Ragnarök, Eternal Tragedy.
Chapter 91: Man down

Chapter 91: Man down

Tobias stopped just before opening the door, eyes narrowing like he’d caught a sound no one else could hear.

He sniffed the air once, then smiled faintly. "Well, damn. Guessin’ your little gang came lookin’ for you after all."

Amari’s eyes widened. "They’re here?"

Tobias turned, amused. "Not a lotta folks stand that still with kill intentions." He cracked his neck. "Cute of ’em to follow."

Amari stepped forward, tense. "Please. Don’t hurt them."

Tobias raised both eyebrows, then scoffed. "Ain’t makin’ any promises. Depends on who moves first."

Before Amari could respond, Tobias knelt down and pulled a knife—Amari stiffened—but the blade went straight to the ropes. Two clean cuts, and the bindings dropped from his wrists.

"Tell ’em to back off," Tobias said simply, "and I’ll walk through the crowd with no holes in anyone. Good faith."

Amari held his wrists, looked down at the burns and marks, then nodded slowly.

They stepped outside.

The door swung open—and the Ocean Brothers were ready.

Milo, Johnny, Kenneth, and Shylo stood in formation, tension cut into every muscle. Apollo stood further back, halfway turned, ready to return at any moment—but his eyes were locked on Tobias.

Amari raised both hands.

"Stand down."

Kenneth didn’t move. "What?"

"Back off," Amari said louder. "This isn’t your fight."

Tobias stepped out slowly behind him, arms relaxed, calm as ever.

Maverick glanced at Shylo, then at Amari. "You okay?"

"I said don’t follow us!" Amari barked, louder this time. His voice echoed off the stone. "No one draws. No one moves. This is on me."

Kenneth clenched his fists. "You expect us to just let you go with him?!"

"I expect you to trust me," Amari snapped. "If you ever did."

The silence that followed was jagged and raw.

Shylo took a breath.

And slowly... stepped back.

...

Kenneth’s teeth were gritted, knuckles white. "We can’t just let you go like this."

Amari’s voice dropped an octave. Cold. Final.

"If you don’t step back, I’ll do what I have to. You won’t survive that."

That silenced everything.

Even Kenneth.

But it was Maverick who spoke next.

"Enough," he said, stepping forward, voice grim. "He made his choice. This isn’t worth dying for."

One by one, the brothers hesitated—each carrying fire behind their eyes—but slowly... they stepped back. Lowered their fists. Turned away.

Even Kenneth.

But none of them looked at peace with it.

Back at the tournament grounds, the announcer’s voice echoed through the halls.

> "Fifth match of the semifinals—Apollo versus Shylo of the Ocean Banner. Fighters, to the stage."

Apollo stood quietly beside the organizers, eyes on the stone.

One of them turned. "We’re waiting on your opponent."

Apollo hesitated, then gave a small shake of his head.

"Shylo won’t be coming," he said, voice low. "He’s got something more important right now. Family."

The official frowned. "Are you sure?"

Apollo nodded, barely meeting their gaze. "Yeah."

The announcement hit the crowd a moment later.

> "Due to the absence of Shylo... the match is forfeited. Apollo advances to the final round!"

Cheers and confusion rippled through the arena. But Apollo just stood there—arms limp at his sides, heart somewhere else entirely.

He didn’t feel like a victor.

Miss Laurant appeared beside him, gaze sharp as always—but tinged with something softer now.

"What’s going on with you?" she asked quietly. "You don’t look like a boy about to make history."

Apollo didn’t answer right away.

Apollo didn’t wait.

The moment Miss Laurant asked, he turned and sprinted. She followed in silence—heels pounding stone, cloak whipping behind her, face unreadable but sharp. She didn’t need details. Not yet.

They arrived at the guesthouse minutes later.

The yard was still.

But the tension hung thick in the air.

Johnny sat on the steps with his head in his hands. Milo paced without direction. Kenneth leaned against the wall with his jaw clenched, eyes red. Maverick stared off into the hills. Shylo stood in silence.

Amari was nowhere in sight.

Miss Laurant took one look and stopped. "Where is he?"

Milo didn’t even lift his head. "Too late," he whispered.

She looked around, scanning them one by one.

Kenneth’s voice cracked. "He’s gone."

Shylo tried to speak—but nothing came out.

Apollo stood there, fists clenched, watching his brothers crumble in front of him. And in that moment, the truth burrowed deep:

He had hesitated.

When Amari needed him most, he stayed behind—for a dream, for a title, for an illusion.

He clenched his jaw, blinking hard.

I wanted to prove I’d grown...That I was strong. That I’d changed.But I’m still the same coward who watched from the side while everything fell apart.

Miss Laurant took it all in—every bruise of guilt, every silent crack in their foundation. She didn’t ask more questions.

She straightened.

"I’ll find him."

The words dropped like iron.

"I’ll file with the Wachter’s Guild. I don’t care what it takes—they’ll put trackers, seers, hell, hunters on this if I have to fund it myself."

She turned to Apollo, and for a rare moment, her sharpness softened.

"You made the right call bringing me here. But now we move fast."

Apollo nodded, voice barely above a whisper. "Please."

And somewhere far away, beyond the reach of tournaments and titles, a boy walked in silence with a man who had already named his price.

But the world was shifting.

And the hunt had begun.

...

The Wachter’s Guild headquarters buzzed with idle chatter—officers loitering, sipping cheap coffee, and exchanging casual complaints beneath the crest of the Nation. It was routine, another quiet hour in a gilded place.

Until Miss Laurant burst through the front entrance.

Her footsteps were sharp, clipped, and urgent.

"Excuse me," she said breathlessly. "I need a field team. A boy’s been kidnapped, and every second we waste might cost him his life."

Several heads turned. Concern touched a few faces.

She dropped a photograph onto the central desk. "His name is Amari. He’s maybe fifteen. Dark brown skin. Chain techniques. He was last seen—"

And then... the temperature shifted.

Brows lifted.

Eyes scanned the photo.

Voices lowered into silence.

A long pause stretched—too long.

Miss Laurant looked around. "Well? Why aren’t you writing any of this down?"

One of the officers—a pale, heavy-set man—leaned back slowly. "We don’t need to take notes."

She frowned. "How will you organize the search?"

Another officer chuckled under his breath. Someone behind him muttered something too low for her to hear—followed by a stifled laugh.

And then a voice cut through the room: sharp, venomous, unapologetic.

"We don’t chase down black kids, lady."

Miss Laurant blinked, stunned. "What did you just say?"

More laughter followed. Casual. Ugly.

"He probably ran off. Or got caught up in something he deserved. That’s what they do, right?"

Another piped up. "Should be glad he’s not dead. Might save someone else trouble later."

And then—

The air snapped.

Her mana surged like a pulse—heatless wind rising around her, pressure coiling tight in her chest. Every candle flickered. The room tensed. Hands hovered near weapons.

"Enough." Her voice cracked like lightning.

"You sit here in your clean uniforms, laughing about a child—one of ours—missing. Is that what this guild stands for?"

The officers looked nervous now. One stepped forward, hand extended. "Careful. Attacking the Guild is treason under Section—"

She didn’t move. Didn’t strike.

She just stared, fury simmering behind violet eyes.

"You won’t act?" she said. "Fine. Then I’ll make sure the right people know exactly what this place has become."

She turned on her heel, hair whipping behind her, voice echoing through the stone hall.

"I’ll tell my brother. And when I do—this entire Guild will answer for what you let happen."

And with that, Miss Laurant stormed out.