A Journey Unwanted N Chapter 233 - 226: Spawn of Magic vs Descendant of the End I

Chapter 233: Chapter 226: Spawn of Magic vs Descendant of the End IIl

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"Tch—"

A scowl marred Mikoto’s delicate features. A single line of blood dripped from the corner of his lips, a vivid crimson. He spat, the blood hitting the charred, molten ground with a hiss, evaporating almost instantly upon contact with the superheated floor.

The tallic taste lingered, thick and putrid on his tongue. His jaw ached, no doubt fractured. His ribs—shattered, splintering into the soft organs beneath. His entire skeletal structure felt as though it had been turned to brittle glass, barely holding itself together. He could feel sothing wet sloshing around inside him. Blood. Internal bleeding. The damage was extensive. Were it not for his regenerative magic, Selwyn would have ended this fight right there.

A single punch.

That was all it had taken.

From a short distance away, a deep chuckle rumbled through the area, reverberating in the air like the growl of a wild animal.

"I quite enjoy that expression." Selwyn spoke, his voice deep and laced with pure delight. "I have longed to see those delicate features twisted in pain."

He savored it. Every broken breath Mikoto took. Every strained movent. Every red droplet that fell from his rosy lips. It was a masterpiece—a sight that no treasure in the world could match.

Mikoto’s fingers twitched, his gauntleted hand clenching reflexively into a tight fist. He fought the urge to roll his eyes, though the action was admittedly difficult with blood running down his face.

"Cocky shit stain," he sneered, his voice raspier than he would have liked, but still brimming with venomous hate. "You got a lucky hit in, and now you think you’ve already won? Delusional much?"

His words were sharp, biting—but his mind was racing.

Selwyn was strong. Too strong.

That transformation—it was beyond the scope of any augntation ability.

("A transformation... almost like Arcane Ascendance.")

His gaze flickered, analyzing Selwyn’s warped, draconic form.

("No... not quite. It’s different. My eyes tell

he’s more than just ’empowered.’ He’s embodying sothing. Acting as an avatar for the Dragon of the End.")

Dragons were not re beasts. They were fundantally different from the Gods.

And the Dragon of the End? It was the avatar of the Bringer of Death. The concept of ruin and finality, given form. Among all dragons, it was undeniably the most powerful. And now its avatar stood before him—fully realized.

His instincts scread. Run.

That ancient, primal warning, one ingrained into every person’s soul—the knowledge that this thing standing before him could not be fought with normal ans.

Selwyn wasn’t just overwhelmingly stronger. He was a calamity.

("Even if I refine my enhancent spells, it won’t be enough.")

Before? Yes. Before, he could have matched Selwyn through sheer augntation. But now? No amount of reinforcent would close this gap. The required enhancents would tear his own body apart before Selwyn even had the chance.

And he hadn’t even factored in his Draconic Resonance.

A slow exhale left his lips.

He had two paths.

Both were terrible.

Either he used Harbinger, exhausting seventy percent of his mana in a single blow—leaving him vulnerable to other forces.

Or.

He fled.

His frown deepened, disgust curling at the edges of his lips.

("Tch. That bastard Aelfric is lurking. He’s waiting. Waiting for

to weaken, so he can strike the final blow.")

Either option... would cost him.

("I have to rely on Guinevere and Lyra after this. If I survive.")

Sothing warm trickled down his cheek.

His vision wavered.

("My Chthonia’s overloading—again!?")

A curse left his lips.

Not now.

His eyes—his gift. It was forcibly analyzing everything before him, digging into the core of Selwyn’s transformation, processing its nature, breaking it down.

Paradigm Rebirth.

The na of the ability.

The mont Selwyn had muttered it, the pillar of light had engulfed him, and his entire existence had changed.

Chthonia wasn’t ant to process things like this, it was ant to analyze magic.

But this? Selwyn had surpassed basic magic, The pain in his skull sharpened, but before he could reel from the weight of it—

A voice cut through the haze.

"The battle is yet to reach its fervor, my friend." Selwyn’s voice slithered through the suffocating heat, cutting into Mikoto’s thoughts. "Co." Selwyn beckoned, his molten-gold eyes gleaming with sothing vile. "Show

the true you."

Mikoto spat, a mixture of blood and saliva hitting the ground with a hiss. He wiped at his vision sluggishly, his gauntlet saring crimson across his pale, battered features.

Still, despite that, his voice ca sharp, full with venom.

"Go to hell, bastard."

That jagged face smiled.

Selwyn’s grin was the kind that savored. The kind that admired a thing not for what it was, but for what it was about to beco. His gaze settled on Mikoto’s large, puffy crimson eyes, their natural beauty distorted by swelling and exhaustion, yet still burning with sothing that refused to die.

Ah, what a sight.

Selwyn’s breath hitched, barely perceptible.

That delicate, porcelain skin, now sullied with the most beautiful color—red. That scowl, a perfect blend of defiance and hatred, twisting his soft, doll-like features into sothing subli.

