Kael waited.

Time unfolded in thin layers in the cave—drips that trickle, breaths that catch, shadows that crush against the stone. He stood still, feeling each sound as if it were an arrow pointed inward. Patience wasn't a virtue for him; it was calculation. He had let the others run, let the net swell and expose itself. Now he could hear—there, outside—the roar that had grown into a sea of mana.

First came the subtle tremor, then the air seemed to vibrate like a harp string. Kael closed his eyes and, for a moment, thought he might laugh nervously. It wasn't just a group; it was an entire continent of intentions. Magical auras, millions of strands of mana, wove themselves into a dense cord around that spot: covens, circles, elders, apprentices—ten thousand witches, at least, forming a collar of fire around the hiding place.

His body shivered. Not from weakness. His skin crawled because the collective magic—this raw, hungry force—pulsed like a gigantic heart. This was the call he had foreseen: the Hunt.

He laughed. A low sound that grew until it tore the stone with its own laughter. It was a laugh that carried contempt, a warning, a mockery.

Then he let out his voice. Not a word. A roar.

"YOU BETTER GIVE ME MY SISTER BACK, YOU BITCH!" he shouted, each syllable exploding in the cold chamber.

The pressure of his voice was more than sound: it was physical force. The iron cracked. The mask, clamped to his mouth like an iron cup, trembled, cracked, and finally shattered like heated glass. Pieces flew, sparks flew. The smell of hot iron and boiling filled the air; the taste of blood and freedom flooded his throat. He coughed; The mask fell to her side, a useless object on the sodden floor.

The gray-eyed woman staggered as if punched in the chest. Her lips parted in a curse, but the words died. Her skin had a hint of pallor that had been absent before—or Kael, now, simply saw everything with new clarity.

She advanced nervously, taking short, controlled steps, trying not to show panic. Her mouth formed orders, usually soft, this time sharp.

"Shut up!" she commanded, her tone desperate rather than authoritative.

Kael smiled, a smile that wasn't just mockery, but a calm in the fury. The whole world was there, compressed into a wall of witches; he could smell their every thought like smoke—fear, anger, loyalty, surprise. He knew the clock was ticking against him, but the clock was also ticking against them. They had to act; for much longer they couldn't maintain such a thick curtain without exposing vulnerabilities.

With his bare hands, he gripped the iron binding his wrists. The chains were engraved with runes; they had been enchanted to bite. But the iron, strong as it seemed, was attached to anchors embedded in the stone—points. He pulled.

For the first second, the wall groaned. The next, something snapped—not just a sound, but the release of waiting, an iron shaft that flew out as if a sword had been ripped from the rock. The runed rope flared in blue sparks, and the other chains screamed, gasping, straining. Kael pulled again, and a louder crack caused the surrounding stone to give way; a fragment exploded with a dull, hot sound. The anchor's pressure gave way with a plop that shook the chamber.

He used momentum. With strength from his back, he arched his body backward—a portion of the chain's base ripped from the ground. The twisted metal bent, sparks flew, and links snapped. Dust and gravel filled the air.

The woman screamed. Not because he threatened her, but because that thunder opened the entire world—there were other voices outside that her voice sought to control, messengers running, sentinels now shouting warnings. The panic was no longer just internal; it was communicable.

Kael rose. His kneeling position shattered; he pulled at the last links still binding his legs. With a final tug, the chains broke, clanging like hoarse bells. The ground where the bonds had been was scarred, as if bitten. He stood. A tall man, covered in dried blood, hair plastered to his forehead—and, for the first time since his arrest, without any effective shackles binding him.

He didn't hesitate. Anger burst forth in words:

"IT'S TIME, YOU DAMNED BITCH! COME ON ME, YOU WHORE! WITH OR WITHOUT MANA, I'LL KILL YOU!"

The woman took a step back, her face slack. She had believed the shackles, the mask, the slow torture—all of it—would put her in control of a cold situation. Kael smiled, as if now contemplating the dismantling of a castle.

He made a short, automatic movement—the tip of a barely healed wound on his left rib stung instinctively, but he didn't stop. Something inside him pulsed, a deep core that Elion had planted. It wasn't external mana yet—it was something else, a resonance. The colossal auras of the ten thousand witches around him touched what was old and new within him. It wasn't the same current they sought to exert on humans; it was a bloodline, an ancient echo. The vibrations responded. A tremor ran through his muscles. A faint, inherited light flickered behind his eye sockets.

The woman, her face etched with fear, risked a command with a sweeping gesture—hands slashing, signs of restraint, runes hovering at her fingertips. But the command came too late. Kael had already moved.

