Seeing Ethan dodge his bow, Voss did not rise. Instead, he pivoted on his knees, keeping his head lowered in a posture that was half stubborn, half reverent, as though he had already committed himself to this course and refused to reconsider.

"We're both Soul-Wielders," he said, his voice tight with urgency rather than humility. "I've been trying to figure this out alone, stumbling around in the dark. But I can feel it. The so-called omen people whisper about. It's coming. I'm certain of it. So the one who understands more should teach the one who understands less. Please, accept me as your disciple."

There was no hesitation in him, no doubt. He sounded utterly convinced of his own logic.

Ethan understood immediately. He knew exactly which omen Voss was talking about, because he had already crossed that threshold himself and survived.

The Heart-Devil Tribulation.

If a Soul-Wielder failed that trial, their consciousness would be devoured or forcibly displaced by the manifested Heart-Devil. The body might be seized, twisted into something else entirely, or destroyed outright, leaving the original soul to drift as a broken wraith. It was exactly what had happened to the first Soul-Wielder Ethan had encountered, Doe. She had hidden it well, but she was the product of a failed tribulation, her true self consumed, although she was eventually absorbed by Celeste.

"Get up," Ethan said at last. His voice was firm, but there was no cruelty in it. "Forget being a disciple. As for this omen you're worried about, I'll tell you what I know when we have time."

He flicked his hand in a casual, almost lazy motion. A surge of energy flowed outward, not the old Soul Power he once relied on, but the new, seamless Source Energy that Victor had called the Primal Force. It wrapped around Voss and lifted him cleanly to his feet, steady and unyielding.

Hope sparked in Voss's eyes at Ethan's promise, sharp and unmistakable.

"Let's move," Ethan said, already turning away.

Half an hour later, they reached the outskirts of a town.

It was not large by city standards, but its appearance was jarringly modern. Sleek high-rises pierced the skyline, their clean lines standing in stark contrast to the ramshackle settlements scattered across the surrounding badlands. Even more surprising was the electricity. As dusk settled in, the town flared to life with light, glowing defiantly in a region where power was a rare luxury. It clearly operated on its own independent grid.

Their massive convoy had been halted five kilometers out by the black market's private security forces. Ethan had not objected. Both Blackfin and Voss had warned him in advance that no one entered the market armed. It was not a suggestion. It was law.

Only Ethan's core group, along with Blackfin and Voss, continued on foot into the town, leaving weapons and vehicles behind.

"Where to?" Blackfin asked once they passed through the heavily fortified perimeter.

"You know this place?" Ethan shot back.

"I've been here a few times," Voss said quickly. "I know my way around."

Blackfin thumped his chest with a grin. "Know it? Boss, I own a piece of it. Just say the word."

"The Serenity Hotel," Ethan replied. "You know the owner?"

Blackfin's grin widened into something bordering on pride. "The Serenity? You mean Henry? You should've said so earlier. That man set me up with my custom waterbeds. Come on, I'll take you straight to him."

Ethan felt a flicker of amusement. So much for chasing down a sleazy middleman. Local connections really did change everything.

Blackfin led them through the neon-drenched streets of the black market town, past crowds that buzzed with energy and intent, until they stopped in front of a building washed in warm, golden light. Above the entrance, the sign reading Serenity Hotel gleamed with what appeared to be real gold leaf.

Ethan brushed it lightly with his Soul Sense and felt his eyebrows rise. Actual gold.

"Tsk. Security here must be ridiculous," he muttered. "No thieves? You could chip off a fortune."

He glanced at the sign again. If he were still the broke nobody he had been a few months ago, the temptation to liberate it would have been very real. Even hollow, it looked heavy enough to be worth a small fortune. Just how rich was this Henry?

Blackfin did not hesitate. He pushed open the heavy, unmarked door.

The absence of doormen, valets, or visible staff struck Ethan immediately. As the door swung inward, a wave of sound and scent rolled over them, thick and immersive. Old perfume, cigar smoke, polished wood, and beneath it all, the slow, sultry pulse of jazz.

"Holy shit," Ethan breathed, eyes widening. "This is a damn 1920s speakeasy."

The scene looked ripped straight from a period film. At the center stood a small stage, where a lone singer in a sequined dress held the room captive. Her voice was low and smoky, curling around a classic melody that carried a raw, aching sensuality. The song felt old in the best way, seductive and unashamed, vibrating through the air like a living thing.

Ethan felt a familiar, primal stir. Her voice did not just reach the ears. It pressed against the senses.

Blackfin wore an expression of pure bliss, completely immersed. Even Voss, a Soul-Wielder with formidable mental discipline, seemed affected, his posture slackened, his attention dulled.

Ethan glanced at Victor. The man's jaw was clenched tight, a faint red aura flickering around him. It was the killing intent he had forged as part of his energy, pushing back against the influence through sheer force of will.

Amber and Rainie were no better off. Both had faint blushes high on their cheeks. Whatever this was, it was not selective. It rolled through the room like a pheromone-laced tide of desire.

'This is not just a good voice,' Ethan realized as his Soul Sense flared. 'And it is not Soul Power either. It is sonic. A soundwave technique.'

Only one person he knew wielded sound with that level of precision and lethality. Kiara. Finding another like this here, hidden in a black market speakeasy, was genuinely unexpected.

His gaze met the singer's. She had noticed him too. Her eyes narrowed slightly when she realized he was watching her with clear, unaffected focus.

On a subtle shift in her vocal line, something changed.

Ethan felt it instantly. A specific vibration peeled away from the melody, invisible yet deliberate, threading through the crowd straight toward him. Within his Soul Sense, it took shape as it traveled. First, a vision of a stunningly beautiful woman, smiling warmly, promising pleasure and surrender.

Then, when it crossed within ten meters of him, the illusion shattered. The beauty twisted into a shrieking skull, grotesque and violent, lunging straight for his face.

If Ethan were not a Soul-Wielder, he would have seen nothing at all, only felt a sudden tug of desire or a spike of fear. A normal Energy User would have been caught instantly.

There was no killing intent in it. This was not an assassination attempt. The singer was irritated by his immunity and wanted to drag him under like everyone else, to remind him that he was not special.

A cold smirk touched Ethan's lips.

Behind him, the phantom outline of a towering bear flickered for a heartbeat.

He did not shout. He simply released a low, guttural sound, a restrained "Hmph," infused with the disruptive essence of Grizzly Roar.

The sonic skull shattered into harmless vibrations.

The effect rippled outward.

On stage, the singer's voice broke. Her face went pale as she stumbled back half a step, as though struck by an invisible force.

Around Ethan, Blackfin, Voss, and the others jerked as if thunder had cracked beside their ears. They blinked rapidly, the haze lifting from their expressions.

Across the hall, every patron snapped out of their trance in a collective shudder.

Crack. Crack. Pop.

The massive crystal chandelier hanging at the center of the room gave off a series of sharp, brittle sounds.

Then, with a final, deafening crash, it tore free and plunged to the floor, exploding into a storm of glass and sparks.

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