The SSS+ Dungeon: "Target Zero"Depth: Layer 2 - The Verdant Deception
The transition from the grey, ash-choked wasteland of the First Layer to the Second Layer was jarring enough to induce vertigo.
One moment, the army was trudging through monochrome dust, coughing up soot. The next, they stepped through a shimmering veil of mana and found themselves blinded by sunlight.
Real sunlight. Or at least, a perfect imitation of it.
"We finally arrived on the second layer of the dungeon," Morgane Sylvine Obeline announced, lowering her staff. Her voice carried a mixture of relief and heightened suspicion.
Around them stretched a landscape that defied logic. It was a rolling countryside straight out of a medieval painting. Lush green grass swayed in a gentle breeze that smelled of wildflowers and honey. Ancient oak trees with golden leaves dotted the hills, and in the distance, crystal-clear rivers wound their way through valleys filled with grazing deer.
It was paradise.
"Woah," Gyeum Gayeol breathed, stepping onto the soft grass. She looked around, her eyes wide. The contrast to the death they had just witnessed was overwhelming. "This... this looks like a medieval paradise. Like those edits you see on social media with the saturated filters."
'It looks like a trap,' Damien thought, his eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses.
He scanned the horizon. To the untrained eye, it was beautiful. To Damien, it looked like the background of The Chronicles of Adelina. It was too perfect. The saturation was turned up too high.
'I should stop watching TikTok,' Damien muttered internally, adjusting his grip on his tactical vest. 'I watched too much Knight x Princess edits before this. Now everything looks like a romantic subplot waiting to turn into a tragedy.'
"You should not let your guard down," Nicholas's voice rumbled like thunder, cutting through the awe of the soldiers. The Titan of the West didn't look at the scenery; he looked at the shadows beneath the trees. "Dungeons like this don't create beauty for the sake of art. They create it to lower your heart rate before they stop it."
The soldiers, who had begun to relax, snapped back to attention. They gripped their rifles, realizing that the deer in the distance were watching them with too many eyes.
Damien nodded in agreement. Even for an area that looked like heaven, he felt a thicker, more viscous darkness hidden within the soil. The mana here tasted sweet, like rotting fruit.
"We should hurriedly arrive on the Fourth Layer and lastly the Fifth Layer," Morgane commanded, her golden aura flaring to ward off the mental influence of the layer. "We must prevent that cult from reviving their Demon God. If we stay here too long, the illusion will start to eat us."
"Let's hurry up!" Nicholas ordered, taking point. "Move out! Don't touch the water! Don't touch the fruit!"
The army began to march through the false paradise, their boots crushing the perfect flowers.
***
Meanwhile.Depth: Layer 5 - The Abyssal SanctumFar beneath the reach of sunlight and the ears of mankind.
The atmosphere here was heavy enough to crush bone. This was not a dungeon; it was a tomb.
The cavern was vast and cathedral-like, its ceiling lost in shadows that seemed to writhe with their own sentience. Veins of violet light pulsed through the black stone walls like the living heartbeat of a dying god.
At the center of the sanctum stood a colossal statue. It depicted the sealed Demon Goddess—Nesmeranda. Her expression was carved with terrifying detail; she looked neither wrathful nor kind, but eternal. She was sorrow personified. Massive chains of ancient, celestial origin wrapped around her stone limbs and torso, glowing faintly with golden inscriptions—the binding marks of the Constellations who had imprisoned her ten thousand years ago.
Before the statue, a congregation gathered in reverent silence.
They were Monsters, but not the mindless beasts of the upper layers. These were High-Order beings—Humanoids, Lycans, and Fallen Spirits—cloaked in deep purple hoods and ceremonial dresses. They moved with solemn, practiced precision.
With trembling claws and hands, they arranged the bodies of fallen Monsters—warriors taken from the Third and Fourth Layers—upon an enormous ritual circle carved into the obsidian floor.
Blood flowed. It didn't pool; it moved. It navigated the engraved channels, filling the complex geometric symbols one by one until the entire floor shimmered with a wet, crimson light.
The air smelled of iron, old blood, and heavy incense.
"Are all the preparations done?"
The voice belonged to the Pope of the Demon God Cult. It was calm, cultured, yet it carried an undercurrent of anticipation so intense it felt like madness.
The Fourth Apostle, a creature with the horns of a ram and the robes of a scholar, stepped forward and bowed deeply.
