ZZZZZZZZZ
Crimson lightning surged up and down Ali's left arm, cracking through the air with a sound that sent shivers down the spines of even the most battle-hardened spectators. The arena, moments ago filled with deafening cheers and unrelenting energy, fell into absolute silence.
Every eye was glued to the screen. A million thoughts flashed across the minds of players watching, but none louder than this: He has Force Lightning.
The most destructive element in all of Paradise—lightning. And it now danced at Ali's fingertips, merged perfectly with his cold, terrifying capabilities as a fighter.
"Force Lightning," Chase said aloud, his voice louder than intended, the words involuntarily torn from his lips. The quiet teenager, always composed, now looked stunned.
Jasmine, startled by his reaction, turned to him, as did Rose and Evelyn.
"It's the strongest Force ability," he explained, his voice low but resolute. "It's rare. Hard to obtain. Powerful. No charge time. Near instant impact. And if someone like him has it… it's too much."
The lightning continued to ripple around Ali's arm before it began to dissipate, drawn back into his body like a serpent retreating into its den.
"Evelyn, did you know?" Jasmine asked, turning to her friend.
"Not about this one, no," Evelyn admitted calmly, though her eyes didn't leave the screen.
"Wait… you mean there's more?" Rose asked, her tone incredulous. "More he's hiding?"
Evelyn didn't answer. She simply rose to her feet and started walking toward the exit of their private lounge. Her black fan, engraved with the death insignia, folded silently in her hand as she moved.
"Let's go," she ordered, her voice composed but heavy with intent.
From the corner of the lounge, a shadow stirred—and revealed itself. The eldest death sister, cloaked in her black veil and robes, silently followed behind Evelyn.
Once outside, the hallway echoed with the soft clacks of their heels. Evelyn turned to her companion.
"What do you know about it?" she asked.
The head sister's voice was low, experienced, like a dagger unsheathed. "Force Lightning is stronger than most average lightning spells—even those from the higher levels. Its range is shorter. And in terms of destructive scale, it falls short of the most advanced lightning incantations. But its speed and instantaneous casting more than compensate. He can empower it with as much Spirit as he desires. That flexibility makes it… terrifying. I've never faced a user. Not in all my years."
Evelyn absorbed her words silently. Her stride didn't slow, her eyes narrowing as they descended a hidden staircase reserved for VIP spectators.
Two floors down, the staircase opened to a private balcony where they could overlook the arena. Evelyn stepped into the light, her gaze focused on the enormous screen where Ali's back was broadcasted for all to see—broad, muscular, unyielding. She recognised the shape of him too well.
"He fought ten rankers," Evelyn murmured, her voice just loud enough for the death sister to hear. "And not a single scratch. No bruises. No cuts. He made sure he wouldn't be touched, not even once." She paused, her tone almost thoughtful. "I wonder why…"
"Perhaps," the sister offered, "his opponents simply weren't worthy."
Evelyn didn't reply.
Then came something unexpected—the elder sister used her name.
"Evelyn," she said, with such weight in her voice that it halted Evelyn in place.
She turned to look at her companion, only the cold, seasoned eyes of the assassin visible through the veil.
"Did he tell you anything about his life before Paradise?"
Evelyn paused. If anyone else had asked her such a question, she would have turned them to ash. But this was different.
"He told me he was a king. Nothing else," Evelyn answered truthfully.
"I see," the sister said. "Then let me tell you something. He's most certainly an assassin. Not just any assassin—something far more refined. The control he has over his killing intent… it's inhuman. I've never seen anything like it. It's as though it doesn't exist even when he kills someone. Like he erased it completely. That kind of control doesn't come naturally. It's trained, honed, carved into your soul through thousands of corpses."
Evelyn didn't speak. Her fingers curled slightly.
'Ali…' Her thoughts wandered back to the night she had fallen asleep in his arms—the quiet, steady rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of him. The contrast was staggering.
Then the head sister said something unexpected.
"It seems I have a message for you."
Before Evelyn could react, the woman blurred forward, grabbing her by the throat with an iron grip.
UGH
Evelyn's breath was caught, and a cold wave spread through her entire body like liquid ice. Her vision faded into black—only to return with nightmarish clarity.
She stood atop a vast field of bones. Human bones. Skulls, spines, and femurs stretched endlessly in all directions. The sky above was a churning void of grey and black.
A single black boat floated above the sea of bones, made from nothing but condensed death flame—the sacred fire bestowed upon the death guild by their god.
Atop the boat, cloaked in tattered black robes, stood a hooded figure. In one hand, it held a lantern of death flame. In the other, it raised a skeletal finger.
Evelyn knew immediately who it was.
The Death God.
The boat drifted forward, and bones rose up like waves to support it. The skeletal finger pointed directly at Evelyn. When it touched her forehead, the sensation was like being stabbed with ice and flame at the same time.
A surge of emotionless, divine will flooded into her mind—pure command. The god spoke not a word, but the message was unmistakable.
"Make Ali join the guild."
Her consciousness snapped back like a slingshot.
She gasped and opened her eyes, finding herself back in her bedroom in the Death Guild headquarters. She was lying in bed, her sheets damp with sweat, her skin ice cold.
At the edge of her bed sat the head sister, watching her.
"Are you okay?" she asked softly.
Evelyn nodded weakly, then turned around and buried her face in her pillow. But she couldn't shake it—the sensation of that finger still lingered on her forehead.
Meanwhile, in the waiting area beneath the arena, Ali stepped out of a long, cold shower. His skin was clean, but the death clinging to his aura hadn't faded. Water dripped from his still-wet hair as he looked up at the interface hovering before him.
Two hours until the gate opens.
He dressed calmly, slipping into a fresh black outfit before leaving the waiting room. As he stepped into the corridor, he spotted someone waiting for him.
Jacob.
Standing alone. Smiling.
CLAP CLAP CLAP
Jacob began clapping slowly, a smug grin plastered across his face.
"Stop," Ali said flatly, and Jacob obeyed instantly, dropping his hands to his sides—but his grin remained.
"That was a hell of a show," Jacob said, still clearly thrilled. "You could've told me about the Lightning. You know, just a little heads-up?"
Ali stopped mid-walk, turning his cold gaze on Jacob.
"How much?" he asked bluntly.
Jacob's smile widened. "Taking out my cut… seventy thousand."
Ali nodded. "Send the money."
Jacob's hands danced across his interface. "Of course."
Ali watched as his balance climbed by seventy thousand PC. Without hesitation, he forwarded thirty thousand back to the merchant he'd borrowed from—along with his broken quinque, sent as thanks.
Then Ali turned away and began walking again.
"From now on, we only meet in private," he ordered. "Do not speak to me in public. You're an apostle of the Air Guild. You need to start acting like one. I am not in their best interest."
Jacob nodded, understanding. His smirk faded into something more thoughtful.
"I'll send you my location on the other side," he said quietly, watching as Ali disappeared down the hallway, his wet hair dripping in silence, a shadow that even light struggled to follow.
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