On a distant planet far from Infernia’s solar system, in an apocalyptic world where lilac lightning thrashed unceasingly, and magma spewed fiercely into the turbid skies, a thick blanket of residue blocked out the sun, enshrouding the lands beneath in perpetual darkness. Amidst the chaotic landscape, a bustling civilization thrived. Blackened towers, constructed from heat and burn-resistant materials, rose from the magma sea, each tower connected by a dense matrix of clear, chain-like tubes. Creatures of varying races frequently moved through these tubes, traveling alone or in pairs, never exceeding groups of six.
In one of the many towers, within a minimally furnished room, a hulking human man slowly sharpened a butcher’s knife, his gaze fixed on the wall. Tens of hundreds, if not thousands, of teeth were neatly glued to the glistening white surface. Sweat dripped from the man's naked body, and the only sound in the room was the rhythmic grinding of the blade against the sharpening tool.
“Will you accept the mission?” a voice echoed from behind. A humanoid figure with a jaguar-like head, dressed in a smart-fitting suit, stood with both hands behind its back. The humanoid stared impassively at the man, awaiting his decision.
The grinding continued, the monotonous echoes filling the room. The humanoid took a step forward, and then the grinding stopped, but the man’s guttural voice followed. “If you take another step forward, you will be added to my collection. I don’t care if you’re an examiner or whatever,” he declared.
The examiner paused, frowning. He took a step backward, returning to his previous location, and the grinding resumed. However, the displeasure on the examiner’s face was clear.
This is why I didn’t want to come to this rotten place. Low lives like this actually think they can best me? The corners of the examiner’s lips twitched as his thoughts raced.
“This will be the last time I repeat myself,” the examiner began, taking a deep breath. “Should you choose to accept this mission, you will be bestowed the right to leave this prison, but you must serve the council until your last breath,” he declared.
The man continued his monotonous task, seemingly oblivious to the examiner's words. The examiner reached into his inner pocket, retrieving a parchment. Without warning, he threw it, embedding it into the wall, obliterating several teeth in the process. The repetitive echoes ceased. The man raised his head, staring at the parchment, which had ruined his prized collection. There was neither anger on his scarred face nor resentment in his weary eyes. He stared at the parchment, which only had three words written on its surface, and the lights in the man’s eyes slowly brightened, emotion returning to his pale face. The knife and grinding stone fell to the floor with a clank, and the man stood up. At that same moment, flames engulfed the parchment.
The examiner smiled, staring at the man. If I had known this would work, I would have started with this. What exactly was written on that thing? he thought to himself. “So, what will—huh?” The examiner paused, his visage stern. The man had disappeared, along with the knife. A familiar cold pressed against the examiner's neck, and a chilling voice echoed from behind. “Where is he?”
“You know what to do if you want to find him,” the examiner said coolly.
“Is that so,” the man muttered. “Alright then, I accept the mission,” he declared.
The examiner smiled despite the knife pressed against his neck. “I will make preparations for the—”
The man interrupted before the examiner could finish his statement. “It took me more than four hundred years to collect what you destroyed.”
“What?” the examiner quizzed, his gaze instinctively shifting toward the shattered spot on the wall. “You can’t be serious. Who cares about some random—"
“I will take your life as compensation,” the man interrupted once more, pressing the knife firmly against the examiner’s neck. At that same moment, massive snow-white chains, securely embedded into the walls, wrapped around the man’s arms, legs, and neck, tightening rapidly. The man’s hulking muscles trembled, but he didn’t drop the knife. The rattling of chains echoed within the room as he struggled against his shackles. The examiner stood rooted, shuddering slightly, fists balled.
“How dare you?!” the examiner roared, his voice shaking the entire tower as his form expanded into a bestial form, several times larger than the man's.
A dozen wardens appeared instantly, and several chains bound the examiner, but they shattered as quickly as they formed.
“You insignificant rat, you dare threaten me?” the examiner bellowed, ignoring the presence of the wardens. He raised his fist, launching a powerful blow toward the man’s skull, who stared back defiantly. The punch traveled with lightning speed, aimed at the man's nose. Should it connect, the man's head would be obliterated. But just inches from the prisoner’s head, a golden portal appeared, sucking in the examiner’s fist, and then his body followed.
“I will not permit any disturbance within my prison,” a melodious voice declared warmly. “Prepare prisoner 689-k-23, Armando Arturo Costa, for release.”
The chains binding Costa retracted from the walls, congregating in front of the wardens. Then another portal manifested, and a warden projected its voice. “Please come with us.”
Costa did not resist; instead, he smiled, even laughed. “Eidolon of Envy, huh?” he muttered, a bloodthirsty gleam in his eyes as he chuckled. “I can’t wait.”
The wardens and Costa exited the room, leaving a heavy silence in their wake.
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Meanwhile, on Infernia, days stretched longer than most nights. Calamities and champions alike continued their confrontations, each vying to complete their own objectives. Occasionally, named calamities would appear, wreaking havoc and leaving behind a trail of corpses too numerous to count.
You have defended your area for a minimum of 90 days! Mission Completed! 10 years have been deducted from your current sentence! You have slain 86 champions during the last 90 days! 86 years have been deducted from your current sentence! You succeeded in taking over 1 area! 4 years have been deducted from your current sentence! You may choose to remain on Infernia and defend your assigned area for a further 108 days, and you will be rewarded with a 50-year deduction in your sentence! Do you wish to continue defending your area? Yes. No.
The shadow of a plant stirred, expanding at a frightening pace. In a flash, it expelled six figures. Five lay on the ground, writhing and mumbling incoherent words, while Scott stared at the system message impassively.
