NOVEL NEXT Chapter 244: Core....
It's dark…
Where am I?
I knew, and yet... somehow I didn't. This strange, fractured place felt like it could be somewhere I belonged—and yet was utterly foreign.
–SEEZZEEE~!!
A jagged sound pierced the silence, fragments of broken echoes, just out of reach.
My head darted toward it, but all I met was darkness, thick and endless.
Only the echoes of that unsettling noise remained, bouncing back and forth like a taunt.
It's cold…
I shivered, an icy sensation clawing its way over my skin, and only then did I notice: I was bare, without a thread to cover me.
Strange.
But despite the absurdity of it all—wandering naked through a realm of shadows—I kept moving forward.
My feet, numb with cold, pressed onward, dragging me deeper into the pitch-black void. I should have felt terrified, each step painful and hollow, yet strangely, I wasn't.
In fact, there was a quiet comfort in the darkness, like an invisible hand guiding me gently forward.
"Riley…"
A voice.
Faint, yet clear.
My heart stirred, recognizing it. Riley? Yes, I thought hazily, that's right… my name is Riley… Riley Hell?
Turning, I searched for the source of the voice, feeling it wrap around me like a fragile warmth, almost pulling me back from the comforting pull of the darkness.
My feet hesitated, the desire to keep following this familiar, comforting path faltering as the voice lingered in my mind.
"Riley… come here..."
The voice behind me called again, soft yet insistent, nudging me to turn back. My feet, rooted in place, finally started to move—but just as I shifted, another voice, barely a whisper, echoed in my mind.
[Don't go.]
I stopped, curiosity gnawing at me, and turned back toward the dark expanse.
That's when I saw it—a figure standing there, shrouded in shadow.
My breath caught. It wasn't just anyone—it was... me.
No…. not quite.
This reflection was an uncanny version of myself: golden blonde hair, deep blue eyes, all the same features, yet there was something deeply unsettling about it.
Everything about this reflection was drained of warmth. Its gaze, ice-cold and calculating, seemed to carry an age and wisdom that felt foreign, beyond anything I'd experienced.
[…Going back… is a mistake…]
it said, its voice an eerie replica of my own.
[Trust me…]
It looked straight into my eyes, the cold detachment of its stare cutting through me.
There was an unsettling familiarity in its presence, as if it was more than a reflection—like it was a fragment of something hidden deep within me, an echo of something I should already know by now…
"Riley!"
The voice behind me grew stronger, piercing through the dark void and stirring something deep within.
A memory, hazy yet familiar, surfaced from the depths of my mind, tugging at my heart.
[Ignore it.]
The reflection—myself—spoke, its tone calm yet commanding.
With a slow clap, it silenced the echoes of the voice calling me, leaving nothing but an eerie quiet.
The unsettling stillness wrapped around me, thick and cold.
[…You hate pain, do you not?]
it asked, tilting its head slightly.
There was a peculiar softness in its words, a twisted empathy that felt like it shouldn't belong to me.
It extended its hand toward me; fingers open in invitation.
[Come… I'll remove it for you.]
Every instinct in me screamed not to trust this strange, hollow version of myself, but my hand, almost moving on its own, reached out to take his.
The cold grip around my fingers was both jarring and… somehow soothing.
[Sleep for now…]
it whispered, its voice low and coaxing, like a lullaby that drew me into a darkness even deeper than before.
[I'll take care of the rest.]
As the words washed over me, my mind faded, slipping back into a slumber I hadn't realized I'd left.
[Note: Emergency Measures have been Applied!]
[…. User…. Status… stabilizing…]
[…Data Support…... disrupted….]
[Tut$rial wi^^l now@#@!@#!@!#]
[???????????????]
.....
"What are you?"
Lancelot's voice trembled as he took a step back, eyes widening at the sight before him.
The young man standing in front of him exuded an intense invisible form of authority upon which Lancelot couldn't fathom….
Lancelot's mana raised up.
Each flare of energy radiating off him with a searing heat that burned with the brilliance of the sun.
His once simple white cape had transformed into a flurry of three pairs of ethereal wings, each feather glinting like polished steel.
The sword he held pulsed with an overwhelming, otherworldly power, the blade glowing with a heat that distorted the air around it.
Every instinct in Lancelot screamed at him to unleash his full strength if he wanted even a chance of surviving this encounter.
The unexpected shift of his opponent's aura was like nothing he had encountered before.
Desperately, he attempted to re-establish his connection to his queen, to convey a warning or request aid.
Yet the moment he tried, a searing, unbearable pain gripped him, forcing him to his knees.
It was a sensation so excruciating, so alien, that it was as if his very soul was being torn apart.
What… is happening?
His mind raced with questions as he gazed up at the young man.
But his opponent didn't even spare him a glance; his cold, emotionless eyes seemed focused somewhere distant, as though seeing beyond the confines of the white dome they stood in.
Then, in a low, tired voice, the young man muttered to himself, his words carrying a heavy weight.
"…It's been a while…"
His tone was devoid of emotion, yet there was an almost imperceptible trace of something tragic, something lost, beneath the surface.
Lancelot couldn't look away; this young man—this anomaly—felt almost otherworldly, like an entity born of both despair and wisdom, far beyond his understanding.
"White Knight…"
the young man said, his gaze finally falling on Lancelot with an indifferent expression.
"I suppose… I-no.. he chose Alice this time?"