"You are like ."

Mikoto stilled. An unnatural feeling creeping up on his body as those words left the monsters lips.

At first, those words sounded random, the kind of drivel that should’ve been dismissed outright. Yet, the certainty in Selwyn’s voice—the way he spoke those four words as if they were absolute truth—made sothing writhe in the back of Mikoto’s skull.

"Huh?" His response was sharp, his scowl deepening. "What nonsense are you spouting now?"

Mikoto couldn’t see Selwyn’s face clearly, but he didn’t need to.

He knew the bastard was grinning.

Selwyn took a slow step forward, his presence dense and suffocating.

"You experienced that thrill," he murmured, each syllable tainted with an odd softness. "As your blade carved through my flesh..." His voice dipped, near reverent. "Your lips twisted into the most beautiful smile."

Mikoto’s expression contorted—not in rage, not in pain, but in sothing that could only be described as pure, unfiltered disgust.

The fact that Selwyn had noticed.

The fact that Selwyn had rembered.

That in itself was deeply, deeply unsettling.

A shudder crawled up Mikoto’s spine like a centipede made of ice. He had fought too many battles, had taken lives without hesitation. But sothing about this conversation—this particular exchange—was making him feel profoundly disturbed.

Selwyn had a gift.

He saw too much.

Mikoto scoffed, trying to shove down the unease.

"Don’t compare

to you, jackass." Selwyn tilted his head, Mikoto’s voice sharpened, laced with mockery. "You’re a wild animal. Your only purpose cos from fighting. Other than that, you’ve got nothing. You’re just a slave to base desires."

And then, slowly, ever so slowly, Mikoto’s lips curled.

It should have been a nasty smirk. A sharp, condescending sneer ant to belittle the fool standing before him.

But his face...

His face ruined it.

No matter what expression he made—anger, cruelty, mockery—his delicate, finely-sculpted features ensured that it always ca off as strikingly beautiful.

It was infuriating.

For both himself and his enemy.

"Comparing

to soone as worthless as you?" Mikoto’s voice dripped with venom. "Don’t make

laugh."

Selwyn chuckled, he didn’t care, not about the insult, not about the mockery, je had seen what he needed to see.

"Do not deny yourself, my friend," Selwyn murmured.

Mikoto’s eye twitched, Selwyn’s gaze bored into him.

"I see it. The twisted desire in your eyes. The want to brutalize. The want to kill."

Mikoto sighed, long and exaggerated.

"That’s reserved for you ’cause you’re so darn special~" he cooed, voice sickly sweet, the sarcastic lilt unmistakable, the mockery was thick enough to cut with a blade.

And yet...

It slid right off.

Selwyn remained unmoved.

Mikoto’s expression darkened.

"You really think I’ve fallen that far, huh?" His voice lost its usual sharpness, settling into sothing colder. "I’m scum. I know that much. But at least I have an actual purpose." His right hand slowly rose, fingers curling against his temple. The icy alloy of his gauntlet clashed against the warmth of his own blood-stained skin. "The two of us couldn’t be more different."

His fingers pressed harder.

A dry, humorless chuckle slipped past his lips.

"Do you have any idea how much it pisses

off that you think I’m like you?"

Selwyn watched, he didn’t reply, didn’t argue, didn’t refute.

Because he knew.

Mikoto’s words—his anger, his outrage—none of it was directed at Selwyn, it was directed at himself.

"Then this attack shall be a tribute to you."

Selwyn’s body began to rise, slowly. As if invisible hands were lifting him, the movent eerily smooth—almost unnatural. Golden eyes bore into Mikoto, brimming with sothing inexplicable—an emotion that teetered between admiration, obsession, and sothing almost... reverent.

He watched.

Watched as Mikoto, rather than preparing for the incoming destruction, buried his face into his hands, blood pooled between his fingers.

Rivulets of deep red slipped through the cracks of his trembling hands, dripping down his pale cheeks, staining the alloy of his gauntlets in uneven sars. It didn’t stop. His breathing ca in irregular gasps, his petite body wracked with sothing far more insidious than re exhaustion.

Selwyn’s smile widened.

Because Mikoto wasn’t looking at him.

Because Mikoto, at that mont, wasn’t even facing the battlefield.

He was drowning in his own mind.

The blood didn’t just spill from his eyes—it felt as if it were pouring from his very soul, a wound that refused to close. A sickness that had no cure.

Mikoto’s pettite shoulders shuddered.

You are like .

Those words wouldn’t stop echoing, burrowing themselves deep into the marrow of his being.

No. I’m not.

He squeezed his skull tighter, blood seeped between his fingers faster.

Selwyn, hovering high above, rely raised a single hand.

The motion was slow almost... lazy, as if the impending devastation was nothing more than a casual afterthought.

The world darkened, a do of abyssal black erupted outward, it was the absence of everything.

A creeping void, unraveling reality at the seams as it spread rapidly. The air recoiled. The battlefield, already ruined beyond recognition, ceased to exist where the abyss passed. Mountains, debris—all devoured. No resistance. No remnants. There was no dust, no sound, no echo of destruction.

