Third Implantation (1)

[This is the longest one so brace yourself...]

From the 31st to the 39th floor, it took only two days for Vastarael and the knights to explore them.

Or course, the knights didn't sense his presence because he was still under the Veil of The Ingenious Prince so the only way they knew his presence was his voice. Now that he defeated their Grand Cross in a battle of life and death and spared her, he was now in charge of the knights. At least, that's how their code was.

Ferris Harrowshard was not that happy that she now had a new boss but to her shock, he never ordered her around. He always did things his own way and told the knights to do their own thing. He didn't ask about their origin or why they came to the spire and that made Ferris respect Vastarael even more.

It took only two days to explore the place because of how the place looked. The thirty first to the thirty seventh floor looked like a castle with everything on it except for one thing. There were no people.

The thirty eighth floor was a war room and the thirty ninth was filled with treasures. A lot of them.

Vastarael and Ferris were the only beings present who could summon the teleportation circles for themselves and others. He went his way and she went her way. Either way, they would eventually meet at the same floor.

And the second the Veil of The Ingenious Prince wore off, he went to the fortieth floor.

And that was the beginning of his suffering.

The transition was abrupt. One second Vastarael stood in the eerie silence of the 40th floor, an expanse of endless white stretching into infinity, and the next, a deep, resonant voice broke through the void.

[Why have you come here? What purpose drives you to ascend me?]

He froze, Calimostria held loosely in his hand as he scanned the empty horizon for the source of the voice. He knew that it was the spire speaking. The random knowledge he got from the spire told him so.

"I'm here to kill the Winter Labor," he stated firmly. His tone carried none of the hesitation that threatened to gnaw at the edge of his mind. "It froze my friends. I'm ending it."

The voice responded.

[The Winter Labor awaits you on the second-last floor, but the path to reach it demands sacrifice. When you stand at the final gate, you will give up something you truly desire.]

He furrowed his brow, gripping the glaive tighter. "Sacrifice? Whatever it is, fine. I'll do it. I don't have time for riddles."

[So be it. Let the tests begin.]

The whiteness shattered. It was like a mirror breaking apart, shards of light peeling back to reveal the hellscape beneath. The air grew heavy and acrid, tasting of ash and smoke. The ground beneath his feet crumbled into jagged asphalt, scattered with bloodied debris. Vastarael stood in a ruined city. Towering skyscrapers reduced to skeletal remains, streets broken and overrun by fire and decay.

His eyes narrowed. This place was disturbingly familiar.

And then, the sound started. Shadows moved within the ruins. Shapes, humanoid yet grotesque, emerged by the dozens, and then by the hundreds. By the thousands.

He recognized them immediately.

They were two meters tall, their pale white bodies were an unnatural canvas of sinewy muscle and smooth, eyeless faces. They were the same monstrosities he had fought as a child. Except this time, there were more. So many more.

And then he saw him.

Standing atop the ruins of a toppled skyscraper, cloaked in a swirling aura of divine power, was Stephos, the god his mother had slain. Yet here he was, alive and smirking, his gaze locked on Vastarael.

The realization hit him like a hammer. The floor wasn't just creating enemies; it was re-animating his worst memories and dragging them into reality. His lips curled into a snarl.

"You bastards are playing dirty."

Stephos raised a hand, his voice echoing across the apocalyptic wasteland.

"Welcome back, Vastarael. I wonder, will you fail here as you almost did back then?"

Vastarael rolled his shoulders as Calimostria materializing in a sapphire flash. The weapon hummed in his grip, the curved blade catching the faint light of the ruined city.

"I don't have time for your recycled bullshit. Bring it on."

The first wave of the humanoid creatures charged.

The ground quaked beneath their collective weight as thousands of them surged forward. Vastarael dashed into their ranks, his glaive whistling through the air. The first swing cleaved through five of them in one fluid motion, their bodies dissolving into a fine, white mist. He didn't stop moving.

One leapt at him from the side, claws extended, but he pivoted sharply, driving the glaive's blade into its chest and twisting. He yanked it free just as another lunged at him from behind. Without looking, he whipped Calimostria backward, severing the creature's head clean off.

The ground shook again. Another wave was already barreling toward him, their shrieks deafening. Vastarael let out a frustrated growl.

"Tens of thousands? Really? Couldn't settle for a fair fight, could you?"

Two more closed in, claws slashing toward his chest. Vastarael ducked, sliding under their attacks and slashing upward in a wide arc. Both were bisected instantly, their bodies collapsing in opposite directions.

The fight only escalated. They came at him in endless waves, each more ferocious than the last. Vastarael moved like a storm through their ranks. Every strike was precise, every movement calculated to maximize efficiency. He leapt onto the crumbling remains of a car to gain the high ground, spinning in a wide circle as Calimostria cut down a dozen foes in a single swing.

His breathing grew heavier as the minutes stretched into hours. Sweat dripped from his brow and his muscles screamed in protest, but he pushed through the exhaustion. There was no time to rest, no time to falter.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Stephos, still watching, his smirk growing wider. Vastarael scowled.

"Enjoying the show, you smug piece of shit?"

