Chapter 8: The Butcher of N’Zallith
A Battlefield Drenched in Blood
The ruins of N'Zallith ran red.
The air was thick with smoke, blood, and the stench of burning flesh. The ground, once ancient stone, was now a broken graveyard—bodies torn apart, limbs scattered, organs spilling onto the cracked pavement.
The Abyss had fed well tonight.
Ronan stood amidst the carnage, breathing in the violence like it was oxygen. His abyssal claw, slick with gore, dripped black ichor onto the corpse of a fallen Hunter. The man's face was frozen in a silent scream, his body half-dissolved, his soul already consumed.
Across from him, Jericho Voss trembled.
The Platinum-Rank Hunter—**a warrior who had slain Rift Titans, led armies against nightmare abominations, and stood undefeated for over a decade—**was shaking like a cornered animal. His divine armor was cracked, golden light flickering in and out of existence. His blade, once a symbol of absolute power, felt useless in his hands.
He had seen death before.
But he had never seen anything like this.
"H-How…?" His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.
Ronan licked a smear of blood from his lips, his violet eyes gleaming like a predator's.
"What's wrong, Platinum-Rank?" His voice was smooth, almost mocking. "Still think the System's gonna save you?"
Jericho gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stand straight, though his entire body screamed for him to run.
"You're a monster," he spat. "You don't belong in this world."
Ronan tilted his head, amused. "Neither do the weak. Yet here you are."
He took a slow step forward, heel crushing the skull of a fallen Hunter beneath his boot.
CRUNCH.
Jericho's breath hitched.
"You think you're strong?" Ronan continued, voice dark, "because the System put a number on you? Because some divine algorithm decided you were better than the rest?"
He let out a low chuckle.
"Let me show you what true strength looks like."
The Slaughter Continues
Jericho lunged, his greatsword blazing with holy energy, carving through the air with enough force to split mountains.
Ronan dodged.
Effortlessly.
Like it was nothing.
Jericho swung again—a perfect arc, a slash honed by decades of battle.
Ronan caught the blade in his abyssal claw.
The divine metal screeched, sparks flying in all directions, but the abyss simply ate away at the steel, corroding it on contact.
Jericho's eyes widened.
"No—"
Before he could react, Ronan moved.
Abyssal tendrils erupted from the ground, spearing through his squad like hooks through meat.
One Hunter, a young recruit barely out of training, gasped as black spikes burst from his chest, impaling him mid-air. He clawed at them desperately, but the more he struggled, the deeper they sank, slithering inside him, burrowing under his skin.
He screamed.
Then he burst apart, his organs liquefying, his very essence devoured from the inside out.
Another Hunter—a battle-hardened veteran—tried to flee.
Ronan appeared behind him.
With a single swipe, his claw ripped the man's spine from his back, the vertebrae snapping like dry twigs. Blood gushed from the gaping hole, the body collapsing limp, twitching as the last traces of life faded away.
"You were too slow," Ronan whispered into his ear, before crushing the spine in his grip.
Jericho roared in desperation, swinging wildly.
Ronan sidestepped.
Then, with one smooth motion, he drove his abyssal claw into Jericho's gut.
Jericho choked, looking down.
The black talons had pierced clean through, rupturing organs, twisting through his ribs, his lifeblood spilling in rivers over the stone floor.
His knees buckled.
"W-why…?" Jericho rasped, blood bubbling at his lips. "The System… is absolute…"
Ronan leaned in close, his lips inches from Jericho's ear.
"The System… is a lie."
Then—he devoured him.
The Death of a Platinum-Rank
The moment Ronan activated Abyssal Consumption, Jericho screamed.
Not from the pain.
From the absolute terror of what was happening to him.
His divine essence, his skills, his soul itself, was being ripped from his body, sucked into the abyssal maelstrom that Ronan had become.
"N-No… NO—"
His skin cracked, golden veins shattering, holy energy corroding into nothingness.
His eyes melted from their sockets.
His body shrivelled like a dying star, collapsing in on itself, until **all that remained was a hollow husk—**a broken suit of armor, rattling against the cold stone.
A Platinum-Rank Hunter.
A legend.
Gone.
Devoured.
Erased.
A System Notification flickered.
—----------------------------------------
🔹 Platinum-Rank Hunter Eliminated.
🔹 System Error: Target's Existence Erased.
New Abilities Acquired:
✅ Divine Rejection – You are now permanently resistant to holy magic.
✅ Platinum Essence Consumption – Higher-tier beings can now be fully absorbed.
✅ Right of the Forsaken – The System can no longer interfere with your existence.
🔹 WARNING: The System has identified you as a World-Class Threat.
🔹 S-Rank Hunters have been deployed.
—----------------------------------------
Ronan tilted his head, scanning the blood-drenched battlefield.
He flexed his abyssal claw, feeling the strength of a Platinum-Rank coursing through his veins.
"S-Rankers, huh?" He chuckled.
He turned his back on the slaughter, his long coat billowing behind him, the abyss stretching outward, swallowing the remains of the fallen.
The System had declared him an anomaly.
The Hunters had sent their best to erase him.
And now?
Now, the world itself was afraid of him.
"Good." His violet eyes burned, a cruel smile curling his lips.
"Let them come."