The dust in the stone chamber had yet to settle, and the heat of battle still scorched the air.
The Guild Master's massive body hit the ground with a thunderous crash that continued to echo throughout the cave.
Gildarts let out a low, amused whistle—its sharp tone cutting through the lingering silence. He flexed his fingers, joints cracking with a sharp, bone-snapping sound, the same hands that could shatter mountains.
It was over.
He took a step forward, ready to use his Funshō (Crush) magic to erase the last trace of this dark guild from existence.
But the moment his foot lifted—
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!"
A shriek so raw, so piercing, that it barely sounded human, tore through the heavy silence. It was a scream of agony so pure it seemed to peel the soul from flesh.
And it wasn't coming from the broken Guild Master lying on the floor.
It came from the other side of the battlefield.
Erza's crimson pupils constricted violently. Instinct honed through countless battles screamed danger. She sprang backward in an instant, her sword scraping across the floor and leaving a long, blazing spark in her wake.
She steadied herself—then saw her opponent.
The dual-bladed warrior who had fought her evenly just moments ago—a fighter with strength nearing S-Class—was twisting in a grotesque, inhuman posture.
Clang!
His twin curved blades slipped from his hands, clattering to the stone floor.
He didn't even glance at Erza. It was as if she no longer existed in his world. His hands clutched his own throat, fingers digging deep into his flesh, as if trying to hold something back from escaping.
His face contorted in sheer horror. Blood-shot eyes bulged wide, veins pulsing violently as if they might burst. There was no hatred toward his enemy in that gaze—only raw, unfiltered pain… and a betrayal so deep it transcended understanding.
"W-Why…"
His ruined voice rasped out the broken syllables.
"…Master…"
All eyes turned at once—toward the center of the chamber.
For an instant, everyone's hearts froze.
The Guild Master, who should have been lying motionless and unconscious, was sitting upright.
His head was bowed, half his face swallowed in darkness, yet a twisted, manic grin curled across his lips.
One hand lay flat against the cold stone floor, fingers spread wide.
And from beneath that palm, a jet-black shadow began to spread—thick, oily, and alive.
The darkness defied all logic, moving as though it had a will of its own. It slithered across the floor like a starving serpent, gliding around obstacles, winding through debris—heading straight for the fallen warrior.
It stopped at his feet.
The two shadows—his and the Guild Master's—merged seamlessly.
"My loyal subordinate…"
The Guild Master slowly lifted his head. All trace of defeat had vanished, replaced by pure malice and mania.
"Now…"
He sneered, voice hoarse and trembling with sick delight.
"It's time for you to offer me everything you have!"
With a violent crunch, his fingers clenched into the stone as if to crush it to dust.
The next moment brought a horror none of them would ever forget.
The dual-bladed warrior's body began to wither before their eyes.
His muscles deflated, collapsing inward like burst leather sacks. His once-solid flesh turned brittle and yellowed, clinging tightly to the contours of his bones.
His life essence—his blood, magic, everything—was being siphoned away through that living shadow.
The connection between them had turned into something physical—a black vein pulsing like a living artery.
Through it, streaks of red and ghostly blue light flowed backward, drawn from the warrior's body and into the Guild Master's.
"This… this is a forced life-drain spell?!"
Erza's voice shook with fury and disbelief. Her grip tightened on her sword until her knuckles turned white.
Such cruelty—using one's comrade as a source of power—was unforgivable.
"No…"
Gildarts' tone turned grave for the first time. His eyes locked on the shadow.
"It's not just life energy—he's draining magic too."
"This is a… sacrificial contract."
Before their horrified eyes, the Guild Master's broken body began to heal at terrifying speed.
Wounds closed, bones realigned, charred flesh flaked away, revealing new, pale skin beneath. His sunken chest rose again; the fire of life—and something darker—returned stronger than before.
Within seconds, his power had not only returned but grown—richer, darker, and far more dangerous.
The warrior's body gave one final spasm before collapsing. What remained was nothing more than a dried husk.
His wide-open eyes still carried the expression of betrayal frozen in death.
"Heh… heh-heh-heh-heh!"
Then came the laughter.
Wild, unrestrained, filled with madness and euphoria. It crashed through the chamber like a thunderclap, echoing endlessly against the stone.
The Guild Master rose to his feet, tilting his neck until it cracked audibly.
His gaze, now burning with venom, fixed upon Arashi.
Gone was the fear from before. What replaced it was hatred—deep, festering, absolute.
"Surprised?"
His tone was mocking, proud of his own depravity.
"The strongest among my subordinates—all of them—were marked with a Shadow Contract the day they joined Black Sails."
He licked his dry lips, eyes gleaming with twisted pleasure.
"Their strength, their lives, every ounce of their hard-earned glory…"
"Were all for this very moment."
He kicked the corpse at his feet contemptuously, voice flat and cold.
"To become my nourishment."
"To become the sacrifice for my rebirth."
The words carried no emotion, no remorse—only cruel certainty.
And as they echoed through the chamber, Erza and Gildarts both felt an icy chill crawl down their spines.
It wasn't just his voice. It was the sheer absence of humanity behind it.
It was the voice of someone who had already become something other than human.
(End of Chapter)
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