The screams of the prisoners never ceased—an endless cycle of torment, psychological before physical, as if suffering itself were being paraded before the next victim.
Eliah sat on the floor, its true color impossible to discern beneath layers of dried blood. There was no choice but to sit there—the ground itself seemed to whisper one's fate.
Aenjel stood near the bars, looking left and right, waiting… as if anticipating the arrival of something unseen.
"You've been standing there for half an hour," Eliah said dryly. "It's like you're waiting for a package to be delivered."
Aenjel lowered and raised his wings slowly.
"What a pathetic sense of humor you have."
Eliah stood and stepped closer, studying his face.
"How about you explain the plan? Or am I not part of your calculations?"
Aenjel looked at him, then smiled faintly.
"Honestly, I don't expect anything from you. Do you see these prisoners? You'll end up just like them."
"And what exactly have you seen from me, idiot?"
Aenjel lowered his head, sharp eyes lifting to meet Eliah's.
"Who are you calling an idiot? It seems you want to die—yet don't know how to say it properly."
"You. You're the idiot," Eliah snapped. "What do you know about me, huh? I resisted four nightfarers—and survived a Nightwalker."
Anger burned clearly in Eliah's expression as he spoke.
Aenjel's eyes widened.
"Resisted nightfarers? And a Nightwalker?" He scoffed. "Don't make me laugh. With that frail body of yours, you couldn't even fight off a mosquito."
Eliah gestured to his torn clothes, stained with blood.
"Then explain this. Paint, is it? This is blood. I killed one of them. I survived a Nightwalker. And if my weapon hadn't been lost in the ice collapse, I would've killed the rest."
Aenjel stared at Eliah's clothes. His expression said everything—half disbelief, half realization.
"Let's say I believe you," Aenjel said slowly. "Why don't you have a single wound? Four nightfarers, a Nightwalker, an avalanche… and not even a scratch."
He paused, then placed his thumb and forefinger on his chin.
"What exactly is your ability?"
Eliah's expression shifted from serious to uncertain.
He didn't know the answer himself.
He had stepped into hell without understanding anything.
Gripping the bars, Eliah spoke with a frozen expression.
"I don't know what my incantation is. I'm trying to find it."
"But there's something strange I felt… something completely unfamiliar. When I killed that nightfarer, my heart started pounding violently—like I was alive again."
He continued, touching his torn clothes.
"But when the sword pierced me, the wound was deep. I could barely stand. Then… my strength started returning, bit by bit—while something else was taken from me."
Aenjel stood still, processing Eliah's words.
He stepped away from the bars and stood in the center of the cell, thinking.
Judging by his expression, he's not the type to lie…
The real question is—did he awaken an ability that heals any wound?
Aenjel clenched his forehead, grinding his teeth, trying to solve the puzzle.
There's only one explanation… he falls within the cursed.
Great power—at the cost of something else.
Aenjel looked at Eliah calmly.
"Every incantation must be discovered by its bearer. That part is up to you."
Then he continued:
"For now, let's leave that discussion for later. I'll explain the plan to escape this prison—and reach the top of the palace."
He leaned against the wall and began.
"First, remember this well: this prison is a living entity. Entrances and exits change every time. The plan is simple—wait for a guard to open the cell, ambush him, and then begin our journey."
"That's a simple plan," Eliah said. "But judging by your appearance, you have a powerful incantation. Why not just cut or blow the gate apart?"
Aenjel smiled sarcastically and shook his head.
"It seems I've become your instructor—I need to explain everything. Simply put, this cell, and all cells here, are under a spell that nullifies all other incantations."
"And the name of that spell?" Eliah asked.
"It's called Abyssl," Aenjel replied.
"It devours all abilities and turns you into a foolish human among monsters."
"So now, we wait for a guard," he added calmly.
Aenjel closed his eyes, folding one hand over the other.
Eliah remained near the bars, watching the prisoners beyond. Despair clung to the air.
He was surprised by what I told him… I didn't expect him to believe me, Eliah thought, glancing sideways at Aenjel.
He was probably trying to understand the nature of my incantation.
"Will I really survive?" Eliah whispered.
"The monsters, the places… even looking at the palace sends chills down your spine because of that cursed aura."
Sometimes, humans create illusions to convince themselves they are heroic.
That was Eliah—fleeing from self-destruction, only to find death coiling around him from every direction.
"I lost everything… but there's one thing—I'm not sure I lost it," he murmured. "I truly hope I didn't."
His head was lowered, exhaustion and anxiety carved into his features.
Then he slowly raised his head.
A guard stood before him.
The void behind the bars glowed crimson.
Eliah jumped back instinctively—
Aenjel grabbed his shoulder just in time, pulling him away from a pit beneath his feet.
The placement was deliberate. A trap meant to kill prisoners.
I was about to fall…
And the terrifying part is—I never noticed it.
It seems Aenjel was right. This prison truly is alive.
"When we bring nightfarers here, most go insane within the first minute," the guard sneered.
"Fear consumes them. But not you two… impressive acting."
Aenjel smiled and stepped toward the bars.
Before the guard could say another word, Aenjel thrust his white wings through the iron, seized the guard's head, and slammed it three times in rapid succession.
