Meanwhile, an announcement echoed across the arena.
Graham's voice boomed through the air!
"For years, I know many of you have asked yourselves—How strong would I be if I reached A-rank? Well…" He chuckled darkly. "That's for your potential to decide. But there's one thing you must all understand now—if you want freedom, then you must match power with the five standing at the peak of A-rank. Only then will you be worthy."
A silence crept over the 3,000 gathered fighters.
"Today," Graham continued, voice rising like a preacher at the altar, "we give you a taste of that reality. You've trained. You've bled. You've killed. Now you get to experience what true strength feels like!"
A mechanical whine rang out as massive gates began to open on the far end of the arena.
"Three thousand... versus five. How does that sound?" A cold laugh echoed, buzzing with sadistic glee. "Let the match... begin."
The five figures stepped out.
The air changed instantly.
It was like a dam had broken and an invisible tidal wave of pressure slammed into the arena. Their aura surged outward with terrifying force. Many fell to their knees immediately, clutching their heads. Others collapsed, suffocating under the weight. The air thickened, crushing down like gravity itself had turned hostile.
The world seemed to stop moving.
Even time hesitated.
Only the B-rankers could stand—but even they trembled, their movements stiff and sluggish. Sweat poured from their brows, eyes wide in disbelief.
These five weren't just stronger—they were monsters.
Among them stood Griffin, the apex of A-rankers. Towering, blood-slicked, and smiling like a beast off its leash.
He stepped forward, cracking his neck.
Come on "Let there be carnage, boys."
Without warning, he launched into the sky.
Then he dropped like a meteor.
He landed in the center of the crowd—BOOM!—a shockwave exploded outward. Bones shattered. Screams erupted. Blood painted the arena floor. And Griffin moved through them like a god of death, his blade carving effortlessly through muscle, bone, and armor.
He laughed while he slaughtered. Every swing drew a chorus of screams. Bodies piled. Panic spread.
There was no formation, no teamwork—just chaos. No one could react fast enough. The other four A-rankers joined him, their techniques unique and brutal. One manipulated shadow blades. Another unleashed torrents of fire that roasted hundreds alive. One didn't even use a weapon—just bare hands that crushed skulls like melons.
It wasn't a battle. It was a massacre.
---
Back at the oders base ,far from the arena, E121 observed with narrowed eyes, standing beside a tall, silent figure in a crimson cloak—the Monarch.
E121 spoke first. "Monarch… what do we do? At this rate, we might have lost a game changer."
The Monarch didn't look away from the carnage.
"Let him play," the Monarch said. "He won't survive for long. The Undead Kings are stirring. They will be his end."
---
Meanwhile, deep below the arena, where the tunnels swallowed light and time, E999—Lucien Morningstar—sat cross-legged in the shadows.
His body still pulsed from the recent fight with the evolving zombies. The Neurocore and Blood Core were tucked safely at his side. He'd survived by instinct, skill, and a little bit of luck. Now it was time to grow.
Lucien reached into his pouch, pulling out the two blue Neurocores. He turned them in his palm. They hummed softly, like something alive was trapped inside.
"Let's see what you've got for me," he whispered.
He popped both into his mouth at once, expecting to chew. But the moment they touched his tongue, they dissolved instantly—liquid light flooding down his throat.
There was no taste. Nothing to feel at first.
Then—ecstasy.
His back arched as a pulse of raw pleasure surged through his body. Heat flooded every nerve. His muscles spasmed. His skin prickled with overwhelming stimulation. It wasn't just pain—it was pleasure, violent and pure, as if his soul was being lit on fire and remade from the inside out.
It felt like climaxing. Like the most intimate release he'd ever experienced—only multiplied a hundred times.
"Fuck—" he gasped, trembling, sweat pouring down his face. "It's like… cumming inside a woman…"
It was addicting.
He could've drowned in it.
But the fantasy shattered as cold blue light blazed in front of his eyes.
•∆STATUS∆•
°~[NAME: Lucien Morningstar]~°
°~[Level: 3]~°
°~[TITLE: The One Who Overcame Adversity]~°
°~[Job:N/A]~°
°~[HP: 100]~°
°~[MP:90]~°
°~[STR: 30]~°
°~[AGI: 20]~°
°~[PER: 23]~°
°~[VIT: 18]~°
°~[INT: 90]~°
°~[Fatigue:60]~°
°~[FR ATR: 0]~°
•∆SKILLS∆•
°~[Aether Sight]~°
°~[Category: Insight / Appraisal]~°
°~[Description: This skill lets you see hidden things in reality. You can check a target's stats, strengths, and weaknesses. Look past what's outside and see what they really are.]~°
°~[Regeneration]°
°~[Category: Survival / Recovery]~°
°~[Description: Grants the user the ability to rapidly heal wounds, regenerate lost tissue, and recover from injuries that would otherwise be fatal. At higher levels, regeneration can restore limbs, purge poisons, and even revive the user from near-death states. (30 MP for full body recovery).]~°
°~[Immunity]~°
°~[Passive]~°
°~[Description: For a brief period, the user becomes entirely immune to negative status effects, including poison, paralysis, madness, dark magic, and curses. Completely nullifying the threat.]~°
°~ [SHOP: Locked] (Unlocks at Rank 1)]~°
°~[Push ups :0/100]~°
°~[Run 10 kilometers: 10/10(Completed)]~°
Lucien stared at the screen.
His strength, agility, and vitality had jumped. His Intelligence—already freakishly high—remained dominant. His body now felt lighter, his mind sharper.
He took a slow breath, steadying himself.
"I just hit a fucking jackpot," he said softly.
The power flowing through him was real. It wasn't just numbers on a screen. He could feel his muscles coiled tighter, his senses more alert. His regeneration had already mended the bruises on his arms. And that immunity… it would let him fight things others couldn't even look at.
He looked at the Blood Core next.
He didn't eat it. Not yet.
That one, he knew, was special.
Not just for power.
But for crafting.
For something greater.
"Soon…" he whispered, closing his pouch and standing. "I'll be strong enough. I'll leave this place. I'll find the fragments."
He turned toward the deeper tunnels, where darkness whispered secrets only he could hear.
Up above, in the killing fields of the arena, the screams continued.
Gladiators were sent flying up and down; 3,000 soldiers were brought down to a thousand within a few hours. The B-rankers paired off and engaged in an intense battle, with two leaving three to rampage around the arena soon.
Graham clapped, releasing a strong shockwave that interrupted the fight. A scream pierced the silence: a mere F-rank had attempted to seize the opportunity to strike another F-rank before he could move forward. His skull exploded, and his body slumped to the floor.
Cough, cough.
Graham cleared his throat, snapping the shocked crowd, including the A-ranks, back to reality. They were left bewildered, unable to comprehend how one of their own had died. He spoke, "Now, now, I think we have seen enough for today. It's time to clean up." He laughed. "All A-ranks, go back to your quarters, while the other ranks will assist our guards in packing up the food scattered on the floor for the waitresses."
He quickly turned, leaving the scene and the gladiators to fend for themselves.
Meanwhile, E121 was seen in a hideout, engaged in a threesome with some members of the order. With the monarch absent, they began discussing the incident involving E999 while some girls were busy sucking E121's dick.