Day 724[1] in Jerrica's Labyrinth
The events at Talasi played out in parallel as I exited Infernia. My body evaporated into particles of light, cascading through the cracks of space, only to be rebuilt cell by cell as I stepped through the portal. But I didn't end up back in the dungeon. Nah.
Instead, I was in an impossibly vast graveyard, stretching further than my eyes could reach in either direction. Cold mist curled around tombstones like cautious serpents under a forever midnight crescent moon. It was beautiful in the most unsettling way. Millions of stars swirled in a sapphire-black sky, like spilled diamonds caught in a lover's sigh. The air was chilled but still, quiet but not silent. I could hear the faint rustling of leaves from trees that eerily resembled the flora of Janelle Forest. Their roots curled over headstones like claws from the grave.
For a second, I thought I was back on Gaia. I had to double-check. No rings around the planet in the sky. No three moons. Nah, this wasn't home. It was somewhere in the Spirit Realm.
I looked around with a tired breath.
"Why do I get the feeling we're not in Kansas anymore?"
My voice echoed back at me like the realm itself was thinking the same thing.
"That damn Outer Goddess," I muttered. "Where the hell did she send me?"
The chill bit deeper into my skin as I walked forward. Maybe a dozen meters ahead, a crypt stood proudly at the center of an open courtyard. It was like the land had cleared itself just to make room for the thing. The crypt wasn't sum raggedy tomb—it was more of a declaration. Marble white and magisteel blue, carved with intricate engravings and layered with golden trim. It was illuminated by the blue flame of a present lantern that burned with no signs of ever ending. Whoever built it did so with reverence. It didn't belong in this wasteland. The way the moonlight bounced off its polished surfaces made it seem… untouched by time.
I stepped closer, my boots crunching the frost-covered grass beneath me. The burial room was above-ground and decorated with towering statues of faceless warriors, all kneeling in eternal reverence. The sarcophagus at the heart of it gleamed like it had been cleaned that very morning. No dust. No decay. Nothing.
I leaned in, hand brushing along the cool edge of the coffin. That's when I saw it—writing etched in silver embroidery just beneath the lid. The lettering shimmered, catching the moonlight in a way that felt... deliberate. The characters looked like old Japanese kanji, foreign and unreadable. But with a simple pulse of mana, I triggered [Sage Wisdom].
The words rearranged themselves in my vision. Clear as a billboard.
"Syn...ga... Mikazuki. Born in year 1 of the Gaian Calendar. Died in 1517."
I blinked.
"Wait, Synga!? The Mikazuki Clan's founder?" I took a step back. "Is this his crypt? It can't be."
Curiosity got the better of me. I reached out again, running my fingers along the engraving, but the moment I made contact… a pulse surged through my body.
I felt it immediately. My mana—draining.
Fast.
"Fuck. Is this a trap?"
I tried to pull away. My arm refused. My whole body tensed like the stone had latched onto my soul with invisible chains. I could feel my mana being siphoned, pulled violently into the stone below like a vacuum hungry for life force. I opened my mouth to call on [Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi]—to calculate a way out—but before I could even formulate the thought, it stopped.
The pressure vanished.
A burst of light shot from the sarcophagus—bright, blue, blinding. It flared outward, then rapidly compressed into a concentrated mist. The haze twisted, then took shape. A man stood there, ethereal and glowing—a spirit echo.
He was tall, regal, with long frost-touched locks that spilled down his back like powdered snow. Two horns curved upward from his forehead—Majin-like—and a long spade-tipped tail flicked behind him with deliberate grace. His beard was thick, dignified, worn like a badge of regret. His entire form was cloaked in ghostly white, almost transparent, like he was lit from within by moonlight. No color, save for one detail.
His eyes. Crimson mana coated them, glowing just like Kimmi's... just like Luda's.
"Ahhh. It's been a while since I've felt the touch of the moonlight," he said, his voice calm and heavy with time. "Hello there, Xiro."
I blinked. "You know my name?"
He smirked. "I know a lot about my great-grandson. As we've met before in my past... and will meet in your future."
