The Last Rule of Death

“Family.”

Etzel stared at the moving marker.

All humor had disappeared from his face.

“Yeah.”

He grabbed his spear and started walking.

“Etzel.”

Renn’s voice followed him.

Etzel didn’t stop.

“Don’t.”

“You don’t know that candidate is targeting your family.”

“It’s heading toward my district.”

“A district containing thousands of people.”

Etzel stopped.

His hand tightened around the spear.

For half a second, he wanted to keep walking anyway.

Veydan.

Ismera.

Neris.

Home.

The marker was moving toward all of them.

But Renn was right.

His family wasn’t the only family there.

Etzel turned back toward the regional display.

“Show me the route.”

Renn expanded Candidate Seven.

The red line stretched across the eastern residential sector.

Etzel leaned closer.

Something was wrong.

The line wasn’t going toward his house.

Not exactly.

It was moving several blocks north.

“What’s there?”

Halven worked the terminal.

“Checking.”

A file appeared.

Old.

Nearly obsolete.

Renn read it first.

“Emergency Hunter shelter.”

Etzel looked at him.

“Active?”

“No. It was converted into a registration relay after the Rupture. Most of its functions were shut down two years ago.”

“Most?”

“Emergency identity infrastructure remains.”

Etzel stared at the route.

Then understood.

“Not my family.”

DK stood beside him.

“Identities.”

Etzel nodded.

“Yeah.”

Relief came.

Small.

Temporary.

The candidate wasn’t hunting Neris.

It wasn’t hunting Ismera or Veydan.

But it was moving into their neighborhood.

And if it succeeded—

Etzel had already seen what happened when an Anchor began opening.

He pulled out his communicator.

“I’m calling them.”

Renn nodded.

No argument.

Ismera answered on the third ring.

“Etzel?”

“Mom. I need you to listen.”

Silence.

His tone had done what explanations could not.

“All right.”

“Take Dad and Neris. Leave the house.”

“What happened?”

“I’ll explain later.”

“Etzel—”

“Authority is issuing evacuation routes. Go to the nearest designated shelter that isn’t in our district. Don’t use the old Hunter emergency site north of us.”

Another pause.

“Are we in danger?”

Etzel looked at the red marker.

“Yes.”

He hated saying it.

But lying would be worse.

“Immediate?”

“Not if you leave now.”

He heard movement.

A chair scraping.

Then Ismera calling Veydan’s name.

Good.

No panic.

No wasted questions.

She returned.

“Are you coming?”

Etzel didn’t answer immediately.

DK looked at him.

So did Renn.

“No.”

The word felt heavier than expected.

“I have to stop it.”

Ismera was silent.

Etzel waited for the argument.

It didn’t come.

Instead:

“Then come home afterward.”

Etzel closed his eyes for half a second.

“I will.”

A distant voice shouted through the communicator.

“Tell him not to do anything stupid!”

Etzel blinked.

Neris.

He almost smiled.

“Tell her that request is discriminatory.”

“I CAN HEAR YOU!”

There it was.

The smile came.

Small.

But real.

“Good. Then pack faster.”

“You—”

Etzel ended the call.

He looked at the communicator.

Halven raised an eyebrow.

“Discriminatory?”

“She has unrealistic expectations.”

DK spoke.

“She knows you well.”

Etzel pointed at him.

“This is not the time.”

Then he looked at Renn.

“My family is moving.”

“So are the other evacuation teams.”

Renn brought the regional map back up.

Seven markers.

Seven routes.

Seven possible disasters.

Etzel stared at them.

“What are you sending?”

“Everything.”

The Authority did not wait for Etzel to save the city.

That mattered.

Teams were already moving.

Candidate One was approaching the city center.

Two A-Rank Hunters and four B-Ranks were being redirected there.

Candidate Two was moving toward an active dungeon zone.

A containment team had been ordered to evacuate nearby Hunters and seal the dungeon perimeter.

Candidate Three was crossing the western forest.

Candidate Four was heading toward the industrial district.

Candidate Five toward the southern transit corridor.

Candidate Six had changed direction twice and was currently moving through an abandoned commercial sector.

Candidate Seven—

Etzel’s.

Renn began assigning personnel.

“Halven goes with you.”

Halven nodded.

“Two C-Rank response Hunters will meet you en route.”

Etzel looked at Renn.

“That’s it?”

“You have an A-Rank.”

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Everyone looked at DK.

Etzel sighed.

“I’m officially D-Rank, you know.”

Halven started walking.

“Unfortunately.”

DK followed.

“Low.”

Etzel stopped.

He stared at DK.

“This joke has become workplace harassment.”

DK walked past him.

“I do not work here.”

“That somehow makes it worse.”

Renn tossed Etzel a compact Authority communicator.

