From the exact moment he obtained the Concept Core, Veylan became obsessed with power.

It wasn’t something he had obtained by killing a Hollow or anything of the sort. It was something one of his family’s ancestors had left behind.

A family heirloom. Something whose value he hadn’t recognized right away, only after reaching a certain level of strength did he begin to notice the crystal’s peculiarities. And as his understanding of the awakened world grew, as he came to grasp what awaited those who climbed toward the higher ranks, he realized that what he held in his hands was not a simple relic but the very core of a powerful being from the Abyss.

The thing terrified him at first. But it also fascinated him, deeply, completely, to the point where he began experimenting with it. And soon he discovered that there was indeed a way to use an already formed Concept Core to ascend to S-rank. 𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆𝙬𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝒎

A Rank as lofty as it was celebrated. The Rank every great power in the world had reached. The Rank where one ceases to be a mere mortal and begins walking the path toward divinity.

It was what he wanted. It was exactly the kind of strength he had always sought.

And so he pursued it.

To the point of damaging his own Mana Core, something he considered a necessary price for greatness.

To the point where his relationship with his wife and daughter grew cold and distant, a slow drift he told himself was worth it.

To the point where even his sanity began to fracture, until one day a voice appeared in his mind that never stopped cutting him down, day after day, failure after failure.

But then the failures stopped.

And the voice changed with them.

What had once been an imaginary tumor screaming against him became his greatest support, his compass, his road toward greatness, and today, finally, it had delivered him that greatness. Today he had finally become the god of this place.

"MONSTER!"

And this god had just decided that people who couldn’t appreciate his help had no right to exist.

’Oh, look at them. These fragile creatures, who moments ago were screaming in fear and pain, begging for help, help that you gave them, and now instead of praising you, instead of kneeling, they curse you?’

’This is what I told you about. A god does not need people praising him day and night, A god does not need bootlickers. A god needs nothing!’

’If there is something he wants, he takes it, because it is his by right. These fragile mortals can only lower their heads and consider it a blessing. If they do, they live. If they don’t, there is no need for them to waste any more air.’

The voice settled back into his mind. Veylan’s vision had darkened, replaced by something redder, as though someone had decided to filter reality through a crimson lens.

’You eliminated the beasts and they cursed you. Eliminate them too. Who knows, perhaps then they’ll finally start to praise you.’

Dark veins began appearing across his skin, which was taking on a deeper hue, ash grey, almost colorless, as his hand rose and his finger turned no longer toward the battlefield, where by now little to nothing of the beasts remained, but toward the city.

A black sphere made of dark violet flames formed on his index finger, and without hesitation it was hurled toward the city center.

BOOM!

The entire area erupted a second later. The whole square, the houses, the shops, every building, razed to the ground completely, inhabitants included.

The entire stump shook.

The people who had been cursing the Duke moments ago stood frozen in place, struggling to process what had just happened.

Had he just bombed his own city?

Had he just killed hundreds of people, just like that?

What exactly was happening here? Were the beasts the threat, or was the Duke himself?

Was this a nightmare?

The minds of those present, caught between panic, relief, subsequent rage, and now the crushing horror of the reality before them, shattered.

Chaos erupted instantly. Screams of every kind from every direction as people fled wherever they could. No one cared anymore about cursing the Duke for his actions. No one cared anymore about weeping for the dead. Nothing mattered anymore.

The only thought left in anyone’s mind was that the Duke had gone mad, and if they stayed there a moment longer, they would be the next to die.

The Duke’s expression in that moment, watching it all, was not calm. It was not cold.

It was ecstatic.

His face had nothing human left in it, it had crossed into something demonic. He had reached a point where it was easier to compare him to a monster than to a man.

"Hahaha, run, run like the ants you are. You don’t dare curse me anymore, do you? Do you?!"

His mind was twisting, while the reality before him kept shifting from something horrible into something gratifying, something deeply, exquisitely pleasurable.

He wanted more of this feeling. He needed it.

Immediately, several more spheres of black flame began forming around him, and one by one they started raining down on the city below.

Boom! Boom! Boom!

Entire districts were leveled, and with them the number of residents kept falling.

Every impact was a satisfaction. Every explosion was an answer to something that had been building for decades, the silent contempt, the betrayed expectations, the years spent constructing something for people who didn’t even know what they were looking at. Now they knew. Now they understood what it meant to have a god above their heads.

The black violet flames devoured the city below him, and Veylan laughed.

Then, amid the screams of despair and panic, a voice rang out, one that seemed directed at him specifically.

Not the voice that had tormented him for years. No, this was someone else’s. But he didn’t care to listen to it, not now, not when he was busy savoring the moment.

He ignored it.

More spheres formed around him, orbiting slowly like satellites waiting for a command. He launched them one after another, methodical, almost serene, while the reality before his eyes continued to deepen in that reddish hue he had come to find more honest than any other.

The voice returned.

Louder this time. Closer.

He ignored it again.

It was just another annoyance that would disappear once he was finished with this city. But then the voice rang out one more time, and this time he didn’t have the luxury of ignoring it.

Boom!

A direct strike, not toward the city, but toward him.

He felt it coming clearly, felt it land, a powerful hit that would have hurt his former self. But it was no longer a threat to what he had become, so he didn’t bother to dodge.

Orange flames erupted over him, flames that tried to devour him in their ferocity, and were extinguished before they could so much as touch him.

Veylan slowly lowered his gaze.

Below him, standing at the edge of the great stump, was a woman.

Her armor was shattered. One side of her body seemed to no longer respond correctly, she was holding herself upright through willpower more than balance, all her weight pressed onto the greatsword planted in the ancient wood before her, both hands locked around the hilt as though it were the only thing keeping her anchored to the world. Blood streaked her face. Her hair, which during the battle had taken on that reddish hue of her activated bloodline, was matted against her sweat-soaked, wounded skin.

But her eyes.

Her eyes were open. Filled with tears, yes, but not from pain alone. There was something burning inside them, a ferocity that her body could no longer sustain but refused to extinguish.

Her mouth was moving.

She was screaming something at him.

The words reached him distorted, like hearing someone speak underwater, his mind could no longer build bridges between sounds and meanings, not the way it once had. There was too much noise inside. Too much clarity of a different kind.

But he recognized the face.

Elena.

Something stirred in the depths, not enough to change anything, but enough to be felt. Like finding a familiar object in a dark room. You touch it, you recognize it, and then you let it go because it no longer serves any purpose.

’You too.’

The thought formed slowly. Almost tiredly.

’You too have decided to betray me.’

He looked down at her with that distance that had become his natural way of seeing things, the way one looks at something that once mattered and that for some reason had chosen the wrong moment to stop mattering.

’After everything I did for you. After all those years. And this is how you repay me?’

His lips parted.

"Elena."

His voice was low. Almost gentle. More human than anything he had said since rising into the sky, and perhaps that was exactly what made it the most unsettling thing he had uttered so far.

"You too."

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an accusation in any conventional sense. It was the flat, final observation of someone who had long since stopped expecting anything from the world, simply updating the list.

A new sphere began to form in his palm, and, with the same speed with which he had bombarded the city, it shot toward her.