A new Abyssal Springhead bloomed into existence, its reverse rotation creating a powerful repulsive force against the original. As the new Springhead sank, the old one was violently pushed away, slowly beginning to break free from its descent into oblivion.

A sickly, rasping laugh scraped through the void. "Gahahaha… I knew it. I knew if the Springhead didn't show, you'd come sniffing around the core."

"Alveron. You walked right into it. Now you're not leaving."

"Come sink with me…"

"Hahahahaha…!"

The insane, weakened voice of Zareth echoed from the nascent Abyssal Springhead. That final, wretched cackle seemed to have burned away the last remnants of his sanity and will. In truth, Zareth was already gone. This was merely a sliver of his consciousness, a lingering echo desperate to witness the final act.

He'd gambled his life on Alveron's paranoia, and it had paid off. In his final moments, he had won the chance to drag the virtue knight into the grave with him.

A terrifying gravitational pull latched onto Alveron, yanking him toward the new Abyssal Springhead. The proximity was fatal; his own power was nothing against such a cosmic force.

But he wasn't alone. He still had the Abyssal Springhead formed from his original body.

The two fonts of power were now locked in a violent contest, repelling each other. And Alveron was the master of one of them.

Even at the precipice of doom, he felt no panic. Zareth had only bought himself a chance to take him down, he realized. He hadn't actually succeeded yet. By channeling the power of his own Springhead, he had a solid chance of escaping.

It was a cosmic tug-of-war. The new, sinking Springhead pulled him down. The original, using the mutual repulsion, pulled him up. It was a battle of raw force, but one side was just a dead man's vengeful ghost, pulling blindly and brutally, without thought or strategy.

"Zareth, you're not worthy," Alveron snarled, his voice laced with contempt. "You're not worthy of taking me with you!"

"Hahaha…"

His plan was 99.9999% complete. He could feel it. The Springhead born from Zareth's demise didn't have the strength to fully drag him in. His own was stronger, more stable. Victory was his.

You're not worthy… you never were.

"I've won, Zareth!"

"Hahaha…!"

Alveron let out a triumphant roar as he felt his body begin to rise, slowly but surely breaking free from the downward pull.

"I think he is."

The voice was cold, unfamiliar, yet hauntingly familiar. It resonated not in the space around him, but directly inside his mind, sharp and lethal as a shard of ice.

Alveron's laughter died in his throat, his triumphant expression freezing on his face. As a former fifth-stage demigod, he knew this was no hallucination. This was real.

He understood the source of the problem an instant later.

The Curse Avatar seeped out of his form like a shadow detaching from a wall.

Before Alveron's disbelieving eyes, the Curse Avatar planted its foot squarely on his back and stomped down with the full force of its being.

His ascent instantly reversed. He was plummeting, hurtling back toward the new Abyssal Springhead. The closer he got, the stronger its inescapable pull became.

"No… Don't…!"

Even now, the virtue knight fought back. One by one, the Hearts of Virtue within him shattered, erupting in brilliant Halos of Knighthood that flared around his body, desperately resisting the abyss.

CRUNCH!

Another crushing blow from the Curse Avatar drove him deeper.

"No… this can't be happening…"

CRUNCH!

Again, the foot came down on his back. Relentless. Unforgiving.

"You're insane! Insane!" Alveron shrieked, his voice ragged with despair. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? You'll be dragged down with me!"

He couldn't comprehend it. Why would the Curse Avatar choose this? A mutual destruction that served no one. To be buried alongside Zareth for nothing?

CRUNCH!

CRUNCH!

CRUNCH!

The Curse Avatar was deaf to his pleas and his screams, its only answer the rhythmic, brutal stomps that sealed his fate. As Alveron was finally swallowed by the Abyssal Springhead, the Curse Avatar dissolved, merging at the last possible second into a single strand of his hair.

And then, the hair followed him into the abyss, becoming just another offering to Zareth's grave.

In Stoneheart, within the Titanion Realm, Orion's eyes snapped open on his throne. The Curse Avatar materialized from his body, separating and standing before him.

Avatar and true body faced each other in silence, their hearts hammering in unison.

To say the game of betrayal and gambits in the Shattered Space had been intense was an understatement. Orion was wired, adrenaline singing through his veins. It was, without a doubt, the most dangerous confrontation he'd faced since his awakening.

While his own life had never been on the line, the sheer power and status of his opponents had kept him on a razor's edge of tension and excitement. This was the endgame, a high-level play where one wrong move would have cost him everything.

One miscalculation, and the Curse Avatar—his strongest asset, the foundation of his current power—would have been annihilated.

But it had worked.

The lynchpin of his victory was a single strike—the one where he had channeled the power of three cosmic laws to shatter Alveron's defenses, pierce his shield, and run him through. In that fleeting moment, the Curse Avatar's power had seeped into Alveron's body, planting a seed of corruption.

Alveron had been a first-stage demigod. Orion wasn't the least bit surprised he had failed to detect a blood curse that even the giant gods were powerless against.

That was the ace up his sleeve. It was the entire reason he'd chosen to retreat from the Shattered Space. There was no teleporter back in, but he didn't need one. He had a backdoor, a corrupting link that would let him re-enter the game at the perfect moment.

That was his winning ticket.

But the prize was not yet in his hands.

As Orion watched, the Curse Avatar unfurled a teleportation scroll. It reappeared at the entrance to the Shattered Space, in the northern region of the sixth layer of the abyss.

Without hesitation, the avatar stepped through.

This time, there was no trace of Alveron or Zareth.

There was only a single Abyssal Springhead, turning slowly, silently, in the void. And it was his.

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