Tarn ran.
Not from fear.
From strategy.
The Hunter would catch him in open ground.He needed an edge.
Something hidden.Something the gods themselves buried.
The eastern spire stretched high.
Abandoned temples.Broken towers.
And at its heart—an ancient library.
Locked.Forgotten.
Only gods of the First Era knew it existed.
Tarn didn't hesitate.
He smashed through the sealed gates with raw flame.
Inside, it was dead silent.
Books rotted into dust.Statues crumbled into shapes barely human.
The air itself smelled... wrong.
Like memories left too long in the dark.
Tarn's chest tightened.
The black flame inside him flickered.Almost nervous.
Good.
That meant this place had power.
He moved fast.
Skipped the history scrolls.Skipped the prayers.
Went straight for the far wall.
The forbidden scripts.
Black-covered books.
Written by gods who betrayed their own kind.Spoke of weapons.
Curses.
Pacts even the sky feared.
Tarn placed a hand on one.
The book writhed.
Almost alive.
It didn't want to be read.
It wanted to be feared.
Perfect.
He opened it.
No words.Just symbols.
Crawling, twitching letters that stabbed into his mind.
Pain.
Blood leaked from his nose.
Vision blurred.
Still, he forced himself to read.
Forced the knowledge into his skull.
The book whispered.
"Forge a second pact."
"Bind a weapon to your soul."
"But beware... it will hunger."
Tarn slammed the book shut.
Breathing heavy.
His body trembled.
The flame inside him burned hotter.
Almost too hot to contain.
"Good," Tarn muttered.
"I'll feed it."
Behind him—
a faint sound.
The Hunter.
She had found him.
Her bare feet floated inches above the ground, silent as death.
Tarn didn't turn.
He smiled instead.
The black flame around him thickened.Shifted.Changed shape.
Formed into a weapon in his hand—
A jagged black spear.
Alive. Pulsing with hunger.
The Hunter tilted her head.
Paused.
For the first time—she hesitated.
Tarn spoke softly:
"Round two."
And he lunged.