The echoes of the duel with Seraphiel still hung in the damp air of the chamber. Edward stood alone in the center of the madness, his chest heaving slightly. The great paladin lay defeated behind him, and ahead, the Heart of the Abyss pulsed with a rhythm that felt like a slow, deep drumbeat inside Edward's own skull.

It was over. Or at least, it should have been.

Edward took a step toward the pulsating artifact. His hand reached out, trembling just a little. The Whispering Blade in his grip was quiet for once, as if even the ancient soul inside the weapon was holding its breath.

Then, the air shifted.

It wasn't a sound. It was a feeling. A sharp, sudden pressure against the back of his neck. Edward didn't think; he just moved. He dropped his weight, spinning on his heel in a blur of motion.

Thwip. Thwip. Thwip.

Three black bolts hissed through the space where his head had been a fraction of a second ago. They struck the stone floor and sizzled, melting the rock into a bubbling green sludge. Cursed bolts. Nasty stuff.

Edward straightened up and looked toward the shadows near the entrance of the chamber. He didn't need to ask who it was. He could smell the arrogance. He could smell the desperate, rotting ambition.

"I was wondering when you would show up," Edward said. His voice was flat, tired. He didn't sound like a man facing a new threat. He sounded like a man who had been interrupted while trying to finish a long day of work.

From the darkness, a slow clapping sound echoed.

Chris stepped into the dim light. He looked different than the last time Edward had seen him. He was wearing armor that looked too expensive and too dark, gleaming with a violet sheen that hurt the eyes. In his hand, he held a sword that practically dripped with shadowy energy. Behind him, five elite retainers fanned out. They were all geared to the teeth, holding crossbows and glowing weapons.

"You always were quick, trash," Chris sneered. His face was pale, his eyes wide and bloodshot. He looked like a man who hadn't slept in a month, fueled only by caffeine and hatred. "I watched you fight the Paladin. Impressive. Truly."

Chris took another step forward, pointing his dark blade at Edward's chest.

"But you're tired now," Chris said, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "You're exhausted. You're wounded. And Seraphiel... he was too noble to finish the job. He hesitated. I won't."

Edward looked at the five retainers, then back at Chris. He let out a long, heavy sigh. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the bruises and cuts from his fight with Seraphiel ache.

"Chris," Edward said, his tone almost conversational. "We are in a collapsing underwater city. There is an abyssal god waking up downstairs. Do you really think this is the time for this?"

"This is the perfect time!" Chris shouted, his composure cracking instantly. Spittle flew from his mouth. "Look at you! You stand there like you own the world. You, the Rankless nobody. The mistake."

Chris's aura flared. It was an ugly, chaotic mess of power. He had reached S-Rank, clearly, but it felt unearned. It felt like he had strapped a jet engine to a bicycle.

"I have spent every waking moment preparing for this," Chris hissed. "I bought the forbidden artifacts. I hired the killers. I trained until my hands bled. All to correct the mistake the system made when it let you live."

He gestured to his men. "Kill him. Don't leave a body to bury."

The five retainers surged forward. They were fast. These weren't academy students; these were professional killers, paid top dollar to murder high-ranking hunters.

The first one reached Edward with a spear aimed at his throat.

Edward didn't use his skills. He didn't summon his shadows. He didn't unleash the monstrous tendrils that were hiding beneath his cloak. He simply stepped to the left.

It was a small movement, efficient and precise. The spear thrust passed harmlessly over his shoulder. Edward brought the pommel of his dagger down on the man's wrist. There was a sickening crunch of bone, and the spear clattered to the floor. Before the man could scream, Edward grabbed him by the collar and threw him into the path of the second attacker.

The remaining three hesitated for a split second. That was all Edward needed.

He moved through them like a wind blowing through dry leaves. He parried a sword strike with a lazy flick of his wrist, then kicked the attacker in the knee hard enough to shatter the joint. He ducked under a swinging mace and punched the wielder in the solar plexus, crumpling him to the ground.

It wasn't a fight. It was housekeeping.

Within ten seconds, the five elite retainers were groaning on the floor, disabled or unconscious. Edward hadn't even broken a sweat. He stepped over a moaning guard and looked at Chris.

"Is that it?" Edward asked. "Is that the money well spent?"

Chris let out a chaotic scream of rage. "I'll do it myself!"

He charged.

The air around Chris screamed as he activated his artifacts. His sword, a jagged thing of black metal, ignited with purple fire. He swung it with enough force to cleave a tank in half.

Edward didn't block it. He knew better than to try and block an S-Rank attack with brute force, especially when he was tired. Instead, he flowed around it.

He sidestepped, letting the purple fire singe the edge of his cloak. Chris stumbled, carried forward by the momentum of his own swing. He spun around, hacking wildly.

"Stand still and die!" Chris roared.

"You're swinging too wide," Edward said calmly. He tapped Chris's shoulder with the flat of his blade as he dodged another strike. "You're putting all your weight into the attack. If you miss, you're open."

"Shut up!" Chris slashed horizontally.

Edward ducked. "Your footwork is sloppy. You're relying on the stats the artifacts give you. You're not fighting; you're just flailing."

It was a lesson. A cruel, humiliating lesson. Edward was dismantling him, not with overwhelming power, but with the basics. The fundamentals.

Chris was faster than Edward right now. He was probably stronger, too, thanks to the dark magic pumping through his veins. But he couldn't hit what wasn't there. Edward was inside his guard, outside his reach, behind him, beside him.

Edward was a ghost.

"Stop mocking me!" Chris shrieked. He activated a ring on his finger, and a blast of concussive force exploded outward.

Edward saw the mana gathering a second before it happened. He leaped back, skidding across the stone floor. The blast cleared the space between them.

