A cruel laugh echoed through the corridors, harsh and mocking. Blank stood at the center of the chaos, tilting his plague doctor mask so his unseen gaze fell upon Noah and Valor. Around him, scraps of the throne room lay in shattered disarray—fallen columns, scorched stones, and ragged banners all half-buried in drifting black mist.
“Such entertaining prey,” he hissed with malicious glee, his voice cutting like broken glass. “A fledgling hero and the Fourth Hero, the most corrupt of them all. A man even more dangerous than the apocalypse he once fought.”
Valor bristled at the insult, his golden horns flickering with an angry aura. “I will not be insulted by a wretched cur like you,” he spat, venom curling his every word.
Blank only sneered in response. His arms began to twist and writhe, sinews and bones snapping audibly as the limbs bulged hideously. With a gut-churning rupture, they detonated, spraying ribbons of crimson across the hallway. Mid-air, the blood and bone re-formed into a barrage of jagged knives and blades, each shining wickedly in the flickering torchlight.
Valor’s lip curled, barely masking his disdain. “These attacks will miss us,” he murmured with cold confidence. And indeed, the shimmering weapons curved aside at the last instant, whistling harmlessly past Noah and Valor to clatter against the far walls.
Blank re-grew his arms in a grisly display of writhing flesh and snapping cartilage—regenerative power humming in each newly spawned muscle. Without hesitation, he lunged forward, his right limb mutating into a gleaming sword that sliced toward Noah. Noah’s draconic eyes narrowed in focus as he raised his regalia, catching Blank’s blow with a ringing clash of steel and monstrous bone.
Off to the side, Valor unleashed a flurry of summoned blades, each sword materializing from thin air around him. Their sleek edges glinted a pale gold as they hurled themselves at Blank. The impact tore vicious gouges in his flesh, only for his ability to stitch the wounds and mend his clothing—leaving no trace of harm.
"How adorable," Blank sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. "The mutt has developed a taste for blood after licking his own wounds. How fitting."
A flicker of rage flared in Valor’s eyes, turning them crimson. “Wrong. Don’t you dare repeat those words,” he snarled, recalling some bitter memory. “That bastard Sirius said them once—now be annihilated.”
With a crackle of raw mana, lances of light and searing lasers converged on Blank from every direction. The throne room lit up in a cascade of radiance, each beam slicing into Blank’s form and shredding it apart. For an instant, it seemed the blow had ended him—but then flesh, sinew, and cloth coalesced anew, knitting together beneath his mask’s eerie gaze.
“Keep trying, O mighty Emperor,” Blank said with mocking courtesy. The echo of his laughter settled like a shroud across the ruined hall. “Your parlor tricks are almost charming. But do you see? No matter how hard you strike, you cannot harm me.”
Blank’s blade-arm whistled through the air as he lunged at Valor, the edges wet with shifting sinew. “Would you like to see a magic trick?” he asked, his voice low and brimming with a self-assured menace.
Valor deflected the blow with a swipe of his own conjured sword, sparks crackling between them. “Here I thought you were a clown, not a magician,” he retorted, his tone dripping with disdain. Even as the Emperor spoke, Blank’s eyes gleamed behind his mask, betraying an unholy delight.
In one fluid motion, Blank snapped his free hand’s fingers. Two swirling portals—dark and fathomless—unfolded behind him. A deep hum of energy coursed through the throne room, and from those portals, two figures stepped out with eerie calm, as though they’d been waiting on the other side for this exact summons.
The first was a young elven boy, no older than fifteen. His long, pale blue hair cascaded around a slight frame, giving him a deceptively delicate appearance. Black, square-framed glasses perched on his nose, reflecting the throne room’s torches in their lenses. His yellow eyes shone with a sharp, calculating light. He wore a dark blue robe embroidered with faint arcane sigils, the hem brushing the ground. In his hands, he held a tall staff of dark oak, entwined with dozens of gemstones that pulsed with hidden power. The staff was even taller than the boy himself, a symbol of the potent power he commanded. This was the famed Wing of Greed, third in command of the Crows, Codename: Avarice.
