OP Absorption
Chapter 76: Freed

Chapter 76: Freed

He watched her struggle, pushing herself up, fury warring with pain in her eyes. The damp towel offered little modesty, but dignity seemed irrelevant now. Survival was the only currency left.

"So, who sent you?" he asked. His voice was level. Quiet.

Her jaw clenched. Silence. Defiance flickered in her gaze, even now.

He sighed, a sound devoid of actual emotion. "I am sure you remember my ability?" He pushed himself off the bed, the movement fluid. "Well, let’s just say it has been upgraded."

He walked over to her, stopping just before her kneeling form. He reached down slowly.

His fingers brushed her temple. Cool touch.

"Now I can do this."

It began subtly. A pressure behind her eyes. Then, a coldness seeping into her very core. Not absorption. Something... different. Something colder.

Where did this even come from?

Her breath hitched. A silent scream built behind her eyes. Agony beyond physical limits flooded her senses. Her very essence felt like it was being torn apart, shredded from within.

"It’s amazing what you can do once you set your mind to it," he observed, his voice still flat.

Her resolve shattered under the onslaught. It wasn’t pain; it was violation on a fundamental level.

A name formed on her lips, desperate escape the only thought— "Varn—"

Then, a flicker. A symbol bloomed on her forehead, overlaying her skin like a dark tattoo. Intricate. Dark. Pulsing faintly with an energy that felt ancient and possessive.

The sound died in her throat. The connection to the name, the intent to speak it, was severed by an external force.

He tilted his head, observing the mark with detached curiosity. "Ohh, well hello there."

Another layer. Ownership? Control? Interesting.

He reached out again. Tapped the mark with a single fingertip.

It dissolved instantly. Flowed into his fingertip like ink into water. Gone. Absorbed into the humming power within him.

He withdrew his hand, breaking the soul-crushing pressure simultaneously. She gasped, collapsing forward onto her hands, trembling violently, sweat and tears mingling on her face. The agony lingered, an echo burned into her being.

"Now then," he said, his voice unchanged by the display of power or the absorption of the unknown mark. "Shall we try that again?"

She remained on the floor, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The chilling agony was gone, but the memory, the sheer violation, left her shaking. Fear, absolute and primal, had replaced defiance.

He watched her. Waiting. Patient.

"Varn," she finally choked out, the name barely a whisper. "Lord Varn sent me."

Just a name. Another player on a board he was only beginning to understand. Queen. Admin. Varn.

Did it matter what they called themselves?

"Why?" His voice remained flat. No anger. Just... inquiry.

"The... the Silver Core," she stammered, avoiding his gaze. "He wanted it. Then... after the dungeon... he wanted you. To understand... the power."

He processed the information. Silver Core. Juliana’s gift. Varn knew about it?

"Then, I sensed a new power coming from you," she added, her voice trembling slightly. "Like a King’s."

Kings.

The word landed flat in the silence of the hotel room. Another title. Another layer of power in a world rapidly expanding beyond comprehension.

’Wait, she sensed the mana cell and... what is a king?’ Always something new. Could his brain even handle all this?

He looked down at her, still trembling on the floor. Her terror was palpable, a raw scent in the air. Good. Fear made people talkative.

"Tell me," he ordered, his voice unchanging. "These Kings. Explain."

She flinched, pulling the inadequate towel tighter around herself. Her eyes darted towards him, then quickly away. "They... they are entities of immense power," she stammered, words rushing out. "Elite. Some say monsters, others... gods of destruction."

"Brought here," she continued, her voice barely above a whisper, "through Abyss Gates."

"They have power rivaling... some say exceeding... Dungeon Lords," she added hastily. "They can create their own domains. Pocket worlds. Like..." Her voice faltered.

"Like Admins?" he finished for her, the word tasting like ash.

She nodded frantically. "Yes. Similar. But different rules. Their domains... they are absolute. No one enters without an invitation. No tears in reality like dungeons. Just... closed."

He processed this. Kings. Abyss Gates. Pocket Worlds. Admins. Queens. Varn. Where did he fit? An anomaly stuffed with a Mana Cell? A potential King because of some vague resonance she felt?

It was too much. Too fast.

He looked at her again. A tool. Sent by Varn. She knew things, but her knowledge felt shallow, fragmented. Second-hand whispers from her master.

Was she useful? Perhaps. As a warning? As bait?

Or just as a messenger?

He crouched down, bringing his face closer to hers. Her breath hitched, eyes wide with terror. He saw the reflection of his own impassive face in her pupils.

"Go back to Varn," he said softly, the words colder than the earlier soul-crushing pressure.

She blinked, confusion warring with fear. "W-what?"

"Tell him what you saw," he clarified, his voice remaining level. "Tell him about the power. Tell him I know his name." He paused, letting the implication sink in. "Tell him... to leave me alone."

He stood up, turning his back on her, walking towards the still-open window. The city lights blurred outside.

"Or next time," he added, not looking back, "I won’t just absorb the little mark he put on you. I’ll come for him."

He stepped onto the window ledge, balanced effortlessly.

"Get out of my city," he commanded, a final, quiet order that resonated with absolute authority.

Then he stepped backward into the night air, vanishing silently into the darkness , leaving her alone, shivering, in the wreckage of her mission and the chilling echo of his promise.

She ran.

Clothes pulled on hastily over trembling skin. Down fire escapes, through shadowed back alleys, propelled by raw, primal terror. The city lights blurred into streaks of meaningless color. Her lungs burned. Her muscles screamed.

She didn’t stop until the city was a distant glow behind her, until the air smelled of damp earth and trees instead of exhaust and fear. She collapsed onto the wet grass verge beside a dark, empty highway, breath tearing from her throat in ragged sobs.

He was a monster. An absolute monster. The memory of that soul-chilling pressure, the feeling of being dissected from the inside out... it would haunt her nightmares.

But...

As the panic subsided, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion, another feeling surfaced. Faint at first, then stronger. Lighter.

She touched her forehead where the invisible mark had pulsed just hours before. Nothing. The constant, subtle weight she’d carried for years, the metaphysical chain binding her to Varn’s will... it was gone.

Fin hadn’t just terrified her. He hadn’t just absorbed the mark.

He’d freed her.

The realization hit her with the force of a physical blow. Free. Truly free. No master pulling her strings. No ancient power dictating her every move. Her life, for the first time she could truly remember, was her own.

Go back to Varn? Tell him what she saw?

Why?

He had no hold over her now. The terror Fin inspired warred with the intoxicating rush of liberation. She looked back towards the distant city lights, a complex mix of fear and something else... fascination?

No. She wouldn’t go back. Not yet. Maybe never.

---

Castle Varn remained silent, bathed in the cold light filtering through high windows.

Lord Varn held the delicate wine glass, swirling the deep crimson liquid. He brought it to his lips, paused. His eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly.

"Did my hold on Scarlet just vanish?" he murmured, the words soft, yet echoing slightly in the vast chamber.

Ery, standing motionless nearby, her expression carefully neutral, bowed slightly. "Surely not, my Lord. You made that mark to be unremovable. Branded to the very soul, intertwined with her life force."

He lowered the glass, staring into its depths as if seeking answers in the swirling wine. He didn’t doubt Ery’s assessment of the mark’s power. Which left only one conclusion.

"The boy," he stated, the name unspoken but clearly implied. Fin.

Ery remained silent.

Varn took a slow sip of wine. He felt no anger. No frustration. Just a cold, analytical curiosity mixed with a sliver of... respect?

"It appears," he said quietly, setting the glass down with a soft click, "I lost this time around."

A temporary setback. The game was far from over.