The academy did not panic.
That alone told Liam how serious the situation was.
Arvane stood at the center of the strategy chamber, hands clasped behind his back. Runes glowed faintly along the walls, isolating the room from external observation—systemic and otherwise.
"The second Anchor has been located," Arvane said.
Liam straightened. "Already?"
"Yes," the principal replied. "And no—it is not by the system."
Two figures stood beside Arvane.
Tom and Bob.
Both radiated pressure so dense it distorted the air around them.
Third Transformation experts.
Veterans who had survived calamities that erased cities.
Tom was tall, broad-shouldered, his aura like compressed heat.Bob looked ordinary—until you met his eyes and felt your instincts scream.
"You're coming with us," Bob said simply.
"To a dungeon," Tom added. "One that shouldn't exist yet."
Liam's Red Core stirred.
"Demon involvement?" Liam asked.
Arvane nodded. "A general-level entity."
That made the room colder.
"Why me?" Liam asked, though he already knew the answer.
Arvane met his gaze. "Because the demon requested an Anchor."
The Dungeon That Opened Too Early
The dungeon entrance floated above a dead plain like a wound in the world.
Black stone arches twisted inward, forming a gate that pulsed with abyssal mana.
"This dungeon skipped five developmental stages," Tom muttered. "Impossible without external interference."
Bob crouched, touching the ground. "It was invited."
Liam felt it the moment they crossed the threshold.
Not Death.
Not danger.
Attention.
The dungeon knew he was there.
They descended through corridors lined with crystallized bone and obsidian veins. Demons watched from the shadows but did not attack.
That was worse.
At the core chamber, the air split open.
A demon general emerged—tall, armored in crimson-black plating, four burning eyes fixed directly on Liam.
It ignored Tom.
Ignored Bob.
Ignored Arvane's wards shimmering faintly around them.
Its gaze locked onto Liam.
And then—
It spoke.
"Anchor," the demon said, voice layered and heavy."The Demon God requests your presence."
The world seemed to tilt.
Liam's Death Sense flared—not in warning.
In confirmation.
Before anyone could react, a second presence manifested.
The Silver Anchor Appears
Space folded smoothly.
A young man stepped forward as if walking out of calm water.
Silver hair. Clear eyes. A Blue Core glowing steadily in his chest.
The Stabilizer-Type Anchor.
He looked… normal.
Weaker than Liam.
His aura barely pressed against Liam's senses.
Tom frowned. "That's it?"
Bob narrowed his eyes. "No. That's control."
The demon general bowed—deeply.
"Silver-haired human," it said respectfully."The Demon God acknowledges your existence."
The Blue Anchor tilted his head. "You abducted me," he said calmly.
The demon smiled. "Requested. You came."
The Blue Anchor did not deny it.
Liam stepped forward instinctively.
The Red Core pulsed.
The dungeon reacted—walls creaking, mana surging violently.
The Blue Anchor's eyes flicked to Liam.
For the first time—
Recognition.
"So you're the other one," he said. "You feel… loud."
Liam didn't smile. "You feel empty."
No hostility.
No killing intent.
But the space between them bent slightly, like reality was unsure which one to favor.
The demon general laughed softly.
"How fascinating," it said. "Two Anchors in one chamber."
A Message From the Void
The dungeon trembled.
Not from power—
From permission.
A voice echoed, not through air, but through existence itself.
"Children of inevitability,""Do not fight yet."
The Demon God.
Tom's aura flared violently.
Bob cursed under his breath.
Liam felt his core tighten.
The voice continued.
"Red Anchor… you are chaos given motion."
"Blue Anchor… you are order given will."
Silence.
"Both are entertaining."
"Both are incomplete."
The dungeon stabilized unnaturally.
The Demon God laughed—amused, patient.
"Grow."
"Struggle."
"Choose."
"When you are ready—"
"Come willingly."
The presence vanished.
The dungeon walls cracked.
The demon general stepped back, bowing again.
"The invitation stands," it said. "For both Anchors."
Then it dissolved into shadow.
Aftermath
The dungeon began collapsing.
Tom grabbed Liam's shoulder. "We're leaving. Now."
As they escaped, Liam glanced back once.
The Blue Anchor stood calmly amid falling stone.
He met Liam's eyes.
A faint smile touched his lips.
"You're stronger," he said honestly."For now."
Then space folded again.
He vanished.
Outside the dungeon, Arvane exhaled slowly.
"A demon god acknowledging Anchors this early…" Bob muttered. "That's bad."
Liam clenched his fist.
The Red Core burned steadily.
"He's weaker than me," Liam said.
