When he opened his eyes again...
Frey found himself lying on the cold ground, surrounded by the unending celebration of the Ultras.
As his senses returned, Frey felt a bit better. His body had started adapting to the demonic blood he drank earlier.
The headache wasn’t completely gone, but it had dulled.
Still, he forced himself to move through the crowd—now searching for two people, not one.
"Where the hell did Clana go?!"
Just as he was about to activate the third-person pov to locate her, Frey was startled to see Clana herself stepping out from between the crowd, staring at him with a strange look in her eyes.
"Clana?! What happened?!"
He asked immediately, but she ignored the panic in his voice and replied with a slow, sleepy gaze.
She smiled, and Frey groaned, still trying to keep his focus despite the throbbing pain.
"Then let’s keep searching."
Too distracted by the headache and focused on finding Knoth, Frey didn’t stop to assess Clana’s condition—despite her drinking from the same demonic blood as him.
She laughed softly the moment he urged her to keep going.
"What do you mean, why? We need to find the others!"
Frey snapped, growing frustrated at the delay. But Clana continued to hover around him, still wearing that odd expression.
"None of that matters anymore... Frey, our friends are already dead. Didn’t you see the army heading toward them?"
"...What are you talking about?"
Frey clenched his head in pain, forcing himself to endure both the pounding headache and Clana’s incoherent rambling.
"They’re all going to die anyway. Why should we bother chasing after them?"
"You’re not in your right mind."
"I’m perfectly fine..."
Taking his hands into hers and stepping closer—closer than ever before—Clana looked him straight in the eye.
"All that matters now is you and me."
"And you’re here for me."
"Stop it," Frey growled, tightening his grip on her shoulders. "You don’t even know what you’re saying."
He tried to push her away.
But she didn’t let him. With a swift movement, she threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his body and pulling him into a sudden embrace—until their faces were inches apart, and her lips met his in a deep kiss.
Frey’s numbed senses grew even duller as the headache fused strangely with the overwhelming feeling of the kiss.
Her white hair blocked his vision completely.
And then... under the spotlight’s glare...
Her hair turned black.
And in his arms stood a different girl, staring at him with dark, lifeless eyes.
Frey immediately leapt backward, gasping, while Clana stood confused by his sudden reaction.
"What...?" she asked, clearly shaken, as if part of her mind had returned.
Frey, meanwhile, was still processing what he saw.
Clana’s smile faded into something bitter, and she slowly backed away.
"...I see. Sorry, then."
As she walked off into the crowd—
Frey clenched his teeth and summoned Balerion.
Without hesitation, he stabbed himself hard in the right thigh, letting the waves of pain override the remnants of the headache. His eyes began to glow with a violet light.
"I’ve had enough of this nonsense."
Drawing the Dark Sister, he dashed forward—appearing instantly in front of Clana, who barely had time to react.
With a swift strike to the side of her neck, he knocked her unconscious in an instant.
After laying her body away from the madness of the Ultra’s depraved party...
Frey vanished into the crowd in a blur, leaving behind nothing but afterimages.
In a matter of seconds, he dropped several of them dead—reappearing and disappearing with savage precision, swinging his blades like a phantom.
Frey kept asking the same question as he cut down everyone around him, mercilessly hunting for the man who was supposed to be the key to their escape from this place.
Minutes into the massacre...
Frey had already slaughtered dozens.
"I should’ve done this from the beginning."
He continued to tear through the celebrating Ultras without pause.
The once-rowdy party had now transformed into a bloodbath—fitting for a hellish place .
The entire tent exploded not long after the battle began, as Frey singlehandedly decimated most of the Ultras present.
Unexpectedly, the majority turned out to be from the lower-blood ranks. He rarely encountered any high-bloods—and even when he did, they were far too drunk to fight back.
Now, standing in the middle of a crater of carnage, drenched in blood...
Frey stared coldly at the short, obese man kneeling before him—arms outstretched, holding a golden key.
"So you’re Knoth? Never thought the key to everything would be this pitiful."
"Please! Spare my life!"
Knoth fell to his knees, half-naked, covering himself with gold and jewels.
But Frey showed no mercy.
With a single motion, he sent the man’s head flying and snatched the final key from his corpse.
At that moment, Frey felt a massive wave of powerful auras converging toward him.
"So they’ve found out..."
Carrying Clana in his arms...
Frey dashed forward at full speed, evading the constant bombardment from the Ultras chasing him toward the teleportation circle.
But he was confident in his speed—confident in his ability to reach it unscathed. And he did.
He entered the circle with Clana, disappearing just before the Ultras could catch up.
And from atop a tall building carved into the mountain’s edge...
Draxler had seen everything.
Still wearing that same smile...
He pulled out a violet crystal and pressed down, activating it.
At that moment, a holographic projection of a woman in an elegant dress appeared before him.
Draxler immediately bowed low.
"Mission complete, my great witch Beatrice. They’re on their way... to the promised place."
Beatrice smiled from the other side of the crystal, her satisfaction radiating through the magical link.
The witch’s game was far from over.
She was still playing with their fate .