Tanya had never thought of herself as some sort of extraordinary genius. She had no illusions that she was the pinnacle of strategic thinking or analysis. She was smart, yes, and she had a memory that allowed her to recall details that most people would overlook. She was also undeniably strong-willed; who else could claim to have defied the will of a godlike being without breaking? She was competent, both in her first life or her second as Tanya von Degurechaff. But genius? No, she had worked hard for her success. She hadn't coasted through university on natural brilliance—she had studied relentlessly to get where she was. She could study better than most, but she didn't have the kind of raw intellect that allowed her to ace every test effortlessly.
That being said, very few people had such effortless talent, so she never felt inferior. She knew she was still on the higher end of the intellectual spectrum. But again, she wasn't a genius.
So it was quite a shock when, only a few days into this new world, she began to understand the villagers' language at an incredible speed. It was still in bits and pieces, but her mind was making leaps in logic that astounded her. She would observe the villagers making references or gestures, and her brain would instantly start associating sounds with meaning. Somehow, the jumps in her logic were almost always correct. Her analytical abilities had been enhanced beyond anything she had experienced before. It could only be attributed to this new body. Or perhaps it was the combination of her adult consciousness and the neuroplasticity of a baby's brain. Who knew?
Her new living situation wasn't terrible either. The villagers had converted her former pen into a small house after persistent pestering from Hati—she knew her name now. Hati had also brought her an assortment of toys that Tanya didn't need, but that was fine. The important thing was that her new home was conveniently located near the other egg. She didn't feel compelled to be near it constantly, but there was something about the egg that made her want to check on it at least once a day. A protective barrier had been placed around the egg by Midea—the goat- like man she had come to know as her primary caretaker.
Tanya had spent her time following Midea, observing both him and the structure of the village. The village was decently organized, with clear divisions between the residential area, the official hall, the ceremonial building, and what appeared to be a guild hall and judicial court. Deeper into the village was a school, which Hati had dragged her to several times. The children there always stared at her, wide-eyed—not because she was still without clothing (she had finally gotten some), but because she was different from anything they had ever seen before.
Despite the odd attention from the children, what really irked Tanya was Hati's insistence on dragging her around. If Hati spent as much time worrying about her own spurned love life as she did on throwing Tanya into every situation, maybe she wouldn't end up as a spinster. Tanya smirked inwardly at the thought, though she lacked the courage to say anything out loud. Partly because she wasn't confident in her grasp of the language yet, and partly because she didn't want to deal with the repercussions. She was still trying to fly under the radar.
Hati had also taken her to the training field. It was a large open space, enclosed by wooden walls, with a massive dirt pit in the center. From the layout, Tanya assumed it was used for fighting. Around the pit were stone pillars, arranged in straight lines, and beyond that was an obstacle course designed for brutal training. Swinging blades, pits filled with snakes, walls crawling with serpents, stretches of spikes—it was a gauntlet of horrors. Tanya didn't need to understand every word Hati said to gather that she was proud of her achievements on the course, and she was hoping Tanya might follow in her footsteps as a warrior.
Tanya sighed. She had no intention of running through an obstacle course designed to kill her. But today wasn't the day to dwell on that. Today, Midea was giving a lecture on the principles of this world. From what she had gathered, Midea was planning to teach a higher form of technique to the villagers—something that involved manipulating the ambient energy that permeated everything here. It was different from the magic she was used to. Instead of channeling energy through calculated spells and incantations, these people seemed to draw energy directly from the atmosphere, absorbing it adding it to some theoretical pool of energy before molding it to their will.
She had already witnessed the effects. Warriors moved at impossible speeds, their fists capable of generating explosive force with a single blow. They wove through battle with a grace that made every movement lethal. Men who were faster than sound, spears that could piece things several hundred feet in front of them, and abilities that seemed to defy the natural order. Then there was Midea himself—a force of nature. If she had encountered him in her past life, she would have died within moments. And it wasn' t just Midea. The large wolf-man, the one who wore the most garish garb, exuded a power that made her wary. She assumed he held some position of leadership.
All of this only reinforced her desire for power. It wasn't just her instincts that screamed for it—though they certainly did—it was her own sense of survival. This world was dangerous, and if these villagers ever turned on her, she would need power to protect herself. She needed power to protect the egg . Most importantly, she needed power because she was no longer herself, the reason she had been reincarnated, was due to her lack of power in her former life. The reason she was dead, was because she had been weak. Being X had toyed with her, and she had been completely powerless to stop it. She vowed that if she could help it, she would never be powerless again. Whether she called herself Tanya or Surya, it didn't matter, as long as she was strong.
Knock, knock.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She turned her head to the blue-green door and opened it, stepping outside. Waiting for her was Midea, standing in all his goat-like glory. He bowed his head slightly, his serpentine grin ever-present.
"So, little princess, are you prepared to learn more of the world... or what lies beyond it? There is much I must teach you."
Tanya grimaced inwardly. The man knew she understood most of what they were saying now, and he was as slimy as ever. She hadn' t yet spoken, but she had pieced together enough of their language to follow conversations. Midea, in turn, had been observing her as closely as she had been observing him. There was an old saying about the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind it. She couldn't help but feel like Midea was the oriole in this scenario.
His way of addressing her was also different from how the others in the village treated her. The villagers called her "The Seventh Surya," a title she had yet to fully understand but one that clearly held significance. Midea, however, referred to her as "little princess," and his tone carried layers of meaning. He seemed to know more about her circumstances than he let on, and that made her wary. There was also the fact that he was the only member of his kind in this otherwise monoethnic village—aside from her, that is. His lack of surprise at her rapid development and understanding only fueled her suspicions. He was connected to her in some way, and though she didn't know how yet, she intended to find out.
For now, however, she simply nodded in response to his question. Midea's grin widened, and he extended his hand toward her.
"Then let us go, little Surya."
And without another word, she followed.
_______________________
Midea walked down the village road, making his way toward the training field, which was near the guild hall. Both places were set to host the lessons for the day. Behind him trailed the child of Lervea, her footsteps perfectly in sync with him. The villagers gawked at the odd pair, whispers flitting through the crowd as eyes lingered on them.
"Look, it's the Satyr and Surya."
" I heard she was blessed by the Seventh Sun."
"I heard Midea is as strong as the village chief!"
The chatter followed them everywhere, though Midea, ever used to such attention, found it mildly annoying. The village was small, so it wasn't too overwhelming, and as a genius of House Valefor, attracting the attention of those beneath him had been the norm since he was but a darkling.
Still, as they walked, his mind drifted toward Surya. The light in her eyes was something else—terrifying, even. It wasn't normal for a child, but then again, she wasn't a normal child. Her learning ability bordered on frightening. It had only been a few days, but Midea could already tell, just from how her eyes followed lips and how she studied the world around her, that she was picking up the language of this place far faster than any normal child could. The connections her mind was making, the sharpness in her gaze—it was strange but, at the same time, expected for a Tyrannius. Still , for him, it raised a crucial question: What the hell was he supposed to do with a creature like her?
Sure, her intelligence gave him some hope that he wouldn't need to rock her to sleep or sing her lullabies—though if it came down to it, he knew the ever-popular Satanic classic Wither, Wither Little Soul . But her ability to understand the world around her presented a unique opportunity: he could start teaching her immediately how to fend for herself.
Which was why he was bringing her to his lecture today.
