Orion reached the fifth room—the same cold, square chamber as before. The layout remained unchanged, the objective the same.
Kill the hollows. Advance to the next stage.
But there was one difference.
The numbers kept doubling.
Now, he faced one hundred and sixty bloodthirsty monsters.
They surrounded him, snarling, closing in from all sides.
He swung his blades in rapid succession, carving through flesh and bone. Yet, for every hollow he cut down, more took its place.
He was losing ground.
Slowly, a thought surfaced in the depths of his mind—a whisper at first, then a murmur, then a roaring obsession.
"You wouldn't stand a chance if I was as savage as you."
"I hate not having your fury."
"I envy your savagery."
Again.
"I envy your savagery."
Again.
"I envy your savagery!"
The words consumed him, echoing through his skull until he could no longer resist.
His lips parted. The words tore from his throat like a curse—
"I ENVY YOUR SAVAGERY!"
His sin mark ignited, radiating a piercing crimson glow.
A runic circle materialized before his iris, its intricate symbols shifting, rotating—as if piecing together the fabric of the universe itself.
Then—a burst of hollow energy surged through him.
His muscles fortified, his canines sharpened into fangs, his very aura twisted into something raw, primal, untamed.
All thought faded.
There was only instinct. Only hunger. Only the kill.
Orion lunged forward, his blades no longer following a disciplined rhythm but an unrelenting storm of barbarism.
His blades hacked left and right without hesitation, and limbs flew in every direction, arms, legs, and heads. Nothing was spared. He was like a death god bringing hell wherever he passed.
Nova who was watching from afar was taken aback by the one eighty change in behavior. The boy behaved like a true sinbound in that moment. He could smell the bloodlust from the screen, and his hands began to tremble. He gripped the chair to resist the urge to turn feral
"The madness is intoxicating," he said as his eyes pulsated with red light filled with excitation.
On the screen Orion tore through the hollows like a feral beast unleashed upon its prey. His body moved on instinct alone.
His blades sang as they cut through flesh, their edges dripping with black viscous blood. He moved with terrifying speed, weaving through the horde like a shadow.
One slash—three heads rolled. A backhand strike—an entire torso split in two.
A hollow lunged, claws aiming for his throat. Orion caught the creature's wrist mid-air, twisted—SNAP! The beast barely had time to scream before his blade pierced its chest, twisting viciously before being yanked free.
More came and he welcomed them.
A growl rumbled in his throat, deep and inhuman. His teeth bared in a wild grin, fangs glinting under the dim light. Blood spattered across his face, his skin, and his clothes, but he did not stop.
He would never stop.
A hollow leaped from behind, jaws wide to sink its fangs into his neck—but Orion didn't dodge. He let it come close, almost close enough to bite, then whipped his head back, smashing his skull into the beast's snout with a sickening CRACK!
The hollow reeled, dazed. Orion's blade was already waiting.
A single thrust—straight through the skull.
His breath came ragged, but his body felt invincible, unstoppable.
He kicked off the ground, twisting in mid-air, bringing both blades down in a brutal, cross-shaped arc. Blood sprayed like a fountain as two hollows were carved apart in a single motion.
Then he landed, crouched low, eyes wide, grinning.
The remaining hollows hesitated.
Even in their mindless hunger, they sensed it.
This was not prey.
This was a predator.
"Lord, you have an eye for talent. Though he is weak now, he'll make a fine envoy in time," Geraldth remarked, watching the carnage unfold on the screen.
Nova leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "He's still green. Look at him—losing himself in the euphoria."
And he was right. Orion was drowning in bloodlust, intoxicated by his first taste of true indulgence. His movements were no longer guided by technique but by primal instinct. His blades carved through flesh with unrestrained savagery, and the hollows fell like wheat before a scythe. When the last creature crumpled at his feet, silence finally reclaimed the room.
His body shuddered as the bloodlust faded. His left eye flickered back to its natural green hue, his elongated canines receded, and his muscles lost their unnatural rigidity. But as he came down from the high, a sudden, piercing pain lanced through his skull.
Then, everything went black.
When he opened his eyes, he was seated upon a vast throne in the void. Below him, thousands of versions of himself stretched into eternity—young, old, joyful, broken. Each a fragment, a memory, an echo of who he had been. They whispered, screamed, pleaded—voices he had heard all his life, now given shape.
And then, it appeared.
The anima of his sin. A fractured mosaic of stolen features and incomplete forms, its body shifting between liquid mercury, jagged glass, and swirling shadows. Half-formed faces emerged across its surface, misplaced hands reached from its depths—reflections that belonged to no one.
A grotesque limb slithered forward, stretching past the sea of memories. It seized one—a part of him. A moment, a piece of his soul. The voices wailed in protest, but Orion was bound to his throne, powerless.
He watched in horror as the hand crushed the memory into light. The anima absorbed it, and in an instant, it was gone.
His consciousness shuddered. Then, he was back.
The transition was seamless—only a second had passed—but something felt wrong. A hollow unease gnawed at him. He couldn't place it. He didn't know what had been taken.
And if he couldn't remember, did it even matter?
"There's no point in dwelling on what you don't know," he muttered, rolling his shoulders. The door to the next level creaked open. Without hesitation, he stepped forward