"Let the hunt begin."
The words fell like a final curse.
Yamino's form blurred and vanished.
When he reappeared, he was already moving—feet crushing broken bones, body gliding with an unnatural grace as his soul body phased between shadows.
The Grim Beast Gauntlets materialized over his arms—thick, pulsating with spectral sinew and iron-like claw plates that extended past his knuckles. They were alive, breathing. Each movement triggered a pulse of echoing beast howls from the void.
He raised his arm, and whispered:
"Come forth, my pack."
From the void behind him, a tear in space cracked open like a bleeding wound.
> [ Skill: Sovereign of Grim Beasts – Subskill Activated: Call of the Undying Pack. ]
Six creatures emerged—each a twisted amalgam of spectral beasts and dead players' souls he had devoured in the last ten days. One had the body of a lion, but a skeletal wolf's head with three empty eye sockets. Another slithered like a serpent with dozens of decaying wings stitched along its spine. A third floated like a jellyfish, made of dark mist and bones, silent and deadly.
They did not roar.
They simply existed—silent, efficient, and monstrous.
"Scout. Kill. Bring me their powers."
The grim beasts launched in different directions, slipping through cracks in the terrain, their bodies intangible and relentless. Yamino didn't even glance at them again. He was already focused on his first targets.
---
North: The Bandit Camp
Five players were hiding in a collapsed ruin—once a small temple, now a shattered monument to desperation. They had heard the announcement and had seen the weapons fall. Three had chosen blades. One had a staff. The last held a cursed crossbow trembling in his hands.
They never even heard Yamino arrive.
He dropped from above in a silent dive, arms stretched wide. The gauntlets shimmered and shifted—growing longer, forming spectral claws that extended from fingertip to elbow.
The first player's head was sliced in a horizontal blur. The second had time to scream before a claw burst through his chest.
> [ Enemy Defeated: Temporary Skill Copied – "Wind Vein Slash" ]
[ Temporary Skill Copied – "Cursed Shot" ]
The third tried to run, but the jellyfish-like grim beast coiled around her like fog. She suffocated within seconds, drained by the creature's touch.
The remaining two fell to Yamino's bow—Grim Vein Bow, summoned with a whisper. He drew one arrow. When fired, it split into five spectral lances mid-air, skewering the targets like meat on a spit.
He didn't stop to confirm their deaths.
Instead, he turned and vanished into smoke.
---
South: The Swamp Ring
A group of fifteen had formed a temporary alliance. Mages, warriors, and beast tamers stood in a circle, warded by layered barriers and summoned creatures. They had even stationed a lookout above the trees.
But Yamino did not attack from the ground.
He stood atop a floating beast—a winged leviathan, stitched from the bones of eagles and dragons, its body see-through like a ghost flame. It let out no cry. It didn't need to.
He raised his Phantom Spear of Erosion. It shimmered black-green, its edge oozing a fog that corroded the very air.
He hurled it.
The spear spun like a reaper's drill, descending into the center of the swamp circle.
It landed in silence.
Then—
BOOM.
Corruption erupted like a geyser.
The swamp exploded upward. Flesh melted. Barriers shattered like paper. Summoned beasts screamed and collapsed. The ground itself turned to black sludge as the mages howled in agony, their skills devoured by the spear's effect.
Only two managed to escape the blast radius—only to be shot through the eyes by Yamino's twin pistols.
> [ Temporary Skill Copied – "Hydra Barrier" ]
[ Temporary Skill Copied – "Nature's Flood Pulse" ]
He didn't bother dismounting.
He let the beast fly low, its wings spreading corruption wherever it flew.
---
Elsewhere
Other players were panicking now.
The system had said no one would die permanently—but that didn't mean they were safe. Losing here meant losing everything. It meant being humiliated. It meant giving your powers to monsters like him.
All around the battlefield, people began fleeing.
Some tried to form new alliances. Some hid beneath collapsed buildings or ancient bunkers. A few still fought valiantly, believing they had a chance.
But Yamino was relentless.
Wherever a new power appeared—he arrived. Not to test himself. Not to challenge them fairly. But to harvest them.
He wasn't hunting anymore.
He was reaping.
---
The Mountain Ridge
Near the southern ridge, five top-tier players had formed a powerful team. All were Seraphborn hybrids. Their wings were intact. Their energy radiant.
They stood atop the cliff with confidence. "Let him come," one of them said. "We'll see how strong the reaper really is."
Yamino heard them.
And for the first time since the final round began—he smiled.
He appeared before them without stealth. His arms crossed. His eyes glowing silver-blue.
The Seraphborn charged him at once—blades clashing, light roaring.
But Yamino didn't move.
Instead, he whispered:
> [ Skill: Death Night – Subskill: Silence Field ]
A black dome exploded outward from him. Within it, no sound could escape, and no energy could flow. The Seraphborns' light died instantly, their skills silenced.
They couldn't fly. Couldn't cast. Couldn't scream.
Yamino moved through them like a phantom butcher.
Five corpses dropped silently to the rocks.
> [ Temporary Skills Copied – "Heaven's Edge", "Sky Step", "Luminous Pulse", "Angel Flare", "Feathered Restoration" ]
He deactivated the field. The silence lifted.
The wind returned.
The corpses twitched once… then lay still.
---
One Hour Later
The system pinged softly.
> [ All 200 players have made contact with weapons. Final round continues. No eliminations for missed pact. ]
[ Current Power Count: 195 Players Remaining ]
Five gone.
Five defeated by Yamino within the first hour.
He stood alone now, atop a ruined temple tower, arms folded, the beasts below him circling the wreckage like faithful hounds.
He gazed out at the horizon.
"Only 194 more," he muttered.
Then paused.
The air trembled.
A new presence approached—no, not one. Three. Powerful signatures. Equal to or stronger than the ones he'd just slain.
His eyes narrowed.
The real hunt was just beginning.