The one retrieved from The Void

The Vice's concentration wavered further, his confidence eroding as he stared at The Cobalt, alive and standing. Out of everyone there, only Vas had believed in this outcome, and he had been proven right. That uncanny foresight—though rooted in Vas's meticulous use of Amendiares to monitor The Cobalt's vitals—cemented a growing mythos around him. The others began to see him as more than a strategist; they saw him as someone who might just know everything.

The Vice's hesitation was all Carmilla needed. With predatory precision, she closed the distance between them, her electrified claws igniting as she lunged. In a blur of motion, she raked them across his chest, carving four deep gashes that sizzled with searing electricity. Smoke rose from the wounds, visible burns spreading across The Vice's torso as he fell to his knees, his breaths shallow and labored.

He glared up at Carmilla, his face twisted in rage and desperation. Summoning every ounce of willpower, he raised his chains again, intent on one final attack—until his hand shot to his chest, clawing at it frantically.

"It's over," Vas said, his tone final.

"Why?" Yuu asked, her voice tinged with awe.

"The electricity," Vas explained. "Her claws messed with his heart. Now, it's struggling to keep up. He's likely going into cardiac arrest."

The Vice tried to rise, his chains clattering weakly to the ground. But his strength failed him. With a strangled gasp, he collapsed, his body trembling as the electricity continued its merciless assault on his failing heart.

The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of electricity in the air. All eyes were on Carmilla, her claws dripping blood, and Vas, whose calm predictions had once again proven eerily accurate.

Carmilla stood frozen, staring at The Vice's lifeless body sprawled across the floor. Her claws still crackled faintly with residual electricity, and her chest heaved as the weight of her actions bore down on her. The realization hit her like a tidal wave—this was the first time she had taken a human life. She had always known her mother's line of work as a mercenary and was aware of the blood that stained her family's history. But no stories or training could have prepared her for the reality of killing someone with her own hands.

Her thoughts swirled in chaos. Yes, The Vice was a threat, a criminal who would've killed them all without hesitation. Yes, she understood that she had done what was necessary. But none of that stopped the sinking sensation in her chest or the slight tremble in her hands.

"It's okay, Carmilla," Lily said softly, stepping closer and taking her hand. Her voice was soothing but firm, grounding Carmilla in the present. "It's okay not to be okay right now."

Vas, however, had already turned his focus elsewhere. Without pausing, he strode toward the center of the room, his voice calm but sharp. "Well done, Carmilla," he said without looking back. "I'll take it from here."

The Rose, watching from the sidelines, was still processing what had just happened. She couldn't quite grasp how events had spiraled so far out of her control. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. She had been confident that these children would be easy prey, little more than a fleeting challenge before she claimed what she wanted. But now, she found herself bound by not one but two Amrita Pacts, with no way to escape their constraints.

Her gaze lingered on Vas as he moved forward, the light from above casting an eerie glow on his figure. There was something unsettling about him—a boy, yet more imposing than any adult she had ever faced. The confidence with which he carried himself was unnerving, and the precision of his predictions had rattled her.

"What are you waiting for?" Vas called out, his voice slicing through the oppressive tension like a blade. He stopped in the room's center and turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "I'd like to get this over with. You owe me answers."

The Rose felt her stomach twist. She began walking toward him, her thoughts racing. They had said this boy wasn't bonded to any god, which had been a small comfort. That meant he relied solely on cybernetic enhancements and not the divine powers granted by the usurpers. Yet the certainty in his eyes made her uneasy. If he had no bond, where did he draw this fearlessness from?

She stepped into the center of the room, her ragged suit shifting as straps unfastened themselves, revealing patches of her pale skin. The inmates watching through the reinforced barriers erupted into a cacophony of shouts and whistles, their excitement grotesque in its intensity.

Vas remained unfazed. He didn't flinch, didn't even blink.

The Rose closed her eyes and muttered under her breath, her voice low but carrying an ominous weight. "Full bloom."

