Deep within the inner realm, inside a fragnt of apocalyptic history.
At the edge of the grand cityscape reconstructed by mystical might, a fierce battle raged on. Powers of ancient dominion reerged, entangled in combat with the decaying forces of the grave.
Spiritual threads—countless red-glimring lines of spirituality—whipped through the sky at high speed, chasing after their quarry like serpents. Their target: an ancient wraith exuding freezing cold.
“Freeze…”
A raspy voice escaped the withered skull. As Setut once again found himself surrounded by countless spiritual threads from all directions, he released an aura of frigid cold, shrouding himself in chilling mist that froze and stalled the oncoming threads. Just as he prepared to retaliate and destroy them—
A sudden ambush arrived.
From within the white fog burst a blazing fireball. Hurtling through the mist ca a stout, armored figure—a dwarf clad in heavy armor with a bushy beard, completely wreathed in flas. Wielding a glowing warhamr, he barreled through the cold like a teor, crashing hard into Setut!
Setut swiftly conjured a shield of solid ice before him. The fiery dwarf collided with the shield in a massive explosion. The shield shattered, and Setut was blasted backward out of the freezing fog, only to imdiately face yet another wave of attacks.
Wind. And fire.
Gale-force wind blades scread down from the sky. The earth quaked and cracked open as pillars of fla erupted from below, roaring toward Setut from all directions.
Facing a pincer attack from above and below, Setut paused briefly, then unleashed a pale-white aura that rapidly expanded to envelop him. The glow swelled to nearly a hundred ters in height, and when it dissipated, a massive ice dragon stood in his place—entirely constructed from solid ice. Setut himself was encased within its chest, sealed in the frozen heart of the dragon, using it as a shell.
A deafening roar echoed as the storm of wind blades and rising pillars of fire collided with the ice dragon. But the attacks left it largely unhard. Setut, along with the dragon, turned his gaze toward the skies—to the direction from which the wind had co. There, he saw a figure: a dark elf in light armor, skin dark as night.
Without hesitation, Setut had the ice dragon unleash a massive blast of icy breath. The torrent was so vast it was nearly impossible to dodge, and so intense that even the dark elf’s wind manipulation couldn’t hold it back. The elf was quickly frozen solid and fell like a stone, shattering on the rooftop below.
But as Setut examined the remains, he noticed sothing strange—what lay in the icy shards was not the true body of the dark elf.
“A spiritual thread swap? Hah… As expected. Once a marionettist gains that ability, their trickery multiplies tenfold… Isn’t that right, Taharka…”
From within the ice dragon, Setut spoke in the soul speech. As he spoke, he turned the dragon’s body toward a familiar figure in the distance.
Atop a high-rise, a pale-skinned, long-haired man in a dark cloak stood with indifference, facing the enormous ice dragon. Three other figures stood beside him.
A heavily armored dwarf with a warhamr.
A half-bare dark elf in ornate light armor.
A knight in full white plate armor, with no visible features, though his legs bore clearly non-human, reverse-jointed structure.
Facing this old acquaintance, Taharka’s expression remained cold. He spoke slowly, almost like a warning.
“You know what state I’m in now. You should know there’s no chance for you to win this fight. Give it up, Setut.”
Setut was silent for a mont before replying.
“I don’t know what brought you here like this, Taharka. Did that child upon the divine throne promise you sothing? Or do you actually believe Hafdar’s nonsense—that the godling is the true Divine ntor?”
At this, Taharka’s expression flickered. After a pause, he replied solemnly.
“That twisted being upon the throne is no Divine ntor… Only a madman like Hafdar could believe such foolishness. I know what that thing is. I know how blasphemous it is to follow its will… and yet… I still chose to do it.”
As he spoke, Taharka’s face contorted. The calm expression he wore cracked into sothing feral. Madness swirled in his eyes.
“Because now I understand! That is the Great Tide! What that twisted thing symbolizes is the unstoppable, inevitable tide of fate! Any resistance is aningless… even the Divine ntor cannot defy it! It is a destiny even they cannot command. It is absolute. Irreversible.
“In the face of that destiny… resistance is futile. Struggle is futile. Better to embrace it… than defy it…”
As he finished, Taharka’s tone turned hazy, his expression unfocused… His ntal state was clearly abnormal. Seeing this, Setut’s expression sharpened.
“You… you’ve been corrupted. When did it happen?”
