[: 3rd POV :]

"A fluke?"

Daniel's voice was a whisper that cut like glass.

His eyes, violet depths that swallowed light, fixed on Arcturus with a cold so absolute it felt like winter settling into bone.

Arcturus staggered, as if struck.

For the first time since he'd knelt at the altar, the Guild Master looked small, fractured by fear.

Those violet eyes bored into him, and something in his chest clenched tight.

"W-What…?" he managed, voice brittle.

Daniel took a single step forward.

The movement was simple, almost casual, but the air around him tightened as if obeying some invisible command.

His tone dropped; it was deep and soft at once, intimate and thunderous, carrying to every corner of the hall.

"Give me your best shot, and don't tell me it's going to be a fluke."

A silence more frightening than any scream followed.

The mercenaries' whispers died.

Walter's hand hovered on his sword as if expecting the world to split.

Arcturus's face flushed scarlet with fury and a darker thing behind it, panic.

He lunged at the boy's words and flailed for pride like a drowning man grabbing driftwood.

"H-How dare you!"

He spat, voice rising until it cracked. Rage braided with humiliation, and for a heartbeat his madness nearly reclaimed him.

"You insolent brat—!"

"If you're so eager to be dead, then I'll let you have a taste of death itself!" he roared, stepping forward.

His hand tightened on the haft of the Crimson Scythe until the veins in his wrist stood out like cords.

"Stand down!"

Walter barked, desperate to salvage order, but his voice trembled.

Around him, the guild members exchanged frantic looks, some in growing dread, others with a confused spark of hope that Daniel might finish this without them.

Arcturus inhaled as if drawing in the whole of the chamber.

He raised the scythe high, the crimson runes along the blade flared, carving light into the dust.

"Then die by it," he snarled.

"I will make sure you feed the altar properly, boy. Let the Apocalypse King drink your blood!"

"Come then," Daniel murmured.

"Show me what you call your best."

Every muscle in the chamber tensed to breaking.

Everything that had been tense a moment before folded into something far heavier.

An atmosphere so thick it tasted metallic on the tongue.

Arcturus' features contorted; the grin that had once been cruel tightened into a grim, ravenous mask.

Where before he'd been a man drunk on revelation, now he drew upon something darker, an unleashed reservoir of power he had kept hidden until the very end.

The pressure pushed at lungs and thoughts alike, like a hand cupping the chest.

Men and women staggered, knees buckling, faces blanched as if the light itself leached color from them.

"W-What's going on? What is this power?!"

Walter choked, clutching his sword as his legs trembled.

His voice cracked, half fear, half the last sputtering defiance of a man trying to stand while the ground sinks beneath him.

Every syllable of his question was fought for against the weight of the Guild Master's presence.

Arcturus laughed, but it was a sound stripped of joy, hollow, prophetic.

He straightened until he seemed taller than his own shadow.

"I was planning to grant all of you mercy" he declared, his voice amplified by the darkness poured into it.

"But I'll have to cancel that… since someone is eager to die by my hands!"

The chamber darkened as Arcturus spread his arms wide, his laughter breaking the silence like a funeral bell tolling.

His voice echoed with deranged pride.

"Witness this… the almighty power of my Lord!"

The crimson runes carved into his scythe flared brighter, searing the air as if the weapon itself bled with hunger.

[: Class: Nightmare Ghoul :]

[: Trait: Blood Devourer :]

[: Bloodline: Spawn of Red Eclipse :]

[: Physique: Hollow Husk :]

[: Innate: Abyssal Regeneration:]

[: Soul Weapon: Crimson Scythe :]

One by one, he raised his free hand and carved symbols into the air, his voice booming with the names of powers forbidden.

[: Nightmare Ghoul: Graveborn Elegy :]

The ground split beneath him as spectral hands clawed upward, binding his body with chains of marrow and shadow, fusing their essence into his flesh.

[: Spawn of Red Eclipse: Rite of Eclipse :]

His veins glowed red like molten rivers, his skin cracking as blood seeped out, igniting into mist that clung to him like an unholy shroud.

[: Hollow Husk: Rupture of Husk :]

His ribcage tore open, exposing a gaping maw of fangs where his chest should have been, each fang dripping a venomous ichor that hissed when it hit stone.

[: Abyssal Regeneration: Dirge of the Dead :]

From his throat erupted an inhuman wail, a resonance that made even the statues of the altar tremble, as if reality itself recoiled.

[: Blood Devourer: Blood Warlock ;]

The torches around them extinguished, blood coming out and stretching unnaturally long as the walls warped.

Even sound seemed to falter, smothered by an oppressive blood that circled him.

