OP Absorption
Chapter 80: Last chance

Chapter 80: Last chance

The moment Fin’s aura flared, the heavy door behind him hissed open.

The S-rank guard moved. Not walking, just... appearing inside the room, a blur of black armor moving with impossible speed. A fist wreathed in crackling black energy lashed out, aimed straight at Fin’s head.

Fin dodged purely on instinct, leaning back, the blow whistling past inches from his face. The air crackled where the fist passed, raw destructive power radiating from the missed strike. His senses screamed. This wasn’t the brute force of the beastmen; this was refined, lethal energy.

He skidded back across the floor, landing lightly in a low crouch, the green light in his eyes burning brighter. The initial shock faded, replaced by something else. A cold, sharp thrill.

A real fight.

Killing intent, raw and potent, poured off him, a tangible pressure joining his already overwhelming aura. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch upwards.

The S-rank guard remained unfazed by the killing intent. He drew his sword in a single, fluid motion – a blade that seemed to drink the light, humming with contained power. He settled into a ready stance, prepared for lethal combat.

Clap.

A single, sharp clap echoed through the room, incongruously soft yet cutting through the tension like a knife.

The man in the chair hadn’t moved, hadn’t raised his voice. He simply clapped his hands together once.

Both Fin and the S-rank guard froze instinctively, the command bypassing conscious thought.

"That’s enough," he said mildly. He nodded towards the guard. "Return to your post."

The guard hesitated for only a fraction of a second, then sheathed his sword, bowed slightly towards the man, and retreated back into the corridor, the door hissing shut behind him. Utter obedience.

The man’s pale blue eyes turned back to Fin. The faint smile returned. "Now. Sit down, Fin Carver."

Fin remained standing, the green light still blazing in his eyes, the killing intent simmering. He wasn’t done. This wasn’t over.

"No."

The man stopped smiling. His expression didn’t become angry, just... empty. Colder. "Sit. Boy."

Fin’s body moved.

He didn’t decide to move. Didn’t want to move. But his legs bent, his body lowered itself back into the chair he’d just vacated. An irresistible, invisible force compelled the action, overriding his will, his power, everything.

He sat there, frozen, staring at the man. The green light flickered, then faded from his eyes, replaced by wide-eyed shock.

He couldn’t move. He was pinned to the chair, not by physical weight, but by the sheer, absolute pressure of the man’s will.

He hadn’t just been told to sit. He’d been made to sit. Like a dog. Like a puppet.

The power difference wasn’t just a gap. It was a chasm.

Humiliation burned cold in his gut, sharper than any physical pain. To be overpowered so completely, so effortlessly...

"You have power, boy," he said, his voice calm again, almost conversational, but underpinned by that chilling authority. "Considerable power, apparently. But power without control, without understanding, is just noise. A tantrum."

He leaned back, observing Fin’s rigid posture, the suppressed fury simmering beneath the surface. "You barge in here, flaunting power you barely comprehend. Threatening? Making demands? You are naive."

The words struck chords Fin didn’t want to acknowledge. Untrained. Naive. Reckless. He knew these things, intellectually, but hearing them laid bare by this overwhelming presence... it stung.

"You think surviving a crumbling dungeon makes you a player on this stage?" he continued, his tone dripping with condescension. "You think absorbing an artifact by sheer, dumb luck gives you the right to challenge established order? You are an insect. An interesting insect, perhaps, but still easily crushed."

The pressure pinning him lessened slightly, almost imperceptibly. Enough to allow speech, perhaps. A test?

"So, I offer you this choice one last time," he said, his eyes locking onto Fin’s. "Submit. Cooperate. Learn. Find purpose within the structure we provide." He paused, the faint smile returning. "Or... the alternative. Which, I assure you, involves far less comfort than this chair."

Fin felt control return to his limbs as the absolute compulsion faded, leaving only the heavy weight of the man’s ambient power. He could move again.

He pushed himself up slowly, deliberately. Not defiantly, not yet. He paced a few steps across the floor, rubbing his wrist as if shaking off pins and needles, projecting the image of someone carefully considering his options.

He stopped near the center of the room. He looked at Rowena, still kneeling, fury and humiliation warring on her face. He looked back at the man, sitting relaxed in his chair, radiating absolute confidence.

He thought about the power difference. The effortless control. The sheer arrogance.

He stopped pacing. Turned to face the man directly.

He slowly raised his right hand.

And gave him the finger.

"I think," he said, his voice flat, cold, utterly devoid of fear, "I’ll pass."

Beneath his feet, reality fractured. Not with jagged lines, but with the smooth, swirling distortion of his personal domain manifesting. An oval portal, smelling faintly of ozone and old stone, opened silently on the floor directly under him.

He dropped into it without a backward glance.

The portal snapped shut instantly, leaving the floor unmarked, the air still heavy with his lingering aura and the echo of his defiance.

Silence slammed back into the office.

Rowena stared, slack-jawed, at the spot where Fin had vanished.

The man remained seated, the faint smile frozen on his face. His eyes, however, held a flicker of genuine, startled surprise. A pocket dimension? Self-generated? Impossible.

"Sir—" Rowena finally choked out, struggling to process what she’d just witnessed.

"I know," he interrupted, his voice quiet, thoughtful, the surprise already fading, replaced by cold calculation. "This is troublesome."

---

Fin landed lightly on cool stone. The air smelled familiar – his domain. But the throne room... it wasn’t the same vast, echoing obsidian chamber he remembered.

The sharp, oppressive angles were softened. The throne itself, while still imposing, looked less like carved bone and more like polished dark wood. Tapestries hung on the walls, depicting abstract, shifting patterns instead of chitinous horrors. The lighting was warmer, less stark. It felt less like a monster’s lair and more like... a slightly gothic reception hall?

’Did I do this?’ he wondered, glancing around. ’Or did it just... change?’

He shook his head, dismissing the thought for now. One crisis at a time.

"Arachne!" he called out, his voice echoing slightly in the altered space.

Footsteps answered, quick and light, approaching from a side archway he hadn’t noticed before.

A figure emerged, running towards him, relief clear on her face. Pale skin, dark hair cascading around her shoulders, wearing simple, dark clothing. She looked... normal. Completely normal.

The multiple eyes were gone, replaced by a single pair of large, dark human eyes. The extra limbs, the sharp angles, the faint chitinous sheen – all vanished. She looked like a young woman. A strikingly beautiful, slightly panicked young woman.

Fin stared, his brain momentarily stalling. This wasn’t the spider-girl he’d left behind.

"What the hell?"