Chapter 119 - Have We Met Before?

  The moment was suffocating in its silence. Not a single voice, not a single breath, not even the faintest sound escaped from the gathered crowd. The grand hall, once filled with anxious whispers and reverent awe, now stood drowned in complete, stunned silence. Every noble vampire, every servant, and every one of the Lords on the platform remained frozen, unable to process the reality before them.

  Their supposed god, the being they had summoned with blood, reverence, desperation, and years of longing—Noctharis, the one proclaimed to be their savior and rightful deity—was gone. Erased. The body that had loomed above them like a monument of death and dominion had disintegrated into a storm of cursed mist and forgotten grandeur, annihilated in mere seconds by a single gesture from something greater.

  The disbelief that overtook the faces of the nobles was total. Their eyes were wide, mouths parted, bodies locked in positions of stunned reverence turned horror. The air that moments ago had been crushed under the weight of Noctharis' presence now seemed confused, as if uncertain whose dominion it served.

  Adam's mind reeled as he struggled to remain coherent amidst the rising tides of panic and unspoken dread. He could see the faces of the other Lords, each one cracked wide with disbelief. One Lord, whose prideful aura had screamed defiance mere moments ago, now looked ready to collapse from sheer mental shock. Another had dropped to his knees, eyes trembling with an expression that could only be described as an existential betrayal. These were not simply powerful beings—these were paragons of vampiric nobility, individuals who had survived centuries of bloodshed and conquest, who had weathered countless wars and political disasters, and who had witnessed the rise and fall of empires.

  And yet now, every ounce of certainty they had clung to was crumbling. Their supposed god had been slain like an insect. It wasn’t just the shattering of their belief—it was the total obliteration of their understanding of power itself.

  Below, the sea of lesser nobles and servants mirrored the same devastation. All of them had fallen to their knees—not out of reverence, but out of fear. Some clutched at their heads, struggling to keep their sanity intact as their worldview shattered. Others stared at the dissipating remains of Noctharis, mouths trembling, as if caught in the silent edge of a scream they were too afraid to release.

  Even among Adam’s team, disbelief ran rampant. Drake’s expression was one of pure alarm, his usual composure stripped away as his golden eyes locked on the site of the obliteration. Angela had stopped breathing for a moment, her hand hovering near her chest as if physically trying to hold her heart in place. Chloe had backed up instinctively, her face pale, mouth agape. Katya’s jaw was clenched tightly, though even her steely defiance cracked beneath the pressure of witnessing something so far beyond anything they had ever encountered.

  The moment Noctharis' body began to break apart, the sound it made was not of simple destruction but of unraveling—like the tearing of flesh and memory combined. The enormous form disintegrated in grotesque silence, its dark muscles and shadow-wrought tendons melting into the very cursed energy from which they had been born. What had been a towering godlike figure just seconds ago was now nothing more than a swirling tempest of corrupt essence, a howling, incoherent wind of darkness and despair twisting through the air as though the plane itself were trying to reject its remains.

  But even in its death, Noctharis drew every eye. The claw that had crushed him—monstrous, foreign, far too massive, and far too real—still lingered in the air like a monument to supremacy, the broken veil of reality behind it continuing to widen into an open wound. All attention was fixated on it, on the power that had so casually erased a supposed god, and so no one noticed—no one could notice—what the storm of broken demonic energy had begun to do. Like a snake moving through tall grass, the cursed remnants of Noctharis slithered unseen across the floor, weaving between the ankles of the stunned crowd, ignoring the trembling nobles, the kneeling Lords, and the crumbling Elders.

  It moved with purpose, collecting itself not in the air, not in the altar, but down among the forgotten, far from the gaze of those locked in terror. It flowed through cracks in the stone, around broken columns, silent and unseen as it chose its destination. And there, in the midst of the stunned assembly, the tendrils of corrupt energy began to coil and pool—gathering around the feet of a certain individual. A subtle shimmer, a faint pulse of invisible power passed into them, and yet no one noticed. Not the nobles. Not the Lords. Not even Adam, who still knelt on the high platform, frozen beneath the unblinking eye of something impossibly ancient. All eyes were on the sky, on the rift, on the horror still emerging—while below, something else had already begun.

