The battlefield was a labyrinth of chaos.
But for Isolde Blackheart, it had beco sothing far worse.
A nightmare.
Not one of fire or fury. But one of absence. A horror shaped by the hollow impression of sothing she couldn’t quite perceive.
Another blow.
It slamd against her ribs, fast and sharp—too sharp. She twisted instinctively, bracing for a follow-up, but there was nothing. No flicker of movent. No visible shape. Not even a sound.
Her fingers twitched.
Her eyes flared with golden light as she activated a spiritual eye technique passed down through generations of the Blackheart family. Designed to trace movent and anticipate trajectories, the skill had never failed her in battle.
Until now.
The glowing rings around her pupils faded as swiftly as they ca. The skill yielded nothing. No direction. No data. Nothing to analyze.
Her eye narrowed. Her jaw clenched.
"I’m under attack," she whispered under her breath. "It’s most likely Reese. Don’t forget."
Reed nearby overheard her murmuring to herself, and couldn’t help sighing at the fact that his opponent didn’t rember his na...but he was used to it...
Another strike grazed her shoulder. Harder this ti (potentially out of spite).
She spun, arm sweeping outward like a blade, but hit only empty air. Her instincts scread that he’d already moved. Again. Sowhere.
She issued a ntal order.
Find him.
The Demonwing Harpy answered first, its screech cutting through the air and creating an ultrasonic wave that would feed information back to it. But...
Negative. There is nothing to lock on to.
The Phoenix, similarly, emitted a heat wave concentrated around itself. This was its go-to thod of detecting invisible enemies. However, no information was fed back to it.
Even the Soulreaver Incubus, typically smug and composed, responded in a clipped tone:
No target visible. No thoughts detected. Not even a presence.
As an infernal creature with a ntal attribute, it tried to detect Reed through the presence of any ntal waves or thoughts being detected. But still nothing.
It was as if Reed had vanished completely.
No... worse than that.
He existed—but only to attack.
Each ti she began to forget, the next blow reminded her.
A flicker of pressure against her lower back. She ducked, pivoted, swung.
Missed.
Nothing. Not even dust was displaced.
She was being toyed with. Like prey cornered by a ghost.
Isolde ground her teeth, steadying herself. She drew in a breath and exhaled slow.
This was probably one of the most irritating gifts she’d ever co across. There seed to be no regular ans of detecting him. In fact, periodically, she’d forget to even keep trying to detect him.
And worse—her own contracts were suffering too. She could feel it. A ntal suppression effect layered atop the natural misdirection of the Nullhalo Beetle that is subtly making them all less sharp.
Their coordination lagged. Reactions slowed. And worst of all, it was cumulative—the more ti passed, the deeper the suppression dug in.
Every few seconds she had to remind herself and her contracts that she was being attacked.
If she forgot, even for a mont...
She might not even defend herself.
"This isn’t sustainable," she muttered.
Isolde didn’t turn to look. She didn’t need to. The command had already been sent before her body moved.
Since normal thods of combatting Reed weren’t working, a higher-level one will be needed.
And she can tell that this pressure and feeling of helplessness was getting to her contracts too. She wouldn’t hold it back anymore...her true trump card.
Behind her, the Soulreaver Incubus stirred as if it could sense its mont was coming.
Release your domain.
The Incubus’s wings spread wide. Slowly. With great weight.
Black mist poured from its joints like a bleeding shadow. Its body beca semi-translucent, and a low hum filled the air—not heard by ears, but felt deep in the marrow.
The audience stilled. Even the announcers stamred.
"What is... what are we feeling?" one asked. "That pressure—it’s like... it’s like the air just turned solid."
On the sidelines, Kain’s eyes narrowed.
He felt it imdiately.
"A domain," he said.
Jade, beside him, blinked. "You’re sure?"
Even as a senior, she didn’t have much exposure to domains, and Kain likely never would have recognized it either if he hadn’t joined the Order and been exposed to the unseeing pressure that ca from a domain before.
Also, as the next crucial step in continuing on his journey as a beast-tar, naturally he’d used much of his free ti researching them.
"It’s not full," Kain replied. "That’s a fledgling domain."
One of the assistant professors behind them sucked in a breath. Despite his high position, he was still stuck as a 6-star beast-tar. To think that there was a student that was already knocking on the door of 7-stars...his heart broke a bit.
"You’re telling one of her contracts managed to form a domain so soon after advancing to blue-grade?" A 7-star professor said in surprise, "Usually it takes over a decade to begin forming one" Like it did for him...
"It’s rare. But not impossible," Professor Mires said, tone cool. As the most senior professor on the scene, he’d seen his fair share of geniuses and wasn’t too shocked. "The requirents for indigo-grade include forming a complete domain. Most spiritual creatures fail and never cross that threshold in their lifeti. But... if a contract manages to even begin shaping one this early—"
"They are practically guaranteed to advance to indigo grade soon" Jade finished.
"Well, thankfully, this is her last year. She won’t be our problem next year." The 6-star professor joked awkwardly. Still a little disconcerted that a student had passed him so quickly. ’Have I been slacking off...’
The 6-star professor clenched his fists and stared at the stage, determination creeping into his eyes. ’Alright... no more coasting. I’m putting every single one of my contracts through full domain training the second we return to Dark Moon. They will either form a domain or die trying!’
Inside his star space, several spiritual creatures flinched as if struck by lightning. A few of them began to shake subtly, their sharp instincts reacting to a future tornt not yet begun—a dark on cast from afar.
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