But 3l did not flinch.
The duel’s rules were simple: one touch. A single, intentional strike from Lament would transfer every ounce of agony 3l had ever felt, magnified a thousandfold, directly into their nervous system. No one had survived three lashes. Elite Pain had never needed more than one.
“What… are you?” Elite Pain whispered, for the first time feeling a cold trickle of something unfamiliar: doubt.
Next.
I am the sum of every pain you have inflicted.
3l stood over the twitching, weeping husk that had been Elite Pain. The hall was silent except for the drip of ichor and the fading echo of the bell.