Suddenly, red roses began to materialize across the room, their petals unfurling in a silent, almost hypnotic display. The flowers grew larger and larger, their centers morphing into grotesque, malformed faces. Some of the faces smiled eerily, others frowned, and a few were twisted in expressions of sheer terror.

"Let me guess," Vas said, his voice calm despite the rising tension. "The faces of those you've consumed."

One of the faces let out a piercing scream, a sound so loud and shrill it felt as though it could shatter bone. Vas flicked his wrist, summoning his Tenebra blades. With a swift, precise motion, he severed the screaming rose.

For a moment, it seemed the attack had worked. But then, the fallen rose began to shift, its petals reassembling into a dark blue bloom. From the center of the blue rose, half of a human figure emerged, its face identical to the one that had screamed before.

"Interesting," Vas murmured, his voice devoid of fear.

The Rose tilted her head, a sly smile forming on her lips. "Those blades of yours, darling—where did you get them?"

"Who knows?" Vas replied coolly.

Before she could respond, Vas disappeared in a blur, reappearing behind her with a sudden slash aimed at her back. But the roses moved with a life of their own, shielding her from the attack.

The Rose smirked, her confidence returning. "My abilities are far more intricate than you think, dear."

Vas's expression didn't change, though his mind was analyzing her powers at lightning speed. The roses she summoned were fascinating but dangerous, each with unique properties that complicated the battle. The red roses unleashed flames from their falling petals. The blue ones emitted devastating sound waves. The white roses fired deadly thorns—likely laced with poison, though Vas couldn't confirm it yet. The pink roses, with whip-like limbs, lashed out with terrifying speed. And then there were the black roses—grotesque amalgamations of male and female forms that wielded all the abilities of the other roses combined.

As he fought, Vas couldn't help but admire the eerie beauty of her creations. The grotesque half-human figures born from the roses were simultaneously repulsive and mesmerizing, a grim testament to the twisted artistry of The Rose's abilities.

Despite the onslaught, Vas remained composed. He darted between attacks with precision, cutting down roses when he could and evading their counterstrikes when he couldn't. But with every rose he destroyed, another seemed to take its place, each one growing larger and more menacing than the last.

For a fleeting moment, Vas allowed himself a thought: What kind of spirit could give someone powers like this?

Vas surveyed the battlefield, his calculating gaze dissecting every movement, every attack. The truth was clear—he couldn't win. At least, not the way he was fighting now. It wasn't about skill or strength but strategy. While he had ideas to increase his versatility, none were viable at the moment. For now, he needed to focus on analyzing The Rose's abilities, piecing together a counterstrategy with each passing moment.

The onslaught was relentless: bursts of fire, piercing soundwaves, poison-tipped thorns, and whip-like lashes darting through the air. Vas evaded with precision, each movement a testament to his mastery of combat. Yet, as time stretched on, it became increasingly clear that he was playing a dangerous game. He couldn't keep this up forever.

One win. One draw. He couldn't afford to lose.

"Come on, darling," The Rose cooed, her voice lilting with mockery. "Surely, you can do better than this."

Vas's expression remained calm, though his eyes gleamed with something darker. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to resort to this now," he replied, his tone a quiet warning.

Then, to everyone's shock, Vas stopped dodging.

The thorns struck true, embedding themselves deep into his flesh. Blood seeped from the wounds, painting crimson streaks down his arms and legs. For a moment, it seemed as though he had miscalculated, the cold precision that defined him cracking under the pressure.

But then, something monstrous happened.

The thorns began to push themselves out of his body, one by one, as if rejected by an unseen force. His wounds began to knit together almost instantly, flesh reforming as though time itself had reversed. The blood that dripped moments ago now seemed inconsequential.

The Rose's smirk faltered, her confidence wavering as confusion crept into her expression.

Vas's voice broke the stunned silence, calm yet clinical. "Poisoned thorns," he said, his tone tinged with mild disappointment. "Weak enough that Audron's power nullifies them entirely."

The crowd behind the barriers stood frozen, their collective breaths caught in their throats. The Vas they thought they knew—the precise, calculating fighter—was gone, replaced by something far more terrifying. He was no longer just a strategist; he was an indomitable force.