Beneath an ink-black sky, a crimson star burned. Its noxious light spilled over the Wandering Islands, tainting the ambient aether and empowering the thralls of the Necromoon.

One such creature—a shambling skulc corpse—dragged its feet as it patrolled the charred remains of a once-lush beechwood grove. A wildfire had swept through this part of the forest two months ago. Under normal circumstances, the seeds buried before winter would have drawn nourishment from both the nutrient-rich charcoal and the ambient aether, regreening the forest in no time.

But now, instead of vibrant undergrowth, the landscape was a scene of utter desolation. The Necromoon's presence stunted even the most stubborn of saplings. Only one in a hundred managed to survive by mutating to photosynthesize the crimson light. Those that did grew into grotesque, fluorescent abominations—gnarled monstrosities that defied nature.

As the skulc passed beneath one such twisted tree, it ducked beneath a rotten branch. That simple movement was the extent of its instincts. Now, it focused on a single purpose: to seek out something living to sacrifice to its Mistress.

Indeed, for the undead, life was a gift.

Once the undead had wandered far enough, a horned rabbit emerged from a burrow nestled between two roots of the tree. The rabhorn hopped up the corrupted trunk and landed deftly on a branch that creaked under its weight. It scrambled up to a tuft of violet blossoms, blinked slowly, then began nibbling on a bud.

When a wave of aether washed over him, scanning the area, it continued to eat without paying it any mind. High in the sky, a violet eye observed the valley. It closed just before the rabhorn finished its meal. Lifting its head, the creature scurried to the next branch in search of fresh forage.

With fur as white as innocence itself, the creature embodied the image of a trembling animal struggling to survive under the Necromoon's dominion. An appearance that concealed a macabre truth. While the rabhorn's body was unremarkable, its soul bore a repugnant tumor. A fragment of an ancient consciousness had grafted itself onto it to flee the Empire's relentless hunt.

Six scans in the past hour. That damned All-seeing Demiurge must know I'm nearby.

Stuffing its cheeks with leaves, the rabhorn kept up appearances, fully aware that the charade couldn't last forever. The Empire, or more specifically, its Empress, despised the Faith Path, and her agents had the means to sniff it out. Only its disgrace—as a Fallen, it was among the dregs of the gods—had kept it hidden this long.

If I try to flee, this vessel will be flagged, and I'll die. On the other hand, staying in disguise buys me another day or two. At best. There's only one escape...

The rabhorn turned its gaze southward. In the next valley, a sanctuary stood defiant against the undead hordes: Oasis.

While the Tyrant was a persistent thorn it couldn't dislodge, Sumstreh never forgot that the Juggernaut was its first and true enemy. The Tier 4 had spent most of the last month gathering information on Priam Azura. Though the Champion himself was impossible to scry, his friends were not so well protected, and the Fallen had unearthed some interesting facts.

Among these findings was a stabilized rift located under the Tal Quercus. This rift led to a world fragment with a low aetheric ceiling. Unable to produce a Tier 2, it would also exert a suppressive effect on higher Tiers.

Sumstreh refused to believe the Demiurge held the clearance to remain there for long. While Soul Baptisms were expected and partial Temperings commonplace, Mind Ennoblement remained by far the rarest path of progression.

Not that I'm any better. To enter that shard, I'd need to lighten my soul...

Another scan swept the area, prompting Sumstreh to refocus on the flower bud. It had made its choice. Survival came first.

Closing its eyes, the Fallen summoned its Concept. A spiritual blade took form in its soul-space. Inhaling deeply, it aimed for the sixth layer of its soul.

Hope Incarnate, Pioneer of the Faith Path, Maker of Paradise, Hell, and Utopia—hear your servant. I offer you my Story and humbly ask for your favor. Do not let me turn Apocryphal.

Prayer given, Sumstreh struck.

"Think the festivities will last much longer?" Louis asked, watching a group of Gaesert children play marbles alongside Rose and Osiris. The girl was winning. Cheating too.

He squinted, fairly sure he recognized sapphires and rubies among the glittering spheres. Perhaps glass was more expensive than gemstones in these clans. Well, with enough strength, maybe a Tier 4 could compress carbon into artificial gems by hand…

"Until the tournament ends, I'd wager," replied Blueberry, downing an entire roast bird in one bite.

"Unless you finish everything first."

Louis only half-joked. Tired of pacing between dishes, the bear had adopted a new strategy. Now, leaning at the far end of the table, he simply tugged the tablecloth to draw the next platter into reach. The scene reminded Louis of those conveyor-belt sushi joints—except in this case, Blueberry was both the endpoint and the trash compactor. The fatso's even eating the bones. I swear I saw him munch an entire plate.

The ursine wasn't alone in enjoying the feast. As the second day of the tournament closed, the Aelbes were celebrating Rohan's Tier 0 victory, while the Gaeserts reveled in the triumph of one of their elite, now slated to face Kazuki in the Tier 1 finals tomorrow.

