My SSS-Rank Class Is Blood Monarch!

The monstrous hand lingered in the air, unmoving, silent. It loomed over Arthur like a phantom frozen in time—its eyeless stare locked onto him despite having no eyes to speak of. The weight of its presence alone made the surrounding air feel like thick tar. Arthur didn’t flinch. He stood tall beneath its colossal shadow, his gaze unwavering.

He waited. Not out of fear, but anticipation.

He knew the God had heard his words.

Whether or not it would obey was another matter. But it was listening.

Then the silence cracked, not by divine wrath, but by the raspy cough of Nameless as he forced himself upright onto trembling knees. His body spasmed, internal injuries having already torn through him from resisting the God’s pressure. Blood trickled from his mouth as he fought to speak, the taste of copper sharp and bitter on his tongue.

“Kill?” Nameless gasped, his voice gravelly and weak. “Who are you talking about?”

Arthur didn’t even glance at him. His red eyes stayed fixed on the hand as he replied coldly, “Shut up.”

Nameless froze. The words weren’t just spoken—they carried power. Power that hit like a hammer to the soul. He visibly recoiled, unable to muster a retort. His eyes dropped, his bravado shattering under the weight of those crimson irises.

Arthur finally turned toward him, speaking slowly, deliberately. “Unless I willingly hand you the shard, you will never lay a hand on it again. You have no leverage. Kill me, and it will vanish with me. So, make your choice, God. Obey… or starve in your pit.”

It wasn’t a bluff. Arthur understood now. That God—whatever it truly was—desired the Divine Shard with an all-consuming hunger. It had clawed its way to the surface despite the shackles that tore at its flesh, despite the black ooze gnawing at its very essence.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he watched the substance pulse and spread across the hand. It wasn’t part of the God—it was a cage, eating it alive from the inside out. A curse woven into its chains. It had precious little time before it would be forced back into the abyss, and it couldn’t wait any longer to get rid of it, as the pain was certainly hellish and unimaginable.

So… what would it choose?

Then, with the slowness of a glacier shifting, the hand began to move.

Arthur tilted his head upward, a sliver of dark satisfaction twisting across his face. He could only feel pure pleasure watching this seemingly superior being bend to his will and listen as if he were its master. Something about that feeling was simply far too good to ignore.

It turned—ever so slightly—away from him.

And toward Nameless.

‘There it is,’ Arthur thought with a chilling grin. ‘You’ve made your choice. After all, that pain is far too strong not to betray your benefactor, after all.’

Arthur knew that the only reason it hesitated was the fact that Nameless had helped keep it alive with those sacrifices, and now it had to actually kill the person who kept it alive for so long. It was simply the biggest betrayal imaginable.

“Haha… Get him.”

Nameless’s head snapped toward the approaching hand, and terror eclipsed his features.

“W-Wait! No, please—your divinity!” he screamed, struggling to stand, but the crushing pressure intensified tenfold, pinning him flat against the ground like a fly beneath a boot. “I—I can still serve you! I’ll bring you more flesh! I’ll awaken you fully! Don’t listen to him!”

His voice cracked, blood spraying from his lips as desperation set in.

Arthur watched with grim amusement. “Beg all you want. It’s not listening to you anymore.”

Nameless writhed helplessly as the hand reached him, wrapping its massive fingers around his frail frame like a child gripping a doll. He thrashed, howled, coughed, but there was no escape.

“I’m the messiah! The prophet! I’m your voice in this world!” he shrieked, his voice raw, filled with rage and disbelief. “I was chosen! I was meant to bring about your new world! Not… this! Not like this!”

From his place below, Arthur let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Messiah? Please. You were never anything more than a deluded puppet. You dressed your madness in prophecy and called yourself chosen. But all you ever were… was a means to an end.”

Nameless’s eyes bulged, and he let out a cry that could shatter bone.

“Look at that God. The one you served your entire life waiting for it to emerge. When given true salvation, it immediately gave up on you and decided to pursue its selfish desires. What a loathesome ending to a pathetic insect.” Arthur snorted.

“NO!!! NO!!!!”

The hand didn’t stop.

Bone cracked. Muscle tore. His body bent in unnatural ways as the divine hand began to crush him slowly, deliberately—as if savoring every moment. His howls echoed across the ruined halls, bouncing off stone and steel like the song of a damned soul.

“STOP! I command you! I COMMAND—”

Crack.

The sound was sharp. Final.

His spine gave out. His body spasmed once. Twice. Then went limp.

Blood spilled like wine from a broken vessel. From his mouth, ears, eyes. His screams were gone, silenced mid-breath. And then… Nameless was no more.

The hand loosened and let the body fall. It crumpled to the floor like a discarded rag, a mangled ruin of the man who had once claimed to be the harbinger of a new age. In a split second, everything was over, and his dreams were completely crushed.

Silence returned.

Arthur exhaled slowly, his gaze calm, calculating.

The black ooze had already consumed nearly half the God’s hand. It trembled, visibly weakened, twitching like a dying beast. It was clear now—the God wouldn’t be able to linger much longer.

Arthur stepped forward, now only feet away from it. “Good,” he said simply, voice low. “Now… break these chains.”

Without hesitation, the hand reached toward him. Its massive fingers pinched the thick iron shackles binding Arthur’s wrists and snapped them with the ease of snapping twigs.

CLING

The sound of broken chains falling to the ground echoed like a bell of liberation.

Arthur inhaled deeply as mana surged back into him like a tidal wave. His body immediately reacted—wounds closing, bones realigning, strength returning. The oppressive fog that had dulled his senses lifted, and his spirit burned anew.

He rolled his wrists, flexing his fingers as he glanced up at the divine hand, now visibly shaking. “That’ll do.”

Then he turned his attention to the others.

His voice, though not loud, cut through the stunned silence like a blade. “Hey. The chain—pull Germa out. Now.”

It took a moment, but realization dawned. The prisoners—who had been frozen in horror—sprang to life. They rushed forward, grabbing the chains with trembling hands, heaving with all the strength they could muster.

Germa, still dangling over the abyss, was slowly drawn upward. His body, bruised and bloodied, swayed as he was pulled from the edge of death.

Arthur didn’t help. He didn’t need to. He simply watched for a few seconds. That was when he felt the hand nudge him, taking his attention again.

Looking to the side, he saw it waiting for him, seemingly asking for his part of the deal to be finished. At this moment, its skin was completely eaten away, and what was left of it was nothing but bits and pieces hanging loosely. The hand was barely able to hover above ground as it was losing strength very rapidly with each passing second.

Arthur noticed that and for a moment, he smirked to himself before he looked down.

“Oops… I don’t know where I put the shard.”

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