Like a blur, Scott appeared in the midst of the masked champions. Confusion erupted—fleeting but sharp. In perfect synchronicity, the champions raised their arms and unleashed a volley of bandages. Blood-soaked and hardened like steel, they whirled through the air, aiming to shred him into chunks.

  Scott’s eyes tracked the approaching projectiles. His right hand moved on instinct—grasping at air—before he forcefully pulled it back.

  Old habits die hard, huh, he mused with a smile. Almost summoned the war hammer again. But no... it’s time to see what all those years did to my body.

  His hands snapped forward like venomous snakes. One by one, he caught the flying bandages mid-air. Each grip sent a tremor through the ground, the force eliciting shocks across the battlefield.

  The champions tugged on their weapons from afar, but nothing budged. The bandages held firm, frozen in his grasp.

  Scott exhaled slowly, a sadistic grin curling across his face. With a sharp pull, he yanked inward.

  The champions soared toward him.

  And then—snap—their arms tore free from their sockets.

  Whether they screamed or not, the silence swallowed it whole.

  As they arrived, Scott released the bandages—and unleashed his fists.

  The first strike shattered a mask and sent its wearer flying, blood spewing from their mouth as they crashed into the surrounding debris. The next collapsed to the rubble before they could react. Each hit came like a falling mountain, collapsing flesh, bone, and resistance alike.

  One blow. One broken body.

  None stood after being struck. None survived two.

  When it was over, Scott stood motionless. His gaze swept over the ruins of the masked attackers.

  Well… that’s disappointing. I even took off some of my clothes, he thought dryly, fingers twitching as if yearning for another round.

  He turned to leave—then stopped mid-step.

  Wait… they shouldn’t have used their bloodline vials yet, right?

  Curiosity tugged at him. He strolled over to the nearest corpse and loomed above it, scanning its form. Using his foot, he prodded at the folds of the champion’s cloak.

  Nothing.

  They’d be stupid not to store their vials in their inventories. I can’t access those if they’re dead...

  His thoughts trailed off as his gaze drifted to the severed arms littered across the ground. His brow furrowed.

  Wait… why do the bandages look clean?

  Gone was the caked blood. The wrappings now appeared pristine—just faint smudges of ash and dirt remained.

  He crouched, eyes narrowing. So the blood wasn’t from their victims... it was their own? Were they fueling the bandages with their blood?

  It was the only explanation that made sense.

  Reaching forward, his fingers brushed one of the detached arms.

  The system’s chime rang in his mind, and a glowing blue panel flashed into view.

  Scott’s eyes narrowed.

  The bandages twitched—then uncoiled—springing to life like awakened serpents. They latched onto his arms, wrapping tightly.

  Voices flooded his mind. Mocking. Cruel. Unified.

  “Idiot!” they howled. “Your body is now ours. Offer your blood to the—huh?”

  A beat of confusion. Then panic.

  “Wait, wait—no! This isn’t what—ahhh!”

  High-pitched screams pierced Scott’s mind, echoing with terror and agony.

  The bandages recoiled. They unraveled and dropped to the floor, limp and blackened as though smeared in tar. The stench of rot clung to them now.

  Scott stared at them, unmoving. What the fuck just happened?

  More notifications blinked into existence.

  Scott read them carefully.

  Those voices… they were Hive members?

  His eyes flicked to the smoldering remains of the bandages. Have they been here all along? Inside the Silent City?

  He glanced at the corpses again.

  Were they just puppets? Controlled victims?

  But something still didn’t sit right.

  If they were Hive members, why didn’t I get any notifications earlier when I took out that first trio?

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  His gaze shifted to the gaping holes left behind by his earlier gravitational assault.

  Did they somehow survive that?

  Scott rose to his feet, questions still lingering in his mind.

  If I’m supposed to maintain The Hive… shouldn’t they—

  He paused.

  Hold on. What does ‘maintain’ even mean?

  The more he thought about it, the more ambiguous the directive seemed. The Overseer’s reactions made it clear—“maintain” didn’t mean reducing their numbers. If anything, it leaned toward expanding them. Especially after he’d left the decision in the hands of the Priestess of Fairlight.

  But from his earliest encounters in the Expanse, he remembered Hive members being champions—champions who had been somewhat possessed.

  It's hard to recall the exact details, he admitted. But I’m sure they weren’t all taken over by bandages.

  Different mediums. Different methods. That much seemed certain.

  Still, Scott mused, no matter which method they use, I highly doubt that Hastur, the Throne of Madness, or even the Nameless One would allow anyone else to dream of taking over my body.

  He chuckled darkly at the thought, glancing away from the smoldering bandages.

