Single for Eternity
Chapter 116: I was done

Chapter 116: I was done

But instead of walking straight out of the room like any sane person would, I paused.

No.

I decided to do something... else.

There was an itch under my skin—a simmering urge. Something about this tomb, this room, still gnawed at me. It wasn’t just a chamber meant to contain. No, it connected things. It held things. I could feel it.

I stepped toward the nearest wall and placed both hands on its rough surface. Cold. Smooth.

A dead chill seeped through my fingers and crawled up my arm. But beneath that coldness, something pulsed—something deeper, hidden just beneath the stone. A faint, rhythmic tremor like a second heartbeat.

It was energy.

Aether.

But not just any aether.

There was a distinct feel to it. An echo of the same foul essence that had once animated the fur coat monstrosity I just annihilated.

Spectral, undead aether—stitched, merged, compressed into intricate strands. The walls weren’t just built; they were woven. A tapestry of arcane engineering.

The threads of energy ran through the entire room—no, not just the room. They stretched far beyond, sprawling in every direction like a web.

Each thread connected to another, then another, all of them looping back into the heart of this ancient tomb.

I could feel it.

The stitching. The structure. The spellwork.

I grinned.

It wasn’t a room. It was a coffin. A shell.

And I was about to crack it open.

Without hesitation, I shoved my hands deeper into the stone, forcing my fingers into the fabric of the tomb itself.

The wall resisted at first—then gave way with a crack that echoed like a bone snapping. The stone split beneath my grip.

I closed my eyes.

Inhaled.

And then I let go.

I released the Chaos aether into the walls, unleashing a crimson tide of raw entropy into the weavings of undead energy. The response was immediate.

The tomb groaned.

The entire structure trembled violently, as if the earth beneath it had buckled. A deep, resonant quake rolled through the floor, the ceiling, the walls—all of it shivering under the pressure of colliding forces.

Fissures split open like veins along the stone, spiderwebbing outward in glowing red lines.

I could see it—the tapestry unraveling. Strand by strand, the undead aether circuits ruptured, turning brittle before bursting apart.

Wherever Chaos touched, it didn’t simply disrupt—it consumed, twisted, redefined. The energy that had once held the tomb together was now being overwritten and devoured by something far more primal.

And then, as if a switch had been thrown—

The illusion broke.

The tomb disintegrated.

Not collapsed. Not exploded.

Just... vanished.

Reduced to nothing more than drifting clouds of dust and curling smoke. All that remained beneath my feet was the cracked, ashen ground—and the darkened sky looming above like a suffocating shroud.

And me?

I was no longer alone.

Surrounding me in a wide circle were dozens—maybe hundreds—of other participants. Trial-goers.

Their weapons were drawn, not raised in bloodlust, but held steady. Wary. Defensive. Their gazes locked onto me with disbelief.

They had seen it.

One moment, the tomb had stood tall—an ancient place of death and trial. A sacred, guarded arena for earning trial points and proving one’s worth.

And in the next moment?

Whoosh.

Gone.

Erased like chalk in a storm.

Of course they were on edge. Of course they didn’t understand. They had been preparing to dive into that place, to challenge it for points. And now it was just gone. Their source of points, vanished in the blink of an eye.

I stood in the center of the crater I had just made, arms slack by my sides, staring at their stunned faces.

I let out a dry chuckle.

Or I tried to.

The laugh caught in my throat, coming out more as a wheeze. Not because it wasn’t funny—hell, it was hilarious. Their expressions were priceless.

No, I couldn’t laugh because I was too busy seething.

Not at them.

At myself.

At the absurdity of it all.

I had wasted all that time.

All that effort fighting that stitched-up bastard inside—playing along with his sick little trial—when I could’ve just blown the place up the moment I walked in.

I shook my head, my lips curling into something between a smirk and a grimace.

"Should’ve done this from the start," I muttered.

I glanced around at my surroundings.

Besides the stunned participants frozen in various defensive stances, there were... others.

Familiar presences.

First and foremost—Seren.

She stood some distance away, her posture still, poised, her silvery-white hair fluttering faintly under the tension in the air. Her crimson eyes, now wide open, locked onto mine with sharp intensity.