It was time to teach the village warriors a new technique, and in doing so, he planned to initiate Surya into the ways of cultivation. Typically, one didn't start cultivating until their body had developed—around childhood or later, depending on the race. The soul and body needed to mature together. But Surya? She already looked plenty developed, far ahead of her infantile stage. There was a simple test to determine if someone was ready for cultivation, and he planned to run it on her after the lecture.
Cultivation, as he knew it, involved both the soul and the body. The soul drew in numen from the surroundings, influencing the body through spiritual organs called meridians. These meridians weren't physical but acted as conduits, threads of the soul that ran through the body, allowing it to absorb numen. The number, thickness, and quality of these meridians determined one's cultivation talent, and they could vary greatly from person to person— and even between races. Once a being passed the infant stage of their race, their meridians would become primed, ready to absorb numen. All it took was a simple flow of energy through their body to determine if they were ready to begin cultivation.
Lost in thought, Midea chuckled as he realized they had already arrived at the training field. He pushed open the doors, which groaned loudly, revealing a room full of soldiers sitting cross-legged in anticipation. A small podium had been set up, and there, atop it, stood Remus, the village chief. The man's fists were firmly planted on his hips, and he was laughing heartily as he regaled the warriors with tales of his battles. He seemed like that type—the kind who enjoyed recounting his own exploits, whether they were exaggerated or not.
Midea shifted his gaze toward the front of the group, spotting the familiar figures of Garran and Hati sitting together. Garran appeared somewhat exasperated, while Hati looked positively incensed, her hands clenching and unclenching as if preparing for an argument.
"I'll surpass you one day, old man!" Hati declared, her voice full of challenge. "You beat ten Featherlins and a Turbeast at once? I'll beat sixty Featherlins and six Turbeasts!"
Midea blinked. Featherlins? Wait, were those the feathered pangolin creatures he had encountered in the forest a while back? What an uncreative name. It was as if they didn't even try to come up with something better. He made a mental note to look up what a Turbeast was later.
"You can't even beat Garran in a straight fight, little girl," Remus teased, his voice full of mirth.
"That's because he's at the ninth shackle, and I'm still at the eighth!" Hati retorted, her frustration palpable.
Remus laughed louder. "My son has spear intent and was able to defeat an opponent above him in cultivation. What do you have?"
The surrounding men erupted into laughter, their voices filling the space with a mix of humor and derision. Garran just shook his head, clearly used to this kind of exchange.
"Urrggh, you'll see! You'll all see!" Hati growled, her defiance unshaken.
Midea, however, had turned his gaze toward the back of the room. There , standing in black garb, was a tall figure. He seemed to be roughly shoving a child toward Lain, who took the boy away, her face grimacing at the rough treatment. The man then stood there, still, before his head snapped toward Midea , as if sensing his gaze. Midea simply grinned, he knew a lot about the man from his recent exploits, though he quickly turned his attention back to the room as he walked in, drawing the eyes of the warriors to him.
"Midea! You're finally here!" Remus called out, his voice warm with welcome. "And with Surya as well?"
The chief looked a bit confused, but Midea didn't skip a beat. "Yes, it is better to expose her to these things as soon as possible."
"I thought it was better not to expose one so young—might color their path too early," Remus mused, though he didn't push the point further.
"Well, in most cases, yes, but there are exceptions to every rule," Midea replied smoothly , gesturing to Surya behind him. "This child of the sun doesn't follow the rules."
He could feel the intense gaze of the little girl boring into the back of his head. While he didn't want to admit it, the pressure made him a tad bit uneasy. The girl was not to be provoked openly. And she did not like too much attention. That much he could already tell.
"Well, I suppose she is a creature of legend," Remus said with a laugh. "Perhaps she carries the mark of the sun itself. We might have a nascent deity on our hands, people!"
The soldiers chuckled at his words, but Hati, ever the boisterous one, spoke up above the jeers. "My Surya will be the strongest in the village one day! She'll kick your useless asses, so don't get complacent men. You saw what she can do."
"Shut up, Hati," Garran muttered, pulling her down to sit next to him. The man was clearly exasperated by her antics he was also a bit worried. And Midea could see why.
He scanned the room, noting how most of the soldiers took the exchange in good humor, but a few wore expressions of annoyance. Their faces soured, and Midea inwardly shook his head. He didn't quite understand the dynamics of this village yet, but one thing was clear: sexism was alive and well here. Among the Canid race, men tended to be physically stronger than women, but that was irrelevant once cultivation began. Cultivation was the great equalizer. This was how it was everywhere else sexism was an absurd notion. A woman of the first shackle could easily surpass a man of the same level, but in this village, primitive notions still held sway. But regardless it wasn't his problem.
'Hmm,' Midea thought, watching as Surya moved to look at the men who had been jeering. Damn, nevermind this might become a problem.
Whatever, it was best to take one thing at a time.
Clap, clap.
"Alright, settle down," Midea called out, clapping his hands to draw the room's attention. He moved toward the podium, watching as Hati jumped up to grab Surya and pull her into a seat between herself and Garran. Midea shook his head inwardly. They were treating the girl like a child, when in actuality she was an intelligent little monster. They were pushing their luck, he thought.
Arriving at the top of the podium, Midea cleared his throat, preparing to introduce himself. "For those who don't know me, I am Midea Scelus of noble House Valefor . I am a Dark Satyr, and while I'm here, I am at your service." He gave a slight bow, hearing Garran scoff in the background. The man's annoyance didn't bother Midea. He wasn't here to win a popularity contest. Though he did sneer at the man inwardly a bit. He was a demon of pride after all.
"As you might have guessed, I'm from a very different place than this village," Midea continued. "I have experience with cultivation that you may lack." He nodded toward Surya. "And she is also from a different place, of a race unlike my own. Treat her well and don't aggravate her. This world is new to her obviously and it can't be said to be her kinds natural habitat."
He was talking out of his ass, honestly. He had no idea what kind of environment a Tyrannius was used to, but it didn't hurt to play it safe. Plus, it was always a good idea to get on her good side. The little girl had looked annoyed when he drew attention to her earlier, and now, those amethyst eyes were staring up at him, unblinking and unsettling.
Midea cleared his throat and pressed on. "Now, do you all know the nature of cultivation?"
Garran raised his hand, and Midea nodded for him to speak. "Cultivation is the act of expanding and building upon the soul using numen. Our souls are connected to our bodies, and this connection affects the physical form as well.It's the process of inscribing the secrets of creation onto the soul."
"How poetic," Midea responded, impressed by the general's understanding. "Yes, you are correct. In cultivation, we absorb numen through certain techniques to surpass the natural limitations of the soul. The soul, you see, has nine shackles—natural limits to its growth. Think of it as water being poured into a vessel. If the vessel becomes too full, you must break the vessel and replace it with a larger one to hold more water. When you break a shackle, you expand your vessel , allowing your power to grow both quantitatively and qualitatively."
Another warrior raised his hand, and Midea acknowledged him.
"You said that cultivation requires techniques, but even without learning something like the Great Wolf Sutra, people are able to absorb numen and begin cultivation, right? Like our chieftain here."
Midea nodded. "Good question. The Great Wolf Sutra is your village's cultivation technique, correct?" He looked to Remus, who nodded in confirmation. "And it only sustains you up to the second layer but not the third, am I right?"
Remus blinked, his surprise clear. "How could you tell?"
Midea grinned. "I can tell from your energy, Chieftain. You broke into the third layer without a technique, purely through your own effort and comprehension. It's an impressive feat."
Turning back to the audience, Midea continued. "Cultivation, in its most basic form, is indeed innate. In worlds rich with numen, like this one, life naturally progresses toward cultivation. I'm sure some of you have heard of tribulations—perhaps some of your elders have experienced them. But have you ever wondered what tribulation really is?"
