The warehouse reeked of salt, blood, and rot. Shadows clung to the walls, dripping onto the floorboards like a slow, malevolent heartbeat. Water fell from holes in the ceiling, plinking against scattered debris, creating a rhythm that marked the countdown to carnage. Leornars stood in the center, crimson eyes smoldering, black steam curling from his mouth in erratic wisps. Across from him, the leader of the Black Acers stepped forward, each step deliberate, the cigar in his teeth glowing faintly in the dim light. His scarred grin stretched unnaturally, promising violence with each exhaled puff of smoke.
"Heh… so this is the White Plague?" His voice was low and rough, carrying a mocking cadence. "Legends, tales of unstoppable monsters… and I see a runt. Soft. Fragile. Pathetic."
Leornars did not flinch. Not a twitch, not a blink. His lips twitched only slightly, the precursor to the storm within.
"You know what I see when I look at you?" the leader continued, circling him. "Not a monster. Not a myth. Just a broken toy someone threw away. A slave who thinks he's free."
The word slave stabbed at Leornars' mind, and the edges of the warehouse blurred. The leader's face multiplied into dozens of pale, expressionless masks—the men who had tortured him for nine endless years. White coats gleamed under lights that no longer existed. Scalpel glints flashed in his vision. Gloved hands pinned him down.
"Hold him still."
"Increase the voltage."
"We'll break him eventually."
The acrid smell of burning flesh filled his lungs. Restraints bit into his wrists and ankles. The hum of generators, the hiss of heated blades, the screams of memories long buried—they all surged back at once. His childhood, his innocence, obliterated by steel, flame, and cruelty.
> You are nothing.
You will break.
Your soul is mine.
The leader's voice cut through it all.
"Snap out of it, boy!"
A knee slammed into Leornars' gut. Air was torn violently from his lungs. Blood spattered his lips as he coughed, tasting iron and bile. A fist smashed into his jaw, rattling his teeth, followed by a blade slicing across his chest, hot and precise. A boot crushed into his ribs. Something snapped inside him. He hit the floor, lungs ragged, yet refused to bow completely.
"This is the White Plague?" the leader taunted, dragging him upright by the collar. "You're nothing but a slave with a big mouth!"
Leornars' lips curled. A low, jagged chuckle escaped his throat, echoing off the walls, unnatural and feral. The leader froze, sensing the shift.
Crimson eyes flared. "Thanks for that," Leornars rasped, voice broken but terrifying. "I needed to clear my head."
Before the leader could react, Leornars moved faster than thought. Vice leader's head slammed into the floor with a sickening crack. Blood sprayed as a dagger pierced his skull.
"Now the trash is out of the way," Leornars spat.
The Acer captain's jaw clenched. He yanked a lever, and the wall groaned open. Zaryter Daternmum hung nailed upright, bloodied and barely alive.
"This demi-human thought he could betray me," the leader sneered. "I knew his aura had changed. I tortured him, threatened his sister… he told me everything—your village, the Dryiand, your contracts—"
A fist smashed into his face, sending him flying across the warehouse with bone-crunching force. He slammed into a support beam, shattering wood and cartilage alike.
Leornars moved like a storm, black silk threads wrapping, slicing, and constricting, shoving bystanders aside. Flames erupted from scattered barrels, devouring debris and turning the warehouse into a burning hell. The Acer flailed, casting spells and conjuring black chains. Each attempt to strike back was countered, torn apart, or broken entirely by Leornars' speed and fury.
The Acer leader's smirk wavered. "You… you're not human. Some… some abomination!"
"Abomination? Maybe," Leornars hissed through bloodied teeth, voice ragged but terrifying. "But I survived what you could never imagine. I live through pain you can't comprehend!"
Chains whipped, black and heavy, tearing at his skin, but Leornars moved with inhuman precision. He took the chains in his hands and snapped them, shards of dark mana scattering into sparks. Each movement was fluid, violent, lethal.
The leader attempted a talisman, magic coiling and sizzling at his fingers. A burst of 45,000-degree Celsius fire erupted, blasting into Leornars' face. Smoke and searing heat consumed him, yet he emerged from the cloud, skin charred, face mutilated, but eyes burning crimson, unbroken.
"Is that all you've got?" he asked coldly. "Or is there more?"
The Acer fell to his knees, fear overtaking malice. "You… tanked a solar flare… What… what are you?"
"You think submission will save you?" Leornars snarled. "You're wrong."
Bellian appeared above, slamming a sheath across the Acer's back. Leornars moved with lightning precision, splitting the leader's throat and body cleanly in two. Blood erupted, spraying across walls, floors, and ceilings.
Stacian appeared, hands glowing as she healed civilians and Zaryter, mending wounds that would have killed lesser men. Leornars, knees trembling slightly, let a long, ragged breath escape, blood still dripping freely from multiple wounds.
The warehouse lay in ruins. Fire licked at splintered beams. Smoke choked the air. Civilians were scattered, some sobbing, some staring blankly at the carnage. The Black Acers lay defeated.
Leornars smirked, crimson eyes slowly dimming. Black steam curled faintly from his mouth. Nine years of torment, nine years of rage, and every shred of his broken sanity had fused into a storm, leaving him standing unbroken.
Stacian held him, murmuring, "He was able to beat a B-rank… yet he's a C-rank. How… impressive."
Leornars allowed himself a brief, feral grin. "I survived your pain. I survived your world. And I will survive whatever comes next."