“No regional authentication. Local encrypted channel only.”

Etzel caught it.

“You finally learned not to trust your own network.”

Renn looked at him.

“You’re still here.”

“Fair.”

They moved.

The transport vehicle was armored.

Fast.

And uncomfortable.

Etzel sat opposite DK while Halven coordinated with the two C-Ranks following in another vehicle.

Saeva sat on Etzel’s shoulder.

She had refused to return to Soul Space.

Etzel had tried twice.

She had ignored him twice.

Apparently summons could develop selective obedience.

Fantastic.

He opened his System.

Witness of the First Flaw responded.

But not how he wanted.

Etzel focused on the advantage he had used beneath the Authority facility: Authorization Severance.

Nothing.

He tried again.

A notification appeared.

Etzel stared at the words.

“Great.”

Halven looked up.

“What?”

“My enemy updates.”

DK’s voice came from across the vehicle.

“So do you.”

Etzel slowly looked at him.

“That was unexpectedly motivational.”

DK remained completely serious.

Etzel narrowed his eyes.

“Was that intentional?”

“No.”

“Better.”

He dismissed the System window.

But the message mattered.

The flaw beneath the Authority facility had been Borrowed Authorization.

He had understood that specific structure.

That specific Anchor.

That specific method.

If these things had changed the process—

Witness wouldn’t hand him yesterday’s answer.

He would have to earn another one.

Etzel leaned back.

“They learned.”

Halven looked at him.

“From what?”

“Us.”

The vehicle went quiet.

The old emergency shelter looked abandoned.

Because it was.

Concrete walls.

Faded Authority markings.

A rusting security gate.

No civilians.

Evacuation teams had cleared the surrounding streets before Etzel arrived.

The Candidate Seven marker sat directly over the building.

But there was no Edran Vale.

No duplicate Hunter.

No black filaments.

No distortion.

Nothing.

Etzel stepped out of the vehicle.

DK followed.

The two C-Rank Hunters arrived behind them.

A woman carrying a short spear.

A broad-shouldered man with reinforced gauntlets.

Halven began introductions.

Etzel raised a hand.

“Later.”

He looked at the shelter.

“Something’s wrong.”

The female C-Rank frowned.

“We know.”

“No.”

Etzel pointed at the building.

“I mean something is wrong with how normal it looks.”

DK drew the Hellscript Greatblade.

Its runes remained dark.

Etzel walked toward the entrance.

“Nobody touches anything.”

Halven followed.

“Why?”

“Because that’s usually when something touches us.”

The security gate had already been forced open.

Not recently.

Years ago, judging by the corrosion.

They entered.

Dust covered the floor.

Rows of old emergency beds filled the first chamber.

Storage cabinets stood open and empty.

Faded instructions remained painted across the walls.

Old Authority arrows directed Hunters toward registration.

Saeva moved closer to Etzel’s neck.

He noticed.

“You see something?”

She shook her head.

That wasn’t comforting.

They continued.

The registration hall waited at the end of the corridor.

Five terminals.

Four dark.

One glowing.

Etzel stopped.

The others stopped with him.

The screen displayed a single line.

Halven slowly turned.

“Did you log in?”

“No.”

DK’s Greatblade came free.

Etzel stared at the screen.

“Well.”

The female C-Rank raised her spear.

“It knows you.”

“Everybody knows me lately.”

The terminal changed.

Etzel’s humor vanished.

“No, it isn’t.”

Another line.

Etzel checked his communicator.

Offline.

His Hunter card was still inside his jacket.

The Authority network had been severed.

No external verification.

No handshake.

Nothing that should allow this terminal to authenticate him.

Yet it had.

Etzel took one slow step backward.

“It changed.”

Halven looked at him.

“How?”

“Last time it needed the network.”

The terminal flickered.

Etzel’s name remained.

“This time it doesn’t.”

The doors slammed shut.

All of them.

The C-Rank man spun toward the entrance.

“Locked.”

“Don’t break them yet,” Etzel said.

“Why?”

“Because I’m tired of feeding things.”

One by one—

the other terminals turned on.

Five screens.

Then old emergency displays along the walls.

Then ceiling monitors that should not have had power.

Names appeared.

Hundreds.

Some Etzel recognized from Authority files.

Others he didn’t.

Living Hunters.

Missing Hunters.

Dead Hunters.

Names changed faster.

Faster.

Faster.

Then stopped.

Every screen showed the same thing:

ETZEL DEYMAR

Etzel stared.

“Okay.”

Saeva screamed.

“Empty!”

Everyone turned.

Etzel looked toward the room.

“Where?”

Saeva pointed.

At him.

Silence.

Etzel blinked.

“Me?”

“Empty!”

DK moved instantly.