He paused, letting the question hang in the air for a moment. "Numen and the soul are two different things. While the soul can interact with numen, it is not made of numen. The soul is something else entirely. It is the firmament of sentience—the only force that can tame numen. That is why only beings with a soul can cultivate. No matter how intelligent a being might be, without a soul, it cannot cultivate."
Midea looked around, noting the curiosity on the faces of the warriors. Good. They were paying attention.
"However," he continued, "numen is the energy that permeates all creation. It is the source from which all other energies are derived. Concepts, too, can be reflected in numen and influence reality. This is what we call the Dao—the way in which numen colors creation by embodying those concepts. Numen can be considered the the force that moves everything and keeps the system working. Cultivation is the process of absorbing numen and using it to carve your own path in the system of creation. Simply put cultivation is to take numen and use it to gain authority in creation."
He took a breath, letting his words sink in. "But the universe has rules. It allows cultivation, but it also imposes restrictions. Tribulation is one such restriction. When you break through a layer, you are challenging the universe's order, and the heavens will strike down those who dare to overreach. But there are rules to this, as well. The universe cannot strike you down without offering benefits in return. If you survive a tribulation, your soul becomes stronger, more capable of interacting with the system of creation."
Hati, who had been silent up to this point, suddenly spoke up, her voice filled with disbelief. "Are you saying the world is alive?"
Midea chuckled. "Not alive, per se, but there are laws and principles in place that govern everything. Think of it like laws in a village—rules that must be followed."
The sickly-looking man from before raised his hand again, his voice strained. "How do the pathways in our bodies—our meridians —relate to this?"
"Ah, meridians." Midea nodded, pleased with the question. "Meridians are unique to each individual. They vary from person to person, and some species tend to have more meridians than others, giving them a natural advantage in cultivation. But this isn't absolute. Occasionally, a person from a weaker race can be born with astonishing talent. Meridians are the channels through which your soul interacts with your body, allowing you to absorb and manipulate numen. The number and quality of your meridians determine how fast you can absorb numen and how efficiently you can rise through the ranks of cultivation."
He paused for a moment, letting the warriors digest the information. "Meridians are often graded by multiples of nine, a number integral to creation. The highest-grade meridians are called Firmament Grade, where a person has eighty-one meridians. There are nine levels of meridians, but they are not all equal. You might have seven meridians compared to someone else's nine. Aside from the number, there's also the quality of the meridians to consider. Some people are born with wider meridians, allow them to channel more energy and purify it faster. These are rare and can boost your talent considerably. They are graded in four divisions. World, star, sphere then realm. A world grade meridian is worth one and a half a normal meridian. That being said having higher quality meridians is tremendously rare. I can guarantee no one in this village possesses them."
Midea glanced at the sickly man again. "That's why some people are faster at cultivation than others, even though everyone has a soul. Talent, my friend, is not something that can be forced."
"Why are they graded that way, though? Why 'world,' then 'star' then the others?" the man coughed out.
"Because they are based on cosmological structures," Midea explained. "A planet, a star, and then a sphere of existence, also known as a universe. After that comes a realm."
The warriors erupted in shock, their collective "Huhhh ?!" filling the room. Midea barely suppressed a smirk. He'd forgotten how primitive they were for a moment.
"Of course," Midea added with a wave of his hand, "that's just speculation from my people."
The warriors nodded, accepting the explanation, and Midea let out a small sigh of relief. He wasn't quite ready to reveal the full extent of his knowledge—or the fact that he wasn't from their world.
Hati suddenly raised her hand, and before Midea could even nod to acknowledge her, she blurted out, "If cultivation is so natural, and so are meridians, then why do we need techniques? The chief managed to break into the third layer on his own."
Midea sighed. " Strength is one reason. Powerful techniques can lead to greater strength. Cultivating without a technique will leave you weaker than others at the same shackle or layer. And while cultivation is natural to an extent, it requires comprehension. The higher you climb, the more difficult it becomes. Errors in cultivation can be fatal. Techniques are the fruits of generations of elders who paved the way, dying on the path so future generations wouldn't. Without a technique, you risk a slower pace and a weaker outcome. And of course almost certain death at tribulation."
He looked around, raising his voice to emphasize the point. "Techniques provide a path—a clear road to follow. Each layer in cultivation builds upon the last, and techniques help you navigate these layers safely and efficiently. For my people, we refer to the layers as Darkling and the like. But the general way to refer to the first realm is as the Accumulation Realm. In this realm, you simply gather energy to fill your body. You can reinforce weapons and your own body, but projecting your energy outside of yourself is difficult at this stage ."
He glanced at Garran, adding, "Of course, with something like Spear Intent, there are exceptions."
Midea's explanation continued, drawing the warriors in as he outlined the realms of cultivation. The second layer was the Pathblazing Realm, where one would hear the Dao and begin carving their path into their meridians. Techniques could help align numen with the practitioner's path, making it easier to progress. During this stage is where one can use unique abilities aligned with their dao and project it well beyond their bodies. The third layer was the Spirit Projection Realm, where one uses their comprehension of the dao and technique to carve a shape onto the third layer which they can project into reality. While the fourth layer was the Great Well Realm, where a practitioner could create a conceptual well to amplify their spirit projections. Each shackle in the fourth layer could create another well, but reaching the full nine wells was considered nearly impossible. You can also enter the sinking state where numen around you attributed to your technique is drawn from the ambient energy into you increasing your power and stamina massively. Spirit projections connected to a well become overlays which is a set up for the next layer. As he spoke more and more people started to nod their head. Especially after hearing about the fourth layer their chieftain had yet to reach.
Finally, Garran spoke up, challenging Midea with a grin. "But we can do this ourselves, right? Like you said, Spear Intent is rare. Do we really need your techniques? It seems like each layer builds upon the last, so wouldn't it be better to go it alone?"
Midea grinned, feeling the thrill of the challenge rise within him. "You doubt the power of techniques, do you? How about a demonstration? Care for a bout?"
Garran leaped to his feet, excitement radiating from him. "Undoubtedly, but you're higher than me in cultivation."
Midea chuckled, releasing his aura for all to observe. Then, with a controlled breath, he sealed his power, restraining himself back to his level when he was merely a peak Darkling, rather than the formidable Imp he now was.
"I'll face you on your own terms, Garran. Let me show you the massive difference these techniques make."
Garran cracked his knuckles and laughed. "I'll make you regret it, Satyr."
They moved toward the fighting circle, and the soldiers erupted in a chant, their voices booming with excitement.
"Yuu-dah! Yuu-dah! Yuu -dah!"
The cheers echoed throughout the training hall, wild and unrestrained, and Midea, for the first time in a while, felt the adrenaline of a true fight course through him. And it seems the villagers were ready too.
This was going to be fun. For more reason than one.
____________________________________
Tanya watched as Midea and Garran made their way to the center pit. The moment she saw the smirk tugging at the corner of Midea's lips, she knew what was coming: an absolute beatdown. She tilted her head in slight curiosity, wondering if Hati would find it less attractive to see her crush get humiliated. But when she glanced over, she was greeted by Hati bouncing on her toes, fists pumping in the air with childlike excitement.
"Kick his ass, Goat Dude!" Hati cheered, seemingly without any hesitation.
Tanya blinked.
…Does she actually like him?
