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Chapter 32 - Before the Bad Death

A long, strained creak pierced the suffocating silence of the ruined base. It wasn't the kind of sound that echoed casually. No, this one slithered — dragging itself through the thick, musty air, scraping against the ears of everyone like a warning from the depths of something ancient.

Ice still held Noct in a tight choke, his grip fueled by righteous fury. The veins in his arm bulged, his knuckles pale, but Noct's expression did not change. His head was tilted slightly, lips curled into that ever-persistent grin. Even as his breath became shallower, his confidence did not wither.

A cold tension blanketed the room, thick enough to be tasted. The kind of atmosphere where even the bravest hesitated to breathe too loudly, afraid it might wake something worse.

Zixuan, with the demeanor of a man who'd buried too many comrades to count, turned his gaze slowly toward the hallway from which the sound had come. His expression remained unreadable, the corners of his eyes taut, his voice a calm blade.

"Advik," he murmured, not raising his tone. "Check what that sound was."

Advik nodded silently, his movements light but cautious. Each footstep landed without sound, as though he walked on glass. The hallway was dark — not pitch black, but dim enough to blur the edges of perception. The kind of darkness that made you feel like something watched from every corner.

And then…

He saw it.

A flicker.

A shadow dancing along the wall. A silhouette of a man, unmoving yet shifting — like a memory trying to claw its way back into the present.

Advik squinted. He took another step forward.

But before he could fully register what he saw—

The figure vanished.

And appeared behind him.

There was no wind. No footsteps. No change in the pressure of the air.

Just a presence — ancient, silent, terrifying.

Advik froze. The hair on his arms rose. His breath caught in his throat.

And then—he felt it. The cold steel of presence behind him. A voice, soft but heavy, spoke into the thick silence.

"Why are you here?"

It was not the voice of a man begging for answers.

It was the voice of a predator, confused only by the audacity of his prey.

Advik slowly turned his head, catching the fall of a single golden hair, drifting like ash from a dying flame.

He chuckled, forced but firm, and met the stranger's eyes.

"To sacrifice you to the gods, because you're unworthy."

The man smiled.

There was something broken in that smile.

Something… off.

"Oh..." he whispered. "I guess it's time I have some fun, too."

Advik steadied his stance.

"I also want the fun… Unmoving Blade. Or shall I say... Spindle."

The man's smile widened.

Then, without warning, Spindle moved.

He leapt, not upward, not forward, but into the air in a way that defied logic. His feet didn't touch the ground. He floated—no—hovered, as if the laws of reality refused to bind him.

And then—

Crack!

A kick landed square in Advik's chest. So fast. So heavy. It lifted him off his feet and sent him crashing across the floor. His body tumbled in the air before skidding to a stop just before Zixuan, coughing up blood and silence.

Footsteps echoed again.

Spindle emerged fully from the darkness, dusting off his hands like he had simply taken out the trash. His eyes drifted lazily across the group.

"There are more of you," he observed, voice calm, even friendly. "How exciting."

Noct, still half-choked and smirking, began to laugh. A sound that didn't fit the situation—a sound too joyful, too filled with glee.

"Pray to the gods' mercy," he rasped.

"That you don't die a bad death today."

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