The golden light had become a pressure, a weight pressing down on every platform, every pillar, every person. Lucid could feel it in his bones, in his teeth, in the soft tissue behind his eyes. The auction had spiraled beyond anything he had imagined. Bodies lay stacked on the Congregation's platform, their purple robes dark with blood, and one of their leaders still stood among them, holding a knife that dripped gold.
Fenwick shook beside him. His hands trembled, his lips moved without sound, his eyes were wide and wet. The nobleman had stopped pretending to be brave. There was nothing left in him except terror and the desperate hope that someone would save him.
Valen Thorne stood on his platform with a smile that did not reach his eyes. It was sadistic, cruel, the smile of someone who had waited years for this moment and was finally tasting revenge. His golden hair caught the light, but his eyes were dark with something that looked like madness.
Celeste's face was desperate. Her white hair had come loose from its pins, falling across her forehead in tangled strands. Her guards had collapsed, their synchronization broken, their bodies twitching on the cracked stone. She looked at the Congregation, at Valen, at Lucid, and her expression was that of a cornered animal.
[ Commencing judgment. ]
The voice thundered across the platforms. The pillars groaned, stone grinding against stone, the golden light flickering like a candle in wind.
[ Calculating. ]
Numbers appeared in the air. Glowing digits that shifted and changed as the Domain weighed assets, promises, lives.
[ One hundred gold. One hundred platinum. One diamond. ]
The numbers climbed. Lucid watched them rise, his heart pounding against his ribs. The sponsored mark on his wrist glowed blue, but it was not enough. Celeste's painting was worth a thousand platinum. The Congregation had offered something else now, something worse.
[ Madame Celeste is currently leading. ]
[ Twenty seconds remaining. ]
'It is not enough. Nothing I have is enough.'
He looked around frantically. The cultist leader brought forward a man. He was thin, pale, with red-rimmed eyes that held no hope. His clothes were fine but worn, the same kind of worn as Fenwick's, the uniform of nobility that had seen better days.
The cultist brandished a knife. The blade caught the golden light and threw it back in fragments.
"I offer the noble house of Maren," the cultist said. Their voice was distorted, multiple layers scraping against each other. "The owner, Voss of Maren. Holder of great investments. Collector of debts. His life, his name, his assets. All of it."
The man did not struggle. Did not scream. He simply stood there, his red eyes fixed on something only he could see, as the cultist raised the knife and slit his throat.
Blood sprayed across the purple robes. The man collapsed. His body hit the stone with a wet sound, and the golden threads wrapped around him, absorbing something that Lucid could not see.
[ Offering accepted. Value assessed. Four hundred platinum. ]
Lucid looked away. His stomach turned. His hands clenched into fists.
'These guys are going crazy. They are sacrificing people. Offering lives as currency. And the Domain is accepting it.'
[ Fifteen seconds remaining until judgment. ]
He looked at Fenwick. The nobleman was frozen, his eyes fixed on the body on the Congregation's platform, his face pale as milk.
'Maybe... I can use his name. His family. His heritage. I can sacrifice him.'
Fenwick noticed Lucid's predatory glance and stepped back. His hands came up, palms out, warding off the request. "No. No, I cannot. That is all I have. That is all my brother left me."
'No... Get it together! I don't kill people... I can make him bid, it won't carry the same value as a sacrifice but it is something...'
Lucid was confident he would survive that drop. He had survived worse. The illness in his chest, the narwhale, the beta rift, a simple fall wouldn't kill him. But Fenwick would not survive. Fenwick would hit the golden void and shatter like glass.
And Lucid did not want another death on his hands. Not today. Not after watching the cultist slit a man's throat and call it a transaction.
He looked down through the golden mist. The ground was barely visible, a distant darkness far below. It would hurt like hell. But he would live. Fenwick would not.
He clenched his teeth. He had to do something. Had to take a risk. Had to gamble everything on a single desperate play.
"VALEN!"
The yellow-haired boy looked up. Surprise flickered across his face, breaking through that sadistic smile. Lucid had never screamed at him before. Had never raised his voice in this golden hell.
"You and I want the same thing! I can see it in your eyes. You want to destroy these people. The Congregation. Celeste. Everyone who uses the Domain to prey on the weak."
Valen's expression shifted. The surprise faded, replaced by something cautious, calculating.
"Our interests are aligned. I do not care about the relic. Take it. Keep it. Burn it for all I care. But right now, if my platform falls, they will team up against you. Celeste and the Congregation together. You cannot beat them alone."
[ Eight seconds remaining. ]
"Let us blend our assets. Let us merge. Combined, we have enough to match them."
Valen smiled. Not the sadistic smile. Something smaller. Something that might have been respect.
"What makes you so sure I want that?"
"It is not a matter of want. If I fall, you fall. They will not stop with me."
The golden light pulsed. The pillars groaned. Valen's golden eyes met Lucid's, and for a moment, the entire Domain seemed to hold its breath.
"VERY WELL, LUCID!!!"
