Tanya watched intently as Midea sat cross-legged in front of her and Tarak, his dark form a stark contrast against the vibrant jungle clearing that encircled them. Though they were technically outside the village walls, calling this a forest didn't feel right—jungle was the more accurate term, with its dense underbrush and towering blue-green trees whose spiral-shaped branches twisted skyward like coils reaching for the seven suns above.

The aspar—those luminescent, floating motes of light that often drifted through the air in this region—hovered lazily around them, though Tanya noticed there were fewer of them today. The usually abundant glow that painted the jungle floor in a soft, ethereal light seemed dimmer, as if something had shifted in the environment. She filed that observation away for later, her mind always seeking patterns, anomalies, anything that might give her insight into this strange world.

The trees around the clearing loomed tall and majestic, their bark gleaming faintly with a bluish hue under the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. Thick vines dangled from the upper branches, swaying gently in the warm breeze that carried the mingling scents of earth, foliage, and something faintly sweet—likely the sap of nearby seed plants. Tanya's sharp eyes caught sight of a trail of the small, insect-like pipla marching diligently across the grass, their tiny bodies gleaming like polished black stones in the shifting light. Not far above, a flock of one-eyed birds flitted through the air, their iridescent feathers catching the light in flashes of purple and black as they chirped in strange, haunting tones.

Tanya's gaze shifted back to Midea, her brow lifting slightly as her attention drifted toward his lower body. His legs weren't quite like those of a goat—no, they were more refined, with a sleek, muscular build covered in short, dark fur that shimmered faintly under the sunlight. Still, the resemblance was close enough that she couldn't help but wonder if it ever bothered him. She knew sitting in that position must have been difficult with his body structure. However, he sat perfectly still, his expression serene, his crimson eyes closed in deep meditation as he inhaled and exhaled with rhythmic precision. Like it didn't bother him at all. Truly a demon of pride.

His entire form seemed to radiate a quiet but palpable intensity, as though he were drawing in the very essence of the jungle around them. The air around him shimmered faintly, distorted by the subtle waves of numen he absorbed with each breath. Tanya had seen others cultivate before—priests, warriors, even villagers seeking to strengthen themselves—but Midea's method was different. There was a sense of mastery in the way he moved energy, a precision born from centuries of practice. That being said she could not actually sense the energy. She could only see the visual effect of his cultivation. Similar to being far away and seeing a the air distort due to heat but not actually being able to feel the heat. It was rather frustrating.

Tarak, sitting beside her, was less entranced. His small frame was slumped forward slightly, his head bobbing as he fought off sleep. Tanya didn't blame him—watching someone sit silently in meditation for an extended period wasn't exactly riveting, especially for a child like Tarak, who thrived on action and motion. She glanced at him, suppressing a smirk as his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before snapping open again, only for his head to droop once more.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Midea exhaled a long, slow breath, releasing a stream of turbid air. The shimmering vapor hung in the air for a moment, catching the light of the suns before dispersing into nothingness. Tanya's sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere as Midea completed his session, the lingering tension in the air dissipating like a drawn bowstring being released.

His crimson eyes opened slowly, gleaming with a faint inner light as they settled on her and Tarak. Despite the calm exterior he projected, Tanya could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow and the subtle rise and fall of his chest, evidence of the strain even someone like him felt during cultivation. Yet, as always, Midea carried himself with a regal composure, as though such effort was beneath notice.

"Well," he said at last, his voice low and smooth, carrying a weight that seemed to resonate through the clearing, "that took longer than expected."

Tanya didn't respond immediately. Instead, she studied him for a moment longer, noting the way the light played off his horns, the way his dark skin seemed to absorb the colors of the jungle around them. Despite her lingering questions about him, one thing was clear—Midea wasn't just some noble trying to survive outside his comfort zone. He was a force. She could respect that.

Beside her, Tarak blinked himself awake, his crimson eyes bleary but alert as he straightened up quickly as if he had never been near slumber. A small smile crossed her face mildly amused.

"So, did you sense anything? Learn anything?" Midea questioned, his voice low and smooth, carrying a hint of curiosity masked by his usual nonchalance after he opened his eyes.

Tanya didn't answer right away. Instead, she let the moment stretch, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Midea. His tone was casual, but she had come to learn that the satyr rarely asked simple questions without ulterior motives. Still, she answered honestly, tilting her head slightly as she spoke. "Your breathing patterns were unusual compared to others, yes, but if you're asking whether I sensed any sort of energy beyond the norm, the answer is no."

Her tone was clipped, precise, as always. Tanya had learned to be direct in her dealings with Midea—it was the only way to avoid getting drawn into his constant games of wit. She turned her head toward Tarak, who had remained unusually silent throughout Midea's cultivation. Her brother met her gaze, his slit crimson eyes gleaming faintly under the dappled sunlight before shifting toward Midea.

"I am incapable of sensing any numen outside of what my body passively ea—absorbs," Tarak said, his voice steady, though he faltered briefly on the word 'absorbs,' clearly catching himself before he could say something less refined.

Tanya snorted softly, unable to suppress a flicker of amusement. She had been teaching Tarak more complex vocabulary lately, trying to help him put his thoughts into clearer words. Though soldiers had once been her specialty, raising a literal infant—one who happened to possess the instincts and combat prowess of a predator—was an entirely different challenge. Still, the thought of allowing anyone else, any other creature, to shape the way her brother grew up didn't sit right with her. It didn't sit right with her mind, and it certainly didn't sit right with her body.

She felt a faint, protective surge rise within her as Tarak continued to stare impassively at Midea, his expression unreadable but sharp. He was learning quickly, far more quickly than she had anticipated. And though she knew she wasn't the best at handling children, especially one as unusual as Tarak, she was determined to be the one who guided him, because he was a great asset. And because she had no other choice either way. There were mostly benefits regardless.

"I see," Midea said after a moment, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly as he processed their responses. He tapped a clawed finger against his chin, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying the wheels turning in his mind. "Well, taking Lervea into account, perhaps it's simply not the time yet. Even so, it's best to learn some things about numen before you begin cultivation."

He paused, his smirk deepening as he held up a single finger. The motion was deliberate, almost theatrical, as though he were about to impart some grand secret of the universe. Tanya immediately felt a sense of foreboding settle in her gut. She had seen that expression before—too many times, in fact.

"In fact," Midea continued, his tone taking on a faintly mischievous edge, "there is a simple skill you can master now that will help you immensely in both cultivation and combat."

Tanya's eyes narrowed, her instincts flaring in silent warning. That smirk was never a good sign. The last time Midea had worn that expression, they had ended up in a chaotic flux, barely escaping with their lives. She wasn't about to be tricked again, not without understanding exactly what he had in mind.

She cast a quick glance at Tarak, noting the way her brother's body tensed ever so slightly, his tail flicking once in agitation. He wasn't easily ruffled, but even he seemed on edge. Tanya couldn't blame him. Midea's smirks had a way of putting everyone around him on high alert.

Groaning inwardly, Tanya braced herself, ready for whatever madness Midea was about to propose. She had no intention of being caught off guard this time. If the satyr thought he could pull another fast one on them, he was sorely mistaken.

Tanya crossed her arms, her amethyst eyes gleaming faintly under the shifting light of the clearing as she fixed Midea with an exasperated stare. The tension of the moment had stretched her patience thin, and the satyr's ever-present smirk only served to aggravate her further.

"If you have a plan, just tell us what it is. Stop hiding beneath your smiles and smirks," she said with a faint edge to her tone, her irritation bleeding through despite her otherwise composed demeanor.

Predictably, Midea's grin widened, a flash of sharp teeth gleaming in the filtered sunlight. He raised his hands in mock surrender, the exaggerated motion meant to amuse rather than placate. "In the end, you were the ones who said you'd listen to me," he said, his voice smooth, tinged with amusement. "This time, however, it's nothing so physically demanding."

Tanya narrowed her eyes, unconvinced, but didn't interrupt. Beside her, Tarak's tail flicked once in mild irritation, his crimson eyes locked on Midea with quiet wariness. He, too, remembered all too well how the satyr's last 'training exercise' had turned into a near disaster. Still, despite his outward stoicism, there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze, a subtle shift in posture as he waited for Midea to continue.

"You've both heard me—and others—yell out the name of a move or chant during a fight, haven't you?" Midea asked, his tone turning slightly more serious as he folded his arms across his broad chest. The smirk didn't entirely leave his face, but there was a glint of genuine interest in his crimson eyes now, as though he were testing them, gauging their understanding.

Tanya's chest thrummed faintly as she considered his question, her mind already turning over what she knew—or rather, what she didn't know—about the practice. She glanced at Tarak, noting how his horns bobbed up and down in silent acknowledgment. He had noticed it too, then.

She had been wondering about this ever since the fight with Hathor a few days ago. At the time, she hadn't given it much thought, but upon closer reflection, it struck her as odd. In battle, some fighters would chant or call out the names of their moves, while others didn't. Healers, on the other hand, almost always chanted. In fact, in her short time here, she had never seen a healer perform their craft without doing so.

