“Gods above! Please—“

  The plea never finished.

  The first limb tore free with a sound like gum popping. Then another. Then there was no body left to beg with—only pieces scattering across scorched ground as the black figure moved on, already hunting the next sound.

  Cries followed.

  Orders followed.

  “Formation—brace left!”

  “Anchor Ryun! Counter-surge!”

  “Harpoons ready—fire!”

  They came in disciplined waves. Spears of condensed Ryun screamed through the air. Artillery sigils bloomed and detonated. Sky-ships banked and unleashed cascading arrays of light and steel.

  None of it mattered.

  The Lands Herald walked through it.

  She moved like an ending given legs.

  Where Ryun weaponry struck, it dissolved—unraveling mid-flight, turning to dust. Blades shattered on her skin—or armor, no one could tell which. Cannons roared and then went silent as their crews decayed in a heartbeat, flesh graying, bones turning brittle before they hit the ground.

  The ships fell from the sky.

  Not from being blasted—they were emptied.

  Their hulls blackened as her aura passed through them. The sky filled with wreckage, burning fragments raining down like a second war layered atop the first.

  At the edge of the carnage stood Serana Vale, Warden of the Guild of Unbroken Leaves.

  Broad-shouldered. Spine straight despite the years. Silver threaded through her dark hair, her cloak clasped with the old guild sigil—interwoven spears, each line representing a vow kept. Her hands were steady as she watched hundreds die in minutes. Guildmates. Allies. Children who had trained under her banner.

  Gone.

  She exhaled slowly.

  “So this is it,” she murmured.

  She had never wanted this tournament. Never wanted this “death game.” She had joined for one reason only—to stop the Blood Prince before the world burned around her grandchildren. To make sure the future still had room for laughter.

  Now Delark itself was under assault, the golden wave pressing closer, and Curtenail was already lost.

  Then she felt it.

  The attention.

  The Herald’s gaze found her—

  Serana raised her voice, amplified by sigils etched into her bones. “Retreat! All remaining units—fall back to Veltrisse! Warn the city! Run!”

  No one argued.

  They ran.

  She watched them go until the last aura vanished over the horizon. Only then did she step forward, boots crunching on shattered stone, breath fogging in the heatless cold of death that surrounded the Herald.

  She thought of her children. Their stubborn smiles. Of her grandchildren learning to walk, gripping her fingers with too much trust.

  Please be far away.

  She summoned her spear.

  It formed with a resonant hum—ancient wood reinforced with green Ryun, its blade etched with every battle she had survived. A weapon honed by decades, by loss, by standing when others broke. She was a Ranker—low, perhaps—but earned.

  The Herald tilted her head.

  They lunged.

  Serana moved first—

  Thrust, pivot, sweep. Her spear sang as it cut arcs of green-gold Ryun, striking joints, gaps, weaknesses that had ended monsters and men alike. For a moment—one heartbeat—she believed.

  Then the Herald caught the spear.

  Bare-handed.

  The Ryun died.

  Serana’s eyes widened as her weapon cracked, then shattered, legacy splintering between black fingers. She was lifted, slammed into the ground hard. Again. And again. And again.

  Each impact carved the earth deeper.

  A mile-wide crater formed as the Herald stomped her down, laughing—rejoicing—each strike an exclamation point to Serana’s defiance. Bones broke. Healed. Broke again under corrupting force. Serana screamed once. Then——

  Splat

  Splat

  Splat

  Splat

  Splat

  The Herald leaned close, savoring it.

  Then she launched herself skyward, black aura tearing free of the crater, arcing toward Veltrisse.

  Serana Vale lay at the bottom of the pit.

  A burnt puddle.

  And somewhere far away, bells began to ring.

  ———

  “Oh,” she said sweetly. “We’re just here to end your lives.”

  The words hung there.

  Both monks stared at each other, eyes wide, mouths half-open, as if waiting for a punchline.

  Cawren felt his jaw tighten. She’s lost her damn mind.

  Before he could intervene, Ria continued, tone bright and conversational, like she hadn’t just promised their deaths.

  “So I was wondering,” she said, leaning forward slightly, yellow slit eyes gleaming, “if you could help us get into where the important people are. Yeah?”

  The monk with brown eyes swallowed hard. “S-so… so you can end our lives?”

  Ria blinked, then smiled wider. “Oh—before that. What are your names?”

  Cawren watched something subtle happen.

  They answered her.

  Not because they wanted to. Not because they were convinced. Because the question slid past their fear and settled somewhere deeper, somewhere compliant.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  “I’m Talen,” the brown-eyed one said quietly.

  “R-Reis,” the other followed.

  Cawren’s gaze sharpened. He finally noticed it—the way Ria’s aura wasn’t pressing down. It wrapped. Soft. Velvety. Like hands guiding shoulders toward a seat they didn’t remember agreeing to take.

  “OMG,” Ria said approvingly. “That’s close to Ria. Which is me… hi. This is Cawren.” She gestured lazily at him. “He’s kind of a stick in the mud, but he makes up for it in other ways.”