  And then, from that growing fracture in the sky, an eye emerged.

  It was vast, golden-yellow in hue, and burning with a cold, calculating intensity. Its vertical slit pupil slowly adjusted as it peered down upon them all, freezing every soul in place. The sheer act of looking into it was to be judged. Every heart halted. Every breath caught. Every mind screamed to look away—and none could. Adam felt his body freeze, even as his mind screamed to resist. But several system notifications flooded his vision before he could process anything further.

  Adam’s blood went cold. Every instinct he had flared with alarm.

  A tremor pulsed through the air—not from the earth beneath, nor from the crumbling walls of the ancient vampire fortress, but from something deeper, something far more primal. Then, without warning, a voice echoed through the chamber. It did not boom; it slithered—thick and heavy and laced with a burst of guttural, mocking laughter that felt like it had crawled out from behind the veil of reality itself. It struck the minds of those present like a hammer wrapped in silk, shattering all defenses with a whisper.

  "Seems like you're struggling quite a bit. Vile human."

  The voice carried a cruel amusement, a deep, unholy pleasure that delighted in what it saw, in what it was—and that delight, that venomous mockery, hit like a curse. The moment it reverberated through the room, several of the weaker nobles and attendants simply dropped. Their bodies crumpled to the floor as if puppets with their strings cut, overwhelmed by a force they could not endure.

  Among the gathered allies of the ‘No Name’ and ‘WNATN’ teams, the results were equally catastrophic. Chloe’s eyes rolled back as her knees gave out, her weight falling limp into Drake’s arms before she could hit the stone. Sebastian collapsed next, the older man's eyes wide with shock a moment before his body buckled, caught just in time by Gregor, who grunted under the weight.

  Li, ever composed, clutched his head with a hiss of pain as if a spike had been driven directly into his skull, while Kazue stumbled backward, eyes wide, vision blurring as her hands rose to her temples, trying to keep the world from spinning. On the side of WNATN, Dayana collapsed in André’s arms—though moments later, he too followed her down, eyes wide with confusion before his mind flickered into unconsciousness. Jonathan, the newbie among them, didn’t even make a sound before he crumpled. Takeshi dropped to a knee, both palms pressed against the sides of his head as he gritted his teeth, sweat pouring down his brow.

  And then, as if that torment were just an appetizer, the voice spoke again—clearer now, more focused, more aware of who it was addressing.

  "I am the Lord of the Fourth Ring of Pantheon Eternal."

  Adam felt the words pass through him like razors. His body locked up, every muscle seizing in a cold, invisible grip. His skin prickled with unnatural dread. He had fought divine energy before, stood his ground against forces beyond comprehension, but this... this was not holy, nor cursed. This was something else. Something akin to when he has faced ‘The_Hunger’. Something that existed not just to dominate but to corrupt everything it touched. The voice drew breath once more, its tone low and brimming with contemptuous glee.

  "The Supreme ArchDevil of Lies and Instigation, Malzaphir."

  With the declaration, space itself screamed. A second claw tore through the rift—violently, like a hand shattering a pane of stained glass—and widened the tear in the sky, as though reality itself could not hold back what was emerging. From beyond that breach, the rest of the colossal figure began to push forward. It was humanoid only in the most basic sense: it stood upright, and it had a torso, limbs, and a head—but that was where the familiarity ended.

  Malzaphir’s form was immense, impossibly tall, his flesh wrapped in endless chains that clattered with every movement. Despite their apparent constraint, those chains did not bind him—they danced around his body like living things, ornaments rather than shackles. From the twisted crown of his head grew a jagged set of massive horns that spiraled and cracked with red lightning. His skin, what little could be seen beneath the shifting coils of chain and shadows, was ashen black, rough like stone, and seethed with pulsing lines of infernal energy.

  His face—or what passed for it—was dominated by a gaping, ever-grinning mouth lined with teeth like broken glass, stretching too wide, too far. Above it, two brilliant yellow eyes burned with intelligence so sharp it hurt to look at them. The smile never faltered. It was the expression of something that had never known doubt, only manipulation and control—something that lied for sport and devoured truth for sustenance.