With that knowledge in mind, it became clear that chanting wasn't just some theatrical flair—it had a purpose, a tangible effect. The exact mechanics eluded her, but she could extrapolate a few possibilities. Most of the villagers were at what Midea referred to as the first layer, a foundational stage of cultivation. While she knew little about the second layer, or the so-called pathblazing realm, she had observed enough to know that those in the second layer used more esoteric techniques. She had seen as much during her fight with the elder. His chants, particularly when he summoned that enormous faux star, seemed to enhance his attacks, giving them more power and weight than they should have possessed.

Tanya's mind turned over the possibilities. Perhaps it had something to do with the dao that Midea had mentioned before. Those in the first layer had barely begun to touch on such abstract concepts, and their energy projection capabilities were limited at best. Yet they still chanted occasionally, suggesting that even at the most basic level, there was some benefit to the practice. Was it merely a way to focus intent, or did it involve something deeper, something tied to the very nature of cultivation itself?

"I'm assuming this chanting has something to do with the power of an attack or something of that nature?" Tanya asked at last, her brow arching slightly as she fixed Midea with a sharp, questioning look.

Her voice was steady, but there was a note of genuine curiosity beneath the surface, an eagerness to understand. Despite her exasperation with the satyr's antics, Tanya was no fool. She knew that any edge, no matter how small, could mean the difference between victory and defeat in the trials to come. And if chanting truly had the potential to enhance her abilities, she wasn't about to dismiss it without learning more.

Tarak, standing beside her, remained silent, his expression unreadable. Yet Tanya could tell he was listening closely, his sharp mind absorbing every word. He might not have voiced his thoughts, but she knew he shared her curiosity, his instincts urging him to uncover any advantage they could find.

Midea's smirk softened slightly, the gleam in his eyes shifting from amusement to something more calculating. He studied Tanya for a moment, as though weighing her words, before offering a faint nod of approval. "You're on the right track," he said, his tone almost... respectful, though the mischievous edge never entirely left his voice.

Then Midea's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of mild surprise crossing his face at Tanya's question. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before speaking, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of intrigue. "Actually, it's exactly that, in fact," he admitted, his tone softening slightly as if impressed that she had grasped something fundamental so quickly. "You see, cultivation is often viewed as a process of defying heaven, of seizing what was never meant to be taken by mortals."

He paused, letting the idea hang in the air for a moment, his gaze drifting briefly to the sky above. The seven suns glimmered faintly behind the thick canopy of blue-green leaves, their overlapping rays casting dappled patterns across the jungle clearing. The air was warm and thick with the scent of fresh vegetation, she could smell a myriad of petrichor-like scents. A few buzzing insects flew overhead before being caught by the one eyed birds she had observed beforehand. Faintly the idea of hunting in mid-air flashed across her mind with a sense of excitement from her instincts before she pressed it down. She was in the middle of learning after all.

"But that's not entirely accurate," Midea continued, turning his attention back to them. "It wouldn't be wrong, per se, but it also wouldn't be right. Fundamentally, cultivation is…" He tilted his head slightly, as if searching for the proper phrasing. "I suppose begrudgingly allowed would be the right term to use."

Tanya's brow furrowed slightly, her sharp gaze fixed on Midea as she mulled over his words. She didn't interrupt, but inwardly, she couldn't help but feel a spark of interest. Begrudgingly allowed? That implied something deeper—something more complex than the simple narrative of defiance she had initially assumed.

Midea noticed her expression and smirked faintly before continuing. "I explained tribulations before, didn't I? How they operate under certain rules—how they can't simply crush you with overwhelming force and must reward you if you pass. It's not as if something so fundamental is merely just a tradition or custom. It's a law, an immutable principle governing the process of cultivation."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering as though sharing a closely guarded secret. "In essence, cultivation is the process of claiming authority in an inherently unfair system. It's like a peasant—someone at the very bottom of the social order—rising through the ranks to become a king, even when everything is stacked against him."

Tanya's mind raced as she absorbed his words, her fingers tapping idly against her thigh in thought. The analogy struck a chord with her. It was a fitting description—cultivation wasn't just about power; it was about navigating a world designed to keep you in place and finding a way to rise above it. She was about to respond when Tarak, who had been listening intently, suddenly tilted his head and spoke up.

"What is a peasant and a king?" he asked, his tone curious but serious, as though genuinely perplexed by the unfamiliar terms.

Tanya turned to look at her brother, her thoughtful expression softening slightly. Despite his sharp instincts and rapidly developing intellect, Tarak was still an infant in many ways. His fully functional body and intense gaze often made her forget that there were still things he hadn't learned—things she took for granted as common knowledge.

Midea blinked, caught off guard by the question, before letting out a low chuckle. "Ah, we can go over that at a later time," he said with a wave of his hand, clearly amused by the interruption. "For now, let's focus on what's relevant."

Tarak gave a small nod, his expression unchanging, though Tanya could tell he was filing the question away for later. He always did that—quietly storing information for future consideration, a habit she had noticed and admired in him. She turned her attention back to Midea, who had straightened slightly, his expression growing more serious.

"In regard to what I was talking about earlier," Midea continued, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly in the dappled light, "creation and the soul interact in ways most people don't fully understand. That interaction is how one absorbs numen. It's also how one senses energy and, more importantly, how one begins to comprehend the dao."

At the mention of the Dao, Tanya felt a faint twinge of something stir within her—a mixture of curiosity and wariness. The concept of the dao had come up before, but Midea's explanations had always been vague, almost cryptic. She had a feeling that was about to change.

"The dao," Midea said slowly, as if savoring the weight of the word, "has no words, no language that can define it. It's vast, infinite, and beyond mortal comprehension in its purest form. But…" He held up a finger, his smirk returning. "There's a reason why cultivators write sutras and chants. Sutras are the condensed understanding of a dao put into words—or rather, the creator's general understanding of a dao."

Midea's crimson eyes gleamed with a knowing light as he leaned forward slightly, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, his tone informative yet carrying that ever-present smirk of superiority. "When one's mind and body repeat the words of a sutra with a certain intent while performing attacks listed in the sutra—or at least related to a specific dao—creation will respond. It senses the soul drawing closer to its way of things, so to speak, and thus imbues the attack with greater effect."

He flicked his hand in a casual motion, and a faint ripple of numen energy shimmered around him before dissipating into the air. "When you chant or recite a sutra during battle, you're not just making noise. You're invoking your understanding of the Dao, reinforcing your intent, and aligning yourself with its principles. It amplifies your power, makes your techniques sharper, more refined."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, the faint flicker of light from the spiral-branched trees around them casting elongated shadows across the jungle clearing. The strange luminescence of the jungle in the surroundings alongside the suns seemed to make the trio glow. A breeze ruffled her feathers and hair as she heard the familiar sound of rustling branches and leaves. Ruffled her feathers huh? That saying did apply to her quite literally now. She snapped her attention back to the demon who seemed ready to speak once more.

Midea's expression turned contemplative, his voice lowering as though he were sharing a closely guarded secret. "Simply put, yes—chanting increases the power of an attack. But it's more than just raw strength. Certain rituals, artifacts, crafting processes, and even alchemy rely on this cornerstone of cultivation. The fundamental principle is the same—communication with creation, an alignment with the Dao."

Tanya's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she considered his words, her fingers tapping lightly against her thigh. So the world itself would enhance your attack if it sensed you aligning yourself more closely with its laws? That was… interesting. Unlike cultivation, where one operated on the fringes of those laws, essentially forcing their way upward, chanting seemed to involve a temporary subsumption into the natural order—a way to momentarily walk in harmony with existence rather than defying it outright.

Her lips quirked slightly as a metaphor formed in her mind: A cultivator is like a petty thief whom creation can't outright kill but who works their way up to becoming a ruler. Chanting, on the other hand, was like the thief temporarily putting on the guise of nobility, convincing creation to grant them temporary favor. It wasn't defiance—it was more like manipulation, a trick played on existence itself.

Midea seemed to notice her expression and gave a knowing nod, his smirk widening. "Of course, this isn't the only way to gain such benefits. As I mentioned, someone had to create those sutras in the first place. Every sutra begins as someone's personal understanding of the Dao, refined and condensed into words. Technically, you can create your own, though that's easier said than done."

He snapped his fingers sharply, the sound cutting through the jungle's ambient noise. Tarak's ears twitched slightly in response, his slit-pupiled eyes flicking toward Midea with cautious curiosity. The Tyrnnius was swishing his thickly plated tail through the air in curiosity.

Midea continued, his tone light yet deliberate. "Speaking aloud often yields better results because sound itself holds power. Though you don't necessarily need to. The power is in communication or the concept of it. Communication—whether between beings or between man and heaven—is a form of resonance. Cultivation, in a sense, is an ongoing dialogue between heaven and man. Of course, that's a very loose interpretation, but it serves to illustrate the point. What matters the most is intent, complexity, and detail. Saying it through the mouth the first form of communication for beings like us combined with those factors leads to alignment with heaven. Remember that."