There was no question on her lips, but her gaze spoke volumes: ’What happened?’

I gave her a lopsided smile and shrugged, as if I hadn’t just vaporized an entire ancient tomb and disrupted the trial event for everyone.

Then, I tilted my head—not toward her, but toward the main event.

The real attraction of today.

Malthorn.

The Undead Lord.

The Demigod.

In his truest, unfiltered form, he was grotesquely majestic—nothing but bones, but those bones were massive, carved like ancient ivory pillars.

Easily nine feet tall, each limb looked as though it could snap boulders with a twitch. Black robes draped over him in cascading layers, flowing like smoke yet seemingly heavy with dread.

His hands were skeletal claws, each finger adorned with a cluster of jeweled rings—some ancient, some humming faintly with power. Likely artifacts, maybe cursed, maybe divine. Either way, I wasn’t planning to find out.

Because none of it mattered.

Not the rings.

Not the robes.

Not the grandeur.

What mattered was his presence.

That suffocating pressure that rolled off him like a black tide—his aura, impossibly vast and dense, still poured into the surroundings despite the tomb having crumbled into dust.

And he was sitting on a throne—no, a crown of bones. A jagged, wicked structure shaped in a mimicry of royalty, every curve honed to lethality.

His spectral blue eyes settled on me. Cold, distant, ancient.

Then, he spoke—his voice deep and dry, like bones grinding beneath centuries of dust.

"You did this... didn’t you?"

I didn’t bother answering.

I just smiled at him.

A smile that said yes, and what of it?

That was enough.

The throne dispersed beneath him the instant he rose, the bones clattering and dissolving into ash midair. Malthorn stood, skeletal form towering and unmoving, his robe billowing from an unseen wind.

Then his eyes flared.

And the world shifted again.

The atmosphere thickened like wet smoke, and in a flash, the land beneath us transformed.

Gone were the cracked ashen grounds.

Replaced now by a new hellscape—a wasteland of bones. Jagged, brittle, serrated bones erupted from the earth like broken glass.

Piles upon piles. Some charred, some fossilized, others glistening as if freshly flayed. It was a place born of death, sculpted by rage, and held together by the will of a demigod.

A collective gasp rang through the group of participants. Confusion flickered in their eyes. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t part of the trial.

And yet here we were.

I let out a long breath, then slowly took a step back. My feet shifted, weightless, then I kicked off the ground, using the Chaos still simmering within me to surge backward through the air.

I had done my job.

The trial, the test, the destruction—it was all complete.

Whatever came next?

It was no longer my concern.

Let them handle it. Let this ragtag group of trial-seekers figure out how to deal with a pissed-off demigod. I needed rest.

And then my gaze flicked once more to Seren.

She hadn’t moved.

But her eyes—those scarlet eyes—had narrowed ever so slightly.

She was watching me leave, watching me pull away from the battlefield I just ignited. Her gaze quivered—not with anger or fear, but something far more dangerous.

Amusement.

A faint smirk tugged at her lips.

Then—fwshhh—her blade ignited.

Dissonance.

The massive silver weapon came to life in a bloom of radiant light, casting a faint glow on the bones beneath her. With practiced ease, she stepped forward and took a battle stance—one honed, graceful, and utterly lethal.

My grin widened.

That was more like it.

But the most surprised person here wasn’t her.

It wasn’t the crowd.

It was Malthorn himself.

He tilted his skull ever so slightly as he watched me withdraw. His expression, despite being bone, somehow conveyed intrigue.

A low, guttural laugh rumbled from deep within his ribcage—dry and echoing like something ancient uncoiling.

He was amused.

Amused by my departure.

By my disregard.

So amused, in fact, that he blurred—a blink, a shimmer—and in the very next instant, he appeared in front of one of the stunned participants.

The poor soul didn’t even have time to scream.

Malthorn’s arm swung.

SHRRRRRRRK.

A flash of blue light. A splatter of dark mist.

The participant was shredded—torn apart in a brutal, casual motion that scattered limbs and blood in every direction.

The crowd panicked.

And I?

I just kept floating back.

Let them deal with this.

I was done.