The chamber had become a furnace of clashing wills.
Every strike between Loren Vance and Erebus resounded like thunder. Steel sparked against claw, blade rang against fang, and the ground beneath them cracked and trembled under the unrelenting pressure of their duel. What had begun as a hopeless fight for Loren had become something else entirely—a contest where, impossibly, he stood as an equal.
The squad watched from the shadows, breath caught in their throats, as Loren pressed forward again, his aura spiraling violently outward. His body was fraying, his movements jagged and desperate, but the sheer will emanating from him was undeniable.
His sword whistled through the air, glowing faintly with the overcharged mana coursing through his veins. He slashed across Erebus's flank, a strike so fierce it split fur and muscle, spraying blackened blood onto the cracked stones.
The wolf howled, the sound shaking dust loose from the vaulted ceiling. Its glowing red eyes narrowed, rage simmering behind them. The great beast staggered but did not fall. Instead, it lunged, jaws wide, teeth aiming for Loren's throat.
Loren twisted his blade just in time, steel catching between fangs. The impact jolted up his arms, rattling bones already splintered from the strain. He screamed but held on, pressing every ounce of strength against the beast's maw.
Their auras clashed once more, erupting into a storm of raw energy that scorched the stones beneath them.
I can't… hold this forever.
Loren's vision blurred. The golden veins glowing across his body flickered, his unstable mana surging out in chaotic bursts. Each surge pushed him closer to victory, but closer too to collapse. He could feel it—the walls of his body breaking, unable to cage the inferno any longer.
Yet, even as the weight crushed him, something deeper pressed him onward. Not pride alone, not his father's shadow, not the fear of being remembered as nothing.
But the certainty that this was his moment.
That he had been born for this.
He roared, lifting his sword high, pushing Erebus's jaws aside with a surge of sheer will. His muscles screamed, blood spurted from his wounds, but he swung anyway, cleaving downward in a strike infused with every ounce of unstable mana he still possessed.
The blade came down like a guillotine.
It carved through air, through flesh, through bone.
Erebus howled in agony, staggering back as the strike ripped deep across its chest. Black blood gushed from the wound, splattering across the stones. The beast's massive frame trembled, claws scrabbling desperately, but its strength faltered at last.
Loren stumbled forward, lungs burning, his entire body shaking. He lifted the sword once more, barely able to keep his grip.
"This…" His voice broke, but he forced the words out through bloodied lips. "…is my hunt."
He lunged one final time.
The blade pierced straight through Erebus's chest, sinking deep into its heart.
The wolf gave a final, ear-splitting cry, its glowing eyes flickering like dying embers. Its massive body convulsed once, twice, then collapsed with a resounding crash that sent dust and debris scattering across the chamber.
For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the sound of Loren's ragged breathing and the distant echo of dripping water.
Then his knees buckled.
The sword slipped from his hands, clattering against the stone floor. His aura, once burning like a sun, sputtered out into fading sparks. The golden glow across his veins dimmed, leaving behind only torn flesh, bleeding wounds, and a body far too spent to stand.
Loren Vance collapsed beside the corpse of the wolf he had slain.
Lisa was the first to move. She rushed forward without hesitation, her face pale, her hands already glowing with the soft light of her healing magic. The squad trailed behind, but none moved faster than she did.
Kneeling at his side, Lisa pressed her palms over his chest, the warmth of her Soterei blessing seeping into his broken frame. The spherical shield she had used earlier now formed in reverse, its protective light focusing inward, knitting torn flesh and steadying his wild mana flow.
But it was a desperate task. His body wasn't simply injured—it had been torn apart from within by his own breakthrough. His mana channels were raw, scorched from overuse, and every breath seemed a gamble between life and death.
"Stay with me," Lisa whispered fiercely, sweat dripping down her brow as she poured more power into him. "You're not dying here. Not after all that."
Her blessing pulsed, threads of divine energy weaving through his battered form. Slowly, painfully, his breathing steadied. The bleeding slowed. His heartbeat, frantic and unstable, settled into something resembling rhythm.
Behind her, Mia watched with clenched fists, her sharp eyes never leaving Loren's unconscious face. She had seen many warriors rise and fall, but this—this reckless boy who had always postured and boasted—had revealed a strength she had never expected.
"Damn fool," Mia muttered under her breath, but there was no malice in it. Only respect.
Sylvia and Hiro exchanged glances, the weight of what they had just witnessed pressing heavy on their shoulders. They had doubted him, mocked him even, but here he was—the one who had faced the devil's champion and felled it with his own hand.
The devil himself leaned forward from his throne of shadow, slow applause echoing through the chamber.
"Well," he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction, "that was entertaining." His eyes gleamed as they fixed on Loren's unconscious form. "To think the little prince of pride would bloom so spectacularly before me. How delicious."
His words sent a shiver through the squad, but none answered him. Their focus was on Loren—on keeping him alive, on ensuring the sacrifice he had just made was not in vain.
Lisa's blessing flared one final time, sealing the worst of the wounds. She gasped, her own energy drained, but she didn't falter. Loren's chest rose and fell evenly now, his face pale but no longer ghostly.
"He'll live," she whispered, her voice trembling with relief.
The squad exhaled as one, tension breaking like a snapped bowstring.
Loren Vance had done it. Chapters fırst released on 𝘯𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘭•𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮•𝘯𝘦𝘵
He had ascended to Rank S.
And though he lay unconscious, broken by his own victory, there was no longer any doubt.
He was no longer just a braggart, no longer just Virgil's son.
He was a hunter. A warrior.
A name they would remember.
The devil smiled wider, as though savoring the taste of their fragile triumph. "Good. Very good. The game has only begun."
But for the moment, the squad paid him no mind.
For in the aftermath of blood and ruin, all that mattered was that Loren Vance still breathed.
And for the first time, the squad allowed themselves to hope that perhaps—even against such impossible odds—they might yet endure.