Tanya's gaze remained steady, but there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "Intent, complexity, and detail?" she asked, her voice thoughtful. "I remember you mentioning intent before, specifically in relation to the wards."

Midea inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her question. "Exactly. The soul is a very real thing, and it doesn't just passively exist—it interacts with creation on a fundamental level. When you act with clear intent—whether it's to attack, defend, or heal—and that intent is aligned with your understanding of a dao, creation can sense it. If you have the knowledge to describe your intent in detail, either through a sutra or mentally, and if your comprehension of the dao is deep enough, creation acknowledges your effort and assists you."

He paused for emphasis, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "That's where complexity comes into play. The more complex and refined your understanding, the greater the effect. Of course, detail matters too—how well you can articulate your intent, either verbally or mentally, impacts the result. Speaking aloud helps because it forces you to clarify your intent and align it with your understanding aside from the conceptual impact of speaking itself, but once you've reached a certain level, you can do it purely in your head. Then again that's far beyond you and even me."

Tanya crossed her arms, her mind racing as she absorbed the explanation. So it's a combination of intent, knowledge, and articulation? That made sense. It wasn't enough to simply chant empty words; there had to be meaning behind them—an intent that creation could recognize and respond to. She filed the information away for later consideration, already contemplating how she might apply it in future battles.

"And by doing it partially mentally," Midea added, his tone growing slightly more serious, "you can shorten your effective chant to fewer words while still retaining a significant boost. But that only works if you've done the mental work beforehand. Without a clear and refined intent, even the most elaborate chant will amount to nothing more than noise."

He finished with a casual shrug, as though explaining something entirely obvious, but Tanya wasn't fooled. Beneath his nonchalant demeanor, she could sense the weight of experience in his words—the hard-earned knowledge of someone who had walked the path of cultivation for far longer than she had been alive.

Tanya glanced at Tarak, who remained silent but watchful. His expression was impassive, but she knew him well enough to recognize the subtle signs of interest—the slight tilt of his head, the way his ears twitched ever so slightly as he processed the information. He might not have been able to sense numen yet, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention.

"Well, that's all fascinating," Tanya said at last, her tone dry but not dismissive. "But I assume there's more to it than just chanting a few fancy words and hoping for the best?"

"Here, I will demonstrate. You both come at me, and I'll show you the difference," Midea said with a self-assured smile, his crimson eyes gleaming under the faint glow of the stars scattered across the night sky.

Tanya narrowed her eyes at the demon, suspicion flickering in her gaze. That wasn't the sole reason they were out here. They hadn't trekked to this clearing deep in the jungle just to spar with him. In the morning, she had spoken with the old priestess Baya in preparation for the trial. And this trip into the wilderness, with Midea as an ever-grinning guide, had a clear purpose—to confirm how her and Tarak's unique abilities affected shades. The event loomed on the horizon, and she needed every advantage she could muster. Yet, as usual, Midea seemed intent on doing things his way, always withholding just enough information to keep them guessing.

The shadows were the satyr's element, a fact that wasn't lost on Tanya. Given his origins as a literal demon of hell, it made perfect sense. Still, his penchant for secrecy grated on her nerves. He never revealed his plans outright, preferring instead to spring surprises when it suited him.

She glanced over at Tarak, who had risen to his feet. His expression was as impassive as ever, but Tanya knew her brother well enough to catch the faint glint of excitement in his slit-pupiled crimson eyes. He hadn't forgotten their first training session with Midea, and from the slight twitch in his tail, she could tell he was eager to get some payback. Typical Tarak—silent, steady, and determined. She sighed inwardly, resigning herself to the inevitable.

Standing, she brushed the dust from her clothing and stretched her wings slightly, shaking off the stiffness that had settled in her limbs. Midea, seeing that they were ready, rose fluidly from his meditative position and backed away a few meters, giving them space. The soft crunch of his hooves against the forest floor barely disturbed the quiet hum of the jungle around them. The clearing was bathed in the ethereal glow of aspar—bioluminescent flora that dotted the landscape, their delicate blue-green light casting faint shadows on the spiral-branched trees surrounding them.

Above, the stars shone bright, unimpeded by any artificial light, their radiance mirrored in the dew that clung to the grass beneath their feet. The world seemed to still a bit as her hearts beat faster. Her teeth sharpened instinctually. Combat. She was indeed built for it in the end it seemed.

Midea's horns gleamed faintly under the starlight as he turned to face them fully, his six-clawed hands hanging loosely at his sides. The smirk playing on his lips was one Tanya had seen too often—it was the smirk of someone who knew far more than they let on, someone who relished the idea of watching others struggle just to catch up. His crimson eyes gleamed with unmistakable pride, but beneath that pride, there was something else—an emotion she couldn't quite place. Was it expectation? Amusement? Or something more?

He raised a hand, curling his claws in a beckoning motion. "Come now," he said, his voice light but challenging. "Show me what you've got."

Tarak launched forward without hesitation, the force of his movement causing the earth beneath his feet to fracture in jagged lines. His crimson eyes locked onto Midea's form, calculating, unyielding. In a blur of motion, he closed the distance, his right fist hurtling toward the demon's chest with enough power to crater stone.

Midea, ever the composed predator, anticipated the attack. His sharp crimson eyes gleamed with amusement as he pivoted gracefully, letting the punch skim past his side. With a deft movement, he placed a six-clawed hand atop Tarak's overextended arm, using his superior leverage to drive it down toward the ground, throwing the younger Tyrannius off balance. But Tarak wasn't one to falter easily.

Without missing a beat, Tarak rolled with the motion, twisting his body mid-fall. In a seamless transition, he used the momentum to drive a heel toward Midea's head, the force of the kick slicing through the air with an audible whoosh. Midea's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he caught the incoming strike with one hand, the impact reverberating up his arm. He shook his hand out briefly, acknowledging the strength behind the blow.

"Impressive," Midea muttered, a glint of satisfaction in his voice.

Before Tarak could react further, Midea's hoof came crashing toward the back of his head. The strike wasn't intended to injure—it was a calculated maneuver designed to disorient. The powerful blow sent Tarak upward, his body flipping in mid-air as Midea's next move came swift and unrelenting. Muscles rippled beneath the demon's dark skin as veins bulged along his forearms. With precision and force, he launched two consecutive knuckle strikes directly into Tarak's torso, each blow landing with a resounding thud.

Tarak's body shot backward like a comet, tearing through the air before crashing into the dirt several meters away. A cloud of dust rose from the impact, obscuring him momentarily. Yet, when the dust cleared, it was clear that despite the ferocity of Midea's strikes, Tarak was unharmed. He rose to his feet, his expression as stoic as ever, crimson eyes burning with a primality.

Tanya saw her opening.

Her wings flared wide, catching the faint light of the stars above. With a single powerful flap, she propelled herself forward, her form gliding just above the ground. The wind whistled around her as her wings began to harden, transforming into gleaming scythes with razor-sharp edges that reflected the dim light in deadly arcs. She angled herself low, aiming for Midea's midsection with the intention of striking before he could fully reset his stance.

Midea turned to face her, his smirk growing. He sent a hoof hurtling toward her face with deceptive speed, but Tanya had anticipated this. With a sharp twist of her body, she flapped her wings once, pulling herself upright and backward just in time to avoid the blow. The wind from his kick ruffled her golden hair as she immediately countered, driving herself forward once more, aiming a powerful scythe-like wing slash at his head.

But it was a feint.

Midea's true attack came a split second later. With a sudden stomp, he drove his hoof downward into the earth, using the force to propel himself upward and close the gap between them in an instant. His fist came crashing toward Tanya's face like a meteor descending from the heavens.

Tanya's eyes widened as she realized too late that she had been baited. The demon's fist connected squarely with her face, the force of the blow sending her hurtling downward. She hit the ground headfirst with a violent crack, her body skidding several meters away and into the earth before coming to a stop.

For a moment, silence reigned in the clearing, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze. As Tarak prepared.

Midea lowered his fist, exhaling slowly. His crimson eyes flicked between the two siblings, his expression one of calm satisfaction, as though this entire encounter had gone exactly as he had planned.

Midea's smirk returned as he watched them both. "Not bad," he said casually, his tone carrying that ever-present note of challenge. "But you'll have to do better than that if you want to land a hit."

Midea then launched himself toward Tanya with blistering speed, his form blurring as he closed the distance in an instant. Tanya barely had time to react before instinct kicked in, her wings snapping outward in a wide defensive arc. Their metallic sheen gleamed ominously under the dim light filtering through the dense canopy above, the hardened edges resembling twin crescent blades poised to carve through anything in their path.

With a fluid motion, Midea reared back mid-air, his muscles rippling with controlled precision. He thrust his palms forward, slamming them against the flat of her wings with enough force to send a shockwave rippling outward, rustling the leaves and bending the nearby grass. Tanya felt the reverberation in her bones, but what truly shocked her was what followed—two phantom blows struck her face in rapid succession, each landing with a brutal thud, despite her wings fully covering her front.