“Ah… that? Probably during the last defense of the Revelation sacred land. That was when… I witnessed the unstoppable tide… saw our powerlessness…”
Covering his forehead, Taharka murmured. And Setut imdiately understood.
“The last defense of Heopolis…”
Back during the battle of Heopolis in Busalet, all four undead pharaohs had gathered to defend the Revelation sacred land against the Afterbirth Apostle Unina. At that ti, because his auxiliary spirituality was aligned with the Chalice, Taharka had beco a target of spiritual domination by Unina, who possessed the divinity of the Mother of Chalice.
During the attack, Taharka was severely wounded—and more importantly, forcibly linked to the Mother of Chalice through Unina. He caught a glimpse of her.
Of all the fallen foreign gods, the Mother of Chalice was among the most powerful and thoroughly corrupted. That fleeting connection tainted Taharka’s will. Though the corruption was subtle at first, it grew with ti. And it was in this broken state that Hafdar—already half-mad—approached him. Taharka accepted his offer without hesitation.
To the corrupted Taharka, the tide of corruption was now unstoppable. The Mother of Chalice was corruption, the godling upon the Throne of Fate was corruption—and even though he knew the godling was not the true Heaven’s Arbiter, he still chose to serve.
“…Sigh…”
Realizing Taharka’s condition, Setut sighed quietly. Then he commanded the ice dragon to unleash a furious roar—blasting a beam of icy breath toward the distant rooftop, engulfing it in a glittering cascade of frost.
When the icy torrent faded, Setut examined the rooftop and surrounding buildings—only to find no trace of Taharka or his marionettes. Just a few ordinary people, clearly substitutes swapped in via spiritual threads.
Seeing this, Setut had the ice dragon take flight, wings beating powerfully as he soared into the sky. At its mouth, another, even more powerful breath attack began to form—this ti, Setut planned to freeze the entire area within several dozen kiloters, wiping out every marionette Taharka might have hidden.
But Taharka saw through his intent instantly.
Relocated to another building, he looked out the window toward the charging ice dragon and sent his most elite marionette into action.
BOOM!
The earth shook. From a street below, a blazing fireball soared into the sky like a reverse teor. It was Taharka’s dwarven marionette!
Now fully transford into a living weapon, the warhamr-wielding dwarf burned with roaring flas. His entire body had been reforged into hardened tal, glowing white-hot. Behind him howled a violent wind, propelling him like a cannonball toward the ice dragon.
As a Gold-rank marionettist, Taharka’s abilities went far beyond simple thread-based body-swapping. The extraordinary individuals under his control retained full access to their own powers—and marionette form didn’t strip them of any abilities.
Not only that—Taharka could reallocate and combine abilities across his marionettes.
And now, he had concentrated the powers of three distinct marionettes into one devastating combination.
The dwarven marionette reforged and superheated itself, becoming an unbreakable projectile. The armored marionette added further heat, creating a flaming shield that wrapped around the dwarf. The dark elf marionette accelerated the "dwarf cannonball" with stormborne winds—launching it like a missile toward Setut’s ice dragon.
Upon witnessing Taharka’s combination attack, Setut couldn’t help but feel a flicker of danger. He halted the ice dragon’s charged breath, redirecting the accumulated frost power downward toward the oncoming projectile, preparing to clash head-on.
But just then, Taharka made another move.
From inside the building, Taharka pulled out a remote control-like device and pressed a button. In that instant, Setut—still inside the ice dragon in the sky—suddenly felt his body falter. A strange rejection sensation began to push his soul out of his body.
“What... is this?!”
“You entered this world with Heaven’s Arbiter’s charm. While concealing your presence, it also triggered changes in your body... and those changes aren't necessarily good ones... especially for you, Setut…”
Gazing coldly at the ice dragon now visibly lagging mid-air, Taharka murmured. As he said, the anomaly afflicting Setut was a side effect of the integration of Heaven’s Arbiter’s charm.
When one enters a fragnt world while bearing the Arbiter’s charm, their body integrates into the fragnt according to their nature. For Setut, as an undead, he would beco that world’s equivalent of the undead—or the closest possible interpretation of such an existence.
However, in this cyberpunk setting, the undead weren’t traditional necrotic beings. They were posthumous laborers. In this hyper-capitalist world dominated by gacorporations, dying in debt was normal. If a deceased debtor had no heirs to inherit their debt, then the only remaining asset—their body—was used for repaynt.
