"I'll get straight to the point," Soren said. "I need your help. If you say no, I'll beat you until you change your mind."

Sausage Neck and those around him paused.

Looking at Soren like they just saw the biggeat fool.

Sausage Neck started to rise.

"A pampered little whitey. Just because you landed one hit—"

Soren moved.

Clap.

The blow sank into Sausage Neck's midsection like a piledriver. Air exploded from the man's lungs.

Soren caught his huge arm, twisted, and slammed him into the ground.

Boom.

The flesh beneath them caved. Cracks webbed outward as the heavy body bounced once—then didn't move.

Soren grabbed him by the throat. "I don't give a shit about your problems with Soulbound knights.

Now pick. You either help me and get a hundred thousand points, or you say no, and I ensure you add my name to your most hated list of Whities.

So what would it be—enough points to get out of this shithole, or should I spell out my name for you?"

Silence.

Soren's gaze was close and fierce, as if looking into the man's soul.

Sausage Neck broke eye contact first.

"Well..." he gave a cheeky laugh. "You should have started with that."

Soren smiled back, "Good." He patted his cheek a bit. "You only get paid when the job is done."

Soren stood to leave. But then he saw a familiar face in the corner. The tiger-painted-face criminal that came with him.

"You!" Soren pointed.

"Me?" The man pointed to his chest.

"Yes... you. Join him."

Soren didn't say anything more.

Strength was the language these people understood, and Soren just flipped one of their strongest on his head.

Adding the fact that Cynthia was also following him behind, Tiger face was not going to say no.

And so it happened again.

But this time around, on Cynthia's side were Vinegar, Ratler, Handler, Sausage Neck, and Tiger Face.

Soren made sure to spell out their goal to them—to ensure Cynthia got to the king Antibody with as much saved strength and stamina as possible.

...Everyone got in position.

And then it was time.

The antibodies raged, but so did Soren and all the others.

This sudden assault was so unexpected that all the other prisoners fighting on the lower whales paused and looked up.

"What are they doing?"

"Haven't you heard? The whitey is going for the Crowned Jewel."

"What? They will never make it; that's suicide."

"He has not even been here a week, and he wants to challenge Big Mama? That's just foolishness."

Even though they said this, their eyes were glued to the assault above.

After all, none of them, including the little prison gangs, had ever attempted such a crazy stunt.

But even crazier things were about to happen.

Because the moment Soren ran on the arrows meant to take his life, many were left speechless.

Even Edward, piloting his Soul Mecha, turned to look, staring in astonishment.

"Edward, what are you doing? I need help here." Vera complained through the comms.

"If I told you, you wouldn't believe me." Edward responded.

... Soren made it all the way to the body of the whale.

As expected, he was swarmed by attacks.

But his Blackfield had become far better than it ever was.

He dodged, weaving through attacks that should either turn him to mush or diced meat.

When it was needed, he would fight. A hit here and there, but never excessive.

After all, the goal was not a display of strength.

He made his way, running on the shoulder of an antibody again.

Soren peeped into the battlefield.

Things were far better than they had been in the previous loop.

Aside from fighting off the antibodies, Soren had given Sausage Neck another task.

Protect Vinegar at all costs.

The same attack that took her life the last time came again.

Vinegar dodged the blade, but on the other side, the hammer was waiting for her.

BOOM.

The sound was heavy, a wave of wind and sound spreading into the surrounding area.

Vinegar thought it was over for her.

But when opened her eyes, before her was Sausage Neck.

The big man had not been exaggerating about his body's capability when it came to absorbing kinetic energy.

Soren spoke in his mind, "Vinegar, are you okay?"

She looked his way and nodded. "Yes, thank you—Soren, look out!"

Soren moved in time, tumbling forward.

"Thank you," he replied sincerely.

Yes. This was how Soren monitored all sides.

He used Vinegar.

Soren got to understand that Vinegar's ability was not speaking into a person's ear from afar; it was the ability to communicate through the mind.

Right now, she acted as the center, feeding information about the battle to him, but also to everyone else.

Since she had the sharpest and widest-ranged Blackfield there was, she was used as an alarm system in case of any unforeseen danger.

This was it. This was their teamwork.

"Handler, clear the way!" Vinegar screamed

"Coming through!" Handler responded as he willed, and shadow tendrils snaked about the battlefield, stabbing into the antibodies in Cynthia's path.

She moved forward, faster than ever. With the antibodies too busy, there was nearly nothing to stop her.

Quickly, she made it to the middle region.

Sausage Neck followed, allowing Tiger Face to protect Vinegar behind.

Sausage Neck took the heavy load for her, and Cynthia moved freely.

When it looked like the antibodies were too much, Ratler would give them something to worry about.

Unfortunately, he could not make so many clones at a time.

Just a maximum of three when engaged and four when free.

But with how chaotic the battlefield was, they were lucky to even get three clones sometimes.

However, Cynthia had reached the head region, and before her was the humongous form of the King Antibody.

The King Antibody also saw her. Amongst all the antibodies Soren had seen, this was the only one that had what Soren believed was an eye—right in the center of its body.

Cynthia only stood and looked at it for a second before she kicked hard against the ground.

Dum. Dum. Dum. Her steps were heavy, digging into the flesh of the whale with carelessness.

She leaped into the air.

However, the eye of King Antibody gave an almost pitiful amused look.

Soren had a bad feeling.

A trap.

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