Part 1
The sound of footsteps was constant. Methodical. Precise.
Yamato didn't speak. Seiryu silently analyzed the terrain. Eliza, still intoxicated by her newfound freedom, couldn't stop murmuring ideas about what Yamato's fortress would look like—and how she would decorate it if she had a place of her own.
Floor 795.
A nest of segmented creatures, resembling living suits of obsidian armor with floating cores inside.
They were silent. Obedient.
Their only reaction was to bow the moment they sensed Yamato's presence.
"Interesting..." he said, extending his hand.
A vortex of darkness opened beneath their feet, absorbing all the creatures into a black hole suspended between his nanobots and the Void.
He cataloged them without blinking.
They weren't soldiers yet... but they could be.
"What is that, my lord?" Eliza asked, curiosity sparkling in her voice.
"It's a spatial vortex. Let's call it a dark dimension. They'll remain there, waiting until we raise our empire."
"Oh… that sounds impressive," Eliza replied, fascinated.
"He's been doing that ever since we started ascending from Floor 998," Seiryu commented calmly.
"Soldiers are the foundation of empires," Yamato added. "And we'll have a great army under our command… soldiers of the Void."
Yamato kept walking.
He didn't stop, nor did he slow his pace.
He listened attentively, but that didn't mean he would move any slower.
Floor 789.
The ground was littered with destroyed magical traps—a collapsed defense system, but undoubtedly an effective one.
The remains of hundreds of skeletons on the floor confirmed it.
Yamato scanned the runes with his eyes closed.
The nanobots on his back began tracing lines in the air, replicating the patterns with perfect precision.
"Useful against invaders. Seiryu, record the circuits. They'll come in handy for our fortress."
Floor 773.
A graveyard of animated bones. The skeletons rose by reflex, but they didn't attack.
They seemed... to be waiting for orders.
"Obedience without will," Eliza observed with a hint of pity. "They can be reprogrammed."
"You're right. I'll take them too. Every bone has a purpose."
He absorbed them one by one, silently, like a player gathering chess pieces for a match that had already begun.
Floor 760.
Dense mists. Minor hallucinations.
Eliza amused herself by causing the mirages to clash like fragile marionettes made of glass.
"We could recreate this mist for psychological defense," she proposed, twirling with a light-hearted smile.
Yamato barely nodded.
"I have a better idea..."
He raised his hand.
The mist began to condense, and within seconds, it was fully absorbed into a small sphere floating above his palm.
"Void Codex."
A black grimoire appeared between his fingers, and Yamato placed the sphere inside it.
The book reacted immediately, inscribing slow-spinning runes—as if it were interpreting a new language.
"Here. A new power. It'll suit your vampiric abilities. Now you'll be able to strike from a shroud of mist… unseen."
Eliza nodded respectfully and accepted the grimoire.
As she opened it, the information flowed directly into her mind.
Once assimilated, the book dissolved, merging into her body as part of the Void.
"Seiryu has also received similar blessings," Yamato added, summoning a dozen more floating grimoires around him. "All the powers I found interesting and efficient are stored here."
He walked a few more steps and then stopped—without turning back.
"I want you two to grow as strong as you possibly can. We don't know what awaits us out there..."
The mist closed behind them once more. The ascent continued.
Floor 750.
The staircase ended at a massive gate entwined with black roots.
The atmosphere shifted. The pressure was different.
Yamato stopped.
"We'll take a break here."
Seiryu stepped forward a few paces, carefully analyzing the marks on the ground.
"This is recent. Someone's waiting for us."
Yamato stood in front of the gate. His eyes gleamed with a faint light as he studied the structure.
"Perfect... Since you'll need to learn how to fight as a team, you'll face whatever's on the other side."
Eliza and Seiryu nodded simultaneously. The tension between them was slowly dissipating.
"I know you barely know each other, but I'd like to see how you manage working together."
Yamato closed his eyes for a brief moment. The very air vibrated differently here.
"But more than anything... I want to see what lies beyond. I can sense a demonic presence."
He said nothing more.
He simply raised his hand, and the gate opened with a faint whisper of metal sliding against stone.
No explosion. No flash of light.
Just an abrupt shift in the atmosphere—so sharp that even Eliza fell silent.
Beyond the gate, it didn't feel like a normal corridor or a combat chamber.
