The forest blurs into a tunnel of green and grey.
Behind me, the screams of the "Welcome Party" are fading, replaced by the wet snap of traps.
They were foolish enough to chase a Cartographer class into the Aion Sanctuary ruins.
A heartbeat later, my sense screams—blue, pressure shifting.
I dive and roll.
A three-ton slab of obsidian crashes down inches from my heels. The wind of its descent slaps my neck. Behind me, there is no scream—just a wet, sickening crunch as a Deepwarden is flattened into paste.
I don't look back. I don't stop.
Flow Cartographer burns in my retinas, turning the dark corridor into a neon blueprint of death.
I sidestep a pressure plate disguised as a loose cobblestone. The heavy footsteps chasing me don't.
Click.
A barrage of poisoned darts erupts from the left wall. I slide underneath them. The guard behind me takes the full volley in his chest armor—and the exposed gaps of his neck. He drops without a sound.
I vault over a razor-wire tripwire at shin height.
Another pursuer, blinded by rage, runs straight into it. The wire shears through his greaves, slicing bone.
I check the mental map. The red dots behind me are blinking out, one by one.
I don't slow down to watch them die. I just keep running, letting the Sanctuary chew on the rest of them.
It's effortless. I spent the last years memorizing every brick of this place.
I burst into the final chamber. The Altar Room.
It's a massive dome of black coral and obsidian, vast enough to swallow a cathedral whole. Bioluminescent veins run through the dark stone like frozen lightning, casting a ghostly, ethereal blue light over the silence. The ceiling is so high it's lost in shadow, making the air feel thin, reverent.
In the center, the Altar stands empty—the exact spot where I snatched the Codex during my last visit.
Even now, with adrenaline screaming in my veins and death nipping at my heels, the sheer grandeur of this place forces a stutter in my step. The architecture wasn't built for humans. It was built for giants. For gods.
Standing at the threshold, looking up at the silent majesty of the deep, I feel insignificant. A speck of dust trespassing in a tomb that has stood for eons.
This is it. The finish line.
I skid to a halt, gasping, my OXI burning hot in my veins. I finally manage to retrieve the Codex from my inventory, searching frantically for any clue, any hidden mechanism that might save me.
"Impressive," a voice booms.
It doesn't come from behind me. It comes from the Altar.
My blood freezes.
I look up. Standing casually in front of the Altar, as if he owns the place, is a man.
He wears the pristine white-and-gold ceremonial armor that only the Deepwarden High Command wears. No mask. He doesn't need one. His face is sharp, handsome, and utterly bored.
I don't need a HUD to tell me who—or what—he is. Only the apex predators of the Guilds wear that gold trim. A High Warden. And not just any Warden. Everyone knows this face.
Valerius, the "celebrity genius."
"You move well for a rat," he says, stepping down from the dais. "Rae said you were persistent. He didn't mention you were annoying."
I try to move. I try to run.
But the air in the room suddenly weighs ten tons.
[System Warning: Overwhelming Presence detected.]
[Status: Paralyzed.]
He doesn't use a spell. He just releases his aura. The sheer density of his Spirit Attribute crushes me into the floor. My knees hit the stone with a crack.
I try to speak, to beg, to curse—but my lungs refuse to fill.
Valerius laughs. It sounds like a landslide.
"Pathetic."
He blurs.
One second he is thirty feet away. The next, his hand is around my throat, lifting me off the ground like a ragdoll. I had no time to even think.
*Bam.*
He slams me against the Altar. My spine screams. The Codex falls from my hand, landing on the stone floor with a heavy thud.
He ignores the book. He looks at me, disappointed.
"All this trouble for a courier job," he sighs.
He drops me. I collapse on the ground, kneeling before him, my back to the altar. I cough blood, my body is broken.
He reaches into his pristine white coat and pulls out a scroll.
A Trade Contract.
"Sign it," he orders, kicking the Codex toward my face. "Transfer ownership. Rae wants it done legally. He has a soft spot for bureaucracy."
I look at the contract. I look at the monster standing over me.
I have zero chance. I know that. He is a god in this world, likely a Rank SSS (U-Hadal)—the kind of monster we only saw on TV news.
"Fine," I wheeze, reaching out with a trembling hand. "I... I'll sign."
The Warden smirks. "Good boy."
I press my thumb toward the seal. But at the last inch, I twist my wrist.
