For some reason, Falto was spending a lot of time hijacking her mind. Yanson didn’t want to rush him, so he waited patiently.

  While waiting, his eyes roamed around. He spotted something odd.

  The girl was completely limp... except for her left hand. For some reason, it was clenched tight.

  He couldn’t help but wonder why. He reached for her hand and raised her fist.

  He tugged at her fingers and felt some resistance. Odd.

  Obviously, he was stronger than her, so he pried her fingers open, but... there was nothing.

  Maybe it was something in the white glove.

  Suddenly, Falto gasped. Yanson quickly turned to him and knew something was wrong.

  His entire body was trembling like a child facing an angry parent. No—it was as if he was facing death itself.

  Despite his mouth being wide open, he couldn’t make a sound—

  He screamed.

  Yanson didn’t get it. Why wasn’t Falto making his monster disconnect from her?

  And what the hell had he come across?

  His pondering didn’t last long. What happened next made him realize he was truly a fool.

  His ego had led him to play with fate, treating it like something he could control. Fate spat in his face.

  Falto’s skin quickly darkened to a purplish tone. And his monster? Yanson wasn’t sure what was happening to it. The blue energy of its skill was... sinking. It was like her skin was soil, and the energy was water.

  Suddenly, Falto collapsed to his knees. His eyes dilated, and the edges of his body cracked and twisted, becoming sharper.

  His fingers were evolving into claws. His elbows transformed into some kind of blades.

  He looked at Yanson, mid-transformation. “Help!”

  This thing…

  Yanson’s heart went cold, and he subconsciously took a step back.

  Darsean darkness.

  He couldn’t believe it. He didn’t want to. Falto was becoming Corrupted.

  The girl… she did this?

  It was common sense. Anyone with half a brain would’ve put two and two together.

  But… damn it.

  He looked at her and saw her stirring awake.

  Falto screamed louder and louder for help. But it didn’t take long for his pleas to become warped and disturbing.

  It wasn’t human… and not quite monster-like either.

  Fuck it. Get your head straight.

  Yanson pulled an exploding disc from his Personal Space and threw it at him.

  While Falto clawed at his face, the disc sank into his neck and was about to explode.

  For some reason, his madness vanished instantly, and a strange calm came over him, letting him tear a chunk out of his neck before it could detonate.

  Fucking fuck.

  Yanson wished he had an ether gun. He drew his sword, fully aware he couldn’t risk sending a monster at him.

  Falto’s eyes narrowed on him, and he pushed himself off the ground.

  His teeth had curled into odd rolls. It made Yanson wonder what he could even bite with those.

  Falto seemed to read his mind and wanted to show him. He dashed at him.

  Yanson rushed to meet him. When they were less than ten inches apart, he swung his steel sword down at his neck, ignoring his sharp finger-claws reaching for him.

  Just before impact, Yanson kicked his thigh, throwing off his balance.

  The claws raked Yanson’s armored chest, and a second later, his sword drove through Falto’s neck.

  He pulled it out, raised it again, and stabbed his head.

  Again and again. Over and over, until his head was in pieces.

  Yanson’s shoulders ached, and his heart pounded in his chest.

  That should be enough. Did he have to destroy the heart too? Fuck, he didn’t know.

  Oh shit. Would breathing in his blood through the air corrupt him too? He didn’t think so.

  He held the sword, dripping with purple blood, for a second before throwing it away.

  “He screamed so much.”

  Yanson turned toward the girl, now fully awake… and healed.

  There was something more. A red, watery aura extended from her fingers to halfway up her forearms.

  Clawed gauntlets.

  He couldn't grasp what was happening. He wondered what kind of monster skill she used. A racial one? Unique?

  No…

  He asked, afraid of the answer, “What are you?”

  She went from looking at Falto’s body to staring at him. “Vernisha.”

  “Don’t play with me!” Yanson shouted. “What the fuck are you? You’re a Darsean cultist, but you must be something more. Some high-ranker in the cult?”

  “Why do you care?”

  She began walking toward him. Her movements were so calm it made him wonder if she’d forgotten they were just trying to kill each other.

  “You’re going to die here,” she continued.

  She crouched down, picked up the sword he had thrown, and studied it.

  Her red aura crept up the handle, slowly reaching the tip.

  It wrapped around the blade like it was made to wear it. Like it was natural.

  The girl looked at it in surprise, then smiled. Not a crazed smile—an innocent, genuine one.

  “Haha… Holy shit. You’re fucked, you know that, right?” She looked at him calmly. “Like, really. You’re dead.”

  She wasn’t trying to sound cool or threatening, just honest. She was giving him her sincere opinion.

