No one moved.
Not because they are scared to move, but because they couldn't.
The battlefield stood frozen—not with the tension of a standoff, nor the hesitation before an attack, but with something deeper, something that gnawed at the very core of human instinct. It was the silence of prey when they finally understood their place in the world.
The weight of Yanwei's words pressed down on them like an unseen hand, curling around their throats, choking the very air from their lungs. It wasn't just fear—it was something crueler, something more insidious. Fear could be overcome. But this? This was the slow, dawning realization that everything they had ever believed in, everything they had built their lives upon, was nothing more than a fragile illusion waiting to be shattered.
And Yanwei had shattered it with nothing more than idle amusement.
Zhang clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms, but even the sharp sting of pain couldn't ground him. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but the echo of those cold, dismissive words.
"I simply enjoy playing with the lives of geniuses."
Even now, even as the truth settled in his mind like a lead weight, Zhang still couldn't fully grasp it. No, more than that—he didn't want to grasp it.
It was absurd. Impossible.
How could someone speak of such devastation so lightly? How could someone trample over lives, over the struggles and dreams of those who had clawed their way to the top, as if it were nothing more than an idle game?
His chest heaved. His vision blurred at the edges, not from tears, but from the sheer, unbearable weight of it all.
For the first time in his life, Zhang felt the meaninglessness of his own ideals pressing down on him.
What did it mean to be a hero in the face of something like this?
What did it mean to dream of saving millions when someone like Yanwei existed?
Yet, even as doubt clawed at his mind, even as he stood there, trapped beneath the suffocating weight of his own helplessness, he forced himself to move.
His throat was dry, his voice barely more than a whisper, but he spoke anyway.
"Then… what is your actual goal?"
Yanwei's abyss-like eyes flickered with something unreadable.
Zhang's breath hitched, but he didn't stop. He had to understand. He had to grasp something.
"To the point that you even surrendered your own glory," Zhang continued, his voice growing steadier despite the pounding in his chest.
For a brief moment, silence stretched between them.
Then—
Yanwei laughed.
Not the light chuckle from before, not the amused hum of someone merely toying with his prey.
No, this was something far more twisted.
A low, trembling sound at first—then rising, spiraling into something unhinged, something raw and unfettered. His head tilted back slightly, his lips curling into something almost ecstatic. His laughter carried through the battlefield, vibrating in their bones, crawling beneath their skin.
Zhang swallowed hard, his fingers trembling at his sides.
And then—Yanwei grinned.
"My goal?" His voice dripped with something almost reverent. "It is to become a perfect organism."
Zhang's brow furrowed, confusion flickering across his face.
Yanwei caught it instantly, and his grin widened, eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
"It is the only possible way to reach Rank 10," he continued, his voice smooth, unhurried. "It is not absolute, surely…"
Then his lips stretched further, his teeth bared in something close to madness.
"But so what?"
Zhang felt something cold slither down his spine.
Yanwei's shoulders shook with laughter—low and rasping, like a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough, a man staring into the abyss and loving what he saw.
Zhang's breath was ragged, his body trembling—not just from fear, but from sheer disbelief. His thoughts were in disarray, his mind unable to accept the very foundation of what Yanwei was suggesting.
Rank 10? A realm beyond Rank 9?
A hollow laugh escaped his throat, one filled with incredulity rather than amusement.
"Impossible," Zhang spat, his voice laced with equal parts denial and desperation. "There is no existence beyond Rank 9! To me, they are saviors—the gods, the heroes!"
Yanwei stopped laughing.
For a brief moment, there was silence.
Then, his lips curled into something wilder, something wrong.
Yanwei's shoulders shook with laughter—low and rasping, like a scientist on the verge of a breakthrough, a man staring into the abyss and loving what he saw.
"Impossible?" Yanwei echoed, his voice carrying a strange, almost tender amusement—like a scientist hearing a child's theory on the world.
Then he laughed.
It started slow, quiet—shoulders trembling, chest rising with barely restrained mirth. But then it unraveled. A sharp, breathless burst of laughter, wild and unhinged, tearing through the suffocating silence like the sound of something breaking.