I squinted. "Huh? How? Time travel?"
"Don't think too hard on it for now," he said. "As you once explained it to me as a 'Jinn Situation.'"
I paused. "Jinn Situation? Hold on..."
That phrase hit me like a wave of déjà vu. I remembered sitting high on a couch, zoning out to Neil DeGrasse Tyson breaking down Jinn Particles and looping time. A concept where events feed into themselves eternally—no origin, no end. Just cause and effect chasing their own tails. Like giving a time machine to a man who created time machines in the past, only to have him give you the machine that you inevitably take to him, originally.
Like when Kyttin Luna's powers were sealed in the Mikazuki artifact, and how it matched my mana signature with traces of time-grains. I joked back then about scattering my weapons through time... but now? Maybe I hadn't been joking. Maybe that was prophecy.
Synga smiled softly. "Seems you know yourself well. He said those words would give you more understanding."
"Well," I sighed, "he lied. I only got more questions."
"I'm sure time will provide all you inquire."
I tilted my head. "So, You're a Majin? I thought you were a Celestial."
He shook his head. "I'm a Lesser Incubus. A curse placed on me toward my final days twisted my body... and my fate."
I nodded slowly. "Wait, Grandpa, how'd you die? Grandma Fann always said you saved the world. Sacrificed yourself."
His laugh echoed with a kind of sadness I couldn't place. "Ahh. I see my daughter still speaks highly of me. But no… my death came at the hands of my own choice. To seal the Succubus Queen, I gave my life to power the spell. A few from my former old rap guild, The Ars Goetia, still guards the Cardinal Seals, while an once old friend named Draco Calyrex protected my grave."
My stomach dropped. "Oh? Fuck… Umm, Grandpa. I got something to tell you."
His expression didn't change. "Don't worry, Xiro. They don't remember my name or why they are Cardinal Kings due to the Succubus's Curse. You may think it evil of me, but I won't mourn their deaths. To me, they died long ago."
"Fated to die just to set the timer for a future apocalypse." I clenched my fist. "I know Destini had something to do with that."
"You could bet your last gold coin she did," [Midnight Star: Belial] grunted in my mind. "That wicked bitch."
"The probability of you both being correct currently sits at 83%," [Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi] added.
Synga sighed. "Grandson, entertain a dead old man's questions for a moment."
"Okay. Shoot."
"What do you seek out of life?"
I paused.
It wasn't the first time I'd been asked what drove me. But when the question came from Synga's mouth, it didn't echo in my head like a question—it landed like a damn weight on my chest. Heavy. Dense. Like something trying to dig its roots into my soul.
All my life, my goal had been simple: get strong, survive, create a life where I didn't have to kneel or beg or explain myself to anybody. A paradise of my own making. But now? With the looming bullshit of the Rapture and my name somehow making waves across Heaven's radio frequencies, the whole picture felt clouded, like someone stirred a spoon through my reflection in a still pond. Murky. Complicated. But deep down... it didn't really change anything.
In this life, I was gonna be true to myself. That was the oath. No more second-guessing. No more shrinking to fit someone else's comfort. And that's when the answer hit me like a strike of lightning, straight from my chest to my tongue.
I swallowed hard. "Control," I said, feeling it like a seed sprouting in my chest. "A reclamation of my identity. Since I've gotten this second life, all I've heard is how my existence has been a threat to many and a blessing to some. I think I should be the one to determine that."
My voice didn't waver.
"I'm sick of being at the whim of anything," I continued. "If true freedom comes from the gathering of power that can control the realms of the omniverse, then that's what I'll gain."
Synga squinted at me, brow furrowing just slightly, but the emotion behind his eyes wasn't judgment. It was curiosity laced with a sprinkle of concern. "What drives you to chase such a lofty goal?"
"My pride," I said.
"Pride, you say?" he echoed, like he was testing the taste of the word for himself.
"I found an irreplaceable pride in this new life. New pride in myself. New pride in my family. Pride in the people I've fought beside. The ones I protect. That pride is everything."