  Yanson didn’t get why she was suddenly so confident, but he assumed she could spread her Darsean darkness through that red aura.

  He had to avoid it, or it was game over for him.

  He took a deep breath and settled into the proper battle stance.

  She noticed his shift in attitude and responded by grabbing her head with one hand.

  Yanson wasn’t sure why. He didn’t plan to find out either. He kicked off the ground, jumping backward.

  She charged at him like a reckless fool.

  Yanson quickly pulled out a smoke bomb—shaped like an explosive disc—and threw it at the ground.

  The device cracked, and black fumes erupted, blanketing the space.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  He took a few steps back and commanded Plizar to return while activating [camouflage].

  It didn’t take long for it to reach him through the smoke. He sealed it away.

  He needed a monster with long-range attacks. The only one in his arsenal capable of that was Marblin.

  Yanson lashed out his tongue and summoned the creature with a blue marble lower body.

  Its claws raked the stone ground, and its upper body lit up the cave.

  Marblin grabbed his legs and yanked blue marbles out of them.

  A figure moved through the smoke and rushed at him.

  Marblin launched the marbles at her with enough force to shred a boulder apart.

  They moved quickly, slicing the air.

  In less than a second, they pierced through her chest and neck.

  

  He was afraid for no reason—

  She brushed her wounds with a hand. Her flesh began to mend, pulling itself together. It wasn’t instant, but it was fast. Too fast.

  Shit.

  “Burn her down!” Yanson shouted.

  Marblin’s jaw dropped, and a torrent of flame began building in his throat.

  She threw the sword at him before he could finish. The blade spun in messy circles as it neared him. It wouldn’t scratch him, but… it would corrupt him.

  Yanson immediately ordered him to cancel the skill and dash away from the sword.

  The blade clanged to the ground, and the red aura faded. A trick, he assumed.

  He also noticed she wasn’t using any monsters. Wait a second… How could she be a Vlandos, possess Vlandos powers, and be a Darsean cultist?

  What the hell was she, truly?

  Yanson stepped back, but something felt wrong... His stomach churned and his head tightened.

  The healing elixirs he had consumed were starting to affect him. Shit, shit, shit.

  He ducked, barely avoiding the girl’s swipe of red energy claws.

  She asked, “What the hell did you want with me anyway?”

  Yanson jumped back and felt an odd tremble in his fingers. “It was a mistake...”

  He said to her, changing tactics, “Clearly, this isn’t going the way either of us wanted.”

  “How so?” she asked. “That couldn’t have been a mistake. Did I kill someone you love?”

  Huh?

  Yanson answered quickly, “Many. My wife. My daughter. My son.”

  “Oh...” Her eyes moved to his monster. “Sorry to hear that. I’ll send you to them.”

  What?

  “You’ll... still try to kill me? Despite the deaths you caused?” Yanson drew a weapon from his Personal Space.

  “You know too much about me. I couldn’t possibly let you live.” Suddenly, a dark light flashed from her left palm.

  A snake made of water shot toward him at deadly speed.

  Oh... maybe I shouldn’t have given her time to summon her monsters. Shit.

  Marbin would be too slow...

  Right before the snake could sink its fangs into his neck, a blinding flash of flame erupted, and suddenly the snake was being held by the head.

  Marbin was no longer himself. Standing in front of Yanson was a creature three times his size.

  Its tail, made of burning marbles, whipped around and was long enough to reach its second face.

  The second face—on the back of its skull—frowned at him. It wasn’t an expression it could change. It was stuck that way, meant to contrast the grinning front.

  But the issue was... Yanson couldn’t handle the strain. His knees buckled and he dropped to the ground.

  It was getting hard to breathe. His muscles were tightening.

  DEVOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOURRRRRRRR!

  The barrier between man and monster was gone. He was going to break.

  BE STRONGEST!

  No... not like this.

  Marbin’s second form roared and began walking toward the girl. Even if Yanson were blind, he could hear its flaming arms dragging across the ground.

  And his body... was no longer listening...

  KILL kill kill!

  Before—Take everything!—the last thread of his—Let them see how much better I am!—sanity could snap, Yanson —I'll have descendants. I'll breed until the world collapses— quickly opened his Personal Space. —I'll eat her. I'll eat her spine!

  His arm struggled to obey. Every thought of his was consumed by its desire, by its evil nature.

  Yanson stabbed his arm with a syringe. It was an experimental performance-enhancing drug. A berserker steroid.

  He needed to be in perfect condition to survive it. By doing this, he was committing suicide. But he had already courted death—this was simply delaying it.

