THE ETERNAL REAPER’S REGRESSION

CHAPTER 9: THE FIRST ASCENT

The iron boots of the guards echoed down the stone corridor, accompanied by a sound I hadn’t heard in this life yet—the rhythmic, metallic hum of true divine armor.

"Get in line, you worthless dogs!" a centurion roared, his heavy mace slamming into the back of a wounded gladiator. "Heads down! If you even breathe too loudly when the Lord walks past, your entire bloodline will be expunged from the registry!"

"Is it true?" Henry whispered, his voice trembling violently as he took his spot to my left. "Is it really an Overseer? A genuine Deity?"

"Shut up, Henry," Kara hissed from my right, her hands clamped tightly against her thighs to hide her shaking. "Do you want to get us killed before he even enters the room?"

"He's here," I said quietly, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the blood-stained stone between my bare feet.

System, I commanded, my intent cutting through the residual static in my mind. Activate Soul Concealment. Suppress all parameters. Revert visible status to Level 1 Livestock.

[Processing...]

[Status Suppressed.]

[Visible Rank: F-Class Livestock (Level 1)]

[Warning: Active skills locked during deep suppression.]

"Perfect," I muttered beneath the Void Mask.

The heavy oak doors at the end of the hall burst inward. A wave of oppressive, suffocating heat washed over the room, carrying the distinct scent of molten copper and ozone. Malakai the Bronze stepped through the threshold. He stood over seven feet tall, his physical form encased in shimmering bronze plate armor that floated millimeters above his skin. His eyes weren't white and pupil-less like the lesser Arbiters; they were twin pools of liquid gold, radiating a passive divine pressure that immediately forced half the line of gladiators to their knees, vomiting blood from the sheer weight of his aura.

"Look at this mess," Malakai the Bronze said, his voice echoing with a metallic timbre that made the stone walls ring. "A collapsed arena sector. A dead Judicator. An entire quadrant of livestock nearly wiped out by a faulty purge valve. The High Council is displeased with the efficiency of this Bastion, Commander."

"My Lord, it was an unprecedented sequence of glitches," the Bastion Commander stammered, bowing so low his forehead practically scraped the stone floor as he shuffled behind the Deity. "The automated systems malfunctioned. We are currently auditing the code—"

"I don't care about your audits," Malakai interrupted, his golden eyes scanning the row of tattered slaves. He began walking down the line, his heavy boots creating small, localized heat micro-bursts on the floor with every step. "The Deities require entertainment and currency, not excuses. If your livestock cannot survive a simple calibration, perhaps the entire batch needs to be recycled into raw mana."

He stopped in front of a heavily scarred gladiator three places down from me. Without a word, Malakai raised a single bronze-clad finger and tapped the man’s forehead.

CRACK.

The gladiator didn't even have time to scream. The passive divine pressure concentrated in that single tap exploded his cerebral cortex, his lifeless body collapsing into the dirt like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Pathetic," Malakai murmured, wiping his finger on a silk cloth provided by an attendant. "No soul density whatsoever. How do you expect the Upper Realm to wager gold on such fragile worms?"

"We are importing higher-grade stock next cycle, My Lord!" the Commander squeaked, his face pale as he watched his investments die for a Deity's amusement.

"See that you do," Malakai said, stepping forward again. He stood directly in front of Henry now.

Henry froze, his breath catching in his throat as the intense heat radiating from the bronze armor began to blister the raw skin on his neck. "P-please... Lord..."

"Do not speak to me, cattle," Malakai said, raising his hand again, his golden eyes filled with absolute, bloated arrogance. "Your very breath pollutes the air of this chamber."

"Leave him," I said. My voice wasn't loud, but in the terrified silence of the corridor, it cut through the hum of his divine armor like a razor.

The Bastion Commander nearly choked on his own spit. "What did you say? Slave! Silence your mouth before I skin you alive!"