Lucid grinned. An unbelievable smile, wild and desperate and triumphant all at once. He turned to Fenwick, grabbed the nobleman's shoulders, shook him.
"Fenwick. Listen to me. I need you to bet everything. Your name. Your family house. Your heritage. Whatever your brother left you. Bet it all."
Fenwick was quiet. His eyes were still wide, still wet, but something was hardening behind them.
"Or you die," Lucid said. "Those are the only options. Bet everything, or die when the platform shatters."
Fenwick shook his head. Then he nodded. Then he stepped forward, raised his chin, and announced to the Domain in a voice that cracked but did not break.
"I, Fenwick of House Marlowe, bet my name. My family house. My heritage. Everything my brother left me. Everything I have ever been or ever will be. I bet it all."
[ Party One and Party Four have merged their assets. Total value. Three diamond marks. ]
"Yes!" Lucid punched the air. Triumph surged through him, hot and bright.
But the voice was not finished.
[ Five seconds remaining. ]
Celeste's hair was disheveled. Her eyes were wild. She looked at the cultists, at the purple-robed figures who had just sacrificed a man, and something passed between them. An agreement. A transaction of their own.
She smiled.
[ Party Two and Party Three have merged their assets. Total value. Three diamond marks. ]
"Shit."
The numbers were equal. Three diamond marks each. The pillars groaned, the golden threads tightened, and the Domain struggled to find a victor where there was none.
[ Judgment has arrived. ]
The pillars groaned louder. Cracks spread. The golden light dimmed and flared and dimmed again.
[ Stalemate. Cannot decide a victor. ]
The relic on its pedestal began to glow. The cloth that covered it rose, lifted by an invisible hand, revealing what lay beneath.
It was light. Pure, radiant light, shaped roughly like a heart, pulsing with a rhythm that did not match any heartbeat Lucid had ever heard. It was beautiful and terrible and completely useless.
'Is that what everyone was after? It looks like nothing. Just light. Just a glow. You cannot hold it. Cannot sell it. Cannot use it for anything.'
He tried to humor himself in a hopeless situation. That was what he was good at. Always had been. Making jokes when the world was ending. Finding laughter in the grave.
[ Victor. None. ]
[ Recalibrating. ]
[ Up to the decision of a higher authority. ]
'What does that mean?'
The golden light grew brighter. Hotter. The mist began to burn away, revealing something beneath the platforms, beneath the pillars, beneath the Domain itself. A presence. Vast and ancient and terrible.
A hand descended from the golden clouds. Delicate but firm. Long fingers, dark skin, nails that caught the light and held it. The hand of someone who had never known doubt, never known fear, never known anything except the absolute certainty of their own power.
'No. This... this is...'
The figure emerged. Golden hair that flowed like liquid light, cascading down their shoulders, down their back, moving in a wind that came from nowhere. Tan ebony skin that seemed to glow from within. Golden eyes that held no warmth, no mercy, no recognition of the small creatures who trembled beneath them.
Marks and runes covered their torso, lines of gold that shifted and changed with each breath. A white robe covered their lower half, flowing around them like water. They descended slowly, gracefully, like a god stepping down from heaven.
Fenwick's eyes went wide. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He fell to his knees, his head bowing, his hands pressing flat against the cracked stone.
Lucid looked around. Celeste's eyes were wide in fear, her face pale, her body trembling. The cultists, or what was left of them, had bowed their heads to the floor, pressing their foreheads against the stone in absolute submission.
Valen stood frozen. His golden eyes were wide, his calm shattered, his composure gone.
"You are kidding me," Valen whispered. "You are actually kidding me."
The figure's eyes looked down. Across the four pillars. Across Celeste, who could not meet their gaze. Across the cultists, who did not dare to rise. Across Valen, who stood trembling. Across Lucid, who forced himself to stand straight, to meet those golden eyes, to not look away.
Their voice finally carried. It resonated through the whole sky, through the clouds, through the pillars, through the very stone beneath their feet. Each word was a physical force, a vibration that shook Lucid's bones.
"Contenders."
The word hung in the air, heavy and absolute.
"You have reached a stalemate in your offerings. You desire the relic?"
They raised a hand. The relic, the heart of light, rose from its pedestal and floated toward them, settling into their palm.
"It is in my possession."
They closed their fingers around it. The light dimmed, swallowed by their golden skin.
"Now. What shall it be? Transactions are not enough. Gold is not enough. Platinum is not enough. Even diamond marks are insufficient when both sides are equal."
They looked at Celeste. At the cultists. At Valen. At Lucid.
"You have brought me into your game. You have woken me from my dreaming. And now you must offer something that cannot be measured. Something that has no value in gold or platinum or diamond."
They smiled. It was not a kind smile.
"Offer me your desperation. Your fear. Your hope. Offer me the thing you have been hiding from everyone, including yourselves. And then, perhaps, I will choose a victor."
Mercyros had descended.
And the game had just become something much, much worse.