Chapter 14: The Crown of Thorns
The arena erupted into chaos. The air, once filled with the tense silence of anticipation, was now撕裂 with the screams of spells, the clash of steel, and the bellows of hunters giving in to their basest instincts. The "ultimate prize" gleamed mockingly in the center, a beacon of discord.
My training took over. I didn't move towards the crown. I became a spectator of the slaughter, a ghost at the feast. I used Echoing Step, leaving afterimages near skirmishes that drew frantic, wasted attacks from others. I used Shadow Bind not to harm, but to save—tripping a hunter about to deliver a killing blow to a downed opponent, snaring the ankle of a rogue about to backstab Kaelen's shield-bearer from behind.
I was a paradox: a pacifist sowing chaos to prevent murder. I didn't gain a single point of experience from this. The system was only rewarding violence.
Through it all, I watched Kaelen. His team had formed a defensive circle, a bastion of order in the storm. They weren't attacking others, only defending themselves with brutal efficiency. Kaelen's face was a mask of grim disgust. This wasn't the ascension he wanted. His eyes kept flicking to the crown, not with greed, but with a desperate calculation. He seemed to understand, on some level, that claiming it was the key to ending this madness.
He fought his way towards the pedestal, his team carving a path. A rival Guild leader, a hulking berserker from the Storm Fist clan, saw his move and charged to intercept.
"The crown is mine, Vance!" the berserker roared, his axe glowing with crimson energy.
This was a fight I couldn't interrupt. It was a direct, open challenge. The entire arena seemed to hold its breath, the smaller skirmishes dying down as the two most prominent leaders clashed.
Kaelen met the charge. Lightning Rush against Bloody Charge. It was a collision of titans. The berserker was stronger, a pure powerhouse. But Kaelen was faster, smarter. He'd allocated his points well. He used his enhanced Stamina to weather the blows his Stone Skin couldn't fully absorb, and his Intellect to predict the berserker's wild swings. It was a masterful display of tactical combat.
With a final, well-timed Flame Whip to the legs that tripped the berserker, followed by a pommel-strike to the helmet that rang like a gong, Kaelen stood victorious over his stunned opponent. He didn't deliver a killing blow. He simply stepped over him and reached the pedestal.
A hush fell over the arena. All eyes were on him.
He reached for the crown.
"Claim your prize, Ascendant," the system voice purred.
As his fingers brushed the woven light, his body went rigid. A scream, choked and raw, tore from his throat. His back arched, and violent, purple energy crackled around him, lifting him into the air.
[ Individual: Kaelen Vance - Status Update. ]
[ Soul-Bound Item Equipped: Crown of Subjugation. ]
[ Effect: Host neural pathways hijacked. Control ceded to primary administrator. ]
No. This was it. The trap wasn't just to make us kill each other. It was to find the strongest vessel and take it.
Kaelen's body went limp for a moment, then straightened. His movements were no longer his own. They were fluid, alien, and utterly precise. He opened his eyes. They were no longer the fierce, determined eyes of my brother. They were pools of cold, amethyst light, devoid of any humanity.
He spoke, but the voice that came out was a horrifying fusion of his own and the system's, layered with a chilling, ancient intelligence.
"The harvest is ripe," it said, the words echoing with cosmic disdain. "This vessel is acceptable. The culling of Seed World 7,403 may commence."
The Sanctum itself seemed to groan in response. The white and gold walls flickered, revealing glimpses of the underlying structure—a horrific, organic lattice of pulsating flesh and black iron, like the inside of a colossal, living machine. We weren't in a sanctum. We were in the belly of a beast.
Portals, sickly and green, tore open around the arena. From them emerged the true enemy. They were tall, slender humanoids clad in ornate, living armor that seemed grown rather than forged. Their faces were androgynous and perfect, hidden behind smooth masks, but their eyes glowed with the same amethyst light that now possessed Kaelen. Aetherials.
