⚠️ Content Warning
This chapter contains intense scenes of transformation, psychological trauma, and body disintegration Reader discretion is advised.
The blade shimmered toward Miz's throat—
—but it never landed.
Instead, a shadow like figure appeared out of thin air.
Stopping the blade mid-strike.
A voice—low, ancient, unyielding—echoed from the shadow.
"How pathetic. Attacking a newborn Vessel? Are you that afraid of him?"
The man in the green coat staggered back. "What… are you? His companion?"
The shadow tilted its head. "He doesn't even know I exist. Not yet. Not until his soul returns. And until then, he is under my protection."
It paused, gesturing toward Miz—frozen in midair, eyes wide but unseeing.
"His soul is locked in a dimension that descends reality, and until his soul returns., no one touches him."
The assassin gritted his teeth. A flicker of fear passed through him. "Then I'll have to finish you first."
He lunged, divine light igniting his blade in sickly green energy.
The shadow only sighed.
"Elites are always so dramatic," it muttered. "Especially you, Grey—the Elite of the Cult of Existence."
The man froze mid-strike. His name. His cult. Exposed.
"How do you know all that?"
"I know your Judge. Your relic. Your skills. Your fear," the shadow said coldly. "But I'm not your executioner."
It turned to Miz—still suspended, barely more than a shell.
"He is."
Grey activated his teleportation—his form starting to dissolve into light—
—but the air collapsed.
The atmosphere thickened with an invisible weight. Light refused to move. Sound failed to exist.
Miz began to unravel.
First his fingertips split into shards. Then his limbs. His organs. His face.
Every piece of him separated and floated—bones like ash, skin like cracked porcelain, soul like fading smoke.
Then fire.
His body ignited without flame. No heat. No light.
Only entropy.
The shadow took a step back, shivering. Grey dropped his dagger, face pale, trembling.
And then, from the storm of disintegration—
Miz reappeared.
Whole. Silent. Alive.
No longer a boy. No longer a vessel.
He was something else.
His eyes were black. Not colorless—but void, pulling everything inward. They weren't windows to a soul.
They were the absence of one.
He turned to the shadow. His voice was calm.
"You must be the loyal servant of the judge of death, Misha."
The shadow bowed deeply, relief in every gesture. "Yes, master. Are you stable?"
"I am."
Misha took a sigh of relief, since Miz was the first vessel of death to turn stable and not corrupt.
Then Miz looked at the assassin.
Grey stood broken, body intact, but spirit gone.
"Name. And last words."
The man choked. "I am Grey… Please… give me an easy death…"
Miz disappeared in thin air. Appearing back behind grey. He placed his hand on the Grey's head.
And then—ashes.
Nothing remained.
Miz took his hand back.
His soul no longer his own.
His identity no longer his own but death's.
His aim nothing but balance.
He was no longer simply a Vessel.
He was now death....