Stephos raised his arms and the air around him rippled with divine energy. In an instant, the battlefield changed. The creatures stopped in their tracks, their heads snapping toward Vastarael in unison. Their bodies began to twist and contort, growing larger, their claws elongating into razor-sharp talons.

"Ah, come on. You couldn't just leave them as they were?"

The transformed beasts roared as one and charged again. This time, their movements were faster and more coordinated. Vastarael gritted his teeth and launched himself into the fray, meeting them head-on.

He ducked under a claw swipe and countered with a horizontal slash, severing the creature's legs. Another came at him from behind but he spun on his heel, driving the glaive's blade into its throat. Before he could pull the weapon free, three more were already on him. He cursed under his breath, releasing the glaive and summoning a burst of plasma from his Second Star Plasma Circle. The shockwave sent the creatures flying, giving him just enough time to retrieve his weapon.

The fight continued for what felt like an eternity. Vastarael's movements grew slower, his strikes less precise, but he refused to stop. He refused to die here.

Stephos's laughter echoed across the battlefield.

"Look at you, Vastarael. Struggling and bleeding. Do you really think you can win?"

Vastarael wiped the blood from his lip and glared up at the god.

"You talk too much," he spat, summoning what little strength he had left. He raised Calimostria high above his head, the glaive glowing with a blinding sapphire light, and threw it so high that it caused a shockwave.

With a roar that shook the ruins, he brought the weapon down, unleashing a massive wave of energy that tore through the battlefield. The creatures disintegrated in an instant, their bodies reduced to ash.

When the dust settled, Vastarael stood alone, his glaive buried in the ground, his chest heaving with exhaustion. Stephos was gone, his presence erased along with the creatures he commanded.

He had created an area of effect attack that converted his essence into fake divine energy and unleashed a wave of energy so powerful that it disintegrated everything in an instant.

Vastarael smirked weakly, pulling Calimostria free. "Told you this was gonna take a while."

The 40th floor was clear, but the spire's voice echoed in his mind once more.

[You have passed the first test, but your trials are far from over. Prepare yourself, Prince of Beauty.]

Vastarael rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Just get on with it—"

The battlefield's eerie silence came as a strange relief.

Vastarael's knees threatened to buckle, but he forced himself upright, planting Calimostria into the ground for support.

But then it happened.

A sharp, searing pain erupted in his back, cutting through his exhaustion. His eyes widened as he staggered forward, Calimostria slipping from his grasp and clattering uselessly to the ground. Slowly, he turned his head, his breath hitching as he saw him.

Stephos.

The god stood behind him, his eyes alight with a cruel satisfaction. In his hand was a blade made of pure flame, embedded deeply between Vastarael's ribs.

"What's wrong, Vastarael?" Stephos taunted, leaning closer until his voice was a venomous whisper in his ear. "Did you really think you were untouchable, even here?"

Vastarael's mouth opened, but no words came out. Blood spilled from his lips dripping down his chin. He tried to move, to summon Calimostria back into his hand, but his body wouldn't obey. He could only watch helplessly as Stephos stepped around him, his flaming weapon dissipating into embers.

"You've always been arrogant," Stephos sneered, raising his arm.

His hand burned with divine fire as he plunged it into Vastarael's chest with sickening precision. The prince's eyes widened in horror as he felt the god's fiery fingers close around his heart.

"No..."

He knew this wasn't real. He knew Stephos was nothing more than a cruel fabrication, a re-creation of his past. But in this moment, it didn't matter. The pain was real. The rage in Stephos's eyes was real. And now, the life being ripped from his body was all too real.

Stephos pulled, and Vastarael's heart came free with a grotesque squelch, the organ engulfed in divine fire.

Vastarael staggered backward, his legs finally giving out as he crumpled to the ground. Blood poured from the gaping hole in his chest, staining the shattered asphalt beneath him. His vision blurred, the edges of the world growing darker with every passing second.

Stephos laughed, the sound echoing through the apocalyptic ruins. He declared, holding Vastarael's heart aloft like a trophy.

"Finally! The so-called Prince of Beauty falls. And by my hand, no less. Poetic, isn't it?"

Vastarael's hand weakly reached for Calimostria, his fingers brushing against the hilt before falling limply to the ground. His breaths came in shallow gasps as his body began to shut down, his vision narrowing to a tunnel of flickering light.

As he lay there, dying, the weight of his failure crushed him more than any pain ever could.

'How could I be so stupid? I should've seen it coming. I should've been stronger.'

His mind drifted to the faces of those he cared about, the people he had sworn to protect. Shimmer and Runner, his daughters. The knights who had come to respect him, even begrudgingly. He had fought so hard, endured so much, only to fall here, in this forsaken place.

"I… really am going to die here," he whispered, his voice so faint it was swallowed by the smoke-filled air. Tears welled in his eyes, not from the pain, but from the sheer helplessness of it all.

And then, he looked to see Stephos. His face changed into a man with white skin and blue hair. His heart on the man's hand was turning into ice.

"Winter... Labor..."

His hand fell limp at his side, and the world around him went silent. The last thing he saw before the darkness claimed him was Stephos, standing triumphant amidst the ruins, his laughter ringing in his ears.

And then, Vastarael was gone.