One moment beside him.

The next—

between Etzel and every terminal in the room.

Greatblade raised.

Etzel stared at Saeva.

She was frightened.

Not confused.

Not uncertain.

Frightened.

“Why am I empty?”

Saeva shook her head violently.

“Empty!”

“That is becoming less helpful with repetition.”

Then his System exploded into view.

Pain hit him.

He staggered.

DK caught his shoulder.

The screens changed.

[ETZEL DEYMAR]

(Flicker)

[ETZEL DEYMAR?]

(Flicker)

[— DEYMAR]

Etzel grabbed his head.

Something was pulling.

Not his body.

Not even his Soul.

Something stranger.

The connection between him—

and the System’s recognition of him.

His name felt distant.

His Level.

His Hunter status.

His registered existence.

Even the interface blurred.

DK’s voice reached him.

“Etzel.”

Far away.

Etzel tried to answer.

Nothing came out.

The pressure increased.

“Etzel.”

The Soul Link distorted.

For one terrible instant—

DK’s presence became faint.

Then DK tightened his grip.

“Master.”

The word cut through everything.

Etzel’s eyes opened.

DK was there.

Not because the Authority recognized him.

Not because the System displayed Etzel Deymar.

Not because of a Hunter ID.

The bond remained.

Damaged.

Distorted.

But real.

Etzel looked at DK.

Then at Saeva.

She was still connected too.

Something clicked.

Identity.

Soul.

Not the same thing.

“You can take the ID.”

Halven looked at him.

“What?”

Etzel forced himself upright.

The screens flickered: [ETZEL DEYMAR?]

“You can take the name.”

The pressure intensified.

Etzel smiled through it.

“But neither of those is me.”

For a moment—

the pull weakened.

Etzel waited.

Nothing.

No System confirmation.

No Witness.

Good.

Not enough.

He hadn’t found the flaw.

He had only understood himself.

Then the ceiling broke.

DK moved first.

A body dropped through.

Human-shaped.

Almost.

Its face belonged to Halven.

Then the female C-Rank.

Then Renn.

Then Etzel.

Features slid across its skull like masks beneath liquid skin.

The C-Rank woman recoiled.

“What the hell is that?”

A second body fell behind them.

Then a third.

DK attacked.

The Hellscript Greatblade ignited.

Red runes burned through black steel.

He crossed the room in a blur.

One creature swung.

DK removed the arm.

Black filaments sprayed from the wound.

He rotated.

Shielded Etzel with his body.

The second creature struck the Infernal Sovereign armor.

CLANG.

DK didn’t move.

He drove the Greatblade through its torso.

But stopped before destroying the core.

Controlled.

Still learning.

Still obeying.

Halven and the two C-Ranks joined the fight.

The gauntleted Hunter intercepted the third creature.

The woman’s spear punched through its knee.

Etzel wanted to help.

His body could.

His identity couldn’t.

Every time he reached for his System—

the pressure increased.

He dropped to one knee again.

DK was fighting for him.

Not beside him.

For him.

And Etzel hated it.

But forcing himself into the battle would solve nothing.

So he did the harder thing.

He thought.

Saeva landed in front of him.

“Etzel.”

“I know.”

She touched his forehead.

“Name.”

Etzel frowned.

Then she touched his chest.

“Etzel.”

He stared at her.

She did it again.

Forehead.

“Name.”

Chest.

“Etzel.”

The room seemed to quiet.

Not literally.

DK was currently putting a creature through a wall.

But inside Etzel—

something settled.

He looked at the System message:

Not: Soul stolen.

Not: Soul compromised.

Authorization.

Representation.

Permission.

The thing attacking him could touch what the System called him.

But not what he was.

Necromancer remained.

DK remained.

Saeva remained.

The Soul Link remained.

Etzel slowly looked toward the terminals.

“You don’t steal people.”

The screens flickered.

His name appeared again: ETZEL DEYMAR

“You steal what the System calls them.”

One monitor shattered.

Etzel smiled.

“Didn’t like that?”

Still—

no Witness.

One piece remained missing.

What did the stolen identity actually do?

Why steal it?

Etzel looked at the Anchor Candidate marker on his communicator.

Still here.

But no Anchor had begun forming.

No opening sequence.

No black tear.

Why?

It had him.

Or—

it was trying to have him.

Etzel’s eyes narrowed.

There was only one way to see the next step.

He stopped resisting.

The pressure changed instantly.

DK turned.

“Etzel!”

“Trust me.”

The Soul Link tightened.

DK understood what he was doing.

He absolutely did not approve.

Good.

That meant Etzel probably understood the risk correctly.

The System flashed.

Etzel breathed slowly.

Twenty percent.

His name disappeared from one screen.

Forty.