There was silence for a beat. Synga leaned forward a little, the flame from the low lantern between us casting shadows across the lines of his face. A breeze shifted my waist-cape as his voice cut through still air like a knife.
"You talkin' 'bout pride like it's some noble thing. But tell me—how much of it is really ego wrapped in ambition? You won't know the difference 'til it costs you somethin' you love. And by then, it's too late."
I didn't flinch. "That pride has given me direction. True purpose. Hell, an achievable dream that's only read in fiction. I've already paid a greater price and was given far less. I'll take my chances this go around."
His jaw clenched for a second, then relaxed.
"Boy, pride ain't a purpose. It's a disguise. Most of us wear it 'cause we're scared to admit we're still searching for somethin'. Dreams built on pride don't last—they crack the moment someone stronger walks through the door."
"Then I'll just be the strongest one in the room," I said calmly. Not cocky. Just sure.
Synga shook his head slowly. "You ever notice how the proudest folk always end up fightin' alone? Pride got a way of makin' you think you don't need nobody—until the weight gets too heavy and ain't nobody there to lift it with you."
I took a breath. "Heavy is the head that wears the crown."
He chuckled, but there wasn't joy in it, just memory.
"I was proud, too, Xiro. Carried my name like a crown. But I look back now… and I see the bridges I burned. The love I pushed away. Pride filled my chest—then emptied my life."
"Well, I'm not that goofy, Grandpa," I smirked. "I don't have to forsake my bonds when they are the source of my pride."
He stared at me, long and deep, like he was reading scripture in my face.
"Pride tells you you're already enough," he said. "Wisdom says you still got room to grow. Which one do you think gon' get you further?"
I didn't hesitate. "I don't have to choose. With Tsukuyomi and Belial, I literally have both. I'm only limited by me."
The air around us shifted then, as if even the magitons in the air leaned in to listen. The flame in the lantern danced with a soft cerulean flicker—an unspoken nod from the ether that it heard my conviction. A soft hum rolled through the crypt, faint and almost unnoticeable, like the realm itself was acknowledging my claim.
Synga looked me in my eyes. He needed to match my words against the rhythm of my soul. His stare wasn't aggressive, but it was sharp. Cutting. Deep.
I didn't shy away. I met it. Every ounce of me stood tall behind my beliefs, unshaken.
"Okay," he finally said, voice lower now, almost reverent. "I concede. You appear to be just as I remember you. Stubborn and determined. Must've gotten that from me."
I cracked a small grin. "Damn right."
The fire crackled low between us, casting long, dancing shadows along the stone walls of the spirit's chamber. The topic had shifted. We had spoken of power, of pride, of purpose—but the weight in Synga's tone hinted at a different kind of war now. One not fought with fists or magic. One of the heart.
He exhaled slowly, like he was preparing to walk barefoot across broken memories. "Xiro… what happens when your power eclipses your humanity? Will you still feel love? Or will it just be a memory—an echo in a hollow body?"
The question dropped on me like wet steel. Heavy. Unexpected. My gaze lowered for a second as I let it sink in. He wasn't speaking as my ancestor or some grizzled war veteran. This was my grandpa speaking from the wreckage of his own regrets. I could feel the weight of it roll off him—dense and haunted.
"I get what you're afraid of," I finally said. "You think that if I lose what makes me humane… if I go too far, I might forget how to love. How to stay connected to the people that matter. But that ain't just me, old man. That's the gamble for anybody gifted—or cursed—with the power to do great good… or monstrous evil."
Synga didn't answer immediately. He stared at the flames like they were painting his past in their glow. And when he did speak, his voice was gravel softened by sorrow.
"I made that mistake. I thought I could carry my grief alone. Thought vengeance would stitch the hole in my chest. But after my first wife… after Bianca was murdered, I unraveled."
I looked up, surprised by the sudden mention. Her name sounded like music and heartbreak all in one.
"She was pregnant with our first." His eyes didn't blink, like even that hurt too much to close. "And the ones behind it… were Ascended Humans. Ordered by the Pope herself. The Church of Holy Madness turned on me like wolves in robes."
