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Chapter 30: Fatal Geometry.
Aric Blackthorn pretended to scan the glowing runes etched into the slanted obsidian platform, standing aloof in the heart of the hollow chamber. But his eyes were not decoding instructions — they were measuring cost.Two and a half devil's fruits.That was all he had left. The pulpy residue of one clung to a shattered vial in his pouch, and the other two gleamed inside smoked-glass capsules like captured suns.Each fruit was a miracle: pure vita condensed through forbidden cultivation, evolved to rupture the limits of the flesh for precisely two doses. After that, it was diminishing returns, and worse, biological rebellion.He clenched his jaw, tongue flicking over dry lips. The phantom ache in his bones had returned.The surge from his last dose had nearly shattered his collarbone from inside out. Aric had conditioned his nervous system through years of residual overload, threading each synapse with tolerance built on agony. It was the only reason he hadn’t already exploded from the
Chapter 29: Red Baptism.
Despite the savagery of his upbringing, despite all the years of blood-soaked training, Aric Blackthorn had never truly killed a person.Darkspawn? Dozens. Maybe hundreds. He'd torn through them like a windstorm through bone-dry trees. But this?This was different.This was human.And now she lay before him: her limbs trembling, her voice raw from sobbing, blood pouring from wounds too shallow to kill yet deep enough to break.He watched her struggle to breathe, to speak, to understand what was coming. But his eyes, those cold, ink-drenched mirrors, betrayed nothing."She’s not a monster," his mind whispered."But neither am I."The thoughts clashed like steel inside his skull. Countless, tangled, unvoiced.But through it all, one truth roared louder than the rest:This was the path.He had carved this road with the bones of dreams. Forged it in fire. Bled for it. Starved for it.And the destination had never been peace.Only vengeance.Vengeance always cost something. Always demanded
Chapter 28: Harder.
Aric Blackthorn and Kael’s eyes narrowed in unison, the silence between them turning razor-edged. This riddle was different. No layers, no illusions, no riddling syntax to decode. Just five fatal words that sliced straight into the soul:“Only one team can leave.”Their gazes locked again. The air cracked with tension. No banter. No camaraderie. Just cold calculation.“I’ll take the left,” Aric said, his voice like ice cracking across a frozen pond.Kael hesitated for a breath. His fingers twitched. Aric noticed.“…Right,” Kael finally said, almost too quietly.A nod passed between them, a shared understanding born in the fire of near-death and betrayal.The trio of advancing descendants entered the hall, their presence announced not with noise but with pressure. Aura like coiled blades.Aric’s gaze snapped to them, scanning for insignias.No Blackthorn crests. No great lineages.Good.The Grand Clans ruled the dome like demigods. Their offspring bore monstrous might and boundless evo
Chapter 27: Death Riddle.
Aric Blackthorn’s eyes did not stray. He watched every twitch in Kael’s limbs and every breath from Garrick's chest with the studied calm of a predator circling prey.Crude form, Aric thought. No finesse. But the pressure he exerts… that’s the real threat.Then, a flicker in his peripheral vision. Thane.His eyes narrowed.That one is the sharper blade.While Garrick swung heavy and wide, Thane moved like the edge of a surgeon’s scalpel. Precise, efficient. Every strike whispered along the axis of tendon and artery, aiming for collapse.Thane’s lineage from the Lucerna bloodline wasn’t just for show. His muscle control was eerie, almost mechanical. His timing, ghostly perfect.Dark creatures born of blight slipped past them, black shapes stitched together by the dungeon’s will. They hissed toward Aric.He did not flinch.He felt Thane’s eyes tracking him, dissecting his every motion. Not an enemy—yet—but certainly not a friend.They want to know what I am.But they wouldn’t. Not yet.
Chapter 26: Thirst.
Aric gave a slow nod, letting silence stretch as he processed the mountain of unspoken meaning buried beneath every interaction so far.Kael soon returned to his spot, plopping down with folded arms and a glare carved straight from stone. He still looked at Aric like he had stolen something sacred.Aric, however, had more interesting things to do than trade stares. He knelt beside one of the fallen voidspawn, fingers brushing over its warped, cooling flesh. The residual mana clung like mold to its corpse."Let's see what secrets you left behind," Aric murmured to himself.Studying enemy anatomy was never a waste. Knowing how they died meant knowing how they lived. And that, in turn, could become a weapon.He examined each wound with methodical precision. Two kill patterns emerged like opposing brush strokes on the same canvas.The first type was barbaric. Limbs ripped, torsos cleaved open with chaotic savagery. No rhythm, no art — just pure, blunt annihilation.The second was surgical
Chapter 25: No Rest.
An hour passed like smoke through fingers, silent and vanishing.Aric Blackthorn dropped from the obsidian podium with quiet resolve, his boots whispering against the cold stone."That should be enough time," he muttered inwardly, flexing his fingers around the haft of his scythe.He had gambled on Kael and Kendal drawing out the worst of the trial's gauntlet. But this wasn't a clean-cut scheme. Trials like this rarely tolerated loopholes. They punished the clever and exalted the cautious."Worst-case? I get hit with every challenge they did, just... retroactively."The path forward demanded alertness, precision, and the willingness to bleed if necessary. Aric shifted his grip: dominant hand low at the base, the other curled near the blade’s neck. The curved steel gleamed faintly, tilted backward, an executioner's arc sleeping in plain sight.Scythe stance: optimal.Muscles relaxed, breath slowed."Stay sharp. Assume betrayal. Even from the environment."For the past hour, Aric had ma
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