My SSS-Rank Class Is Blood Monarch!

The world twisted.

In a single instant, everything around Arthur—sound, sensation, time itself—bent into something alien. From the far side of the platform, Nameless froze. He had been mid-motion, dragging the prisoners closer to the abyss, shouting his proclamations of divine purpose. But now, the only thing that existed in his mind were those eyes.

Crimson. Blazing. Unnatural.

Arthur’s eyes, glowing in the darkness like twin dying stars, pierced across the chasm and locked onto him. Nameless’s breath caught in his throat. His knees buckled as if the very ground beneath him had turned to liquid. A tremble erupted from the pit of his stomach and rippled through every bone and nerve in his body.

He didn’t understand it—couldn’t understand it. He had witnessed horrors, stared into the abyss, communed with sealed Gods and wishes to release them into the world. He’d watched worlds crumble under divine will with a wide smile on his face, yet nothing, nothing, had ever caused this… this fear. That soul-twisting fear that threatened to crush his mind and bend his perception in a single instant.

It was a fear that transcended survival or life or death… It transcended the concept of fear itself, reaching a level that simply defined itself and Nameless felt every single second of it, vivid and strong like a pulsating heart within his ribcage.

“What… is this?” he whispered hoarsely, his voice a scratchy rasp as his hands hit the ground. The cold stone scraped his palms, but he barely registered the pain. “Why… Why do I feel like this? What are those eyes?”

A storm of questions battered his thoughts, but none had answers. Nameless, who had always mocked fear as a weakness for the ignorant, now trembled under its weight. His instincts screamed the same command over and over again: kneel.

And so, he did. With no resistance, he fell to his knees, then to his hands too, standing on all four as he tried to breathe and calm down. Even as he stared down, the eyes seemed to pierce through his skull and stare right into his mind, not giving him a moment of rest.

Across the platform, Arthur panted heavily, shoulders hunched forward, his entire body quaking under the weight of power he could barely contain. His breath came in ragged, hissing gasps. Every pulse of energy that surged through his eyes felt like fire was peeling them from their sockets.

His vision blurred, then sharpened unnaturally. Red light surged from him like a beacon, turning the surrounding darkness crimson. His skin glistened with sweat, and his body spasmed under the intensity.

But the worst wasn’t the pain.

It was the voice. The whispers that had haunted the edges of his mind now shouted in unison, sending him the same message he heard a hundred times already. But, for some reason, these messages seemed to fuel something within him… This anger he was feeling kept rising, bubbling to the top as it broke every limit Arthur had set before.

The thoughts weren’t his—but they were. They dug into his skull, wrapping around his soul like barbed vines. Arthur’s rational mind screamed at him to resist, but it was muffled, distant. Buried beneath a rising tide of fury and hatred that consumed everything else.

He locked his gaze on Nameless, still crouched and reeling, and a twisted grin spread across Arthur’s face. Not from joy. Not from satisfaction. But from the unrelenting need to destroy.

“Kill,” Arthur whispered hoarsely, voice guttural. “I want to see blood. I want to feel it on my hands. I want to drown in it…”

And yet, his body refused to move—still bound in those cursed shackles. He tugged violently, his wrists raw and bleeding, but the chains only mocked his efforts. He didn’t care that his skin was peeling right off his bones or the blood gushing out of these fresh injuries… It all felt like nothing. Truly nothing.

His eyes, however, burned brighter.

His instinct screamed something else: the shard.

Arthur’s thoughts turned inward, into the glowing embers of his mind, and his consciousness drifted toward the menu—the one he’d nearly forgotten in his rage. With a flick of will, it opened. And there it was: the Divine Shard, pulsing gently in its slot.

His hand trembled as he summoned it into existence, the metal feeling both cold and searing in his palm. It hovered for a breath, then settled into his grasp like it had been waiting for this very moment.

On the other side of the chasm, chaos had erupted.

Germa had nearly disappeared into the abyss, his body limp and dangling over the edge. But the other prisoners hadn’t let go. They had screamed his name, thrown themselves forward, and caught the chain just in time. A dozen hands grabbed hold, their bodies dragging against the stone as they fought back against Nameless’s strength.

“Don’t let go!” one of them shouted, teeth clenched.

“Pull! Pull him back!”

Germa’s face was a mask of agony, his eyes bulging as the chain around his neck threatened to snap his spine or strangle the life out of him. His fingers bled from gripping the links, and his feet kicked weakly in the air. He didn’t dare look down—not at what waited in the abyss.

“No!” Nameless growled, his voice breaking with madness. He clawed his way toward the chain like a wounded animal, dragging his body with single-minded purpose. “Stop it! You can’t ruin this—not now!”

With a burst of fury, Nameless seized the chain again and yanked with all his strength. The prisoners shrieked as several were thrown off balance, their bodies slamming into the stone.

Germa coughed violently, blood spraying from his mouth as the chain tightened once more. “Ugh—G-God—dammit…!” he gasped.

Nameless stood now, hunched and snarling. His face twisted, no longer calm or controlled. The refined, collected mask had cracked—no, shattered—and what emerged was a man possessed.

“Why do you keep resisting?! Why do you defy salvation?! You should be grateful!” he bellowed, his voice raw. “You’re all insects crawling in the dirt while I build a new world! This is your place! You’re nothing without this purpose!”

His eyes were wild, frothing with fury and delusion. His words came faster now, almost incoherent.

“They laughed at me! They said I was insane! But I was right! They’ll all see! When the God awakens, they’ll beg me to guide them! I AM THE PROPHET OF THIS NEW WORLD!!!”

Another yank. More screams. One of the prisoners slammed face-first into the edge and didn’t get back up.

Arthur’s breathing slowed.

His body trembled.

But it was not weakness.

The Divine Shard flared in his hand, light cracking from its surface. It pulsed with his heartbeat, responding to his rage—no, to the will that had begun to overtake him. He didn’t know if it was simply a coincidence or if the shard truly felt this weird change in him and Arthur didn’t really care to know. Instead, he slowly lifted the shard in the air, right above his head where its light could shine the brightest.

The whispers no longer sounded foreign. They felt familiar. Like home.

And then… The entire world became quiet again.

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