He balled his hand into a fist, and I felt mana tremble in the air, thick with crimson sparks like dried blood coming back to life. His grief had never left—it had just changed forms. That mana radiated guilt and fury, a tortured echo of the day he lost her. And it laced every word.
"I retaliated. Set fire to our alliance. The humans I once stood beside, I turned into enemies. My rage fed their propaganda, and the sociovores got labeled monsters. All of it started with my heartbreak."
The silence after that hit different. Even the background seemed to hush. I was digesting more than just history—I was swallowing the taste of a generational curse. To know that the current tension between sociovores and humans started because my grandfather's heart shattered? That was a bitter pill dipped in irony. I almost laughed.
"…So the Mikazuki Passion is real," I said under my breath. "We've been crashing out in the name of love since the bloodline branched off. Beautiful."
I wanted to hate the story. I wanted to feel distant from it. But I couldn't. If somebody killed my love, I'd probably glass a continent, no hesitation. That vengeance he spoke of? I got it. I respected it. I wasn't some self-righteous hero on a moral high horse. I wasn't the type to turn the other cheek—I was cocking it back and delivering my own sermon.
Then Synga's voice interrupted the storm in my head.
"One last question, Xiro. What are your thoughts on the Creator?"
I didn't even blink. "I got a strong love for Omnia. Anyone who would do as much as she's done to try to give me the universe… deserves nothing less in return."
Synga leaned back with a laugh, gritty, warm, and a little nostalgic. "Hahahaha. I see why she's so protective of her Moonlight."
That name hit my ear weirdly. "You've met her too?"
He nodded, eyes twinkling like he was replaying the moment. "Twice. She told me that the child my wife was carrying would be the strongest being the world has ever seen. She called him her Moonlight."
I paused. The air in my chest felt thinner. "Wait a minute…"
"Yes, Xiro," he said, his voice soft. "That child… was meant to be you. But after Bianca's death, the Creator came to me again. She told me that my bloodline wasn't finished—that she would use it to create another carrier for her magnum opus."
Something in me cracked open then, and my voice softened. "So… you found love again?"
His smile faded into something bittersweet. "In the pursuit of my revenge, I found it—unexpected, chaotic, but real. And that love led to the birth of my little Fannie. That's when I tried to make up for the sins I committed in the name of passion. I started seeking redemption."
And right then, I felt a second set of eyes watching this whole conversation from another place—Destini. I didn't have proof, but my gut screamed it. It was too aligned.
"Yeah… I'm convinced. Destini was definitely involved."
I didn't say it out loud, but the thought lit a quiet flame in my chest. A fire of understanding. A thread of fate woven through grief, vengeance, passion, and second chances.
And maybe, just maybe… I was the thread tying it all together.
With a casual twirl of his hand, Synga sliced open the air beside him like it was made of silk. The mana that surged from his fingertips left faint blue afterimages, crackling softly as a small, oval-shaped portal bloomed into existence. Its edges shimmered with a radiant azure hue, casting dappled light onto the stones beneath our feet. The inside of the portal twisted like water disturbed in a bowl, reflecting deep cerulean ripples.
Out from its depths, Synga reached and pulled something metallic—heavy, yet elegant. My breath paused for a second.
A pistol. Not just any pistol.
It was a modified Wilson Combat SFX9, chambered to fire 9mm rounds. The slide was coated in a brilliant cerulean layer, almost luminous, and the sleek and obsidian grip was inlaid with faint blue runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. My heartbeat. As soon as it entered my sight, a thrum vibrated through my bones and danced through my skin. It hit like a piano key striking a chord in my Soul Core.
Blue was calling.
No words were needed. That was the artifact I'd been chasing through fate and flame, and now it was right here, shining in my grandfather's hand like it'd been waiting.
Synga held it for a moment, looking it over with a complicated expression—nostalgia, guilt, pride. Then he spoke.
"This interesting weapon of yours," he said, voice low with respect, "was too powerful to leave behind with the Mikazuki… or any other clan for that matter. I'm ashamed to say I used it to take the lives of many enemies."