Arvane nodded. "Yes."
Then he added quietly—
"And far more dangerous in the long run."
The meeting with the demon general changed everything.
Not immediately.
Not explosively.
But fundamentally.
For three days after returning from the dungeon, the system did not speak to Liam at all.
No notices.No restrictions.No guidance.
Only silence.
That silence ended on the fourth night.
The Floodgates Open
Liam woke to pain.
Not the sharp agony of battle—but the deep, grinding sensation of something expanding beyond its limits.
His Red Core burned.
Not violently.
Relentlessly.
Mana surged through his body in waves that cracked the floor beneath him. The academy's barrier arrays screamed in protest as his presence spiked again and again.
[Anchor Growth Condition: Sustained Conflict Exposure] [Anchor Growth: Unrestricted] [Warning: System Oversight Limited]
The system was no longer suppressing him.
It was failing to keep up.
Within a month, Liam crossed the second transformation completely.
By the third—
He shattered into the third transformation without resistance.
No tribulation descended.
No heavenly judgment.
Reality simply accepted him.
Arvane watched from a distance, expression grim.
"This is what happens," the principal murmured, "when inevitability is no longer restrained."
Six Months of War
The next half year passed like a prolonged calamity.
Dungeons collapsed wherever Liam walked.
Demonic incursions were erased before they could spread.
Battle followed battle.
Not because Liam sought them—
But because the world kept placing them in his path.
And Liam learned.
Not skills.
Not levels.
Mechanics of death.
His necromancy evolved.
No longer bound by corpses alone.
Those who died by Liam's hand—human, demon, beast—did not pass on completely.
Their shadows lingered.
Waiting.
[Anchor Trait Evolved] Shadow Sovereignty (Incomplete) Condition: Sufficient Mana Supply Effect: Fallen entities slain directly by the Anchor may be bound as shadow minions
By the end of six months—
Liam's army numbered over a thousand.
Undead mages chanting in unison
Death Knights whose armor carried the memory of fallen kingdoms
Dullahan commanders riding spectral steeds
Shadow-bound warriors who once lived—and now obeyed
They did not rot.
They did not decay.
They remembered.
And they answered only to Liam.
The only limitation was mana.
As long as he could sustain them—
They would never fall.
Peak of the Third Transformation
When Liam reached the peak of the third transformation, the academy shook.
Not from pressure.
From certainty.
Arvane stood before him that night, gaze heavy.
"You've surpassed what the system considers acceptable," the principal said.
Liam flexed his hand.
A shadow knight emerged silently behind him, kneeling.
"I didn't break any rules," Liam replied.
Arvane exhaled. "You grew faster than the system could redefine them."
The Red Core no longer felt volatile.
It felt anchored.
Elsewhere — The Silver Anchor Remembers
Far from the academy—
In a region the system marked as stable—
The silver-haired Anchor knelt alone.
His Blue Core pulsed softly.
Calm.
Cold.
But something inside him had begun to crack.
Memories surfaced.
Not visions.
Recovered truth.
His name was not merely "the Stabilizer."
It was Arch.
And this was not his first world.
Arch's Origin
Arch came from a dimension ruled by order.
A world where Anchors were not accidents—
They were tools.
A Demon Lord ruled there.
Not through chaos—
But through control.
That Demon Lord enslaved Anchors.
Bound them.
Forced them to stabilize reality until nothing could oppose him.
Arch had been one of them.
A Stabilizer-Type Anchor.
A weapon that ensured the Demon Lord's reign would never collapse.
By the time Arch realized what he was preserving—
His world was already dead.
Cities frozen in eternal stillness.
People alive, but hollow.
At the final moment—
When the Demon Lord tightened his control—
Arch severed himself from causality.
He fled.
Crossed dimensions.
And arrived here.
Alone.
The only survivor.
The Truth Settles
Arch opened his eyes.
The Blue Core burned brighter.
"So there's another Anchor here," he murmured."One who still chooses."
Images of Liam surfaced in his mind.
The Red Core.
The undead legion.
The refusal to obey.
Arch's expression tightened—not with hatred.
With fear.
"If he loses himself…" Arch whispered,"this world will end the same way."
Far away—
Liam stood atop a ruined battlefield, his army silent behind him.
He felt it.
Not Death Sense.
Something colder.
Someone was remembering.
Closing
Two Anchors.
Both survivors.
Both shaped by ruin.
One growing through choice.
One shaped by regret.
And somewhere beyond the veil of reality—
A Demon God watched both paths unfold.
Amused.
Patient.
Certain.
Because this time—
No matter who won—
The world would not survive unchanged.