The Warden didn't move like a beast; he moved like an avalanche. With a single flap of his charred wings, he vanished from his throne and reappeared in front of Kaelen. His golden sword, Judgment, descended in a vertical arc that threatened to split the very foundation of the Keep.
Kaelen threw himself to the side. The blade hit the glass floor, sending a shockwave of holy energy that tossed Kaelen against a row of cages.
[Warning: Holy Shock detected.]
[Health: 65%]
"You are fast for a corpse," the Warden rumbled. He swung again, a horizontal lash of light that severed the tops of the nearby cages. The prisoners shrieked, cowering as the ceiling groaned.
Kaelen scrambled to his feet, his fingers digging into the glass shards on the floor. He wasn't looking for a way to win a fair fight. He had never won a fair fight in his life. He was looking for the "leak."
Every Divine being had a point where their purity met the reality of the Abyss. For the Warden, it was his wings—the parchment was dry, brittle, and soaked in the misery of those he guarded.
"Why do you struggle?" the Warden asked, his voice dripping with bored arrogance. "The Twelve cast you out because you were weak. You were a vessel for their filth. Down here, I am the one who cleanses."
"You don't cleanse anything," Kaelen spat, coughing up a glob of dark phlegm. "You just hide the trash under the rug."
Kaelen lunged forward, not with his obsidian shard, but with his bare chest exposed.
The Warden let out a dry laugh and thrust his sword straight through Kaelen's sternum. The golden blade protruded from Kaelen's back, glowing with a light that should have disintegrated his soul.
"End of the line, Martyr," the Warden whispered.
But Kaelen didn't fall. He grabbed the Warden's thick, armored wrists. Blood—thick and purple—traveled down the length of the holy blade, staining the light.
"I've lived with a hole in my heart for three years," Kaelen hissed, his teeth stained dark. "You think one more bit of steel matters?"
[Maximum Malice Threshold Reached: 200%]
[Special Action: Soul Bind.]
The Warden's blindfold fluttered. For the first time, he felt something he hadn't felt in centuries: Contamination.
Kaelen wasn't just discharging pain. He was using the sword as a bridge. All the accumulated trauma of the prisoners in the hall—the Dwarves' broken hands, the Elves' clipped ears, and his own three years of torture—flowed through Kaelen and into the Warden.
"What... is this?" the Warden gasped. His wings began to smoke. The "parchment" caught fire, burning with a black flame. "The agony... it's too much... stop!"
"This is what you've been guarding," Kaelen whispered, leaning closer until his forehead touched the Warden's blindfold. "I'm just the delivery man."
The Warden's golden armor began to melt. His four wings shattered into ash. The light of his sword flickered and died, leaving only a cold, rusted piece of iron buried in Kaelen's chest.
With a final, agonizing scream, the Warden's physical form collapsed. He didn't die; he simply unraveled, his "purity" unable to survive the sudden influx of raw, unfiltered reality.
[Boss Defeated: The Screaming Warden (Lv. 25)]
[Level Up: 8 -> 15]
[Evolution Progress: 70%]
[Item Obtained: The Key of the First Stratum.]
The golden key fell to the floor with a heavy clink.
Kaelen slumped against the Warden's throne, the rusted sword still stuck in his chest. He reached up and slowly, inch by inch, pulled the iron out. It clattered to the floor, smoking.
He looked at the cages. Hundreds of eyes—fearful, hopeful, and broken—were fixed on him.
"The Warden is gone," Kaelen said, his voice echoing in the sudden silence of the hall. He picked up the golden key. "But don't thank me. I didn't do it for you."
He turned toward the massive gate at the back of the hall—the path to the Second Stratum.
"I did it because he was in my way."
As he walked toward the gate, the "Dregs" began to reach out through the bars. Not to attack him, but to touch the hem of his tattered cloak. They didn't see a hero. They saw something much more dangerous: a man who had made the darkness his own.