The second Gate opened — a corridor of black glass and silver sand, torches burning blue. Lacolone stepped inside, katana floating silently at his back. From a veil of smoke, Basim emerged, hidden blades glinting. His robes bore the sigil of the 33° Saints; eyes calm, calculating. "So you're the one they call the ultimate assassin," Lacolone murmured. No stage for applause — only the theater of death.
Basim recited the creed: "Nothing is true. Everything is permitted." He knelt briefly, then vanished into Driftform smoke. Lacolone closed his eyes; Whispercall scanned the unseen. A hidden blade flicked near his throat. He parried without looking, sparks showering. Ethics older than kingdoms met Pillars older than stars.
Basim appeared behind him, twin daggers coated in soul-poison. Lacolone's Veilward caught the strike but fractured; blood trickled from his cheek. Basim smiled faintly: "You bleed." Lacolone whispered a mantra; energy pulsed up his arms. Even a master could be touched by shadow.
Lacolone ignited all five Pillars; aura a storm of colors. Thunderbrand arcs leapt in blue lightning; Riftquake tore cracks in the black floor. Basim sidestepped with Driftform precision. Veilward shields glinted like shards of ruby. Whispercall threads traced Basim's hidden routes. Force against absence — the duel defined itself.
Basim weaved an "Assassin's Mandala," spinning blades charged with Riftquake microbursts. Lacolone sensed death from a hundred angles, Driftforming upward to avoid the circle. Basim leaped; hidden blade struck at the ankle. No stance lasted longer than a heartbeat.
"Kings rise, masses rot. We cut the rot," Basim said. "But what if the blade dulls?" Lacolone asked. "Then we sharpen it with our own blood," Basim replied. Two silhouettes clashed, sparks like fireflies. Elito's holographic face flickered, silently judging. Words sharper than steel cleaved at unseen truths.
Basim teleported above, throwing knives laced with soul disruptors. Lacolone channeled Veilward into his katana, cutting them mid-air. One grazed his shoulder; poison sizzled. He forced the toxin out with Thunderbrand's pulse. Basim landed silently behind him again. A game of inches, measured in mortality.
Basim created five spectral copies, perfect assassin images. Whispercall strained under overload. Lacolone knelt, hands on the floor, sensing the real one. Riftquake pulses shattered illusions. Basim emerged from the last fragment, blade ready. Shadow peeled from shadow.
Lacolone stopped using his katana — fists glowing, soul-fire in his eyes. Thunderbrand punch sent shockwaves splitting pillars. Basim blocked with crossed blades but slid backward. Lacolone Driftformed around him, five afterimages striking at once. Basim parried three, hit by two. The hunter became the hunted.
Basim revealed a final weapon — a chain of micro-blades soaked in soul-blood. He swung it in circles, carving runes mid-air. Lacolone recognized the sigil: a Saint-killer technique. "Even gods can be bled," Basim whispered, launching the chain like a spear. Legacy of assassins stretched back millennia.
Chain and katana clashed; sparks became tiny lightning serpents. Basim's Veilward flared black; Lacolone's shone red-gold. "Your Pillars make you slow." "Or they make me unbreakable." Riftquake undercut both, tossing debris upward. Even reality trembled at their argument.
Lacolone fused all Pillars; aura turned crystalline. Basim's shadow cloak merged with his soul, forming wings of knives. Two titans faced off. Energy compressed into a single point. Time slowed; sand droplets frozen mid-air. For one heartbeat, they were gods.
Both launched — Lacolone barehanded, Basim blade-first. Thunderbrand arcs spiraled from Lacolone's fists. Basim's blade pierced Veilward but stopped at skin. Lacolone's Riftquake punch connected with Basim's chest. Shockwave sent the assassin skidding across black glass. Impact louder than silence.
Basim knelt, coughing soul-blood. Lacolone stood over him, aura dimming. "Good… you're ready for him," Basim smiled faintly. He dropped the chain; it dissolved into smoke. Lacolone bowed slightly in respect. No victor, only passage.
The Gate of Shadows' runes faded. Basim's body vanished, leaving a spectral token. Lacolone picked it up — a key fragment to the Seventh Door. Elito's hologram flickered, whispering: "Five more keys…" In another Gate, Valgor and Thano clashed, sparks like meteor storms. Each duel carved a path toward the Lord.
Maya bled but still fought Alister's blood chains. Jessica kneeled over defeated Maria, looking up at the hologram. Ghali Salah pressed symbols on the Seventh Door. Eden whispered, "Something… is waking." The door pulsed with ancient heartbeat sounds. Seven Gates — one heart.
A gigantic holographic face of Elito formed across all Gates. "You kill my saints but only sharpen my blade." His eyes burned like miniature suns. "This world is poison. I will be its purge." Fighters felt his voice inside their skulls. The true adversary unveiled his philosophy.
Lacolone stood alone in the ruined Gate, holding the token, looking up at Elito's hologram. Around other Gates, battles raged. The Seventh Door bled light into the black corridor like a wound. One Saint fell. Six remain. Beyond the next Gate waited the Grand Lord himself — and the truth of the Thirty-Three.