Her head snapped back from the impact, and she was driven even deeper into the ground, her feet sinking into the soft earth as small cracks spiderwebbed outward from the force of the strikes. Dirt and debris exploded around her, clouding the air in a gritty haze. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself upright as a slight dull ache radiated from her jaw.

Tanya sprang to her feet with a sharp flap of her wings, the motion clearing the dust around her in an instant. She caught sight of Tarak charging forward again, his crimson eyes locked onto the demon with unwavering intensity. His footfalls were heavy, each step digging into the earth and leaving small craters in his wake. However, this time, just before reaching Midea, he abruptly halted his advance and pivoted on his heel with flawless precision.

Tarak's entire body twisted into the motion, gathering all his built-up momentum into a single devastating tail whip. His tail lashed out with a fierce whoosh, slicing through the air like a living scythe. The sheer force of the motion generated a massive crescent-shaped wind blade that screamed toward Midea, tearing up the ground in its wake. The sound of it slicing through the air was deafening, like the roar of an unrelenting storm.

Midea's eyes narrowed, his expression momentarily losing its smugness as he assessed the incoming attack. But rather than attempting to block or counter, his body seemed to relax entirely. His muscles went loose, and he bent backward with an eerie grace, his form flowing like a blade of grass bending under a powerful gust. The wind scythe passed mere inches above his chest, continuing its path unabated. Behind him, over a hundred trees in the distance were sheared clean through, their upper halves toppling over with an earth-shaking crash.

Despite narrowly dodging the attack, Midea's stance remained calm, his breathing steady as though he hadn't just avoided what could have been a fatal blow.

Tarak wasn't done.

Using the continued momentum of his spin, he brought his fist around in a wide arc, aiming directly for Midea's solar plexus. The force behind the punch was immense, and the sheer pressure generated by the motion caused the air around them to distort visibly. A low, rumbling boom echoed through the clearing as Tarak's fist closed the final inches toward its target.

Midea's eyes widened slightly, a rare flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. At the last possible moment, he shifted into a low horse stance, his feet digging into the ground for stability. Tarak's fist slammed into Midea's midsection with a bone-rattling crack, the impact generating a shockwave that rippled outward in all directions. Grass flattened beneath the force, and loose debris was hurled into the air.

For a moment, it seemed as though Tarak's attack had found its mark.

But then, Midea's body leaned back unnaturally, moving like a pendulum absorbing the force of the blow. Despite the sheer power behind Tarak's strike, Midea's torso yielded just enough to disperse the energy, minimizing the damage. Before Tarak could react, Midea retaliated with a vicious counterattack. His fist shot forward with twice the force of Tarak's blow, his arm a blur as it drove into the younger Tyrannius' chest.

The impact was explosive.

Tarak's body was launched backward with terrifying speed, crashing through several trees before disappearing into the distance. The sound of his impact echoed through the forest, followed by the distant groan of splintering wood and falling branches.

Tanya pushed herself off the ground, ignoring the dull ache that reverberated through her body. Her amethyst eyes locked onto Midea, who had already shifted into a loose, relaxed stance. The smirk playing on his lips only fueled her determination. Without hesitation, she surged forward, her wings tucked tight against her back to reduce wind resistance. As she closed the gap, she pivoted sharply, launching a powerful kick aimed at Midea's side.

Midea's eyes flickered, his arm snapping up to block. The angle of his guard was perfect, his forearm positioned to absorb the brunt of her strike. But Tanya wasn't done—far from it. The moment she saw his guard rise, she altered the trajectory of her kick mid-motion, her leg arcing upward in a smooth, deceptive curve. It was a question mark kick, a technique she had drilled relentlessly back on Earth. The sudden change in direction was meant to bypass an opponent's defense entirely, striking from an unexpected angle.

For a split second, surprise flickered across Midea's crimson eyes before his smirk widened. His palm twisted outward with unnatural speed, catching her ankle before her kick could land. His grip was firm, almost vice-like, and before she could react, she felt a sudden shift in force. It was as if the energy of her kick had been entirely redirected. Like a cycle of kinetic energy had been turned from going against the demon to going against herself. With a swift, fluid motion, Midea swung her upward, using her own momentum against her, and sent her hurtling into the sky.

Tanya's vision spun wildly as she soared through the air, the wind whipping against her face. She fought the disorientation, forcing herself to focus. Her wings flared out instinctively, stabilizing her mid-air just in time to catch sight of Midea below. He launched himself upward in a blur of motion, his hoof scything down toward her with deadly precision.

Her wings hardened, the metallic sheen returning as they shifted into a defensive position. The hoof struck with a resounding clang, the impact sending a jarring shockwave through her body. She gritted her teeth as the force drove her downward, her wings acting like a shield but doing little to cushion her fall. She hit the ground hard, a plume of dust and debris rising around her as she landed in a crouch. Luckily she wasn't afraid of them though. If it failed to rip her skin then it wouldn't do anything to her internals. That had been proven in the fight with Hathor. However, it was still a bit shocking. The sheer amount of force the demon could produce that is. Or perhaps it was because her humanoid body was less durable than her hardened wings.

Her eyes sharpened as she moved herself from a crouch to her feet, her pupils flitting about as she tracked Midea's movements. He didn't give her much time to recover. In a heartbeat, he vanished—or rather, moved so fast it appeared as though he had teleported. His form flickered, reappearing directly in front of her, well within her guard.

Tanya's senses screamed a warning as she saw him flick his leg in a subtle, precise motion—a technique she realized must have allowed him to accelerate so rapidly. Before she could react, he unleashed a flurry of strikes, his fists blurring as they closed in on her with terrifying speed.

Three punches, all at once.

It didn't make sense. He only had two arms, yet somehow, there were three distinct strikes aimed at her. Tanya reacted on instinct, raising her arm to block one of the incoming blows. Her forearm met his fist with a sharp crack, but to her shock, the punch phased through her block as though it were immaterial. The next thing she knew, a solid fist slammed into her gut from a wholly different direction driving the air from her lungs in a harsh gasp.

But Tanya was Tyrannius, and durability was her forte.

Ignoring the sharp impact in her abdomen, she acted without hesitation. Her hands shot out, wrapping around Midea's arm with an iron grip. She twisted her body sharply to the right, using the momentum of his attack against him. At the same time, her left hand darted toward his neck, her fingers curling around his throat in a firm hold.

Midea's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but Tanya wasn't done. She hooked one of her legs around his left thigh, anchoring herself in place, while her other leg slipped between his, disrupting his balance. With a sharp, forceful tug, she sent them both tumbling to the ground in a controlled grapple, her wings flaring out to maintain her leverage.

Tanya attempted to grapple with Midea, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso in an effort to gain control, but it became quickly apparent that the demon was far more experienced in close combat than she had anticipated. His movements were fluid, almost serpentine, his limbs snaking around hers with a combination of strength, speed, and unnerving precision. Every time she tried to shift her weight or adjust her hold, Midea countered effortlessly, his joints locking against hers in ways she hadn't expected. At first, it seemed as though his efforts to manipulate her joints were futile—her body, unlike most humanoids, didn't adhere strictly to the same biological mechanics. However, Midea adapted swiftly.

He moved with an almost preternatural understanding of anatomy, figuring out the intricacies of her form with alarming speed. Though Tanya's body was far more durable than any normal humanoid, in the end, she was still humanoid in structure. His limbs coiled around hers with the precision of a constrictor, leveraging every ounce of his strength and skill to dominate the grapple.

"Slippery bastard," Tanya growled through clenched teeth, frustration mounting as she struggled to break free.

Midea's smirk didn't falter, his crimson eyes gleaming with calculated amusement. His arms were like iron bands, unyielding and impossibly fast. Every time Tanya tried to shift the grapple into her favor, Midea's limbs adjusted with a fluidity that defied logic. His experience was evident in every movement—a lifetime spent mastering the art of combat in hell's brutal crucible.

She gritted her teeth, refusing to yield. Her wings flared out, metallic and sharp, intending to cut into him, but Midea anticipated the move. With a swift twist of his hips and a sharp tug on her arm, he flipped her over, slamming her onto her back with enough force to crack the earth beneath them. Before she could react, he had her pinned, one arm locked around her windpipe while his other hand pressed down on her shoulder, keeping her firmly in place.

Tanya glared up at him, her breath coming in short bursts, though not from lack of air—Midea's chokehold, while effective on most beings, was hardly more than mild pressure to her. Her neck was no weaker than the rest of her. Her body's innate resilience rendered such tactics almost useless, but the sensation of being pinned, of being outmaneuvered, inflamed her pride.

Midea's smirk widened as he increased the pressure around her neck, his eyes gleaming with challenge. "You're tough, I'll give you that," he said, his voice calm yet taunting. "But durability alone won't win you a fight. You're effectively a punching bag."

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With a sharp cry of defiance, Tanya's wings burst outward, the sudden force and sharp edges forcing Midea to release her and retreat several paces back. He landed gracefully, barely disturbed by the counter, and clicked his tongue in mild irritation.