I gave him a slight grin, flexing my fingers subconsciously, already anticipating the grip. "Don't be. I'll probably be doing the same."
Within me, Sol stirred. Her voice was clear, resonant, and full of anticipation.
"Finally. I'm ready to be whole again."
Synga carefully tossed the weapon. It spun once in the air, the light tracing along its polished contours, before I caught it.
And ohhh, the weight of it.
That familiar cold kiss of steel, now warm with mana memory. My hand fit the grip like it was custom-molded—because, in a way, it had been. I couldn't help but smile.
It brought back a crystal-clear image from Earth. I had bought a gun just like this for protection—a practical piece, nothing too fancy. Tanya had thrown it in the trash two weeks before I was killed, going off on one of her dramatic tangents about fans flirting with me online. She always did love her chaos loud. I never saw the pistol again.
To think that exact shape, that very memory, would be the form my Guardian Armament took... it meant I must've loved that damn gun more than I realized. I mean, real love. The type you don't even know you had 'til it shows up again, and shit.
Having it back felt like a piece of me finally snapped into place.
Synga stepped closer, and for a moment, his presence felt like it was fading—like a candle flickering near the end of its wax. He had something else to say, and I could tell it was important by the way he squared his shoulders.
"Before I leave you, Grandson… there is one more message I need to give to you."
He paused.
"It's from your other self."
My brow raised. "…What kind of message?"
"The Holy Lands are where you will find them."
I blinked. "Find who?"
He grinned, and I caught the sparkle of ol' Mikazuki Clan petty in his gaze.
"The angels you are looking for."
As soon as he said it, Taurus—that damn Trapper—flashed in my mind like a memory too bright to ignore. The ripple of fury in my chest kicked up a pulse in my mana, and I felt it stir like a dragon stretching beneath my skin. The veins on my arm flickered with energy, and I exhaled sharply.
"So that's where that smug bastard had run off to."
I wasn't the same Oni I was during our first fight.
This time? Oh, I was comin' different.
But the Holy Lands… I didn't know much beyond the rumors. The place was ruled by an Ascended Human named Babylon. Some said he was a true king. Others claimed he was just another stringed puppet dancing for the Church of Holy Madness. The traveling Artists swore he was both and neither.
Still, Babylon was the man behind the Rap Arena. That scene was lit. World stage, big mana, bigger egos. I had even considered entering it a few times just to spread my name.
Now, it looked like I had more than enough reason.
Synga's body began to shimmer, mana whirling around him like fireflies set loose under the moonlight. His form flickered like a memory trying to hold on. He gave me a parting look—one filled with peace, pride, and just a tinge of sorrow.
"Now I must pass into the Well of Life. I hope we meet again, one day. Until then, be true to yourself, Grandson." He gave a short bow, one hand over his chest. "Later moons."
I saluted him with the pistol, smiling gently as all four fangs greeted the moonlight.
"Later moons, Grandpa. And thank you."
With a soft sigh that carried more weight than air should've been able to hold, the spirit echo of Synga began to unravel—his glowing form evaporating into the ether like morning mist under a hot sun. I watched the fading silhouette of that old devil until the last spark of spiritons fizzled into silence. He left me with one final smile… that kind of crooked grin only elders with too many secrets and too much wisdom ever wore. It stung something deep in my chest. I didn't cry—I wasn't in that kind of mood—but my soul? Yeah, it clenched.
He was gone. But the warmth he left behind made a dark bastard like me feel like I actually belonged to a family. It just settled into my bones. Good guys, bad guys, twisted-ass killers, it didn't matter… the Mikazuki were my family now. Not like those assholes on Earth. Hell no. Those folks tried to strip all the life and will outta me in favor of building a "proper soldier." Affection made you weak in their eyes. Emotions were liabilities. I was never seen as family with them. And it just left me lonely with people who shared my blood. So yeah, running away at age 15 was the best move I ever made. But I was done looking back. I had too much ahead of me. Too many enemies. Too many questions. And now, one gun-toting soul fragment that needed to be sealed back into place.
