bruised—I was broken.
But with every step he took, joy returned.
Joy that he was my father.
Joy that he was my hero.