Bastards Ascension: A Playground of Gods
Chapter 76: Useless Attempts

Chapter 76: Useless Attempts

’How... how is this possible? Did he awaken a flame-type talent?!’

Frank stumbled backward, his eyes wide with disbelief. A chill crawled down his spine as he watched the golden flames flicker around Kieran’s body. He didn’t need to feel them to know—they were dangerous. Deadly.

He didn’t want to know what that fire felt like. Not even for a second.

"What are you two waiting for?! Attack that bastard!" Frank shouted, his voice cracking as he turned to his lackeys.

Ben and Jacob exchanged a hesitant glance, uncertainty etched across their faces. They hadn’t expected things to go this way—not at all.

Still, Ben gritted his teeth and stepped forward. Behind Kieran, the massive wall of stone he had summoned rumbled to life.

Sharp spikes of earth suddenly jutted out from its surface—ready to impale.

But Kieran didn’t need to look back. He already sensed it coming.

With his new senses heightened beyond anything human, he didn’t waste time checking. There was no need.

In a flash, he moved. A golden blur darting across the clearing—straight at them.

"Huh? Where did he—" Jacob started, eyes darting around in panic.

But he didn’t get to finish the thought.

A rush of air blasted past him like a storm, and in that split second, Frank—who had been standing between him and Ben—vanished from sight.

BOOM!

SNAP!

The sickening crack echoed through the trees as Frank’s body slammed into the trunk of a large oak. His spine bent unnaturally with the impact, and the tree itself quaked from the blow.

Then came the scream.

"AAARRGH!!"

It ripped from Frank’s throat like a dying animal, filled with pain and horror.

The birds in the trees took flight, startled by the noise.

Kieran stood in front of the tree, one hand gripping Frank by the collar, his knuckles white. His golden flames flickered faintly around him, casting eerie shadows across his face.

"I asked politely," he said, his voice low and filled with something cold—something unrecognizable.

He wasn’t pleading anymore.

He was done asking.

"Please... wait. Don’t burn me—I swear, the Nelkon family won’t come after you!" Frank choked out, his voice strained and trembling.

Kieran’s hand was like iron around his neck, pinning him mercilessly to the tree. Frank writhed and struggled, trying to pry the fingers loose, but it was hopeless. The grip was inhuman—like being clamped by a monster.

Even Frank couldn’t believe the strength Kieran now possessed.

Whatever had happened to him after that day... it had changed him completely.

As the seconds passed and his struggling began to weaken, panic fully set in.

"Please! I’ll take the blame for everything that happened! I swear! I’ll accept the punishment, just don’t kill me!" he cried out, his voice cracking as he clawed at Kieran’s arm.

But Kieran didn’t budge.

His eyes were cold. Distant.

Unforgiving.

"The Nelkon family?" Kieran repeated, his voice low and calm—too calm. "Don’t worry. After I’m done with you, I’ll pay them a visit too. This world doesn’t need the Origin Families anymore. The system’s rotten, and it’s time someone burned it all down."

Frank’s heart sank. A pit of dread opened in his stomach.

He wanted to run—every instinct screamed at him to escape—but Kieran never gave him the chance.

It was like nothing else in the world mattered. Not Ben. Not Jacob.

Just him.

"And your punishment?" Kieran continued, his grip tightening, cutting off more of Frank’s breath. "Don’t worry. I’ll handle that myself."

From Kieran’s side, golden flames began to flicker—growing brighter, drawing closer.

Frank’s wide, watery eyes darted from Kieran’s face to the blazing fire.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t speak anymore.

Kieran had tightened his hold so much that the only thing Frank could do now was stare... and wait for the fire.

The heat crept closer, the air around it shimmering.

Frank’s eyes welled up with tears as he looked up at Kieran, silently begging—pleading—for mercy.

Then, just past the blur of heat and panic, something caught his eye.

Movement.

A glint of hope.

Ben.

A stone spike whistled through the air, fired with terrifying speed, aimed straight for Kieran’s back.

Frank’s heart surged.

But Kieran didn’t flinch.

He tilted his head slightly and muttered under his breath, "And here I thought they’d at least be smart enough to run. Guess stupidity runs in their blood."

With a single, fluid step, Kieran shifted to the side—graceful, almost lazy—letting the stone spike whistle past him.

