Kris awoke with a start, though the kind of start which was more of a mildly annoyed shuffle rather than the sort of frantic leap that typically followed dreams of falling or battling Cursed Knights.

Ah, but it wasn't a dream, was it . . .

Groaning, Kris tried to stand, but his body felt oddly heavy, as if gravity had decided to throw an impromptu tantrum. It was like he had the worst hangover of all time, the dull ache at the back of his mind refusing to leave him alone. His pool of . . . he didn't know what to call it anymore. He sensed his powers weren't solely charged by Adoration anymore. But he wasn't quite ready to think he ran on Fear batteries. At least not yet. When the fuck did life get this complicated?

Swaying slightly, Kris blinked, trying to get his bearings. Not in an underground cave anymore, that much was clear. This was more Villa Park on match day. So where was he? He caught sight of a massive banner fluttering overhead. Right. The Grand Tournament. So this must be the arena. The arena and the Amulet. The Amulet that was currently tucked under his shirt, carrying a weight that felt more significant than its physical mass. As soon as he thought about it, he could feel its influence, a constant pull, like those insistent whispers that had settled into the back of his brain.

Was he going completely around the bend?

His fingers brushed against the cool metal. This had been their entrance ticket to the tournament, hadn't it? He couldn't quite remember what had happened at the end of their quest on the Winding Way, but he felt sure the others would be looking for it—looking for him, too. A part of him, the part that still remembered the pre-integration Kris, wanted to find them, wanted to help hold the group together. They were a team, after all, and he was their healer. They were supposed to stick together, continue to face the challenges of this System as one cohesive unit . . .

But then there was the other part of him, the part that had begun whispering to him on the Winding Way and seemed to have intensified since he’d slipped the Amulet around his neck. This part wanted him to do . . . well, nothing. It whispered to him to sit here, wait it out, watch events unfold. To revel in the slow but steady trickle of power he could feel seeping into him. The voice wanted him to wait until . . . others found him. Not his current group, that much was clear, but a different one.

A new one. That was . . . interesting.

The drip of incoming power was subtle, not the kind of overwhelming surge of Adoration he'd felt in the last few days, but more like a steady background swell of energy. He didn't think it was Fear that drew the mana in. The Levels of those bustling around him were so much higher, he doubted they even noticed him anymore. It obviously wasn't Adoration, either. Nobody was looking at him with longing. In fact, there was something rather unpleasant about the way their eyes slid past him. Like they knew, deep down, that it would be better to forget him entirely.

Maybe it was Fear, after all.

Charm Leech.

He still didn’t really know how his Class worked, but he knew he had Skills that pulled in mana from those around him, not enough for anyone to notice, but just enough to give him a low, constant supply. The best kind of crime was one that went unnoticed, and - until Lorelei had called him out on it - Kris had quickly become good at not being noticed.

Feeling more steady on his feet, he scanned the arena, watching as other teams went about their preparations for what looked like the most deadly episode of the Krypton Factor ever. The insane obstacle course loomed in the distance, a twisted nightmare of ropes, walls, and traps. He should have felt something watching them—a sense of camaraderie for all the humans testing themselves or even just a flicker of concern for his own team's upcoming trial. Instead, he felt... nothing.

And that was the problem, wasn’t it? The nothing. That empty space where his feelings should be, where his sense of duty and loyalty used to sit like comforting, well-worn furniture. It had been replaced by something cold and calculating, something that whispered of patience and power, of waiting for the right moment, the perfect opportunity to act.

This whisper had got under his skin, turning his thoughts inside out until he wasn’t sure where his own ended, and it began. He’d thought he could resist it at first. After all, he wasn’t some wide-eyed fool fresh out of medical school. He’d survived years in hospitals, navigating the delicate politics of senior doctors and administrative chaos. He’d thought he had control over his own mind, his own choices.

But then, how much of that control had been an illusion from the start? Had the System not just shown him the way the universe actually operated?

In the pre-integration world, Kris had been a junior doctor. That title was an insult, really. He had completed all the years of rigorous training, spent countless hours in surgery and on-call, yet the title ‘junior’ stuck to him like an unwanted nickname everyone refused to let go of. He wasn’t a student anymore—he hadn’t been for years. That label had chafed at him, gnawing at his self-worth, reminding him that no matter how hard he worked, he was still lesser in the eyes of his seniors. A cog in the vast, unfeeling machine of the NHS.