The second figure was an older elven man, perhaps in his mid-twenties. His short, neatly combed crimson hair framed a face obscured by a steely gas mask, leaving only his piercing yellow eyes visible. Over a white button-down shirt, he wore a sleek black fur coat, and his hands were clad in form-fitting gloves. Black dress pants and polished shoes completed his stark attire. Cradled in his grip was a finely crafted crossbow, its metallic structure etched with graceful yet foreboding patterns. He was the Wing of Gluttony, Codename: Viper.
A tense hush fell over the corridor as these new arrivals surveyed the scene. Noah and the others, still battered, felt a new wave of dread coil in their stomachs, while Medusa’s exhausted gaze flickered between each formidable foe. Valor’s lip curled, golden eyes flashing with anger at the arrogance of these newcomers.
Blank’s grin—though hidden beneath the beak of his mask—was unmistakable in the way he straightened, rolling his shoulders with theatrical flair. He allowed his blade-arm to writhe and retract, the twisted flesh knitting back into a semblance of a normal limb. Then, with a mock-grandiose flourish, he gestured at Avarice and Viper, who stood to either side like eerie sentinels.
“Allow me to present my associates,” Blank said, voice laced with a taunting civility. The corridor’s flickering torchlight caught the black ichor dripping from his newly reformed arm. “Jackpot, please stand up. And do remember—cover your ears with your regalia.”
Still reeling from earlier blows, Jackpot bowed his head in compliance. “Y-yes, sir,” he murmured. With a subtle movement, blue scales spread around his head, encasing his ears in a protective shell of shimmering azure. Then, in smooth arcs of light, similar scale-like barriers formed over Avarice’s and Viper’s ears, shielding them as well from the Emperor’s deadly command.
Across the room, Valor caught Noah’s eye. His aura crackled with anticipation. “Noah, cover your ears.” The Emperor’s voice rang with an edge of command that brooked no refusal.
Noah’s stomach clenched. Whatever Valor planned was going to be devastating. He clapped his hands over his ears, bracing himself. Then, with an echoing resonance, Valor intoned, “Everyone, disappear.”
A wave of crimson-tinted energy burst outward from his core, and in an instant, every ally—blinked out of sight, teleported by the Emperor’s fearsome power. Only the Crows, Noah, and Valor remained, a chilling hush draping the corridor in foreboding.
Valor exhaled, posture loosening just slightly. “Good, now your comrades won’t be caught in the crossfire. I can fight without restraint.” His eyes gleamed with a predatory light. “O God Soul of War, I summon your wrath. Let me paint this chamber red with their blood, and carve these spineless wretches into dust.”
An ethereal crimson halo flickered to life above Valor’s head—a writhing centipede of glowing scarlet, looping in a gruesome circle. His golden hair paled to snowy white in a rush of power, each gemstone woven into his locks flaring like captured stars. Sinuous crimson markings veined across his exposed skin, two vivid lines descending his cheeks like warpaint.
Within his hand, a sword manifested in a blaze of red arcana. Its handle glowed as white as fresh snow, while the blade itself churned with a dark, blood-soaked aura, shaped like the segmented body of a centipede—flexible yet unyielding, a whip-sword dripping menace with every twist.
Valor Crest’s burning gold eyes flicked toward Avarice and lingered there, assessing the boy’s calm poise. “I must ask,” he said slowly, pointing at the young elf, “how are you even here? My barrier should prevent any being who has existed since the first apocalypse from entering.”
Avarice adjusted his dark blue robe with a casual air, but said nothing. Before Valor could press further, Blank gave a low chuckle from behind his plague doctor mask. “One of my companions has certain talents for bypassing restrictions,” he replied, his voice laced with amusement as he carefully read Valor’s lips. “But I’ve no intention of bringing you the one you seek.”
Valor’s lip curled in frustration, his nostrils flaring. “Annoying,” he sneered. “That bargaining chip is your only chance. Fine then—if I must, I’ll put my blade to Noah’s throat and force him to lead me to Lux.”
While Valor spoke, Blank’s hands moved in a flurry of silent gestures, his fingers splaying and snapping in a code understood only by his allies. Every subtle flick and twist carried an order.
Noah watched the interplay, eyes narrowing. “He’s using sign language,” he said quietly, keeping a hand over his mouth so Blank couldn’t read his lips. “He’s telling them to target you, Emperor. Something about fate not allowing me to die yet.”