For the weak and infirm, even their corpses had no value. For ordinary people, bodies were harvested for implants and organs. But the corpses of powerful cyborg-enhanced warriors were invaluable assets. With gene-modified bodies and perfectly integrated implants, they were too valuable to simply discard. Corporations would surgically replace their dead brains with signal transceivers, reanimating their corpses as functional puppets to continue working after death.
This was posthumous labor—the world’s version of the undead. And Setut, having entered this world, had beco one such cyber-dead, now property of True Universe, the sole surviving gacorp.
That was why Taharka could interfere with Setut’s body using a remote control.
Due to this interference, the ice dragon faltered mid-charge, its response delayed. Setut missed his opportunity to counter. All he could do was watch helplessly as the blazing dwarf projectile struck the high-flying dragon squarely. The superheated dwarf pierced straight through the ice dragon, shattering it from within. Steam hissed, and shards of ice exploded into a blizzard that rained down across the city.
Staring at the falling ice fragnts, Taharka’s expression turned serious. His miniature marionettes—scattered across the battlefield—moved swiftly, scanning the debris. Soon, they located Setut’s shattered body among the fragnts.
But not his soul.
“Where… is the spirit?”
The question had barely ford in Taharka’s mind when he felt the surrounding air temperature plumt. Frost suddenly ford across the room, and his body was instantly frozen into a sculpture of ice.
BOOM!
With a thunderous crash, the ceiling above exploded. A figure shot through the dust—Nephthys!
Clad in jet-black ice armor, wielding a massive black-ice battle axe, she brought it down hard on Taharka’s head.
Setut’s full combat strength as a Gold-rank undead required both a body and a tomb. So when he volunteered to face Taharka alone, Dorothy was wary of the risk. She secretly instructed Nephthys to remain nearby and provide support if needed.
Nephthys had hidden herself and drawn a summoning array tailored to Setut. At the mont his ice dragon was destroyed, she activated the ritual, pulling Setut’s spirit into safety. Her ability borrowed a split-spirit from the True Spirit Shaman, granted to her in the real world when Setut sought aid.
After summoning Setut’s spirit, Nephthys entered possession and followed Harald's tactics—conjuring ice armor and axe—then launched her ambush.
“Got him!”
Seeing Taharka shatter into frozen pieces, Nephthys exclaid joyfully. But Setut’s voice echoed gravely in her mind.
“No. That’s not him… we were just a step too late—he reacted in ti and escaped.”
Nephthys’s heart sank. She looked down at the corpse entombed in the ice shards and saw it wasn’t Taharka at all.
Clearly, Taharka had once again used spiritual threads to swap himself out with another marionette and flee. Setut had missed him again.
Staring at the aftermath, Setut chuckled bitterly.
“Hah… what a repulsive ability…”
…
While the ancient pharaohs of the First Dynasty were “reminiscing,” intense battles raged across other parts of the city.
High in the skies above the city cluster, a massive aircraft with a wingspan over a hundred ters cruised overhead. Its underbelly opened, releasing rows of aerial bombs that whistled downward, leveling skyscrapers and scouring streets with successive blasts. Wherever its shadow passed, only devastation remained.
Suddenly, from the rubble of the bombardnt zone, several shadow blades sliced upward. They struck the plane midair, easily cleaving its fuselage and even severing its wings.
But the sliced edges liquefied and wriggled like living tal—reforming and fusing seamlessly in an instant. The damage was completely healed.
Then, from the dust, a flashing shadow flare shot skyward. It didn’t strike the plane directly but grazed its side. The intense light cast a sharp shadow beneath its wing—out of which a figure burst forth.
Artcheli.
She launched her ambush from the shadow, wielding her shadow blade, which extended into a colossal weapon dozens of ters long. Without hesitation, she cleaved the massive aircraft midair—slicing it clean into four pieces.
But the aircraft didn’t fall.
Instead, the four chunks reshaped like putty, morphing in midair into four separate fighter jets. Each soared off in a different direction and opened fire.
But their "bullets" weren’t ordinary projectiles.
One fired blazing fireballs.
One launched frigid air blasts.
One sprayed high-pressure water jets.
One unleashed swift, slicing wind blades.
Each of the four jets wielded a different elental power, launching an all-out assault on Artcheli.