"Not bad," he admitted, his tone still carrying that infuriating smugness. "But let's see if you can keep up."

Before Tanya could charge at him again, a blur shot past her—Tarak.

Her brother launched himself at Midea like a meteor, his speed and strength combining into a devastating assault. He launched at the demon with his horns intending on impaling the satyr. But Midea ever the showoff flipped over the blow but Tarak wasn't finished. He reached out his arms impacting the ground in a burst of force sending himself backward and up to where the demon was spinning his tail whose spines extended into a brutal strike.

The demon anticipated the attack, ducking low as Tarak's tail whistled overhead, shearing through the air with enough force to create a visible wind pressure. He then reached out grabbing Tarak's tail and did what he did to her beforehand redirecting all the force into the earth. But Tarak's limb was prehensile. His tail wrapped around Mideas wrist as they both went careening to the ground and the demon put up a barrier around his arm to avoid injury from the spikes. They slammed into a dust cloud where upon getting up they stood apart on opposite sides after the could dissipated.

However, Tarak didn't give Midea any time to recover. He continued his assault, his fists and legs a blur of motion as he unleashed a relentless barrage of strikes. Each blow was precise, aimed at vital points, but Midea's movements remained infuriatingly fluid. He parried and diverted each attack with minimal effort, his body flowing like water around Tarak's strikes.

Tanya watched, momentarily stunned by the speed of their exchange. Tarak's attacks were relentless, each one powerful enough to shatter stone, yet Midea remained unscathed. The demon's experience showed in every movement, his stance shifting subtly with each attack, his hands deflecting Tarak's blows with calculated ease.

But Tarak wasn't merely attacking blindly. His crimson eyes gleamed with a sharp, predatory focus, analyzing Midea's movements with every strike. He threw out a feint, a quick jab toward Midea's face, and when the demon moved to block, Tarak twisted his body, bringing his leg around in a powerful roundhouse kick aimed at Midea's ribs.

The kick connected with a resounding thud, staggering Midea slightly.

Tanya's eyes widened in surprise—Tarak had managed to land a clean hit.

Midea's expression shifted briefly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features before it was replaced by a cold, calculating calm. He took a step back, his stance changing abruptly. Tanya recognized the shift immediately—there was something different about his posture now. His left arm extended outward, palm facing down, while his right arm remained close to his body, palm facing upward. It was a stance she hadn't seen before, but the shift in atmosphere was palpable.

Tarak didn't hesitate. He charged forward once more, his fists flying as he aimed a flurry of blows at Midea. But no matter what punch, kick, or tail strike he threw, Midea diverted each one effortlessly. His movements were almost hypnotic, each attack sliding past him as though repelled by an unseen force.

"What the hell is that?" Tanya muttered under her breath, frustration boiling over as she watched Tarak's attacks being neutralized.

Midea's stance allowed him to control the flow of the battle completely. Every strike Tarak threw was met with a subtle redirection, the force of each attack dissipating harmlessly into the air. It was as if Midea had become an immovable object, an unbreakable wall that absorbed and diverted any force directed at him.

Tanya clenched her fists, her pride burning hotter with each passing second. She couldn't just stand by and watch. With a sharp intake of breath, she launched herself forward, her wings hardening into gleaming scythes as she aimed directly for Midea's blind spot.

But Midea wasn't caught off guard.

As Tarak threw another punch, Midea shifted his stance slightly, diverting the blow while simultaneously turning to meet Tanya's charge. With a swift, almost imperceptible movement, he redirected her momentum, sending her crashing into Tarak. The two siblings tumbled backward, skidding across the ground before coming to a stop several meters away.

"Now, to demonstrate as I said I would," Midea declared, his voice carrying a dark edge of excitement, a grin spreading wide across his face.

In a sudden burst of motion, purple flames wreathed his palm, flickering ominously like shadows given life. Without warning, he accelerated toward them, his form blurring slightly from the sheer speed. Tanya barely had time to react before the demon slammed his six-clawed hand forward. The resulting impact was immediate and violent—a large flame explosion that charred the earth beneath them, sending up a cloud of scorched dirt and ash.

Tanya felt the searing heat lick at her skin, but it didn't truly hurt. Her Tyrannius body shrugged off the damage, and within moments, she had recovered, springing back into action. A quick glance to her side showed Tarak recovering just as fast, his expression stoic but his eyes gleaming with determination. They pushed forward in unison, coordinating their attack instinctively. The earth trembled beneath their feet as they closed the distance toward Midea once more. They were determined to make the annoying goat eat the earth.

But the demon merely grinned wider, as though relishing the challenge.

"Hell's Embrace!" he laughed, his voice carrying a note of wild exhilaration.

Tanya's eyes widened as she saw the familiar purple flames surge outward from his form, more intense and concentrated than before. She immediately pivoted on her heel, trying to dodge, while Tarak dropped low, using his powerful legs to propel himself into a low-sweeping charge aimed at Midea's legs. Yet, it quickly became apparent that evasion was futile.

Even while holding back, Midea's speed was overwhelming. He moved with a level of precision and ferocity that far outpaced their best efforts. In the end, he was the strongest person they had met in this world as of yet. The chant had clearly empowered his technique beyond what they had seen before. The six-clawed flame palm met Tanya's midsection before she could fully reposition herself.

Boom!

She crashed into the ground, an explosion of soil and debris erupting around her as the force of the impact carved a small crater in the earth. The heat of the strike hadn't done all that much damage really there was a slight scorch mark on her, but her body's innate resilience ensured that the wound essentially disappeared relatively quickly. She pushed herself up, wiping the dirt from her face, eyes blazing with renewed focus.

Crssh!

The sharp sound of something breaking reached her ears. Tanya snapped her head toward the source just in time to see her brother hurtling through the air before colliding with the earth creating a small crater near the edge of the clearing. The force of the crash shattered the crate, sending splinters flying in all directions. Tarak landed hard on the ground with a low grunt, dust, and debris settling around him.

Tanya's heart clenched, a flicker of concern breaking through her usual calm. She shot toward him, her wings snapping out briefly to propel herself faster. Reaching his side, she crouched down, grabbing his arm and pulling him up gently.

"You okay?" she asked quickly, her voice carrying a rare note of urgency.

Tarak grunted in response, rocking upward until he was sitting. He attempted to rise, but a sharp intake of breath betrayed the pain he was feeling. Tanya's sharp eyes caught the way he clutched his stomach, and without hesitation, she moved his hand out of the way to examine the wound.

Her brows furrowed deeply. The burn mark across Tarak's torso was noticeably larger than the one she had sustained—at least twice the size, and though his body was already working to heal the damage, it was clear he had taken the brunt of the attack far worse than she had. Anger flared in her chest, hot and instinctive.

Snapping her head toward Midea, she fixed him with a glare, her golden eyes blazing with irritation.

"Why did you hit him so much harder than you hit me?" she demanded, her voice edging toward a yell. Gratitude for Midea's help in training them and other things aside, her brother came first. Her body agreed, a surge of protective instinct making her muscles tense as if preparing for another fight.

Midea approached at a leisurely pace, brushing dirt off his ink-black skin with an air of nonchalance. His crimson eyes gleamed thoughtfully as he stroked his chin, considering her words.

"I didn't," he said at last, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. "I used the same amount of power in each blow." He knelt slightly, scrutinizing Tarak's wound with a critical eye before continuing, "Hmm… from what I can see, it's mostly the heat that harmed him more. Interesting." He stood upright again, tilting his head slightly as if pondering something. "If I remember correctly, your brother might've been a bit tougher and stronger than you—physically, at least. Well, he was before. You're about the same now."

Tanya's brows furrowed further, the tension in her expression not easing as she digested his words.

"On the other hand," Midea added, "you were always faster and more agile than him. How curious. But since your durability is now the same why are you so much better at enduring heat? And how did you catch up? The only thing that could have changed is…" He trailed off, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes before he concluded, "Your fight with Hathor."

Tanya's fists clenched at her sides, but she forced herself to remain calm, though her irritation didn't entirely subside. She glanced back at Tarak, noting the way his wound was already knitting itself back together, albeit slower than she would've liked.

Tanya sighed, irritated by the demon's antics. She wasn't surprised that Midea had orchestrated the entire encounter with the intent of testing them. He must have harbored suspicions about their true abilities for a while now. Neither she nor Tarak—not that her brother would even know how to articulate such a thing—had been upfront about their peculiar power of adaptation. Not because they were deliberately hiding anything; it simply hadn't been relevant in conversation. But the demon was perceptive, far too much so for her liking. He must have noticed something unusual from the time she had been struck by the ring infestor and survived its parasitation, or perhaps from the way they had rapidly adjusted to the brutal training he had subjected them to.

It wasn't something possible for anyone with an ordinary body or even merely a strong body. Normal beings didn't shrug off crippling injuries or uncurable parasites, only to come back stronger and more resilient afterward.

