The thunderous notifications still echoed in my mind when a piercing wail cut through my daze. I dismissed the cascade of system messages to find Headmaster Reins collapsed beside Kaldos's ruined body, his weathered hands clawing at the god's remains.

"My lord! My patron! No, no, NO!" Reins's voice cracked as he sobbed, decades of fanatical devotion shattered in an instant. His white hair fell loose around his contorted face as he rocked back and forth, clutching fragments of crimson carapace to his chest.

Casper knelt beside him, attempting to pull the headmaster away. "Kalder, please... you must compose yourself." His efforts proved futile as Reins shoved him back with surprising strength.

"Don't touch me! Don't you understand what's happened?" Reins's eyes were wild, spittle flying from his lips. "He's gone! Our god is GONE!"

My friends rushed to my side, faces pale with shock. Annes reached me first, her hands trembling as she assessed my shattered frame.

"We need to get you out of this," she whispered, working to disengage the locking mechanisms.

Genta joined her, carefully separating what remained of my tendrils from their connection points. "I can't believe you just... you just killed a god."

Around us, the instructors huddled in small groups, their whispers carrying across the rooftop.

"A godslayer... right before our eyes..."

"What will happen to the Academy without our patron?"

"The other gods will surely retaliate..."

Professor Harmony's voice rose above the others. "We should contain it until we understand what's happened."

Copelan slipped his arms beneath what remained of my torso, lifting me from the wreckage of my war frame. "We need to leave. Now." His voice was steady but urgent. "They're turning against you."

Wait, I told him. I reached down with my flesh hand, touching the golden remains of my chassis. With a thought, I activated Depository, storing the ruined frame and its severed tendrils. Even destroyed, the auric steel components were too valuable to abandon.

As Copelan carried me toward the stairwell, I looked back at the chaos unfolding on the rooftop. Instructors argued fiercely, some pointing in our direction while others gestured at Kaldos's remains. Professor Harmony was organizing a group to follow us, her face set with determination.

But it was Chosun who caught my attention. The Black Knight stood apart from the others, his posture rigid as he watched our retreat. His face betrayed no grief, only a calculating intensity that sent a chill through my damaged systems. I saw his eyes across the distance, and I saw something unexpected in his gaze: not hatred or fear, but a fierce, burning interest.

He's watching us, I mentally whispered to Copelan.

"Let him watch," Annes growled, positioning herself between us and Chosun as we reached the stairs. "If he tries anything, he'll join his master."

We descended into the darkness of the stairwell, leaving behind the body of a god and the certainty of the lives we had known. Whatever I had been before, Primordial, machine, student, I was something else now.

I was Vardiel, the godslayer, and the world would never be the same.

Our descent through the Academy was a blur of dim corridors and hushed voices. We reached the basement storeroom without encountering a single soul; either the faculty remained paralyzed by shock, or they were organizing a more coordinated response to my deicide.

Copelan gently set me down beside my humanoid frame. "Can you transfer on your own?" he asked, concern etching his features.

I nodded, connecting to the frame's interface points. The transition felt like sliding into a well-worn glove after my combat chassis; it was restrictive but familiar. Once settled, I immediately deployed Scout Spiders Three, Eight, and Thirteen outside.

They'll monitor the hallways and stairwells, I explained, receiving visual feeds through our connection. So far, all clear. No one followed us.

The tension in the room visibly dissipated. Genta collapsed against a workbench, her small green form practically vibrating with nervous energy.

"That was absolutely intense!" She leapt back up, bouncing on her toes. "You killed a god! An actual god! Do you understand what you just did? You stood there and—BOOM!—blew Kaldos's head clean off!" Her hands mimicked an explosion. "I've never seen anything like it!"

Copelan rubbed his temples. "It's less 'amazing' and more 'catastrophic disaster.' The remaining eleven gods won't exactly send congratulatory notes." He paced the small room, his noble upbringing evident in his rigid posture even during a panic. "They'll hunt you down, and I guarantee they won't politely limit themselves to level forty-one in combat."

They won't, I agreed, checking Scout Spider Thirteen's feed as it crawled along the ceiling outside Professor Harmony's office. But Vardin told me something interesting. They fear me as much as they want me dead.