Valor’s gaze slid to Noah, a hint of surprise visible. “You understand them?” he asked, likewise covering his mouth to prevent Blank’s lip-reading.
Noah nodded, voice hushed. “A man in my territory lost his hearing to a sound-based monster,” he explained. “I learned sign language so I could talk with him. It comes in handy.”
A ripple of disgust passed through Valor’s expression. “How revolting,” he murmured, his own mouth still shielded. “I refuse to believe one of my descendants stooped to learn something invented by that heretic, Sirius Blackwood.”
At this, Blank’s voice cut through the air with a mocking lilt. “What are you two whispering about? It’s rather rude to hide your mouths like that.” He spread his arms in a theatrical shrug, feigning a wounded tone. “I feel left out.”
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Noah dropped his hand, and with a spiteful look, flipped Blank off. “Go fuck yourself,” he snapped, his draconic eyes glinting with fury.
Blank tilted his head, letting out a mock sigh. “How uncouth. If only I hadn’t killed your parents—they could have taught you some manners.” Malice wove through every syllable.
“Noah, do try to dodge,” Valor warned, his voice resonating through the devastated corridor. “Because blocking is simply not an option for you. Ruler’s Arts: Ninth Fang—Dark Sun.”
He vaulted into the air, crimson horns glinting like malevolent stars. In an instant, every source of light in the chamber—torch flames, arcane glows, even the faint shimmer of Noah’s regalia—rushed toward Valor’s blade, vanishing into its gleaming length. Darkness fell hard, absolute and oppressive, leaving only the outline of Valor’s sword shining in the midnight void.
With a single, rapid swing, Valor unleashed a violent barrage of cutting arcs. Even in the blackness, streaks of invisible force carved the stone walls and shattered columns, spraying debris and dust.
Blank, caught mid-motion, was ripped apart—flesh, fabric, and black mist splattering across the floor. Yet his body regenerated in a grisly spectacle, knitting itself back together.
Jackpot conjured a swirling mass of blue scales, narrowly deflecting the brunt of the slashes. They sparked off his shimmering shield, leaving him gasping but unharmed.
Viper was cleaved into jagged chunks, only for his severed limbs to slither back into a viscous black slime, reforming around his crossbow with a bubbling hiss.
Avarice, standing with his looming staff, sidestepped the storm of blades in unnerving calm, each lethal slash whistling past his robe by the barest margin.
Noah tapped into Quick Step, lunging away from each deadly stroke with heart-pounding desperation. His ears thundered with the shriek of rending stone and metal.
Before anyone could catch their breath, Valor whipped around, targeting Avarice—the one whose power he deemed most dangerous. The sword-whip extending from his hand lashed through the darkness, each segment glinting with predatory hunger.
But as the blade arced around Avarice, a blue glow radiated from the young elf’s palm, followed by an eruption of translucent, ethereal chains. They snapped out lightning-fast, coiling around Valor’s whip-sword and locking tight with a resounding click, freezing the blade’s movement in midair.
Eyes narrowed behind his rectangular lenses, Avarice exhaled a calm, measured breath. His voice cut through the gloom like a well-honed blade.
“Your weapon is now under my control. Once the Keymaster has you locked…” he paused, letting the ominous note linger, “…you have no hope of escape.”
A low growl escaped Valor’s throat, eyes blazing. He released his whip-sword, leaving it dangling uselessly in Avarice’s ensnaring chains, and lunged forward with savage intent. Meanwhile, Noah chose that moment to close in on Jackpot, engaging him at point-blank range.
In a heartbeat, Noah’s Quick Step drove him across the dim corridor, ankles wreathed in faint pulses of mana. At the last second, he raised his sword, invoking “Annihilation,” and unleashed a barrage of slashes. Each swing came so swift it carved trails of light in the air. Jackpot, utterly calm, harnessed his regalia—blue, scale-like shields materialized around him in precise formations, clanging against each of Noah’s strikes and dispersing the impact with minimal fuss.
