The Outergod's Avatar-Chapter 87: void -

Markis coughed up blood, the dark liquid spilling directly onto the blade still lodged deep in his chest.

He was still in a state of shock, struggling to grasp what had just happened.

"Your injury isn’t healing. Seems you weren’t a god after all," Flavius said mockingly, voice void of pity.

He twisted the blade cruelly before yanking it out. Blood sprayed, splattering across the floor like spilled ink.

Markis gritted his teeth, trying to move his hand, trying to do something but before he could even raise it, Flavius severed it cleanly.

A flash of pain lit up his senses. His hand dropped uselessly to the ground, fingers twitching slightly.

Now left with only his right arm, it finally hit him.

"I... lost?"

Despair crept in slowly, like a fog crawling in at dawn, and the sharp pain from multiple parts of his body reminded him of the grim truth—he was no match for the Silver Sword Saint.

In this final moment, it wasn’t revenge that haunted his thoughts. It wasn’t the faces of the many he had cut down in pursuit of that goal. Not even the vision of the world he had fought so hard to reshape.

No. Instead, his gaze shifted, blurring, to the girl who was now shedding tears so violently her shoulders shook.

"Why... is she crying for me?" he muttered with a chuckle, bloody and broken. "Doesn’t she realize the situation she’s in?"

His daughter. His own flesh and blood. She looked just like her mother. Just as radiant. Just as strong.

Too bad he couldn’t give her the world he imagined.

"I know this is a very strong ask," Markis whispered, his breath ragged, "but... please don’t kill her."

His words were barely audible.

Flavius turned, his eyes settling on Lyzah, who was crying as Izikel held her tightly, trying to keep her from rushing to Markis’s side.

"You know you left me with no other choice," Flavius said, and though his voice was soft, it carried weight.

Izikel’s eyes widened.

"Kill... Lyzah. Why?"

It only took him a second to understand.

The easiest way to destroy an Altar... was by killing its Anchor.

’Lyzah is also an Anchor for the Old Tree.’

That meant if the Altar was to be destroyed, she would die along with it or even worse she could be killed to destroy it.

’The commander would never do something like that... right?’

Izikel bit down on his lip so hard it bled, mind racing as he revisited every command, every cold, calculated move Flavius had made up to now.

’What the hell am I thinking... he wouldn’t hesitate.’

Either way, they couldn’t stay here.

He grabbed Lyzah’s arm, pulling her back.

"Lyzah, we have to go now."

She didn’t resist. Not really. She moved almost as if she had come to the same conclusion. As if the realization had frozen something inside her.

Markis, still gasping, noticed them slipping away. A soft, almost invisible smile played on his cracked lips.

’So that’s what you’re doing... running to save her life.’

If that was the case, he would use every last breath, every last ounce of power left in his broken body, to buy them time.

Suddenly, vines burst violently from the ground, curling and snapping like awakened serpents, forcing Flavius to leap backward.

From the lower part of the giant flower Markis was connected to, the body began to twist and reshape. What resembled legs emerged, and arms made of woven leaves spread outward.

He looked like a twisted guardian—something from myth, a flower-born monster of rage and desperation.

Markis chased after Flavius, each stomp of his leafy limbs reshaping the earth beneath him. He slammed the ground, summoned roots, tore up rocks.

But it wasn’t enough.

Flavius, with ruthless precision, severed the right leg of the monstrous form, sending Markis crashing down with a thunderous impact.

Still, Markis summoned vines from the cracked earth, erupting like geysers in every direction. They wrapped, coiled, slowed the commander for only a second.

A second was all he had.

Flavius cut through every one of them. Then, without hesitation, he slashed the upper body of Markis from the rest of the flower.

Markis collapsed. Blood pooled beneath him. The monstrous limbs wilted into lifeless greenery.

Flavius stood above him, the silver blade dripping red.

"Should I tell you one sad truth before you die?" he asked, voice low, bitter. "You only succeeded in killing Druids during your quest for vengeance. In other words, you didn’t just fail. You failed everything you stood for."

He turned to leave, disgust curling in his voice.

Markis stared upward at the ancient tree above him, watching its leaves sway.

It was true. He had failed—in the worst way possible.

He hadn’t just lost. He had betrayed the very people who had trusted him.

Once, when he doubted his cause, he would imagine the pain the Druids had endured a thousand years ago. That made the hard choices easier.

But now... he imagined his victims. The fear in their eyes. The betrayal in their last moments.

In truth, he wasn’t any different from the monsters he hated.

No. He was worse.

Because those people had followed and believed in him.

"But in truth," he whispered bitterly, "wasn’t it the Verdant Mother who betrayed us when she left us to suffer in this cruel world..."

A single teardrop fell from his eye.

"I’m sorry, Lyzah," he said, his voice trembling.

And with that, the light in his eyes faded.

---

Izikel and Lyzah ran, not looking back. Each .

They reached the house at the top of the hill, slamming the door shut behind them.

Izikel leaned against it, heart thundering.

His mind flashed back to an old dream—a dream that always returned when fear set in.

’In that dream, it was also night like this... when the Legion Commander cut off my head.’

"By now... the Legion Commander could be coming for us."

.footstep pounded with dread