  He walked to the other corpses, still hoping to find bloodline vials—but as expected, there were none.

  I knew this would happen, but I’m still disappointed, he sighed, shaking his head.

  With the confirmation of Hive members within The Silent City, a new concern stirred.

  Now that I know that members of The Hive are present here too, it’s likely that they will be ruthlessly searching for the other champions. And with the infinite nature of this place—and with no time limits for the 9th zone, it might actually be better to proceed to the 8th zone.

  At least there, he reasoned, no matter how strong the champions are, I can still hold my own.

  Still, he hesitated. Staying in the 9th Zone held clear benefits—he could keep searching for unassimilated champions and snatch their bloodlines if luck favored him. But leaving would let him control access to the deeper zones more efficiently. The number of champions in the 8th Zone was still just a fraction of the total.

  If any of them sneak into the 7th Zone while I wander around here... that’ll become a major headache.

  His gaze drifted back to the corpses.

  Looks like I’ll have to abandon the bloodline hunt... at least personally.

  A grin crept across his face.

  But that doesn’t mean it ends here.

  With a single thought, Scott sent a command to the Judges of Madness scattered across the Silent City. Their task was simple: retrieve as many bloodline vials as possible.

  That handled, he turned his attention to the lingering system notification.

  How many champions have reached the 8th Zone? he asked mentally.

  The system replied at once.

  Scott’s brows shot up.

  It went down?

  Two possibilities came to mind immediately—but he needed confirmation.

  How many champions have reached the 7th Zone or higher?

  The system responded again.

  Scott nodded slowly, a quiet realization settling in.

  So they either died... or left the Expanse altogether.

  Either way, it worked in his favor. He was more than happy to let champions fight amongst themselves for whatever reason.

  His gaze shifted to the final notification still hovering in the air:

  Without hesitation, Scott selected [Yes!].

  Another panel appeared.

  So... moving to the 10th Zone isn’t allowed? he asked, curious.

  Scott nodded again, satisfied. The countdown ticked away—two minutes was nothing compared to the eternity he'd spent waiting back in the Chaos Vault.

  The 10th Zone was about escaping the desert using the beacon. Thanks to my reward choices, the 9th Zone's theme became focused on bloodline assimilation...

  His eyes narrowed.

  So what’s the theme of the 8th Zone?

  He crossed his arms in quiet contemplation.

  I don’t want to jinx it, he muttered internally, but I really hope it’s not something annoying.

  The final seconds ticked down.

  A golden radiance descended from the heavens, wrapping around Scott’s body. He began to ascend.

  The moment the veil shattered, a cacophony of chaos rushed to greet him—explosions, shrill screams, buildings crumbling by the dozens.

  The Silent City, once a desolate relic lost to time, was now brimming with the raw, frenzied energy of a battlefield caught in the opening throes of war.

  Scott, soaring vertically into the skies, watched the rampage below with indifference. Gigantic creatures—trialists twisted by power—roamed vast swathes of the city, leaving devastation in their wake.

  The spot where the war hammer had once struck now appeared as a mere dot, dwarfed by the seemingly infinite sprawl of The Silent City.

  Ten people experienced this before me, and I didn’t even notice, Scott mused, observing the chaos with detached curiosity.

  Judging by the lack of reaction from the champions still within the city, it was clear—they couldn’t see him, nor the golden radiance enveloping him.

  He tilted his head upward. While everything below remained visible, the shimmering veil of golden light above blocked his sight, obscuring whatever lay beyond. Still, his ascent remained steady, smooth, and unstoppable.

  Let’s see how different the 8th Zone is compared to the others, he mused, lips curling into a faint smile.

  The higher he soared, the denser and more opaque the golden radiance became. Eventually, all he could see was a thick, impenetrable wall of light.

  He resisted the urge to touch it—there was no point in risking the transfer. Even if he could survive a fall from the height, Scott had no interest in testing that theory for fun.

  And so, with the sounds of chaos fading far below, Scott continued his silent ascent into the unknown.

  He didn’t know how long it lasted. Minutes? Hours? Time lost all meaning inside the golden veil. Then, without warning, his feet slammed into solid ground.

  The radiance still cloaked his vision, but he could tell he was no longer moving.

  Beneath him, the ground felt damp—soft and pliant. His feet began to sink slightly into it.

  Please don’t be a fucking swamp. Please don’t be a fucking swamp… Scott silently begged.

  The golden wall shattered.

  Sunlight spilled through a dense canopy of leaves and tangled branches, casting dappled shadows across the forest floor.

  Scott stared ahead, brows drawn tight, fists clenched.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  Then the system responded with its usual cheerless tone.