Only the Snaherts wore sour expressions. One of them had even set down a cup without finishing it. Blueberry seemed to be eyeing it.

Louis slapped the cup away before his friend could drink.

"Something wrong?" asked the bear.

"Just a hunch," Louis muttered.

He sighed as the suspect Snahert approached with his entourage. Trouble's brewing. I hope Rose is safe…

Out of the corner of his eye, the old man spotted a dozen Gaesert warriors discreetly forming a perimeter around the marble court. Seeing them ready to protect their children, he relaxed a little. In his experience, this clan was both the weakest and the most honorable. Probably not a coincidence.

"Old man," said the Snahert who had abandoned the poisoned glass. "Our clan shaman invites you to her tent."

"So it begins?"

"Pardon?"

Louis ignored the Tier 2. "Blueberry, time for dessert."

"Oh? What kind?"

"Snake."

The Snahert sneered with contempt. To him, Louis was nothing more than a relic tagging along with the Champions. A glorified servant or a family member.

In his youth, Louis might have raged at the slight. Not anymore. If the Snaherts had taken him seriously, they would have sent a squad of Tier 3s to stomp him. Instead, they brought four Tier 1s and a single Tier 2. Normally, more than enough to deal with an old man, a gluttonous bear, and two children.

A faint smile tugged at the old master's lips. He had been learning martial arts since he could walk, and what age had taken from him, the System had returned. The Snaherts were in for a surprise.

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Blueberry rose, his towering form capturing the attention of their would-be assailants. A sensible reaction. After all, when a multi-ton beast the size of a building stands within spitting distance, one tends to take notice.

"Tell your beast to stand down—"

One of the enemies blinked. That was all the opening Louis needed.

He surged forward. Micro overclocked his muscles, and Body Mastery I kept them from tearing under the immense strain. Accelerating faster than an arrow, the old man zeroed in on the Tier 1 who had momentarily closed his eyes. At the apex of his leap, he reached head height and extended his legs.

[Flying Scissors - Epic].

A Vovinam technique—Vietnamese martial arts, notoriously difficult to apply in real combat. Still airborne, Louis snapped his thighs around his opponent's neck, locking tight. Muscle memory, honed by decades of relentless training, took over. Hip rotation. Center of gravity shift. Takedown.

The enemy's body had no choice but to follow where its head had been flung—first to the side, then into the ground. Upside down, his legs pointed skyward while the crown of his skull smashed into the earth. A stone tile cracked. It wasn't the only thing that did.

The wet, unmistakable sound of a watermelon bursting told Louis all he needed to know. Still, caution urged him to be thorough. A Tier 1 Elysian wouldn't stay down from a mere fracture.

His legs still coiled around the man's neck, Louis sat down squarely on his chest. His right fist crashed down onto the Snahert's face. Two hammer blows to blind him, a third to shatter his nose and obstruct his breath. A fourth sent a tooth spinning through the air. Louis kept going until there wasn't a single one left.

Lifting his gaze, he locked eyes with a Tier 2 trembling with fury. The enemy had come to strike, not to be struck.

"You'll regret that, old man," the Snahert hissed.

"And you'll regret turning your back on my hairy friend."

The roar of a bear split the air.

The last opponent crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Possibly dead. Louis was too drained to care. He stumbled two steps and collapsed beside Blueberry. The rise and fall of the bear's furry chest drew a shaky breath of relief from him—a motion that earned a grimace.

"You shouldn't move," came a small voice.

The old man lifted his head and found Osiris crouching beside him. Behind the boy, Rose was in tears.

"Everything's alright, sweetheart."

"No. You're going to die," Osiris said matter-of-factly.

"You a doctor?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

The sobs grew louder.

"Seven ribs have punctured your lungs. Your liver's ruptured. You're suffering from cranial hemorrhage." A magical flicker passed behind the boy's eyes as his Domain bypassed Louis' meta endurance. "Once your mental endurance gives out, your Body Mastery will shut down, and you'll pass out… never to wake again."

Louis blinked as he searched himself for fear. He couldn't find it, and that was no surprise. He had been waiting for death for ten years. Without the System, he would have already crossed. Living these past few months with friends in Oasis had been a bonus, and he had no desire to grow greedy. Sorry, Mirscella. I tried…

"Don't let anything happen to Rose, alright?" he whispered, breath ragged. "Girl, warn Priam only when Jasmine gets back. The boy's wrath can be fiery."

"Louis!" cried Rose, throwing herself to his side. "Don't give up! You… you can make it! If you just hold on long enough, maybe you'll develop a resistance and—"

"He won't have the time," Osiris cut in. "Even for a Homo Elysian, there are limits to how fast the body can adapt. Plus, the weaker the patient, the slower the cells' mutation."