Her gaze drifted over the scorched earth around them, the smell of charred grass and ash lingering heavily in the air, mixing with the earthy scent of soil torn up by their earlier scuffle. Tanya mulled over Midea's words carefully. She had caught up to Tarak in terms of sheer durability, he'd said—something she hadn't consciously realized before. And it made sense. After all, she had survived being immolated from the inside out during her fight with Hathor. The fire had seared her from within, and yet she'd endured it naturally, without external help. Her body had adapted to that level of flame resistance through sheer force of will and survival instinct. Every injury she sustained, every scrape, burn, or fracture—it all seemed to push her body to evolve, becoming slightly more durable and slightly stronger after each encounter.

Still, the question lingered in her mind—why had Tarak been naturally stronger and more durable than her in the first place? She folded her arms, her expression thoughtful. Sexual dimorphism could have been the answer, a leftover biological difference in strength between male and female members of their race. But somehow, that didn't sit right with her. Their bodies weren't bound by the same rules as ordinary humanoid species. If they could grow exponentially stronger through fighting, through putting themselves through strain and pain, and if both she and Tarak shared that same adaptive ability in equal measure, then there was no inherent reason for males to start out stronger than females.

In fact, even before her adaptations had kicked in more prominently, the difference in their physical stats wasn't that vast. Tarak had been a bit more durable, yes, and slightly stronger, but nothing overwhelming. And she had always been faster but only slightly so on the ground—in the air was a whole other discussion, where her flight gave her an edge that Tarak obviously couldn't match on foot. She frowned slightly, still turning the thought over in her mind as she glanced at her brother. His wound had completely vanished now, as if it had never existed. Her own injury had healed long before, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unmarred skin.

Midea's voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her attention back to the present.

"Adaptation, huh?" he mused aloud, his tone thoughtful but tinged with something resembling admiration. His crimson eyes gleamed with curiosity as he studied the two of them. "A rare and powerful ability, no doubt. Though I have to say, it's not as drastic as it might feel to you right now." He paused, the flames around his hands flickering out as he brushed the remaining dirt off his palms. "That was far from a full-power Hell's Embrace."

Tanya's brow twitched slightly at his words. Of course, the demon had been holding back. She hadn't needed him to say it aloud to know as much. If Midea had been serious, she doubted the clearing would still be standing. Even so, hearing him admit it so casually annoyed her more than it should have.

"You've grown more resistant to fire, even my hellflame," Midea continued, his voice taking on a more contemplative tone. "That's impressive. Hellflame isn't ordinary fire—it's infused with destructive intent, far more potent than anything Hathor used against you." He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as if weighing something in his mind. "But I did lower my power level to the first shackle of the second layer. While my flames are certainly stronger than Hathor's, I wasn't operating at a massively higher level during our little demonstration."

He paced a few steps, the smirk returning to his face as his hooves crunched softly against the charred ground. "That being said," he added, casting Tanya a sidelong glance, "with such a body, if you were to fight him again in a one-on-one, Surya…" He let the sentence hang in the air for a moment, savoring the tension before finishing with a grin, "You'd probably win."

"Was the only way to confirm that ability of ours slamming a burning palm into the stomach of an infant?" Tanya asked, her voice edged with lingering irritation. Her amethyst eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration rippling through her otherwise composed expression. "Was there no other feasible way to test your theory?"

Midea chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich, as though thoroughly enjoying her displeasure. He spread his hands in a mock gesture of helplessness, the purple flames that had once wreathed his fingers flickering out completely. Around them, the charred earth still smoldered faintly, the acrid scent of burned grass mingling with the fresh scent of nearby greenery untouched by the earlier chaos. "Both of you are entirely too durable, period, for normal fire to even hurt you," he said, his tone light and teasing. He turned slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming with playful intent. "Even those flame spirits from before probably couldn't burn you. Well, at least the weaker ones. You could stand inside them and take a nap."

Tanya's brow twitched slightly at his nonchalant attitude, but she said nothing. She knew better than to take his bait so easily. Midea smirked at her silence, clearly pleased with himself, before continuing, "There are disadvantages to having such thick flesh as well, of course. At the very least, we now know that what doesn't kill you quite literally makes you stronger. So really," he added with a teasing lilt, "I helped, actually."

"Wow, that's crazy," Tanya said, deadpan, crossing her arms over her chest. Her wings shifted slightly, gleaming faintly in the dim light as they folded neatly behind her back. "I do wonder what my mother would think about you beating us to make us stronger."

Midea coughed into his hand, clearly caught off guard by her words. His usual smug composure cracked for a moment as his eyes widened slightly in surprise. Then, recovering quickly, he straightened and gave an exaggerated bow, one hand pressed dramatically over his chest. "I, with all the honor of the great house of Valefor, sincerely offer my apologies to the spawn of the Heavenless Huntress," he said solemnly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

Tarak remained quiet throughout the exchange, his crimson slit-pupiled eyes flicking between Midea and Tanya. Though his expression remained impassive, Tanya could see the faint glimmer of vindication in his gaze—a subtle but unmistakable sign of his satisfaction at Midea's momentary discomfort. However, the look didn't last long. It quickly shifted to one of quiet curiosity, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed what he had seen during their earlier bout.

"What were those moves you used?" Tarak asked, his tone neutral but edged with genuine interest. He took a step forward, his posture calm yet attentive, as if ready to absorb whatever knowledge Midea was about to share.

"Ahh," Midea said with a pleased grin, clearly delighted by the question. He crossed his arms, his horns catching the faint glow of the twin suns overhead, casting long shadows across the ground. "Those were martial arts. I already told you that I'd be teaching the two of you, have I not?"

Tanya's mind flicked back to a conversation they had shared not long ago. He had indeed mentioned something about teaching them how to fight, though she hadn't given it much thought at the time. Now, in light of everything that had just transpired, it was clear that his intentions ran deeper than she had initially assumed. Testing their ability to adapt to extreme phenomena wasn't his only goal. He had also been gauging their natural combat instincts, observing how they responded under pressure. It was a method she was familiar with—after all, as a former drill instructor herself, she had employed similar tactics countless times. The purpose wasn't just to assess strength or skill; it was to identify weaknesses, to see where the real training needed to begin.

Her gaze shifted slightly, taking in the scene around her. The forest clearing remained eerily quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves in the wind. Spiral branches curled toward the heavens as she spied a Snavine slithering on a branch not far away. She'd avoid it. Its spines actually did hurt quite a bit. She turned her attention back to the conversation.

Her wings flared wide behind her, catching the light of the seven suns as their radiance gleamed off the edges, casting sharp, shifting shadows across the charred and uneven ground. Tanya folded her arms, her golden eyes steady on Midea, the soft wind rustling through the clearing carrying the faint scent of scorched earth mixed with the fresh tang of the blue-green forest. "So what about the chanting thing you were talking about?" she asked, her tone sharp yet inquisitive.

Midea's smirk widened, the kind that always seemed to signal something unpleasant or at least vaguely annoying was about to follow. He leaned back slightly, his horns gleaming in the light as he gestured grandly with his six-clawed hands. "Ah, you see, these disciplines naturally converge." His voice carried an air of practiced patience, as though explaining something to children, though his eyes gleamed with mischievous intent. "Now, chanting is done in battle. While it can be done outside of combat, those instances are tied to rituals and things you won't even need to think about until the late second layer of cultivation."

Tanya's brow furrowed slightly at that. Late second layer? She sighed in exhaustion. Let alone the late second layer she couldn't even cultivate period. She remained silent, listening carefully as Midea continued, pacing slowly in front of them, each step purposeful, his hooves pressing into the soft dirt with a faint crunch. Around them, the spiral-branched trees swayed gently in the wind, their unusual blue-green hues creating an ethereal contrast against the burnt remnants of their earlier skirmish.

"Simply put, it's not something you'll have to worry about for now," Midea said, snapping his fingers as if dismissing the thought entirely. He glanced at them, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. "And naturally, due to your inability to cultivate or sense numen and the Dao, you can't practice chanting in the way it's intended. You wouldn't be able to comprehend the essence behind a sutra. You'd just be regurgitating words without meaning."

Tanya raised a brow at the demon, already suspecting where this was heading. He wasn't one to give up on an idea just because it couldn't be implemented in the traditional way. There had to be a workaround, some method he was about to introduce. She guessed he wanted them to engage in combat or rigorous training while practicing something akin to chanting. Likely, the goal was to prepare their minds to process and articulate complex information quickly under the duress of life-and-death situations.

"But," Midea continued, his voice drawing out the word like a teacher about to unveil the key to a lesson, "you know what you can understand?"

The question hung in the air, and Tanya didn't answer immediately. Instead, she continued to study him with wary curiosity, waiting for the inevitable reveal. Tarak, standing beside her, tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing in thought. His tail flicked once behind him, a subtle sign of his growing interest.

Midea grinned, clearly enjoying the anticipation he had built. "There's this great thing," he said, holding up a single clawed finger for emphasis, "called math. Numbers, equations, logic—something both of you can grasp, yes?"