"How comforting," Annes muttered.

The gods don't know what would happen if they absorbed another Mantle when they already have one. Such a mixture could be... unpredictable. I flexed my porcelain fingers, testing their responsiveness. They'll send champions instead. Powerful mortals. Assassins.

Annes's eyebrows shot up, her lips twisting into a sardonic smile. "Oh, well that sounds much better. Instead of gods, we just have to worry about an endless parade of level one-hundred killers. Fantastic."

Copelan frowned, his sharp mind working through the implications. "Wait… if mixing Mantles is dangerous, what exactly happened when you killed Kaldos? Did you absorb his power?"

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I paused, realizing I hadn't fully processed what occurred in those chaotic moments after the god's death. I'm... not entirely sure. There was a system notification about gaining his Mantle, but then it said my level was too low to use it.

"Too low?" Annes leaned forward.

It mentioned something about the Mantle becoming a 'godseed,' whatever that means. I opened my status screen, the familiar blue glow illuminating my porcelain hand as I scrolled through the information.

Name: Vardiel

Level: 54

Species: Dirtborn [MONSTER]

Gender: N/A

Age: 1

Titles: Original, Vanquisher of Qordos, Defender of Weath, Dragon Slayer 2, Fugitive, Magistricide, Godslayer, Demigod, Apostate

Strength: 116

Endurance: 117

Dexterity: 122

Intelligence: 114

Wisdom: 106

Attributes: Ancestor Might (Descendants: 44), Invulnerable Flesh, Integration, Court Style Swordsmanship, Weath Defense, Enchantment, Titan Slaying Style, Godseed of Enmity

Abilities: Mind Speech D, Mind Sight C, Language Comprehension S, Assembly A, Analyze B, Depository C, Mana Manipulation B, Blade Skill D, Brace E, Momentum Redirection D, Mana Shell C

I gained thirteen levels and three new titles after defeating Kaldos.

"Thirteen levels?" Genta whistled. "That's incredible!"

I brought up the title entries one by one. The first is Godslayer, which seems self-explanatory. I read aloud: "You have slain a God of Mankind. For good or ill, your legend will never be forgotten. You will gain the Mantle of the Primordial the god you killed had possessed."

Copelan's face paled further. "So you did absorb his power."

Not exactly. The second title is Demigod. I continued reading: "You are not yet ready for godhood. The Primordial Mantle shall sleep within you as a godseed, waiting for the time you awaken, whereupon it will hatch. Grants attribute 'Godseed'."

"What does that mean, 'when you awaken'?" Genta asked, her orange-freckled face scrunched in confusion.

I have no idea, I admitted, checking my attributes. But I do have something called 'Godseed of Enmity' now.

I read its description: "The Mantle of Enmity sleeps within you as a godseed. It waits for the time when you are strong enough to fully wield its power. Godseed of Enmity will hatch into the Mantle of Enmity when user reaches level 100."

Annes's eyes widened, her voice barely above a whisper. "Holy shit. You'll become a god when you reach level one hundred."

"If," Copelan corrected, emphasizing the word. "If you reach level one hundred."

I shrugged my shoulders. It shouldn't be too hard. I'm more than halfway there already.

Copelan rolled his eyes. "Only you would be so casual about potentially becoming a deity."

What's the alternative? Panic? I scrolled to the final title. The third one is Apostate.

"That doesn't sound good," Genta murmured.

I read the entry: "You have through your actions incurred the wrath of the gods! For now until your inevitable death, you shall be hunted by the holy servants of the divine."

The room fell silent. Copelan cursed under his breath, his already pale complexion turning ghostly. "So the system itself confirms they'll be coming for you."

Yes, I agreed. But now we know what we're dealing with. Vardin was right. They won't risk coming themselves. They'll send champions, servants... assassins.

"Great," Annes muttered. "Just great. Our friend kills a god and gets a death sentence for the trouble."

Copelan slumped against the wall. "We need a plan. We can't stay here, the Academy will be the first place they look."