Chris was panting heavily now. Sweat dripped down his forehead, stinging his eyes. He looked at Edward, who stood perfectly still, his breathing rhythmic and controlled.

"Why?" Chris choked out. "Why are you so strong? I did everything right. I was the chosen one. I was the S-Rank! You were nothing!"

Edward looked at his old rival. He didn't feel anger. He didn't feel hate. He just felt... pity.

"You still think the Rank makes the hunter," Edward said softly. "You think the system decides who is strong."

Edward raised his sword and dagger. "Come on, Chris. Let's finish this."

Chris roared, a sound that was more animal than human. He raised his black sword high, the purple flames roaring into an inferno. He charged one last time, pouring every ounce of his mana, every drop of his hatred, into a single, overhead strike.

"Die!"

Edward stepped in.

He didn't dodge this time. He moved into the storm.

As Chris's sword came down, Edward brought his own blade up. He didn't try to block the edge. He aimed for the weak point he had spotted minutes ago. He struck the flat of Chris's blade, right near the crossguard, at the exact moment of maximum vibration.

CRACK.

The sound was like a gunshot.

Chris's expensive, cursed, S-Rank sword shattered. Shards of black metal rained down around them like dark confetti.

Chris stumbled forward, his eyes wide with shock, holding nothing but a broken hilt.

Edward didn't stop. He dropped his dagger and grabbed Chris's right arm—the arm that had held the sword. He twisted.

It was a simple, brutal motion. A technique he had learned in the mud of the beast-kin territories.

SNAP.

Chris screamed. It was a high, thin sound. His arm bent at an angle that arms were never meant to bend.

Edward swept Chris's legs out from under him. The noble hit the ground hard, the air rushing out of his lungs. Before Chris could scramble away, Edward pinned him, placing a boot on his chest.

The tip of Edward's sword hovered an inch from Chris's throat.

Silence fell over the chamber. The only sounds were the distant groans of the retainers and Chris's ragged, sobbing breaths.

Chris looked up at Edward. His face was a mask of pain and utter defeat. The arrogance was gone. The rage was broken. All that was left was a scared, spoiled boy who had lost the game he thought he owned.

"Do it," Chris whispered, tears mixing with the dust on his face. "Just do it."

Edward looked down at him. The Whispering Blade hummed in his hand, hungry. It wanted to drink. It wanted to finish the job.

But Edward just stared. He looked at the broken arm. He looked at the shattered sword. He looked at the man who had made his life a living hell for years.

"Why?" Chris sobbed, his voice cracking. "Why aren't you killing me? I tried to kill you. I killed your friends. I tried to destroy a city just to get to you! End it!"

Edward slowly lowered his sword. He stepped back, removing his boot from Chris's chest.

"You want to know why?" Edward asked. His voice was quiet, echoing slightly in the vast chamber.

Chris struggled to sit up, cradling his broken arm. He looked at Edward with confusion and fear. "Yes."

Edward sheathed his blade. The metal clicked softly into the scabbard.

"Because you're empty, Chris," Edward said.

The words hit harder than any punch.

"Every soul I devour," Edward continued, turning his back on his rival, "adds something to me. Strength. Memories. Willpower. Even the monsters... they have a drive to survive. They have substance."

Edward began to walk away, toward the pulsating Heart of the Abyss.

"But you?" Edward said over his shoulder. "You have nothing. Just jealousy. Just hollow hate. If I ate your soul, it wouldn't make me stronger. It would just make me sick."

Chris froze. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. He had expected anger. He had expected a lecture on morality. He had expected death.

He hadn't expected to be dismissed.

"You're not worth the soul, Chris," Edward said finality. "Go home. Live with the fact that you weren't even worth killing."

"You... you bastard!" Chris screamed at Edward's back. "Kill me! Don't you dare walk away from me! I am your enemy! I am your nemesis!"

Edward didn't stop. He didn't even flinch. He just kept walking toward the light of the Heart.

Chris tried to stand, to rush him, but his legs gave out. He collapsed back onto the cold stone, weeping uncontrollably. He realized, with a crushing certainty, that Edward was telling the truth. To Edward, Chris wasn't a rival. He wasn't a nemesis. He was just an inconvenience. A minor obstacle on the road to something greater.

Edward reached the edge of the pit where the Heart of the Abyss floated. He could hear Chris sobbing behind him, a pathetic, broken sound. He pushed it out of his mind.

He had made his choice. He had spared the human, not out of kindness, but out of a supreme, indifferent pragmatism. He had bigger things to worry about now.

Edward looked at the Heart. It was beautiful in a terrifying way. It swirled with colors that didn't exist on the surface world—deep violets, crushing blacks, and a blue that looked like the bottom of the deepest trench.

He could feel the power radiating from it. It was immense. It was corrupting.

"Are you sure about this?" the Whispering Blade spoke in his mind. Its voice was concerned. "This isn't a normal artifact, boy. This is a piece of the darkness itself. If you touch it... you won't come back the same."

Edward looked at his hand. He thought about Seraphiel, who had fought him with honor. He thought about Chris, who had fought him with hate. He thought about Sarah, waiting for him on the surface.

He knew what he had to do. To protect them—to protect the good ones and pity the bad ones—he had to be stronger. He had to be something else.

"I know," Edward whispered to the blade. "But I don't need to be the same. I just need to be strong enough."

He could hear the water rushing in from the cracks in the ceiling. The city was dying. The ocean was reclaiming Y'ha-nthlei.

Chris was still crying in the dark.

Edward Ross, the Rankless, the Soul Devourer, reached out and grabbed the Heart of the Abyss.

And the world turned black.

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