The air smelled of incense... but also of deception.
The floor pulsed rhythmically, as if someone were marking invisible beats with their steps.
Seiryu stepped forward, his gaze steady.
Eliza followed, cracking her neck lightly, as if warming up for a dance.
Yamato simply watched them. He wore only his rings, masking his presence completely.
"You are in control. This time... I'll be nothing more than a spectator in your battle."
The door closed behind them—and the stage came alive.
It didn't creak.
It didn't tremble.
It didn't release mist or monsters.
It simply faded away, like a curtain rising for a grand performance.
Beyond it was not a battle arena… but a theater.
A gigantic theater, with empty rows of seats all facing a central stage illuminated by floating, multicolored lights.
Black velvet curtains hung from a false ceiling.
The floor seemed to be polished wood, but each step sounded hollow, as if everything was… an imitation.
"What a strange place," Eliza said cautiously, scanning the surroundings.
"It's not an illusion," Seiryu added. "This is all real. But it doesn't follow normal physical rules. The space has been... rewritten."
Yamato sat in an empty balcony box that emerged from the wall at his touch.
He crossed one leg over the other, rested his elbow on the throne's arm, and gazed down calmly.
"The show begins."
Lights.
Soft music.
And applause.
"What a marvelous audience we have tonight," said a voice from the center of the stage. "Although... what a shame there are only three left."
A figure emerged from the shadows, walking with elegant poise.
His face was covered by a white and gold mask, and his outfit was a blend of opera nobleman and theater director.
His cane wasn't merely decorative—it looked like a thrusting sword.
"I am Satirus—the master of deception, playwright of pain, and lover of uncomfortable truths."
He bowed elegantly, one hand over his chest, the other raised gracefully. "Welcome to my final performance."
Seiryu didn't move.
He simply analyzed him with cold, sharp eyes.
Eliza stepped down a stair, her gaze narrowing.
"You've got a good entrance... but your script seems predictable."
"Oh, my dear creature of the night," Satirus replied in a tone almost gallant, "who says you're not the lead actress? That this isn't your story... and not mine?"
Yamato observed in silence. He passed no judgment—only analyzed.
Satirus raised his cane.
The world split open.
Reflections of Seiryu and Eliza appeared on the stage.
A younger Eliza, stained with the blood of her ancestors, surrounded by the screams of an extinguished bloodline.
An earlier Seiryu, still bearing his oni face, chained by illusions that mimicked his time as a slave to a power that no longer existed.
"Who are you really?" Satirus asked, spinning like a maestro conducting an orchestra. "Who were you... before you became slaves to this dungeon?"
Eliza felt a pressure in her chest.
The images weren't mere illusions.
She remembered them.
She heard them—buried voices whispering her name with contempt.
Seiryu didn't speak immediately. But his pupils narrowed, almost imperceptibly.
"We all had lives before Yoru imprisoned us," he finally said, his voice steady. "We're nothing but a handful of the unwanted…"
"You may no longer be chained to your floors," Satirus whispered, tilting his head,
"but you'll never free yourselves from your past."
"Oh, please..." Eliza interrupted with a dry laugh, rolling her shoulders as if shaking off an invisible weight. "What a tiresome demon. Your cheap tricks don't work on us."
Her eyes lit up again—pure, sharp, vivid crimson.
"I would kill over and over again if I had to. Your puppet... is nothing more than that. A puppet."
"Of course it is!" Satirus cried out, laughing gleefully. "Just like you... and your oni friend who hides behind that mask of elegance."
He theatrically pointed toward the balcony, where Yamato watched everything from the shadows—unmoved, as if he already knew every line of the script.
"You are his puppets. And this... is his play," Satirus concluded, spreading his arms wide, as if greeting an invisible audience.
"You're wrong," Seiryu replied calmly, his voice unshaken. "The difference between your puppets and us… is that we choose to be here."
His words resonated with firm conviction.
Eliza smiled, satisfied.
"Your illusions are just echoes. Dead fragments. Like she said—your cheap tricks don't work on us."
Around them, small stones began to float.
Not as an attack.
As a signal.
A warning.
"After all... we were floor bosses too."
Seiryu lifted his gaze, his eyes sharpened like blades.
"And we're far more dangerous than some third-rate illusionist."