Shaking her head, Tanya turned her attention back to the pit. The chieftain, Remus, watched on from the edge of the ring, his expression giving away that he too understood more than he let on. Midea had spoken of realms and universes in such a nonchalant manner, and Tanya wasn't naive enough to believe it was just wild speculation. Remus' face confirmed that. But that wasn't what intrigued her the most. What caught her attention was the cultivation system Midea described—a power system similar to those she'd read about in Chinese fiction back on earth.
It was no ordinary magic like in her second. The cultivation process was tied to ephemeral concepts like the soul, energy absorption, and, if one played their cards right, godlike power and immortality. So, the soreness I've been feeling in this new body, is that just me cultivating instinctively? Her mind raced as she put the pieces together. It wasn't too far-fetched. After all, she had already displayed feats far beyond her physical form's age. Perhaps I'm exceptionally talented? No... I'm likely blessed with extraordinary potential!
The thought sent a chill down her spine, one of dark excitement. If everything aligned, she could very well reach the pinnacle of power in this world—perhaps even beyond. And if she achieved that, she could finally exact her revenge on that damnable Being X .
Her wings twitched in instinctually in anticipation as the image of Being X's decapitated head floated through her mind. The grin that split across her face was one of unrestrained malice. A wicked, almost feral smile. It was somewhat unlike her.
Oooff! Hati let out a startled yelp as Tanya's wings suddenly flared out, knocking the wolf -woman back a few feet.
"Oh," Tanya blinked, looking over at her.
Hati, however, simply grinned back at her, brushing herself off. "You're excited too, huh, Surya?" she laughed. "But , uh... your smile's kinda scary. You've got a lot of sharp teeth."
Tanya blinked again and brought a hand up to her mouth, running her thumb over her teeth. Sharp? She hadn't noticed before,but now that she felt it— dagger-like points. Her teeth had become something far more predatory than she remembered. It wasn't until she stopped smiling that her teeth shifted back to their normal state. Interesting, she mused.
'Two rows of razor sharp teeth? Am I some kind of xenomorph now?'
Before she could dwell on it further, the roar of the crowd pulled her back to the battle. "WOOOHHHHHH!"
Her gaze snapped back to the pit where Garran stood, spear in hand, facing Midea. The satyr remained weaponless, a confident chuckle still plastered on his face.
This should be interesting.
----------------------------------------
Garran wasted no time, lunging forward with his spear, the green numen surrounding it crackling like lightning. The spear shot forward with incredible speed, aimed directly at Midea's chest. Midea sidestepped with almost lazy grace, but Garran anticipated the dodge, swinging his spear in a wide arc to catch the satyr off guard.
Midea, ever nimble, ducked beneath the swing, using the opening to close the distance. His palm shot out toward Garran's chest, but the warrior wasn't so easily outmaneuvered. With a sharp twist of his body, Garran brought his foot up, kicking Midea's leg to throw him off balance.
Midea staggered, but only slightly, quickly retreating to regain his footing.
Garran grinned. "Is this the power of your so-called technique?" he taunted, twirling his spear with fluid grace.
Midea offered no response, only a smirk as he resumed his advance.
Garran thrust his spear again, this time sending out multiple spear projections—phantom strikes generated by his spear intent, each one aiming to pierce Midea from a different angle. But Midea weaved through the attacks effortlessly, his body a blur of motion. However, Tanya noticed something—Garran was baiting him, forcing Midea to leap upward to avoid the low strikes.
And Midea fell for it.
"I've got you now!" Garran roared, his spear glowing with a fierce green light as the energy around it transformed into the maw of a snarling wolf. "Savage Maw!" The wolf's maw lunged toward Midea, snapping its jaws with deadly intent.
But Midea was far from finished.
With a powerful stomp in midair, Midea summoned a circle of dark energy beneath his hooves and used it to double-jump, vaulting higher into the air. Flipping in midair, he kicked off the energy platform again, diving down toward Garran like a descending meteor.
Garran barely managed to raise his spear in defense, but the force of Midea's descent was too much. The impact sent Garran flying back, skidding to the edge of the pit. His spear cracked slightly at the center where Midea had struck, though Garran seemed not to notice.
"Cut," Garran growled, swinging his spear in a wide arc. A blade of green energy shot toward Midea, cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.
This time, Midea didn't dodge. His hand glowed with dark energy, spiraling around his palm like a vortex. With a smooth, almost casual motion, he thrust his palm forward. "Shell of Pride."
The twisting energy around Midea's palm diverted the incoming blade, sending it careening off course. Garran snarled in frustration and launched a flurry of thrusts and slashes, each strike laced with spear intent. But Midea dodged and parried with ease, inching closer and closer with each move.
"Thrust!"
In the blink of an eye, Garran appeared right in front of Midea, his spear aimed directly at the satyr's chest, a deadly precision driving it through what appeared to be Midea's body. But instead of the sound of tearing flesh, there was only silence —the spear had passed through nothing but a shadow. Garran's eyes widened as the illusion dissipated, and before he could react, a sudden, sharp force slammed down on his extended spear from above. Midea, descending from midair, stomped down with his hoof, the ground beneath him trembling as the impact forced the spearhead into the dirt.
Garran barely had time to recover when Midea's palm shot forward like a viper, connecting squarely with his chest. The air rang with the sound of impact, and Garran was sent flying back, his chest seared with a red six-clawed imprint that glowed ominously through the haze of dust.
Despite the force of the blow, Garran gritted his teeth and kept hold of his spear, his body tumbling but never letting go of his weapon. He rolled back to his feet, his eyes narrowing in focus. He was unshaken. This was a test of resolve, and no pain would deter him from facing Midea head-on.
Undeterred, Garran closed the distance once more, his movements sharper, more precise. This time, there was no hesitation in his strikes. His spear became a blur of motion, each jab and thrust executed with the grace of a seasoned warrior. His mastery over the spear was evident —every move calculated, every strike lethal. The numen-enchanted weapon hummed through the air, Midea forcing to bob and weave with lightning-fast reflexes.
The crowd watched in stunned silence, captivated by the relentless barrage.
Garran's assault became a rhythm, an unending pattern of thrusts, feints, and sweeps. He forced Midea back with a flurry of thrusts, pushing him toward the edge of the pit. And just when Midea sidestepped to avoid the last strike, Garran swung a vicious cut, aiming to drive the satyr off balance.
But Midea's reflexes were faster than any mortal eye could track, dodging each swipe with fluid grace. He was toying with Garran, letting the warrior exhaust his most intricate spear techniques while his expression remained unbothered, a faint smile playing on his lips.
In the middle of the exchange, however, Garran's stance shifted. His spear twisted with a sudden break in form, and without warning, he spun, using the butt of his spear to strike at Midea's solar plexus.
The unexpected shift in Garran's technique made the crowd gasp—Midea had been baited. But the satyr, ever composed, caught the blow with one hand, his muscles flexing with ease as he halted the strike. With a quick motion, Midea's other hand came crashing down on the center of the spear, a shockwave of numen rippled outward as the wood splintered in his grasp, breaking the weapon clean in half.
For a brief moment, Garran's eyes filled with disbelief. His spear, the weapon that had carried him through countless battles, lay shattered in his hands. But he had no time to dwell on it.
Without missing a beat, Garran gripped the remaining half of the spear—the one with the blade still attached—and poured all his numen into the weapon. The energy flared violently, green flames licking the air around him as he swung the blade with everything he had, aiming for Midea's head in one desperate final strike.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
Midea's eyes gleamed as he raised his hand once more, his palm coated in dark, swirling energy. The two forces met with a deafening crash. Green numen clashed against black and purple energy, sending sparks of raw power in all directions. The air itself seemed to buckle under the strain of their energy clash. For a moment, it seemed like neither would give—Garran pushing with every ounce of strength left in his body, and Midea holding his ground effortlessly.