"Yes, Your Holiness. The sacrifices have been completed. The mana conductivity is at 100%. The ritual array is stable. The relics of the Old World have been placed in their designated positions."
A slow, almost unhinged smile spread across the Apostle's lips, revealing rows of sharpened teeth.
"And with this... we shall finally unseal our Goddess—"
He lifted his head, his yellow eyes gleaming with fanatic devotion.
"Nesmeranda."
The name echoed through the chamber like a forbidden hymn, vibrating against the ribs of everyone present.
The Pope closed his eyes briefly, savoring the sound. Then, he nodded.
He turned toward the colossal statue and slowly removed his hood.
He was not a monster in appearance. He was an Elf—or what used to be one. His face was worn by centuries of grief, his skin grey and cracked, his eyes burning with a hatred that had hardened into a diamond-like resolve.
He stepped forward and bowed deeply, lowering himself to one knee before the sealed deity.
"Oh, Goddess..." his voice trembled—not with fear, but with an agonizing longing. "Show us the true path. Show us the way to save our kind from extinction."
His fists clenched against the cold stone floor until his claws drew blood from his own palms.
"From those Constellations who toy with us as puppets for their own amusement. From those beings who open the gates, unleash chaos, and then watch from the heavens as if it were a grand spectacle."
His voice rose, thick with suppressed rage, echoing off the high walls.
"They branded us as monsters! They made humanity believe we were the source of their suffering! They manipulated the Dungeons. They controlled the beasts. They orchestrated every massacre—so that humans would sharpen their blades against us and generate 'Entertainment' for the Star Stream!"
Memories flooded his mind, unbidden and painful.
He remembered a time before the Dungeons. A time when his people lived in the cracks of the worlds.
He remembered the villages burning. Not by dragon fire, but by "Heroes" summoned by the gods.
He heard the children screaming.
He saw his wife—Ivolka—reaching for him as white flames swallowed their home. Her skin peeling, her eyes pleading for salvation he couldn't give.
Their children, too young to understand why the universe hated them, turning to ash in his arms.
"The truth..." his voice broke, turning into a sob. "The truth was buried along with the previous generation of humans. They were never told of the Dungeons' origin. Never told who truly opened the gates. They think they are fighting for survival, but they are just fighting for the ratings of the gods."
He lifted his tear-filled eyes toward the cold, stone face of the statue.
"Oh, Goddess... save us from their lies. Save us from their righteousness. Let the world see what was done to us. Let them feel the pain of the discard pile."
Suddenly—
-VROOM.
The statue's eyes flared.
Both ignited in a blazing crimson glow, illuminating the dark cavern in a wash of blood-red light.
The chamber trembled. Dust fell from the ceiling.
The Pope inhaled sharply. He raised his hand.
"First Apostle."
From the shadows, the First Apostle stepped forward. He was a hulking figure of armor and shadow, holding a glowing purple orb with both hands. Within the orb swirled a luminous essence—restless, alive, screaming.
It was a soul. No. It was a fragment of the Goddess herself, retrieved from the afterlife between dimensions.
The Pope's hands trembled as he received it. It was heavy, pulsing with the heartbeat of a deity.
"Oh, Goddess... please accept this humble offering from your most devoted servant."
He knelt fully, raising the orb toward the statue.
"As long as my heart beats, as long as hatred burns within me, I shall devote everything to your resurrection. Even if I must burn the world to ash to warm your throne."
The orb floated from his hands, drawn by an invisible magnetic force. It touched the statue's massive stone palm.
For a moment, nothing happened. The world held its breath.
Then—
-CRACK.
The sound was like a gunshot.
The stone hand cracked. Not breaking—moving.
The statue's fingers slowly curled inward, grasping the soul.
The orb began to sink into the stone as though devoured by something unseen. The purple light was absorbed completely into the statue's core.
The left eye of the statue shifted.
From red—
To Purple.
-FLASH!
It flared violently, brighter than before, casting long shadows that twisted like screaming souls across the chamber walls. The violet light was intelligent. It was awake.
The chains binding the statue rattled, the golden inscriptions hissing as they fought to contain the surging power.
The Pope, the First Apostle, and the Fourth Apostle stared in breathless silence—
Then their faces broke into expressions of overwhelming joy.
"It worked..." the Fourth Apostle whispered, tears leaking from his eyes.