His Hunter interface blurred.

Sixty.

Halven saw the notifications reflected in Etzel’s eyes.

“What are you doing?”

Etzel stared at the terminal.

“Seeing what it actually wants.”

Seventy.

Eighty.

The pressure suddenly stopped.

Etzel froze.

The terminals changed.

Not opening sequence.

Not Anchor formation.

Something else.

Etzel stared.

Once.

Twice.

Then smiled.

“There you are.”

The System answered.

Etzel finally understood.

The thing could copy the ID.

But not the Soul that belonged beneath it.

Stealing authorization was not enough.

It still had to convince the deeper System that the stolen identity was genuine.

And that—

it could not perfectly do.

A final notification appeared.

Etzel accepted.

“Rejected.”

The world flashed.

Every terminal exploded.

Glass burst across the room.

The ceiling displays shattered.

The creatures screamed simultaneously.

Etzel felt his identity snap back into place.

Not his Soul.

That had never left.

His System recognition.

His name.

His Level.

His connections.

All of it stabilized.

DK felt it through the bond.

He turned.

Etzel rolled his shoulders.

“Miss me?”

DK decapitated one of the malformed creatures.

“Yes.”

Etzel paused.

“That was disturbingly sincere.”

Then the wall behind the registration terminals moved.

Not cracked.

Moved.

Something enormous pushed from the other side.

Concrete bulged.

Halven backed away.

“Etzel.”

“I see it.”

BOOM.

The wall exploded inward.

Dust swallowed the room.

A figure stepped through.

Tall.

Too thin around the waist.

Too broad across the shoulders.

Black filament structures covered its body like exposed veins.

Its face was smooth.

Featureless.

Then features began forming.

Edran.

Renn.

Halven.

Neris.

Etzel’s expression changed.

The face shifted again.

Blank.

The System appeared.

Etzel stared at it.

Then at himself.

Level 12.

Five Levels.

He smiled.

“Finally.”

Halven looked at him.

“Finally what?”

“Something the System is willing to admit exists.”

The Anchor-Bearer screamed.

DK stepped beside Etzel.

Hellscript Greatblade burned.

Halven moved left.

The C-Ranks spread out.

Etzel raised his spear.

“Okay.”

DK looked at him.

“Plan?”

Etzel spun the spear once.

“For once?”

The Anchor-Bearer lowered its body.

“Kill this one.”

It attacked.

DK met it head-on.

The collision cracked the floor.

The Anchor-Bearer’s arm transformed mid-strike.

Bone lengthened.

Black material hardened around it.

A blade.

DK blocked.

Etzel moved.

Not backward.

Forward.

He slid beneath the second swing.

His spear struck the creature’s ribs.

The point entered.

Shallow.

Hard body.

Etzel twisted.

The Anchor-Bearer turned toward him.

Too fast.

Its elbow hit Etzel across the chest.

He flew.

Hit the floor.

Rolled.

Stood.

Pain.

Good.

Real fight.

DK attacked from behind.

Greatblade struck the creature’s shoulder.

The Anchor-Bearer screamed.

Halven entered from the right.

The C-Rank woman pinned one leg.

The gauntleted Hunter hit the creature’s jaw hard enough to deform it.

Etzel saw the opening.

He ran.

Jumped.

Drove his spear through the Anchor-Bearer’s side.

Deep.

The creature convulsed.

Every black filament across its body tightened.

Etzel pushed harder.

“DK!”

DK was already moving.

Hellscript Greatblade rose.

One clean strike.

Neck.

Then Etzel’s communicator activated.

“ETZEL!”

Renn.

Etzel froze.

The voice carried battle noise behind it.

Explosions.

Shouting.

Something screaming.

“Don’t kill it!”

Etzel’s eyes widened.

DK’s blade was already descending.

“DK—STOP!”

The Greatblade halted.

A few centimeters above the Anchor-Bearer’s neck.

The creature stared at Etzel.

Halven touched his communicator.

“Renn, explain.”

Static.

Then Renn’s voice.

“The candidates are linked!”

Etzel looked at the creature.

“What?”

“Candidate Three took damage when Candidate Five was hit.”

Etzel’s grip tightened around the spear.

Renn continued.

“Candidate One reacted when we restrained Six. They’re sharing something.”

Etzel stared at the black filaments.

Seven candidates.

Seven routes.

Seven bodies.

One process.

“If one dies—”

“We don’t know.”

Silence.

Etzel hated those three words.

The Anchor-Bearer stopped struggling.

Etzel noticed first.

Then its face moved.

Skin flowed.

Eyes formed.

A nose.

A mouth.

Etzel’s face.

Perfectly.

The creature smiled at him.

Then spoke.

With Etzel’s own voice.

“Find out.”