  For a brief moment, the world held its breath. Silence draped the shattered hall like a funeral shroud, oppressive and unnatural. The few who had managed to remain conscious stood frozen in place, paralyzed not just by fear but by a primal instinct that whispered to them that movement, even the smallest twitch, could draw the gaze of the being before them—and none of them wanted that.

  Malzaphir remained still as well, but his piercing, gleaming yellow eyes were locked entirely onto one person. Adam could feel it—not just a stare, but an invasive pressure, like the sensation of being dissected under a scalpel made of thought. The ArchDevil’s ever-present grin dimmed just slightly, not out of displeasure, but something else. A flicker of intrigue passed through the twisted features of his visage. Then, his voice returned—low, deliberate, and deceptively calm.

  “How interesting.”

  He said, each syllable rippling through the air like the toll of a funeral bell.

  “How were you able to summon me here?”

  Adam didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t. His lungs refused to obey. His throat had tightened, and his mind—so often so sharp—was momentarily clouded by the impossible weight of simply being perceived by such a thing. Malzaphir did not simply radiate power—he redefined the very laws of presence. Looking into those luminous eyes was like staring into the heart of a lie made flesh, and for a moment, the boy questioned whether speaking at all was even an option. But he forced himself forward, fighting against the invisible weight that tried to press him onto the floor. Just as he parted his lips to say something—anything—Malzaphir spoke again.

  “Ah, I was right.”

  The ArchDevil said, and the grin returned in full, stretching unnaturally wide across his monstrous face, exposing too many jagged teeth.

  “It was you.”

  The chains around his body rattled with a low, vibrating resonance as his voice climbed in theatrical delight.

  “You were the cause of this, vile human.”

  And then, as if the very words were the setup to the most delicious punchline imaginable, Malzaphir threw his head back and laughed. It was not a laugh for joy. It was not a laugh for madness. It was the laugh of something that had tricked entire worlds into their own destruction and watched it happen with relish. It was too loud, too deep, too vast to belong in that hall. The very stones beneath their feet cracked with the force of it, the air trembled, and the last flickers of courage in the hearts of the onlookers flickered and died.

  Adam stood there, stunned, unable to find footing in the chaos of that sound. What did he mean? He had summoned him? That made no sense, he hadn’t even been the one who began the ritual. And yet the ArchDevil was certain—too certain for it to be a simple coincidence... He had to say something. He had to respond.

  Forcing himself to bow slightly, Adam took in a breath and tried to control the tremor that ran through every fiber of his body.

  “Oh, great Lord of the Fourth Circle of Pantheon Eternal.”

  He said with as much composure as he could fake, each word calculated and heavy.

  “Thank you for answering our call… but if I may ask… to what do you refer when you say I was responsible?”

  Malzaphir let out a chuckle again, quieter this time, but no less derisive.

  “Vile human, were you not the one that imbued that measly demon’s summoning seal with your energy?”

  He repeated, savoring the phrase like a fine wine. Adam’s eyes widened. That didn’t make sense—until it did. His thoughts turned sharply, calculating backward, grasping at events with frantic precision. Energy? Seal? The blood... His blood. His energy.

  He remembered clearly now, that his skill [Yong Xian Sovereign’s Body Manifestation] was still active.

  His cursed energy, the very essence of his being, had been concentrated within every drop of his blood. He hadn’t merely contributed to the ritual. He had empowered it. His blood had not just been fuel—it had been a key, or worse, an invitation.

  While Adam’s thoughts twisted in a storm of confusion and dawning realization, Malzaphir let out another soft, almost amused chuckle that echoed like a low drumbeat through the fractured cathedral. The deep, condescending rumble seemed to resonate not just in the air but inside Adam’s chest, his bones, his very blood.

  “Yes, it seems that your energy is quite compatible with mine, vile human.”

  The ArchDevil said with a slow and mocking satisfaction. The words struck hard, not because of their tone, but because of what they implied. He knew. Malzaphir knew what Adam had just realized himself. The ArchDevil could read his mind as easily as one would leaf through a book, every page exposed and vulnerable. There was no privacy, no veil of thought that could protect him.

