My SSS-Rank Class Is Blood Monarch!

A sudden, suffocating silence fell over the entire platform like a storm cloud swallowing the sky. It was not merely the absence of sound—it was as if the world itself had gone still, holding its breath. The chaos that had ruled moments ago—the clatter of chains, the frantic shouts of prisoners, even the eerie whispers clawing at Arthur’s mind—vanished all at once, replaced by a stillness so absolute it screamed.

Then came the pressure.

A crushing weight descended upon them, invisible and yet undeniable, like the very atmosphere had turned solid. Everyone hit the ground as if gravity had multiplied tenfold. Bodies collapsed where they stood, knees buckled, backs hunched. Faces twisted in silent agony. They couldn’t scream. They couldn’t even grunt. It was as if the very concept of resistance had been stripped from them.

Even Nameless—who had been yanking the chains in a mad frenzy—froze in place, his muscles seizing as though bound by something far more powerful than mere gravity. His wide eyes stared blankly ahead, trembling pupils reflecting a light foreign to the darkness around them.

None of them could move.

None of them could understand.

And in the center of it all stood Arthur.

A faint, radiant glow pulsated from his hand, the Divine Shard illuminating the bleak surroundings with an otherworldly brilliance. It cast a halo around him that cut through the void like a knife through silk, soft and warm—a cruel contrast to the crushing force bearing down on everyone else.

Nameless felt it deep within his bones, like something ancient had reached inside him and seized control of his very essence. This wasn’t just power. It was sovereignty. It was the kind of force that made a mockery of will and turned ambition into dust.

‘What is… this?’ Nameless tried to form the thought, but even that felt like trying to swim through tar. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t blink. His body was no longer his own.

And then came the scream.

Germa, still dangling over the abyss, let out a strangled roar. The chains, slick with blood and sweat, slipped further through the hands of those who had tried to save him. But with the pressure weighing down on their bodies, their fingers had failed them. He was falling again—this time without hope.

His arms quivered as he held fast to the last links. Blood ran from his torn fingertips, but his grip faltered with each passing moment. His face contorted into one of despair, eyes wide as he looked up at the sky, and then down again—into the yawning abyss beneath him.

And that abyss… it moved.

Not with wind or sound, but with presence.

Arthur stood, eerily untouched. His breathing was slow, deliberate. The bloodlust in his eyes remained, but now it had dulled into something deeper—more calculated. His lips parted in a quiet murmur, barely audible beneath the roar of power around him.

“You’re looking for this, aren’t you?” he said to the darkness, holding the Divine Shard slightly higher. “That’s why you whispered to me. That’s what all of this has been for. It wasn’t a call for help, but a request from me.”

His voice had changed. It was colder now, every syllable laced with a knowing cruelty. He no longer sounded like a boy. He sounded like someone speaking on behalf of something far older than he should have known.

“This is what you really want. Not the blood. Not the bodies. Not those poor, screaming fools you turned into monsters. No… those were nothing but scraps. Punishments for your own starvation.”

Arthur’s fingers trembled slightly as the shard pulsed in his palm. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, but he wasn’t afraid—not anymore, not like the others. He had finally connected the dots, from the very first moment he stepped into this abyss and up to that point, he understood why this God was here, why it ate those people and spat them back as chaotic flesh monsters rather than fully killing them.

He also understood why the Divine Shard did what it did. This mysterious object that he found in that forest by pure coincidence had finally started showing him its true nature and why it was considered a sacred object sought by the Royal Family. Its power, which hasn’t been fully unraveled yet, was already horrifying.

Arthur… could possibly control a god.

His eyes—still red with violent energy—focused on the void again. “You’re starving, aren’t you? And this… this shard… It’s your salvation.”

He lifted the shard forward as if he wanted to entice the being within the hole.

“Then come take it.”

The silence shattered.

A sound burst from the abyss, a low, thunderous thump—a heartbeat, vast and ancient. It wasn’t heard so much as felt. It reverberated through stone and bone, sending ripples through the ruined castle. Then came the scream—a guttural, soul-tearing howl that sounded like it had been waiting eons to be released.

Nameless gasped. Or tried to. “No… no, no, no, what the hell is going on?! What did you do?!!” he whispered, his voice cracking under the weight of realization.

Germa turned his head slowly, sensing rather than seeing what stirred below. His body, now almost fully dangling over the edge, froze in place as something massive moved in the void.

From the depths, something rose.

A limb—vast beyond comprehension—slowly emerged from the darkness. Germa stared at it with wide, terrified eyes. He couldn’t see it, but he could sense it with morbid details, giving him a feeling he would never forget for the rest of his life.

A hand. Or something like a hand. Its blue skin glistened with a sickly sheen, runes glowing dimly across its surface—ancient symbols carved deep into the flesh. The skin was torn in places, revealing black rot and sticky, ooze-like substance that dripped down into the darkness below. Its fingers, each as large as towers, moved with ponderous intent.

It reached the surface, emerging before the eyes of the people present there like a God arriving to deliver the judgement they all waited for. The reactions to that… were simply indescribable. No one could fully comprehend the sheer might of it, and as consequence, in an instant, many fainted.

Arthur didn’t flinch. He stared.

Nameless, still paralyzed, began to laugh. A broken, manic laugh that echoed through the chamber. It wasn’t amusement—it was hysteria.

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!!” he cackled, eyes bulging as tears streamed down his cheeks. “It came! It finally came! THE GOD HAS ARRIVED!”

The prisoners looked on in mute horror. Even those who couldn’t move could feel it. The presence. The divinity. The wrongness of it.

Arthur’s gaze remained steady as the hand drew closer, now mere inches from his face. Despite its monstrous size, it moved with eerie grace. And then… it paused.

The Divine Shard pulsed again in Arthur’s hand.

The hand hovered before him, waiting. Expecting.

Arthur simply looked at it.

“No,” he said flatly.

The fingers twitched slightly, confused. Or perhaps offended.

“You won’t get it that easily,” Arthur continued. “I know what you are. I know what you want. But I also know what I want.”

He turned his head slowly—his gaze locking onto Nameless, who was still frozen in his mad posture, halfway between fear and euphoria.

Arthur’s lips curled into something that might’ve once been a smile.

“That man over there,” he said softly.

The hand twitched.

“Kill him.”

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