The rain abandoned gravity.
Hundreds of thousands of droplets hung mid‑air, each one a trembling mirror reflecting a different truth of the courtyard—
Kaelith's severed head rolling across the tiles.
Rhea drowning in her own tide, limbs slack.
The boy in shadows kneeling once more, an executioner's axe poised above his trembling neck.
On the rusted swing, the faceless girl reached the apex of her third backward arc.
Time cracked.
And for the first time, he let them see.
Not everything.
Never everything.
But enough to ruin sleep for the rest of their natural lives.
His shadow detonated outward, ripping free of human proportions. It rose like black wildfire, forming seven tendrils that twisted into the likenesses of people he had once loved.
His mother, throat slit by her own jeweled hairpin.
His eldest brother, eyes melted into golden rivulets.
His favorite sister, swaying from the palace chandelier, coronation gown stained with rope burns.
Their mouths opened—
[SFX: silence screaming through bone]
—yet no sound came out.
Kaelith, the Sword Demon, took a step back despite herself. Dragon‑blood slaughterer or not, even demons had instincts.
Rhea did not move…but every raindrop within her reach turned red, then began to boil.
The pocket watch on the tiles ticked louder than the world could justify.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
He spoke—and his voice emerged from everywhere at once.
From the corpses hanging overhead.
From the iron trees.
From the mouths of the dead he loved.
"In my first life, I was exactly what I seemed."
His eyes—still too young for the things they'd seen—glimmered beneath the hood.
"A frightened, talentless prince who cried when the palace cats died.
No mana.
No blessing.
No future.
The priests named me Null‑Blooded."
One shadow‑tendril brushed Kaelith's cheek with the cold fingers of his dead mother. She slashed on reflex—blade passing through smoke.
"In the final Trial," he continued, "my family sold me to the Church for three crates of star‑iron. A virgin prince with royal blood was required to open the Spire."
He smiled without warmth.
"I was perfect. Weak, disposable. Already half‑forgotten."
His gaze slid to Rhea.
"You were there that day, Saint.
You held the chalice while they carved me open.
You said it wouldn't hurt."
Her golden pupils constricted—serpentine, ancient.
"You lied beautifully."
Kaelith spat, "You're insane. Whatever you are, you're not Chosen 873."
"Oh, but I am," he murmured. "I just died earlier than the rest of you."
The watch gave its final tick.
The faceless girl vanished.
The suspended rain crashed down like a murdered sky.
And the courtyard gates shattered outward in a burst of water and dust.
Five silhouettes stepped through the deluge.
The rival team.
At their front walked a boy of sixteen—gold hair plastered to his brow, eyes glowing like sunrise reflected on holy metal. His white armor was inscribed with living scripture. A spear of light rested casually across his shoulder.
Lucien val Solaris.
Rank 1 in his first life.
Saint Prince of the Holy Kingdom.
The boy who touched the 999th floor—and still lost to him in the end.
Mercy had doomed Lucien.
Mercy always did.
Behind him followed:
• A crimson‑eyed girl spinning bone‑crafted revolvers.
• A titan whose footsteps split the tiles like old scars reopening.
• A blindfolded seer wrapped in prophetic chains.
• And a child licking a lollipop stained the wrong shade of red.
Lucien's smile widened at the sight of the three hanged corpses wearing their faces.
"My, my… late to the party again."
Warm honey—over crushed glass.
"And here I thought the Bloodraven and the Deep Saint cleaned this mess already."
Kaelith's jaw clenched hard enough to crack teeth.
Rhea's water spiraled upward like snakes waking to hunger.
Lucien's gaze slid to the boy—dismissive, pitying.
"And the dead weight survives. Adorable."
The shadowy cloak settled over the prince's shoulders again.
His spine curved.
His voice cracked on command.
"Please… don't fight. We're all Chosen… we can—"
Lucien laughed, loud and bright.
As he did, the watch on the tiles shattered into glittering shards.
The System's voice descended like frost on exposed bone:
[Trial within Trial: "The Lullaby of Three Heartbeats" – Modified]
Eight heartbeats detected.
New condition: Only three may leave alive.
The rest will hang.
Begin.
Above them, the iron nooses began to creak—a hungry, anticipatory sound.
Kaelith's swords gleamed.
Lucien lowered his spear.
Rhea's smile disappeared completely.
And the boy—
He dropped to his knees in the mud, hands clasped, shoulders trembling.
"Please," he begged.
"I don't want to die again. I'll do anything—just don't—"
Behind him, his shadow rose like a devouring star.
Eight heartbeats.
Five would end tonight.
The rain began to scream as it fell upward—
—and the courtyard transformed into a graveyard choosing its next occupants.