"She heard us..." the First Apostle breathed, falling to his knees.
The Pope's shoulders shook. He laughed, a broken, weeping sound.
"Finally..."
The ritual circle on the floor blazed with a blinding purple radiance, connecting with the statue.
"AHHH! FINALLY! OHH, BLESS US, GODDESS!"
The chant began, low at first, then rising to a fever pitch.
"BLESS US, GODDESS!"
"BLESS US, GODDESS!"
"BLESS US, GODDESS!"
The chant grew louder, echoing endlessly through the Fifth Layer, shaking the very foundations of the dungeon.
"BLESS US, GODDESS!"
Their voices overlapped into a feverish roar of devotion.
And amid the chaos—
The Pope wept.
Tears streamed freely down his face, falling onto the bloodstained stone, mixing with the sacrifices.
'Finally...' he thought, his chest aching with years of grief.
'Finally, I can avenge you... my beloved Ivolka.'
His vision blurred as memories of her smile filled his mind—the only pure thing he had ever known.
'And our children... I swear upon this cursed world... your deaths will not remain unanswered. I will break the board. I will kill the players. I will kill the Game Masters.'
He pressed his forehead against the floor before the glowing statue.
"Grant me the strength, Oh Goddess Nesmeranda," he whispered into the cold stone.
"Grant me the power to burn those Humans down."
***
Meanwhile.Depth: Layer 3 - The Ashen Trenches.Current Status: Clearing Operations.
The paradise of the Second Layer had been a lie, quickly shattered by ambushes of plant-based horrors. Now, the army was in the Third Layer—a hellscape of trenches, mud, and SS-Rank monsters that looked like reanimated war corpses.
The fighting was brutal. Gunfire and magic explosions were a constant rhythm.
Thanks to the combined might of Nicholas, Morgane, and Gayeol, the advance was steady, but the toll was visible. Soldiers were exhausted, their uniforms caked in mud and ichor.
Damien stood near the rear guard, wiping slime off his combat knife. Suddenly, he felt an itch in his nose.
"Achoo."
He sneezed, the sound small compared to the artillery fire in the distance. He touched his nostrils.
'Did someone mention me?' Damien thought, frowning. 'Goddamnit, I bet it's Ricky. Or one of the members of the Wombat Squad cursing me for leaving them behind.'
"Let's hurry, Morgane," Nicholas's voice boomed over the comms. The Titan stood atop a pile of dead monsters, his armor glowing. He touched Mjolnir, his expression grim. "I really have a bad feeling about this. The mana density is spiking again. We need to reach the Fourth Layer before whatever is down there fully wakes up."
Morgane nodded, her face pale from maintaining the protective barriers. She looked back at the troops.
"LET'S HURRY UP TO GO DOWN TO THE 4TH LAYER! REGROUP AND ADVANCE!"
The soldiers saluted wearily. The battalion had thinned. Empty spaces in the formation served as silent reminders of those lost to the "paradise" ambush. General Lucy McClane was barking orders, keeping the discipline tight, while Damien fell into step.
Gyeum Gayeol drifted toward the back of the group. She watched Damien. She had tried to approach him twice since the incident with Simon, but he had walled himself off completely.
'He's suffering,' Gayeol thought.
As she sighed, being ignored yet again, General Lucy appeared beside her. The General looked tired, her uniform stained, but her eyes were sharp.
"Trying to get his attention?" Lucy asked, a dry smirk on her lips.
Gayeol nodded. "Yeah. I need to tell him something. Something important."
Lucy laughed, a short, barking sound. "Good luck with that. The only women he ever gave attention to were members of his squad and his late girlfriend. He has a heart of stone for everyone else."
Gayeol didn't bother to reply to the cynicism. She just nodded and looked down at her boots.
'What should I do?'
She remembered the conversation she had with Nicholas just before the raid started. It was in the private briefing room, away from the politics.
"I hope you can have a heartfelt talk with him, Gayeol," Nicholas had said, his massive frame looking small under the weight of his guilt.
"Of course, if you successfully have a talk with him... sigh. I know it seems impossible, but—"
Nicholas had placed a hand on her shoulder.
"Please, my dear student. Can you give a piece of mind to that kid? After the suffering he experienced in his childhood, and after losing his girlfriend... he is walking toward a cliff. He doesn't just want to die; he wants to erase himself."
