Hope

With Dahrka scouting ahead, Zane and Scarlet easily made their way through the treacherous catacombs. Any enemies it found were swiftly dispatched by its twin daggers, and the EXP reaped flowed straight into Zane's body like a warm gush of wind. The only downside was that Scarlet was beginning to get bored without any bloodshed going on it could partake in, but that was hardly anything to be concerned over.

Soon, following the map inside Zane's head, the two made their way back to the place where they met—the large nave where Zane had once fought Azakiel, the Ascended angel Monarch. The goal here was simple—to resurrect the deity, and turn it into another one of Zane's Servants.

'If Dahrka worked… then so should you.'

Obtaining as much strength as possible was crucial right now, even if it was in the form of his pawns. If he could get Azakiel by his side, then completing low-rank Dungeons would become a breeze.

Reaching out with his hand, Zane poured his dark, sinister mana towards the ground, and like tendrils, they converged to form a crimson cesspool filled with what looked like wildly thrashing red chains formed out of raw energy. As Scarlet watched on in awe, the chains slowly began to pull out a large shadowy, wingless angel from the portal leading into the netherworld, and lifted it high up into the air as the revolving vortex below closed.

Zane, tilting his head upwards to look at the lifeless, shadowy figure, stepped closer until he was right beneath the massive angel, and spoke.

"𝑨𝒛𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒆𝒍, 𝒘𝒊𝒆𝒍𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒖𝒓𝒈𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒔 𝒐𝒇 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆. 𝑯𝒐𝒘 𝒇𝒂𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒏 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆..."

He paused. Where was he going with this, exactly?

After some thought, he continued.

"... 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒂𝒓—𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒅𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒕𝒚, 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎 𝒐𝒇 𝒈𝒍𝒐𝒓𝒚 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒊𝒕𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇. 𝑬𝒎𝒃𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒊𝒕𝒔 𝒑𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓. 𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒍𝒍, 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒆𝒓 𝒈𝒐𝒅... 𝒊𝒕 𝒊𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑."

At this, the creature's body finally stirred a bit—but just that, nothing more. Zane narrowed his eyes. Speech could only get him so far—he needed something more. Something more… materialistic.

'Hm. Could it be…?'

Recalling how he secured Dahrka's resurrection, Zane decided it was worth a try. Gently, he removed the [Holy Ring] accessory from his own finger, and placed it within one of Azakiel's large armored hands, now shrouded in thick dark energy.

The effect was immediate.

The beautiful white gemstone, originally embedded on the ring, began to shine brightly with light, growing more radiant by the second. It seemed to have served to inject life into the angel, and slowly but surely, Azakiel's wings began reforming once more.

Upon mixing with Azakiel's shadowy figure, however, the light shifted color, from white all the way to a dark black. The gemstone, source of the light, naturally shifted hues as well—and as a result, the wings that grew back on Azakiel's back were not the feathery, elegant white Zane was used to, but instead the pitch-black, crow-like wings of a fallen angel—a nephilim.

"Good… that's what I like to see."

While Zane watched on, pleased with the results, the nephilim's wings burned with raging black flames as they spread, and Azakiel—once known as the Purger—lifted his head.

<I am at your service, my lord.>

Slit blue gaze just barely visible through the narrow visors of his metal helm, Azakiel knelt down on one knee, and bowed his head before his new master. It was a ridiculous sight—a colossal, mythological figure from heaven itself, bowing down to a mere human about one-tenths of his size.

But Zane was the one who brought him back to life—and thus, he was his new god.

"So… you can talk, huh?" Zane chuckled. "Dahrka, learn from him sometime."

"…"

From beside Zane, Dahrka didn't respond—perhaps that was his way of showing refusal without showing blatant refusal. Zane had said it as a joke anyway, though, so it hardly mattered. Instead, he got rid of the Wraith Servant he controlled right now to free up an empty slot in his army, and turned back to Azakiel before smiling with open arms.

"𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒎𝒚."

[Azakiel, Dark-Winged Nephilim — Monarch-rank Servant Registered!]

[Naming available. Would you like to rename the Servant?]

At this, Zane paused for a moment, but ultimately chose not to. The current name was fine as is—it sounded a bit edgy, but this was the name and title of a divine entity. Once again, out of respect, Zane chose not to touch it in any way.

*****

With both Monarchs he'd faced thus far registered, Zane was free to continue exploring for more potential resurrections to further advance his quest progress. He was currently at 2 out of 5, and required 3 more Monarch-rank Servants to—hopefully—unlock Chapter III of the [Sovereign's Rebirth] quest and continue obtaining new abilities. It would be a lot easier if the skill wasn't limited to dead beings above Elite-rank, but then again—these quests were supposed to have some sort of difficulty to them if the rewards they offered were this good.

And to complete this particular one, Zane had a possible idea in mind.

He didn't know if this was going to work—in fact, it probably wasn't. But due to the lack of other options and the absence of time to spare, Zane decided to give it a shot.

Soon, he and Scarlet reached their destination. It was a barely illuminated, slightly wet room. A room filled with pain and Zane's memories—memories he did not want to remember, but had to face sooner or later.

While that was happening, Azakiel and Dahrka both lingered in the shadows nearby, ready to appear whenever Zane called upon them—a passive ability of all of his Servants. Perhaps that was due to the 'ground' being associated with the intermediate between the living realm and the death dimension where they were supposed to be, but either way, it didn't matter. Of them, however, Dahrka seemed to be only one capable of quickly traveling using the shadows on the ground, thanks to his short-distance teleportation skill.

