Adam clenched his fists. A biting cold surged through him, veins igniting with crimson light as runes crawled across his skin before fading beneath it.

  He raised his head toward Adelaide. “Did you see that?”

  She smiled, giving a slow clap. “Congratulations. You’re now Awakened.”

  Adam looked down at himself again. This is it?

  He didn’t feel different. The system interface hanging before him looked plain, almost disappointing.

  “So, what rank were you assigned?” Adelaide asked.

  “Rank E.”

  Her smile vanished. Her brows pulled tight. “Be honest with me. Is that true?”

  Adam blinked. “Why would I lie?” He pointed at the faint HUD. “See for yourself.”

  “Only you can see what you see,” she said quietly.

  His brows furrowed. “Then… I guess you’ll have to take my word for it.”

  “What Titles and Skills did you awaken?”

  “None,” Adam admitted. “Is that normal?”

  Adelaide sighed. “No. Newly Awakened usually receive at least one Skill or Title, often both. But that’s the case for those blessed by divine power. For those Awakened through Omens…” she shook her head. “My knowledge there is limited.”

  Adam stared at the interface again. What’s the point of Awakening if I get nothing?

  The display reminded him of a character sheet straight out of a game—only this was his life.

  “It’s strange,” Adelaide continued, “that you only reached E rank. I’m curious what sort of Omen you bonded with.”

  “Is there a way to find out?”

  She nodded. “My master will know. It’s about time you reunited with him.”

  “Is E rank the lowest?” he asked.

  She didn’t answer, but her sly smile told him everything.

  Adam exhaled sharply. So even the Omen thinks I’m worthless?

  His fingers dug into the earth. Fine. I don’t care if I’m E rank or F rank. I’ll climb. I’ll kill that demon if it’s the last thing I do.

  “Can you stand?” Adelaide asked.

  He used a tombstone to push himself up, but his legs trembled under his weight.

  A gentle hand steadied his back. “Allow me,” Adelaide said softly.

  Before he could protest, she lifted him effortlessly, cradling him in her arms.

  “Master is waiting at Wazar Canyon,” she said, smiling down at him. “But first, we’ll leave Wrathriver Necropolis.”

  Before Adam could reply, the world blurred. Tombstones and crypts dissolved into streaks of color, the landscape shifting faster than his eyes could follow. Yet he felt no wind, no resistance—just motion without force.

  He glanced up at her; she was smiling, eyes fixed ahead.

  Will I ever move like this?

  His gaze drifted back to the HUD hovering before him. The words Rank: E glared at him like a mockery. No matter what it takes, I’ll rise.

  Six Weeks Later

  Adam trudged beneath the noon sun, sweat glistening on his skin. He’d tied his white upper garment around his head, leaving the rest of him at the mercy of the heat.

  “Damn it. How long do I have to walk before I reach the canyon?” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow.

  He scanned the endless desert. Nothing but rolling dunes and shimmering heat. “How could she send me off alone like this?”

  A large flagon hung from his neck, and a white parchment—his map—fluttered in his hand. On it, a red mark blinked where he stood. Ahead, in neat black letters, Wazar Canyon pulsed faintly.

  The distance looked short on paper. Out here, it felt infinite.

  If Adelaide came with me, we’d already be there, he thought bitterly. But her master had forbidden her from helping him any further.

  Adam took a long drink from his flagon, water cooling his throat. A faint breeze swirled around him, drying the sweat on his skin. Then he pressed on.

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  The desert stretched endlessly—no life, no sound, just sand and silence.

  By nightfall, three moons hung over the sky, their light bathing the dunes in pale silver. The air had turned viciously cold.

  Adam shivered, his teeth clattering as he stood before a canyon’s edge. “Finally…” He could barely force the words out. “Another day out here and I’d be frozen solid.”

  He unfolded his map again, his hands trembling. “Now where the hell am I supposed to find that guy?”

  “You arrived earlier than I expected.” A voice rolled through the still air. “Adelaide must have helped you.”

  Adam flinched and nearly dropped the map. That voice—he knew it.

  “Hello?” he called out, eyes darting across the canyon rim. Nothing.

  Then came footsteps behind him. Heavy, measured.

  Adam spun around. What the hell…?

  A man stood there—middle-aged, with sharp eyes and a familiar scar carved down his cheek. His goatee and sideburns matched the image burned into Adam’s memory. Yet something about him was off. His skin looked drawn tight, almost stretched over a younger man’s bones, giving him an unsettling mix of age and vitality.

  “Congratulations,” the man said, stepping forward with a calm authority. “I wasn’t expecting you to survive the demonification process. You did well finding a new body.”

  He stopped a few feet from Adam, eyes glinting beneath the moonlight. “Adelaide mentioned you’ve Awakened. Is that true?”

  Adam nodded cautiously. “Yes, it happened—”

  “When it happened doesn’t matter.” The man waved a hand dismissively. “What matters is that you did. You’ve saved me a great deal of time.”

  Adam frowned. “What do you mean?”

  The man’s smile was thin, almost predatory. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

  Adam instinctively took a step back.

  “Let’s head into the canyon.”

