Null stood alone in the devastated wasteland, feeling the weight of a hundred predatory gazes.
They were coming—all of them.
For the first time in fifteen years—no, for the first time in two lifetimes—he felt genuinely, completely free.
On Earth, there had always been rules. Police. Consequences. A cage built from social contracts and the threat of retaliation. Every fight ended with sirens. Every display of strength meant hiding, running, pretending to be weaker than he was.
But here?
Here, the only law was power. And Arthur, the jailer himself, had just handed him the key.
The realization hit like a drug. No more restraint. No more careful calculations about how much force was "acceptable." No more pretending to struggle against opponents who moved like they were swimming through molasses.
The Calamity had shown him his true strength. Arthur's announcement had permitted him to use it.
A laugh bubbled up from somewhere deep in his chest. Not the cold, measured sound he'd practiced in mirrors, but something raw and genuine. It echoed across the shattered landscape, carrying a promise that made distant hunters pause.
He could run. Hide. Use his spatial manipulation to phase out of reality until the trial ended. It would be logical. Safe. Smart.
It would also be unbearably, criminally boring.
No, he decided, rolling his shoulders. Let them come. Let them all come.
The first group emerged from the treeline—five students moving in textbook formation. Two warriors in front, a mage in the center, and assassin types on the flanks. They'd probably been the pride of their nations.
They looked terrified.
"Well?" Null called out, spreading his arms wide. His voice carried across the wasteland, light and playful. "Who's first? Don't be shy."
The lead warrior—a bull-horned demon with impressive musculature—hesitated. "You… you're not running?"
"Why would I run?" Null tilted his head, genuinely curious. "This is the most interesting thing that's happened all week."
They attacked simultaneously. Credit where due—their coordination was flawless.
The demon charged with enough force to shatter bedrock. The mage launched crystallized fire that could melt steel. The assassins vanished, reappearing at his blind spots with poisoned blades. The second warrior came from above, gravity-enhanced axe descending like judgment.
Perfect execution. Against anyone else, it would have been devastating.
Null didn't move until the last possible instant.
Then he danced.
Not the clinical, efficient movements from his fight with the Calamity. This was something else entirely. He twisted between attacks like water, each dodge so narrow it looked accidental. His hand brushed the demon's charge, redirecting it into the mage's spell. He caught an assassin's blade between two fingers, used it to parry the other's strike, then spun to let the descending axe split the ground where he'd been standing.
He was grinning. Not smirking, not smiling—grinning like a child in a candy store.
"Come on!" He laughed, backflipping over a desperate sword swing. "You can do better than that!"
The demon roared, muscles bulging as he activated what was clearly his trump card. His body doubled in size, horns blazing with hellfire. "Die!"
Null caught the massive fist with one hand.
The impact cratered the ground. Shockwaves rippled outward, toppling trees a hundred meters away.
Null hadn't moved an inch.
"Nice power-up," he said conversationally, still holding the fist. "Very dramatic. But…"
He squeezed.
The demon's eyes widened as bones began to crack, not from crushing force, but from space itself compressing around his hand. Null wasn't using strength—he was using geometry.
"You're thinking too linear." He released the hand and patted the demon's cheek patronizingly. "Fighting isn't about power. It's about creativity."
He vanished.
Not teleported—vanished. One moment there, the next gone, leaving only an afterimage that dissolved like smoke.
The assassins felt him behind them before they saw him. By then, it was too late. Gentle taps to their necks dropped them unconscious. The mage's spell reversed itself mid-cast, freezing him in his own crystal. The axe warrior found himself embedded in a tree, spatial displacement making the journey instant and disorienting.
The demon stood alone, trembling.
Null reappeared exactly where he'd started, hands in his pockets. "You lasted forty-three seconds. Not bad." He tilted his head. "Want to go again?"
The demon ran.
Null watched him go, then turned his attention skyward. He could feel more coming. Dozens now, drawn by the noise and the display of power. Some would be stronger. Most would be desperate.
All would be disappointed.
I could hunt the Special Ranks, he mused, sensing the distant signatures of true monsters.
But that would rob Khaos of her fun
Besides, playing defense was surprisingly fun
A kilometer away, hidden in the shadows of an ancient oak, the Nexus Heirs watched through magical scrying
"He's playing with them," Marcus said, voice flat with disbelief.
"No," Elarion corrected, his usual composure cracking. "He's enjoying himself. Look at his face."
They watched Null dodge another wave of attackers, laughing as he used one student's momentum to clothesline another. He moved like violence was a dance, and he knew every step.
"This is worse," Elena whispered. "A cold monster is predictable. This… this is chaos."
"He was never cold," Marcus realized. "He was holding back. This whole time, he was holding back."
On the battlefield, Null had just finished dispatching his third wave of hunters. Twenty students lay unconscious around him, arranged in an almost artistic pattern. He hadn't killed anyone—that would end the fun too quickly.
He stretched, working out a kink in his shoulder, then paused.
His head turned slowly, deliberately, until he was looking directly at the Nexus Heirs' hiding spot.
Through the scrying spell. Through the concealment wards. Through a kilometer of forest and stone.
Right at them.
He grinned. Wide and knowing and absolutely terrifying.
Then he waved.
The spell shattered.