The moon peeked from behind a shroud of dark clouds, casting a lonely sliver of light upon the raised platform at Beryl's feet. From its perch atop the clock tower, a cat watched the chaotic scene unfold with undisguised glee.
As Jenkins helped Captain Bincy to his feet, the older man leaned in and whispered urgently, "It's B-06-5-7340, the Brave's Colosseum. The Universal Star Church has files on this Extraordinary item. It's an arena made for duelists. Once it rises, it automatically pulls in anyone nearby, forcing them to fight. You can only leave if you’re beaten half to death—the only one who walks away is the final victor. The colosseum drains the life energy of the losers and feeds it to the winner..."
Even as they spoke, Enchanters who recognized the artifact began to fall back. But for those closest to the front, it was already too late to escape.
Beryl roared with laughter as he met his first challenger.
It was hardly a fair fight. The great demon's arrival had sent a psychic shockwave through the Enchanters, stunning them, while the already unhinged Beryl seemed only to grow more ecstatic.
The transplanted heart had taken root in his chest, its thick, black veins surfacing on his skin like grotesque vines. With a single flying kick, the first Enchanter was sent hurtling from the platform, landing in a heap. He was barely clinging to life.
Jenkins did the unexpected. He darted out from the safe zone and, just before a second, slower Enchanter could be dragged onto the stage, he grabbed the dying man and pulled him back to safety.
"Damn it, why didn't it pick me?"
The thought swam hazily in his mind. The spark of light representing his Twin Demons ability had been trembling ever since Beryl had summoned the greater demon. Now, battered by the psychic corruption, a single, overriding impulse consumed Jenkins's thoughts: he had to kill Beryl himself.
A violent shudder ran through Jenkins. As if waking from a trance, he stared at the man he was healing, the reality of what he’d almost done crashing down on him.
"Can an ability control its wielder?"
The thought terrified him, but his hands never stopped their work.
The second challenger was defeated just as quickly, kicked from the platform in an instant. In the flash of the next three seconds, a third person who hadn't managed to clear the danger zone was pulled onto the stage.
He spotted the case the second challenger had dropped and ducked behind it for cover. A moment later, the shimmering silver case exploded into fragments under Beryl’s kick, spilling its contents—a helmet, breastplate, bracers, and a shield—across the platform.
For a moment, both the challenger and Beryl froze.
The challenger was a man in his thirties with an average build, the holy emblem of the Unlit Moon visible on his chest. His expression shifted to one of disbelief as he stared at his opponent. Then, he tore off his coat and bellowed, "Who dares to kill me!"
Beryl clutched his chest and stumbled back a step. The black veins on his skin spread rapidly, coalescing into a suit of liquid black armor that encased his entire body.
He roared, shaking his fists uselessly at the sky.
Now two challengers stood on the stage, the faint moonlight illuminating the bizarre tableau in the dead of night.
Once more, faint whispers echoed from the heavens, and a second, massive wave of psychic corruption washed over them. Yet the two on the stage seemed completely unaffected, their mad roars continuing unabated.
Jenkins had recovered slightly. He and a level-6 Enchanter who had come to his senses quickly dragged the second defeated challenger past the safety line.
He reached out to activate his healing ability again, only to notice that the man's coat—the owner of the shattered case—was torn to shreds. On the collar, he spotted the embroidered insignia of the Church of Sun and Justice.
As the pieces of armor lay exposed, the atmosphere grew increasingly strange. The recovering Enchanters began to feel a subtle shift in their own emotions, an unnatural surge of... something. Finally, someone recognized the artifacts.
"Damn it, why is the complete Courage Armor set here?!"
Captain Bincy, who was right beside Jenkins, stared in alarm at the man Jenkins was treating. "That's not right," he stammered. "We already handed the Arrogant Shield over to the Church of Sun and Justice. Why are they still in Nolan?"
Murmurs rose from the other side of the plaza; it was clear there was more than one follower of the Church of Sun and Justice present.
When they had first discovered B-09-4-2912 in that underground chamber, it had been inert, affecting no one. But now, with all nine pieces gathered together, its influence on one's disposition had grown to an incredible degree.
"But I thought when all nine pieces are united, it becomes a Bestowal?"
Jenkins asked quickly as the man he was treating regained consciousness. He was a level-7 Enchanter, possessing rare blue and green abilities. The Church of War and Victory had clearly been cautious with the transport, but they could never have anticipated something happening in Nolan.
"It’s only a Bestowal for the one chosen by the Courage Armor," the man said weakly. "For anyone else, it’s the Cursed Item A-09-2-0099, the Sin of Pride!"
He lifted his head, his gaze fixed on the distant platform.
"Why didn't you say so before?" Captain Bincy demanded. "And why would you bring the other eight pieces with you just to retrieve the shield?"
The crowd of Enchanters was still backing away, now reaching the very edge of the plaza.
"The Courage Armor has been lost for at least three Epochs," the man explained, "so our records were incomplete. The other eight pieces were supposed to be sealed. But the day we retrieved the shield, the complete set materialized on its own, along with the psycho-dampening metal case it was in. Time has... corrupted it. We don't even know if it can be called a Bestowal anymore!" Fınd the newest release on novel{f}ire.net
The injured man's voice was faint, his lips drained of color. Jenkins turned his gaze back to the stage. What lay scattered there was no longer a set of armor, but a collection of Cursed Items, each pulsating with a malevolent black aura.
The entire exchange had taken only a few moments. By now, the phantom arm in the sky was completely ensnared in the great golden net, unable to move.
A deep rumble echoed from above. Jenkins’s vision swam, and for a second, he thought he saw the wound on the spectral arm become veiled in a black mist. Then, the gash began to twist and warp, transforming into an eye embedded in the flesh of the limb.
The moment that eye met his gaze, Jenkins let out a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed.
With the appearance of those malevolent eyes, the material world, for everyone watching, was suddenly overlaid with a dim, shadowy film. Jenkins had seen something before when using his Astral Perception. He knew what it meant: another world was overlapping with their own.