  Then Malzaphir paused, his grin tightening as his expression turned inquisitive.

  “But this unpleasant energy...”

  He continued, the air distorting slightly as his towering form leaned forward. His massive head, adorned with those grotesque, twisting horns, dipped low, closer to Adam than it had ever been. The sheer scale of him was suffocating—just being in his shadow made Adam feel like an insect caught beneath the sun. One of Malzaphir’s claws drifted through the air, stopping just short of the boy’s face, its blackened talons crackling faintly with cursed power.

  “It seems familiar… Vile human, have we met before?”

  Adam didn’t dare breathe too quickly. He could feel the closeness, feel the way the very space around him warped with the devil’s presence. He had no answer. He had never met a being like this in his life. He hadn’t even known they existed until a few moments ago. There was no shared memory, no secret pact buried in his past. And yet, as if pulling the thoughts from his head the moment they surfaced, Malzaphir gave a short, thoughtful hum.

  “No.”

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  The ArchDevil said slowly.

  “That’s not possible. There’s no way I would forget a precious customer as impious as you.”

  That word—customer—slammed into Adam’s awareness like a falling hammer. What did that mean? Customer? Of what? The idea made no sense, the logic behind it slipping through his fingers like sand. There was nothing to sell, no transaction that had occurred, and yet the way Malzaphir said it... it didn’t sound metaphorical.

  Adam’s confusion only grew as the ArchDevil’s grin returned once more, twisting slightly with a hint of nostalgia.

  “It just feels like... I had been summoned by a soul similar to yours a long time ago. But the time periods are not the same.”

  The giant leaned back slightly, his gaze turning slightly distant.

  “Well, it’s fine. It was just a feeling.”

  Adam’s mind was still reeling, trying to reconcile everything. The cursed energy, the summoning, the blood, the compatibility, the strange way this being spoke to him like he mattered more than anyone else in the room. Even now, he could feel the sharpness of his thoughts beginning to return, his nerves starting to settle as his system adjusted to the overwhelming presence. But just as he began to collect himself, something even stranger happened.

  Without warning, a scroll materialized out of thin air. There was no dramatic flash or ominous sound—it was simply there, floating before Adam’s eyes as naturally as if it had always existed. The parchment glowed faintly, its edges lined with a golden script that shimmered like ink made from molten gold and obsidian.

  Malzaphir’s eyes didn’t leave Adam’s. His grin widened once again, but this time it had sharpened.

  “That’s enough small talk, let us get to the point.”

  The ArchDevil said, the mirth still present but undercut by a colder, more deliberate tone. As he spoke, the scroll unrolled itself with a smooth, silent motion, the parchment extending like a living thing. Symbols moved across its surface, pulsing faintly with power, and in its center, written in a language Adam did not recognize but could somehow understand, were the unmistakable lines of a very simple contract.

  Adam’s eyes moved quickly over the floating scroll, trying to absorb the contents as fast as he could. The structure of the contract was vague, and frighteningly open-ended, its clauses written in twisting phrases that left much to interpretation. There were no clear stipulations, no fixed price, only an implied agreement cloaked in vulgar prose.

  It was like looking into a trap without knowing exactly where the teeth were hidden. But before he could make sense of even a fraction of it, Malzaphir’s voice returned—calm as ever, yet brimming with derision.

  “Since you are a new customer, let me explain things to you.”

  The ArchDevil said, his tone silky and mocking, like a merchant speaking to a clueless buyer.

  “It’s pretty important for us devils to get as many contracts as we can. That’s the source of our strength.”

  His talons twitched ever so slightly, the sound of chain links clinking faintly from his body.

  “So contractors are like customers to us.”

  He added, as if it were the most obvious truth in the world. Then he leaned forward, lips pulled into that monstrous, perpetual grin.

  “Now, tell me what it is that you want.”

  Adam couldn’t respond. His throat had closed up, the knot inside it twisted and burning. What was he supposed to say? What could he ask for? Was this even a negotiation? Or was it just an illusion of choice, a game played by something far beyond him? The question alone was terrifying enough, but what was worse was how naked he felt before Malzaphir—every thought, every hesitation, every flicker of doubt paraded out into the open like a confession. The ArchDevil could see it all.

