Hunter Eight, the most composed of the Octagon Guard, knelt before the Obsidian Throne. Her mask was off, revealing a face etched with the kind of discipline that bordered on numbness.
"Monarch," she reported, her voice steady despite the tremor in her hands. "The teleportation sequence has engaged, but the arrival velocity is catastrophic. The sensors indicate a lethal impact. What are your orders?"
Monarch Markus sat on his throne of reinforced glass, examining a datapad with the casual interest of a man reading a weather report. He didn't look up.
"They've survived," Markus stated. His voice was soft, barely a whisper, yet it carried across the vast hall. "And you have self-hypnotized yourself to avoid the reality that you have failed again."
Eight flinched. The accusation was delivered so calmly, so clinically, that it cut deeper than a scream. She clenched her fist against the cold floor.
"Last time, Hunter Two underestimated them," Eight said, fighting to keep her tone level. "That is why the extraction failed. But if they impact at this speed... had they died in transit, the teleportation would have collapsed. The fact that teleportation is accelerating means they managed to survive."
Markus finally looked up. His eyes, glowing with a faint violet light, bore into her.
"It is Amara we are dealing with. The woman who could slaughter a Rank Five beast while she was merely Rank Four. Now, after slaying the Greed Demon Anay—whom I spent twenty years cultivating—she has undoubtedly ascended."
"She is a thief who stole your property, Monarch," Eight said, her head bowed low. "Please instruct us."
Markus smiled. It was a rare, terrifying expression that didn't reach his eyes.
"All is fair in this world, Number Eight. Slay anyone, inherit everything. That has been the law of this world since prehistory. Still..."
He paused, looking at his reflection in the glass floor.
"She will prove to us how naive she can get if she thinks raw power is enough to challenge the Architect of this system."
He flicked his wrist. A small, pulsating vial of crimson liquid floated from his hand to hers. It glowed with a sickly, greedy light.
"Take this," Markus commanded. "The Distilled Life Essence of Anay. Modify the internal structure of the Blood Formation. Instead of catching them, I want you to invite them directly onto the killing floor. Into the Blood Formation."
He leaned back, his gaze drifting to the glass ceiling.
"This is your last chance. Use it well. I do not tolerate weeds in my garden."
"Understood, Monarch."
Hunter Eight returned to the ritual chamber. The other seven hunters were gathered around the intricate blood circle, their postures rigid with stress. They looked less like elite assassins and more like children waiting for punishment.
"Report?" Hunter Seven asked, his eyes darting to the vial in her hand.
"We need to change the structure of the Blood Formation," Eight announced, her voice flat. "Monarch's orders. This is the Life Essence of Anay. We are to merge this into the Eight Directions Infinite Blood Formation."
The tension in the room broke instantly. Shoulders slumped. Breath rushed out of lungs.
"Oh, thank the stars," Hunter One exhaled, clutching her chest. Her fear was palpable, a trembling aura around her. "That means he isn't executing us yet. I... I can still see the morning light."
"Yeah, Sis," Hunter Two muttered, checking his watch with a pragmatic scowl. "We can all see the morning. But only if we successfully drag those two monsters into the trap."
He looked around the circle, his pragmatism cutting through their relief. "Don't celebrate yet. We are inviting hell into our living room."
"Them?" Hunter Three asked, blinking in confusion. "You really think both of them are alive? Amara, sure. She’s a cockroach; she’ll survive the apocalypse. But the kid? Aryan?"
"Maybe he is already dead," Hunter Four sighed, looking at the ceiling with the weary resignation of someone who believed the universe was rigged against them. "The formation works as long as one target is alive. It doesn't prove the boy made it. Honestly, those two must have used up all the luck in the galaxy. If such a thing even exists."
"We are talking about Amara here," Hunter Five interjected, his brow furrowed in thought. "The fact that she is with Aryan, and protecting him this closely... it implies a logic we aren't seeing. Why risk everything for a Rank One waiter?"
"You finally used your brain, Bro," Hunter Six scoffed, tapping his temple. "Who knows? Aryan might be her long-lost blood brother. I’ve heard the stories. Amara is cold to the world, but the legends say she protects her blood like it’s the only holy thing left in this godforsaken city."
The room went quiet.
"We should know that better than anyone," Hunter Four whispered, her eyes turning moist. "Protecting blood relatives... if not for that instinct, we wouldn't be enslaved here, would we?"
She laughed, a hollow, bitter sound. "Oh well. We must have exhausted our luck years ago. Let’s hope this ritual buys us a little back."
"Shh!" Hunter One hissed, looking around frantically. "Don't you think the Monarch knows? Talking behind his back like this?"