Lancelot's mind raced, struggling to make sense of the cryptic words that had slipped from the young man's mouth—Alice… the Red Queen…
'Could they be connected?'
The notion rattled him deeply, setting off alarms in his mind. If there was any link between this anomaly and his queen's sworn nemesis, then everything had changed.
The mission, his orders, even his purpose here—it all suddenly felt like it was hanging by a fragile thread.
Wings flaring wide, Lancelot tried to steady himself against the searing pain that tore through his body, forcing his armor to groan under the strain.
His mission was clear: he had to inform his queen of this new threat. Every instinct screamed that facing this young man head-on was futile; survival meant finding any way to escape.
With fear gnawing at his heart, he gathered his strength, raising his sword high as he summoned every last spark of energy.
A fierce white light blazed along the length of the blade, radiating with the heat and intensity of a miniature sun.
Without hesitation, Lancelot hurled the blade toward the young man, pouring half of his entire mana reserves into the attack.
The sheer radiance from the weapon lit up the dark space, casting long, warped shadows as it tore through the air.
This has to work, he thought, feeling his energy wane even as he watched.
No being, no matter how powerful, should be able to shrug off a strike like this.
The blade blazed a fierce arc across the chamber, an eruption of searing white-hot light designed to incinerate anything in its path.
The young man's eyes flickered to the attack just as it was about to strike, the coldness in his gaze remaining unchanged.
He didn't even flinch, as if such an attack was nothing more than a fleeting nuisance.
FLASHH!!!
Lancelot's hope faded to dread as the young man raised a single hand, his fingers lightly brushing against the edge of the incoming strike.
FOOOSH~~~!!!
To Lancelot's horror, the blade's immense energy was halted instantly, caught between the young man's fingers like an extinguished flame.
The light faded, leaving only the faintest whiff of smoke curling up from his fingertips.
How?
Questions battered through Lancelot's mind as he struggled to comprehend what had just happened.
How could the young man so casually catch his sword, let alone erase the very authorities embedded within it? It was unthinkable.
Unlike mere magic, authorities were divine principles, the laws of existence themselves, granted by beings who had ascended to the highest stages of power.
These were not spells or skills that could be broken by willpower alone—they were universal truths made manifest.
His sword carried the combined authorities of fire and death, woven into its very essence, an undeniable force that even the highest beings respected.
No human, no matter how mysterious or anomalous, should have been able to nullify it so completely. Unless…
Unless he is… a being on par with the ascended….
A shiver ran through him as he tried to stammer out words, grasping for any answer, any last attempt to understand.
"Y-You—" he managed to choke out, his voice fraught with dread.
SWOOSH!
Click.!
A quiet, almost indifferent sound—a blade returning to its scabbard—was the only thing that reached Lancelot's ears.
And then, in an instant, the world around him fractured.
His vision split into two…
Struggling to hold onto his senses, his gaze fell one last time on the young man, who was now walking away, his back turned as though Lancelot had been little more than an obstacle in his path.
The young man moved steadily, making his way toward the dungeon's core.
No… Lancelot's thoughts flared with helplessness, fear clawing at him.
'He can't… if he reaches the core…'
But it was too late.
The young man stretched out a hand, and with an almost casual gesture, crushed the dungeon core as if it were made of fragile glass.
Cracks spread like veins across the core's crystalline surface, splintering until the entire dungeon trembled, groaning under the sheer weight of its own imminent collapse.
As his vision dimmed, Lancelot's consciousness began to fragment, slipping into a dark, hazy state.
Yet even within this creeping void, he couldn't escape the suffocating grip of fear—a primal, unshakable dread that clawed at him, refusing to let him sink into oblivion peacefully.
As he began falling down, he saw it.
The young man stood before him, his back straight but marred by a horrifying sight—thousands of eyes began to open along his spine and shoulders, each blinking into existence like stars in the abyss.
The eyes bore down on him, unblinking and cold, as if dissecting his very soul.
Lancelot's last shred of will was only nothing but fear…
The young man tilted his head, In a voice laced with eerie calm, he murmured,
"I suppose… a little gift wouldn't hurt."
Before Lancelot could comprehend the words, darkness expanded from the young man's mouth, a void of infinite depth that twisted and warped the air around it.
It moved with unnatural fluidity, coiling toward him with a predatory hunger.
In an instant, it surged forward, engulfing Lancelot, pulling him into a maw of consuming blackness.
….
As my vision cleared, I blinked, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. Iron walls, dimly lit and uncomfortably close, loomed around me.
Cold, heavy chains ran down from my wrists, binding my hands tightly in magical cuffs.
The slight hum of mana pulsed faintly from them, locking me down to the rickety wooden stool beneath me.
Every movement sent a jolt of pain through my body, stiff and sore from whatever had happened before this.
"Where… am I?" I muttered, my voice rough.
"Finally awake, I see," a voice murmured.
Looking up, I saw Professor Amelia standing just a few feet away, her eyes wide and wary as she adjusted her glasses with trembling hands.
The professor I'd known for her composed, almost strict demeanor was now looking at me as if she were cornered by some wild animal.
"Professor…?" I called, confused and more than a little concerned.
My words didn't seem to calm her—instead, she took a step back, her wand rising in a defensive stance as her gaze stayed locked on me, a mixture of apprehension and dread in her eyes.
"D-Don't you dare move!" she stammered, her voice cracking. "J-Just… stay still."
'WTF?'