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.

The bell chimed a third time, but now it was a funeral toll.

He opened his mouth. No sound came out. His body convulsed as a thousand deaths—none of them his—tore through his nerves. The obsidian shards fell from his armor like dead leaves. His eyes went white.

“You’re late,” Elite Pain snarled. “I was told you’d beg.”

The bell chimed again. Is that all?

I am the sum of every pain you have inflicted.

Without a word, 3l bent down, picked up Lament , and snapped it over one knee. The pieces dissolved into ash.