  Cawren hissed under his breath. “Ria. What are you doing.”

  Without looking at him, she replied, “Having them join my OnlyFans.”

  “…Huh?”

  Then he felt it.

  A tug in the gut. A flicker behind the eyes. The monks lifted their hands and pressed at something that wasn’t there—fingers moving with practiced familiarity over invisible screens.

  Cawren couldn’t see the interface.

  But he could feel the transaction complete.

  Their posture changed instantly. Fear drained away, replaced by something glassy and eager. They turned, almost cheerfully, and stepped through the gate, one hand pushing aside a section of stone that should not have moved.

  A hidden door slid open.

  They waved them in.

  Cawren followed, heat rolling off his runes, but the unease didn’t fade. If anything, it grew heavier with every step into the secret corridor.

  He glanced at Ria, who only smiled—satisfied, radiant in her own corruption.

  For the first time in a very long while, Cawren felt something unfamiliar twist in his chest.

  Guilt?

  No.

  Something worse.

  He shook his head sharply. They’re NPCs. That was the fact. That was the logic that had carried him through burning cities and kept his flame alive.

  Ria was useful. Powerful. Aligned with his goals.

  Anything else was noise.

  Still… as the hidden passage sealed behind them, the feeling lingered.

  And for reasons he didn’t care to examine too closely, he suspected this path would cost more than he’d planned to pay.

  Ria smiled as she walked with a bit of a skip.

  Everything it said was true.

  Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. Literally.

  The text didn’t hover in front of her like a system prompt—it rested in her awareness, etched into the way her thoughts arranged themselves.

  The Malefic Temptress is no mere mortal or Outlander.

  It is a paradox given shape.

  She felt it with every step she took through the hidden passageways. Her body no longer simply moved—it adjusted. Her posture shifted without conscious thought, her stride lengthening just enough to be noticed. Her hair caught light at impossible angles. Even her breathing fell into a cadence that made others breathe with her.

  Aura manifested as silken coils of shadow and heat, not constricting or crushing—inviting. Hands that promised comfort and delivered surrender.

  She didn’t have to push.

  She didn’t have to threaten.

  She spoke.

  And they subscribed.

  The monks had bowed easily. Too easily, given what they were. She could tell—they had strong resistance, years of doctrine, mental discipline layered atop spiritual training. They didn’t have systems. No UI.

  It didn’t matter.

  Ria could see them anyway.

  Not as numbers. Not as bars. But as possibilities. Threads. Desires. Hungers. Every person carried doors inside them. She simply saw which ones were already cracked open.

  Her eyes—she finally understood that part.

  A gaze that shimmered with the shine of notifications eternal.

  Not light. Attention.

  She turned her head slightly as they walked, catching her reflection in a polished stone panel—and for a moment, the reflection lagged behind her movement, like it needed permission to keep up.

  Fused, the text had said.

  Not wearing it.

  Not using it.

  You are it.

  Her UI was a circulation. Every new follower sent warmth through her veins. Every subscription tightened her control, not just over others—but over herself. Her thoughts sharpened. Her aura deepened. Her presence grew heavier.

  She had wondered if her power was lacking.

  After all, Cawren still resisted her.

  She glanced back at him, just briefly. He was watching her—not with lust alone now, but calculation. Interest edged with restraint.

  Good, she thought. Resistance meant something worth breaking.

  She mentally pulled a tab aside—not with her hands, but with intent.

  Malefic Hunger’s Chosen.

  She didn’t need to look at it. She felt it open.

  Hunger answered.

  And it spoke of a ritual.

  The Ritual of Hunger did not require circles or chants. It required acceptance. A quiet opening of self, a willingness to let absence define you. She let the void breathe through her, let the lack she’d carried since Earth—since the pit, since the hands she never consented to—stretch wide and honest.

  The hunger would not fill her.

  It would teach her how to feed.

  She shivered—not in fear, but anticipation.

  She was powerful now. Stronger than before. Stronger than she’d ever been.

  Still… nothing like her patron.

  Nothing like his Lord.

  The thought made her spine tingle.

  “You okay?” Cawren asked, slowing slightly.

  “I’m fine,” she said automatically—then looked down at her hands.

  Her fingers glimmered faintly.

  “Those two,” she said softly. “They just gave me everything.”

  Cawren frowned. “You stole something from them?”

  She shook her head. “No. I think…” She searched for the right words. “If I kill something—or if it subscribes to me—I can use what it was. Skills. Traits. Affinities. It’s not theft. It’s… inheritance.”

  Cawren stopped walking.

  The monks halted as well—but a flick of her attention froze them in place.

  “Stand still,” she said mildly. “And don’t speak.”

  They obeyed instantly.

  Cawren stared at her, then at them. Understanding dawned.

  “The pit,” he said slowly. “The hosts you killed… you fully absorbed them.

  Ria met his gaze, smiling. “Seems wasteful not to use what’s given. But I’m still learning how to tap into everything yaknow.”

  His eyes widened.