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He observed his surroundings, noting that the cactus field remained intact. It seems no battle occurred here during our absence, he thought. Soon, he noticed several sword marks on some plants, a sign that someone had attempted to clear the path. Scott averted his gaze from the surroundings, turning toward his companions who still lay on the ground.
It wasn’t easy, but I was able to stop their bodies from disintegrating. The Imprint of Madness helped them maintain their sanity, Scott thought, assessing his companions. Apart from a few disintegrated sections of clothes, they suffered no obvious harm. Mentally, however, they were far from alright. Trapped in the darkness and deprived of their senses for months, the prisoners felt a sensory overload unlike anything they had ever experienced.
Scott shifted his focus, contemplating the eldritch abominations he had left behind. A whirlwind of fresh memories flooded his mind, and Scott smiled.
“Several of them were dispatched by the Calamities of Ice and Torture. Are they working together?” Scott muttered softly. Most of the eldritch summons were ambushed and gruesomely killed by the named calamities, to the extent that it became something of a sport. However, the most surprising information Scott had received was that his summons and Orion’s clones had clashed several times, both factions bitterly eliminating each other despite knowing their allegiances. Even more surprising was that the singular area they were said to have taken over was done accidentally. The clones and summons had engaged in another massive brawl, which spiraled out of control to the extent that calamities guarding an area and the champions besieging it were drawn into the mix. The ruthless massacre ended in total annihilation, as the Calamity of Torture discovered the battlefield.
Scott chuckled as more information flowed into his mind, casting a glance at Orion, curious if the mage had received the same updates. His attention shifted back to the system notifications. Even in this situation, the system still recognizes Zara as the party leader, he mused. Maybe I should try waking them up.
Scott took a step forward but suddenly paused, his gaze narrowing westward as he stared at the towering plants in the distance. The faint echoes of the howling winds were the only sounds, but Scott's eyes remained focused on the same spot.
Minutes passed in silence until footsteps echoed, accompanied by occasional mumbled chatter. A ten-man party, humans, approached through the cactus field, their faces alight with smiles as they shared humorous chatter. Clad in metal armor with a blackened sheen, each bore a great sword at their waist. Some held helmets under their arms, while others were fully armored. The leader, a blonde, muscular figure with a scar across his face, was the most animated, laughing heartily and roughhousing with his companions.
“She was begging me to stop, but I kept going,” the man boasted, his laughter resonating with his comrades. “No random bitch is going to tell me how to use my items—” his words trailed off as he halted, his companions following suit. Their attention fixed on the solitary figure standing ahead. They noticed five others lying on the ground around him. The champions couldn’t tear their eyes away from Scott, who wore simple clothing and bore no visible weapon.
“Who the hell is that wanker?” one champion muttered, glaring at Scott. An inexplicable dislike surged within him. “Ross, should we take care of him?” he asked, turning to their leader.
Silence hung in the air as Ross continued to stare at Scott. His keen eyesight discerned something unsettling in Scott’s gaze—eyes that seemed to belong neither to men nor demons, eyes that instilled a primal fear.
“Ross, what’s wrong with you? Should we take him out?” another man prodded, tapping Ross's shoulder.
Ross snapped out of his trance. “That guy reeks of danger. I don’t think we should approach him. For all we know, it could be a trap,” he said, not taking his eyes off Scott. The champions frowned, reconsidering their approach.
“Then let’s get the hell out of here,” another man suggested.
Cautiously, the champions retreated, keeping their eyes on Scott as they swiftly moved away, vanishing behind the thick forest of cacti.
“Those guys are sharper than I thought,” Scott chuckled, noting their unexpected retreat. Not one to pursue trouble unnecessarily, Scott had no intention of following them. He turned his focus back to his companions, reaching toward Orion. Suddenly, a new system window appeared, displaying a blackened screen with runic words in white. Scott narrowed his gaze, watching as the screen deciphered into readable text.
You have absorbed the essence of the beings deposited into the Nihilistic Zone! Physical Stats: Strength, Endurance, Toughness have increased by 10!
Visbos, the Mad Titan, is enraged!
The skies above Infernia darkened ominously as a colossal, world-ending behemoth projected itself from the cosmos, its presence threatening to annihilate the galaxy itself.
The administrator sternly warns Visbos to remain calm! The Council of Gods rebuke Visbos for causing another incident!
The strange distortion in the heavens vanished, and Infernia’s ominous skies returned to their usual state. Scott, however, stared at the normal system panel beside the blackened variant, a hint of a smile on his face. His gaze alternated between the two panels, and his smile grew wider until he let out an eerie laugh. He knew the reason his stats had suddenly increased was due to the titans he trapped in the nihilistic zone during the ranking games. Still, he never expected their disintegration would benefit him. A sadistic smile soon graced Scott’s face, knowing that he had also sent the corpse of the slain guardian of the hidden path into the nihilistic zone. He wondered how much more his abilities would improve once it disintegrated.
“Ugh… my head,” Zara groaned softly, sitting up. “We’re out?” she muttered, shielding her eyes with one hand. She noticed the familiar system panel in front of her and turned to see her companions still lying on the ground.
“Scott, how long have we been out?” she asked, her voice weary.
“Less than thirty minutes,” Scott replied, approaching the brawler. “We’ve completed the mission. But the system is asking if we’d like to stay here for another 180 days—”
“Like hell we would,” Zara snapped, seemingly rousing from her drowsiness. She quickly scanned the notification and clicked [No].
You have refused to continue defending Area D-15! A new mission has been assigned! Good luck!
Mana cocoons enveloped the hound extermination crew, instantly shooting them toward the skies. Scott, still conscious, noticed a lone figure in the distance—the Calamity of Inquisition, waving at their rapidly departing cocoons. Beside him was a message spelled out using the corpses of slain champions, calamities, and the indigenous creatures of the planet. It read, "Survive."