Prince of Gluttony: Born from Betrayal

The clash of spear and footfalls faded as Maris finally thrust forward, her spearhead stopping just shy of Cain's throat. The violet-scaled warrior stood with her chest rising and falling in sharp breaths, eyes narrowed with a flicker of satisfaction. Cain, hands raised in a mock surrender, tilted his head with a faint grin that carried no weight of defeat.

"Fine," he said, his voice light, almost teasing. "You win."

But the taste of victory soured almost instantly for Maris. Her spear lowered, but her golden eyes stayed locked on Cain. Something about the fight gnawed at her. It was too smooth. Too controlled. Like sparring against a man who had already decided the limits before the first blow was ever exchanged.

She slammed the butt of her spear into the stone floor, the sound sharp and ringing across the training ground. "Why?" she demanded, her voice edged like her weapon. "Why didn't you fight seriously?"

Cain gave a small shrug as if the answer was obvious. "Because I have no reason to fight you with my full strength. I don't carry grudges against strangers. I only kill when it's necessary… for those who betray me, or for those who try to hurt the people I care about."

Maris frowned, gripping the shaft of her spear tighter. It wasn't enough. His calmness irritated her, felt like mockery, like he was standing above her even in defeat. Her pride burned hot in her chest.

"So what," she said, voice low, "would you do if I betrayed you? If I drove this spear through your back when you weren't looking?"

Cain's playful grin disappeared.

The air changed.

It was subtle at first, like the temperature dropping in a room before a storm rolled in. Then it hit.

An overwhelming wave of killing intent poured from Cain like a floodgate snapping open. It crashed over Maris before she could brace herself, her legs locking in place, her throat tight as if a predator had just set its fangs at her neck.

"I would kill you," Cain said. His tone was stripped of emotion, flat and cold as winter stone. "Without hesitation."

Maris saw it then.

The bloodlust took form before her eyes, a silhouette rising from Cain's frame like a demon birthed from shadow and hate. It loomed over her, taller than the training hall walls, its jagged edges writhing as if it longed to devour her whole. Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to move, to strike, to flee, yet her body refused to obey. Her hands trembled on her spear. Her breathing stalled in her chest.

Then Cain smiled.

The killing intent vanished as quickly as it had appeared, the silhouette scattering like smoke in the wind. He stepped back as if nothing had happened, rolling his shoulders loose.

"But," he added casually, "I'd like to believe you're not the type to do that."

Maris let out the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her knuckles ached from how tightly she had been gripping her spear. Slowly, she forced her stance to relax, though her legs still felt unsteady beneath her.

She had fought against beasts, against mercenaries and trained killers, had faced monsters from the depths of dungeons… but never had she felt death crawl so close without leaving a mark.

A hand landed lightly on her shoulder.

Mira stepped up beside her, the blacksmith's massive shield strapped to her arm. The weapon was almost as tall as she was, forged of dark steel etched with faint runes. It looked impossibly heavy, yet Mira carried it as if it weighed nothing at all.

"What do you think of him now?" Mira asked, her tone calm, even amused.

Maris turned sharply, staring at her friend. Mira's expression held no fear. No tension. It was as if she had not felt any of what Maris had just endured. The realization struck like another blow.

She hadn't.

Neither had anyone else.

Cain's bloodlust had been so precise, so refined, that only its target had been forced to endure it. Not even the faintest ripple of killing intent had spilled toward Mira or the others. It had been hers alone to feel… hers alone to see.

Maris's tail twitched behind her. For the first time since meeting him, a shiver of something unfamiliar ran through her chest. Fear, yes, but not only fear. Something quieter followed in its wake, a reluctant weight settling in her heart.

Respect.

It burned at her pride to admit it, even to herself, but the truth had rooted itself too deeply to ignore. Cain wasn't the weak man she had assumed him to be. He wasn't a fraud hiding behind Mira's reputation or a manipulator coasting on charm and coincidence. Whatever strength he carried, it was sharp enough to kill her before she could blink, and disciplined enough to vanish the instant he chose to sheath it.

Maris exhaled slowly, letting the tension bleed from her shoulders.

"He's… not what I expected," she admitted at last, voice low so only Mira could hear.

Mira's lips curved into the faintest of smirks, though her eyes stayed on Cain as he rolled his wrists and stretched, clearly preparing for another bout.

"Few people ever expect what he really is," Mira murmured back. "That's what makes him dangerous."

Maris looked again at Cain, standing calm and composed in the center of the training ground as if nothing at all had happened. The faint echo of his killing intent lingered only in her memory, a phantom weight pressing against her ribs.

She wondered, with another unwelcome twinge of respect, just how much of his strength he had truly shown her.

Not enough, her instincts whispered.

Not even close.

Cain turned from Maris, his expression settling back into that same unreadable calm. His eyes shifted toward Mira, who was still standing there with her massive shield resting easily against her arm.

"So," Cain said at last, "how do you want to prove yourself?"

Mira glanced at him, then at the shield, her lips pressing together in thought. "I will admit that I don't have much confidence in my offence...but I am great at defence. How about I withstand some strong attacks so you can see me in action?"

Before Cain could answer, a sharp voice cut through the air.

"I can do it."

The words belonged to Jayden.

She had been standing off to the side until now, tail flicking lazily as her red eyes followed the duels with interest. But now she stepped forward, her boots clicking against the stone floor. Her hand reached into the air as if gripping something invisible. Then, with a ripple of magic, a massive crimson greatsword emerged from her storage, the blade as long as she was tall. It hit the ground with a heavy clang, the crimson surface glowing faintly as though hungry for blood. Even if that was the blood of the person who created it.