  He pushed down the plunger.

  His tremors worsened. He suddenly couldn’t breathe... then everything changed.

  Yanson inhaled deeply, and his body felt eerily calm.

  He pushed himself off the ground and looked at his monster. Its arm was stretched toward her, frozen in place.

  To him.

  It wanted to roar, to scream in rage. Its freedom was so close.

  Yanson sealed the monster—his mind couldn’t handle it anymore.

  He turned to face the girl.

  She said, “I like the way you suffer.”

  Yanson wiped the saliva from his chin and grinned before dashing at her.

  Her eyes widened, like he’d done something unnatural. Just as he moved his leg to kick her, she extended her corrupted hands toward his neck.

  Like I’ll die that easily.

  Yanson screamed with a wild fury—one he’d never felt before. A fury that felt natural. “I’m not going to die just yet!”

  Her hand was an inch from his neck when his leg slammed into her shoulder.

  Her arm snapped immediately, like a dry branch.

  A gasp escaped her as she flew into the wall like a broken toy.

  Yanson felt incredible. Strong. Invincible. “Before I die, I promise you, the world will know you. The real you.”

  She groaned. “You want to kill me or expose me. Which is it? Don’t you already know all my secrets? So why are you still here?”

  Falto was supposed to tell him everything. But she killed him before he could do his damn job.

  She asked, curiously, “Oh, you don’t know?”

  “You turned a man into a Corrupt. That... that’s enough.”

  She pushed herself off the wall. “If you still had something to gain from this, I’d understand your hatred.”

  She swung her previously broken arm about, treating it like it was brand new. “If you’re dead, why would my life being ruined matter to you?”

  “Because... you fucked my life over,” Yanson growled.

  “I acted in self-defense.”

  “Yes. You shouldn’t have done that.”

  She rolled her eyes. “So the wife and son stuff isn't real? I mean, what kind of husband or father doesn’t scream for justice when the killer asks why he hates her?”

  Oh... to hell with it.

  “Is that so?” Yanson raised an eyebrow in contempt.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll check if you have any living loved ones when I'm done with you.”

  She was baiting him. He knew it. Anyone with half a brain could see that.

  But for some reason, that got a rise out of him. “Like that money-goblin bitch of... what’s the cocksucker’s name? The one I killed.”

  She didn’t react the way he wanted—or expected. She just stared at him. Not even a glare.

  It was like... she was tired of him.

  Of him?

  

  Yanson dashed at her, clearing the distance in moments.

  She raised her arms. Too slow. His punch shot between them before they could meet.

  His fist slammed into her temple.

  Her head snapped back. He felt a crack. But instead of groaning in pain, she smiled.

  Her red aura returned, and his arm was suddenly trapped between hers.

  …

  Before I get corrupted, I’ll kill you myself!

  Yanson tore his arm free and readied his fist. He was going to punch straight through her chest in one strike.

  His hand moved fast, slicing the air, racing for her heart.

  He’d break her ribs, grab her sternum, and rip it out.

  Wait. He wasn’t supposed to kill her. The world had to know. That was the plan. That was the fucking plan.

  Why had he forgotten that...? How could he?

  He didn’t get it. Why was he acting so recklessly? So... unlike himself?

  As soon as his hand neared her, it spasmed in agony.

  Yanson screamed and yanked it back. The girl dropped to the ground, head tilted back, smiling.

  There was something wrong in his arm. It felt like knives were crawling inside it.

  The pain crept up toward his elbow. He quickly drew a knife and prepared to cut his arm off.

  But then, he felt both legs being tapped. He looked down. The girl’s fingers were tapping his shins.

  “Those two—cut them off,” she muttered, then stumbled upright.

  Fuck exposing her... I have to kill her!

  Yanson shifted his grip on the knife and plunged it deep into her neck.

  He twisted, then pulled it out.

  She gasped in shock and reached for her throat, but he grabbed her hands.

  He had to rip them off.

  But before he could, pain exploded in his legs—like something was rampaging inside them.

  Yanson screamed and collapsed. Shit... Shit...

  “You should have cut my head off...” she said in a croaky voice. “At least then, there’d be two of me to watch you die.”

  She crouched low. Despite the fresh blood on her neck, the wound had vanished.

  “What... the hell are you?” Yanson asked.

  “You called me a Darsean cultist. Is your memory going to shit?”

  “…Maybe.” His breath hitched. “But I remember now—they’re freaks. They look like freaks. You look normal. So what the hell are you? I know it’s Darsean-related, but what exactly?”

  “A demon.”

  “You think you’re funny, huh...” The pain was spreading fast. He was going to die before the drug even had the chance to kill him.

