As Amon twisted the seal, the dark red substance lunged. It landed on his skin with a wet thud, scurrying toward his ear with insectoid speed before forcing its way inside. Amon's body spasmed, a sharp twitch racking his frame.
He sat motionless for a few seconds, breathing shallowly. "Did she give me a faulty par—"
The words died in his throat as a white-hot spike of agony lanced through his skull. He let out a low, guttural groan, his fingers digging into the edge of the desk.
Without his magic or skills to act as a buffer, the pain was raw and absolute. It felt as though his cranium was a pressure cooker on the verge of detonating. As the struggle intensified, faint, jagged red lines began to spiderweb across the right side of his face, pulsing in time with his racing heart.
After a minute of silent, writhing torture, Amon finally stilled. His breathing was heavy, and the crimson veins on his face had deepened into a permanent, angry flush. When he finally spoke, the voice was warped—dripping with a predatory, malicious edge.
"What an incredible mind," the parasite remarked, using Amon's mouth to taste the air. "Such vast knowledge... such raw, untapped intellect. You are one of the brightest toys I've ever had the pleasure of breaking."
Amon's body convulsed violently once more. When the tremors ceased, a faint, calm grin replaced the parasite's sneer. "I appreciate the praise," Amon said, his own voice reclaiming the air with unshakable confidence. "But don't get comfortable, Mr Parasite. You're just a guest."
"I'll do as I please, boy," the entity snarled, forcing Amon to his feet. "Turning a vessel like you into one of us will advance our noble cause by decades."
"Oh, please." Amon forced his legs to pace around the table, wrestling back control of his stride. "Save the propaganda speech. You can't turn me fully—not until you claim the part of my brain that neither of us currently touches."
"We each hold forty-nine percent," the parasite countered, an arrogant smirk twisting.
Amon's features. "But I have the edge. I can see every memory, every secret, every scrap of knowledge you've ever hoarded. I am playing with your own hand, kid."
"Ah, yes. I'm clearly doomed," Amon remarked, his sarcasm thick enough to choke on as he offered a mocking shrug.
"Don't be cocky," the parasite hissed, its pride flaring. "I've devoured 'geniuses' like you a thousand times before. My strategy is flawless."
"Then the 'geniuses' you ate were clearly idiots if they were outsmarted by a one-trick phoney like you," Amon shot back, a cheeky, sharp grin spreading across his face. "I almost feel insulted that I have to win against something so... basic. This is going to be trivial."
"I'll show you trivial, you brat," the parasite growled, its tone dropping into a dangerous, icy calm. "What are the terms of our duel?"
"A game of chess," Amon gestured toward the board. "I assume you're capable of following the rules? Or should we play something simpler, like blocks? I wouldn't want to overtax your limited capacity."
"A classic wager," the parasite ignored the bait, its focus narrowing on the wooden pieces. "The winner claims the untouched territory of your mind. Total control over your existence."
"I'm glad I didn't have to use small words to explain it." Amon's voice was appreciative, though the thick layer of sarcasm was designed to do one thing: ragebait the parasite.
"You'll lose regardless," the parasite remarked with cold arrogance. "Your mind will be a hollowed-out shell before the endgame."
"You're retarded if you think I'm sitting through a 'Classical' or 'Rapid' game with you while you're eating my neurons," Amon muttered, sounding genuinely annoyed. "One-minute Bullet. Five-second increment per move."
"Sounds good enough," the parasite rasped. It forced Amon's body into the chair, rotating the board with mechanical precision to ensure he could manipulate both sides without friction. "I'll take the black pieces."
"Suit yourself. I've always preferred the initiative," Amon replied, a sharp, confident grin cutting across his face. With those words, the battle for his mind transitioned from the neural pathways to the sixty-four squares of the board.
The moves flew by with blistering speed, the pieces clattering against the wood in a rhythmic, violent staccato.
e4 c5
Nf3 e6
d4 cxd4
Nxd4 a6
c4 Nf6
Nc3 Qc7
a3 Nc6
Be3 Ne5
Be2 Ng6
O-O Be7
f4 d6
Rc1 O-O
b4 Bd7
Kh1 b6
Qb3 Rac8
b5 axb5
cxb5 Qb7
Bf3 Nh4
e5 Nxf3
Nc6 Bxc6
exf6 Nh4
bxc6 Rxc6
fxe7 Rxc3
Qb2 Rxe3
exf8=N+ Kxf8
"A knight underpromotion? Really?" The parasite stared at the board, its expression—twisted on Amon's face—turning into a mask of pure displeasure.