But it didn’t vanish into the air.

It kept going... straight toward the figure pinned against the tree.

Frank’s fleeting spark of hope shattered. His eyes widened in pure horror as the jagged spike slammed into him with brutal force.

"ARRRGHHH!"

His scream ripped through the forest, raw and guttural, as the spike tore through flesh like a hot blade through butter. Blood sprayed against the bark, splattering across Kieran’s arm—but Kieran didn’t even flinch.

Without hesitation, he flicked his wrist. The golden flames swirling around him surged and condensed into a blazing sphere.

With a sharp motion, he hurled it toward Ben.

The fireball streaked through the air like a meteor, its heat distorting everything around it.

Ben barely had time to gasp, let alone dodge.

For a split second, all he saw was a blur of gold and white-hot yellow.

Then the world ignited.

The air filled with the sickening stench of burning flesh, a thick, acrid scent that clung to everything.

Ben’s scream never came—only the sharp crackle of fire as both his hands burst into living torches.

"My hands! My hands!" he howled, collapsing to the ground.

He rolled frantically across the dirt like a pig in mud, desperate to smother the flames. But it was useless. The fire clung to him like a curse, eating through his flesh as if molten lava had carved its way into his bones.

The stench of burning meat filled the air, thick and nauseating.

Ben’s eyes rolled back, pupils fading to white as agony overwhelmed him. Then, with one final shuddering breath, he lay still—motionless except for the faint hiss of charred skin.

The flames didn’t spread further. They stopped at his arms, leaving behind nothing but blackened, twisted stumps. His hands—if they could even be called that anymore—looked like a grotesque pile of overcooked meat welded together.

Jacob froze, his body trembling as the horror unfolded before his eyes. His knees gave out, and he fell backward with a thud.

He looked at Kieran.

And what he saw made his blood run cold.

Kieran stood there, calm, almost eerily so. His face was devoid of emotion, untouched by the screams, the smell, the raw terror around him. It was as if their suffering didn’t even reach his ears.

Then, slowly, Kieran turned his head toward Jacob.

Jacob’s breath hitched. His mind screamed at him to fight, to stand his ground—but his body knew better. Fighting wasn’t an option. Not against this... thing.

"Monster!" Jacob spat, his voice cracking with fear. "You’re a beast! A fashe!"

His words echoed through the clearing as he scrambled backward, palms clawing at the dirt. He crawled and stumbled, desperate to put distance between himself and the nightmare in human form. His hands shook so violently he could barely support his own weight.

Finally, he found his footing—only to trip again, landing hard on his side.

Kieran didn’t even rush. He didn’t need to.

Without a word, he raised his hand. The flames at his side coiled and spun into a searing orb, brighter than the sun, before he flicked it lazily toward Jacob’s legs.

Jacob screamed, clutching his legs as flames devoured them, his voice raw with agony. He thrashed wildly on the ground, clawing at his own skin in a desperate attempt to snuff out the fire. The stench of burning flesh hung heavy in the air, choking every breath.

The pain was maddening—so consuming that Jacob’s thoughts shattered into fragments. There was no strategy, no escape plan—only unbearable torment.

Kieran didn’t even look at him.

His gaze shifted, just for a moment, to the edge of the clearing—where three figures stood frozen. Natasha. Henry. Stan.

Their faces were masks of horror. Eyes wide. Mouths slightly open. Not one of them dared to move, as if the very air around Kieran would burn them alive.

But Kieran didn’t linger on them.

His attention returned to Frank—the man he had pinned against the tree with an unyielding grip around his throat.

"Begging won’t save you," Kieran said, his voice low, dark, and final. Each word fell like a death sentence. "Threats won’t save you. Nothing will save you from the fate you brought on yourself."

The flames coiled at his side, swirling into shape—alive, hungry, ready to consume.

And then—

The air changed.

It was subtle at first. A faint tremor, a sudden shift in the flow around him. But to Kieran’s ultrasense, it was as loud as thunder.

Danger.

His head snapped to the side just in time to see it—a flash of silver cutting through the air.

An arrow.

Its head gleamed under the dim light, razor-sharp and unerring, slicing through the wind with deadly precision.

And it was aimed straight for his skull.