"Alright," I muttered, pulling my imaginary coat sleeves back as I stepped forward. "Let's get Sol sealed."
[Midnight Star: Belial]'s voice coiled in my chest like a beast finally unchained.
"Finally. I can practically taste the new skills."
I rolled my eyes. "You better watch where you're droolin'."
[Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi] chimed in with his usual helpfulness.
"Master, would you like me to start the summoning?"
I shook my head. "Nah, I got it."
Focusing my breath, I rehashed the movements I used to summon Noir—not because I had to, but because it helped align the symbols. Wind Mana swirled around my fingertips like streams of silver silk, sharpening into razor strands that etched glowing glyphs into the dirt. The energy hissed against the ground, each carving a note in some spiritual melody. The moment the final glyph connected, a familiar pressure slammed into my chest.
My Bio Mana drained like it was being siphoned straight through my ribs. The air grew thick with magick—warm, syrupy, and glowing pale gold. A gust of astral wind kicked up, disturbing the dirt, my waist-cape, and even the static in the sky above. Unlike with Noir, I didn't manually drag her essence out. This was different. This was instinctual—ritualistic.
A harmonic frequency rang out as [Nautical Sol] activated.
The Soul Core within me cracked open with a lightshow, expelling a pulse of Blue into the summoning circle like a dam exploding in reverse. Water-like mana whirled outward, thick with intent and energy, forming a cyclone around the glyphs. The air vibrated. Wind screamed. That spiral condensed before me, folding into a feminine figure of light and shape.
The cyclone stilled.
And standing within it—floating, actually—was her.
She was no mere spirit or summon. Nah, this was flesh-born magick.
About 5'4", her feet hovered just a few inches off the ground, toes curled gently like she was dreaming midair. Her petite body shimmered with sand-tan brown skin warmed by yellow undertones, as if sunlight lived just beneath her surface. Ethereal trails of mana slithered from her pores, spiraling into the air before vanishing with a shimmer like glitter tossed into the wind.
Wings. Fey wings. Blues, pinks, and purples fluttered in slow rhythm, giving off little bursts of mana clusters that danced in the air like floating embers or fairy dust. She had a waist that could cause wars and hips carved with curves too perfect for reality. Her face? Soft, elegant, seductive. High cheekbones with a glimmering highlight. Full, seductive lips lined in blue, kissed in pink gloss that looked like spun sugar.
Then came her eyes.
Those damn eyes.
Orchard and ultramarine blue, locked in heart-shaped pupils, nestled in pristine white sclera. The same eyes of Omnian glare I'd seen in Karma and Kyttin. And she wore glasses—black rimmed things that sat gently on her nose, giving her the kind of librarian-fairy look that probably fueled some poor bastard's dreams for years.
She was gorgeous, no doubt. Dreamy even. And I… I got caught up. All while [Future Sense] tingled like a vibration notification.
[Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi] whispered softly within me.
"The anima of Blue appears to be a Lust Faerie. A night variant of a Pixie Queen."
My lips cracked into a smirk. "Well now, aren't you a cute—"
The words barely left my mouth before her expression turned neutral. Her arm raised, slow and fluid, and with a shimmer of light, a pistol manifested in her palm. It was my pistol. The artifact version of it, anyway. The same blue-accented Wilson Combat I was just handed… and now, aimed directly at my face.
Sol tilted her head, smirking as the pistol's hammer cocked back.
Click—bang.
A flash of mana and thunder ripped through my head.
The bullet entered between my eyebrows, exploded on contact, and ripped through 74% of my brain matter. I felt it. Oh, did I feel it. The spiritual pain was like getting your soul set on fire from the inside. The sharpness of it screamed through every nerve I had and even the ones I tried to forget existed.
The back of my skull burst open with a loud splash as blood—black and thick splattered in a cone behind me. The ground behind was painted with the evidence of my stupidity. My knees buckled. I staggered, tilted like a puppet losing tension in its strings. Shock paralyzed me for a moment, the world flickering in and out of focus.
I should've died, again.
Hell, I did die.
Almost.
