The Masked Virtuoso-Chapter 87: The Answer of a Mortal

The Throne’s Final Challenge

Ethan stood unmoving.

The Throne of the Betrayer loomed above him, an impossible monument to every Riftborn who had failed before him. The golden chains that had sought to erase him now lay shattered in the abyss, flickering like dying stars.

Yet, despite everything—the Throne remained.

His golden-shadow flames rippled outward, illuminating the abyss with an eerie glow. The battlefield no longer made sense. The sky was a swirling mass of golden cracks, bleeding light that neither shined nor faded.

It was as if existence itself was waiting.

Then—the voice spoke again.

"Do you understand now?"

Ethan’s golden eyes narrowed. His fists clenched.

"I understand one thing," he said evenly. "You want me to play your game."

A low chuckle echoed across the abyss. It was not mocking. Not cruel. Simply amused.

"And what will you do, Riftborn?"

Ethan exhaled. His presence expanded, filling the void itself.

"I reject your game."

A pulse shook the battlefield.

The Throne shuddered violently. The sky above twisted as if recoiling.

And then—they appeared.

---

The Legion of the Fallen

The air itself split open as figures emerged from the abyss.

One by one, they stepped forward—golden-cloaked warriors, their bodies flickering like unstable memories. Each one bore the mark of the Rift, the same golden flames that Ethan himself wielded.

But these were not echoes. Not illusions.

They were the Riftborn who had failed.

Dozens of them. Hundreds.

Ethan’s team instinctively took defensive positions. Mia’s daggers gleamed in the broken light, Selene tightened her grip on her spear, Orion’s rifle hummed, Kieran braced himself, and Nefera’s golden flames flickered dangerously.

The first Riftborn stepped forward.

His face was partially erased, his features shifting between forms as if reality could no longer define him. His eyes, however, were the same as Ethan’s.

Golden.

"Do you see us now?" he asked, his voice ancient.

Ethan met his gaze. "You were the ones who failed."

The Riftborn warrior gave a slow nod. "We were the ones who tried to claim the Throne."

His golden energy pulsed violently, the very fabric of his existence flickering.

"And now, we are its enforcers."

The other Riftborn moved as one, their weapons drawn.

The Throne of the Betrayer had made its final decision.

The test was not over.

It had only just begun.

---

A Battle That Shouldn’t Exist

The first Riftborn struck.

A golden blade sliced through the abyss, aiming straight for Ethan’s heart.

BOOM!

Ethan blocked it with his bare hand.

Golden sparks erupted as the clash shook reality itself. Ethan’s golden flames flared wildly, resisting the sheer weight of his opponent’s existence.

The Riftborn warrior did not hesitate.

With inhuman speed, he spun—his second blade slashing toward Ethan’s side.

A second impact. A third. A fourth.

Ethan parried each strike, his movements impossibly precise.

The other Riftborn surged forward.

Mia moved first.

She blurred into action, her golden daggers flashing as she intercepted two incoming Riftborn. Their weapons clashed in a dance of light and death.

Selene followed, her spear igniting with golden radiance as she launched forward, meeting three at once.

Orion fired a shot that tore through time, golden energy spiraling toward his opponents.

Kieran’s armor shifted, absorbing an attack that would have erased him.

And Nefera—

Nefera’s flames burned brighter than ever.

"Come on, then," she whispered. "Let’s see what you’ve got."

The battlefield erupted into chaos.

---

Ethan vs. the First Riftborn

The First Riftborn and Ethan moved faster than time.

Each clash of their golden flames sent shockwaves through the abyss, creating and destroying entire realities with every strike.

Ethan’s movements were precise, efficient, unyielding.

But the First Riftborn was relentless.

"Do you understand now?" the warrior asked, his voice calm despite the intensity of their battle. "This is not about winning."

Ethan’s eyes burned.

"I know," he said.

And then—he stopped attacking.

The First Riftborn hesitated. "You—?"

Ethan took a deep breath.

And then—he let go.

His golden flames pulsed outward, but this time—they did not strike.

They did not fight.

They simply existed.

The First Riftborn’s eyes widened.

And in that moment—he knew.

Ethan had broken the cycle.

---

The Rift’s Judgment

A crack echoed through the abyss.

The Throne of the Betrayer shuddered violently.

The Riftborn warriors froze mid-battle.

One by one, they faded.

Not erased.

Not destroyed.

Freed.

The golden flames that had bound them dissipated into the void, returning to the flow of existence.

The First Riftborn’s form flickered.

He looked at Ethan—truly looked at him—for the first time.

"...You are different," he whispered.

Ethan exhaled. "I won’t play your game."

The First Riftborn smiled.

And then—he was gone.

The sky shattered.

The Throne of the Betrayer pulsed one last time—

And then, it began to collapse.

---

The Answer of a Mortal

The Throne of the Betrayer stood before Ethan, crumbling, its golden light flickering like a dying star.

It had tested him. It had tried to erase him. It had forced him into a battle that had repeated itself countless times before him.

And yet—Ethan remained.

Not because he was stronger.

Not because he was faster.

Not because he was the most powerful Riftborn to ever exist.

But because he chose differently.

His golden-shadow flames flickered softly, no longer surging with the intensity of battle. He did not need them now.

The Throne had been created to be fought for.

It had existed to lure the Riftborn into seeking ultimate power.

It had been the final trap—a test that no one before him had ever passed.

Because they had all played the game.

They had all believed that the Throne was something to be claimed.

Ethan closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Then—he did what none of the Riftborn before him had ever done.

He turned away.

The Throne pulsed violently, as if rejecting his decision.

The golden cracks in the sky widened, twisting wildly. The air burned with unspoken commands, the weight of history pressing down on him.

The Throne was not willing to be ignored.

It had existed for so long, demanding a successor, demanding a victor.

But Ethan was not here to win.

He was here to end it.

He took a slow step backward.

The moment his foot left the ground, the Throne shuddered.

As if sensing that its game was finally over.

The voice returned—no longer a whisper, no longer taunting, no longer testing.

It simply... spoke.

"You refuse?"

Ethan opened his eyes.

His golden gaze met the crumbling remains of the Throne, unwavering.

"I refuse."

A silence unlike anything before followed.

Not the silence of emptiness.

Not the silence of death.

But a silence of understanding.

For the first time in eternity—the cycle had been broken.

The chains that had bound the Riftborn before him shattered into nothingness. The golden light of the Throne faded.

And then—it collapsed.

Not violently.

Not in anger.

Not in defeat.

It simply ceased to exist.

Ethan watched as the fragments dissolved, their golden radiance vanishing into the abyss.

There was no final attack. No desperate attempt to remain.

Because the Throne had never been an enemy.

It had simply been waiting.

Waiting for someone who would not repeat history.

Waiting for someone who would not seek its power.

Waiting for someone who would see through its illusion.

Waiting for someone like him.

The final remnants of the Throne faded into golden dust, carried away by an unseen force. The battlefield that had once been a prison of endless conflict was now empty, weightless, free.

And as Ethan stood there, watching the last pieces disappear—

The voice spoke one last time.

"Perhaps... you truly are different."

Then—the world reset.

---

To Be Continued...