Malakai the Bronze paused, his hand hovering inches from Henry's face. He turned his head slowly, his golden eyes locking onto the dark, unreflective surface of my Void Mask. "An F-Class livestock speaks out of turn? And wearing a restriction-class face covering? Commander, why is this item not logged in the manifest?"

"I... I don't know, My Lord!" the Commander cried, reaching for his sword. "I'll remove his head immediately!"

"Hold," Malakai commanded, stepping away from Henry and planting himself directly in front of me. The sheer force of his divine aura redoubled, a mountain of gravitational weight slamming into my shoulders, trying to force my knees into the stone.

I didn't bend an inch. I stood perfectly straight, my eyes looking directly into his liquid gold pupils through the slits of my mask.

"You have a strange spine for a worm," Malakai sneered, leaning down until his bronze visor was inches from my face. "Let see what lies beneath this parlor trick."

He extended his hand, his passive divine perception flaring as he attempted to scan my internal soul core to rip the mask from my skin.

The moment his divine energy brushed against my boundary, the world inside my soul vault didn't just react—it roared. Deep within the recesses of the Void Reliquary, the stolen essence of the Judicator and the mutating forge-gas locked onto his specific celestial frequency. A dormant, high-tier asset sleeping in the lowest slot of my soul—the God-Slaying Dagger, The First Fracture—ignited with a sudden, primordial resonance.

An invisible, ice-cold shockwave shot out from my chest, completely bypassing his bronze armor and striking Malakai directly in his divine core.

Malakai stiffened. The liquid gold in his eyes violently swirled, then shivered.

"What..." Malakai whispered, his voice losing its metallic resonance, dropping into a fractured, terrified gasp. "What is... this cold?"

"Is something wrong, My Lord?" the Commander asked, stepping forward with concern, entirely blind to the invisible conceptual clash occurring between us.

Malakai didn't answer. He couldn't. His passive perception had just caught a glimpse of the jagged, reality-splitting edge of the weapon hidden inside my soul—a weapon designed specifically to reap deities of his exact lineage. His bronze-clad hands began to tremble, tiny beads of metallic sweat forming along the ridge of his brow. He didn't see a level 1 slave anymore. For a split second, the aura of the Eternal Reaper bled through the suppression, towering over his seven-foot frame like an cosmic executioner.

"My Lord?" the Commander repeated, his hand hovering near his hilt. "Shall I execute the anomaly?"

"Shut... shut your mouth," Malakai choked out, his golden eyes wide with a pure, instinctual terror that hadn't been felt by his caste since the First Reset. He looked at me, his lips parted, his knees visibly shaking beneath his heavy plate armor. He wanted to call the High Arbiters. He wanted to scream for the Legions. He wanted to run.

I slowly raised my chin, keeping my energy suppressed to the absolute minimum so the system wouldn't flag the discrepancy. Through the narrow slits of the black leather mask, my eyes flashed with a cold, hollow blue light—the signature of a man who had slaughtered pantheons.

I subtly shook my head. A silent, absolute command. One word, and you bleed first.

Malakai the Bronze swallowed hard, the liquid gold in his eyes dimming until it looked like tarnished brass. He took a slow, clumsy step backward, his boots clicking erratically against the floor.

"My Lord?" the Commander asked, thoroughly confused by the Deity's sudden retreat.

"The... the sector is clean," Malakai rasped, his voice shaking as he turned his back to me, refusing to look at the line of slaves any longer. "We are leaving. Now."

"But... the anomalies, My Lord? The slave in the mask?"

"I said we are leaving!" Malakai roared, a note of pure panic cracking through his divine voice as he bolted toward the iron doors, his attendants scrambling to keep up with his frantic pace. "Seal the reports! Tell the High Council the discrepancy was a false alarm!"

The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, leaving the corridor in a stunned, breathless silence.

Henry collapsed against the wall, clutching his chest. "What just happened? Why did he stop? He looked like... he looked like he saw a ghost."

"He did," I said, my voice flat as I turned away from the door, my soul vault slowly settling back into a quiet, hungry hum. "And he knows better than to wake it up."