"There has to be a way!"

Louis opened his mouth to reassure her, but the blood flooding his throat choked the words. A racking cough forced him to spit crimson and worsened the agony. Perhaps it would be better to deactivate Body Mastery now. I've never had a taste for pointless suffering.

"Seth would tell me to stay low but…" Osiris winced and sighed. "Even if it was to protect Rose, you shielded me. Mama didn't raise an ingrate."

Louis was no longer listening. Around them, a crowd had gathered, murmuring. Among them, many were enemies. Would Rose manage to find one of the Champions? He wished he could help more, but a veil was already clouding his eyes… Tired of waiting for Priam, Death was coming for Louis.

A hand pressed against his chest. A surge of aether cascaded into him. Within a heartbeat, Micro registered many changes. His cells stirred, merging, splitting, moving. Bones shattered and reknitted. Muscle fibers tore apart only to reweave themselves denser than before. The healer had preceded the reaper.

Louis soon realized he wasn't merely being healed—his flesh was being reshaped.

His soul quivered. Due to the link between body and spirit unique to the Homo Elysian, it too had been wounded. The Fleshwarper must have known, as he healed the body until soul resonance restored them both.

Five seconds later, Louis drew breath—and felt no pain. Behind him, Blueberry's ragged wheezing had faded to a steady, restful rhythm. Osiris had healed the bear without so much as a touch.

The old man met the boy's eyes and saw apprehension there. That potential… My god, not even Dishnu is that terrifying. A healer like this—whoever gets their hands on him will have no trouble reaching Tier 6… Or maybe not. He couldn't have saved Mirscella.

Louis killed the thought and bowed his head. "Thank you," he said as he rose. With a sharp kick, he roused the bear. "Let's find Priam. We're not safe."

"More coming?" Blueberry rumbled.

"I'm afraid that was just the first wave," Louis replied, stretching. He felt better than he had that morning—Osiris had worked a miracle. "And the next ones will be worse."

Now that the masks were off, the Snaherts would no longer pull their punches.

I hope the others are safe. Kazuki and Priam are with the Aelbes, Jasmine's off on a mission, so they should be fine…

Then a thought struck him. I wonder if they've sent people after our entire delegation… Poor lads.

Arnold NetSky stood in the Gaesert communal garden. His rivals might have found the location odd, but it was the best vantage point for observing his true opponent.

A mere ten meters away, Dishnu was watering plants. At first, the homunculus had assumed they were genetically engineered. A scan corrected that: it was basic water mint. Chemically and magically, the plants were unremarkable. Stranger still, they showed no trace of Concept, spirituality, Aura, or Myth.

Perhaps a Law?

It seemed absurd, but the Var Elegis would discard no hypothesis. The Guardian was his most capable rival—aside from the First. And scarcely less enigmatic.

That thought triggered a subroutine. Despite Priam Azura being at times a cipher, he also displayed a pragmatism and logic that Arnold could decode—often too late.

Still, the homunculus had a process dedicated to tracking the First, running constantly in the background. Through it, Arnold had analyzed the duel with Rohan hundreds of times. The conclusion remained the same: the First had held back on purpose.

After a smooth start against a mediocre opponent, most spectators were likely distracted by the sloppier finish against the mythic image. At the end, the First had displayed both masterful defense and abysmal martial skill.

Had Arnold not known better, he would have judged the Champion no stronger than a solid Tier 2. Perhaps a weak Tier 3. The tribes would likely reach a similar conclusion, falling into the same trap as the Tyrant had on his first day in Elysium.

Arnold would not be fooled again. From the beginning, that duel had never been a duel. Indeed, the arena itself had been part of the battlefield, and the real fight was psychological. The more the Var Elegis studied the First's plan, the more he realized he had manipulated the audience like a master puppeteer.

After such a display of feebleness, the clans would underestimate him—and by extension, look down on the entire Oasis delegation. Our apparent weakness will be unworthy of their masks, and they'll lower them. With tomorrow being critical, they'll act soon…

"Arnold NetSky?"

The Author couldn't have timed it better. The clans were playing right into his rival's hand. As expected of the First.

The Var Elegis turned. Before him stood a dozen Tier 3 Snaherts.

"Our shaman requests your presence. Please come with us."

Arnold felt his lips curl of their own accord. On occasion, the instinct gifted to him by the First would override his motor control. The Var Elegis consulted his internal database to identify the emotion.

Amusement.

"Your answer?" the Snahert pressed.

"Time is a precious resource. I don't have any to allocate to you."

"I'm afraid the choice isn't yours," the male replied with a false sigh.

"You are seeking violence."

The Snahert smiled. Not far away, Dishnu didn't even bother shielding the garden's plants. There was no need.

"Indeed. For the fun of the hunt, I hope you can run fast."

"Why run? You are snakes. You shall crawl," the Tyrant commanded.

And they crawled.

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