Struggling to find footing midair, she descended while dodging rapidly—nimbly twisting through the barrage. Despite the overwhelming firepower, she deftly swung her elongated shadow blade and struck down each fighter one by one, cleaving them into scattered debris.
Eventually, Artcheli landed steadily—landing right on the asphalt of a city street. The dismbered remains of the fighter jets she had just sliced apart rained down around her, but strangely, none of the debris made any impact craters. Instead, they fell into the ground as gently as raindrops falling into a pond, silently rging into the pavent as if they were ginseng fruits—each fragnt sinking naturally into the earth without a trace.
Then, just as those shards vanished underground, danger erupted around her.
From beneath the street, from the walls of the high-rises on both sides, countless dark-golden tal tendrils sprouted out like tentacles. These tallic appendages writhed and twisted constantly, reshaping themselves into a multitude of weapons—blades, spears, sabers, halberds, cannons, chainsaws…
Each of these weapons radiated a different elental energy—so burning hot with fire, others as cold as frost. Together, they lunged toward Artcheli from all directions.
Artcheli imdiately launched a counterattack. From her shadow, dozens of shadow clones split off, all wielding their own shadow blades. In unison with her original self, they slashed through the swarming tal weapons, cutting them into fragnts. But as soon as those fragnts hit the ground, they too rged silently into the pavent, vanishing without a trace.
“This is troubleso…”
Faced with danger from every angle, Artcheli’s expression grew tense. She had no effective way to counter this Umbrum Gargoyle—a polymorphic monster of the Gold-Devouring Path.
Once a Beyonder reached the Gold-rank on the Gold-Devouring Path—or the “tal Demon” Path—they lost the concept of a core or fatal weak point. Their bodies beca entirely liquid tal: capable of infinite division and limitless transformations into different weapons. An infuriatingly difficult foe.
The best thod to deal with such an enemy was spiritual or soul-based attacks. That was what Artcheli had used against the Dark Coin Noble, and it had been very effective—her strikes carried soul-damage, forcing him to constantly burn life-saving cards to survive. But the current Umbrum Gargoyle seed to be just a soulless puppet remotely controlled—making soul damage useless.
Against a fast-regenerating, amorphous enemy like this, the ideal thod was vaporization by high heat or total freezing. But unfortunately, this enemy could absorb elental energy. Fire and ice, unless on a divine scale, would just be consud. Her slashes were ineffective. And though it couldn't easily defeat her either, it was enough to keep her pinned down—preventing her from reaching the ritual’s center.
“Tch… What a pain.”
With a cold snort, Artcheli cut down yet another weapon-forged tentacle. But even when sliced apart, the tal simply slithered back into the ground, returning to the demon’s main body. It was a battle with no end in sight.
Just as she was growing frustrated, a voice echoed in her mind. She paused slightly.
“This thod...? It might be worth a try…”
With that thought, Artcheli changed tactics. She and her clones stopped going for powerful sweeping slashes. Instead, they began delivering faster and more frequent strikes—unleashing a flurry of high-frequency swings from their shadow blades.
Empowered by her Gold-rank Shadow ability, both Artcheli and her clones moved their arms and swords so rapidly that they blurred from sight—like spinning rotors, only far faster.
These high-frequency attacks turned her shadow blades into a kind of super shredder—rather than slicing, they pulverized. The incoming tentacles weren’t cut but ground into microscopic tal dust.
However, even dust-sized particles weren’t enough to disable the Umbrum Gargoyle. As long as they fell back into the ground, they could be reabsorbed and reconstructed.
But then—
Sothing happened.
As the powdered tal fell, it began to change.
It changed color—rapidly. The dark-gold dust transford into blood red as it descended.
Viewed under a microscope, those fine tal particles were becoming tiny clumps of flesh. Bits of blood and muscle. And just before they hit the ground, one of Artcheli’s clones tossed a sigil into the air—summoning a blaze of searing fire that incinerated the blood-flesh particles into blackened ash.
The one behind this transformation knelt behind a large window on the second floor of a nearby building—gazing down at the battlefield.
It was Sister Vania.
“Transform… cast aside your original form… embrace the truth of gentleness…”
Hands folded in prayer, Vania chanted as she invoked her power upon the battlefield below. She used her ability to transform matter into flesh—just like she once gave bodies to the dream-form.
Vania’s power could incarnate other forms into flesh. While her strength wasn’t enough to affect a Gold-rank enemy like the Umbrum Gargoyle directly, she could influence a billionth of it.