"It's called a sense of humour," Amon reclaimed his voice, his tone playful and dripping with cheek. "Something a bottom-feeder like you could never hope to possess."
As the endgame spiralled into chaos, the parasite felt the first cold sting of panic. It had miscalculated the moment it allowed Nc6. That single move had opened a floodgate of attacking opportunities for Amon.
Despite the parasite's attempts to maintain "perfect" engine-like accuracy, the position was crumbling. Its biological processing was stalling against Amon's sheer creative aggression.
"Rook e6, check," Amon declared, slamming the piece down.
The crushing blow echoed through the sterile room. The parasite lunged into a frantic calculation, its mind-probes searching for a single line of survival, but the board was a graveyard. Every variation led to a forced mate. In its desperate bid to find an escape that didn't exist, the parasite watched the digital clock bleed out.
Zero.
"I refuse to accept this!" the parasite roared, its voice vibrating with a glitchy, dissonant fury. "I played perfectly! I saw every line! How can a brat like you win?!"
"It's simple, really," Amon said softly. The jagged red lines on his face began to fade and dissolve as the entity's hold on his psyche shattered. He leaned forward, looking into his own reflection in the dark wooden squares. "You lost because you were playing perfectly, Mr Parasite."
The jagged red lines receded, vanishing beneath Amon's skin as the parasite's consciousness dissolved into nothingness. For a fleeting second, he stared at the board, his vision blurring. A warm, metallic trickle escaped his nose, splattering against the white tiles, and the room began to spin with sickening velocity.
"Ugh, that parasite bastard..." he muttered, his voice barely a ghost of a sound, before his world turned to black and he slumped forward.
A hidden door hissed open, and Emilia was across the room in a blurred streak of motion. She caught him before he hit the floor, pulling him into her arms. "Amon! My child, wake up!" she cried, her voice cracking as she frantically shook him.
"Don't worry, Your Highness," Khalia said, stepping into the room with Velzoyr trailing behind. Her voice was steady, though she kept a respectful distance from the grieving Duchess. "He is only unconscious. He'll recover once we apply a high-tier recovery spell to stabilise his neural pathways."
Emilia snapped her head back, her eyes flashing with a murderous, predatory light. "Khalia, if the damage is permanent—"
"Your Highness, listen to me," Khalia interrupted quickly, her hands raised in a placating gesture. "Before the exam, I took that parasite to Oberyn. I had him neutralise its ability to actually corrupt the host. Your son was never in danger of losing his mind. The nosebleed and the collapse are simply the physical toll of his brain enduring five minutes of hyper-accelerated processing—pressure that would have knocked out someone instantly."
Emilia rested her hand gently atop Amon's dark hair. "X Heal," she whispered. At the incantation, a soft, greige light washed over Amon, stitching his frayed nerves back together.
A moment later, he regained his consciousness. "My child, are you alright? How do you feel?" Emilia asked, her voice trembling with maternal relief as she hovered over him.
"I am fine, Mother," Amon said, easing himself out of her embrace and finding his feet. He stood with surprising stability, adjusting his clothes.
He turned his gaze toward Khalia, a calm, razor-sharp smile playing on his lips. "I must give you credit, Miss Silverstone. You did your homework. Though I have to admit... I would have preferred it if the parasite had actually been lethal."
"A flattering sentiment, Amon, but if it had been lethal, I wouldn't have lived long enough to hear you say it," Khalia replied. Her voice cracked ever so slightly as she caught the lingering, murderous glint in Emilia's eyes.
"Oberyn certainly knows his stuff," Velzoyr noted, staring at the empty, cooling canister on the table. "He biologically re-engineered the parasite to dissolve the instant it faced defeat, ensuring the host remained intact."
"There's a reason they call him the Mad Zealot," Khalia added. She drew a sleek, intricate black wand from her side. With a sharp flick of her wrist, the reality around them shattered.