Across the battleground, Avarice lifted his tall staff in one hand. With the other, he summoned a small pebble out of thin air—an unimpressive stone that gleamed with latent power. When he launched it at Valor, it slammed into the Emperor’s chest, puncturing it with a neat, round hole. Though not immediately lethal, the impact snapped Valor’s torso back with a jolt.
Then, with a muted hum, Avarice lunged forward. A yellow glow flared from his palm—the second aspect of his Keymaster ability. If “Lock” locked the weapon in place, “Open” would open anything the user chose. The tiny puncture in Valor’s chest abruptly widened as though an invisible hand were wrenching it open. Flesh and bone sundered in the blink of an eye, and a horrified gasp strangled in Valor’s throat. He collapsed, the lethal wound leaving him no time even to voice his fury.
“One down,” Blank laughed from across the hall, mock applause lacing his tone, his plague doctor mask tilting with an air of smug approval.
But before the echo of Blank’s words faded, one of the hundreds of gemstones woven into Valor’s hair began to glow, pulsing crimson. It shattered without warning, a viscous red fluid spilling over Valor’s body. In an instant, the cavernous wound in his chest knit itself shut, re-formed muscles and bone snapping back into place like a puzzle. A sickly hush swept the chamber, broken only by the slow, rasping breath Valor took as he stood up, very much alive.
He blinked once, visibly startled at his own resurrection, and then a macabre smile spread across his lips.
“Impressive.” His voice dripped with malice, every syllable vibrating with renewed menace. “I haven’t died since my daughter Aria killed me once or thrice.’”
The overhead flames crackled, flickering across Valor’s now-whole chest. “But killing me is only the first step.” He flicked a stray droplet of blood from his clothes. “Are you ready to do it…” He paused for effect, his eyes glinting with sadistic glee. “…one hundred more times?”
“What a nuisance,” the signs conveyed. “We can’t kill Noah because Lux’s ability protects the hero from an untimely death. Now we also can’t kill the damn Emperor—those gems keep reviving him.”
Viper, standing nearby with a crossbow still clutched in his hand, glanced from behind his gas mask and signaled back. “Should we just leave, sir? This is more trouble than it’s worth.”
Blank nodded once, flexing the twisted flesh of his re-formed arm. “Yes, indeed. A retreat is wise. We can’t properly finish him off yet, and it’s growing too risky.”
A short distance away, Noah noticed the silent exchange—Blank’s hands moving in cryptic shapes, Viper’s acknowledging nods. He murmured, half to himself, half to Valor, “They’re planning to escape.”
Blank caught the faint words and turned with a mocking tilt of his head. “You can’t possibly stop us from leaving,” he said aloud. Behind him, a swirling, dark portal yawned open, thick ribbons of black smoke dancing at its threshold.
Viper stepped back first, crossbow ready, but no longer firing. Jackpot followed, azure scales still glistening over his ears, protecting him from Valor’s voice. Avarice took a final, cool look at the heroes before slipping through the gate, staff at his side. Lastly, Blank offered a sarcastic, courtly bow, as though parting from a grand spectacle.
“Goodbye, young hero,” he said softly, his voice laced with amusement. “We shall soon meet again.” A swirl of black smoke swallowed him as he stepped through, and in the next instant, the portal closed, leaving behind only a fading echo of malevolent laughter.
“Till next time, I suppose,” Valor muttered, a scowl furrowing his features. He exhaled, and with a curt wave, intoned, “Reappear, all of you.”
In a surge of momentary brightness, every missing ally—Medusa, Lucy, Cyrus, and Ava—blinked back into the throne room. Most lay sprawled on the crumbling floor, exhausted and battered from the skirmishes.
“Today has been such a pain,” Valor remarked wearily, shaking stray dust from his ornate attire. “Now I suppose I should deal with you sacks of filth.” He said it casually, yet a lethal edge colored every syllable.
A wary tremor went through Noah. “What do you mean? What are you planning?” he asked, mustering a steadiness he didn’t fully feel.
Valor’s eyes bored into him, the horns curling from his head pulsing with faint light. “Multiple Helheim elites are trespassing here. Even that worthless witch who married the seventh apocalypse… they’re not permitted on my land. This… breaks our agreement,” he said, voice dripping with disdain.
