Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 90: A scar for a scar

Chapter 90: A scar for a scar

The ropes were tight but not cruel—Tobias had tied them with an odd precision, like he’d done it more times than he cared to admit. Amari sat quietly against the far wall of the dim guesthouse, wrists bound, eyes fixed.

Tobias pulled a small vial from his coat—a muddy red liquid with flecks of silver swirling inside. He popped the cork, muttered something under his breath, and drank.

Moments later, it started.

His muscles locked. His hand curled into a clawed fist.

A guttural groan slipped through his teeth.

Then the screaming started—sharp, unfiltered, ugly.

His back arched, veins glowing faint and pulsing under skin. The wounds across his body began to close, but not gently. It was like the elixir was burning them shut from the inside out.

Amari watched, unmoved.

"...Why would you do that?" he asked. "Why heal like that if it hurts more than the wound?"

Tobias dropped to one knee, sweat beading on his brow. When he finally spoke, his voice was ragged but solid.

"’Cause sometimes pain’s the only way you grow. Especially for people like me."

He looked up, smile cracked and real.

"God doesn’t give comfort before clarity. He puts you through the fire—so when you crawl out, you know what you’re made of."

Amari stared for a beat.

Then: "And what if your pain hurts everyone else too?"

Tobias paused.

Then nodded thoughtfully. "Mm."

"There’s an old saying," he said. "’The axe forgets, but the tree remembers.’"

That quiet landed like thunder between them.

Amari’s jaw tightened. He looked away, teeth gritted.

Then the dam broke.

"You’re a hypocrite."

Tobias didn’t flinch.

"You say pain teaches. You say it matters. But you—you hurt people for money. You leave families broken and blood in your wake like it’s business. You killed people and think prayers balance the scale?"

Amari’s voice shook with each word now.

"You call this divine? You call this growth?"

Tobias calmly wiped blood from his palm and sat against the wall opposite.

"Other men’s misfortunes feed the bellies of another man’s home. That’s the world, son."

He nodded toward Amari.

"Me bringing you in? Your misfortune. But I’ll eat for months. My family’ll live. I’ll disappear for a while like I always do."

He leaned forward slightly. "Don’t look at me like I twisted the world, boy. It was already crooked when I found it."

Amari’s eyes burned. "Is that what God wants you to believe?"

Tobias looked at him long.

Then smirked—slow, bitter.

"It’s the circle of life, chain-slinger. You don’t gotta like it. You just gotta live through it."

...

The five of them moved in silence—fast, focused, cutting through the back alleys outside the arena compound.

Then Milo broke the tension.

"So," he said, hands in his pockets, "does anyone actually have a plan or are we just gonna wander around until Amari smacks us in the face?"

Before anyone could respond, a voice behind them cut in.

"Start with his scent."

They turned—Shylo’s eyes narrowing the moment he saw who it was.

"Apollo?" Johnny blinked.

Apollo stood casually a few steps behind, arms crossed, a faint smirk ghosting his face. "He’s not hard to track. I caught the edge of it earlier. Just didn’t say anything."

"You’re seriously helping us?" Shylo asked, surprised. "You’re about to be called for the semis."

"I’m not helping," Apollo corrected. "I’m just going to find them. Then I’m heading back. You won’t make it in time without me."

He turned, already moving, nostrils flaring as he caught the air.

Shylo watched him carefully.

"You sure about this?" he asked. "Choosing us over the tournament?"

Apollo didn’t stop walking.

But deep in his chest, something flickered.

He was torn.

This tournament meant everything. If he won, he’d be one step closer to joining Saint Laurant’s order—the heroes of the Nation. His entire dream was strung up on every blade he swung in this arena.

But then there was Amari.

And he was more than a friend.

Amari had stood by him when his claws first came in, when he couldn’t control the hunger or the rage. He’d seen Apollo at his worst—and never left.

In his head, Apollo saw two doors: one lined with medals, legacy, and glory.

The other was a dark forest trail.

But Amari was at the end of it.

He clenched his fists.

"Let’s move," he said, low. "We don’t have time."

They followed—no more questions.

And as Apollo sniffed the air, narrowing in on something beyond their sight, his heart pounded harder with every step.

...

Tobias sat back, pain now dulled to a low burn under his skin. The elixir had done its work—scars sealed, bruises faded, though his face still carried the storm of it.

He reached into his pack and pulled out a small wrapped meal—dried meat, a half-loaf of bread, and something that smelled faintly spicy.

"You hungry?" he asked, tearing the bread in half and offering it out.

Amari looked up, silent.

His stomach twisted, but he said nothing.

"I’m good," he muttered.

Tobias didn’t move the hand. "C’mon. It’s a long walk ahead. I’d rather not deliver you half-starved. Client wants you upright."

Still, Amari refused.

Tobias gave a short laugh through his nose. "Stubborn," he said. "I respect it. Don’t recommend it, but I respect it."

Amari looked at him, eyes narrowed now. "Who is this client?"

Tobias didn’t answer at first. He stared out the window—at nothing—and when he finally did speak, his voice dropped.

"...Dragunov."

The name slithered off his tongue like venom. Cold. Heavy.

Amari froze.

His breath hitched, fingers curling involuntarily against the ropes. A shudder ran down his spine before he could stop it.

Tobias saw.

"Oh yeah," he said quietly. "That reaction? That’s about right. You got every reason to be scared, kid."

...

Across the hills, hidden behind a low ridge of brush and rock, Apollo stood with the others, eyes locked on the guesthouse at the edge of the estate.

"That’s it," he said. "He’s inside."

The others looked from the house to each other. The windows were still. The door unmoved. But even from here, the tension coiled in the air.

Apollo exhaled.

"You all sure about this?" he asked. "Tobias is dangerous. You’re not just walking into a fight—you’re walking into something that could break you if you’re not ready."

Kenneth didn’t even blink. "We’re not scared of him."

Johnny added, "He looked injured when Amari left. Plus we’ve got numbers. That evens the field."

Apollo didn’t argue.

But he didn’t agree, either.

He looked at the house again, eyes shadowed with something between worry and knowing.

"Tobias isn’t like the others," he said. "I’m telling you—he wants the risk. He feeds on it."

Milo slapped Apollo on the back with a smirk. "Appreciate the pep talk, tiger-boy. But we’ll be fine. Stick to sniffin’. We’ll do the punching."

Apollo didn’t smile.