The clinical white walls dissolved. In their place, an endless, vibrant green expanse rushed outward to the horizon. They now stood atop a high plateau, the air smelling of fresh clover and ozone.
"Space-Time Construction," Amon murmured, looking at the horizon with genuine interest. "You truly are a Prosecutor, Miss Silverstone."
"Child's play," Khalia remarked, her casual air returning. "A Prosecutor is expected to cast SS-Rank spells as easily as breathing. Being the Director of Magic Research simply means I don't have to think about it."
"And the second trial?" Amon asked, his focus shifting.
"A duel," Velzoyr answered. He snapped his fingers, and in a blink, the three of them vanished into thin air, leaving Amon standing solitary in the centre of the plateau.
"Your task is simple," Velzoyr's voice boomed, echoing from the very sky itself. "Survive a confrontation with the 'Peerless Sovereign'—an entity classified as an S-Rank Cataclysm-Class threat."
"I can use my magic and skills now, I assume?" Amon asked, adjusting his crimson blindfold as his head canted toward the source of the echoing voice.
"You can," Velzoyr's answer boomed from the heavens. "The dampeners have been deactivated. Do not hold back, Amon Von Crown. The Sovereign certainly won't."
A jagged, predator's grin split Amon's face. He reached into the inner pocket of his blazer and whipped out his wand. The white, rapier-shaped tool hummed against his palm, a rhythmic vibration that felt less like magic and more like a heartbeat—one eager to stop others from beating. It pulsed with a faint, chaotic light, as if the wand itself was hungry to dismantle everything around it.
"Summon the Sovereign, then," Amon said, his voice dripping with unshakeable confidence and a touch of playful malice. "It's time for a bullying session."
As he spoke, he focused inward. The air around his feet began to distort, the vibrant green grass of the plateau turning grey and brittle as he activated his signature skill: [No Longer Human].
The sky fractured as if made of glass, and from the jagged rift, a blinding radiance spilt forth. It wasn't the warm light of a sun, but a shimmering, sickly brilliance—an otherworldly glow that felt as though it were actively trying to rewrite the reality around it. It descended with the weight of a falling star, striking the plateau before Amon.
"I greet the Destroyer of Worlds, the Empress of the Nowhere Land, the Peerless Sovereign, Lethe." Amon bowed—a shallow, mocking gesture. His voice lacked any hint of genuine reverence; instead, it hummed with the thrill of a hunter finding his mark.
"It has been ages since I heard those titles spoken," the Sovereign replied. Her voice was a symphony of effortless grace, resonating with a power that made the very atmosphere of the plateau vibrate.
Lethe was a vision of terrifying, peerless beauty. Standing tall with a slender yet powerfully built physique, her skin was the colour of moonlight on snow. Long, flowing tresses of crimson hair cascaded down her back like a river of blood. She was clad in ornate, white Valkyrie-style armour, her face partially obscured by a winged helmet that lent her the visage of a divine executioner.
"And it will be the last time you hear them, Your Highness," Amon countered, his grin widening as the light from his wand began to hum in harmony with his killing intent.
"A brave challenger," Lethe complimented, her hand closing around the hilt of a blade that seemed forged from condensed starlight. She drew it in one fluid motion. "Will you grant me your name, child?"
"Amon Von Crown," He replied, levelling the tip of his glowing wand directly at her.
"I shall remember it," she whispered, a small, haunting smile touching her lips. "May the best warrior win."
The air didn't just break—it vanished. In a flicker of movement faster than a second, Lethe bridged the distance, her blade already descending in a silver arc toward Amon's neck.
. . .
"You still haven't answered my question, Khalia," Emilia said, her fingers digging into the examiner's shoulder with bruising force. Her voice was a low, chilling rasp. "Why were you in possession of that parasite in the first place?"
"The Empress... she dispatched me to neutralise the Aimus armada at the northern border last week," Khalia explained, her voice strained as she fought to maintain her composure under the physical and magical pressure. "After clearing the stronghold, I discovered a hidden research lab. I recovered several samples of the parasite and brought them to Oberyn. I asked him to synthesise a specialised version specifically for the Trials of Worthiness."
Velzoyr watched the exchange in stony silence. Every instinct told him to intervene and calm the Duchess, but he knew better. To Emilia Von Crown, any threat to her family's safety was a transgression punishable by death.