  Adam’s mind was an unlocked door, and Malzaphir was already inside, reading every page like a memoir written just for him. A quiet laugh, low and smooth, rolled from the towering devil’s throat.

  “Rest assured.”

  He said, mockingly reassuring.

  “Unlike lowly demons, we devils do not harm our contractors.”

  His grin widened further, impossibly so, as his fingers flexed with exaggerated politeness.

  “The rule is to have a one-to-one contract between a devil and the summoner.”

  And then, just as Adam’s heartbeat seemed to slow in a futile attempt at control, Malzaphir’s voice dropped into something even more theatrical.

  “But this is a special case, so let me tell you—I’ll give you a special discount. I won’t ask for something as crude as your soul or your life.”

  He said, his grin splitting wider, a grotesque stretch of teeth and shadow. The moment those words left Malzaphir’s mouth, pain exploded through Adam’s skull. It was instantaneous and absolute, like being struck with a divine hammer forged from agony itself. His vision dimmed at once, and the world—already frayed by power and pressure—snapped out of sync. Time shattered. The very air froze. Not metaphorically. Literally. Sound ceased. Color dulled.

  The warped remnants of the castle, the noble vampires standing frozen in terrified awe, his teammates struggling against the weight of the ArchDevil’s presence—everything stopped. The energy that had been crackling through the chamber paused in midair, the faint shimmer of cursed mist suspended like drops of water mid-fall. Every breath, every heartbeat, every twitch of muscle halted. The scene became a painting. A cruel, terrifying snapshot in which only two entities still moved.

  Adam stood there, clutching his head, his body trembling from the shock, while Malzaphir remained unmoving and unbothered. The devil’s grin somehow deepened, his eyes flashing with a satisfaction that bordered on glee.

  “Interesting.”

  He said softly, watching the phenomenon unfold like a man admiring an unexpected turn of events in a game he thought he had mastered. And then—from Adam’s head—something began to rise.

  It started as a ripple, a distortion of cursed energy that twisted outward like smoke from a fracture in reality. It expanded quickly, becoming thicker, blacker, heavier, until it no longer resembled energy but mass. The shadows took shape—an enormous shape. As tall as Malzaphir himself. A form unrecognizable at first, writhing and pulsating as if it were still deciding what it wanted to be. The darkness swirled and collected into a single point, pulling cursed energy from the room, from the platform, from Adam himself—and from the very fragments of time that had stopped around them. System messages began to appear in Adam’s vision—blinking warnings, cascading lines of red and gold—but the pain was too great, and he couldn’t make sense of any of them. His thoughts blurred into noise.

  And then the form solidified…

  A massive, pupil-less eye opened at the center of the formless mass, its surface slick with a translucent sheen, unblinking and fixed solely on Malzaphir. Surrounding the eye, dozens—no, hundreds—of enormous tentacles began to unfurl, writhing in silence through the frozen air, their texture glistening like a mixture of wet obsidian and raw shadow. The presence that came with it was suffocating, but not loud. It did not roar. It simply was. It existed with such certainty that the very concept of reality bent around its arrival.

  It did not crash into the world like a god—it slipped through it like a thought made manifest. Even while in pain, Adam recognized it immediately. It was the Overmind. And it had entered the physical plane as well.

  The chamber, though still frozen in time for all others, felt impossibly loud as the two colossal entities faced each other in oppressive silence. Malzaphir’s monstrous body loomed with confident ease, his massive form wrapped in chains that chimed faintly as his chest expanded with every breath. His yellow eyes burned like twin suns, locked with the massive, pupil-less eye of the Overmind that now hovered before him.

  Though the ArchDevil’s grin never faded, something about his body language suggested focused interest—a type of playful anticipation rather than any form of intimidation. In contrast, the Overmind’s singular eye trembled, not with fear, but with rage so deep and ancient it could not be communicated through anything as simple as facial expression. The hatred came from the air around it, from the sharp, vibrating hum of its countless twitching tendrils. It was not screaming, yet the whole room felt as if it were standing at the edge of a cosmic roar.

