The labyrinth groaned around him, chains rattling like bones. The walls twisted and reshaped themselves in slow agony. The deeper pulse of the sanctum's core beat faintly in the distance, calling him like a beacon.
Noctis landed on the broken balcony of a collapsed chapel, wings folding behind him. Blood dripped from the torn stonework where he had burst through earlier, the corpses of knights and shattered golems strewn across the rubble.
He exhaled once, slow and steady. His Grid pulsed in response.
[Blood Grid — Opened]
The world dimmed. His veins burned. The fractured hall dissolved into darkness, leaving him standing in the crimson void of his Grid. Chains of blood and light coiled outward, lattices of essence linking thousands of nodes. The new runes carved into his flesh glowed, synchronizing with the Grid itself.
Everywhere he looked, skills pulsed. Dozens — some dormant, some flickering, many now shining with the readiness of evolution. The angel's blood had filled him beyond measure. The Grid was bloated, aching for release.
Available Upgrades: Tier III Ascensions
Exsanguinate II → III
Soul Spire II → III
Eucharist Blade II → III
Spectral Vein II → III
Sanguine Recovery II → III
Ghost Vein II → III
Crimson Grasp II → III
Orbiting Arsenal II → III (already achieved, but additional refinements pulsed)
Wraith Step II → III
Assassin's Surge II → III
Shadowmeld II → III
Blood Chains II → III
Marrow Forge II → III
Chalice of Apostasy II → III
…and more.
Each pulsed like a living heart, demanding essence.
Available Minor Nodes:
Vitality Weave (+HP, wound resistance)
Boneplate Reinforcement (+armor, durability)
Muscle Saturation (+strength)
Nerve Overclock (+speed/reflex)
Essence Lattice (+Grid capacity, recovery rate)
The angel's feast had given him more than enough to burn through all of them.
Noctis bared his fangs, eyes burning crimson-gold, and reached.
[Upgrade: Exsanguinate III — Activated]
His veins ruptured and refilled, threads of blood-light weaving themselves into denser lattices. The skill pulsed, his claw tingling with destructive power.
[Upgrade: Soul Spire III — Activated]
His spine lit like a column of fire, vertebrae wrapped in burning runes. He could feel soul-threads tighten, grounding his essence deeper into flesh.
[Upgrade: Eucharist Blade III — Activated]
His twin Reapers vibrated violently, their edges fracturing light itself. Scripture shattered under their aura, sanctity bleeding away before his strikes.
One by one, he burned essence, feeding each node until it evolved. Each upgrade tore through him in pain and ecstasy, wings twitching, runes across his body blazing brighter.
[Upgrade: Ghost Vein III — Activated]
His flesh melted into mist before his own eyes, reforming sharper, cleaner, hungrier. Now he could vanish deeper, slip through wards without resistance.
[Upgrade: Sanguine Recovery III — Activated]
His Grid surged. Every wound burned, then sealed tighter, scars glowing faint gold-crimson before fading. Even the angel's gash across his back closed into strength.
[Upgrade: Shadowmeld III — Activated]
The void within him pulsed. His body sank into darkness itself, harder to track, harder to bind. A shadow that hunted in shadow.
The Grid shuddered. All major combat skills blazed Tier III.
He turned his focus to the minor nodes.
[Node: Vitality Weave — Activated]Blood essence surged, his HP swelling. His body grew heavier, denser, harder to kill.
[Node: Boneplate Reinforcement — Activated]His skeleton groaned, bones thickening with crimson lamina, stronger than iron.
[Node: Muscle Saturation — Activated]Fibers coiled tight, each twitch of muscle carrying more strength than before.
[Node: Nerve Overclock — Activated]The world slowed. His own movements sharpened into flawless tempo.
[Node: Essence Lattice — Activated]The Grid itself expanded, new channels burning across his flesh, veins pulsing with capacity for more.