Through Scout Spider Three, I saw movement in the stairwell. I checked through its eyes and saw that Sven, Eyarna, Loland, Patter, and Yulios were rushing down the steps towards us.

The others are coming, I informed my friends.

The door flew open, admitting the rest of my friends. Their faces were drenched in sweat, eyes wide with panic as they stumbled into our workshop sanctuary.

"Where the hell have you been?" Sven demanded, his breath coming in short gasps. "We've been looking everywhere for you!"

Copelan straightened, his brow furrowing. "You've heard the news, then?"

"What news?" Eyarna adjusted her spectacles nervously, her tusks clicking together in agitation.

Genta threw her hands up dramatically. "Widow killed a god! Blew Kaldos's head clean off on the roof!"

I expected shock, awe, perhaps even terror at this revelation. Instead, their expressions remained unchanged, confusion and urgency etched across their features. Whatever brought them here clearly wasn't my divine homicide.

What's wrong? I asked, my mental voice cutting through their bewilderment.

Sven shook his head, rushing to my side. In his trembling hands was a small wooden box, roughly the size of a jewelry case. "An hour ago, a courier delivered this package to room 401, our Gutter House offices."

His face had gone ashen, fingers white-knuckled around the container. "We... we opened it."

"It's not pleasant," Patter warned, her tall frame hovering protectively near Yulios.

I frowned, taking the box from Sven's outstretched hands. The weight felt insignificant for something that had caused such distress. I lifted the lid.

Inside, nestled on a bed of crimson cloth, lay a severed human tongue.

Beside it was an Adventurer's Guild identification badge, the name "Harke of Vensor" clearly emblazoned across its surface. Blood had dried along its edges.

Annes and Copelan flinched visibly. Genta let out a small cry of shock, her hand flying to her mouth.

A folded piece of parchment sat beneath the badge. I carefully extracted it, unfolding the message with mechanical precision that belied the storm of emotions building within me.

The note was addressed simply to "Widow" in elegant script:

If you wish to see your friend in one piece, come alone to the address below by sundown. For every hour you delay, another piece of him will be removed.

We're just getting started.

I felt my metaphorical blood run cold. Harke had written that he would visit me at the Academy once his Guild business concluded. Someone had intercepted him, but how? Who could possibly know of our connection?

My mind raced through possibilities. Only my friends in this room knew about Harke, along with the villagers of Weath.

No… that wasn't right. Marshes and his adventuring party also knew. I had told them about rescuing Harke and Mallie from Qordos during our many conversations. Marshes worked for Baron Hollstoff, who answered to...

Duke Redflight.

My silver fist slammed into the stone wall with a thunderous crack, sending fragments of rock skittering across the floor. My friends jumped at the sudden violence.

Lyman Redflight has Harke, I said, my mental voice cold with fury.

I passed the note to Copelan, who studied it with narrowed eyes.

Annes peered over his shoulder, her face hardening. "This address is in the slums, the old abandoned arena where they used to hold gladiator matches before the king outlawed death sports."

Loland grumbled, his scales gleaming in the dim light. "It's obviously a trap."

Of course it is, I agreed. But I can't abandon Harke.

"You can't go," Copelan said, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. "Your war frame is completely wrecked after the fight with Kaldos. You'd be walking into a death trap."

I have no choice, I replied, carefully returning Harke's severed tongue to its grisly container. He's my friend. He helped me when I first awakened.

"At least wait until we can form a plan," Annes insisted, her eyes blazing with protective fury. "We could contact the city guard or-"

If it were any of you being tortured right now, I interrupted, my mental voice cutting through their protests, would you want me to wait? To plan while they removed pieces of you, hour by hour?

Their expressions told me everything. They knew I was right.

Don't worry about me. I stood, flexing my porcelain fingers. I've been making improvements to this humanoid frame. The joints and core structure are now auric steel. It's nowhere near my war frame's capabilities, but it should be more than sufficient to handle Lyman and whatever thugs he's hired.

I retrieved Kolin's sword from nearby where it was gathering dust on a shelf. The enchanted blade hummed with electrical energy as I secured it to my hip.

Besides, I added grimly, they're expecting Widow, not Vardiel. Not the godslayer.

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