I lock eyes with him. And I flip him the middle finger.
The silence in the room is absolute.
He stares at my hand. Then at my face. His smirk vanishes.
"Disrespect," he whispers. "I hate disrespect."
He reaches out and wraps his fingers around my forearm. His touch is light at first, almost gentle.
Then, he closes his hand.
CRUNCH.
A simple squeeze.
The sound of my bones being pulverized inside my skin echoes like a walnut being cracked in the silent hall. It feels like my arm is being fed into a hydraulic press.
"ARGHHHH!" I scream, my vision tunneling as the pain spikes beyond white-hot.
"You don't need this arm to sign," he says calmly.
He doesn't let go. Instead, he twists his wrist.
A violent, unnatural rotation.
My skin stretches to the breaking point. Muscles tear with a wet sound like canvas ripping. He applies torque until the joint gives way, rotating my arm past the point of no return.
Then, he pulls.
SHHH-LUCK.
The sound is wet and heavy.
With a final, sickening jerk, my right arm comes free from the socket, trailing ribbons of flesh and arterial spray.
The pain is unreal. I feel my soul giving out. I can't cry, I can't show weak emotions to this bastard. But I'm already panting through my teeth; the pain is unbearable.
He tosses the severed limb aside like a piece of dry wood.
Blood paints the black floor in a wide arc.
Valerius tilts his head, observing my silence with mild curiosity. He steps closer, his pristine white boot stopping inches from my face.
"You're awfully quiet, Dryden," he muses, his voice smooth like velvet over gravel. "Runs in the family, I suppose?"
He crouches down slightly, lowering his voice to a whisper meant only for me.
"My men told me about your sister. Little Lili, was it? They said she didn't scream either. She just took the chocolate, smiled... and snap."
He mimics the sound of a breaking neck with a click of his tongue, making a sharp twisting motion with his hand.
"She died silent. Just like you. Is that genetics, Dryden? Or just cowardice?"
"Still defiant?" he asks, straightening up and reaching for my left arm. "Let's try the other one."
"Go... to... hell..."
RIIIP.
The pain is beyond screaming. My left arm is gone too. I am a torso bleeding out on the cold stone.
"Messy," the Warden mutters, wiping a speck of blood from his white armor. "Rae will be annoyed I damaged the goods."
He looks down at me. I'm fading. The cold is taking over. My nerves just shut down after so much pain.
But the hate... the hate is burning hotter than ever.
Chocolate. He knew about the chocolate.
I look at the Codex in his hand, hanging loosely by his side. I look at him.
I gather every ounce of spit and blood left in my mouth, and I shoot.
*Ptoo.*
A mixture of red slime hits his cheek and spatters down onto the leather cover of the Codex.
The Warden touches his face. He looks at the blood on his finger.
"Disgusting," he says.
He raises his hand. A sphere of concentrated, unstable energy forms in his palm.
"I have the book. I don't need you."
He aims at my chest.
"Goodbye, rat."
BOOM.
My heart explodes.
There is no pain. Just an instant cessation of existence. Darkness.
...
...
But in the dark, something pulses.
[System Alert: User Deceased.]
[Catalyst Detected: Blood of the Bonded.]
[Location: Aion Altar (Core).]
The blood I spat on the book sinks into the leather. The Codex drinks it.
[System: Analyzing Host Desire...]
>> Desire: Kill. Revenge. Destruction.
[System: Analysis Complete. Host Power Level: Insufficient.]
[System: Calculating Solution...]
The voice isn't mechanical anymore. It's ancient. It sounds like the ocean floor shifting.
>> "He does not need a weapon. He needs time."
[Activating Protocol: CHRONOS REVERSAL.]
[Consuming All Attributes.]
[Consuming All World OXI.]
The darkness shatters.
"Dryden! Breakfast!"
My eyes snap open.
I gasp, sitting up violently, my hands flying to my chest. My heart is intact. My arms are there.
I look around. The smell of old coffee and the staleness of the old bedroom hang in the air. Familiar. The sound of traffic outside is surprisingly comforting.
My mother's voice? Did I die?
I look at the ceiling, recognizing its water-stained patterns.
My room…
The Black Thirst is the only thing I'm sure of right now, and it burns in my throat like the first day.
Like the beginning…
I start to laugh. It's a broken, manic sound that tears through the quiet of the morning.
What the fuck is going on?