"Sis One, please," Hunter Four rolled her eyes. "Do you think he cares what the livestock says? We can't escape his hand. Dream on. He doesn't say anything because our fear does the work for him. So let's just hope. Hope mode: On."
Hunter Seven stood up, checking his weapons. "Let us start the work now. We better be careful. No matter what we feel, this is the only way we, blood brothers and sisters, survive the night."
"Move. Now. Get to work," Hunter Eight commanded, watching her siblings bicker with a weariness that went bone deep.
For a fleeting second, the mask of the cold assassin slipped. A rare, small smile flickered across Eight's face—ghostly and sad, like a flower trying to bloom in a freezer. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the steel gaze of the eldest sister.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
She opened her palm. The Greed Essence of Anay didn't flow like liquid; it moved like a living, malevolent sludge, glowing with a starving crimson light.
With a wave of her hand, she divided the essence, sending seven floating spheres of concentrated avarice to her siblings, who stood at their respective cardinal points.
"Listen to me," she instructed, her voice cutting through the hum of the palace's energy fields. "Pour the Essence into the runes from your positions. Do not hesitate. The Blood Formation will not just absorb it; it will hunger for it. As soon as the connection is made, retreat. Move fast, or the pressure alone will crush your organs."
The seven siblings caught the floating spheres. They stopped their jokes. They stopped their complaints. They looked at Eight, nodded once, and slammed the essence into the ground.
The reaction was instantaneous.
The red light didn't just flare; it screamed. The intricate runic lines on the floor, which had been a flat, two-dimensional drawing until this moment, suddenly defied gravity. The blood boiled upward, rising from the floor like liquid walls. The geometric pattern expanded, twisting and locking into place, transforming into a three-dimensional cage of pulsating crimson energy.
BOOM.
A shockwave of pure spiritual pressure exploded outward.
The siblings didn't run; they were launched. The force of the formation’s awakening swatted them like flies, sending them hurling through the air. They crashed against the distant perimeter pillars of the hall, sliding down the glass walls, gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of them.
Dust swirled around the edges of the room, but the center was now dominated by a towering, spinning construct of blood and greed.
"Sound off!" Hunter Two wheezed, clutching his ribs as he staggered up. "Status!"
"Alive," Hunter One groaned, wiping blood from her lip.
"Intact," Hunter Four whispered, checking her limbs.
"Still breathing," Hunter Six coughed.
One by one, they confirmed their survival. They limped toward each other, forming a huddled circle far away from the terrifying red monolith they had just created.
Through the shattered ceiling and the transparent walls of the Monarch’s palace, the first light of dawn began to bleed into the sky. The Morning Star hung low in the east, brilliant and indifferent to their suffering.
They looked at the star, then at the lethal formation awaiting its victims.
They did not speak. They did not dare whisper, for in the Glass Palace, even the air belonged to Markus. But they were siblings. They shared blood. And in that silence, a collective prayer rose from eight hearts beating in terrified unison.
'Aryan... Amara...'
The thought passed between them, heavier than any weapon.
'May you really be blood relatives. May you possess the bond that we are enslaved by. If you truly are the Monster who can survive the apocalypse, and the Seer who can judge the wicked...'
Hunter Eight looked at the towering glass walls that imprisoned them, her eyes reflecting the rising sun.
'Please hear our prayers. We invited you into this trap not to kill you, though that is what you will face. We invited you so you can destroy it. Be the nightmare he fears. Please hear our prayers. Destroy Markus. Burn this glass cage to the ground.'
"Am I going to die?" Aryan muttered, his eyes darting frantically left and right.
He felt a presence behind him—something solid in a world of swirling, liquid darkness. His instincts, now wired with the reflexes of a predator, screamed danger.
"Whoa!" Aryan jumped, spinning in mid-air with a terrified yelp. "Oh. Oh no. Am I already in Hell? Is that it? Who is the VIP escort? Who came to accompany me to the fiery pits? Such a devotee... Since when did I gain a fan club in the afterlife? Do I need to sign an autograph before I get tortured?"
The words tumbled out of his mouth like bullets from a machine gun. He was vibrating, his hands checking his own limbs to make sure they were still attached.
"You are still well, and very much alive," a female voice rang in his head—not mechanical, but tinged with the weary frustration of a warrior. "That is Amara standing before you. Open your eyes and stop staring at the void, will you?"
Aryan blinked. The darkness coalesced into a figure.
"Oh. Wait. What? Who is this? Sam? Is that you? You sound... different. Wait." Aryan focused. "Amara? Sis?"
Amara stood there, clad in the same red dress now covered by a long black trench coat. She was rubbing her temples, a faint, amused smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she watched Aryan bounce around like a deflating balloon.