"GRRAAAHHHH!" Garran roared, his muscles straining as he tried to break through Midea's defense, the green glow of his numen intensifying.
Midea's smirk widened, his voice calm and mocking. "I told you, Garran. I have two hands."
In a swift, almost casual movement, Midea unleashed his other hand, sending a powerful palm strike into the exact spot on Garran's chest he had hit before, deepening the six-clawed imprint. The sheer force of the blow sent Garran flying backward once again , his body tumbling across the ground, coughing up blood as he landed in a cloud of dust and dirt. This time, even his iron grip on the spear faltered, the remaining half clattering uselessly to the side.
The arena was silent for a moment , the spectators holding their breath. Garran lay motionless for a few heartbeats, his chest heaving as he struggled to stand. Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet, his entire body now glowing with a fierce green light. His numen was flaring wildly, his last-ditch effort to channel everything he had left into one final, desperate attack.
"Dual Fanged Destruction!" Garran bellowed, his arms coated in numen energy. form seemed to blur as his body took on the appearance of a giant, dual-fanged wolf. The green light around him exploded in intensity as he charged forward with speeds that dwarfed anything Tanya had seen so far.
Midea cocked his head, his expression one of mild amusement. "Ah, applying spear intent to your body now? Not bad. You're on the verge of breaking through to the second realm of intent... impressive, Garran."
But before Garran could land his attack, Midea's body moved faster than any of them could track. With a fluid motion, he ducked under Garran's right arm, locking it with his own in an iron grip. Using his superior momentum, Midea swept Garran's legs out from under him and threw him into the air as if he weighed nothing.
And then Midea was airborne again, leaping into the sky to meet Garran mid-flight. With one hoof planted firmly on Garran's face and another on his chest, Midea grinned down at the helpless warrior below him. "Let me show you the true difference between us."
His body exploded with dark, crackling energy as the two of them began to plummet toward the ground at breakneck speed. air around them warped and distorted from the sheer force of their descent.
"Demonic Descent."
The energy around Midea flared violently, accelerating their fall. The resulting impact was nothing short of cataclysmic. A shockwave of raw energy rippled outward from the point of contact, sending warriors flying backward, their bodies tumbling through the air like ragdolls. Even Hati was knocked off her feet, though Tanya, curiously, remained unmoved, her wings shifting slightly in the wind.
As the dust settled, the pit was no longer recognizable. A massive crater now dominated the training ground, and standing triumphantly in the center was Midea, a smirk still plastered across his face. Beneath him lay Garran, unconscious and defeated.
Hati, despite all her earlier cheers for Midea, rushed toward Garran's body, casting the satyr a venomous glare as she knelt beside the fallen man. Midea simply turned his head away, suppressing a grin.
It was his win. And Tanya couldn't help but be impressed.
What a show .
______________
Lain sighed deeply as she led little Peter away from the noise and commotion of the training ground. In the distance, she could hear the faint echoes of Garran yelling, likely still locked in his boisterous antics. Despite her concern for Garran, her thoughts were consumed by the small boy in her arms. Peter, the son of Remulus, had been quiet and withdrawn ever since the attack by the Vampyrs in the woods—an attack that had claimed his mother . In the aftermath, his father had grown cold, distant, and harsher than before. Remulus had once been a devoted family man, but now he seemed almost a stranger.
Lain looked down at Peter, his small frame curled in her arms. He was a child of the Lupus line, with tawny brown hair and bright green eyes—eyes that reminded her so much of Garran's. She couldn't help but notice how similar they looked, though Peter's expression was filled with an innocence that was beginning to fade. Gently, she reached up and scratched behind his ears, a comforting gesture among their people.
"Hey, let me take a look at that injury," Lain said softly, pulling at the collar of Peter's shirt to see if the bruise from his father's rough treatment had worsened.
Peter reacted immediately, jerking away from her touch, his small hands pushing her fingers away with an instinctive fear. Lain's heart clenched. But in that brief moment, she had seen it—a black, runic mark, seared into his skin like a brand. It wasn't just a bruise.
Peter's eyes filled with guilt, as if he had done something wrong. "I'm sorry, big sister. But I'm okay… really, I'm okay…"
Tears welled up in Lain's eyes. She struggled to hold them back, but the overwhelming cruelty of the situation pressed on her. How could a father, especially one like Remulus, do this to his own child? She had heard whispers from her mentor that Remulus might be dabbling in dark arts—a potential reason why the village had been plagued by attacks recently. Lain's mentor, the head priestess of the Seven Suns, had long suspected something sinister. And as her successor, Lain knew it was her duty to root out such darkness, to purify the village and protect the spiritual health of its people.
But this… this was far worse than she had imagined.
"It's okay, Peter. It's okay," she whispered, pulling the boy into a tight hug. Peter trembled in her arms, his small frame shaking with fear and confusion.
His voice was small, barely more than a whisper. "Big sister, will you play with me today? Can you come to my home and play with me? I… I don't want to be there alone."
Lain smiled softly through her tears, trying to offer him some semblance of comfort. "Of course, Peter. In fact, I was about to suggest the same thing."
As they walked, Peter clung to her hand, his mood lifting ever so slightly with the promise of companionship. They made their way toward Remulus's home, a large and imposing structure that loomed over the rest of the village. The house was tall, standing three stories high, and grander than most in the village. The base was constructed from black stone, giving it a cold, unwelcoming feel, while the walls above were made of a deep blue-green wood, dark and foreboding. The windows, which had once been clear and bright, were now tinted black, making it impossible to see inside. The once-proud symbol of the sun, which had adorned the door, had been scrubbed away, leaving nothing but a blank, hollow space.
Peter ran ahead, excitedly reaching for a small key hidden beneath a stone by the door. He unlocked it with ease, pushing the heavy door open. Lain hesitated for a moment before following him inside, the chill in the air instantly crawling up her spine. The house felt wrong—there was a palpable darkness here, a sense of something ancient and malevolent lurking just beyond sight.
As Peter darted off to fetch his action figures, Lain took a moment to glance around the dimly lit interior. Dust clung to every surface, and the air felt stale, heavy with the weight of forgotten memories. The house, once filled with warmth and laughter, now seemed like a tomb, its walls echoing with the shadows of the past.
The pitter-patter of Peter's footsteps echoed down the hall as he returned, clutching his toys with a smile. Lain forced herself to smile back, sitting down to play with him. They mashed the figures together, reenacting battles between heroes and villains, Peter casting himself as the valiant knight rescuing the princess from the evil Vampyrs.
But as they played, Lain couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Her mind kept drifting back to the dark mark on Peter's skin, and the cold emptiness of the house weighed on her more heavily with each passing minute. Finally, she decided to act on her suspicions.
"Peter," she asked gently, "can you show me any room your father goes to a lot? A place where he spends time when he's home?"
Peter stopped, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "There's a room in the back, but it's usually locked, big sis . I don't think Dad would want us to go in there."
Lain's heart tightened. "I promise, Peter, it'll be okay. We won't get in trouble, I swear."
After a moment of hesitation, Peter nodded, his expression brightening with a mischievous grin. "Okay then!"
He grabbed her hand and led her through the darkened hallways, past rooms filled with dust and silence, until they reached a heavy, wooden door at the back of the house . The door was thick and imposing, unlike any of the others in the house. Peter pressed against it, and to Lain's surprise, it creaked open.
"It's unlocked, sis!" Peter exclaimed, running inside.
