The sky over Blackridge was on fire.
Not with heat.
With magic.
The black Gate above the city had fully opened, spilling darkness into the clouds. Lightning rippled like veins. Screams filled the streets as monsters fell like rain—not summoned, but vomited into reality.
And the System?
Silent.
Crispin sprinted over a rooftop, cape flaring, Echoes behind him like war-born shadows. His eyes scanned the battlefield as alarms howled and streets cracked under the weight of summoned abominations.
Yara.
Protect Yara.
She was priority one.
But then his comm crackled.
"Crispin—"
It was Arlen.
"Crispin, I'm in District Nine. That thing—oh god, it's not a Gatebeast. It's—"
Static.
And one word, just before the line cut:
"Help."
The Decision
He was already moving.
District Nine was five blocks from Yara's school. From the shelter.
He didn't hesitate.
Didn't stop to summon more Echoes.
Didn't care.
He ran.
And the deeper he got, the worse it became.
Buildings collapsed. Cars floated. The laws of gravity flickered in and out like a broken light switch. People walked into walls that weren't there. And at the center of it all—
>Arlen.
Pinned.
Bloodied.
Surrounded.
The Beast
It wasn't just a monster.
It was a fracture.
Its body was humanoid—barely. White skin stretched over a twisted frame. Its head pulsed like it was alive. Its voice was not a roar but a chorus. A dozen tones all screaming through the same mouth.
"ECHO-BINDER DETECTED."
"ERROR."
"ERROR."
"CORRECTION IN PROGRESS."
It wasn't here to kill.
It was here to erase.
Crispin slammed into the scene like a meteor.
His blade ignited in black fire, eyes burning with something darker than mana. The Echoes behind him lunged.
And time broke.
The Fight That Didn't Matter
The creature didn't fight like a monster.
It fought like it had already seen this moment.
It dodged his strikes before they landed. It shattered his strongest Echo with a flick. It whispered every move he'd make a second before he made it.
Crispin fought like a demon anyway.
He screamed.
He bled.
He roared his command—
"Arise—"
Nothing.
The System didn't answer here.
Because the thing they were fighting?
It wasn't bound by rules.
"You are not the king," it said, grabbing Crispin by the throat. "You are the key."
And then—
Arlen stabbed it.
A rusted blade. No enchantment. No magic.
Just rage and loyalty.
The blade sank into its ribs.
And the creature turned.
Crispin fell.
The beast opened its mouth.
And devoured Arlen.
Not ate.
Devoured.
Like he was made of memory.
Like he was being erased.
Crispin screamed, lunged—too late.
Arlen turned to look at him as his body unraveled, bit by bit, like ash in the wind.
His last words came not with panic—but with that crooked grin of his.
"Don't become it, okay?"
Then he was gone.
The Aftermath
The creature fled after that.
Vanished.
Maybe wounded.
Maybe finished.
Crispin didn't care.
He dropped to his knees in the ruins, surrounded by silence. Not a body. Not a bone. Not a trace of Arlen left behind.
Just that damn grin burned into his memory.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He just sat there, as the System finally flickered back to life.
[You have lost: Arlen Vos.]
[This loss is irreversible.]
And beneath it:
[Arise?]
He stared at the prompt.
His finger hovered.
But he didn't press it.
Some part of him already knew:
Arlen wouldn't answer.
Because Arlen had died as a man, not a monster.
And Echoes only obeyed the things they feared.