Artcheli’s pulverization reduced parts of the demon’s body to a fine enough scale for Vania to interfere. Vania converted the tal dust into vulnerable flesh, and then with a touch of divine fla, it could be destroyed.
Together, Artcheli and Vania had finally discovered a way to effectively harm the Umbrum Gargoyle. With every high-speed slash, tal dust rained down. Vania transford it. Artcheli’s fire destroyed it.
The gargoyle’s main body began to suffer real losses. If it kept fighting like this, it would consu itself into nothing.
Sensing this, the Umbrum Gargoyle changed tactics. It targeted Vania—the linchpin of the strategy—and launched an attack at her vulnerable position.
But Artcheli had already anticipated this.
In Vania’s prayer room, tal tendrils burst forth, attempting to pierce the praying nun from all sides—each shaped into a different lethal weapon.
However, just as the weapons struck, Vania’s shadow darkened—deepening into a thick, swirling mire. It swallowed her whole like a pool of living darkness, pulling her body into the shadow realm.
That shadow then rged with Artcheli’s own, transforming into her personal domain. From it erged a shadow blade, which lashed out in all directions, severing the attacking weapons and retreating rapidly toward Artcheli’s true body.
This was Artcheli’s counterasure: using her shadow domain to protect Vania from all harm—keeping the lynchpin of their strategy out of the demon’s reach.
Now, Artcheli held the upper hand in this battle.
And if she could keep Vania safe—
The Umbrum Gargoyle would soon be no more.
…
On the other side of the city, at another battlefield, the most intense wave of conflict had already passed. The devastated battlefield had now settled into a tense new standoff.
Countless skyscrapers had been leveled. Streets were trampled beyond recognition. What was once a towering forest of steel and concrete had been violently felled into sprawling ruins. And those responsible for felling these "giant trees" now stood upon the desolation they had wrought.
On one side stood a colossal undead bone stag, its skeleton inscribed with ancient runes, towering atop the rubble. Around it stood ranks of massive skeleton warriors clad in heavy armor. Opposing them was a no less awe-inspiring sight—countless stone giants, each tens of ters tall, lined up in strict formation like a disciplined army. In front stood soldiers wielding swords and shields; behind them were valiant knights on high steeds, fortress-like structures, and grand bishops robed in finery.
“…Heh. Still using the sa tricks, the sa formation… Everything’s where it used to be… You haven’t changed a bit.”
Suspended in midair between two massive bishop statues, Aldrich gazed at the skull atop the undead stag’s head and remarked with a hint of emotion. The skull—Deer Skull—responded with a gloomy look and voice.
“Indeed… as familiar as ever—so familiar it makes sick. Every ti I feel this sickening familiarity, it ans our old grudge remains unresolved…”
Hearing that, Aldrich smiled faintly and clasped his hands behind his back.
“True. The way we keep repeating this rivalry is truly pointless. Still—this ti, sothing is different. Today, we settle this, once and for all.
“One of us… must fall today.”
As Aldrich declared this, Deer Skull also raised a hand and sneered.
“Agreed. But the one who falls… will be you!”
As he spoke, a flash of light appeared in Deer Skull’s hand, revealing a small ornate box. When he opened it, an even brighter glow radiated outward—then faded, revealing an object in his hand.
—a luxurious skull.
Its mouth was filled with alternating gold and silver teeth, fixed firmly between upper and lower jaws. Giant gemstones were set into the eye sockets, and a variety of exquisite ornants and dazzling jewels adorned the skull in ticulous detail. Just looking at it stirred both fear and greed in the heart.
“Recognize this, old man?”
Deer Skull asked smugly, holding the ornate skull aloft.
Upon seeing it, Aldrich’s eyes widened in shock.
“Impossible… How did that thing end up in your hands…?
“Could it be… the Comrce divinity?! But I never even revealed it…”
Aldrich was visibly shaken. He knew exactly what that item was. It was his creation—his ritual piece for advancing to Gold-rank.
In the past, Aldrich and Deer Skull had competed for a seat in the Golden Triad, racing to complete their advancent rituals. Aldrich won, earning the Guild’s resources to conduct his advancent. But Deer Skull sabotaged the process and fled to the Nether Coffin Order for refuge. The cult agreed to shelter Deer Skull—but under pressure from the Guild, they forced him to hand over his ritual piece to Aldrich for safekeeping. Without it, Deer Skull was never able to complete his advancent.
