The air thickened, not just with cold, but with raw, malicious power. The four-armed B-Class demon—a towering entity known in the old texts as a Mal'gora Brute—roared, its voice a grinding stone of sound that shredded the remains of Zack's composure. It didn't hesitate. Having sensed the strange temporal rewind of Zack's soul, it focused its terrifying attention entirely on him, ignoring the still-frozen Sergeant Kael and the frantic, pale Gatekeeper.
Nine times this week, ten now, Zack thought, trying to quell the nausea that followed every Rebirth. He felt like he was running on an empty battery, the invisible Soul Knights around him flickering like dying candles. If he died again, there was a good chance his soul wouldn't have the energy for a complete reset; he might just end up a vegetable, or worse, cease to exist entirely.
The Mal'gora raised two of its massive, razor-tipped claws, preparing to strike. Unlike the slow, predictable motions of a D-Realm Grub, the Mal'gora moved with brutal, calculated speed. Zack knew he couldn't dodge all four hands, especially in his weakened state.
He had to strike the head. Its brain was its nexus, the point where the soul was anchored to its monstrous form. The problem was getting within range of its face, which was ten feet off the ground and guarded by four actively sweeping, deadly claws.
Feint. Get close. Don't die.
Zack lunged forward, not toward the demon, but toward the nearest debris—a jagged, two-foot section of broken concrete pipe. He grabbed it with his left hand, holding his iron shortsword low in his right. He knew he looked pathetic, a seventeen-year-old with scrap metal charging a demonic dreadnought.
The demon saw the charge and interpreted it as a sign of foolish bravado. It brought one claw down in a powerful, crushing overhead strike intended to smash him into paste.
Zack didn't try to block. He shoved the concrete pipe up just as the claw descended. The pipe shattered instantly under the impact, but the brief, milliseconds-long contact deflected the claw just enough to send it tearing into the brick wall beside him, kicking up a blinding cloud of dust and pulverized mortar.
He was inside the demon's attack radius now. The Mal'gora roared in annoyance and swept one of its lower arms horizontally in a clearing arc.
Zack dropped to his knees, scraping his skin raw on the pavement, letting the deadly swing pass harmlessly over his back. He didn't pause. He sprang up, using the momentary cover of the dust and the demon's vast shadow to dash under its massive torso.
He was now directly beneath it, safe from the claws, but dangerously close to its powerful, armored legs. He needed altitude. The Mal'gora began to shift its weight, trying to stomp him.
Zack focused his power. Soul Absorption wasn't just a passive collector; it was a hungry, directed force. He channeled the raw, chilling energy of Thanatos into his shortsword. The iron blade didn't burst into flames or lightning; it simply turned absolute black, shimmering with the cold light of the grave.
He didn't waste time on the legs. He braced his feet and jumped, using every ounce of strength. He hooked his left hand onto the demon's rough, armored plating near its waist and pulled himself up, scrambling like a desperate spider.
The Mal'gora realized the danger. It bellowed and began to slam its own chest with its upper claws, trying to shake Zack off. Each impact was like a localized earthquake.
Almost there. Focus.
Zack ignored the concussion, the internal shaking, the ringing in his ears. He hauled himself up to the demon's shoulder, the black blade held ready. The Mal'gora twisted its massive neck, bringing its terrifying, serrated face into view. Its eyes, twin pools of burning crimson, locked onto Zack.
This was the moment of truth.
The demon opened its mouth, not to bite, but to unleash a corrosive scream of pure necrotic energy.
Zack struck first.
He plunged the shortsword, powered by the God of Death's grant, deep into the side of the Mal'gora's skull. It wasn't about physical strength; it was about the blade cutting the link between the demon's body and its anchor soul.
The Mal'gora's eyes went dark instantly. Its roar cut off mid-shriek, replaced by a wet, gargling sound. Then, its immense form began to collapse inward, dissolving into a torrent of black, oily smoke that smelled like sulfur and ozone.
Zack let go and fell to the ground, landing hard.
He braced himself for the rush. The soul of a B-Class demon was not the meager whisper of an F-Grub. It was a torrent, a thunderous cataract of pure, chaotic energy.