When it ended, the Grid pulsed one last time. Chains fell slack, the crimson void collapsing back into the ruined chapel.
Noctis exhaled, smoke trailing his lips. He flexed his claw, his wings spreading. His body felt heavier, stronger, harder, alive in a way it had not been since his birth. Every step radiated killing potential.
The labyrinth groaned in response, its walls warping further. Mechanisms deep below began to wake, gears screaming in protest, chains pulling taut. The labyrinth knew. It was afraid.
Noctis lifted his head toward the pulse of the core. His silence pressed harder.
There, he would test the Devil's Ascendant Form.
The core chamber glowed like a heart of suns. Chains fed radiance into the massive engine suspended above the pit, its gears turning slow but steady, pouring sanctity into every stone of the labyrinth.
When the light split, another angel stepped out of it. Two wings unfurled, each feather shedding sparks of fire. Its shield gleamed with scripture. Its sword hummed with white flame. Unlike the first, this one did not advance. It took its place before the core, shield braced, blade lifted, its faceless mask glowing with cold purpose.
"HERESY."
The word boomed across the vault. Wards along the walls cracked with its weight.
Noctis's claws clenched. His Grid burned hot, runes crawling under his skin. He spread his wings and launched into motion.
[Skill: Orbiting Arsenal III — Activated]
The three Bloodfang Reapers circled, scythe, guan dao, and sword-form weaving into a shifting halo. He dashed across the wall, boots sparking as stone melted under his pace. The guan dao screamed forward in a spiral thrust.
The shield caught it. Sparks scattered like meteors.
Noctis didn't stop.
[Skill: Wraith Step — Activated]
He flickered sideways, twin swords slashing in a cross-cut. The shield rose again, catching both with a ringing clang. The Arsenal's scythe swung low, carving sparks from the angel's shin.
Minimal damage. But damage.
The angel did not pursue. It stood rooted before the core, shield unmoving, every motion precise. Its blade slashed once, sending a wave of white fire across the chamber. Noctis dove aside, wings carrying him high into the rafters of chains.
[Doctrine: Archer — Shadow Volley III]
[Skill: Blood Lance III — Activated]
A storm of arrows and spears rained down from above. They hammered the angel's shield, some slipping past to strike its shoulder, its thigh. The angel staggered half a step but did not fall.
Noctis ran the ceiling, claws digging into molten stone. He became a streak of crimson shadow, the Arsenal striking from blind angles. The scythe hacked down from behind, the sword-form stabbed at the wing joint, the guan dao drilled at the shield rim. Each strike sparked, shallow cuts blooming across the angel's armor.
The Omen Eye burned, marking weak points—but every seam was covered by the shield before his blades reached it.
Noctis's silence deepened. He changed rhythm, darting in and out, never staying still.
[Doctrine: Tempo Ledger — Cadence Step]
His movements became a blur of rhythm. Dash, strike, vanish. Arrows and lances from above, Reapers carving at blind spots from the side, claws tearing down at the mask before he vaulted away. The angel turned its shield and blade like a machine, defending perfectly, but still—
The cracks grew.
Scratches lined its armor. Small chips marked its helm. A cut wept faint golden blood at its thigh.
Minimal. But piling up.
The angel's voice struck again, faceless head rising toward him.
"USURPER."
Light burst outward, a dome of fire consuming the chamber. Stone melted, platforms crumbled. Noctis's wings beat hard, carrying him up through the storm. He felt the fire bite, searing his skin, but the Celestial Shroud Vein burned hotter. The light weakened, folding inward into his Grid, transmuted into blood-fuel.
His lips peeled back in a silent snarl. For the first time, divine fire no longer meant instant death.
He darted down the wall, wings folding tight, Arsenal hammering at the angel's flank. The shield jerked to meet him—but slower now, chips and dents weakening its rhythm.
The angel was still a fortress. But fortresses cracked if you struck long enough.
Noctis intended to strike until it fell.