"I... I'll try, Master," Gayeol had promised.
"Don't try," Nicholas had said, his eyes intense. "Do it. For your Master. And for his peace of mind. Save his soul, even if you can't save his life."
Back in the present, Gayeol clenched her fist.
'I will not disappoint you, Master. I will try everything to give him peace of mind. I will give him a way to move on, even if it's at the very end.'
As Gayeol murmured her resolve, the group approached the massive, swirling gate that led to the Fourth Layer.
Suddenly, Damien froze.
He felt a vibration. Not in the ground, but in his pocket. In his head.
[System Intrusion]
A holographic window forced itself into his vision. It wasn't the standard blue of the System. It wasn't the red of a warning.
It was Purple.
[ᾈ̵̡̛̛̟̦̱͙͓̹͙̙̰̩̯̝͚̲̦͕̜͚̩̲̰̗̟̫̞͎̱̳̹͔͙̹̖̗̤͕͙̜̻̗͙̭̮͉̫͑̎̓̔̓͛̎̂̆̆̿̀̽̀̂͛̍̈́̊́͌̑̾̾͗̈́̈̌̇̄̀̓͒̔͒̽̎͗̏́̎̚̚͜͜͠͠ͅλ̷̨̢̨̧̡͎̼̱͇̤̣̮̣̤̜̩̜͉̯̭̟̳̖̭̼̳̠̳̰̮͕̺̻̲͚͎̬̬͚̻̤̰̭͚̻̈̄̀̊͗̕͜͜͜ͅͅἠ̵̡̮̤̠̟͚̮̗̟̼̺͎̹̟͔̮̩̳͓̯̗̓̒̀͐̒̊͌̈͜θ̷̧̡̧̢̛̩̯̼̭̙̥̦̱̬͍̳̞̟̩̦͇͈͈̦̞͎͎͛̈́̔͗̆̋̈́́̈́͆̋̌̈́̌̅͌̍̽́̋́̉̈́̈́͒̑͐͗̿̈́͆̑̋̌̔͌̈͑̉͘͘̚͘͝͝͝ῇ̶͖̳̺̗̺̞̗͖̭̹̯̯͎͇̦̲̱̬͑͋̃̋̔͂̑̔̀̍̈̆̽͆̓̾̽̀̂͂͐̆̿̋̾̈́̀̀̇̀̿́͒́̒̏̑̾̽̌̕͘̕̕̕̕̚͝͝ ̷̡̡̨͕͙̝͇̣̲̼̟͔̬͍̭̯̭̳̟̗͍̗̯̻͙̩͉̬̝̪͓͖͚͎̥̭̜̺̝̹̘̏̅͋̑̄́͗́͌̿́̏͌͆̒̏̔̏͋̋̈́̌͐̒̀̀̃͐̔̊́̿͊̔̐͂̔͝ͅλ̶̢̼͉̥͖̱͕̮̹̗̻͍̬̩̞̺͔̥̥̦̳͉̯̼̞̹͚̙̼̜̖̠̣͔̗̼̑̐͂̃̅̂̽͆͑̈́͑̾́͛̒͊̈́̿̈́͒͌̅̾̈́̈́́̒͑̍͜͠͝ͅέ̷̨̡̜̥̖̼̪̼͖͇̠̫̰̮̠̦̖͙̠̣͋̊̌͑̽̿͛̇͛͂̀͑͌̌̎͋̉̾͗̒̆͗̐̕͜͝͝γ̶̢̨̡̡̧̳͙̬̼̫