Alveron's only goal was to stop Orion and Zareth from forming a real alliance.

Orion's goal was simpler. He wanted them both to die so he could walk away with the grand prize. That was the best-case scenario. The next-best option was to ally with one of them, kill the other, and take a piece of the Abyssal Springhead as his payment.

Either way, stalling was not an option. The longer this dragged on, the weaker he became.

Given the stakes, the three of them fell into a tense, calculating silence.

How to break the stalemate? It was the question on everyone's mind.

"Stranger," the calamity lord Zareth finally said, his voice breaking the silence. "Why are you here?"

Alveron, for whom stalling was the optimal strategy, would never have been the one to speak first.

"Curiosity," Orion replied, his voice flat. "I stumbled in by accident." He wasn't stupid. He would never reveal his true objective until he had a better read on the situation. The moment they knew what he wanted, they could use it as bait.

"This is no time for mutual suspicion," Zareth pressed, his tone eerily calm, devoid of the arrogance one would expect from a fourth-stage demigod addressing a lesser being. "Tell me what you want. Perhaps we can form an alliance. It is the only way either of us gets out of this alive."

"Hahaha! How rich!" Alveron's mocking laughter cut through the void before Orion could even respond. "No time for suspicion? You, who just released the seal to save my skin, deliberately pulling this stranger into the Springhead's grasp? Zareth, you're a calamity lord. Do you really think he's going to believe a word that comes out of your mouth?"

"The situation demanded it. It was an act of self-preservation," Zareth countered, his gaze still fixed on Orion. "I trust the stranger will understand."

Understand? I understand that you just royally screwed me.

If Zareth hadn't pulled that move, Orion, with the power of three domains at his command, would have already killed Alveron. He would have been in control, the Abyssal Springhead practically in his hands. He met Zareth's plea with a contemptuous silence.

"Stranger," Alveron purred, seizing the opportunity. "Perhaps we can cooperate."

"Everything you see here can be yours," he offered, his tone magnanimous. "Everything, that is, except the Springhead. Even this suit of relics I wear—it can all be yours. And if you agree, I will send you safely out of this Shattered Space first."

Orion had become the prize in their bidding war. And Alveron's offer, he had to admit, was tempting.

"Don't listen to his poison," Zareth interjected, his voice sharp with urgency. "He is the Abyssal Ruler of this layer! The Springhead beneath our feet is a monstrosity of his own creation—it's his original body. How else do you think it could hold a fourth-stage demigod like me?"

He was exposing all of Alveron's secrets, laying his twisted, hypocritical nature bare for Orion to see. "Do you have any idea how many millennia he spent plotting my downfall? Every word he speaks is a trap. Every action is a gambit. If you make a deal with him, he will find a way to destroy not only you, but your faction and your entire lineage."

Orion's composure nearly broke. He was caught between a fifth-stage Abyssal Ruler and a fourth-stage calamity lord. In any other circumstance, he wouldn't have stood a chance against either. Even with the entire Champions Alliance at his back, the only sane move would have been to scatter and run.

"What is it you desire?" Alveron asked again, his voice a gentle, seductive whisper, all traces of his earlier hostility gone. "Name your price. My offer stands. I will give you the payment upfront and release you." He offered a placid smile. "And though I may be the Ruler of this layer, I am not omnipotent. If you do not trust my word, you can simply depart for another layer of the Abyss. Perhaps you are unaware, but for one Ruler to enter another's domain is an act of invasion. It would mean war."

"Don't be a fool!" Zareth countered, his voice raw. "Do you truly believe all Rulers are enemies? He has allies! Friends! And what of bargains? Do you think there is anything in this universe that cannot be bought for the right price? Make a deal with him, and you will always be a pawn on his board."

The two voices hammered at him, one offering a golden opportunity, the other a dire warning. He was in a position of temporary advantage, the linchpin they both needed. He had to make a choice, and he had to do it now.

After a moment that stretched into an eternity, Orion lifted his head. He glanced at Alveron, then let his gaze fall to Zareth, who was being held even deeper within the Springhead's pull.

"I want the suit," Orion said, his voice clear and decisive. "The whole set."

He had made his choice. He would take the deal that got him out of the fire with his pockets full.

"Hahaha! An excellent and wise decision!" Alveron laughed, his relief palpable. But he wasn't careless. He began to unstrap the pieces of his armor, and as he did, Orion saw the faint, shimmering light of a teleportation formation activate within the tracery of each piece.

"You have a good eye," Alveron said, his voice magnanimous. "This set may not be top-of-the-line, but it cost me a fortune in rare materials to forge. Take it, and be on your way."