The collapsing cloud of smoke rushed toward him, not dissipating, but entering him. The sensation was overwhelming—a painful, glorious surge of power that felt like drinking liquid fire. He doubled over, gasping for air as the raw essence of the Mal'gora Brute slammed into his being.
When the rush subsided, Zack slowly straightened up, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead.
He looked at his periphery. Before, he had fifty-three small, dull Soul Knights, standing barely higher than his knee. Now, there were fifty-two small ones, and one colossal, shimmering, armored sentinel.
The B-Class Soul Knight was enormous, easily twice his height, clad in baroque, spiky black armor. It was utterly silent, but radiated an oppressive aura of strength. Its form was less defined, more volatile, an indication of the brute force it contained. It stood slightly apart from the others, the general of the small army, waiting for instruction. The total Soul Knight count remained the same, indicating that the B-Class soul had consumed some of the weaker ones upon entry, a process of consolidation he hadn't known was possible.
He felt an immense, frightening increase in his own physical strength and speed, a temporary buff derived from the new Knight's power. He felt alive in a way the Rebirth power never allowed.
A shaking sound drew his attention. Sergeant Kael was finally coming out of his shock, scrambling away from the dissolved demon remains.
"Y-you... you killed it?" Kael stammered, staring at the empty space where the Mal'gora had been. "You killed a B-Class!"
Zack looked at his shortsword, the iron now back to its dull, rusted state. The Gatekeeper, the pale, frail man, approached cautiously, his face a mix of disbelief and sheer terror.
"The God of Death," the Gatekeeper whispered, looking not at Zack, but at the empty air around him. "Thanatos's chosen. You absorbed its soul."
"I absorbed its power," Zack corrected, his voice sounding hollow even to himself. He needed to leave. The fight had drawn too much attention. The Gate was still open, and more demons—perhaps even another B-Class—would follow.
Before Kael could demand an explanation or the Gatekeeper could raise an alarm about the dangerous, unprecedented Soul Knight hovering invisibly at his back, a new sound cut through the chaos.
It was a sharp, musical sound—a bell chime—and it came from above. Perched on the highest gargoyle of the nearest building was a figure Zack instantly recognized: a Sentinel, one of the high-ranking soldiers granted powers by the most revered gods, who patrolled the city for threats and, more importantly, aberrations.
The Sentinel, clad in shining, dove-white armor that contrasted starkly with the polluted skyline, surveyed the scene: the open, still-pulsing C-Realm Gate, the terrified Sergeant, the broken ground, and Zack, the boy standing over the death spot of a B-Class demon.
The Sentinel's voice, amplified by his Grant, boomed across the ruined alley. "Divine Grant: Unregistered. Energy Signature: Necrotic. Soul Trace: Abnormal and dangerous. Stand down, rogue. You are under scrutiny."
Zack knew what 'Scrutiny' meant. It meant interrogation, dissection, and likely the complete erasure of his Divine Grant, if not his life. The God of Death was not one of the 'revered' deities.
He looked at the open C-Realm Gate, then at the glittering Sentinel, then at his own two hands, one of which still tingled with the residual power of the Mal'gora's soul.
He needed an exit. And he knew exactly where to find one.
"I need to close the Gate," Zack stated, his heart pounding. "It's still unstable."
"The Gate is a secondary concern. Your power is the primary threat. Drop your weapon," the Sentinel commanded, already beginning to descend, his white armor glowing faintly.
Zack tightened his grip on the shortsword. He knew he couldn't beat the Sentinel. Not yet. He took one final, fearful look at the Gatekeeper, who stared back with pity and fear.
Then, Zack turned and ran, not deeper into the city, but straight toward the mouth of the still-open, unstable C-Realm Gate. He ran toward the danger, toward the realm of Normal difficulty, because the demons on the other side were now less terrifying than the justice of the Gods on this side.
He plunged through the shimmering purple tear, leaving the mundane world—and his ten lives—behind. The transition felt like falling into ice water, and then, a heavy, cold silence. Zack was now officially a rogue, and he was alone, standing on the shifting, red sands of the C-Realm, with an angry Sentinel hunting him and a B-Class Soul Knight whispering of terrifying power in his mind.