I Awakened The SSS Class Abyssal Warlord

"If you were going to keep the child, at least track down the man responsible," Oliver said, his voice laced with confusion.

"He should've taken responsibility for you both."

Lina shook her head, her expression unwavering. "No. I didn't want to find him."

"Why?"

Her eyes darkened, an edge of steel creeping into her voice.

"Because a man who can sleep with someone, leave them alone, defenseless, and never look back—he isn't fit to be a father.

It was better if he was already dead somewhere. Because if I ever saw him…" She trailed off, her voice dropping to something cold, almost lethal.

"I'd kill him myself."

Oliver studied her carefully, then nodded. "That sounds like you," he admitted. "Once you set your mind on something, you don't back down."

Lina let out a dry chuckle, crossing her arms. "You always knew me too well."

"But why?" Oliver pressed, curiosity burning in his gaze. "Why keep the baby?"

Lina met his eyes, unwavering. "Life, Oliver."

Oliver blinked. "Life?"

She chuckled at his confusion, shaking her head.

"The most important thing to anyone is their breath—their ability to feel, to eat, to make friends, to explore, to fall in love. And none of that is possible without life. What could be more exciting than having life… if not creating it?"

Oliver was stunned into silence. It was such a strange way to think about it, yet it made perfect sense in a way only Lina could articulate.

The night stretched on, filled with laughter, nostalgia, and long-buried stories between two lost friends who had finally found their way back to each other.

And as they spoke, the weight of the years between them seemed to fade, as if they were once again just two kids hiding from the rain, dreaming of a future they never expected to face.

The next day arrived with an electric buzz in the air.

The arena was packed, the crowd nearly vibrating with excitement.

Every member of Dante's Divine Vanguard had delivered jaw-dropping performances so far, and the spectators were ravenous for more.

Now, it was Tariq's turn to step into the spotlight, and no one expected anything less than another spectacle.

On the other side of the arena stood Tariq's opponent—a massive, muscle-bound man, his skin riddled with scars and crude tattoos.

Another member of the Iron Chain Marauders, his crimes were infamous, but the one that landed him in this death pit was particularly heinous—brutalizing entire villages for sport.

His skill, Forcewell, allowed him to absorb kinetic energy into his body and redirect it back at his attacker with devastating force.

Tariq, however, didn't look worried.

His B-rank class, "Impact Berserker," revolved around his skill—Kinetic Apex—which allowed him to accumulate force with every punch, storing it like a coiled spring until he could release it in one catastrophic burst.

But against this opponent, every strike he threw was absorbed and stored. For most fighters, it would be a nightmare matchup.

But for Tariq? It was a dream come true.

"You're just a walking punching bag," Tariq muttered, rolling his shoulders. "Perfect."

With a sudden explosion of movement, he launched forward, fists flying in a relentless barrage.

His punches rained down with brutal speed, each strike sharper and heavier than the last.

The Marauder's body glowed faintly as it absorbed the attacks, kinetic energy rippling through his muscles.

Shockwaves burst around him, cracking the ground and walls. But Tariq never let up.

Faster. Harder. Relentless.

His opponent's body strained under the overload, glowing brighter, his veins bulging as the force inside him spiraled out of control.

Cracks appeared along his skin, the unnatural pressure tearing him apart from within.

Blood leaked from his mouth, his eyes wide in shock.

The crowd gasped, realization dawning—Tariq had turned his opponent's own ability into a death sentence.

"Time to burst," Tariq said coldly.

His final punch rocketed into the man's skull with a sickening crunch.

The Marauder's head caved in, and his body finally ruptured, energy and blood spraying in all directions like a grotesque fireworks show.

For a moment, silence gripped the arena.

Then the crowd erupted. Cheers, screams—some in awe, some in terror, all in undeniable excitement.

Tariq wiped the blood from his knuckles, smirking as he walked off the stage, leaving the mangled corpse behind.

The roar of the crowd still echoed through the arena when Lina's turn arrived.

She stood near the waiting room door, adjusting her gloves. A warm yet firm hand landed on her shoulder. Oliver.

"Are you going to be okay?" His voice was soft, laced with genuine concern.

Lina turned slightly, her expression calm, her eyes glimmering with something only Oliver would recognize.

She placed her hand over his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't worry," she said with a small smile. "I'm not the same defenseless girl you remember."

Oliver hesitated but eventually nodded, watching as she followed the female attendant waiting at the door.

Her boots echoed against the cold stone floor as they walked the narrow corridor leading to the arena.

The sound of the crowd grew louder with every step, a charged anticipation humming in the air.

As Lina stepped into the blinding light of the arena, the crowd erupted—a wall of noise, excitement, and bloodlust.

They had seen Dante's Divine Vanguard dominate so far, and they demanded more. Blood, brilliance and another spectacle.

Lina's eyes immediately scanned the arena, searching for her opponent.

What she saw stopped her in her tracks.

Lying flat in the center of the arena was a man dressed in immaculate formal wear—polished shoes, perfectly pressed slacks, and a black coat adorned with silver chains.

His hands were folded behind his head, gazing up at the sky, utterly unbothered by the roaring crowd and the impending fight.

The sight was unsettling. Out of place and totally Wrong.

The announcer's voice boomed through the arena:

"Ladies and gentlemen, today we bear witness to yet another clash of legends! On one side, the rising star, the deadly dancer, Lina of Dante's Divine Vanguard! And facing her… the leader of the infamous Iron Chain Marauders, a man whose crimes shook kingdoms and toppled governments! The man who dared to challenge the Eldorian Empire itself, the one and only—

Valcran the Usurper!"

The crowd roared—some in admiration, others in seething hatred.

Stories of Valcran were whispered across the land—a war criminal, a revolutionary, a monster in human skin.

And yet here he was, lying down as if this battle was nothing more than an inconvenience.

The announcer's voice crescendoed. "Let the match—BEGIN!"

Lina didn't hesitate.

With a flick of her wrists, her twin daggers shimmered into existence, their curved edges gleaming under the arena lights.

But just as she was about to step forward, she felt it — a presence, cold and suffocating, right behind her.

A low, curious voice whispered directly into her ear.

"How did you summon your weapons like that?"

Her blood ran cold. Lina spun to face her opponent — but before she could even complete the motion, a hand erupted through her chest, the tips of Valcran's fingers coated in her blood, jutting out from between her ribs.

Oliver's heart stopped.

Through the artifact screen in the waiting room, he saw it all — every horrifying detail.

Lina's wide eyes, her mouth slightly open in shock, her blood cascading down the length of Valcran's arm.

"RIN!" Oliver's voice rang through the room, but she couldn't hear him.

In the arena, the crowd's cheers faltered, turning into gasps and murmurs, unsure if what they saw was real.

Lina of Dante's Divine Vanguard — impaled within seconds of the match beginning.

Valcran's hand slowly withdrew, his fingers curling into a fist as if savoring the warmth of her blood.

The only sound in the arena was Lina's twin daggers clattering to the ground.