  Roots. Dragon scales. All of it.

  This was no longer unsettling.

  This was interesting.

  “Ask them where the Mirrorless Monk is,” Cawren said at last, tone steady. “You can window-shop with your little boyfriends. I’ll go for my target.”

  She pouted. “Boo. Don’t you want to spend time with me?”

  “You don’t care what I do.”

  “Oh, pull your skirt up.”

  She turned to the monks. “Where’s the Mirrorless Monk?”

  Reis bowed immediately. “I will take him,” he said, gesturing to Cawren. “Through the sealed ways.”

  Talen stepped forward, eyes bright, devotion absolute. “I will guide you, Lady Ria. To the others. The ones who matter.”

  Cawren shook his head, half a laugh escaping him. “Be careful.”

  She waved him off. “I’m going to make the party lit.”

  They split without ceremony.

  As Cawren followed Reis into the deeper corridors, he steadied his breath, mind narrowing to a single point.

  The Mirrorless Monk awaited.

  Behind him, Ria walked the opposite way, humming softly to herself, velvet hunger coiling tighter with every step.

  Two paths.

  Two legacies beginning to write themselves.

  Reis walked half a step ahead of Cawren, shoulders straight, movements almost reverent. The hidden corridors of the monastery twisted like veins beneath flesh, narrow stone passages lit by strips of pale Ryun that pulsed softly against the walls. Each step echoed longer than it should have.

  Cawren’s boots scraped lightly against the polished floor. His aura hummed beneath his skin, infernal script flickering faintly along his arms. He watched Reis carefully.

  “You really about to sell out your whole culture for a woman you met five minutes ago?” Cawren asked.

  Reis didn’t even hesitate.

  “She is more than a woman,” he said, voice dreamy. “She is… possibility. She sees me. She promised things no monk ever dared to dream.”

  “Yeah?” Cawren muttered. “Like what.”

  Reis’s face brightened, eyes shining with feverish devotion. “Her Onlyfans.”

  Cawren slowed.

  “…Her what.”

  Reis turned, smiling wide like he’d just spoken holy scripture. “A sacred platform. A place where devotion becomes reward. Where followers are elevated. She said I would be one of the first subscribers.”

  Cawren stared at him in silence.

  He had annihilated cities. Burned entire bloodlines from existence. And somehow this conversation was one of the most confusing things he had experienced since arriving in Requiem.

  “…Right,” he said finally. “Good for you, champ.”

  Reis continued walking, completely unbothered.

  The thoughts running through Cawren’s head refused to slow.

  First, there was Ria. She seemed capable of possessing beings with nothing more than her voice. The control became official the moment they accepted her OnlyFans—an absurd thought, yet impossible to ignore. He was glad he hadn’t accepted the invitation she’d sent him.

  Very glad.

  The second concern gnawed at him even more.

  The change.

  Before, he hadn’t been able to understand the monks at all. Their words had slipped past him. Now, suddenly, they spoke perfect English. Too perfect. That wasn't a coincidence.

  And that was disturbing.

  Ria was becoming something ridiculous at this rate—something far beyond what she should have been. Still, part of him took grim comfort in the idea that maybe this spoke to his own mental fortitude. Maybe he’d resisted where others failed.

  Or maybe there was a stat for it.

  No. She would have seen it if there were.

  The air shifted as they drew closer, pressure settling against his skin. Instinct flared. Whatever answers he wanted about Ria would have to wait.

  For now, he pushed his suspicions aside.

  The corridor opened into a wide chamber carved from white stone. Rings of etched scripture spiraled along the floor, each line glowing faintly with mirrored light. At the far end stood a single figure.

  The Mirrorless Monk.

  He was tall and thin, robes layered in muted grey and silver, sleeves long enough to brush the ground. Where his face should have been was only smooth skin, blank and reflective like polished glass. No eyes. No mouth. Just a surface that warped reality around it.

  The air felt heavier the closer they stepped.

  Reis stopped at the threshold and bowed deeply. “Master. We have… visitors.”

  The Monk’s head tilted slightly toward Cawren.

  A ripple passed through the chamber.

  Every reflection vanished.

  The Ryun lights dulled. The polished stone floor turned matte. Even the infernal glow around Cawren’s script flickered, swallowed by an absence that felt deliberate.

  Mirrorless.

  Cawren rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. Flames crawled along his arms, script burning brighter as he stepped forward.

  “So you the last piece of my little scavenger hunt, huh.”

  The Monk didn’t move.

  But something pressed against Cawren’s mind.

  Then Reis suddenly gasped, staggering backward. “H-he’s reading you…”

  “Yeah, I figured,” Cawren muttered.

  The Monk raised one hand.

  The space between them fractured.

  Copies of Cawren appeared in every direction, reflections made from thin sheets of mirrored light that shouldn’t have existed in a place built to deny reflection. Each copy moved a half-second behind him, mimicking his stance.

  Cawren grinned beneath his mask.

  “That’s cute.”

  Infernal runes ignited across his body.

  He lunged.