  Ridiculous.

  Yanson muttered, “When I’m reborn... hopefully, I’ll be a demon too.”

  “Reborn again?” she asked, as if he’d just spoken a foreign term.

  He tried to smile, but even that was a struggle. His face trembled with the effort, and what came out wasn’t a smile at all—just a miserable twitch. “Yes...”

  Yanson pulled out an explosive disc, but she swiped it from his hand.

  “I’m keeping that.”

  “You little... shit.” The pain—like blades threading through his nerves—had climbed into his chest now.

  She examined the disc, turning it slowly in her hands. “When you’re reborn, will you try to kill me again?”

  “Haha...” The laugh was dry and broken. He lost the strength to stay on his knees and fell back, his body hitting the ground with a dull, pitiful thud. “I doubt I’ll be in this world. So you know what? Fuck it. I don’t care anymore. Nothing I can do about it. Fucking hell...”

  But he was lying. He cared. He cared so much it hurt worse than the thing inside him. None of this was fair…

  “If you do have a family, I wouldn’t touch them,” she said suddenly, almost like it was an afterthought. “I was just saying stuff.”

  “…Oh.” Yanson blinked slowly. “Damn. Can you pass a message to someone?”

  “Is it a trap?”

  Blood trickled from the corners of his lips as he forced a smile. “Yeah. It was going to be a trap.”

  He wanted to laugh. Truly laugh. It felt like he’d told the biggest joke in the world.

  But nothing came out.

  Just silence… and blood.

  His neck was too heavy to hold up. It rolled to the side, limp. His breathing was thin now. Barely there.

  “Lo’jul never ratted you out.”

  She didn’t respond right away. Her face didn’t change. “I see.”

  “Why aren't you angry?” Yanson asked, his voice rough and fading. “Why am I not being tortured?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t... know?” he wheezed. “The hell kind of answer is that...”

  No response. Just the weight of stillness between them.

  It was quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that presses on your skin.

  Yanson hated it.

  He licked his dry lips, forcing them to move again. “It hurts... this thing in me. Every part of me feels like it’s tearing itself apart.”

  She swept her fingers through her hair. Her breathing, he noticed, was becoming uneven. Her voice cracked.

  “Good. I’m glad.”

  “It seems...” His voice thinned. “…I’m not the only one in pain...”

  “Uhuh?”

  Yanson couldn’t move anymore. Not even a twitch. He was so cold now—so cold that even his thoughts felt frozen.

  He stared up at the rocky ceiling. The shadows looked like people he used to know.

  “…Damn it. Tersla…”

  Her name left his lips like a breath he didn’t deserve.

  Regret twisted faintly in his chest. He wished he had treated her better.

  His eyes burned, and he realized he was crying. Warm tears slid down his frozen cheeks. They felt too heavy to be real.

  I don’t want to restart. I don’t want to restart…

  Yanson shook his head weakly, the motion barely noticeable. “I just... I just want to rest...”

  The tears came faster, breaking into quiet sobs. His voice trembled and cracked.

  “I don’t... I don’t want to stay good…”

  The light in his eyes flickered, then dimmed.

  His heart, heavy and tired, beat once more.

  Then stopped.

  Caren was supposed to get his own POV chapter/half of a chapter, to develop his character more. But I thought I had too many POV shifts for the arc, and I didn't see where I could put his without ruining the pacing.

  After the first failed attack, she would call for Ferzan's help, not taking a chance. Anyway, the person would get away, but Vernisha would find a letter. It basically says Lo'jul is dead. Vernisha, in a rage, would try to go to Sunfall to confront this mysterious person, but Ferzan would stop her. They fight, she loses. Back at the mansion, Ferzan would show her proof that Lo'jul is alive, just hospitalized.

  Still angry about it, she would sneak out, go to some random cave, and the events would play out the same as they did from parts 4 - 6.

  There was also another minor change. Ferzan wasn't supposed to get in trouble with Wanda, he was supposed to go to Wanda's Reverence, lured there by Yanson being a smartass, and he would meet the slave, who would suicide bomb, collapsing the massive building on Ferzan. It wouldn't have killed him, just immobilized him.

  The main reason for the changes in this arc:

  I didn't like that the conflict came to Vernisha, and I wanted her to have more agency. Originally, it seemed like she only reacted to the antagonist, and the buildup to the final battle was just going to be lame. There wasn't that main character energy. Yanson had little development, and the buildup had little development. It just... happened.

  Also, there wasn't going to be any Natasha/black cat foreshadowing, lmao. She was just gonna pop up.

  Anyways, thanks for reading