  Between them stood Adam. Or rather, he barely stood at all. He was less than a pawn caught between kings. A mistake of presence. A fragment of consequence. There was nowhere to run, and even if there had been, his body wouldn’t have moved. He could only witness.

  And then, without preamble, the voice of the Overmind echoed through the space—not spoken, but felt, emerging from the pit of every living thing’s subconscious. It was not heard through the ears, but from within the deepest folds of the soul.

  “Leave, ArchDevil. That user is already my champion.”

  The voice was not a command so much as a truth being etched into existence.

  “He is marked. His fate is intertwined with my master ‘The_Hunger’. No other contract will be accepted.”

  The Overmind’s presence throbbed with each syllable, and as it mentioned that name—“The_Hunger”—something shifted in the air, a cold so old and so incomprehensible that even Malzaphir’s grin faltered for the briefest fraction of a second.

  But then, laughter. Loud and rising and drawn out like a performance. Malzaphir erupted in hysterical amusement, throwing back his head, the chains on his body clattering with every movement as his voice echoed across the frozen chamber like a gong of mockery.

  “How delightful!”

  He declared with mirth thick in his tone.

  “This human is far more entertaining than I gave him credit for!”

  He glanced at the Overmind as if it were little more than a petty bureaucrat interrupting a sales pitch.

  “And you—how charmingly possessive.”

  He sneered, still smiling wide. Without waiting for a response, he leaned closer to Adam again, the overwhelming force of his gaze cutting through every layer of fear the boy had learned to ignore.

  “Tell me, Vile Human, would you not consider signing my contract instead?”

  He whispered, his clawed hand gesturing toward the still-floating scroll, its contents now glowing faintly red.

  “Anything your heart desires—anything within my power—I shall give you. Power, freedom, dominion. Far beyond your imagination. You need only ask.”

  The room darkened. The tentacles of the Overmind, previously twitching in place, now surged forward with lethal aggression. The air trembled as half a dozen of the massive appendages uncoiled, rushing toward Malzaphir with speed that should have shattered reality itself. But the ArchDevil did not flinch. He did not blink. He merely raised his head slightly, like a king glancing at something beneath him.

  And then the tentacles froze mid-lunge, not halted by impact, but by sheer will—not his, but the Overmind’s. The entire attack ceased by the Overmind’s own choice, its giant eye pulsing with unreadable intensity, fury still trembling within its core. Malzaphir laughed again, softer this time, more mocking than ever.

  “What’s the matter?”

  He said, voice soaked in irony.

  “You want to fight now that we’re both here?”

  He tilted his head, as if offering.

  “I have no objection. Go ahead. But we both know how this ends, don’t we?”

  The amusement in his voice thinned into something sharper.

  “This plane would not survive. Your human—your precious little champion—would be erased before your first strike landed. Would you sacrifice him just to spite me?”

  The tentacles curled inward. The eye trembled again but did not respond.

  Adam stood in absolute stillness, his body unmoving, not from fear but from sheer insignificance. Trapped between three unfathomable forces, he felt himself not as a human, not as a user, not even as a soul with purpose—he felt like a meaningless speck, an afterthought in a war of titans where his will was nothing more than static between voices too loud, too ancient, and too vast for his understanding.

  His very existence felt diluted in the presence of Malzaphir’s smug confidence, the Overmind’s twitching contempt, and the contract that still hovered faintly before him like a looming decision he never wanted to make. He couldn’t tell if his heart was beating anymore, or if it had simply decided to stop beneath the pressure of gods arguing over his ownership. He had never felt this powerless. Not when the paladins attacked. Not when he faced death. Not even when he died. This was worse. His life no longer belonged to him, and he could feel it in his blood, in his thoughts, in the air.

  But then—an impossible voice shattered the moment.

  “ENOUGH!”

  The word was like a divine thunderclap, a soundless explosion that tore through Adam’s body and mind alike. His knees almost buckled, and the only thing that kept him upright was the force of habit, not strength. The shockwave that followed wasn't physical—it was spiritual, a pulse that reverberated through every corner of his soul. Windows exploded into existence before his dazed eyes, blaring urgent messages:

  And then, from a sudden rupture in the air, glowing softly and pulsing with energy that Adam recognized all too well, it appeared… The floating squid.