Hours bled away inside the furnace of the core. The angel still stood at its post, shield raised, sword blazing white fire. It did not chase. It did not falter. It existed as an unmovable wall before the labyrinth's heart.
But Noctis refused to be the wall's victim.
His movements never ceased. He circled like a storm, wings carrying him across ceiling and wall, claws biting into stone, body flickering in and out of shadow. The three Bloodfang Reapers screamed around him, their arcs widening and tightening as he pushed them into sharper tempos.
He mixed in other strikes, sharpening his craft as the fight wore on.
[Doctrine: Spear — Helix Bore III]
The guan dao spun in a drilling spiral, hammering again and again at the shield rim. Sparks cascaded, fine cracks webbing through the radiant metal.
[Doctrine: Archer — Shadow Volley III]
[Skill: Blood Javelin III — Activated]
He rained black arrows and spears of crimson plasma from above, angling for the angel's wings and legs. The shield always turned in time, but shallow cuts appeared along the angel's thigh and shoulder. Thin lines of golden ichor bled down its armor.
Noctis pressed harder. The Omen Eye burned, showing seams not in the glowing mask or the chestplate, but in the joints. Elbow, knee, wrist. Places where armor met flesh.
He adjusted.
The Arsenal obeyed. The scythe struck not at the shield's face but its edge, the sword jabbed at gaps in the wing's base, the guan dao drilled into the wrist rim. Every blow still rang against scripture, but with each strike, the damage deepened.
One exchange broke through.
Noctis lunged in with both swords, slashing low. The angel caught them on the shield, sparks exploding between them. In that instant, the Arsenal's scythe curved from behind, its edge screaming across the vault.
It bit into the angel's hand.
Steel met flesh. The scythe punched through the back of the gauntlet, splitting skin and piercing the palm that gripped the shield. Golden blood sprayed in arcs. The angel staggered for the first time.
Noctis vanished in shadow, reappeared above, and launched more volleys.
[Doctrine: Blood Arts — Hemorrhage Strike III]
His blades glowed crimson, every cut leaving not just a wound but a pulsing bleed. Where the Reapers slashed, blood drained faster, weakening the angel's grip on its weapon.
The Omen Eye burned brighter, locking onto that injured hand, that bleeding palm.
Strike. Withdraw. Strike again. Every cut chipped the fortress.
Yet still the angel did not move from its post. It simply endured, shield raised, blade burning, its faceless mask turned always toward him.
Noctis hissed in silence as he scaled the ceiling again. His body burned with fatigue, but his movements had grown cleaner, sharper. He was fighting more than an angel now—he was fighting memory. He imagined the Titan again, immovable and vast, but here distilled into one compact form. The battle was the same: chip at the fortress until it fell.
And then, between one strike and the next, his Omen Eye flickered—not on the angel this time, but on the massive engine chained behind it. The core pulsed brighter with each strike. Cracks spidered across its surface. Essence bled from the fractures like molten scripture.
The angel was guarding more than itself.
Noctis landed on a fractured beam, wings flaring, claws dug deep. His silence thickened, heavier than before. His eyes locked not only on the fortress—but on the heart behind it.
Perhaps he wasn't meant to break the wall.
Perhaps he was meant to strike the heart.
The vault seethed like a furnace. The angel remained still, shield braced, sword lifted, its faceless mask staring coldly at Noctis as if eternity itself were on its side. The core behind it pulsed harder with every clash, gears shrieking, chains rattling against stone. Cracks spread through its radiant shell, bleeding molten light into the chamber.
Noctis's silence deepened. The Omen Eye flared crimson-gold. The angel's defenses were absolute, but the heart it guarded was not.
He shifted his rhythm. Instead of striking only the fortress, he lunged for the engine.
[Skill: Blood Flood — Activated]
A crimson wave erupted outward, a storm of essence tearing free from corpses still scattered across the chamber. The blood drenched stone, chains, even the angel itself. Each droplet became his weapon, each ripple a vein he could pull on.
