Chapter 80: Eternal Mirror
Amon’s blade rested steadily against Elias’s neck, conceptual frost already seeping into the old man’s skin, forming delicate ice crystals along his throat.
The Miraclad family head’s breathing was ragged, his once-dominant aura flickering like a dying flame.
The courtyard around them had become a wasteland of shattered stone, frozen corpses, and lingering sword energy that left the air itself feeling brittle.
Elias stared into Amon’s eyes, searching for even the faintest flicker of hesitation.
He found none.
"You... truly have become something else," Elias rasped, a bitter laugh escaping his bloodied lips. "The unawakened failure now holds the family’s fate in his hands. How ironic."
Amon’s expression remained unchanged. The Winter Frost Blade pressed a fraction closer, drawing a thin line of frozen blood.
"I won’t ask again. The coming calamity. The ancient eras before the dungeons descended. What do you know? How do you plan to survive it?"
Elias’s eyes darted briefly toward the ruined palace, as though hoping reinforcements would miraculously appear.
But the night remained silent, save for the crackling of ice and the distant groan of collapsing structures.
His elite forces were gone. His children, Marcus, Liora, and Darius, were already dead.
The weight of that realization settled heavily upon the old patriarch.
He coughed, spitting out a glob of frozen blood.
"You think killing me will save you? This world has already begun its decline. The dungeons are merely the first symptom. The veil between realms is thinning. Ancient seals placed by beings far beyond our comprehension are failing. When they break completely... everything will be consumed. Cities. Hunters. Even the strongest SSS-rank will be nothing but ants before what’s coming."
Amon’s God-rank Soul Sense probed deeper, sifting through Elias’s fluctuating emotions for lies.
There was fear, yes, but also a deep-seated certainty.
The old man believed every word.
"And your solution?" Amon pressed, his voice as cold as the blade at Elias’s neck. "A family as old as yours wouldn’t simply wait for death. You’ve hoarded knowledge and artifacts for generations. Speak."
Elias’s lips curled into a defiant sneer despite his dire position.
"Why should I tell you? You who turned your back on your bloodline? You who slaughtered your own kin without remorse?"
Amon’s response was simple.
He twisted the blade slightly.
The ice attribute flared, crawling down Elias’s shoulder and freezing his arm solid.
"You have no kin here," Amon said flatly. "Only answers I require. Speak, or I will peel them from your soul directly."
Elias gasped, sweat and blood mixing across his face.
The pain was unlike anything he had endured in a century.
His Eternal Bloodline Dominion technique was crumbling beneath the relentless frost. The phantom warriors he had summoned earlier had already dissipated like mist.
"Beneath... the ancestral shrine..." he wheezed, each word costing him strength. "There is a hidden vault. The Mirror of Eternal Cycles. It shows fragments of what lies ahead. We... we have been preparing a migration. A spatial bridge to another stable realm. But it requires immense power, sacrifice of bloodlines and ancient artifacts. Even then, success is not guaranteed."
Amon’s eyes narrowed.
A spatial bridge.
He had wondered about the existence of other worlds before, but had never dwelled on it.
Now... it seemed that might be the only option left.
"Where? How complete is it?"
Elias laughed weakly, the sound quickly turning into a cough.
"Complete enough that we would have succeeded in another decade. The Mirror revealed that the full collapse begins in roughly eight years. We planned to activate the bridge when the first major rifts appear. As for the location... only the family head knows the full coordinates. And that... is me."
Amon’s eyes narrowed.
His upgraded Danger Sense detected no immediate deception at the core of Elias’s words, though the old man was undoubtedly withholding finer details.
Amon’s gaze sharpened.
The half-truths were obvious. The spatial bridge coordinates, the true readiness of their escape plan, the exact timeline. Elias still believed he could withhold the most vital pieces even while bleeding out beneath the edge of a blade.
’This is taking too long,’ Amon thought coldly.
His mind drifted toward the newly acquired third fragment of the Ataroth Mask.
The description he had seen earlier flashed through his memory. The terrifying ability to turn those beneath his rank into chess pieces, controlling their every thought, action, and emotion like puppets beneath a god’s will.
Amon made his decision.
Although he wasn’t certain whether the Ataroth Mask would work, he felt that it should. Despite Elias possessing a higher rank, Amon himself was stronger.
Without any further hesitation, he reached up with his free hand and equipped the Ataroth Mask.
The artifact settled perfectly over his face, its divine presence merging seamlessly with his features.
A faint, oppressive aura radiated outward, subtle yet absolute.
At that moment, Amon felt the full weight of its power.
An omniscient perspective that rendered all secrets beneath him insignificant.
The mask’s first function activated instinctively, shielding his past, present, and future from any prying eyes below Supreme Monarch rank.
But it was the second function he needed now.
Amon’s eyes gleamed beneath the mask as he deliberately activated the second ability.
’Chess Piece.’
An invisible wave of divine authority erupted from the Ataroth Mask.
It descended upon Elias like the judgment of a god.
The old patriarch’s body convulsed violently.
His eyes widened in utter horror as his soul was forcibly suppressed and overwritten by an overwhelming external will.
Every trace of resistance crumbled instantly.
His thoughts, his defiance, his carefully guarded secrets. All of it became Amon’s to command.
Elias Miraclad, the SSS-rank family head, was now nothing more than a puppet.
"Lead me to the inner chamber," Amon commanded, his voice calm and laced with absolute authority. "Show me the Mirror of Eternal Cycles. Reveal every hidden detail about the calamity you have withheld. Do not resist. Do not omit anything."
Elias’s face twisted in pure despair.
His mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound of protest emerged.
His body moved against his own will, rising unsteadily like a broken marionette.
Trembling from head to toe, the once-proud family head began walking toward the depths of the ruined palace, guiding Amon through bloodstained corridors and hidden passages.
Amon followed silently, the Winter Frost Blade still resting in his grip.
They descended through collapsing halls lined with ancestral portraits that now seemed to stare down upon their fallen patriarch.
Elias’s hands moved mechanically, disabling one bloodline array after another.
Each step appeared to drain what little remained of his sanity.
They finally arrived at a heavily sealed inner chamber.
Massive stone doors etched with glowing runes barred the way.
Under the mask’s control, Elias performed the complex sequence required to open them.
The doors groaned open with a heavy rumble, revealing a sanctum bathed in dim, ethereal blue light.
The air inside was thick with ancient power.
At the center of the chamber floated the Mirror of Eternal Cycles, a grand artifact whose surface swirled like liquid mercury, pulsing with fragmented visions of time.
The moment they entered, the Mirror responded to Elias’s presence.
Its surface cleared, displaying far sharper and more urgent scenes than it had ever shown the old man before.
Elias stared at the mirror, his body shaking uncontrollably.
His voice broke into a horrified whisper.
"H-How... how is this possible?! The destruction of the world... it will occur in a month? Not eight years... one month?! This can’t be right! The Mirror has never shown timelines this short before! We... we aren’t ready! None of our preparations will matter!"