[ Aetherial Culler - Level 70 ]
[ Aetherial Culler - Level 70 ]
[ Aetherial Culler - Level 70 ]
They moved with an effortless, terrifying grace, their weapons—blades of solidified light—cutting through the exhausted hunters like wheat. This wasn't a trial. It was an extermination.
The possessed Kaelen—the thing wearing my brother's skin—turned its gaze towards the surviving hunters, a cruel smile playing on his lips. It raised a hand, and a wave of paralyzing dread washed over the arena. Hunters froze in place, easy prey for the advancing Cullers.
My blood ran cold, then boiled. The grief, the guilt, the endless grinding—it all crystallized into a single, white-hot point of purpose.
He is my brother.
I stopped hiding.
I dropped Veil of the Nameless God. The smooth white mask dissolved from my face. I stood there, in the middle of the horrific arena, just Aiden Vance. But I was no longer the boy in the wheelchair. I was Level 39. I was the Ghost.
I met the possessed Kaelen's gaze across the bloody field.
"It's over," I said, my voice ringing with a power I didn't know I possessed. "Get out of my brother."
The amethyst eyes narrowed, recognizing the anomaly. "The irregularity," the fused voice hissed. "The unaccounted variable. You will be purged first."
It gestured, and three Aetherial Cullers broke from their slaughter and shot towards me, their light-blades humming.
This was it. No more shadows. No more tricks. It was time to show the god in the machine what a real EX-tier could do.
I didn't dodge. I let them come. As the first blade descended, I used Umbral Blade Dance not to attack, but to defend. I crossed my daggers, meeting the light-blade in a shower of sparks. The force was immense, driving me back a step. My Stamina, painstakingly raised, held.
[ Health: 94% ]
The second and third Cullers attacked from the flanks. I used Echoing Step, blurring sideways and leaving an afterimage that absorbed their strikes. In the split-second they were off-balance, I struck. Shadow Bind snared the legs of one. My Umbral Blade found the neck of the other. It didn't scream; it simply dissolved into motes of light.
[ Defeated Aetherial Culler (Lv. 70). Experience Gained. ]
[ Apocalypse's Greed Activated. +0.01 to Strength. ]
The experience was astronomical. A wave of power, vast and overwhelming, crashed into me.
[ Level Up! You are now Level 40. ]
[ +3 Free Stat Points. ]
[ New Skill Unlocked at Level 40. ]
[ Analyzing compatible skills... ]
[ Skill Generated: Umbral Aegis (B+) - Create a dome of protective shadow for 10 seconds, absorbing a significant amount of damage. Cost: 300 MP. Cooldown: 2 minutes. ]
A defensive skill. A life-saver. I allocated the three points directly into Intellect. I needed the mana pool and regeneration. The fight wasn't against these Cullers; it was against the thing wearing my brother.
I turned my focus back to the possessed Kaelen. The other hunters, seeing my stand, found their courage. The spell of dread was broken. A desperate, final battle erupted as the remaining hunters rallied against the Aetherial invasion.
But my war was singular. I began walking towards the pedestal, towards my brother. Cullers moved to intercept. I didn't slow down. Umbral Blade Dance. Shadow Bind. Echoing Step. I was a symphony of destruction, a shadowy scythe reaping a harvest of false gods. Each Culler that fell fed me more experience, more power.
[ Level Up! You are now Level 41. ]
[ +3 Free Stat Points. ] -> Allocated to Intellect.
The thing wearing Kaelen watched me come, its expression shifting from disdain to annoyance, then to the first flicker of something akin to concern.
"You are an interesting flaw," it said, raising Kaelen's greatsword, which was now wreathed in the same amethyst energy. "But a flaw nonetheless."
It moved. It wasn't Kaelen's Lightning Rush. It was something else, something faster and more direct. It closed the distance in an instant, the greatsword carving a path of distorted space towards my head.
This was the moment. The puppet had cut its own strings, and the puppeteer was coming for me. I met its charge, my shadow daggers flashing, the sound of our collision echoing like a thunderclap through the hellish arena. The fight for my brother's soul had begun.