A black fluid spilled out.
The guard collapsed lifelessly.
"Oh… that was a clean move," Eliah muttered, stunned.
Aenjel took the guard's hand and pressed it against the lock.
Seconds later, the gate opened—then vanished like dust.
Aenjel stepped out of the cell.
Eliah followed.
Aenjel slid one hand into the other and drew out a long sword, its hilt formed from layered white feathers.
"Let's go," Aenjel said calmly.
"We have to—"
Aenjel did not finish his sentence when he noticed Eliah picking up the fallen soldier's weapon.
The action clearly surprised him. After all, every nightfarer possessed a weapon specifically suited to their own spell.
"It seems you still have a long road ahead of you," Aenjel said calmly,
"not only to discover your spell… but even your true weapon."
Eliah was about to reply—
When a sudden alarm erupted, resembling the sirens of an impending catastrophe.
The sound was piercing, loud, and unbearable.
"What's happening?" Eliah asked in shock.
"We've most likely been discovered," Aenjel replied.
The ground beneath them shook violently.
The prison cells twisted and reshaped, their walls sprouting dark, crawling hands.
The narrow corridor expanded into a massive hall, only to fracture again—walls rising abruptly, transforming the space into a maze of alleys and diverging paths.
"It seems you were right," Eliah said, scanning his surroundings while assuming a combat stance.
"This place truly is alive…"
"Be careful, Eliah," Aenjel warned.
"Some soldiers are about to appear."
A crack tore open in the space behind them.
Both of them turned.
A large group of soldiers emerged—between seven and ten figures.
"This will be a true test for you, Eliah," Aenjel said, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.
"Let's see what you can do."
Eliah charged forward without hesitation.
He rushed toward one of the soldiers, unleashing a barrage of swift strikes that forced the man to retreat.
The soldier swung his sword, attempting to split Eliah in half—but Eliah dodged the blow, countering by killing the soldier's companion instead.
Seizing the opening, Eliah pressed his blade against the soldier's throat and severed his head in a single motion, without a moment of hesitation.
As he moved to attack the next enemy, he froze.
A whisper brushed against his ear.
[The Mongral Executioner .]
Eliah paused, placing his palm against his ear.
In that instant, another soldier lunged toward him, aiming to cleave his body in two.
Aenjel appeared.
He intercepted the attack, delivering a strike so powerful it shattered the enemy's sword and drove the blade straight into the soldier's body.
"You were seconds away from being split in half," Aenjel said coldly.
"Never take your eyes off the battlefield—or you'll end up meeting Hades."
Without another word, Aenjel resumed his assault, cutting through the soldiers one by one with overwhelming force.
Am I hallucinating…? Eliah thought.
I swear I heard someone whispering right beside my ear…
He lowered his hand and looked toward the soldiers surrounding Aenjel, then rushed forward to join the fight.
The battle was brutal.
Blood splattered across the floor, and the clash of steel rang like twisted music in the heart of this nightmare.
Aenjel cleaved another soldier in half, then released a white-colored spell that detonated the body into fragments.
Eliah stood panting, black blood smeared across his pale, moonlit face.
Aenjel glanced at him and asked,
"Why did you stop fighting? What happened?"
Eliah stared at his blade, still dripping with blood.
"When I killed that soldier," he said,
"I heard a voice say: You have slain the mongral.
It made me freeze… it was terrifying. The voice whispered like death itself."
Aenjel stepped closer, standing beside Eliah with his sword lowered near his abdomen.
"The words you heard," Aenjel explained,
"all nightfarers hear them. That is the world's system."
"It rewards you for killing," he continued,
"yet gives you nothing in return."
"The phrase changes depending on the type of creature and its strength.
You'll hear it many times—don't be afraid. You'll get used to it."
…
"Then why," Eliah asked,
"didn't I hear anything when I killed one of the nightfarers?"
"The system doesn't reward that," Aenjel replied.
"Killing those of your own kind is meaningless to it.
It favors the slaughter of monsters—and those ranked above them."
Each time Aenjel spoke, Eliah found himself amazed by how much knowledge he revealed—small fragments that exposed just how bleak this world truly was.
As Eliah was about to speak again, the ground trembled once more.
The lighting shifted, turning red—flickering in and out—until the surroundings reformed into a massive iron-barred prison chamber.
"What is this place?" Eliah said in disbelief.
"This prison keeps playing with our minds."
"It seems a group of monsters is about to appear," Aenjel said.
"So be—"
He didn't finish.
A deafening scream tore through the chamber—agonized, distorted, as if something were dying.
They turned.
A monster stood before them.
It wore shattered black armor, its body covered in deep scars.
Its head was nothing but clusters of dark eyes.
No mouth.
Yet it screamed.
In its hands rested a massive, razor-sharp sword.
"No mouth… yet it screams?" Eliah said with a crooked smile.
"How does that even work?"
Behind the creature stood a sealed door.
Aenjel pointed toward it.
"It seems the real test has begun."
"The task is simple," he continued.
"Kill this abomination—one that appears to belong to the Butcher class."
The butcher stared at them without blinking.
And in that moment—
Black blood streamed from its eyes.
As if it were crying.