Orion watched the full suit of knight's armor float toward him, the escape portal already shimmering within it. He was resolute. His choice was made.

The Price of Ascension

Orion took the relics and teleported out of the Shattered Space.

Alveron was nothing if not cautious. The formation he'd woven into the armor was a one-way ticket. There was no specific coordinate for this pocket of non-reality; the only way back in was the hard way—through the World-Scar at the edge of the northern wastes.

In the Shattered Space, Alveron watched until the last flicker of arcane energy faded.

The final variable was gone. Nothing stood in the way of his ascension.

He did not smile. He simply stared at the spot where Zareth floated, as if watching something that had already ceased to exist.

"How does it feel?" he asked the silence. "True despair. The kind that comes when every last glimmer of hope is extinguished. That is the despair that has been my constant companion for millennia."

Although he had lost a set of relics custom-forged for his new body, Alveron felt no regret. It was a small price to pay for the sixth stage, for a chance at true godhood. Besides, the armor was useless to his enemy. It was saturated with holy light; any creature of the Abyss that tried to wear it would be slowly, agonizingly corroded from the inside out.

"Damn you!"

The roar came from Zareth, a sound of pure, unadulterated terror and rage.

"Damn you!"

He was finally staring into the abyss of his own mortality.

"DAMN YOU!"

And in that final moment, the calamity lord went insane.

"If I die, you're coming with me!" he shrieked. "DETONATE!"

In a final, cataclysmic act of defiance, Zareth detonated himself. Everything—body, soul, divine power, divine fire, his very divine calling—was offered up in a single, silent scream of annihilation. Finally, the Divine Kingdom that had nurtured that spark for ages collapsed inward, becoming the epicenter of the blast.

But Alveron was prepared. He produced the trump card he had prepared for this very moment: a strange mirror, a defensive demigod-tier artifact.

As the torrent of self-destructive energy washed over him, the mirror flared with a divine light, absorbing Alveron into its surface. It then unleashed a great wave of power, meeting the apocalyptic flood head-on.

CRACK!

An eternity passed in an instant. The torrent of energy subsided, and a sharp, clear cracking sound echoed in the void. A spiderweb of fractures spread across the mirror's surface, from its center to its very edge.

A demigod-tier artifact had barely survived the blast. Zareth had been dead serious about taking Alveron with him.

"What a pity," Alveron sighed, stepping out of the mirror's reflection, completely unharmed. He wasn't lamenting Zareth; he was mourning his artifact.

"It took me ages to forge this, absorbing countless eons of abyssal magic just to nurture its birth. How many more years will it take to repair?"

He sounded regretful, but inside, he was thrilled. Damaged was not destroyed. Given enough time, it would recover. And even in its current state, it was still leagues better than any relic-grade item.

He carefully stored the mirror away and turned his full attention to the Abyssal Springhead.

He noticed something that sent a chill down his spine. In the wake of that reality-shattering explosion, the Abyssal Springhead was completely unharmed.

It was his own essence, yet it felt... alien. It was slowly, inexorably slipping from his grasp.

He watched the core of the vortex, his heart pounding. According to the plan, even if Zareth self-destructed, the resulting flood of energy was supposed to coalesce into a new Abyssal Springhead. Only then would his substitution plan be complete.

Come on... appear! Form! Condense!

If the new Springhead didn't form, the Abyss would eventually reclaim the original—his original body, his path to godhood.

Why isn't it happening? Did Zareth have one last trick? No... impossible. He's gone. Utterly erased.

The wait was agonizing. When one desires something with every fiber of their being, every second becomes a cage, trapping one's sanity. Even for a being of Alveron's immense power and mental fortitude, the wait was a form of torture.

He was like a man possessed, staring into the vortex, muttering a thousand different possibilities to himself.

"Why… why…"

It was a state of pure, all-consuming obsession.

In his desperate state, Alveron forgot his caution. He took a step forward, then another, drawing closer to the core of the vortex, trying to peer into its depths to see what had gone wrong.

Closer and closer he drifted.

The terrifying pull of the Springhead suddenly intensified, jolting him from his trance.

Just as he was about to recoil and flee, the core of the vortex changed.

A new vortex began to coalesce, spinning in the opposite direction, actively repelling the original.

This was it! This was what the plan predicted! The original Springhead was sinking, descending into the true core of the Abyss, just as a planet rotates unseen by those standing on its surface. The new one was rising to take its place.

A wild, exultant joy exploded in his chest.

"It worked... It worked... HAHAHAHA! In the end, I've won!"

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