From that day forward, Deer Skull's greatest wish was to destroy Aldrich and reclaim his work to restart his ritual. And now—he hadn’t defeated Aldrich, but he’d retrieved the piece, or rather, forcibly purchased it...
“Revealed? Heh… I don’t need anyone to show what I already own. As long as I know it exists, and that it’s on your person—and as long as I still have a sufficient mystic connection to it… that’s enough.”
Deer Skull’s grin widened.
“Thank you, Aldrich. For carrying my creation with you all this ti. Or rather, you probably couldn’t feel safe without it, right?
“Either way… thank you for bringing it. Now—join in witnessing this long-overdue ritual!”
Using a Comrce divinity box left behind by the Dark Coin Noble and the mystic link he still shared with the piece, Deer Skull had forcibly bought back his ritual item from Aldrich. And with it in hand—he acted imdiately.
Dark clouds gathered in the sky. A massive ritual array unfolded beneath the undead stag’s hooves. In the heavens above, a vortex began to swirl. The earth trembled.
This was his advancent ritual—Deer Skull’s ritual for rising to Gold-rank. With help from the godling and Hafdar, he had prepared everything within this realm long ago. All that was missing was Aldrich showing up with the ritual piece—so Deer Skull could take it by force.
And now, the ritual was underway.
He would ascend to Gold before Aldrich.
“Not if I can help it!”
Aldrich’s eyes flashed. He waved his arm, sending all his divine statues into motion—they launched toward Deer Skull, aiming to interrupt the ritual.
But Deer Skull wasn’t unprepared. He sent his skeletal army to intercept them, buying ti.
Once again, Aldrich and Deer Skull clashed. Explosions of apocalyptic force rocked the battlefield.
But this ti… the pressure was on Aldrich.
Still, amid the chaos, Aldrich didn’t seem truly panicked. As he gave commands and orchestrated his constructs, a subtle, almost imperceptible smile crept onto his lips…
…
The final battlefield—also the closest zone of conflict to the central tower—was still raging. Yet now, the tide of battle was clearly shifting.
Riding atop a massive red dragon, Hafdar soared through the skies. As the dragon rained flas below in sweeping bombardnts, Hafdar simultaneously manifested creatures from legends and myths—dropping them like bombs onto a single, persistent enemy.
A three-headed sea monster capable of capsizing entire fleets…
A withered giant strong enough to demolish high-rises…
A black-winged eagle so vast it blocked out the sky…
An endless wailing legion of undead…
And ghost ships roaring through the heavens…
One after another, these legendary or horrifying entities were materialized through Hafdar’s power and hurled into the fray—against a single impossible target: a bolt of brilliant lightning that continuously flashed and flared, obliterating everything it touched.
Above, dark clouds surged like tides. Thunder rumbled as divine judgnt descended. From the gaps between storm clouds, heavenly lightning—symbolizing divine wrath—crashed down, striking Hafdar’s summoned creatures and reducing them to ash. All manner of specters and horrors were drowned in searing, rciless brilliance.
“Damn…”
High above, Hafdar’s brow furrowed as he watched lightning rain down from the heavens. Against Dorothy’s relentless divine thunder, his myth-creature legion was quickly unraveling. Since his previous tricks had been seen through, the tide of battle had shifted against him.
“Divine ntor…”
Hafdar glanced toward the tower in the distance, where a violet pillar of light still surged into the sky, piercing the massive eye overhead. He refocused, continuing to command his dragon and trade blows with the flickering lightning darting through the city below.
But then—another bolt of lightning crashed down from the clouds, this ti aid directly at Hafdar.
Warned by his pet parrot, Hafdar had already prepared. As soon as the divine thunder began to gather, he leapt from his red dragon. Monts later, the beast was engulfed by multiple simultaneous lightning strikes and vaporized with a thunderous cry.
Stumbling slightly, Hafdar landed atop a high-rise rooftop. But more divine thunder was forming again. Glancing at the brilliant light accumulating in the heavens, his expression grew grim.
Just then, the world changed.
A strange power parted the clouds—blowing open the heavy sky to reveal the enormous eye suspended above. The violet beam from the tower still pierced into the pupil. And then—
A harsh, distorted, booming voice—like a chorus of countless voices overlapping—echoed across the world. It was near. It was far. It was inside every creature’s ears.