"Peter, wait!" Lain called out, but it was too late.
There was a crash, followed by a terrified scream. "AHHHH! IT'S THE DARK PLACE! I DON'T WANT TO BE IN THE DARK PLACE!"
Lain's blood ran cold. "Peter!"
She rushed inside after him, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was dimly lit, but she could make out the outline of a massive trapdoor in the center of the floor, its edges lined with strange, arcane symbols. The air in the room was thick with the stench of something old and unnatural, something that didn' t belong in the light of day. Even with the flickering candlelight, the trapdoor seemed to stretch into an abyss of darkness.
Peter stood frozen at the edge of the opening, his small body trembling with fear. "Please help me!" he cried , his voice shaking before he fell in.
Lain hesitated for only a second before steeling herself. Shame burned in her chest for even considering leaving the boy. She couldn't turn back now. She had to see what lay beneath, for Peter's sake, and for the truth.
She jumped down into the darkness, her heart racing. And what she saw below made her breath catch in her throat.
The scene before she was a nightmare.
It wasn't just a trapdoor—it was an entrance to a hidden chamber, one filled with things no child should ever see. The walls were lined with grotesque artifacts, dark runes etched into the stone, glowing faintly with an eerie, pulsating light. Blood—fresh and old—streaked the floor in twisted patterns, forming symbols that Lain instinctively recognized as dark magic.
In the center of the room, an altar stood, stained with blood and surrounded by what looked like offerings—bones, strange talismans, and remnants of dark rituals long forgotten.
And then there was Peter.
_______________________________
Midea observed the warriors as they fumbled with the task of inscribing wards onto the thin sheets of parchment. He wandered from table to table, his gaze shifting from one clumsy attempt to the next. Despite his initial instructions to simply focus on penmanship and accuracy without even imbuing the symbols with numen, most of them failed miserably. It was clear they were struggling to grasp the intricate nature of warding, let alone the deeper mechanics of rune formations.
He sighed inwardly. How hard is it to draw a proper line? Midea wasn't asking them to understand the complexities of how runes interacted with the Dao, or how they shaped the ambient energy of the world. But their inability to even produce clean, clear symbols grated on his nerves. He glanced towards the pit where Garran had been carried off for healing . The thought of his recent one-sided sparring match made him smile, despite himself.
He hadn't hated Garran, not exactly, but there was something deeply satisfying about humbling him in front of the entire village. His earlier comments during the lecture had been grating, to say the least. Midea's victory had earned him both glares of disapproval and looks of admiration from the onlookers, balancing the scales of his reputation for now. To smooth things over further, he had decided to start the lesson on wards, as well as teaching them the Solgaleo Sutra —a powerful technique associated with yang energy and solar principles. Though not a perfect fit for the wolf clan, the sutra was valuable, able to carry one to the eighth layer of cultivation. Far beyond what this village could ever hope to acquire on its own. They could spend a trillion years gathering treasures and it wouldn't begin to compare. Such was the ability of the rich.
They'll help save my ass, so I suppose it's a fair trade, he mused, though he still grumbled inwardly at the thought of giving them such a treasure.
His eyes drifted to Surya, sitting off by herself. Hati had abandoned her to accompanying Garran to the infirmary, leaving the little monster alone with a brush and paper. To Midea's surprise, she was focused intently on drawing something. He moved closer, curiosity getting the better of him.
Is she trying to draw a ward?
Despite her potential, he hadn't expected much from her. Drawing wards required not just precision, but a deep understanding of how symbols connected with the Dao, the cosmic order itself. It wasn't something easily grasped, especially not by a child. And the act of drawing them did drain some amount of mental stamina. Yet, as Midea leaned over her shoulder to examine her work, his expectations shattered.
There, on the paper, were wards inscribed with flawless precision. The strokes were clean, the symbols perfectly aligned, as if she had been doing this for years.
Sensing his presence, Surya glanced up at him, her violet eyes expectant, clearly waiting for some form of praise. Midea rubbed his nose awkwardly, suppressing his surprise.
"Good... great!" he stammered. "Almost as good as I was at your age."
He couldn't bring himself to admit that she had, in fact, surpassed even his own skills as a child. After all, pride was ingrained in his very nature.
Shaking off his discomfort, he studied her more closely. This was as good a time as any to test her meridians. Given her freakish talents, he had to know what kind of cultivation technique would suit her best. He needed to see how far along she was, or if she was even ready to begin the process of cultivation.
"I'm going to test your meridians now, okay?" Midea said carefully. He was hesitant to touch her without asking, for various reasons, but once she gave a nod of approval, he proceeded.
Placing his hands gently on her back, between her upper wings, he sent a pulse of energy through her body, probing for the network of spiritual pathways that should be there. As the energy flowed into her, something strange happened—it vanished, as though swallowed by a void. There was no absorption by meridians, no feedback, nothing. Just... emptiness.
Midea frowned, sending more energy into her, hoping to get a clearer picture. Each time, the result was the same. The energy disappeared, leaving no trace. He couldn' t sense her soul, nor could he detect any meridians or the flow of numen through her body. It was like trying to peer into an abyss—an unsettling, incomprehensible black hole.
He glanced down at her. She shivered slightly under his hands but didn't seem uncomfortable. In fact, she looked oddly content,almost as if enjoying the sensation. What in the world?
"Is this hurting you?" Midea asked, his brow furrowed.
Surya shook her head, the motion small but clear. She looked more relaxed than ever, as though he were simply giving her a gentle massage. But that wasn't right— she shouldn't be able to absorb energy without meridians, and she definitely shouldn't be able to mask them from him at her level.
This broke the rules.
Souls, regardless of race, all shared fundamental properties that allowed for cultivation. They all had the same core mechanics—meridians were the channels that connected the soul to the body, enabling numen to flow. And yet, here she was, defying all that knowledge. He couldn't even sense her soul, which was the cornerstone of any being's existence, let alone their capacity to cultivate.
"Unless you're somehow hiding them from me, you don't have any meridians," Midea said, keeping his voice low so as not to attract attention.
Surya's eyes widened, the shock evident on her face. She stared at him, unblinking, as though the revelation had shaken her to her core.
"That doesn't mean your path is closed," Midea added quickly, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying. He was working on pure conjecture now, but if the Tyrannius were truly as unique as he suspected, it was possible that their physiology operated on entirely different rules. Maybe they didn't need meridians. Maybe they were—quite literally—built different.
Before he could ponder further, he caught sight of Remus beckoning him over from the far side of the training area.
"We'll discuss this later," Midea said, giving Surya a small wave before turning to walk towards Remus. He couldn't help but chuckled inwardly at her shocked expression, but he had more pressing matters to deal with now.
As he and Remus left the training grounds, they made their way to a secluded room, one that Midea covered in protective wards to ensure privacy. Remus's face was tight with worry, and as soon as the door closed behind them, the chieftain's stern demeanor cracked.
"Have you investigated Remulus at all?" Remus asked, his voice low and heavy with tension.
Midea thought back to the shadow he had planted in Remulus's house. He had seen enough to confirm his suspicions—Remulus had been dabbling in dark arts. He recalled the unsettling sight of dark energy twisting around the man while his son cowered in the corner, shaking in silent fear or at least that was what it had looked like. The vision had been brief, and the numen in his shadow had run out soon after, but it was damning enough.
"He's using dark arts, no doubt," Midea said. "I can't be certain what they're for, or if he's behind the attacks on Wolvenblade Village, but he's definitely using them."
Remus's expression darkened, his fury bubbling just beneath the surface. With a sudden, violent movement, he slammed his fist into the stone wall, nearly shattering it.