  Before Adam could react, the man’s hand clamped down on his shoulder—iron-strong but controlled.

  “Until I’m done training you,” the man said, “this place will be your home. Get used to it.”

  And before Adam could speak, the man leapt from the canyon’s edge, pulling him into the abyss below.

  Adam’s world shrank to fists, bruises, and dust.

  Days bled into nights, and nights into days. Vicar never told him the time—and he never asked. The man’s voice was the first thing Adam heard each morning and the last thing he heard before collapsing into sleep.

  “On your feet.”

  “Again.”

  “Too slow.”

  “Pathetic.”

  Each command landed like a strike of its own. Every time Adam rose, Vicar was already there—faster, stronger, impossible to predict. His blows were measured, never enough to kill, but always enough to remind Adam that pain was a teacher that never forgot its lesson. When Adam hit the ground gasping, Vicar would heal him with a lazy flick of his wrist, then force him to stand again.

  “Revenge?” Vicar sneered once, stepping over him. “You can’t even protect yourself. You think you can kill a demon like this?”

  Adam’s knuckles bled against the rough stone. “I’ll get stronger.”

  Vicar tilted his head, expression flat. “Then prove it.”

  And the cycle continued.

  They fought in silence most days. Vicar didn’t waste words, and Adam had none to spare. Sleep was brief, meals shorter. His body screamed for rest that never came, yet the fire in his chest refused to die. Each bruise faded faster than it should. Each bone, when broken, knit itself back together stronger. Somewhere between agony and exhaustion, Adam began to realize that this was no normal training. It was something else, a slow breaking and remaking of the soul.

  Months passed. The canyon became his prison and his forge.

  One night, Adam woke to an unfamiliar sound—metal scraping against stone. Instinct jolted through him. He reached for the dagger Vicar had given him on the first day, its edge dull from endless drills.

  He rose quietly, scanning the dim chamber. The faint orange glow of a torch licked the walls. And then he saw them.

  Vicar stood not far away, arms crossed. At his feet lay a man bound by rope, blindfolded, thrashing weakly in the dirt. His muffled grunts carried the scent of fear.

  Adam’s voice cracked the silence. “Who is that?”

  Vicar didn’t answer right away. He turned, eyes cold as winter stone. “Months of training, and you’re still useless.”

  Adam’s grip on the dagger tightened, but he said nothing.

  “Do you know why?” Vicar continued, pacing slowly around the bound man. “You survived the demonification process, yes—but that means you can never receive a Blessing. The path of the Blessed is closed to you. And the path of the Omen-Awakened requires a willing soul, one uncorrupted. No demon will take yours. Which leaves us here—” He stopped, meeting Adam’s gaze. “With nothing.”

  Adam swallowed, words burning in his throat. “Why tell me this now?”

  Vicar smiled faintly, the kind that never reached his eyes. “Because you’re about to understand what ‘nothing’ really means.”

  He knelt, gripping a golden ring that shimmered faintly in the firelight before standing.

  “This man,” he said, nudging the prisoner’s ribs with his boot, “has killed ten people. Raped twelve more. Stolen lives for pleasure. He’s a monster by every human measure.” His eyes cut back to Adam. “He’s also your key.”

  Before Adam could respond, the ground beneath him convulsed. A shockwave hurled him backward, knocking the breath from his lungs. Dust filled the air. When it settled, Vicar was standing on the other side of a newly risen wall of black stone.

  “I promised to let him go if he kills you,” Vicar said. His voice sounded distant, almost bored. “Only one of you will leave this canyon alive. So give it your all.”

  “Wait—what the hell are you…” Adam choked on his words.

  Vicar was gone. His presence vanished like smoke.

  The earth rumbled again, spreading outward in waves. Massive stone walls erupted in every direction, circling Adam and the bound man in a cage of shadow. The air thickened, vibrating with unseen power. Weapons—swords, axes, spears—rose from the ground as though the canyon itself were vomiting them up.

  Adam fell back, stunned, heart pounding. The rain came without warning, hammering down in heavy sheets. Thunder rolled above the enclosed sky, echoing off the walls. He could barely hear his own breathing.

  Then, a sound; wet and ugly, broke through the storm. The blindfolded man had cut through his restraints. He rose, a jagged blade in hand, and tore the cloth from his eyes. His face was a ruin of scars and madness.

  They locked gazes.

  Adam froze. Every instinct screamed to run, but there was nowhere to go. His hands trembled. He had trained to fight, yes—but training wasn’t the same as killing. The truth clawed at his gut: he’d never taken a life before.

  “Only one of you can walk out of this ring alive,” Vicar’s voice echoed faintly from the shadows above. “If you don’t fight, the walls will crush you both. Ten minutes.”

  The walls began to move.

  Stone scraped against stone, grinding closer, slow but relentless. Adam could feel the tremor through his knees. He gritted his teeth, forcing air into his lungs.

  The murderer grinned, stepping forward, rain streaking his face like war paint.

  Adam’s pulse roared in his ears. His dagger felt small, pitifully light. He wanted to beg, to stall, to think—but there was no time. The walls crept closer, the circle shrinking.

  He raised the blade.

  The man lunged.

  And the fight began.