The ascent up the Diamond Cliff was a vertical journey through a prism of absolute greed. As the survivors of the Kashima Maru looked up from the decks, they didn't see a mountain of stone, but a singular, gargantuan gemstone that had been polished by the friction of a billion stolen dreams. The air here was so thin and rich with the scent of burning ozone and mint-fresh currency that it made the lungs of the mortals ache with every breath.Damon Silverstar did not climb. He walked. He stepped onto the sheer, vertical face of the diamond as if it were a flat pavement in Shinjuku. With every step, the red silk threads from his boots bit into the crystal, creating temporary footholds of shimmering starlight. He moved with a mechanical, relentless precision, his starlight hair trailing behind him like a comet’s tail in the golden sky.[Synchronization: 63.2%][Level: 109][Location: The Outer Rim of Aureum-Primus][Condition: Midas-Infection (Stage 2)]The gold encasing his left wrist ha

The diamond streets of Aureum-Primus did not echo with the sound of footsteps; they vibrated with the hum of ownership. Every block of crystal, every liquid-sun fountain, and every golden spire was a physical manifestation of the God of Wealth’s hoarding. To the survivors of the Kashima Maru, who now marched in a tight, terrified column behind Damon Silverstar, the city was a psychological assault. It was too bright, too clean, and too heavy with the scent of things they could never afford.Damon walked at the head of the procession, the scythe slung across his shoulder. He was no longer a man in a tattered coat; he was a walking breach in the golden reality. His matte-porcelain skin was etched with red circuitry that pulsed like a dying star. His left arm remained encased in the dull grey lead of the Midas-Infection, a heavy, dead weight that he used as a counter-balance to the divine silk.[Synchronization: 64.2%][Level: 110]Damon’s vision was no longer a human sight. He saw the w

Damon stood in the center of the ‘Plaza of Liquid Sun’, his breathing was a ragged, metallic sound that echoed against the diamond towers. He was a wreckage of divinity. His porcelain skin was spider-webbed with crimson fissures, and the synchronization was a roaring furnace in his marrow that he had only barely brought under control by wounding his own ego.[Synchronization: 65.0% (STABILIZED)][Condition: Midas-Infection (Stage 2)]His left arm, the one he had used to anchor his humanity, was now a dead weight of grey lead up to the shoulder. It was the physical manifestation of the God of Wealth’s interest. But it was his right hand, the one that gripped the scythe that truly terrified those who looked upon him. The scythe was a hungry, sentient rift of amber-red starlight that seemed to drink the very color from the air."Niisan..." Isolde’s voice was a soft, trembling sound. She stood five paces behind him, her sapphire light a small, lonely spark in the overwhelming gold of the

The Spire of Aureum generated him. As Damon Silverstar ascended the final staircase of liquid sun, the reality of the Necropolis and the transition sea felt like a distant, impoverished dream. The air was no longer a medium for breath; it was a pressurized aerosol of vaporized bullion. Every intake of breath was a transaction, a heavy weight that settled into the lungs like molten lead.Damon’s porcelain skin was no longer smooth. It was etched with the scars of his devalued ego, a network of grey fissures that fought the amber radiance of the Goddess of Fate’s silk. His left arm, the leaden limb of his humanity, was a cold anchor that pulled at his shoulder, a constant reminder of the price he had paid to remain a porter.[Synchronization: 65.0% (STABILIZED)][Condition: Midas-Infection (Stage 2)][Location: The Ascent to Aureum-Primus]Behind him, the Kashima Maru was a speck of rusted iron in a sea of gold. He had left them at the base of the diamond cliff, Isolde, Tanaka, and the

Damon’s porcelain skin was no longer pristine. The grey fissures of the Midas-Infection had stabilized into a dull, leaden sleeve on his left arm, while his right side hummed with the Goddess of Fate’s crimson starlight. He was a living paradox — a hybrid of divine silk and human dross, standing at the precipice of the final trade.[Synchronization: 65.0%][Level: 111][Location: Toll-Bridge of Aureum-Primus]The Severance of Destiny rested in his hands, its amber-red blade dragging a thin, violet line across the diamond floor. Every inch he moved forward was a struggle against the price of the air. In this part of the realm, the God of Wealth had decreed that existence itself was a rental. To breathe was to borrow; to move was to incur interest."Damon! The ships... they’re fading!" Isolde’s voice crackled through the mana communication link. She was miles below, anchored with the survivors, but the connection through the sapphire core allowed her to feel the deduction that was now h