Only erasure.

And it was coming for Mikoto.

Fast.

Hunger incarnate.

But Mikoto did not move, the abyss inched closer, still, Mikoto did not lift his head, still, he did not fight. Because for the first ti, perhaps in his entire life, he was truly considering it.

Was he really any different from soone like Selwyn?

Was he really so separate from the monster above?

The mory of his own smile as he carved into Selwyn’s flesh surfaced, unbidden. A slow, excruciating replay of the way his lips had curled, the way his body had thrumd with sothing undeniable.

Had that been... thrill?

Had that been enjoynt?

Mikoto’s fingers clenched against his scalp so hard his nails nearly punctured skin.

The void rushed forward.

And still—

Still, Mikoto did not lift his head, the edge of nothingness reached his sabatons, it slithered up his legs, swallowing him whole.

The world disappeared, everything was still, everything was silent. It was a silence so complete, so absolute, that it felt like being buried alive beneath eternity, ti did not exist here.

But even if he were a monster he must not die, those two faces of those most important surfaced.

"Arcane Ascendance: ?? ???? ??˙?? ?????????????? ???? ò????˙??"

There was no self. No body. No identity.

Just—

A single eye.

Then another.

Then dozens.

Then hundreds.

Crimson irises pierced the void, their glow stark, furious and ravenous, they did not blink, they only watched, the abyss cracked, the rupture ca without warning.

Shattered.

Like fragile glass eting the force of an omnipotent will. A fracture in the nothingness split outward, rippling across the blackened realm with an ear-splitting resonance.

A chorus followed.

A sound not ant for mortal ears, a sound that did not belong to any single voice. It was many. It was a hymn sung by sothing beyond understanding.

Reality reford.

And Selwyn...

Stared.

For the first ti, he did not smile. Because before him it erged, an imnse, unholy being of overwhelming terror had materialized within the abyss—not summoned, not created, not manifested, but simply revealed.

As if it had always been there.

Waiting.

???????? ????????d ?????? ?????? ???????? ?? ????????, ?????? ?? ???????????????? ??????????.

A ?????????????????????? of ???????????????? ????????????, a seraphic horror, its body composed of an uncountable multitude of golden rings, each layer rotating in unnatural synchronicity, decorated with thousands upon thousands of unblinking, blood-red eyes, all focused solely upon him.

??????.

????????????????.

Vast wings—??????, twelve, perhaps far more than mortal minds could ever count—stretched outward, covering everything, their feathers alight with an ever-shifting spectrum of impossible colors. So glowed like shattered prisms of sothing divine; others bled, their edges weeping viscous ichor, dripping into the abyss and dissolving into nonexistence.

A ???????? ???? ?????????? and ?????????????????? pulsed from its core. Its presence—????????????, its awareness—felt as if it were ???????????????????? ?????? ?????????????? ???? ??????????????

It

????????????????

Selwyn’s entire body seized, his mind crushed under the impossible weight of its presence.

???????? ?????? ??????

???????? ?????? ?????? ?? ???????? ??????, ?????? ?? ??????????????, ?????? ??

This was sothing that had transcended.

????,

This was sothing that had always been.

?????????????? ?????? ????????????????????.

????, ??????

?????????? ???????????? ???????? ?? ?????? ??????????.

The universe could not contain it. The re presence of the ??????????????????????—the Ascendant Form—was twisting the fabric of existence, destabilizing all that was, all that would be, all that ever could be.

???????? fractured.

?????????? bent in ways it should not bend.

???????? ???????? ???????????????? ?????? ????????????—????????????????, ??????????????????, ????????????—shattered into incomprehensible chaos.

Then a sudden flash, brighter than the first dawn, brighter than the collapse of dying stars, brighter than ?????? ?????????? ???????? ????????????

A light so pure, so overwhelming, it ???????????????? ?????? universe ????????????. The horrid seraphic horror shrank, its writhing wings folding inward, its rings collapsing, its uncountable eyes closing one by one, until the vast, incomprehensible monstrosity beca sothing different.

Sothing

Sothing ????????

The air trembled.

The golden glow solidified into ??????????—????????????????????????, ????????????, ?????? ???????????????????????? ????????.

????????????

No longer the shattered, fragile boy who had bled . No longer the monster whose form warped reality. No longer the raw Ascendant terror that had threatened to erase all things.

???? ??????

Clad in white armor, ???????????????????? ???? ??????????, ???????????????????? ???? ????????, ???????????????????????????? ????

The sculpted plating glead, every piece gilded. The armor was seamless—a complete suit, flowing from head to toe, neither forged nor sewn. The helt, sweeping and smooth, bore a golden crest, a sharp brow plate. Flowing from his shoulders, a white mantle trailed behind him, its edges curling, yet falling like heavy fabric. From his helt, winged extensions stretched outward.

Behind the fra a large halo sat.

This was Mikoto Yukio fully realized.