̯̫̯̟͉̘̺͍̳͈̹͖̱̠̞̭̟͇̖̩̖̲̗͙̺̳̩̤̩̩͚̪̗̙̆̎̀̀̀̋͆̅̀̊̿̆͜ε̶̧̧̨̧̢̘̳͍͔̣̩̻̻̺͖̩̱̖̥̤͖̪̗̙͚̞͚̺̟̹̯̳̻͙̋̏̈́̋̏̾̓̑̀͜͜ι̵̢̡̢̻̳̝̪̗̫̬̥̦̞͕͔̝̣̼̪̥̣̞̤̥̩̰̙͍̲̼̼̖̜̪͍̙̺̱̟̳̰̣͙̎̈̽́̀͐́̾̽̆̿͑̽͐̒͆̍̑̏͗̈͊̓̿̇̈́̈̕̕͜͜͝ς̶̢̡̨̛̛̛̛̜̹͙̜͍̭̺̞̙̭̰̋̓̐̉͆̄̋͗̓͒̌̾́͊͆͗́͂͆̈̾͐͗̓́̚͘͘͠͠͝͝͠ͅͅ;̸̩͍̦̪̮̲̙̼͍̼̬̪̹̿̿͆͊̑̆͜ ̵̧̨̢̡̡̨̡̜̞̰͚̠͕̱͎͇̻̯͇͍͎̘̥͎͓̰̯̥͚̱̥̲͓̥̺̯̠̞̦̫̯͉͉̞͚͕͎̓̾̈̒̎͗̎̑̓̒̉̇̊̂̋̇̂̿̄͑̓͋̑͗͌̀̀͗̋͘̚͝͝͝͝Κ̶̛͙̫͇̠̖̬̻̯̬̾̀͒̏̓̄͂̂̓̋̈̄̽͛̒͒̈́͌͂̈́̇̇͑̔̊̚͘ͅᾳ̶̢̦̩̺̰͔͇̯̙̟͙͈̩̬̜̦̳̻̪͍̽̓̄̒͊̃̂̊̉̂̅̏͊́͂̽̓͑̌͊̋̊̓̈́̑̆̔͜͝ί̵̧̢̢̡̫̹̻̗͙̫̠̯̬͈̼̯͉̻̺̮͚͈̦͇̦̺̻̼͓̠̥͖̙͙̰͇͈̹̹͂̄̓̽̂̌͌̔͜͝τ̶̩̰͖͙̦̺̤̅̈̿̈̽̀̿͂̈́̀́̕ο̸̢̛̳̩̙̩̙̖̟̝͔̩̺̫͍͍̂͋͂́̇̊̔͐͋͊̇̊̅̂̉̏̾̌̇̊̓͐̏͆͌̿̍͂̓́̈͋̄̾̊͛̓́̚̚̚̕̚͜͝ι̵̨̧̡̥͙̠͙͈̼̣̘̬͕̿̈́͋͜ ̴̡̢̡̨͖̮̯̘̹͙̘͓̠͔̗̯͓̻̹̬̳͎̗̀̃͌̇̄͒̔̀̇͑̎͗̊̈́̉̀̔͂̔͆͝ἐ̸̨̧̻̬̖̖͙̦͔̫͚̘͙̹̝̮̲̠̦̙̪̮͈͔̳̳͈͖͈͈͉̤̯͖͙͓͓̙̘͎̳̖͍̑̀̾̀̀̃̐̔̇̉̿̿̊͑͂͋͌͝ͅͅλ̷̨̧̨̨̨̱̜̪̜̞͈̱͇̱̹̘̣̜̞̟̣͔͕̣͈͕̗̻̱̪̪̹̯̮̦̳͙̬̬̞̮̜͍̋̈π̷̨̛̺̳̞̳̥͚̮̥̥̯̘̹͙̞̝̼͉͈͇̬̲̦̫͇̦̠̘̈́͂͐̽̃̒̒̏̓̒͌̇͂͋͛̾̆́͂͆͐̄̐͂̏͝͝͝͝͝ί̷̡̢̛̺̳͔̦̤̟͐͑̾́̾́́̄̃̿̿͋̾̂̊̏̄͂̂́͐̅̑̑͒̽͑͌̇̿̏͘̚̕̕͝͝ζ̶̡̧̢̪͖͕̮̭̗̩͕̣̱̻̖̺̱̟̣̪̹̦͔͙̪̹͕͉͔̞̤͕̹͎̣͕̙͖̪͙͙͎̱̲̈́̾͛̐͒͑͒̈́̕͜͜͜͜͜ω̴̡̨̲̼̳̼̯̱̪̯̜̙̙̥͔̯͕͔̖͈͖̝͖̹͖̇͆́͒̑̀̍͐̌͑̀̅͒̌̂̒͒͂͠͠ ̶̛̥̓͊͒̎̇̓̏̏̋̊̃̋̄̊̎̒̋̅͆͆̈̅͒́͛̌́͝͝σ̸̡̛̛̠͎̻̥͚͖̬̼̮̯͈̪̳̈́͌̅̿̈́́̋̎̀́̀́̄̽͊̇̉͂̓̓̅̎̓̄̂̅̃̒͛̕̚͝͝ε̷̡̡̰͚̣̹͈͚̘̻̣̪̩̫̲̦̬̭̻̜̘̼̩̖̰̫̳̦̦̺͔͆̐͘͜ ̴̠͍̞̝͓̠̮̳̫̣͎̥̺͕̭̲̗̩̳͔̻̪̓̔̀͋̽͆̿̈́̈́͒̎̅͗͛̇͘͜͝ὕ̶̨̢̨̡̺̠̝̟̯͕͇̝͓̤̙͔͙͕̳̪͖̹͍͙̦̘͖̩̝͉̦͚̖͔̫̗͙̜͓̦̜̖͇̪̰̹͙͛̌͐̏͆̒̊̽̄̑̓͆̐̅̕͘̚͜ͅͅ]
The text was a mess of corrupted Greek characters, glitching in and out of existence. It felt ancient. It felt oppressive.