The chamber Zane was in had not changed one bit since 'that time'. Since then, though, Zane had transformed quite a lot, achieving not one, but two Awakenings in a row. But one could not forget their roots, and as soon as Zane stepped into the room, he could feel it—a thick, dense Soul lingering in the air, no doubt belonging to his friend. His friend Leo, who had died by his own very hands just not too long ago.

That's right. This was the chamber where he had killed Leo.

Of course, this 'detection' skill was the Immortal Blood Body's passive at work, allowing him to sense dead Souls who passed less than 48 hours ago. Since Leo's was still here, that would mean the time Zane spent inside the Training Dungeon was probably no more than an hour, despite experiencing several days inside. He'd already predicted as much, but confirmation was always good to have.

All of that was trivial right now, however. Zane had a task to focus on, and he intended to concentrate on it.

He took a deep breath. He only had one chance. Sanguine Resurrection was a very fragile skill, and once failed, could not be attempted again on the same Soul.

Scarlet, seeing this while being perched on top of Zane's shoulder, didn't quite understand what was going on here. But it did know that its master had a grim expression on his face, and it wanted to comfort him. With little else it could do, Scarlet gently nested its head against his neck, spreading some of its draconic warmth to him, and did the best it could to emulate a human hug.

Surprisingly enough, this little bit of warmth helped—not that Zane needed it. He adjusted quite quickly—perhaps thanks to how much time he spent in the Training Dungeon practicing controlling his emotions—and glanced down at the floor where he'd once burned his friend's body.

"… I'm back, Leo."

Of course, there was no response. But that wouldn't be the case for long.

As a C-Rank Hunter, Leo should theoretically be equivalent to about a Elite-class Dungeon monster in terms of strength. However, since he had human intelligence and powers normal monsters did not, his actual power level was probably closer to Monarch-class—Zane's current limit on what dead souls he could use [Sanguine Resurrection] on. It was a gamble, but it was certainly worth a try.

Lifting his arm and angling her palm towards the patch of ground where he'd burned Leo's body, Zane concentrated his mana and cleared his throat.

'Sanguine Resurrection.'

Immediately, his pupil and arm both turned black, and from his palm came diving into the earth a deep red energy that formed a singularity point in the air. It appeared to be pulling in some sort of invisible essence from all around the room— most likely Leo's Soul—and gradually, the energy converged and condensed, taking on the shape of a human.

"Yes… that's it… a little more…"

Narrowing his eyes and focusing his mana even harder than before, Zane prayed that this would work with every fiber of his being. No doubt, Leo would not be the same even if he returned as a mindless Servant—but at the very least, Zane could say he had his friend back.

Slowly, the humanoid shape began to solidify, more and more. Distinct features could be seen—spiky hair, muscular arms—all signature traits of Leo. But just when Zane swore he could see his friend's face again—

"Wha—?!"

—Everything shattered.

A mana explosion occurred in the air, and like glass, the human-shaped condensation of energy broke into hundreds of tiny shards of white light, scattering across the chamber and dispersing into nothingness, along with Zane's final hope.

The resurrection had failed. And the Soul, now broken, could no longer be revived, no matter the method.

'… Why?' Zane thought to himself. 'Why did it not work?'

Was it because Leo wasn't a Dungeon monster? Was that it? Could the skill just not be used on humans? Would the skill have worked if Leo had transformed completely before Zane killed him? Or was it simply because Leo's strength didn't quite reach the Monarch-class Monster comparison yet?

Zane didn't know, but the answer to all of those seemed unlikely. After a few moments of rest, he decided it wasn't worth the trouble. He stopped thinking about it, and turned around with an empty, emotionless expression on his face.

"… Let's go, Scarlet."

Zane had known right from the start that there was a good chance this skill wasn't going to work. It's just… he still had been clinging on to the slightest bit of hope—a tiny, barely-alive ember that sparked into flames at the sight of the notification he saw when he first unlocked the [Sanguine Resurrection] skill and read what it did.

But now, that fire was all but gone. Even the final, tiny last bit of cinders had been stomped out by the cold reality of the world, and Zane's heart was set in stone.

It was about time he faced the truth. No matter what he did, his friend was never going to come back—and for the rest of Zane's life, he would carry the weight of Leo's death with him.

He wasn't going to become a sociopath who would never make friends again. Leo would never want that of him. But at the same time, he would never be able to go back to how he used to be.

The joking, relaxed, and innocently-smiling Zane—that was no more. The Zane now was determined, having found a purpose to live and the means to live it. He would remain caring of his family and friends, of course—but at the same time, against enemies and rivals, he would show no mercy.

Leo taught him that—friends were valuable things. Love was a valuable emotion. Allies who always had Zane's back were priceless to have. But just as importantly, if said allies were to ever become a threat—even Leo himself—then Zane was not to spare them, no matter what. Such was the new, pragmatic logic of Zane Silverdale, now reborn.

No matter what, he would never be able to forget what happened on that day.

No matter what, he would never be able to return to his old self.

No matter what, he would never be the same again.

'Those who show me kindness, I will repay in turn. But those who dare betray me…'

Zane clenched his fists as Dahrka and Azakiel emerged from his shadow, eyes shining with both burning loyalty and cold ruthlessness.

'Next time you walk on the streets, you'd best keep an eye on your shadow—because what you see… just might not be your shadow any longer.'