The silence following the explosion at The Crucible was more deafening than the loudest cheers. Hundreds of eyes were fixed on one point: the gaunt, cloaked figure standing unscathed in the newly formed crater, across from the charred body of the reigning champion.
The Orc announcer, usually loud and brash, swallowed hard this time. He raised his small gong with a slightly trembling hand.
"The... winner," his voice rasped, "is... the challenger... Nihil!"
The title now felt real. Official.
Nihil paid no mind to the stares. He walked calmly to the committee's table where the betting pouches were collected. The committee member, a pot-bellied man with a slick face, hastily pushed a heavily laden leather pouch toward him. It contained not only his entry fee but also the entire betting pool for Kaelen's victory. The amount was enough to live comfortably for months in The Undercroft. This was his first significant resource.
As he took the heavy pouch, the crowd around him began to stir. But this time, they did not approach to challenge. They approached with desperation.
"Sir Ghost... Sir Nihil!" called a middle-aged man, showing a black magical mark creeping up his arm. "This curse... from a cursed loan shark. Can you erase it? I'll pay you anything!"
"My child," a woman wept, clutching a locket that emitted a cold aura. "A restless spirit is trapped inside. He cannot rest. Please..."
One by one, people began to step forward, pleading, offering their meager coins for a miracle. Heze's plan to test his skills had succeeded beyond expectations. He not only gained attention but became a beacon of hope for the desperate. And being a beacon was the fastest way to attract both moths and predators.
This was too much. Too soon.
Without uttering a word, Nihil pulled his hood tighter, clutched the pouch of coins, and began to walk away. He gently but firmly pushed through the crowd, his cold aura instinctively clearing a path. He needed to vanish before another kind of attention—one that brought swords and spells—found him.
At the Umbra Venari safe house, Tarek Mornhall slammed his remaining fist onto the wooden table, cracking it. A new informant had just finished breathlessly recounting what happened at The Crucible.
"Absorbed fire magic... then fired it back?" Tarek growled, his face pale with rage and pain. "He made a fool of Kaelen the Firebrand like a child."
His lieutenant regarded him anxiously. "Boss, this changes everything. He's no longer in hiding. He's building a reputation, a power base. We can't just raid him in public now. He's become some kind of folk hero to the scum in the Undercroft."
Tarek knew his lieutenant was right. His plan to set a trap now seemed foolish. Nihil wouldn't take the bait if he could get better fights and pay in the open arena. Attacking him in public would spark riots and expose their entire operation.
"That boy..." Tarek whispered, his sharp eyes blazing with pure hatred. "He's not playing by our rules. He's not following the prey's pattern. He's writing his own rules."
He took a deep breath, suppressing the pain in his missing arm. Brute force wouldn't work. Simple traps wouldn't work. He needed something more cunning. Something more personal.
"Contact The Silencer again," he ordered. "Tell him our methods aren't enough. We need specialized assets. Not hunters, not mages. I need an alchemist skilled in undetectable poisons. Or a shadow assassin who can strike without a trace. Tell him cost is no object."
Tarek leaned back, his mind racing. If he couldn't catch the wolf in the open forest, he'd poison its drink when it returned to its den.
Above the city, aboard "The Undercroft," Elara Moonveil watched the replay of the scrying orb with an irrepressible smile.
"Amazing," she said, more to herself than to her assistant. "Look at the pattern. He absorbed the weaker projectile energy first, stored it. He dodged the weaker barrage, conserving his energy. Then he baited the concentrated final attack."
She paused the image as Nihil released the first fireball to disrupt Kaelen's balance. "And this... this is genius. He didn't just rely on raw power. He used a distraction tactic to ensure the absorption of the main attack succeeded. This isn't instinct. This is calculation. This is the mind of a strategist within a cosmic anomaly."
Her analysis of the "Paradox Mirror" went deeper. "This isn't just reflection. It's absorption, temporary storage, and controlled release. He doesn't just steal his opponent's power; he turns it into his own ammunition. And he does it with a capacity of energy that appears extremely limited. His efficiency... is terrifying."
Elara turned off the holographic screen. Trying to forcibly capture a creature like that was folly. It would only make him an enemy, and she would lose the chance to learn.
"He has no friends," she thought aloud. "His family wants him dead or back in chains. The hunters want money and vengeance. The people down there want to exploit him. No one offers what he truly needs."
"And what is that, Miss Elara?" her assistant asked.
Elara gazed at the city map on her screen. "Knowledge," she replied. "Answers. Understanding of who and what he is. We can be the first to offer that."
She began to draft a message in her mind. Not a threat. Not a request. But an invitation for a conversation between two brilliant minds.
That night, Nihil returned to Thorek's underground forge. The place now felt like the only anchor in his chaotic world. The Dwarf was working, forging a large sword, sweat dampening his beard. He didn't even glance up as Nihil entered.
"I've heard the stories," Thorek growled without stopping his hammer swings. "The entire Undercroft is talking about you. The 'Red Ghost' who erased the 'Firebrand.'"
Nihil didn't respond. He walked over to the anvil and dropped the heavy, coin-filled leather pouch onto it with a loud clang.
Thorek stopped. He looked at the pouch, then at Nihil. "What's this?"
"Payment for the trouble," Nihil replied succinctly.
The Dwarf wiped his sooty hands on his pants, then opened the pouch. His eyes widened slightly at the amount of gold and silver coins inside. He took about a third of it, a substantial sum, and pushed the rest back toward Nihil.
"This is for a week's rent," Thorek said, his tone still rough but with a slight change. "And to make me forget you were ever here if anyone asks. After that, you find your own nest. Don't bring bigger problems to my forge."
Nihil simply nodded. A deal had been struck. He now had a secure base of operations for at least a week, and more than enough funds to finance his next steps.
He sat in his usual corner, the warmth of the forge pleasant. He began to plan. The victory at The Crucible was a display of power, a calling card he'd thrown into the underworld. Now it was time to use that reputation. He needed to revisit The Weaver, but not as a desperate refugee. He would come as a serious client, a new player seeking information on House Nocturne's movements, the internal structure of Umbra Venari, and most importantly, the mysterious third faction watching him.
He also recalled a name from the original Nihil's journal—the Cult of Nullity. A group that worshipped nothingness. They might have answers, or they might be a greater danger. They were his next priority for investigation.
His planning was interrupted when Thorek suddenly stopped working. The Dwarf stood upright, head tilted slightly, listening to something Nihil couldn't hear.
"Wait, lad," Thorek growled softly, reaching for his war hammer. "There's someone outside. At the main sewer entrance to this cave. They're not trying to sneak in. They're alone."
Nihil immediately became alert, his body tensing. This wasn't the style of Umbra Venari, who would stage an ambush. Nor was it the work of a hired assassin from his family, who would move in the shadows.
"They say," Thorek continued, his sharp eyes fixed on Nihil, "they won't enter without permission. They just want to deliver a letter."
Thorek walked to the dark entrance of the cave and shouted, "Letter for whom?"
A calm, clear female voice answered from the tunnel's darkness. The voice seemed out of place in this filthy environment.
"For Mr. Nihil."
Nihil froze. This was a move from the third faction. The new, professional, and mysterious player had decided to reveal themselves. The invitation from Elara Moonveil had arrived.