The angel's sword burned, ready to strike.
Noctis twisted his Grid harder.
[Skill: Hemorrhage Field III — Activated]
[Skill: Chalice of Apostasy III — Activated]
The field pulsed out from his body, dragging at the angel's flesh, pulling sanctity out of its armor. The chalice glowed in his hand, siphoning the radiant air itself, bleeding strength away from the walls.
He dashed low, wings cutting through fire.
The Arsenal screamed. Scythe, guan dao, and sword hammered at the shield. The angel held, sparks blinding, golden ichor dripping from its pierced hand. But Noctis's flood did not relent. Every second he lingered near the angel or the core bled them both.
The guan dao drilled against the shield rim. At the same time, streams of blood flooded from the cracks in the core itself, feeding into him.
For the first time, the angel shifted.
Its wings flared wide. It stepped off the mark it had held for hours, shield swinging to the side to cover the core directly.
Noctis's fangs bared in silence. The fortress had moved.
He blurred across the wall.
[Doctrine: Archer — Shadow Volley III]
[Skill: Blood Javelin III — Activated]
Arrows and spears hammered at the angel's exposed side, forcing it to twist, shield straining against the angles. The Arsenal's scythe hooked from behind, dragging at its wounded arm.
Blood Flood surged again, crimson veins creeping across the floor and latching onto the angel's feet. It staggered once, sword burning hotter, trying to hack itself free.
Noctis dove.
Twin swords struck at its helm, sparks shattering like stars. The shield caught one blade, but the other scraped deep across its mask, leaving a jagged scar of blackened light.
The angel's voice crashed out, shaking the core itself:
"BLASPHEMY."
Its sword ignited in a storm of white fire, slashing arcs that split the vault's ceiling. Whole slabs of molten stone collapsed. Noctis darted through them, wings snapping, Blood Flood widening to drain every corpse buried in rubble.
The battlefield drowned in crimson.
Every drop he stole weakened the angel, every siphon from the core rattled the engine louder. The fortress still stood, but now it bled.
Noctis's silence thickened, wings flexing wide as he hovered above the storm. His eyes burned bright. The heart had been exposed. The fortress had cracked.
And he would break them both together.
The scar on the angel's mask glowed, leaking golden light like a wound that would not close. For the first time since it appeared, the fortress shifted its stance. The shield lowered half an inch, the sword angled differently. Its wings snapped wide, fire pouring from them in streams.
The word came again, deeper, louder, shaking the vault's walls:
"USURPER."
The angel moved.
It was no longer a bastion at the core's side. It became an executioner. The shield turned from passive defense into a battering ram, the sword blazed like a comet, arcs of fire sweeping across the chamber. Every strike melted platforms, pillars, and chains.
The labyrinth itself screamed as its guardian finally chose to kill.
Noctis darted away, wings snapping, body streaking along the ceiling.
[Skill: Wraith Step — Activated]
He flickered through molten rubble as the angel's blade carved through the vault's rafters. The Arsenal struck from the shadows—scythe hooking low, sword stabbing high, guan dao drilling at the angel's shoulder joint. Sparks screamed, shallow cuts widening.
But Noctis had no intention of trading blow for blow.
He let it chase.
The fight became cat and mouse. The angel rampaged, tearing stone apart in every direction, fire floods chasing him across walls and chains. Noctis kept distance, circling fast, wings darting, his silence pressing thicker with every pass.
He bled the chamber dry.
[Skill: Blood Flood — Sustained]
[Skill: Hemorrhage Field III — Active]
Crimson veins webbed the floor and walls, clinging to the angel's legs, siphoning from every corpse, every shattered construct, every crack bleeding from the core. The more the angel moved, the deeper it waded into his flood.
Each strike it launched shook the vault, but every second it spent chasing him drained it further. Golden blood spilled in trails behind its steps, carried into Noctis's Grid by his field.