Tanya blinked, surprised by the direction the conversation had taken. She glanced over at Tarak, who remained impassive as ever, though she could see the faint flicker of understanding beginning to dawn in his gaze. "Math?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, math," Midea confirmed with a satisfied nod. He crossed his arms, his expression smug. "First, we'll go through basic numbers so you actually know what you're counting. Then we'll move on to multiplication, exponents, and logarithms. Doing and understanding complex mathematical equations during strenuous physical activity will translate beautifully into chanting. You'll develop the mental agility needed to process complex information quickly, even while your body is under extreme strain."

Tanya's lips quirked upward slightly into a half-smirk. If nothing else, she was good at math. She had always been quick with numbers, even before her transformation. Now, with her enhanced mind and body—products of a race that could produce an entity as formidable as Lervea—she was confident that solving complex equations while fighting wouldn't be overly difficult. Still, that didn't mean she was particularly thrilled by the idea. The concept of shouting out mathematical equations while dodging punches and kicks didn't exactly appeal to her. But if it was necessary, she'd do it.

Her gaze shifted to Tarak. She could tell he was thinking the same thing. Despite his stoic exterior, she knew her brother well enough to recognize the spark of intelligence gleaming behind his eyes. He was just as capable as she was when it came to processing information quickly. The two of them were alike in many ways—sharp, adaptable, and unwilling to back down from a challenge.

Midea must have noticed the subtle exchange of glances because he clapped his hands together, drawing their attention back to him. "Now, before either of you start whining about how boring this sounds, keep in mind that this isn't just about numbers. It's about training your mind to work under pressure. Chanting isn't just about speaking words—it's about intent, precision, and speed. And learning to solve equations in the heat of combat will give you a massive advantage when the time comes to learn real sutras."

Tanya sighed inwardly, already imagining the grueling training sessions ahead. Still, she couldn't deny the logic behind his reasoning. Mental discipline was crucial, especially in battle. And if this training method could help them hone their focus and reaction time, it was worth enduring the annoyance of having to do math in the middle of a fight.

"After we go over the basics, you'll answer my questions aloud while trying to dodge my attacks," Midea said, his grin widening as a glint of mischief danced in his crimson eyes. His tone was far too cheerful for Tanya's liking, especially given the promise of imminent pain. "For every wrong answer, I'll speed up my attacks. If you get them right, my speed will stay the same as at the start."

He paused, the smirk on his face deepening into something far more sinister. "Well, let's begin."

Tanya's eyes narrowed as she felt the first stirrings of dread coil in her chest. Midea's expression could only be described as wickedly gleeful, and she had no doubt that he was going to enjoy this far more than he should. She glanced at Tarak, who had gone eerily still, his tail flicking once behind him—a subtle but telling sign of unease.

"Midea," she said slowly, her voice edged with suspicion, "are you sure this isn't just an excuse for you to beat us up again?"

Midea's grin widened even further, and he shrugged with an air of exaggerated innocence. "I'm a demon, Surya. What did you expect?"

______

After he taught them the basics—basics she already knew, which Tarak picked up on relatively easily—Tanya thought the resulting training would be easy. It wasn't.

"156.25³ × Log₂3!" Midea shot out, his voice sharp and clear, cutting through the crackling of purple fireballs that hovered ominously in the air before streaking toward them with alarming speed.

Tanya's eyes widened as she tried to process the equation, her mind scrambling to keep up with the rapid pace of both the numbers and the onslaught. She darted to the left, narrowly avoiding one fireball, only for another to curve around unexpectedly, slamming into her shoulder and sending a wave of searing heat through her skin.

"Damn it!" she hissed, flaring her wings to push herself backward and gain some breathing room. Her body was tough, far tougher than any ordinary being, but the heat still stung. Lervea's gift had ensured she could survive this kind of punishment, but that didn't make it pleasant.

Meanwhile, Tarak wasn't faring much better. He ducked low, narrowly avoiding three fireballs in rapid succession before leaping into the air to dodge a fourth. Despite his rapid firing off of equations, he made quite a few mistakes and as such, he wasn't completely fast enough to evade them all, and a particularly large fireball struck his side, sending him spinning through the air before he landed heavily on the ground. At least his flame resistance would grow a good deal she thought darkly.

"Logarithmic functions... then cubes... followed by multiplication…," Tanya muttered under her breath, her mind racing as she tried to keep track of the evolving pattern of Midea's questions. Each equation grew progressively more complex, transitioning from basic arithmetic to advanced algebraic expressions. "What kind of insane curriculum is this?"

"Too slow, Surya!" Midea taunted with a grin, his six clawed hands weaving intricate patterns as more fireballs formed around him, crackling with malevolent energy. "Next question—87 factorial divided by 9!"

Tanya barely had time to register the absurdity of the question before the fireballs surged toward her again, faster and more erratic than before. She flapped her wings hard, propelling herself into the air to dodge the incoming barrage. One fireball grazed her leg, the heat leaving a faint slight red mark on her otherwise flawless skin.

Tarak, on the other hand, had stopped trying to evade entirely. Instead, he charged straight through the onslaught, relying on his rapidly increasing flame resistance and sheer durability to tank the hits. His crimson eyes gleamed with determination as he pressed forward, attempting to close the distance between him and Midea.

"Just tanking the fire now, are we?" Midea chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement. With a casual flick of his wrist, he conjured a spinning ring of purple flames around himself, creating a barrier that flared outward whenever Tarak got too close.

Tanya's mind whirred, torn between helping her brother and focusing on the next equation. "Base-10 log of 10,000… easy, that's four!" she shouted, hoping that answering quickly would at least slow the pace of the fireballs.

"Correct! But not fast enough!" Midea called back, his smirk widening as he increased the speed of his attacks. Fireballs rained down like a meteor shower, forcing Tanya to weave and twist midair in a desperate attempt to stay ahead of the barrage. Her wings beat furiously, stirring up gusts of wind that scattered embers across the clearing.

Tarak finally managed to breach the ring of flames, his tail whipping around in a wide arc aimed directly at Midea's torso. But the demon was ready. He ducked low, letting the tail whip harmlessly over his head before retaliating with a rapid series of fire-enhanced punches. Each blow landed with enough force to send shockwaves rippling through the air, but Tarak endured it all, his body absorbing the punishment even as he gritted his teeth against the pain.

"Next one—square root of 2,401 times 12 factorial!" Midea shouted, his tone gleeful as he watched Tanya struggle to keep up with the relentless pace of both the math and the fight.

"Forty-nine… times—ugh, damn it, I don't have time for this!" Tanya spat, frustration mounting as she dodged yet another volley of fireballs. She could feel the heat licking at her skin, but her body's rapid adaptation prevented any lasting damage. Still, the sheer intensity of the exercise was wearing on her. Even with Lervea's gift, there was only so much mental strain she could endure while simultaneously avoiding a rain of fire and trying to solve increasingly ridiculous equations.

Tarak didn't even bother answering anymore. He focused entirely on brute-forcing his way through Midea's attacks, relying on sheer tenacity and his innate Tyrannius resilience. His eyes burned with a mix of stubborn inherent pride she had never seen before from him—he wasn't going to back down, no matter how impossible the task seemed.

After what felt like an eternity of dodging, blocking, and futilely attempting to keep up with the ever-escalating difficulty of Midea's questions, Tanya finally collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily. Tarak landed beside her moments later, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

Midea stood over them, arms crossed and a smug grin plastered across his face. "Well, that was fun! You both lasted longer than I expected, though I admit I was hoping for a few more correct answers."

Tanya glared up at him, too exhausted to offer a proper retort. "Next time… fewer fireballs, more… sanity," she managed to mutter between labored breaths.

"Oh, how tragic for you to fail so fast. Aren't you going to push yourself to the limit? Until your muscles tear and your bones break?" Midea teased, his voice laced with humor, though there was a knowing gleam in his crimson eyes.

Tanya slowly sat up, brushing the dirt from her face with the back of her hand. Her golden hair, now slightly singed at the tips, caught the faint light filtering through the trees. She fixed him with a flat, unimpressed stare. Despite the exhaustion clinging to her limbs, her voice carried its usual sharpness as she responded, "Not giving up, just training. Might as well build my body, since that'll serve me better against the threats we face now than practicing for some future where I might be able to cultivate—who knows how far off that will be."

Midea tilted his head, considering her words. The flickering purple flames around him began to dissipate into the air like embers carried on the wind. His smirk didn't waver, but the teasing edge softened slightly. "This does double as physical training, to be fair," he admitted with a casual shrug. "But I understand your point. Fine, we'll revisit this particular method later."

"You weren't bad," Midea said, his tone almost approving. "You're both getting better, in terms of reaction speed and mental acuity simultaneously. Keep this up, and you might even be able to handle real combat chanting someday."

Tanya let out a relieved sigh, grateful for the brief respite after eyeing the dissipating flames. She really was starting to hate fire actually. Her body, though bruised and battered, was already healing, the pain fading rapidly as her adaptive physiology kicked in.

