The only two apexes not from the superior races still in the competition were Atticus and Ae'ark. The latter had battled the Demon apex and won, while the former had defeated the Dragon apex.

It went without saying that the number of eyes on Atticus's screen increased significantly, especially when everyone saw who he was paired with for the next battle.

The excitement in the human domain quickly died down. Many couldn't help but curse at the bad luck of it all. Did the universe hate humans so much?

Anastasia's grip on Avalon's arm tightened, and Avalon's gaze grew utterly serious. In fact, the entire Ravenstein estate had fallen silent, everyone staring intensely at the screen.

Atticus's next opponent was strong.

In every Nexus event, there were always speculations about who would win, based on past performances, facts, and pure ability.

It went without saying that humans had never been part of those lists. However, there was one race that, though it wasn't openly stated, was inwardly known to be the most dangerous.

This race had the highest win rate since the Nexus began and was hosting this year's Verietega Nexus.

…

Atticus's cold blue eyes snapped open. He found himself standing at one end of a pathway that stretched endlessly before him.

All around him were floating platforms hovering in the distance, and below, underneath the pathway, was an enormous pit that encompassed everything.

'That's deep,' he thought.

The pit was completely pitch black, and despite the sharpness of his eyesight, Atticus couldn't see its bottom.

After examining his surroundings carefully, Atticus performed a brief inspection of himself.

'Nothing's changed, and I still have my flags,' he noted.

His elements and mana weren't being restricted, and his will was already at full power.

With that, Atticus turned his gaze forward and began walking. The pathway was about 10 meters wide, made of a material he couldn't identify.

He tried using his earth element to probe it, but it didn't respond—it wasn't made of any earth molecules. It wasn't earth.

Minutes passed as Atticus continued his steady pace, never once quickening his steps. He was determined to take his time and not rush.

Onlookers continued to watch him intently, anticipating the inevitable encounter that was soon to come.

Soon enough, Atticus's eyes flashed, his expression hardening.

"So… it's him."

A figure emerged from the haze of distorted space, each step slow, deliberate, as if time itself bowed to his command.

The ground beneath his feet rippled in waves, rejecting the weight of his presence.

His silver hair, glowing faintly against his ethereal, translucent skin, trailed behind him like a banner of dominance.

The air vibrated violently with the pressure of his approach, the world seemingly caged by the overwhelming gravity of his will.

Carion Valarius, the apex of the Dimensari race.

His gaze, though fixed on Atticus, seemed distant, as if he existed beyond time itself.

Atticus's steps didn't pause, his gaze didn't once flinch as it held Carion's.

Somehow, the sounds of their footsteps matched, echoing through the eerie quiet of the arena.

The entire world held its breath as both figures abruptly stopped exactly 20 meters apart. A distance that wasn't truly a distance considering who they were.

One minute passed, and they simply stood there, watching, observing.

The silence was suffocating. The people of the human domain felt as though they might rip their hair out in frustration.

Why were they both just standing there?

Their weapons were sheathed, vibrating with intensity, yet neither of them moved.

Another minute passed, and finally, one of them broke the silence.

The space around them abruptly thickened as a barrier formed, enveloping them both. Atticus didn't move; he knew why Carion was forming the barrier.

"You saved the Dragon apex. Why?" Carion asked.

Atticus responded with another question. "You're responsible for this death game?"

Carion frowned. That blatant disregard—it irked him. Nevertheless, he responded.

"This death game is happening because it is necessary. The weak must be culled, and only the strong deserve to remain. After this competition, I will kill that reptile you spared. One apex shall walk away today. The rest are nothing more than sacrifices."

Carion's voice remained measured, cold, and steady, as if he were simply stating an undeniable truth.

"Your reason was obvious. I can see it in your eyes. You think it's important—friends, family, unity, compassion—these are all shackles. They bind you, hold you back, weaken your resolve. While you waste your strength protecting others, I have freed myself from such distractions. Family—it's nothing but a prison for the weak-minded, a burden that forces you to compromise. All those bonds you cling to will eventually betray you, weigh you down, and, in the end, destroy you. Alone is the only true power."

"Yet… you have proven yourself useful. To have such strong will, even with all your limitations, is impressive. I'll give you that. But it's wasted on sentiment. Subordinate yourself to me, and I will allow you to live."

"Become my slave. Refusal means death."

Carion spoke without pause, his tone blunt and authoritative, as though he were a god addressing a worshiper—doing Atticus a favor simply by offering him the chance to live.

Atticus's response was simple. "No."

Carion tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing.

The rejection didn't surprise him, but it irritated him nonetheless. Atticus was an anomaly—a variable he hadn't accounted for. Carion despised failure, and this defiance was something he would not tolerate.

"Okay."

Carion's hands moved behind his back in a smooth, unhurried motion. His posture relaxed, but Atticus felt it.

The space around them shifted—subtle, almost imperceptible. Atticus's instincts screamed at him. His guard snapped up, and his mana churned.

The ground beneath him cracked as he shot forward, his blade flashing.

But as he moved, he immediately realized something was wrong. Carion wasn't moving, yet the distance between them wasn't closing.

In fact, Carion seemed to be getting farther away. The harder Atticus pushed, the more distorted the space became, like he was trapped in an invisible, expanding chasm.

Atticus's expression turned frigid.