The soul within Hubertus’ chest flickered and dimmed before vanishing entirely. A faint warmth lingered in its absence, but it was fleeting, like the last ember of a dying fire. He felt the subtle shift, the tug deep within him—his first purchase was complete.

It wasn’t an ordinary transaction. His blood, given to the Office Lady during registration, had tied him to the system, connecting him to the Abyss’ vast, writhing hive of souls and power. He could feel it now—a pulsating, living network, stretching across dimensions. Each soul he claimed, each deal he made, would ripple through that hive, adding to the collective chaos that fueled the Abyss.

I’m part of it now, he thought, a mix of trepidation and exhilaration tightening his grip on his claws.

The soul he had offered wasn’t merely gone. It had been sent—to Him. The Overlord of the Abyss. A being so ancient and unfathomable, its very existence defied comprehension. It was said to be as dark as time itself, a shadow that stretched beyond eternity, yet always teetering on the brink of its own end.

Hubertus felt the weight of that presence now. Not near, but watching. Waiting.

So this is what it means to serve, he thought grimly. The faint hum of the hive seemed to echo in his ears, a constant reminder of the path he had chosen—or perhaps, the one chosen for him.

For the first time since his transformation, Hubertus felt the crushing reality of his situation: every soul he harvested, every deal he forged, wasn’t just for him. It was a tribute to something far greater, and far darker, than he had ever imagined.

The emptiness within Hubertus weighed heavy, like a void consuming him from the inside out. The absence of his harvested soul was more than just a physical loss; it was a gnawing hollowness that left him questioning if he’d made the right deal.

Had he traded too much for too little?

But this wasn’t the time to doubt. This was the time to prove himself.

From deep within, a dark force stirred, rumbling like a storm in his chest. His body tensed as the void where his heart had once been was suddenly filled—not with warmth, but with a suffocating, ancient power. Tendrils of shadow spiraled outward, snaking through his veins and clawing at the edges of his mind. They whispered secrets in a language he didn’t recognize, yet somehow understood.

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The Overlord.

He could feel it—no, Him—reaching out. A presence as vast and unfathomable as eternity itself. It didn’t speak in words, but its intent was clear.

Prove yourself, vessel. Show that you are worthy of My power.

The shadows twisted and coiled around Hubertus, then surged outward, filling the cathedral with an oppressive darkness. The room seemed to bend under the weight of it, the air thick with a suffocating presence that drowned out even the flickering candlelight.

The Demon of the Order, his smug confidence replaced with wide-eyed terror, stumbled back. “What… what are you doing?!”

Hubertus didn’t answer. He couldn’t. The Overlord’s power moved through him like a tempest, unstoppable and unrelenting.

The dark tendrils surged forward, latching onto the demon and holding him in place. The demon thrashed, but the shadows only tightened, their grip unyielding.

Then, they struck.

The tendrils pierced the demon’s chest, burrowing deep into the place where his heart should have been. A guttural scream tore from his throat as the darkness within him was drawn out, forced into the open. The tendrils didn’t stop there—they filled the void they had created with a burning, blinding light.

“What… what is this?!” the demon howled, his voice laced with agony. His body convulsed as the light consumed him, turning his once-dark form into a searing beacon.

The transformation was violent. The light burned through him from the inside out, illuminating every dark corner of his being until there was nothing left but ash.

The priest wasn’t spared either. A single, flickering tendril lashed out, shooting straight into his gaping mouth. He tried to scream, but the shadow choked him, muffling his cries as it slithered deeper, dragging out his corrupted essence. His eyes rolled back, his body convulsing as the Overlord’s power silenced him forever.

And then, silence.

The oppressive darkness dissipated as quickly as it had come, leaving the cathedral eerily quiet. The altar, the pews, even the air itself seemed scorched by the intensity of what had just transpired.

Hubertus stood in the center of the chaos, his body trembling. The force that had filled him was gone now, leaving behind only emptiness. He clutched his chest, his breath ragged.

It was over.

Or was it?

He stared at the ashes where the demon and priest had stood moments before. The Overlord’s power had done this. He had been a mere vessel—a tool in the hands of something far greater.

The emptiness returned, sharper and heavier than before. Hubertus looked at his hands, stained with the remnants of power he could barely comprehend.