But I wasn't normal. I wasn't as mortal anymore. I didn't play by easy kill rules. And most importantly, I didn't stay down.
[Auto Infinite-Regeneration] activated on instinct.
My brain matter pulsed and reassembled like self-producing clay. The shattered chunks of skull knit back into shape with a wet, crunching sound. The pain didn't fade fast. Nah—it lingered. Even with [Spiritual Pain Resist], you still could feel some of it. It was deeper. Colder. Felt like it clawed its way down into the core and took a bite. But it did fade.
And when my vision finally cleared and I stood upright again, my eyes found her. Smiling. Still hovering. Still dangerous.
"Bitch…" I hissed, rubbing my temples. "Did you just shoot me?"
She cocked her head playfully, twirling the pistol before making it disappear in a flicker of mana.
"Are you going to play with me?" She said, with a mischievous gleam in her eyes. "Show me your strength and make me submit."
I cracked my neck and dusted myself off, glaring. "Keep that same energy."
There we stood for a moment—two mana-cloaked titans locked in a standoff beneath the swirling constellations of the Spirit Realm. The wind howled between us like it was trying to scream us apart. It whipped across my skin with invisible claws, yanking at our hair as we glared into each other's eyes. Hers were smug, playful, and taunting. Mine? Calculated. Heated. Determined.
That's when it happened.
The sensation started like warm ink running across my shoulders, seeping down my arms. The Noir Empress, once a second skin of armor woven from condensed nightmare energy, liquefied and flowed backward, siphoning itself into my pores like I had opened microscopic drains across my body. The process was over in two seconds flat.
I stood there, naked. Balls to the wind. Dick hanging.
Even the Red Queen's crimson presence—once flaring and dancing around my frame like a living inferno—evaporated into twinkling spiritons, flowing back into my body with a fading hiss.
"Yo, what's going on?" I asked, staring down at myself, baffled.
Karma's voice floated from deep within me. Calm. A little cheeky. "We can't interfere, Daddy."
Kyttin chimed in with a more playful tone, "Yeah, Master. We're still technically one unit. So we can't attack ourselves during the ritual."
"Lame as fuck," I muttered, cracking my knuckles. "But I get it. Well, I guess we're running this fade in the birthday suit."
A sultry giggle preceded Sol's voice. "Hehehe. Don't worry, I won't hit that beautiful third leg you have there."
I gave her a nod of mock appreciation. "Thank you. That's too kind."
Then she pulled the damn trigger. Again.
But this time, I was ready. I saw it—the trajectory, the aim, the angle. That bullet was gunning for my right lung, so I twisted hard left, quick as a blink, and felt the rush of air pass over my shoulder.
Or so I thought.
Pain bloomed in my chest like a star detonating. My body spasmed as the bullet burst through my back and shredded my lung on its way out. I stumbled, coughing black blood, watching it splatter the ground like spilled oil. I stared, stunned. I dodged that shot. I know I did.
My healing factor kicked in instantly, knitting tissue back together, but my mind was stuck on the question.
"What the fuck just happened?"
"That was the second activation of her Ultra Skill," [Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi]'s voice echoed inside me like a teacher pointing at the chalkboard. "It appears to alter probability, as well as polarity and attraction. Her attacks will land wherever she strongly wills."
[Midnight Star: Belial]'s voice followed, sharp and certain. "Then become the stronger will."
I cracked a grin, blood still trickling from my lip. "You've read my mind, Belial."
I reached inward and pulled hard on my reserves of Bio Mana. The air around me shimmered like a mirage, bending light unnaturally. The invisible became visible—streams of ultraviolet power bleeding from my eyes, and my skin boiling with magick energy I refused to release. That pressure built up like a dam ready to burst.
Ever since the Trial of the Thriller, I learned that holding my energy inside rather than letting it bleed off gave me a triple boost to my base stats. No wasted effort. No wild energy lighting up the terrain. Just raw, internal power.
I sprinted hard to the right, vanishing and reappearing like a blur, trying to get out of her line of fire. Sol wasn't like Artamis or Steez—her style was less gunslinger, more cosmic sniper. Her glasses gave it away—the curve to her lens told me she was nearsighted.
