Profane Ascendant-Chapter 56: Switch

Cyn tossed the poster aside. Regardless of everything, he had to move forward—to see who was waiting for him in the cross hall.

He felt pressure looming in the air.

He stepped out of the corridor leading to the Arena of Screams, the sign above clearly bearing its name. Miguel and Ramon were left on the ground behind him as he stood there, staring toward the opposite side of the arena.

Footsteps echoed—coming from the corridor facing him.

They sounded distant, reverberating faintly, yet Cyn knew they were close—approaching rapidly.

Tap. Tap tap tap.

The opposite corridor.

Cyn lifted his gaze to the sign above. He had looked at it before.

CIPHER ZERO — Entrance

Suddenly, pressure closed in from all directions, as if he were being attacked by an invisible enemy. Yet he did not avert his eyes from the corridor ahead. The footsteps continued to approach, echoing despite the distance.

The Scar's voice rang in his mind, warning him:

"Do not make a single move. Don't even consider the possibility of winning—"

The voice cut off abruptly, as though something had interfered with their mental link.

Cyn did not know where this had come from—but the poster bearing the blue rose clearly pointed to him. And judging by the approaching presence and the Scar's warning, Cyn was the target.

Despite the Scar's silence, he could still feel his power responding. Even with the warning, he refused to stand idle.

Fiiiiii—sssss!

A piercing whistle assaulted his eardrums.

At the same instant, everything stopped.

Cyn could not move.

He could not blink—could not even close his eyes.

He stood there, frozen, his heartbeats echoing loudly inside his chest.

His train of thought shattered. He became like an empty doll, staring toward the opposite corridor, listening to the tap tap tap tap of footsteps drawing nearer—until even his breathing ceased.

Cyn caught a glimpse of someone approaching—so close it felt as though they were already standing before him.

If he had to describe it—

Blond hair.

He clearly saw the color.

But… what is this—?

There was no one in front of him.

Instead, it was as though the figure had been pulled back into the opposite corridor.

Then—

Multiple copies appeared, one after another, each emerging briefly before being sucked back again.

Cyn wondered what he was seeing.

They were like future images—afterimages—preceding the arrival of the real body. Each copy appeared at an inhuman speed, vanished instantly, and was drawn back into the corridor.

An illusion.

Cyn was in no condition to properly observe or analyze what was happening around him.

But his body—

His Scar moved without his consent.

PHASE II — CYANIC THORNS

His nerves tightened. Veins and arteries bulged beneath his skin. His breathing grew labored, his lungs demanding more oxygen, as though he were engaged in an actual physical battle.

His blood pressure surged violently.

Blue roses, thorny stems, and crimson vines burst forth from his body, bleeding freely. The Scar of Pride was attempting something—but Cyn's body remained frozen in place.

Blood trickled from the corners of his lips.

He was under unbearable pressure.

He felt neither pain nor the passage of time.

To an outside observer, he would have looked like a fool—standing still for no reason, as though he had seen a ghost.

But then—

At one fleeting moment, Cyn's pitch-black eyes caught something.

It was like a prior image—an earlier frame among the future projections that flashed and vanished.

A faint white glow.

Extremely faint.

Yet enough to grant him a fragment of strength—to see through the deception, even though he did not understand what was happening.

In that exact instant—

Fwoosh—!

"Ugh—!"

Cyn collapsed to one knee. Sweat mixed with blood dripped onto the floor as he gasped repeatedly for air, desperately trying to revive his lungs.

His mind could not yet process what had just happened.

Instead, it struggled to reconstruct the image he had seen in that final moment—when he had broken free from the visual trap, or so he believed.

Time itself seemed to stumble within his skull. Neural signals slowed between his retina and his brain, his consciousness threatening to collapse at any second.

The light reached him—

But the truth did not.

Just as everything began to align—just as his mind resumed function and found a way past the obstruction—

Sharp footsteps echoed close by.

Tap… tap!

Instinctively, Cyn covered his ears with his hands.

At that exact moment—when he shut off his hearing—

Everything in his field of vision changed.

The corridors branching from the intersecting hall vanished.

"Hah—what's happening?!"

His senses were being manipulated.

He felt a chill—yet also relief.

The moment he blocked out the sound, the pressure eased. The footsteps had been affecting his perception.

Now, the entire hall and its branching corridors appeared sealed—as though they had never existed.

Only the door ahead remained.

And the approaching footsteps.

"Ah—!"

Cyn tried to stand—especially when he saw that Phase II of his Scar was still surrounding his body, turning him into something like a garden of roses.

He removed his hands from his ears, preparing to confront whatever was coming.

A foolish decision.

Multiple wounds appeared across his body in an instant.

"Ugh—!"

He endured the pain in silence.

Attacks came from all directions—like invisible blades—causing shallow yet lethal cuts.

Like a fish prepared for cooking, sliced open to allow spices to seep into its flesh.

The crimson-blue stems bled profusely.

Blood droplets on the ground began to move on their own.

Cyn did not understand what was happening—but something inside him stirred, inflicting unbearable pain.

"AAAAAH—!"

He resisted and tore off his clothes.

Something was moving beneath his skin.

Like before, the Scar of Pride had described it as Scar Energy—but this was nothing like that.

Wherever it passed, the flesh turned pitch black, as though burned and charred.

It seemed to be searching for something.

Cyn stared in shock, fighting the pain as he vomited blood.

"AAAAH—damn you! Where are you, you filthy Scar?! Scar of Pride—answer me! What's happening to me?! Damn it—AAAAAH!"

From the outside, invisible blades carved into him.

From the inside, something crawled beneath his skin—corrupting it, burning it, tormenting him with endless agony.

Pain.

The threat of death.

His survival instinct finally kicked in—especially when he felt that energy creeping toward his neck, aiming for his head.

If it reached there, he was dead.

He would kill himself before the blades did.

He grabbed his own neck, as though choking himself, refusing to let it pass.

His Scar pulsed. The roses and stems reacted—when he touched them, he felt emptiness and power.

But he did not release his grip.

He was at war with himself.

When the pain escalated beyond control—and the air reaching his lungs grew scarce—his eyes widened.

There was no escape.

With one final scream—

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAH!"

He released his hands.

The gathered energy surged upward, flooding his face and head.

His cheeks began to char.

His neck followed.

But at the very last moment—after that scream—

A smile formed on his face.

As though the person who had been there before had been replaced.

The Cyn who had been suppressing agony vanished—

Replaced by another Cyn.

One who accepted it.

One whose instincts—especially his sadistic instincts—had taken control.

The faint white glow returned to his eyes.

This time, it was no longer weak.

His eyes became a blend of black and white—until they merged.

A small crimson point formed, like concentrated dye.

His eyes turned fully crimson.

His body began to recover.

Scar Energy within him split, harmonized, and surged through his entire body.

In an instant, most of the invisible blades became visible to his eyes—their trajectories clear, even if their speed was still impossible to match.

"Hah… so that's it."

"Hssss—!"

Cyn inhaled sharply.

If he could not evade the blades—

He would block them another way.

His Scar bled.

And in a flash—

The blood on the floor transformed.

It formed tendrils—surrounding him from all sides.

Tendrils resembling the crimson stems of his Scar—yet larger, darker, adorned with blue and violet roses along their edges.

Fully covered in thorns.

They encased him like a cocoon, shielding him from the slicing blades.

Cyn smiled within the cocoon.

But everything changed the moment he was exposed again.

The blades severed every tendril around him—as though they vanished on their own.

Only the cut marks remained.

His smile faded into shock.

"H-how…?" he murmured in disbelief.

Then—

A voice echoed.

"It turns out to be you after all!"