  The golden halo above its head gleamed with deceptive warmth, its form small and unassuming—but the presence it carried was oppressive, overwhelming. This was not a demon, nor a devil, nor anything born from corrupted magic or divine wrath. This was a Patron, a being above the natural order of gods and monsters, and Adam knew, without a doubt, that he was now being addressed by a will that considered even entities like Malzaphir or the Overmind as lesser creatures. ‘The_Hunger’ had returned.

  The little floating squid drifted toward him with the same theatrical grace as before, as if it had not just torn open reality itself to arrive. It hovered directly in front of Adam, its massive eye fixing on him with something far colder than malice—expectation. And then it spoke, its voice strange, layered, somehow both inside the boy’s mind and outside of time.

  “Enough nonsense!”

  It said, its words echoing as if pronounced through cracked glass.

  “User Adam Scholar, have you considered the offer I made you in the previous world?”

  The floating entity pulsed once, radiating waves of pressure.

  “You’ve already tasted crumbs of the power I offer. It does not matter what any lesser entity might promise you. Everything you have, everything you ever will have, is nothing but a drop compared to the ocean I offer. So let us put aside these distractions and—”

  “No…”

  The word left Adam’s lips like a whisper, but it was enough. It was not loud, nor defiant, nor angry. But it was heard.

  ‘The_Hunger’ froze… The room froze.

  Even the time-frozen world felt somehow more silent. Then came the voice, thunderous and filled with disbelief.

  “NO?!”

  Adam forced his legs to hold firm. He forced his mind to stop screaming. He dug deep into himself, further than ever before, past the fear, past the despair, past the helplessness. He found the fragment of will that had pushed him through death itself. He remembered his mission, his family, his friends. He remembered why he had survived. And then he spoke, using every scrap of resolve he had.

  “I will not make a deal with you.”

  Adam said, his voice uneven but growing with each word.

  “I know what I’d gain. I’m sure it would be immense. But I also know what I’d lose. Everything.”

  His breath trembled.

  “You proved that yourself. In the last world, when I was ready to accept your offer, when I was desperate, you said nothing. You let me die.”

  His fists clenched.

  “If not for Nikolai’s sacrifice, I wouldn’t be here at all. You had the power to answer—and you didn’t. I’m not giving myself to someone who turns their back when things get hard.”

  ‘The_Hunger’ pulsed violently. The energy of an unknown origin erupted from its small body, twisting the air into an agonizing storm of pressure. It burned, not on the skin, but in the soul—Adam felt as if something were scraping at his bones from the inside. The squid turned slowly, its eye glowing with unbearable heat.

  “INSOLENT FAILURE!”

  It hissed.

  “I have never seen a more arrogant, more ungrateful insect. No one has ever refused me with such disgrace!”

  Adam tried to brace himself, but he could barely remain conscious. ‘The_Hunger’ voice thundered again.

  “No matter. I have enough Influence Points to force your acceptance. Once you are mine, I will erase your will, and you will know what it means to serve the Gospel of the Endless Hunger.”

  Panic struck Adam’s heart. He turned his head. The Overmind simply stared. Malzaphir looked delighted, barely containing his laughter, chains twitching with excitement. No help. No escape.

  And then, it happened. Behind ‘The_Hunger’, a small portal opened—quietly, unceremoniously. Two pale, slender human arms reached through, without warning or fanfare. In one fluid motion, they grasped the floating squid’s sides with terrifying firmness.

  “What—!?”

  ‘The_Hunger’ cried, its voice laced with shock. It spun—or tried to—and when it laid its gaze on the one pulling it, it screamed in recognition.

  “You!?”

  It struggled, its form trembling in desperation.

  “Unhand me!”

  It commanded, but the arms did not obey and pulled instead. In an instant, the tiny godlike entity was yanked backward through the portal, vanishing beyond the veil. Adam caught only a glimpse—a shape, cloaked in impossible light. A woman, perhaps. A crown of fire around her head.

  And then she was gone… Just like that.