But even at my speed, I wasn't safe.
She didn't aim at me. She fired at where I had been.
Three bullets made of condensed Divinity Mana flew from her pistol with crackling halos of golden-pink light. They curved midair. Like, bent-reality kind of curved. As if I had painted a target on my back.
[Future Sense] blared in my head like a fire alarm.
"What the fuck? How are they bending direction mid-flight?!"
I kicked into [Axis Flight], trying to shift vertically with enough juke to throw them off. But those bullets adjusted on the fly. They homed in, shifting angle midair at a speed that matched my own.
Time was up.
I activated [Dominus Desidiae]. Time. Froze.
Everything stopped—her smirk, the wind, even the flickering mana in the air hung suspended.
I moved between the frozen projectiles, eyes glowing with Omnis Mana. I layered my hand with that same energy and backhanded each bullet into the ground with enough force to create miniature craters.
Time resumed.
"That was too close," I muttered. "Them damn Divinity Mana shots hurt."
"That [Attraction Manipulation] is a motherfuckin' problem."
Sol cocked her head, lips parted in a teasing smile. "How do you like my [Love/Hate]? Do you love or hate it? Hehehe."
"Since we're using Ultra Skills… I got a few tricks up my sleeve."
With a flicker of mental intent, I cast [Who is Jill Scott]. Her pupils dilated unnaturally—her senses slowing down due to [Absolute Hypnosis], the flow of reality becoming a stuttering slideshow for her.
That lag was all I needed.
I blurred forward, compressing air as I zipped toward her. My fist ignited with Omnis Mana, glowing with a sunken violet edge. I lined up the shot—a body hook that could flatten a fuckin' blue whale.
I pulled it at the last second. Some instinct. Some whisper. I held back.
And that was the mistake.
My punch curved—missed entirely. Her Ultra Skill had reversed the polarity of my mana to repel her signature. My power couldn't even touch her.
She responded the way I would. Calm. Ruthless. She raised the pistol and emptied five rounds into my throat point-blank.
I staggered back, coughing up black blood again as my body flopped. I rolled backward and sprang to my feet, the wounds healing, but my pride still bleeding.
I was getting nowhere fast. And being shot repeatedly was starting to unlock traumas I'd buried deep.
That's when [Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi] chimed in again, voice clinical and precise.
"Appraisal complete. Counter-strategy formulated, master. Her Ultra Skill is reduced to 50% efficiency against stronger opponents. I suggest we use a Trance to break the battle power stalemate."
But I hesitated.
"Won't that shit destroy my Soul Core?"
Tsukuyomi responded immediately. "Your [Neutrino Devil] is a modified version of the former [Trance] skill. It is designed to create a similar effect but focuses more on Magick Offense without spiritual disintegration."
[Midnight Star: Belial] confirmed, "Without the use of your other Guardian Armaments, we can't use your [Trance: Ookami] anyway."
"Say less. Let's party."
Sol tilted her head, playful confusion on her expression. "Fix your face. Why do you look so mad? Aren't you having fun?"
I wiped the blood from my chin, eyes glowing hard. "The time of my night. But we need to wrap this up."
"I'm not tired, though."
"Then let's change that."
As if he'd been waiting for the cue, [Moon Sage: Tsukuyomi] activated [Neutrino Devil].
Indigo and silver flames burst from my skin, licking the air with chaotic grace. They spiraled upward, illuminating the sky in arcs of power like celestial paint strokes. Two colossal wings bloomed from my back. Bat-like, yet elegant, formed entirely from ultraviolet Devil Mana. They crackled with energy that made the air hum.
My horns extended, wrapped in that same ultraviolet energy, curving to their full demonic length. I felt the shift.
The sky of the Spirit Realm trembled as vibrations rippled outward, causing ethereal clouds to part in reverence... Or fear.
This wasn't a warm-up anymore.
This was game time.
I was done playing with my tsundere pussy fairy.
Sol was about to learn, the hard way, exactly what her future master could really do.
[End of Chapter]
[1] Year 5.