Noah’s grip tightened on his sword. “You can’t do that!” he protested, leveling his blade at the Emperor. Anger blazed in his eyes. He glimpsed his friends behind him, many too weak to stand, bruised and panting. “Don’t you dare hurt them.”
A faint, mocking smile tugged at Valor’s lips. “Oh, you’re stepping up, little hero. How… charming. So tell me, why shouldn’t I strike them all down right now?”
Noah’s jaw clenched, fury seething in his voice. “If you kill them, I’ll make damned sure you never meet Lux. He won’t help you with anything. I’ll see to that personally.”
For a heartbeat, Valor’s stare turned lethal. He inhaled sharply, a twisted snarl forming on his lips. “Kill yourself,” he ordered, the command reverberating in the torchlit silence.
Noah’s eyes widened, terror overriding reason. In an instant, he lost control of his limbs. He raised his sword to his own neck and, with horrifying inevitability, slashed across his throat. A wet choke escaped his lips as he collapsed, life spilling out in dark, scarlet rivulets.
“Damn it,” Valor hissed, catching himself in a moment of regret. “I still need the brat alive, I must control my temper.” With a curt motion, he withdrew a gleaming gemstone from his hair. It shattered in his palm, unleashing a viscous crimson liquid that oozed over Noah’s body. In seconds, the ghastly wound sealed itself. Noah jerked upright with a gasp, eyes darting wildly in shock.
Valor scowled, dismissing the sight with a flick of his fingers. “Very well, brat. I’ll let them live. But you will bring me to Lux or I’ll murder your precious fiancée—and the rest of them—without hesitation.”
Still panting, Noah pressed a trembling hand to his restored throat. “Fine… you bastard,” he rasped, “I’ll do it.”
Then, with sword in hand, he limped over to Medusa, who watched him with hollow despair from her place on the floor. He gently brought his blade near one of the serpents in her hair. “I’ll lie and say I killed you,” he murmured under his breath. “Stay with your family. Stay hidden.” A swift motion severed the snake, leaving a cleanly cut trophy that Noah wrapped in cloth—a false proof of death.
Medusa’s voice caught in her throat. “Th-thank you,” she whispered, eyes brimming with something akin to relief. Nearby, Cyrus looked on, voice trembling with gratitude: “Thank you, truly… Thank you for everything.”
Steeling himself, Cyrus then asked, “Mom, I need your help—the Black Book. I have to save my brother, Inari.”
Medusa swallowed, nodding through her ragged breathing. “Y-yes, I have it. Here.” From the air, she summoned a tattered tome, its cover etched with ominous runes, and handed it to her son.
Valor watched the exchange with a bored sneer. “Enough,” he declared, an edge of impatience in his tone. “You three, if I see you on my land again, I’ll show no mercy. Now begone, mongrels.”
In a final flash of twisted energy, he teleported Medusa, Cyrus, and the others away, leaving only a handful of battered allies behind. Ava, finally free to move, rushed to Noah’s side, eyes misting with concern. She laid a gentle hand on his bruised cheek, checking for wounds.
“Well, let us leave this shithole,” Valor announced, his words dripping with disdain as he turned on his heel. The sharp tap of his boots echoed across the fractured marble floor, the crimson centipede-halo still pulsing faintly above his horns. With a slow, callous sweep of his gaze, he took in the battered chamber—broken pillars, ragged banners, and the lingering tang of blood and dust. Then his eyes settled on Noah, an unsettling glint flickering there.
“Remember,” he said, voice dropping to a low, lethal calm, “break our agreement, and I will kill her. Painfully.” The unspoken name of Ava hung in the charged air like a death sentence waiting to be carried out.
Noah felt Ava stiffen at his side, her hand finding his in a silent plea for reassurance. Her heart hammered against his arm, and her wide eyes darted to his face—searching for any trace of hesitation. Instead, she found only the steeled determination he’d carried ever since she first met him.
Valor offered no further words, only a curt gesture, signaling for them both to follow. The hallway lay before them like a guillotine’s path, each step thick with the weight of threatened lives and unspoken grudges. Torchlight licked at the walls, revealing cracks and shadows that stretched ominously in the Emperor’s wake. And as Noah and Ava moved behind him, the hush of the ruined stronghold seemed almost to breathe, bracing itself for whatever cataclysm might come next.