Noctis circled higher, wings cutting gales through smoke. His claws tightened, Omen Eye burning hot.
He turned his strikes toward the engine itself.
[Doctrine: Archer — Shadow Volley III]
[Skill: Blood Javelin III — Activated]
Bolts of crimson and spears of shadow hammered into the core's fractures. Every impact deepened the cracks, bleeding molten light into the chamber. The angel wheeled, abandoning its charge to block the barrage. Its shield blazed, catching a rain of projectiles as its sword swept another flood of white fire toward the ceiling.
Noctis dove through the blaze, wings folding tight. He reappeared behind it, Arsenal hammering down on its spine. Sparks screamed, a gouge cut across its back. The angel staggered, blood flooding the cracks in its armor.
But its voice thundered again, closer than before:
"BLASPHEMY."
Its shield slammed backward, smashing him across the chamber, his ribs shattering on impact. He snarled, blood streaming from his lips, wings forcing him upright mid-flight.
His silence deepened further. His movements grew sharper.
He did not need to crush the fortress in one strike. He only needed to bleed it and the heart together.
Every second his flood grew, every wound widened, every crack in the core bled brighter.
Noctis was not prey in this chase. He was the hunter who had turned fortress and heart into meat on the same table.
The vault was no longer a chamber. It was a collapsing world.
The angel had abandoned any pretense of defense. Its wings stretched wide, rivers of white fire streaming from them in sheets. The sword burned like the sun itself, each swing lashing arcs of molten radiance that carved through stone and scripture alike. Every strike reduced platforms to slag, every roar of its voice shook chains loose from the ceiling.
"HERESY."
"BLASPHEMY."
"APOSTATE."
Each word shattered pillars, shook the gears of the core, and turned the vault into a storm of divine destruction.
Noctis did not stand and meet the storm. He danced within it.
[Doctrine: Tempo Ledger — Cadence Step]
[Skill: Wraith Step — Sustained]
His body flickered through the fire, each dodge a heartbeat early, each strike delivered from impossible angles. He ran along walls as they melted, vaulted chains as they snapped, disappeared into mist as fire swept through him.
The Arsenal struck from every blind angle.
Scythe biting low, sword stabbing at joints, guan dao drilling into weakened seams. Every blow left a scratch, a cut, a bleeding line. Individually meaningless—together a tapestry of wounds slowly choking the angel's strength.
Noctis's silence pressed thicker as his Grid bled the chamber.
[Skill: Blood Flood — Sustained]
[Skill: Hemorrhage Field III — Sustained]
Every corpse, every shattered knight, every broken golem was stripped bare, their essence flowing into him. The angel's golden blood spilled with every movement, siphoned into his veins. Even the cracks in the core bled light that his chalice and flood drew in, twisting sanctity into crimson power.
The cat-and-mouse chase escalated into a storm.
The angel rampaged, tearing the vault apart with each word. Noctis darted in circles around it, striking not only at the guardian but at the heart itself.
[Doctrine: Archer — Shadow Volley III]
[Skill: Blood Javelin III — Activated]
Projectiles hammered at the core. Cracks deepened, light spilling into the chamber like a flood. Chains groaned, gears screamed, prayers inscribed on the engine splintered under the pressure.
The angel roared and lunged to block—but in doing so, it exposed its back. The scythe bit deep, piercing through armor into flesh. Golden blood sprayed in arcs, spilling into the flood. The angel staggered, shield dropping for half a breath.
Noctis dove.
[Skill: Exsanguinate III — Activated]
His claws raked across the angel's side, tearing flesh, dragging streams of blood into his Grid. The Omen Eye burned, marking weakness after weakness. He struck them all. Knees, elbows, wings—every cut stacked upon the last until the fortress bled from a dozen places.
The core screamed louder. Cracks split its surface wide, spilling molten scripture across the floor. Light bled into the air like smoke. The angel faltered between guarding itself and shielding the engine, its movements split, its rhythm broken.
