Izumi glared at the man who had clapped.
The man stood there with a smirk, mocking grin — long white hair streaming down his shoulders, dark red eyes shining in the moonlight. His very presence distorted the air around them with tension.
The field was as quiet as death.
Izumi, as stoic and collected as ever, bowed his head and asked,
"Why does this woman sound like a man?"
The man's smile faltered. His eyes flashed with annoyance, though.
"Tch. Is that the manner to speak to one of the Seven Monarchs of Sin, you brat?" the man sneered.
Izumi's grip on the hilt of his sword tightened ever so slightly.
The man took a step forward, fingers loose in his pockets.
"You heard me right," he said. "I, Nymrathis Gourvalis, am one of the Seven Monarchs of Sin, representing Gluttony."
Izumi stepped forward, but ice encircled his boots before he could — freezing him in position with a brittle crack.
He didn't even glance down. Miharu, watching from close proximity, stood motionless in terror.
Turning his head not at all, Izumi said in an even voice, "Run."
It was a moment before she acted, but Miharu set aside her terror and ran.
Nymrathis moved at a slow pace, each step intentional. His voice was nearly playful.
"A precious little human. Too bad. you won't even make it to your next birthday."
Izumi's gaze narrowed imperceptibly.
"Huh. What're you talking about? I'm sixteen."
Nymrathis chuckled low.
"I know," he said. "It's one of the curses of being born under a Sin. Marked ones die at seventeen — no exceptions."
Izumi was quiet at first. The cracking of frozen earth filled the void.
Then, he replied — his tone flat and steady.
"You're alive. And you look old enough to have met the king of the Kingdom of Nauterra."
Nymrathis's smile grew sharper into something evil.
"Met him?" he laughed. "Kid. I froze that country myself. I buried it under the sea with my own hands. Nauterra is nothing more than a tomb because of me."
Before Izumi could even budge from the ice his leg was trapped in, Nymrathis's hand flashed out.
Crack.
The punch flew through the air. Izumi reeled backward — clutching at his head, blood streaming down his forehead.
Like needles through your skin a thousand times.
Nymrathis's sneer.
"Not so tough now, are you?"
Izumi brushed at the blood in his eyes. His vision was blurred — but his body still responded out of habit.
Weakly, he lifted one hand toward Nymrathis.
"Hellcloak," he whispered — voice unbroken.
Dark yin energy burst from his hand — incinerating Nymrathis in red fire.
Izumi turned away without glancing to observe the result.
Charred air blanketed the field.
But then—
A voice, even-toned and close to boredom, spoke behind him.
"Did you actually think that would succeed on everyone?"
Izumi halted.
Slowly, he turned back.
Nymrathis stood before him.
Not a burn.
Not a scratch.
Even his robes were immaculate — except for one bead of sweat which he thoughtlessly wiped from his brow.
His reddened eyes flashed in the night.
And grinned again — broader.