The fractured void groaned under the weight of the System's wrath. Runes ignited along the arena walls. Gravity buckled violently as space warped and snapped back into place like the jaws of some unseen beast. The black faction leader advanced through the distortion, corrupted System blade dragging along the ground with a low, sickening scrape.
Eryndor stood alone to meet it.
[Anomaly Suppression Protocol: Escalation Active.]
[Combat Parameters Unlocked.]
[Target: Eryndor Vaelith.]
[Status: Terminate at all costs.]
The Lost Ones held the line behind him, barely.
The Unborn slammed two black-armored enforcers into the cracked pillars with a roar that sent shockwaves through the ground. The Mana-Cursed Girl burned through her remaining mana reserves, unstable arcs of blue flame tearing another pursuer apart before collapsing to one knee, trembling. The Flickering Aura Boy staggered back, blade in hand, facing three enemies at once with wild, desperate defiance.
They would break soon.
Eryndor's eyes stayed locked on the only opponent that mattered. The black leader lunged.
Space twisted. The blade flickered through afterimages, bending light into a swarm of false strikes. The first swing came low, impossible to track by sight alone.
Eryndor moved on instinct. The corrupted blade screamed past his ribs. He countered with a brutal upward slash aimed at the joint between chest and arm. Sparks flew. Not enough. The leader rotated mid-strike and backhanded Eryndor across the arena with crushing force.
Eryndor crashed hard, rolled once, and staggered to his feet without hesitation. Blood trailed freely down his side. His breathing slowed deliberately.
Not yet.
The black leader's distorted voice rasped across the void. "Anomaly. End of line."
Eryndor adjusted his grip on the cursed dagger, crimson eyes burning cold beneath the cracked heavens. "You tried that already."
The black faction leader surged forward without warning. Eryndor barely pivoted aside as the corrupted blade sliced cleanly through a stone pillar behind him, reducing it to dust. The afterimage clones flickered around the arena, attacking from every angle.
Eryndor slipped between them, reading the patterns, counting the intervals. Four false strikes. The fifth is always real.
The blade came in fast, straight for his heart. Eryndor dropped low, pivoted hard, and drove his cursed dagger upward into the exposed inner joint beneath the arm. The metal shrieked. A direct hit.
The leader didn't even flinch.
Its free hand snapped forward, gripping Eryndor by the throat and hurling him violently across the fractured ground. The impact rattled his ribs. Blood filled his mouth.
The arena twisted again.
[System Environmental Interference: Activated.]
[Gravity Shift: +200%.]
[Visual Distortion: Engaged.]
The air crushed down like an invisible hand. Eryndor's knees buckled. His vision blurred under the forced weight. Around him, The Lost Ones struggled—The Unborn's chains dragged heavily across the stone, the Mana-Cursed Girl collapsed fully, unable to even rise.
Eryndor remained standing.
Through gritted teeth, through searing pain, he forced his body upright. "I survived your world once," he whispered bitterly. "I will not die inside your script."
The black leader advanced, raising its blade to deliver the final blow. Eryndor moved first.
He staggered left, then right, feinting under the crushing weight. The leader compensated instantly, shifting to intercept. That was the mistake.
Eryndor reached into his cloak with one bloodied hand and slammed a small alchemy orb into the ground at his feet.
The detonation cracked the arena. A burst of unstable energy vaporized the gravity field around him. Eryndor lunged through the shockwave, twisted behind the leader's guard, and drove his dagger into the corrupted core socket just beneath the collar plating.
The runes flared violently. The leader convulsed once.
But not enough.
The leader spun wildly, its corrupted blade arcing out. Eryndor twisted his body just enough to avoid a fatal cut, but the blade opened a deep slash across his side. Pain lanced through him. His breath hitched.
The enemy raised its blade high for a final, absolute execution. Eryndor stared into the blackened mask, already calculating.
One chance.
He let himself fall back, reaching for the second alchemy device—the unstable forbidden shard from the Severance Grounds. As the leader lunged, Eryndor rolled under the strike and jammed the shard directly into the exposed crack near the core.
"Checkmate."
The explosion ripped through the black armor. The leader staggered back, twitching violently as corrupted runes burned out and the System code tried desperately to repair itself. Eryndor forced himself up, stumbled forward, and with his last ounce of strength, plunged the cursed dagger into the weakened core.
The black faction leader froze.
For the first time, the mask cracked fully. A single pale, lifeless eye stared at Eryndor with no hate, no emotion. Only resignation. The body collapsed into ash and fragmented data.
Silence fell over the arena.
The System voice echoed at last.
[Anomaly Eryndor Vaelith has survived Event Zero.]
[System recalibration… Correction impossible.]
[Prepare: Faction War Phase II - The Siege.]
The bells of Vaelith Academy tolled again, cold and merciless. The ground beneath the arena began to shatter. The void called once more.
Eryndor turned to his battered, bloodied faction. The Lost Ones stood barely upright, staring in disbelief at the fallen executioners.
"We're not done," Eryndor rasped.
Not yet.