"Damn him!" Remus roared, his voice thick with anguish. "Why? Why? would he do this to us? He was my brother, my second hand! We grew up together—I loved him like family! Why would he betray us for the very monsters who killed his wife, who destroyed his family?"
Midea watched in silence, giving the man space to vent his emotions. He couldn't be certain of Remulus's motives, but the evidence pointed to something dark and insidious.
"If not betrayal," Midea said carefully, "then it's something worse. But I can 't say for sure until I know more."
Remus's shoulders slumped, his face a picture of grief and disbelief. "We made a promise, Midea. As brothers. To stand by each other, no matter what. He was supposed to be by my side, supporting me through all of this."
Midea's gaze turned cold, his voice quiet but sharp as a knife. "Oh, Remus. Didn't you know? Shadows always fake their love."
_______________________
Amaleus fled through the endless void, his dharma body tearing through reality with such speed that he traversed hundreds of spheres of existence in the time it would take light to move a Planck length. Despite his titanic size—dwarfing some of the lesser spheres he passed—he could not shake the presence behind him .
Lervea.
She trailed him effortlessly, her pace almost leisurely despite the vast distances they crossed. Amaleus, a Deva of the tenth layer, a lord of Svargaloka, and one of the strongest beings in all creation, was running for his very life. But the beast in the shape of a woman, this terror called Lervea, was always just behind him, closing the gap with every heartbeat.
Lervea was smaller than his current form by a significant margin, standing only sixteen meters tall, but that did not diminish the suffocating dread she exuded. Amaleus had heard the rumors—this was her true body, not a manifestation like his own. A form that was rather large compared to most humanoid beings. Granted he didn't know if he should call that monster humanoid.
Her dress clung to her body, accentuating her sculpted form. She was the apogee of femininity—muscular yet graceful, her curves like the rise and fall of mountain ranges. Her silver-white hair flowed behind her like a river of moonlight, though the tips were as black as the void they raced through. Behind her, golden wings shimmered, embodying every shade of the sun from dawn to dusk. Yet, despite their beauty, they cast a shadow that seemed to drain the light from the stars themselves. Her tail, fish-like and covered in dark, shimmering scales,glowed with an eerie black light that flickered between quantum states, existing and not existing all at once.
Her face... her face was a thing of horror and beauty, a perfection that surpassed mortal comprehension, yet contorted into something inhuman. Her four eyes, glowing a stark blue, radiated cold malice. Rings of black circled her slit pupils, bestial and predatory, locking onto him like a hunter watches wounded prey.
Her grin, that hideous grin stretched from ear to ear, exposing teeth like blades. Each one gleamed with a wicked light, an unnatural contrast to her otherwise flawless visage. Her gaze pierced through him, promising a slow, inevitable doom.
Amaleus was terrified. Truly, deeply terrified. The kind of terror that sank into his bones and smothered his thoughts, though he tried to convince himself otherwise. His fear was justified, for even as a Deva of the tenth layer—one of the highest beings in existence—he could not escape her. And despite the waves of dread threatening to drown him, he held onto one thought. She couldn't kill him.
They had laid the perfect trap, after all.
Their agents had leaked information to Lervea's allies, whispering that Amaleus knew the location of her lost eggs—the very offspring that had driven her mad with grief. She had taken the bait, just as planned, driven by her mind-shattering despair and fury. No matter how strong she was, she couldn't resist. They had used him, a tenth-layer Deva, as bait to draw her into the killing zone .
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Amaleus saw his destination—a seemingly insignificant sphere of existence, tucked away like a pearl in the vast ocean of creation. He shrunk his dharma body, slipping into the universe, and Lervea followed behind him , her presence casting a monstrous shadow over the tiny cosmos.
Amaleus grinned as the realm artifact snapped into place, a colossal structure woven from the power of collapsed realms. The space around them turned gray, and infinite concentric circles appeared in the void, each ring bigger than the last. Above, trillions of Devas and demons aligned with Baal hovered in the distance, their energy focused on the artifact. He floated upwards toward the circles, clutching the strange circular device in his hand.
"It's over, Lervea," he declared with an arrogance he didn't quite feel.
The realm artifact, Amarletact , activated, the force of its power pressing down on the fabric of reality itself. Each circle above them was filled with the combined might of three hundred tenth-layer Devas, 870,000 ninth-layer warriors, and billions of eighth-layer cultivators and an incalualable number of seventh layer and lesser beings. The weight of their collective strength made the very cosmos tremble.
"This is Amarletact," he continued, his voice rising. "Forged from the remnants of collapsed realms, it alters causality itself. Everything you do will be reduced to nothing, while everything we do will be amplified beyond comprehension. The laws of life , the very essence of numen, will collapse within this space. Here, your soul—no matter how strong—will implode under the pressure. The stronger your soul, the faster it will disintegrate! Not only that you will be crushed and restrained by the force of all the realms that went into making this artifact!"
His voice carried a frantic edge, but Lervea's expression remained unchanged. Her monstrous smile never changed. She stood within the artifact, her gaze fixed on him, unblinking and indifferent, as though everything around her was meaningless. Amaleus felt sweat trickling down his face.
"ATTACK! STRIKE HER DOWN, AND YOU WILL BE REWARDED BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS!"
At his command, the trillions of Devas and demons unleashed their full might. Countless beams of energy, waves of numen, and the most destructive forces known to creation cascaded down upon her. Their attacks, amplified by the realm artifact, rained upon Lervea for hours, each blow a hundred times more powerful than it would have been in any other realm. The void itself screamed as reality buckled under the strain of their combined onslaught.
The display was awe-inspiring. If not for the artifact's protective barriers, their attacks would have torn apart entire realms, shattering existence as they knew it. They had brought their greatest power to bear, a cosmic light show that should have been more than enough to annihilate any being—no matter how strong.
As the The barrage of energy finally ceased, the endless assault coming to a halt, Amaleus and the others floated above the smoke-filled void, waiting for the inevitable.
They expected nothing. Not even the peak of the eleventh layer could such survive a concerted attack without being reduced to ash, much less someone below that level. Even the twelfth-layer beings, the supreme rulers of existence, had not faced such overwhelming force in millennia.
The smoke began to clear, revealing the figure below.
Lervea stood there, nearly unscathed.
A trail of black-gold blood ran from her lip, barely noticeable against her pale skin. She raised her hand, wiping it away with a thumb, the same maddening smile still carved into her face. Her eyes gleamed with malicious amusement as she tilted her head slightly, looking up at the countless warriors above her.
Amaleus's breath caught in his throat. She was supposed to be dead. She should be dead.
Then, the flowers bloomed.
At first, it was just one. A golden lily, its petals opening gently beside him. He looked down in confusion, only to realize it wasn't a flower at all—it was a burst of blood. Deva blood. His eyes widened in horror. In the blink of an eye, every single Deva and demon surrounding him—every one of the hundreds of thousands who had fought alongside him—had been slaughtered.
The air was filled with the scent of gold and iron as blood exploded into the void, leaving only him.
Amaleus looked around, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. The 299 other tenth-layer Devas... gone. Dead in an instant, their lives snuffed out like candles. And now, there was only her.
Lervea stood before him, her horrid grin widening as she took a slow, deliberate step forward. Amaleus, in his true form, was fourteen feet tall, but he felt like an insect beneath her gaze.
She said nothing. She didn't have to.
A broken laugh escaped his lips, the sound hollow and manic. His mind shattered under the weight of the despair that gripped him. His laughter grew louder, turning into a deranged mix of sobbing and howling.