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Kris remembered one particular night, stuck on shift during the graveyard hours. A patient had come in with a relatively straightforward case of appendicitis, but the attending Consultant—a pompous relic with a penchant for pontificating—insisted on turning the procedure into a long-winded teaching opportunity for "the kids". Kris had stood there, hands ready, knowing exactly what needed to be done, but was forced to watch as the old fart droned on, every moment stretching the patient's pain and delaying the inevitable relief.

The frustration had built up like steam in a kettle, but he’d kept it bottled up. He had to. He wasn’t supposed to argue. He wasn’t supposed to know better, even when he clearly did. That night had been a turning point for him. He’d realised, perhaps for the first time, just how little power he actually had. He had the knowledge, the skill, but not the authority to act. And that had infuriated him.

Now, though? Now, he had access to all the power he might ever need. It was subtle, yes, but it was there. This . . . power flowed into him constantly, feeding him, strengthening him. He didn’t have to wait for someone else’s permission to act. He didn’t have to follow orders, didn’t have to play by the rules.

So why wasn’t he acting? Before the battle with the Chimera, he'd been a useful member of that group. He'd actually been able to heal the rest of the group how he had always wanted to.

The question of his current inaction gnawed at him. Why was he still sitting here, watching from the sidelines, when he could be out there, finding the others, using the Amulet to secure their place in the tournament? Why was he letting himself be paralysed by nothing more than when he had the power to do something?

Because doing something meant confronting what he had become. And Kris wasn’t sure he wanted to face that just yet.

He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers. They looked the same as they always had—steady, capable, the hands of a healer. But there was something different about them now, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It wasn’t just the influence of the Amulet was it, although it was certainly played a part. And the whispers had begun before that . . . No, this was deeper, older, something that had always been there, lurking beneath the surface.

Before the integration, he’d never questioned whether he was a good person. He’d made sacrifices, sure. He’d worked long hours, missed social events, neglected relationships—all in the name of helping others. That was what doctors did, wasn’t it? They put others first. They healed. They saved lives.

But now, ever since those messages in the sky, that sense of purpose was fading. Healing wasn’t just a job anymore—it was a tool, a means to an end. He could use it to manipulate, to control. He could heal someone just enough to keep them loyal, just enough to make them need him.

And wasn’t that what the whispers were getting at? Power wasn’t about brute force. It was about control. Subtlety. Charm. Manipulation.

Those thoughts made his stomach twist, but he couldn’t deny the truth of it. The more he leaned into his Charm Leech abilities, the more he felt the seductive pull of that power. It wasn’t about Fear or Adoration—no, it was something far more insidious. A quiet, unnoticed influence that worked its way into the minds of those around him, making them pliable, agreeable. He didn’t need them to worship him. He just needed them to forget he was there until it was too late.

Kirs remembered another moment from before the integration—another of those endless nights in the hospital. He’d been called into a room where an elderly patient was refusing treatment. She was scared, confused, and utterly convinced that the doctors were out to get her. The Consultant on call, a brusque man with no patience for “difficult” patients, had ordered Kris to sedate her.

But Kris hadn’t done it. Instead, he’d sat by her bed, talking to her in low, soothing tones, using his charm—not mana back then, but the kind that came from empathy—to calm her down. She’d eventually agreed to the treatment, and the crisis had been averted without any need for sedation.

It had felt good, in that moment, to know that he had helped someone, that he’d used his skills for good. But now? Now he wasn’t so sure what “good” even meant.

The Amulet pulsed faintly against his chest, a reminder of the choices he’d made, and the choices yet to come. The others would be looking for him, that much he knew. But he wasn’t ready to face them. Not yet. Not with the growing awareness of the path he was walking.

They don’t need you, the voice in his head whispered. They’ll be fine without you. Just sit back. Watch. Wait. See how things unfold.

And he was tempted. Gods, he was tempted. Because sitting here, waiting, meant he didn’t have to confront the man he was becoming. It meant he didn’t have to make any more decisions, didn’t have to face the consequences of his actions.

"Eh, Kris, ye aalreet, lad? Ye seen any o' the others, like?"

Kris turned at the sound of Pete's voice. The old tank was stood a little way off to his left. Kris Guide confirmed that man felt great wariness towards him. He wished it would go away, that he'd forget all about his fucking Class.

active.

Kris blinked as he felt his mana drop. Had he triggered a Skill? Then he felt a wash of Adoration hit him from Pete. Surprised, he looked back towards the tank, seeing the wariness replaced by genuine joy to see him.

"Proper good t’see ye, man. Worried summit’d happened to ye! Come on, we’ve gotta find the others. We’re supposed te have a gan at that bloody obstacle course soon, like!"

Kris let himself be dragged, bodily, behind the man. In the swirl of his emotions, he thought he could make out a soft voice saying Interesting.