"Since you are talking enough to fill a library," Amara said, her voice calm and grounding, "I assume your brain is functioning. You are stable."
"How do you know that?" Aryan asked, finally stopping his frantic pacing.
"I figured it out. You are weird, brother," Amara said, stepping closer. "But this weirdness is a diagnostic tool. The more you talk, the more you are processing. The more you babble under stress, the cooler your logic actually is underneath. The problem is..."
She paused, her smile fading as she remembered his comatose state on the bed, silent and dying. She clenched her fist.
Sam’s voice boomed in Aryan’s head, seizing the opportunity to show off.
"The problem, kid, arises when you don't talk. Silence is your true panic state. When you go quiet, that’s when we know we’re in trouble. Sometimes I wish I could swap the settings—speak in moderation during daily life, and shut up during stress. Is that too much to ask of the Great Sam's host?"
"Oh, give it a rest, Brother Sam," Nine interrupted, her voice sharp. "If he says nothing, Amara freezes. Look at her—she was a statue until he started his nonsense. It is better if he talks too much. Since Amara won't speak much, let her brother fill the silence."
"Okay. Nine and Sam, that is enough." Amara cut in, regaining her composure. She looked at Aryan, her eyes serious. "Let us get to the point. We are reaching the enemy's destination."
"What?" Aryan blinked. "The enemy? Is that Monarch Markus? Oh, that guy. He really meets your expectations of a villain, Sis—living in a glass castle, sending assassins. But..."
Aryan looked down at his hands. They were glowing faintly.
"Why do I feel like my body is a nuclear reactor about to melt down? And why are we standing in nothingness? Can anyone explain the physics of this place?"
Amara looked at him, refusing to speak the answer.
"Check your System Space," Sam instructed, his tone unusually grave. "And look at the screen in the center. You will know."
Aryan frowned. "My space?"
In the past, accessing his inventory required concentration. He had to close his eyes and visualize the vault. But now…
He didn't even blink. He simply willed it.
The reality around him peeled back like a translucent curtain. The System Space wasn't just a "space" anymore; it was an extension of the world. It overlaid the void, visible only to him, Amara, Sam, and Nine.
"Wow," Aryan breathed.
His cramped, dark inventory had transformed. It was now a mini-planet, a lush landscape stretching out in all directions. But the trees were golden, the grass was brown, and red leaves drifted on an unseen wind.
"It looks... gorgeous," Aryan whispered. "But why is it Autumn? Why does everything look like it’s dying?"
He looked at the massive interface floating in the center of this golden world.
[CONGRATULATIONS]
You have leveled up.
Current Rank: 5 (Platinum)
Status: Soul Bound [Amara + Aryan]
Note: Skills and Occupations are now shared.
Remaining Lifespan: 89 Days.
Good Luck.
The words hung in the air.
89 Days.
Aryan stood silent. The manic energy drained out of him instantly. He slowly bent his knees, sitting down on the invisible floor of the void. He pulled Amara down with him.
They sat face-to-face in the black darkness, illuminated only by the dying golden light of his System Space.
Amara didn't speak. Her hands were clenched so tight her knuckles were white, and she fought to keep her brow smooth, refusing to show any emotion.
The silence stretched.
"I changed my mind," Sam finally said, his voice quiet. "You should really be talkative, kid. This silence... It is unsettling. You should be wondering why you're alive. You should be celebrating the Rank Five power."
"Oh. No. That is not it," Aryan murmured, staring at his palms. "I just thought... whatever I saw while I was unconscious... I thought it was a dream within a dream. A hallucination my mind made up to numb the pain of dying. But..."
He stopped, rubbing his sweaty palms against his knees.
"But what?" Amara asked, her voice sharp. "What did you see?"
Aryan looked up, his golden eyes locking onto hers. The playfulness was gone. In its place was the terrifying, ancient gaze of a Seer who had looked too far.
"I saw us facing Markus," Aryan whispered. "I knew in the dream that I had only 89 days left. So if that part is true... then the rest of it wasn't a hallucination."
He swallowed hard, his voice trembling.
"I saw our deaths, Sis. Even with the Rank Five power. Even after all the sacrifices you made to keep me breathing... I saw us burning in that glass cage. I heard Markus saying..."
Aryan closed his eyes, reciting the words that had burned into his memory.
"Still... Amara will prove to us how naive she can get if she thinks raw power is enough to challenge the Architect of this system."
System Genders: Sam and Nine have officially found their voices!
The Countdown: The clock is officially ticking. 89 Days.
The Vision: Aryan's Seer ability isn't just a party trick anymore. He has seen the end game.