He burst through the door like a beast unleashed, and the air outside exploded in response. The illusory barrier protecting the entrance to the kidnappers' camp trembled as he crossed the threshold; sentries who believed in a security built on fear found themselves face to face with something they shouldn't have—the face of a living Scarlet, his clothes torn, his eyes burning.

Outside, chaos was immediate. Those closest leaped to attack, a line of men armed with spears and chains. They were the organization's guards; trained men, accustomed to trapping monsters, but not to confronting a living storm. Kael saw them coming. He moved so quickly that the first man never knew where the blade had come from; the sword flashed, the cut clean. There was no delay: the combat here was brief, brutal. Kael used everything—strength, instinct, a precision that seemed to ache. Each blow sounded like a sentence.

And the sound of the Hunt approached. In the sky, veins of light converged. On the ground, siege runes spread like ice cracks. From above, shadows descended—witches on broomsticks and wind quilts, hunting circles that outlined an unbreakable alliance. They didn't attack en masse yet; they began to probe, to assess. But their sights were all fixed on the same point: the man who had screamed and broken the chains.

One of them—a taller figure, wrapped in a silk cloak embroidered with ancient runes—landed a few meters away, floating like someone landing in midair. She stared at Kael, the expression of hundreds reflected on her face in a collective fury.

"Kael Scarlet!" murmurs roared, then quickly merged into unison. "We've found the Prince!"

And his answer came like a stone dropped into a pond: steady gaze, shallow breathing.

"Come," he said simply. "Captain all these wretches."

Kael's words sounded like a decree.

There was no hesitation. The ten thousand witches—those who had previously surrounded the hideout like predators sharpening their teeth—heard, and the response was immediate.

Runes ignited in chorus, capture circles exploded in the air, and ethereal chains snaked around the men of the organization. Screams echoed, a tumult of steel against magic, but it didn't last long. One by one, they were struck down, swallowed by seals, silenced. There was no mercy: only compliance with the order that had come from Kael Scarlet's mouth.

He didn't even look. He didn't need to.

His target was elsewhere.

The gray-eyed woman was still there, breathing deeply, trying to maintain control of the situation that had already been lost. Sweat trickled down her temples, but her fingers didn't tremble. She sucked in a breath as if preparing to dive, and runes began to glow around her—sharp lines of restraint, like invisible blades.

Kael, however, didn't advance with his bare hands.

He grabbed the very chains that had imprisoned him, the twisted links still burning with the remnants of broken runes. He twirled them in the air, testing their weight. The sound was metallic, brutal, like miniature thunder.

"You trapped me with this," he growled, coiling part of the metal around his fist. "Now you'll feel it on the other side."

She gritted her teeth, raising her hand, and three spears of pure mana formed above her, vibrating with the intent to pierce.

Kael advanced.

The chain arced through the air, and the impact with the first spear was like a hammer against glass—magic shattered into blue sparks. He deflected the second with his own body, the iron absorbing some of the impact before shattering into shards against the stone. The third was thrown straight at his chest, but Kael caught it with his bare hand, letting it burn his skin until steam rose, and crushed it with sheer force.

The woman recoiled in surprise.

He laughed. A deep laugh, filled with fury.

He swung the chain again, and the weight slammed into the ground with enough force to crack the stone. The echo reverberated through the cave like war thunder.

She countered, swiftly, launching whiplike beams of mana. The lines sliced through the air like blades, trying to pin his arms and legs. But Kael whirled, wrapping the whips around his own chains and pulling hard. The spell lost its form, sucked and crushed by the physical brutality.

"Is that all?" Kael spat, his eyes blazing with rage. "Was it with these cheap tricks that you thought you could break me?"

He lunged again, and this time the chain struck the ground inches from her, sending sharp rocks flying like projectiles. A shard sliced her cheek, leaving a line of blood.

She didn't flinch. On the contrary, the wound seemed to ignite her gaze.

"You don't understand what you're up against..." she whispered, the runes growing around her like walls of fire. "It's not just about you, Scarlet. It's about what you represent."

Kael smiled, a smile stained with blood and mockery.

"Exactly. It's about what I represent." He pulled the chain back, preparing another attack. "The end of your illusion of control."

The clash exploded immediately.

Chains against spells. Brute force met refined technique. The metallic clang clashed against the cracks of magic, each impact reverberating like thunder within the cave. Sparks of mana lit the walls, creating monstrous shadows of the two.

Outside, the world already belonged to the witches.

But inside, in this singular struggle, there was only Kael and the woman who had dared to imprison him.