Even if Khalia's logic was sound—testing a genius with an unprecedented challenge—it was a gamble with the life of a Crown. For Velzoyr to defend her now would be to invite the wrath of one of the Riversong Empire's most terrifying individuals. He chose the safety of silence.
Emilia maintained her cold glare for a long, agonising moment before finally releasing her grip. "You have earned the right to see another day, Khalia," she said, her voice dripping with a menacing finality.
"I am honoured, Your Highness," Khalia replied, dropping into a deep, polite bow. Her hands were visibly trembling. She had survived the encounter, but the shadow of the Grand Duchess had permanently scarred her psyche for life.
Emilia averted her gaze to the monitor, her eyes tracking her son as he faced off against the Peerless Sovereign. "Whose idea was it," she asked, her voice dangerously calm, "to make my son fight the Destroyer of Worlds?"
"Your Highness, that would be me," Velzoyr answered. His tone remained polite, though a slight tremor of nerves betrayed his outward composure. "The second phase of the Trials of Worthiness requires a confrontation with a high-tier entity. While Khalia and I were discussing potential candidates, I recalled the legendary achievement of your own student days—when you, Arnold Von Crown, Alexia Leone, and my mother, Chloe Nova, successfully subdued the Sovereign."
"You are as competent as ever, Minister Velzoyr," Emilia said, turning back to him. The murderous intent had finally receded, replaced by a look of quiet satisfaction. "That reminds me—how is Chloe doing these days?"
A small, genuine smile touched Velzoyr's lips. "Mother is in excellent health. She has been wanting to visit you for some time, but her schedule has been rather consumed by my younger sisters."
"Ah, Gia and Jeanne," Emilia murmured, a rare spark of nostalgia softening her features. "I remember when they were barely tall enough to reach the table..."
Velzoyr chuckled softly. "They have both grown into formidable young ladies. Gia has been recognised as a Saintess, and Jeanne turned eighteen this year. She's finally eligible to attend the Academy."
"Gia is a Saintess?" For the first time, a look of genuine, unvarnished surprise broke through Emilia's composure.
"We were just as shocked," Velzoyr admitted, nodding. "But when the Emperor and Empress of the Holy Empire personally travelled here to deliver the news, there was no room left for doubt."
"It's unprecedented," Emilia murmured, her disbelief deepening. "For a citizen of the Riversong Empire to wield Divine Magic... it shouldn't be possible. How is she even channelling it?"
"Emperor Reinhardt explained it as a primordial gift," Velzoyr said, recounting Reinhardt's words. "Typically, that affinity is a bloodright, exclusive to those born within the borders of the Holy Empire. But Gia is a rare anomaly. Her potency is staggering—more powerful than most of their own high priests—despite having no ancestral ties to their land."
"Why was this news not publicised, Velzoyr?" Emilia asked, her curiosity piqued.
"My mother—your fellow Duchess—felt it would cause an unnecessary stir," Velzoyr sighed, the weight of the secret evident in his posture. "The Aimus, in particular, would never sit idle. They understand that a Saintess is an entity of immense potential, capable of performing miracles that border on breaking the world's balance. To them, she is an existence that must be eliminated."
"The Prosecutors and the Heralds have formed a joint task force to ensure her safety, Your Highness," Khalia chimed in. "She is scheduled to depart for the Holy Empire tonight, immediately following your daughter's birthday banquet. We planned to announce her status only after she had safely touched down on holy soil."
Emilia fell silent, her mind racing. The Aimus were like a rot; no matter how many times you carved it out, it returned. Ten years ago, she and Alexia had spearheaded a purge to eliminate every mole within the Riversong Empire. They had been successful then, but the Aimus were nothing if not persistent. They played a long game, planting new shadows as soon as the old ones were burned away.
If the Aimus knew—and they almost certainly did—they wouldn't wait. They would strike tonight, during the banquet or the transit. Once Gia reached the Holy Empire, she would be untouchable; its borders were absolute, accessible only to those with Divine Magic or those explicitly allied to the Holy Empire.
"Once Amon's Trials are complete, I will go and meet Chloe," Emilia said, her tone shifting to one of quiet, unyielding reassurance. "Rest easy, Velzoyr. Your sister will be safe. I'll make sure of it."