A beam of light shot down from the giant eye, bathing the entire city in a dim, ghostly violet glow. Within this purple haze, shadowy symbols flitted about like schools of swimming fish. Upon close examination, they were complex, shifting glyphs—floating everywhere through the city.
At the sa ti, the thunder in the sky fell silent.
Dorothy, who had been darting through conductive surfaces as lightning, stopped atop a rooftop. She clutched her forehead, her brow deeply furrowed.
“That thing again… it’s back…”
She could feel it: an insidious consultation—a malicious tic contagion—spreading across the entire realm. And it was invading through every channel imaginable.
Sight… Sound… Sll… Taste… Spiritual sensation… Even her sixth sense—
Every perception was being infiltrated. ssages of madness and corruption flooded her mind in every possible form.
Among these signals was cognitive poison—sothing she could still manage. But there was sothing far worse…
The tic corruption of the godling.
She had faced it before in Tivian, when it interfered with her divine abilities. Now, that sa kind of tic infection surged into her mind once more, unstoppable.
“Not good…”
Her body wavered slightly as she felt her condition deteriorate. The godling’s new batch of tic data—distinct from the last ti—was rushing in like a tidal wave. The only way to resist was to direct all of it into the part of her brain already influenced by Mirror Moon's divinity, shielding her divinity from the invasion.
But the problem was: unlike in Tivian, this wasn’t a trickle—it was an onslaught, endless and overwhelming.
And her Mirror Moon concealed brain region was limited.
If she kept shoving tic information in, it would soon overflow.
That was exactly what the godling wanted.
“Damn it… at this rate, my shadow-brain region will be completely overrun. Once that happens, I won’t be able to use my divinity. And I’ll never make it to the ritual tower in ti. I have to eliminate Hafdar first—he’s the last obstacle.”
“But if Hafdar just keeps avoiding a direct fight, I won’t be able to deal with him fast enough… My only option now is to pretend my divine access is blocked—draw him into attacking, then strike.”
Dorothy narrowed her eyes and quickly laid out her new plan.
But as she turned her gaze toward Hafdar—
—she saw sothing that surprised her.
Hafdar had already re-manifested his red dragon and was hovering far away, clearly keeping his distance. He just stared ahead, motionless, with no intent to attack.
That unsettled her.
“It’s pointless, Usurper… I will not take any risks before your stolen divinity is completely sealed.”
“And as for your current condition… I know it precisely. The Divine ntor has revealed it to . Your tricks can no longer deceive . Don’t waste your ti feigning weakness.”
As he spoke, a vertical purple eye slowly opened on Hafdar’s forehead—gazing at Dorothy, who stared back in alarm.
“…He’s reading my mind…”
“Indeed… this is the power of the Divine ntor’s partial awakening. Do you see now?”
Hafdar confird her fear.
The godling, seated upon the Throne of Fate, had grown significantly by feeding on the world’s power. It could now directly interfere with the battlefield—an interference that was extrely dangerous for Dorothy’s side.
…
Elsewhere on the battlefield, bone soldiers and towering war statues clashed. Towers crumbled. The ground shook. Streets were obliterated.
Commanding his army of magical statues, Aldrich continued to battle Deer Skull. At that mont, Aldrich was waiting—waiting for a specific opportunity to strike.
By all logic, that opportunity should’ve co by now.
But nothing had happened.
That silence unsettled him.
“Still no reaction… could it be—”
“Could it be,” Deer Skull interrupted mockingly, “that I’ve already seen through your little plan? That I discovered what you tampered with on my treasure?”
He smiled smugly—and as he spoke, a third purple eye slowly opened on his forehead.
Under Aldrich’s startled gaze, Deer Skull held up the ornate skull—his ritual piece—and declared.
“Under the guidance of that great being, nothing can be hidden from now, Aldrich! You tried to sabotage my ritual by planting a trap within my artifact. Clever plan…
“But too bad—the Eye of the God saw through it.”
“I know you’re waiting for to begin the ritual… well, soon. Very soon. Just a little longer—after I finish purging your little tricks…”
Deer Skull drank in Aldrich’s shocked, despairing face with relish. The minds of those infected by the godling’s tic corruption beca transparent to it and its followers. Even if cognitive poisons had failed, those tic traces still existed in their minds—acting as spies.
And before the god who ruled over knowledge and thought—
No sche could remain hidden.
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