Tanya leaned back slightly, stretching her arms as she mulled over her next steps. Her eyes drifted toward Tarak, who was quietly standing off to the side, his crimson gaze locked on the demon with an intensity she knew all too well. She was familiar with that look—it was the same look he always wore when he was dead set on something, an unwavering resolve masked beneath his otherwise stoic expression.

"This isn't over, though," Midea added, drawing her attention back to him. He dusted off his ink-black hands, his claws gleaming faintly in the dappled light. "You wanted to see if you could replicate that little shade-punching trick of yours, right? I still have one shade trapped in a ward as you asked of me previously. We don't know if my wards had anything to do with your success before—though they shouldn't have—but it's worth testing again. After all, you two don't exactly follow the rules, do you? So we need a fresh shade."

Tanya narrowed her eyes, her mind racing back to the incident with the shade. That moment had been strange, to say the least. Shades weren't supposed to be something physical beings could interact with directly, yet she had somehow managed to land a blow on one of them. Whether it had been a fluke, an anomaly, or something inherent to their Tyrannius nature, she needed to know. Understanding this odd ability could give them a serious edge in the trials and beyond. And she wanted to see if Tarak could replicate it. If he could that was essentially a guarantee.

Before she could respond, Tarak stepped forward, his movements deliberate. The ground beneath him cracked faintly as he planted his feet, his posture rigid but not tense. His crimson eyes gleamed with a fierce light, reflecting both determination and something deeper—something primal.

"I want to try a shadow core," Tarak said, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the air with an unexpected weight. "I want to get stronger. I want to e—fight you." He said looking at Midea

Tanya blinked, surprised by the shift in her brother's tone. He rarely expressed his desires so openly, let alone something as bold as this. For a moment, silence hung in the air she then turned to the demon.

Tanya laughed a bit inwardly, though her expression remained neutral as she caught the brief flicker of disturbance that crossed Midea's face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual composed demeanor. He cleared his throat, casting her brother a sidelong glance before turning away, and leading them deeper into the forest. Their feet pounded softly against the dirt path, the muffled rhythm blending into the ambient sounds of the wild.

The surrounding forest pulsed with vibrant life. Strange, luminescent flowers bloomed in clusters, their petals glowing faintly in shades of blue and violet as though drinking in the scattered rays of sunlight that managed to pierce the dense canopy above. Tendrils of vine-like plants coiled lazily around tree trunks, their surfaces shimmering with a dew-like substance that reflected the light in a dazzling spectrum.

Tanya's senses were keen, sharpened by both experience and instinct. The air was thick with the mingled scents of wild flora—some sweet, others sharp and earthy. As they walked, she caught a particularly sweet aroma, subtle but distinct. Her gaze shifted to the side, landing on a peculiar sight. A large, cup-shaped fungus, its vibrant orange surface surrounded by delicate, tendril-like feelers, sat nestled amidst the undergrowth. Its upper rim glistened with a viscous, honey-colored liquid that gleamed enticingly in the light.

Tarak noticed it too, his crimson eyes gleaming with interest as he began drifting toward the fungus, curiosity clearly piqued. Tanya's hand snapped out without hesitation, gripping his arm firmly. She tugged him back, her expression hardening slightly as she recognized the plant's distinct shape.

"Entecal," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely above a whisper.

Just as she spoke, an orange bird, small and delicate with iridescent feathers, flitted down from the canopy. It hovered briefly before landing at the edge of the fungus, its beak dipping eagerly into the golden liquid. No sooner had it begun to drink than one of the fungus' tendril-like feelers snapped forward, striking the bird with unerring precision. The unfortunate creature was knocked into the cup, where it dissolved almost instantly, the liquid frothing and bubbling around it like sugar melting in boiling water. Within seconds, there was nothing left.

Tarak glanced up at her, a question in his eyes, though his expression remained stoic. She could see the flicker of curiosity beneath his calm exterior, the unspoken wonder at why she had stopped him. After all, with his durability and resilience, it was unlikely that such acid could seriously harm him. But Tanya wasn't one to take unnecessary risks, especially not in a world as unpredictable as this one, where the flora and fauna were as likely to aid as they were to kill.

"Just because we can survive something doesn't mean we should test it for no reason," she said quietly, her tone firm but not unkind. "We don't know enough about this world yet."

Tarak gave a small nod, his attention shifting back to the path ahead. Though he said nothing, Tanya could sense his understanding. He wasn't reckless—curious, yes, but not reckless. He would heed her warning.

The sweet scent of the Entecal lingered in the air as they continued walking, mingling with the fresh, earthy aroma of the forest floor. A few meters ahead, Midea paused, casting a glance over his shoulder. He waited for them to catch up before speaking, his voice cutting smoothly through the quiet hum of the forest.

"I used a lesser version of your strategy to draw out a few shades," Midea said suddenly, his tone casual, though there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Naturally I couldn't go through with your full plan without the aid of the village. Which is why you want to test this no?"

She nodded, her expression calm but inwardly calculating. That whole thing—this test—would hopefully prove crucial in the upcoming trial. If things went according to plan. But they seldom did, at least not without complications.

Their steps grew slushy as they ventured further into a darker part of the jungle. The air thickened with moisture, and the ground beneath their feet turned soft, clinging to their boots and making each step a little heavier. Droplets of water clung to the broad, waxy leaves around them, occasionally falling in rhythmic plops as if the forest itself was breathing. The canopy overhead grew denser, blotting out most of the sunlight and casting long, twisting shadows across the undergrowth.

They came to a ward formation etched into the soil, its faint blue glow barely visible beneath the mud and tangled roots. Several shades wandered about the perimeter, their forms restless, as if searching for something they couldn't quite grasp. They were gaunt figures cloaked in layers of shadow and darkness, their shapes flickering and wavering like candle flames in the wind. Unlike the shade they had encountered before, these weren't being controlled or restrained by the ward—only attracted by it, drawn in like moths to a flame through the bait the demon had cleverly set.

Each shade moved in an erratic, almost predatory manner, floating inches above the ground like wraiths, their ethereal forms shifting as though ready to dissolve and reform at a moment's notice. They exuded a palpable sense of menace, an eerie silence accompanying their presence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. These were creatures always poised to steal a soul—silent hunters waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Tarak tapped her shoulder lightly, his silent request for approval clear. Tanya met his gaze and gave a small nod, the barest motion but enough to convey her assent. Without hesitation, her brother surged forward, his movements swift and fluid, the earth cracking slightly beneath his feet as he propelled himself toward the shades.

As she had predicted, these shades were nothing special in direct combat without their unique intangible advantages. The moment Tarak closed the distance, the fight was over in mere seconds. His strikes came with the precision of someone far more experienced than his apparent youth suggested. Fists, elbows, and knees moved in seamless tandem as he struck the supposedly untouchable beings with ease.

A quick right jab dispersed the nearest shade's form into a wavering mist, while a spinning kick tore through the second, leaving it writhing before fading into nothingness. Tanya's eyes narrowed as she watched closely, noting the technique her brother employed. He wasn't just attacking wildly—he was deliberately using one of Midea's martial arts styles. His limbs snapped out like whips, generating greater force through the sudden acceleration and torsional power of his torso. The blows weren't just strong; they were precise, each one aimed at maximizing damage with minimal effort.

The remaining shades attempted to surround him, their flickering forms closing in like creeping shadows. Tarak didn't falter. He pivoted sharply, his tail whipping outward in a sweeping arc that disrupted the shades' cohesion, scattering them like mist caught in a sudden gust. Before they could regroup, he followed up with a series of rapid strikes, his hands moving in a blur as he shattered their forms one by one.

Dark tendrils lashed out from one of the shades in a last-ditch effort, but Tarak twisted his body at an impossible angle, narrowly avoiding the grasping shadow before slamming his fist down in a finishing blow. The final shade dissipated with a faint, echoing wail, its form unraveling into thin air.

"Truly extraordinary!" Midea exclaimed, his voice tinged with genuine surprise despite the fact that he had witnessed a similar feat before. His six-clawed hands clapped together slowly, a grin of approval spreading across his face as he watched the aftermath.

Tanya allowed herself a small, satisfied smile, though inwardly, she was already analyzing the fight, noting the techniques Tarak had used and considering how they might be improved. She shifted her gaze toward her brother, who now stood amidst the dissipating remnants of the shades. Without hesitation or concern, he reached down and scooped up several shadow cores—small, dark orbs left behind by the defeated shades.

Tarak popped the first core into his mouth, chewing it to shards with audible crunches before swallowing. He repeated the process with the remaining cores, his expression impassive, as though he were merely snacking on something mundane. Tanya watched in mild amusement, wondering briefly what it must taste like. Probably bitter or metallic, she mused, given the way the cores shimmered with an otherworldly sheen.

Still, her amusement didn't distract her from the importance of what had just happened. The test had been a success. Her brother's ability to physically interact with and destroy shades—creatures traditionally thought to be untouchable by most—had been confirmed once again. And though Midea had already suspected as much, seeing it in action was another matter entirely.

Indeed, so far, things were going according to plan.

Now to see what the next day would bring