[: Crimson Scythe: Tainted Blood :]

His scythe had grew darker and redder and it had an aura so oppressive that it seemed to bend even the laws of gravity.

Finally, he drove the Crimson Scythe into the ground, the impact rupturing the stone like fragile glass.

His voice thundered.

[: Blessing: Apocalypse Knight :]

The transformation was immediate.

His flesh sloughed from his bones and reformed, wrapping him in crimson muscle and shadow-born armor.

His face became a pale skull wreathed in strips of twitching flesh, eyes blazing like lanterns of blood.

Jagged horns of blackened bone spiraled from his skull, dripping with coagulated gore.

The Crimson Scythe elongated, its blade serrated with jagged runes that pulsed as though alive, whispering madness into the chamber.

Six skeletal wings erupted from his back—neither angelic nor demonic, each feather a shard of bone dripping blood that never touched the ground.

They twitched unnaturally, like a puppet's strings tugged by invisible hands.

From his hollow chest-mouth came a constant low growl, a sound like graves opening beneath the earth.

The maw drooled a black ichor that hissed wherever it fell, burning holes into stone as if it rejected creation itself.

The aura he exuded was not just heavy, it was suffocating.

It carried the scent of rust and ash, the feeling of standing on the edge of a battlefield where the dead outnumber the living a thousand to one.

His very presence gnawed at the soul, as though even gazing at him too long risked being devoured.

Mercenaries stumbled back in horror. Guild members dropped their weapons as their knees buckled.

Even Walter, second-in-command, clenched his chest with trembling hands as though something unseen was crushing his lungs.

Arcturus spread his skeletal wings wide, his laughter jagged and hollow.

"Behold!" he roared, his voice layered with countless others, an orchestra of damned souls screaming in unison.

"This is the form granted to me by my Lord! Despair, for you stand before the Apocalypse Knight's chosen knight, the herald of His coming!"

At last, his voice echoed.

"Now, boy! You've taunted me long enough"

"Do you see it? Do you understand it?"

"This is despair incarnate, a form beyond your comprehension!"

"Even kings would kneel and tremble before me. Yet you… you dared to mock me with your arrogance!"

His skeletal wings beat once, scattering droplets of blood that hissed into smoke when they touched the stone floor.

He pointed the scythe at Daniel, eyes burning with scarlet madness.

"You will be the first to fall to my Lord's gift. And when your body lies in pieces, I will drag your soul screaming into the altar! Mock me now, brat!"

The chamber held its breath.

The mercenaries shrank back against the walls, some muttering prayers, others staring wide-eyed at Daniel, waiting for some sign of fear, some trace of panic.

But Daniel didn't move.

His eyes, unblinking, depthless—remained fixed on Arcturus as if the grotesque display before him were little more than a shadow play on a wall.

His chest rose and fell slowly, a calm so absolute it was unnatural against the weight of power smothering the room.

He tilted his head slightly, as though observing a child throwing a tantrum.

When he spoke, his tone was level, soft, but it carried more weight than Arcturus' roars.

"Is this it?"

Arcturus froze, the mockery threading through his calm like a needle through flesh.

His skeletal fingers tightened on the scythe's haft.

"What… what did you just say?"

Daniel blinked once, unhurried.

"All that noise. All that blood. And this is the best you can do?"

The words fell into the silence like stones into still water, rippling through the room.

A muscle twitched in Arcturus' exposed jaw.

His laughter returned, jagged and too loud, hiding the tremor in his bones.

"Hah! Hahaha! Arrogant worm, you're pretending!"

"Do you think your calm façade will save you when I rip you apart?"

"You fear me. I see it. I smell it. You're trembling inside!"

Daniel remained still, unshaken, eyes cutting through the laughter until it died like a fire choked of air.

His voice, quiet yet immovable, followed.

"No. You've mistaken me. The truth is, I never took you seriously."

The statement landed like a guillotine.

For an instant, the entire hall felt colder, the suffocating aura of Arcturus faltering like a flame in the wind.

The guild members looked at one another, disbelief mingling with terror.

Walter's lips parted, but no words came, only the realization that Daniel hadn't flinched even once.

Arcturus staggered a half step forward, rage clawing at the edges of his pride.

"Y-You!"

His skeletal wings shuddered, his chest-maw gnashing with fury.

"How dare you treat me like some trivial insect! I am the chosen knight of the Apocalypse! I am—"

"Nothing but noise," Daniel interrupted, his voice steady, almost bored.

The words cleaved through the air sharper than any blade.

Daniel hadn't even moved, hadn't raised a hand, yet every breath of his calm mocked him more thoroughly than words ever could.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.