Moments Later — Nazarick
The teleportation circle pulsed with violet mana and vanished, leaving behind the echo of power. Elijah stepped forward into silence.
Polished obsidian stretched endlessly beneath his feet, reflecting unnatural braziers that cast no flame—only presence. Far above, sigils shifted on suspended banners written in languages meant for forgotten gods. Mimic recoiled at them, her edges fluttering like the world itself was whispering blasphemy.
A weight settled over Elijah's shoulders. Heavy. Watching. Timeless.
He let the breath leave him slowly.
"It's like walking into a god's ribcage."
A voice answered, high and cold.
"A poetic sentiment… for a corpse."
Shalltear Bloodfallen emerged from the shadows like a noble specter. Her parasol rested gently on her shoulder, her smile composed, fanged, and brimming with sadism. Crimson eyes danced with expectation.
"Another mongrel off the leash?" she asked, tilting her head. "Your posture speaks of confidence. But your aura… it barely stirs the dust."
Elijah didn't blink. "And you talk like someone trying to convince the mirror she's still the strongest in the room."
Shalltear froze.
Then smiled wider.
"Oh. I see."
Before Ainz could speak, Elijah stepped forward, tone even.
"I don't mind a test. If that's what this is."
Shalltear's pupils narrowed. "A duel? Or a judgment?"
"That's up to you."
Ainz raised a hand, though his eyes lingered on Elijah.
"Only if he consents."
"I do," Elijah said. "But I choose the battlefield."
Shalltear's grin sharpened like a blade. "Then choose quickly, phantom. I'm starving."
Shortly After — The Arena Floor
The arena stretched out beneath a skyless dome, cracked stone riddled with ancient runes pulsing with forgotten magic. There was no cover. No shade. Just open ground soaked in blood history.
Elijah stood still as smoke. Shalltear floated opposite him, parasol discarded, her expression that of a woman about to dance—and dismember.
"You may begin," she said sweetly.
He vanished.
No blur. No flicker.
Gone.
Shalltear's smile vanished. A heartbeat passed.
Then her aura erupted.
A ring of corrupted mana burst outward—blood-red mist that hissed with holy defiance. Her Blood Frenzy ignited the ground. Cracks split the arena. The air shimmered.
Behind her—nothing.
Above—empty.
Then—
Pain.
A whisper-thin blade sank between her ribs with surgical precision. Not deep. Not fatal. Just enough to say hello.
She struck—
Her claws passed through vapor. Elijah dissolved like a dream denied.
Across the field, tucked within a sliver of broken stone, his silhouette shimmered briefly before melting back into shadow.
Shalltear floated higher.
"You cannot run from the gaze of a trueborn vampire."
She extended one hand.
Warp Strike.
She vanished—reappearing behind his location with a sickening pulse of space.
Stone shattered. Power exploded outward.
But Elijah was already gone.
A dozen daggers spun midair behind her—each one carved from coagulated blood, humming with necrotic intent. They weren't thrown. They orbited him like moons around a black sun.
He raised a hand.
And they flew.
Shalltear spun, summoning a Blood Shield—a wall of crimson mana that caught most of them, but not all. One sliced her cheek. Another grazed her wrist.
Her blood hit the floor—and hissed.
Shalltear's grin returned.
"You wound me. Good."
She launched herself into the air, wings exploding outward. Lances of blood magic formed around her, crimson spears tipped with white-hot life-drain. She hurled them without mercy.
Elijah ducked, rolled, twisted—his form always one second from dissolving.
Then something flickered behind her.
A second Elijah.
He struck low, silent.
She turned, claws ready, and tore into him—only to watch the body collapse into liquid shadow, crawling across the floor like a serpent to rejoin Mimic's mass.
The real Elijah stood behind her once again, perfectly poised, blade inches from her neck.
She blinked.
Then clapped once, slow and delighted.
"How exquisite. You're not just a ghost…"
She turned toward him without fear.
"You're death given thought. A phantom with teeth."
He said nothing.
She stepped closer, blood trailing from one shoulder, her tongue running over her bottom lip.
"When you die, I will resurrect you—not as a thrall, but as a companion. Something that can hunt with me. Forever."
From the edge of the arena, a voice cut like ice.
"As if we'd allow it."
Albedo emerged, her eyes like razors drawn. Her armor glinted like the edge of judgment.
"Step away from him, Shalltear."
Shalltear gave a slow, mocking bow. "Oh, the Overseer arrives. Careful, dear Albedo. Your jealousy is seeping."
Albedo ignored her and strode up to Elijah, her eyes locked to his.
"You disappeared from my senses."
"You weren't trying to kill me," Elijah said.
A pause.
"If you had been… you wouldn't have gotten this close."
Albedo's expression didn't change—but something in her eyes did.
A curve.
Just a hint.
"Tempting."
Their standoff lingered—quiet, sharp.
Then—
"Enough."
Ainz's voice settled the chamber like a gavel. He stepped into the arena, regal and still.
"You've proven yourself."
His crimson gaze met Elijah's.
"Your movements are not noise. They are design. Your strikes—art. Your restraint…"
A pause.
"Rare."
He lifted one hand and nodded.
"Welcome to Nazarick."
Elijah bowed slightly, just once.
Mimic pulsed behind him.
Shalltear turned her head, watching him as if he were a story she hadn't finished reading.