Noctis's silence smothered the vault. He hovered above the chaos, wings flexing wide, the Arsenal circling in a storm of steel. His body dripped blood and ichor, his skin seared from fire, but his eyes burned bright.
The fortress and the heart were cornered together.
One final push would collapse them both.
The vault was breaking apart. Chains snapped loose and whipped through the air like vipers. Molten scripture bled from the core in rivers of light, dripping into the pit below. The angel still stood, shield battered, sword dimmer than before, its wings torn and dripping golden ichor. Hours of attrition had carved away at its fortress, and now it staggered beneath the weight of wounds it could no longer deny.
Noctis never rushed. His silence pressed harder, and he kept his rhythm steady. He moved meticulously, conserving essence where he could, bleeding it where he must. The Arsenal hammered relentlessly, blades striking joints, wings, and seams the Omen Eye marked. He kept the Blood Flood running, every breath drawing more strength from corpses, from the angel's golden blood itself, from the fractured heart of the core behind it.
The angel's voice cracked the chamber one last time.
"APOSTATE."
But the word was thin, fractured. The fortress was falling.
The shield dropped to its side with a clang. The sword dimmed, fire extinguishing to embers. The angel swayed on its feet, wings sagging. Then its knees buckled, and it fell forward, hands braced against the cracked floor, mask glowing faintly.
This was the chance.
Noctis blurred. Wings snapped once, propelling him in silence. He landed on its back, claws raking into its shoulder. His jaws opened wide, fangs lengthening, eyes burning.
He bit deep into its neck.
Golden blood surged into his mouth, hotter than fire, brighter than any essence he had ever consumed. It poured into him like molten light, and his Grid screamed. His claws dug deeper, holding the angel still as he drank, hungrily, savagely.
The angel convulsed beneath him, wings flaring weakly, but its strength bled out into him with every swallow. Golden veins of light crawled up his arms, searing across his chest as his Grid forced the sanctity into crimson channels.
He drank until the angel went limp, its voice extinguished forever.
The corpse collapsed into dust.
[Skill: Devour — Activated]
Light erupted in his Grid, flooding every node, every channel. His runes blazed gold-crimson, his wings trembled with arcs of sanctified power. The Arsenal shrieked, their edges burning with streaks of radiant flame.
System prompts seared across his vision:
[New Skills Obtained]
[Skill: Sanctified Torrent] — unleash a stream of inverted holy fire, corroding flesh and spirit alike.
[Skill: Radiant Ward] — project a barrier of sanctified blood, nullifying incoming magic.
[Skill: Holy Infusion] — imbue weapons or Arsenal with golden-crimson light, increasing their lethality against divine and profane targets.
[Skill: Exalted Chains] — conjure radiant-blood chains to bind foes, reinforced by sanctity.
[Doctrines Enhanced]
Sword, Spear, Archer, Predator — now carry radiant variants. Blood and shadow strikes burn with threads of inverted holy light.
[Blood Mutation: Celestial Shroud Vein → Exalted Vein]
Full immunity to Tier VI holy and light attacks.
Conversion of sanctified essence into resource flow doubled.
Golden-crimson blood now courses through his veins.
The Arsenal pulsed. The guan dao, scythe, and sword forms shimmered with threads of radiant gold seared into their edges. His twin bloodfang swords gleamed crimson tipped with light, fangs infused with sanctity.
His silence deepened. It was not only vampire hunger now. It was something more—a predator that had swallowed the holy and inverted it into weaponry.
The core behind the angel split wide with a final shriek, gears collapsing, light pouring out in a waterfall of molten hymn-fire. The labyrinth screamed as its heart failed.
Noctis stood in the storm, wings flaring, blood dripping from his fangs. His veins glowed gold-crimson. His claws sparked with radiant hunger.
The fortress had fallen. The heart was collapsing. And he alone still stood.