The drop through the Hole felt familiar to Einz. It was a quick fall into cold, pulling darkness that twisted his stomach and muted everything around him. This time, it didn't have the terror of his childhood drop or the desperation of his long time stuck in the Outer Verse. Instead, it had a clear feel—he had chosen this, sword in hand and mana ready, even if Gale had started it.
He came out suddenly in a barren part of the Outer Verse under a sky like an old bruise. The ground was a cracked plain with ruins of sun-baked clay buildings half-buried in dust. The walls were worn into sharp shapes that gave no cover or hint of who built them. The horizon went on forever—flat and empty, no hills or trees, no sign of what was coming. Only heavy silence pressed down, broken by wind whispering through the debris.
Gale appeared next to him with a soft hum. He straightened up like it was no big deal, brushing imaginary dust from his coat and muttering about the "fine work of dead worlds." His tone was light, as if the place was just a bad set, not a realm that had killed so many.
Einz rose more slowly, eyes scanning the empty land for threats. The air was thick with a dry, metallic taste that stuck in his throat—it reminded him too much of the ash forests he'd survived for years. Gale looked at him with that constant grin, slapped his shoulder, and started walking like they were on a casual trip, not in a world that could kill them any second.
They walked through the ruins. Their footsteps echoed against the cracked clay and stone. The sound seemed louder in the vast quiet, like the Outer Verse itself was listening. Gale talked as they went, mixing jokes with real knowledge.
"Every Hole drops us into something different," he said. "Sometimes you survive waves, sometimes you kill the boss, sometimes you exterminate everything that moves. Patterns, sure—but never guarantees. It's like the Verse has a mind, testing what breaks you quickest. You know it's done when the Hole swallows you back… or when you're dead."
Einz listened without speaking, eyes fixed on the horizon where dust blurred ground and sky. He absorbed the words while his mana hummed softly at the edges, ready to bend space if needed. His new sword felt solid in his hand, a reassuring weight.
Then the ground began to shake—a deep rumble spreading across the plain like a warning from below. It vibrated through their boots and bones as the air thickened. Einz stopped, sword raised, as a massive horde of identical monsters appeared beyond the ruins.
They rose like a living wave from the dust, twisted things with leathery, clay-cracked skin and faintly glowing red eyes. Their low roars merged into a single thunderous growl that rolled over everything.
Gale's grin widened. He turned to Einz, excitement sparking in his eyes.
"Well," he said, "looks like we have to survive this one. Nothing like a horde to get the blood going."
He unsheathed his katana, the blade whispering through the charged air. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he slammed his free hand against the ground. A faint tremor pulsed outward—and the world bent.
The air thickened. Time stretched thin like syrup, warping the light around them. The monsters' thunder slowed into a distorted rumble, the world itself struggling to move.
"Temporal Veil," Gale said, glancing back at Einz. "My little trick. Keep up, watch, and survive."
And then he was gone.
Even slowed, Gale's movements were impossible to follow. His blade blurred through the haze, slicing through the first ranks of monsters like paper. Each strike left a lingering trail of light in the syrup-thick air, his grin flashing between cuts like a spark. He weaved through claws and teeth without pause, his laughter carrying through the muffled battlefield—wild and alive.
For Einz, the slowed world gave him an edge. It turned the chaos into something he could read. The monsters' attacks dragged like they were moving through water. He dodged with sharp, practiced reflexes, instincts honed from years in tight corners. His sense of distance let him slip through claws that barely missed his skin. He bent space just enough to avoid danger without wasting power, using it to create breathing room in the suffocating haze.
He watched Gale fight—not just in awe, but to learn. Every movement was a blend of precision and madness, timing and confidence. Bodies piled up as the air thickened with dust and the smell of blood.
Then, as suddenly as it began, it ended.
The magic snapped. The world rushed back into motion, sound and weight slamming into reality all at once. The corpses hit the dirt together, thudding in a single, terrible chorus. The air was heavy with iron and smoke.
Gale stood in the center of it all, blade resting on his shoulder, chest rising and falling. His grin was still there, though softer now.
"You're still alive," he said, almost approvingly. "Good reflexes. I knew you weren't dead weight."
Einz straightened, brushing dust from his sleeve. His voice was calm.
"You call that training?"
Gale laughed, the sound bright against the silence.
"Lesson one," he said. "This place doesn't reward strength. It rewards whoever refuses to die."
Einz looked past him—beyond the piles of bodies, to the wavering heat on the horizon. More shapes moved there, faint and slow but unmistakable.
Another wave.