'What in the actual fuck is this?!' Damien thought, staring at the purple window hovering above his hand. 'It's not my phone this time. It's the System itself.'
The text dissolved, replaced by English.
[...]
[...]
[...I see. You are him.]
[Though we will meet next time—]
[His Meus egomet.]
The message hung in the air for a second, then shattered into purple particles.
Damien tilted his head in confusion, rubbing his temples.
'Whatever. I don't speak noodles, brochacho. And I don't have time for riddles.'
He pushed the weird encounter aside as the massive gate to the Fourth Layer began to groan open.
-GRIND.
The sound was like the earth splitting apart.
Morgane turned to face the army. She looked at her comrades—at the battered soldiers of the US Army, at the weary Hunters of the WHA. She saw their fear. She saw that they were reaching their breaking point.
"I know we lost too many lives already," Morgane shouted, her voice amplified by her staff.
She clenched her fist. She wanted to lie. She wanted to tell them it would be easy from here on out. But she couldn't.
"But..."
She took a deep breath.
"I promise to you! This is the only promise I can make! After this war, we will honor your deaths! I will pray to my Constellation for you to be given peace in the afterlife! Your names will be carved in gold!"
Morgane's voice cracked. She looked at Nicholas. The Titan shook his head slightly. He knew she shouldn't say that. She should just stay quiet. Promises of the afterlife were useless to men who wanted to live today. These guys... all of them knew they would likely die even if the Demon God remained sealed.
Morgane saw the despair and desperation in their eyes. She doubled down.
"That's why... please! Please give me your last strength! Help me! Help me to give our planet peace! Help me to make all of them outside safe! Help me to—"
She raised her staff high, casting a brilliant light.
"Help me to give humans a better future and a better tomorrow!"
"FOR A BETTER FUTURE!" Morgane screamed.
"FOR A BETTER TOMORROW!"
The magic in her voice took hold. It was a buff, yes, but it was also a desperate plea.
After a second of silence, the WHA Hunters raised their weapons. Then the soldiers.
"FOR A BETTER FUTURE!"
"FOR A BETTER TOMORROW!"
The chant started slow, then grew into a roar.
"FOR THE BETTER FUTURE!"
"FOR A BETTER TOMORROW!"
"FOR THE BETTER FUTURE!"
"FOR A BETTER TOMORROW!"
The canyon echoed with the sound of thousands of voices screaming against the dark. It was hypnotic. It was a trance of self-sacrifice.
Damien stood in the middle of the chanting crowd. He didn't scream. He didn't raise his fist.
He looked at Morgane with a heavy, tired sigh. He saw the tears in her eyes. He saw the manipulation, even if it was well-intentioned.
He redirected his eyes to Nicholas, muttering something under his breath.
'She just gave them empty promises at this point,' Damien thought, looking at the young soldiers who were crying as they shouted. 'A better future? For who? For the politicians? For the Guilds? These men won't see it.'
He gripped his Glock.
'Goddamnit. I'll go first. If it's a trap, I'll trigger it.'
Damien walked out of the formation. He walked toward the gaping maw of the Fourth Layer gate, a lone figure moving against the current of fear.
Nicholas saw him. The Titan watched the young soldier walking alone into the darkness.
Nicholas didn't say a word. He didn't try to stop him.
Instead of bothering him, Nicholas just hefted his hammer and followed him.
Two figures—one seeking death, one seeking redemption—walked into the abyss together.