"We never stood a chance," he whispered, his voice trembling. "We were doomed from the start."
He looked up at her, the terror overwhelming him. "Oh Heavenless Huntress... Lervea."
The last thing he saw was her gaping maw, wide and monstrous, descending upon him.
Then, darkness.
__________________
In a small corner of the universe that would soon meet its end, life went on in blissful ignorance. The twin suns hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. The fields of emerald grass swayed gently in the breeze as children laughed and played near a flowing river. Their mothers, sitting on the bank, exchanged stories and gossip, their faces bright with contentment. Farmers toileted in the distance, their hands pulling fresh crops from the earth while birds chirped overhead, celebrating the day's harvest.
In the capital city, merchants haggled in the bustling marketplace, their stalls overflowing with vibrant fruits, handmade goods, and colorful fabrics. The city's streets were alive with chatter and the sounds of hoofbeats as traders and travelers moved between stalls, sampling food and bartering for rare treasures. Towering above them all was the grand spire of the temple, its golden roof gleaming in the fading light, a symbol of the gods' watchful protection over their world.
Inside the temple, an elderly priest knelt before the altar, his hands clasped tightly in prayer. The smell of incense filled the sacred chamber as he offered his daily supplications. He prayed for his people, for the children who ran through the streets, for the families that gathered for their evening meals. He prayed for protection from the dark things that lurked beyond their knowledge, secure in his faith that the gods would watch over them.
In the village outskirts, a young couple sat on a hilltop, the wind tousling their hair as they held hands, gazing out over the landscape. They whispered promises of a future together—marriage, children, a home where they would grow old side by side. Their laughter blended with the rustling trees as they spoke of things mundane and meaningful, unaware that the world around them would soon be reduced to ash.
Life, in all its normalcy, continued in peaceful harmony, a serene existence untouched by the violence and chaos that lurked just beyond their understanding. But the air held a tension —one too faint to be noticed by mortal senses. The birds, too, began to fall silent, as if they knew something was coming.
For now, though, the people lived, breathed, and dreamed. And in those final moments of calm, they believed in tomorrow .
----------------------------------------
Lilith emerged from behind Lervea like a shadow, her presence sudden and ominous in the aftermath of the massacre. Her purple hair shimmered like a violet flame in the wreckage of the shattered realm artifact, and her glowing amethyst eyes locked onto Lervea. The contrast between they was striking—Lervea, a monstrous goddess, with a visage both bestial and divine, and Lilith, more human in her appearance but no less terrifying in her own right. Their beauty was on par with one another, though Lilith's felt more grounded, more akin to mortals. Yet in this moment, even she was taken aback by Lervea's sheer physicality.
What had just unfolded before she was beyond even her expectations.
Lervea had not used any special ability, no profound manipulation of energy or laws. She had simply moved. Moved with such speed that even a tenth-layer Deva—beings whose power exceeded the limits of most realities—couldn't perceive her. She had torn them apart with nothing but her hands, her body alone sufficient to annihilate them. Ending endless numbers of enemies all with physical force so quickly that it had seemed instantaneous. Amaleus had been swallowed whole, devoured like a mere snack after his futile escape. His blood dripped from her jaws before she wiped away the excess.
Lilith's shock deepened as she watched Lervea shatter half of the realm artifact with a single, devastating punch. The artifact—built from collapsed realms and empowered by the collective might of countless numbers of high-level beings—should have been indestructible to all but the most supreme forces of existence. And yet, here it was, crumbling beneath Lervea's fist like fragile glass.
What a waste. Lilith thought, though she had no desire to confront Lervea. Not now. Not when the true horror of her power had been so clearly demonstrated.
"Are you satisfied?" Lilith's voice cut through the thick silence, her words laced with a touch of sarcasm, though caution lay beneath the surface. "We already knew the information was fake, and Amaleus had no idea where your children were. You came here just to kill them. Was it pleasant?"
Lervea's head turned halfway towards her, and Lilith felt something deep inside her shudder. Those eyes—those cold, unblinking blue eyes—pierced into her soul with a detached, animalistic intensity. It was as though Lervea had weighed her very existence in that glance and found it insignificant. There was no hatred, no malice , just an overwhelming sense of indifference—a predator that cared not for the writhing of its prey. Yes Lervea had been extremely indifferent towards her since her children were lost under her care. But every so often when she was alone she could see her pain. But she didn't show that side of herself to Lilith. Not anymore.
Lilith held her breath. She was powerful, yes. A lord of Hell, an eleventh-layer being, but in this moment, standing before Lervea, she could feel the gap between them. Lervea was something beyond even her vast understanding—a creature that defied the natural order of existence. She knew that since she met her when she was young all those years ago. That being said she was much cuter back then.
Without a word, Lervea flapped her golden wings, and in an instant, she was gone. The void echoed her departure, and Lilith released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.
Turning her attention away from where Lervea had vanished, Lilith's eyes fell upon the sphere below them—the universe that had just been the battleground . The attacks, amplified by the realm artifact, had been contained, but the aftereffects were not. Rivers of blood poured from the realm artifact, cascading down like a macabre waterfall, flooding the tiny sphere with divine ichor.
The blood of the slain Devas and demons was no ordinary fluid. At the seventh layer, even a single drop of blood contained enough power to warp space and obliterate the fabric of lesser spheres. Here, it was not just a drop. It was a deluge—a tidal wave of destruction, golden and sickly, sweeping through the universe like a plague.
Below, the creatures of that world—sentient beings with lives, hopes, dreams—were caught in the flood. They screamed, their voices rising in a cacophony of terror that echoed through the dying skies. They ran, but there was nowhere to escape. The blood consumed everything in its path, its sheer power dissolving matter, warping space, and even burning away the souls of those it touched.
Some fought. Some clung to technology, launching ships in a desperate attempt to flee their doomed world. Others used their meager cultivation, trying to erect barriers or summon energy to stave off the inevitable. But it was futile. The blood devoured them all.
Families huddled together, their eyes wide with terror, clutching each other in their final moments. Mothers held their children, whispering false comforts as the walls of their homes melted away. Lovers clung to one another, professing eternal devotion, swearing they would meet again in the next life. But the blood, suffused with the power of the Devas, would ensure there was no next life. Their souls were consumed, erased from existence entirely.
In orphanages, children held hands, seeking solace in the darkness as the flood of blood swept toward them. They didn't scream—they were too young to fully understand. They just held on, waiting for the end, their tiny voices murmuring songs of peace. In the end, they too were erased.
Chaos reigned. Some turned on each other, consumed by madness. They trampled their neighbors, tore at each other's flesh, and committed the basest of acts in the final moments of their existence. Others simply lay down, eyes vacant, accepting the futility of their struggle. The blood washed over them all the same.
And Lervea? She cared not. Not a single glance had she spared for the billions dying in her wake. She had left without hesitation, without thought, as if the universe that now crumbled beneath her feet was nothing more than an afterthought. A mere consequence of her hunt.
Lilith watched the devastation with a distant gaze, her violet eyes reflecting the dying light of the universe. Her voice, soft and dripping with dark amusement, whispered into the empty void.
"How savage. How savage indeed."
She turned away, indifferent to the death throes of the sphere. The souls, the blood, the lives—they were nothing to her. Just collateral damage, remnants of a universe that had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
With a final glance at the wreckage, Lilith followed after Lervea, her form disappearing into the void, leaving the shattered universe behind to rot in silence. The Huntress had her fill, and Lilith had no more interest in the broken remnants of this dying world.
They were returning to Hell.