Zhang flinched. It wasn't just madness—it was certainty.
Yanwei's grin widened, too sharp, too eager, his abyss-like eyes alight with something too deep to name.
"What a pathetic little notion." His voice dipped, no longer carrying amusement—just something cold, something absolute.
"The only people who speak of impossibility are those too small to defy it."
His laughter hadn't fully faded, but his words crashed over them like a tidal wave, drowning out everything else. Zhang felt it then—that gnawing, suffocating sensation tightening around his chest.
Yanwei wasn't trying to convince him.
He was stating a fact.
…
Yanwei's laughter faded, but the unsettling energy it left behind still crawled beneath their skin, seeping into the very air they breathed. His abyss-like eyes gleamed with something unreadable—something both knowing and detached, as if he had already seen the outcome of everything.
Then, with a slow, almost leisurely tilt of his head, he smiled again.
"Now that the question and answer session is done…" His voice carried an easy, almost playful lilt, yet there was something sickening beneath it. Something inevitable. "I am going to do a rating."
He raised a single bloodstained finger and tapped it lightly against his temple, as if considering something truly trivial.
"Let's see… if any of you deserve to survive."
A moment of pure, deafening stillness followed.
Then—
The weight of it slammed into them.
The final verdict. The last moment before judgment.
A chance? No.
This wasn't a chance. This was the breath before execution.
It was the moment before the hammer fell, before the sword swung, before the abyss itself opened and swallowed them whole.
Some trembled. Some refused to breathe.
The burly man felt his knees threaten to buckle. The woman clenched her jaw so tightly it felt like her teeth might crack. The skinny man, despite himself, took an instinctive step back—only to realize he couldn't move.
No one could.
Because no one was allowed to.
Yanwei's presence alone had locked them in place, trapped them in his unseen grasp like puppets dangling on invisible strings.
And yet, what truly suffocated them was not the force itself.
It was the way he looked at them.
Not as enemies. Not as threats.
But as things.
Zhang felt it worst of all. He could hear the blood pounding in his ears, the weight of those abyss-like eyes crushing down on him with the same inevitability as the sky itself.
He wanted to speak.
To say something.
But what words could possibly matter now?
Yanwei let the silence stretch, savoring the way it curled around them like a noose. Then, as if struck by a sudden realization, he let out a soft chuckle, tilting his head with mock consideration.
"Zhang… you might actually have a chance."
It was a simple sentence. Careless. Almost playful.
And yet, it shattered Zhang's mind.
A chance?
A chance to survive?
For the first time since this nightmare began, something flickered within him. A way out. A path forward.
But at what cost?
He had devoted his entire life to ideals, to the belief that power should be wielded for the sake of others. That those who stood at the peak existed to protect, to guide, to save.
Yanwei was the complete opposite.
A demon in human skin. A monster that should not exist.
Could he live under someone like that?
No.
Would he?
…That was a different question entirely.
The answer twisted within him like a blade, tearing through his convictions, his pride, his very soul.
Live as a subordinate of a demon… or die as a hero?
He gritted his teeth. The answer was obvious.
He would survive.
And then—one day—he would kill Yanwei.
The thought felt like swallowing poison. But that was fine. He had already abandoned his past self. The Zhang who believed in righteousness and promised to himself he won't commit a betrayal? The Zhang who would rather die than bend?
That man was already dead.
Zhang lifted his head, breathing deeply, steadying himself. He was about to open his mouth—to accept, to bind himself to this nightmare—
And then—
A blur. A crack of movement faster than thought.
Yanwei's hand slammed down.
Zhang didn't even have time to react before his skull caved under the force, his vision fracturing into shards of agony and darkness.
There was no hesitation. No final words. No moment of understanding.
Yanwei's lips curled into a smile, the kind that was far too bright for the sheer cruelty it carried. His eyes, dark and endless, gleamed with something unreadable—something thrilled, as if he had just crushed a particularly amusing insect beneath his heel. His expression was relaxed, almost casual, like a child toying with a wind-up doll just to see how it would break.
Then, in the same breath that he had shattered Zhang's skull—
"Just kidding, hehe."