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It was like a bolt of lightning streaking across the stormy sky, where the brilliant flash always preceded the deafening roar that followed in its wake. Each powerful swing of that massive spear against Medaka sent shockwaves rippling through the earth, causing the ground beneath their feet to crack and splinter into countless fragments, as if the very foundation of the world was being torn apart by an unseen force. The fierce gusts of wind generated from every clash whipped through the surrounding area with razor-sharp intensity, snapping branches off trees and even cleaving some trunks in half, sending splinters flying like deadly projectiles into the air. Yet, despite the cutting ferocity of those winds, they barely left a mark on the young woman's resilient skin; she managed to evade each assault with growing difficulty, her body twisting and contorting in ways that pushed her limits, her muscles straining under the pressure while her mind raced to anticipate the next move. Strands of her long, flowing hair were severed in the chaos, fluttering down to the shattered ground below, victims of the near-misses from those relentless, blindingly fast attacks that came at her without pause, like an unending storm of violence.
When the knight thrust his spear forward in a deadly stab aimed straight at her abdomen, Medaka twisted her body sharply to the right, narrowly avoiding the piercing tip that could have ended her right there. In one fluid motion, she planted her foot firmly on the broad shaft of the enormous spear, using her weight and strength to drive it downward into the soil with a resounding thud that embedded it deep into the earth. Without wasting a single breath, she launched a devastating punch toward the knight's already grotesquely deformed face, her fist cutting through the air with the force of a cannonball. But the knight, known as Arcturus Fenrath, reacted with brutal efficiency; he leaped backward in a jerky, almost teleporting manner, vanishing from sight for a split second before reappearing in the same spot, his head now tilted awkwardly to the side after Medaka's powerful strike had grazed him, the impact echoing like a distant thunderclap that vibrated through the trees.
"Fufufufu… Arcturus Fenrath… a knight as rigid and unyielding as the ice that encases him in its frozen embrace. He wears his honor like an impenetrable suit of armor, forged from years of unbreaking discipline, but even the strongest armor has its hidden weaknesses, those tiny fissures that time and pressure can exploit. What do you think happens to a man whose entire strength relies on keeping his mind calm and composed, like a still pond in winter? Make the wolf howl in agony, force him to confront the chaos within, and you'll watch the knight tear himself apart from the inside out, unraveling thread by thread." The slender demonic woman murmured these words in a tone dripping with contempt and mocking amusement, her voice low and silky like poisoned honey. She placed her right hand delicately over her mouth, as if stifling a secret, and then slowly released a laugh that could only be described as truly infernal—deep, echoing, and filled with a malevolent joy that sent chills down the spine of anyone who heard it, resonating through the forest like the cackle of some ancient evil awakened from slumber.
That momentary distraction, no matter how slight it seemed, proved to be just enough to tip the scales. Arcturus's fist connected with Medaka in a brutal collision, the raw power behind it hurling her backward through the air like a ragdoll caught in a hurricane. She slammed into a thick tree trunk with such force that it shattered on impact, the wood splintering apart as easily as fragile glass under a hammer's blow, shards exploding outward in a shower of bark and sap. For a brief, dizzying moment, the world spun wildly in her vision, colors blurring into a chaotic swirl as her head throbbed from the shock. Stunned and disoriented, she only just registered the icy chill of the spear's blade hovering mere millimeters from her face, poised to strike but inexplicably holding back, as if frozen in place by some internal conflict.
An aura of stubborn pride radiated from the knight, his posture rigid as he visibly struggled to "resist" whatever dark influence was gnawing at him, his body trembling slightly under the strain. Then, the venomous voice of Velzara slithered through the air like a whisper carried on the wind, drawing Medaka's sharp red eyes toward her. In a blink, Medaka vanished from her position and reappeared behind the knight, her fist raised high for a crushing blow, but a chain of frigid ice materialized out of nowhere, whipping toward her and flinging her backward with unrelenting force. She twisted mid-air, landing gracefully on the ground with the poise of a seasoned warrior, her feet sliding slightly before she steadied herself, repositioning into a defensive stance. Without hesitation, she charged back into the fray, exchanging blows at blinding speeds while contending with the plummeting temperature that seemed to drop with every passing second, turning the air thick and biting like the heart of a blizzard. All the while, she had to match the spear-wielder's extreme velocity, which rivaled that of a High Ultimate-Class Devil teetering on the edge of ascending to Low Maou-Class power, each thrust and parry a testament to his otherworldly skill.
"Want to break the wolf? Don't go for the fangs, sharp as they may be, nor the icy hide that shields his body like an unbreakable fortress. No blade, no matter how keen, will pierce through that glacial barrier. If you truly wish to shatter him into pieces, aim for where the sound echoes deepest—his very core, the place where discipline meets vulnerability. The wolf is a creature of rigid control, but even the proudest hunter loses his way when confronted with his own howl echoing back at him. Show him the reflection of his deepest pain, hold up the mirror to what he fears losing most—his composure, his honor—and the knight will become the prey of his own darkening shadow, consumed by the demons he tries so hard to suppress." She released more of these enigmatic words into the air, each one laced with cryptic wisdom and disdain, followed by a guttural laugh that bubbled up from her throat while the battle raged on. Watching the clash unfold before her, her gaze was cold and condescending, like someone observing a lowly insect struggling futilely before its inevitable demise, her eyes gleaming with sadistic anticipation.
Amid the whirlwind of combat, Medaka maintained her extraordinary processing speed, her mind operating like a supercomputer analyzing every variable in real-time. She quickly deciphered the riddles spilling from the demonic woman's lips, realizing that endurance was key—she had to hold out until she could spot the vulnerabilities hidden in her opponent's defenses, piecing together the puzzle one clue at a time.
In just five seconds, more than fifty million attacks were exchanged in a blur of motion too fast for the human eye to follow, the sheer volume leaving Medaka's left cheek gashed open, warm blood trickling down her skin in slow, deliberate rivulets before dripping onto the cracked earth below, staining it crimson. The spear itself now bore a visible crack along its length, a sign of the strain from their unrelenting duel. Medaka also realized that in a fair fight, she'd never find an opening; the knight's guard was too impeccable, his movements too precise. Until…
"Is that all you've got? I expected more from such an honorable knight," Medaka taunted her adversary, her ruby-red eyes gleaming with calculated provocation as she watched him halt abruptly, a murderous aura flooding the atmosphere like a thick fog of death. Yet, beneath it, she could sense the ice encasing him beginning to fracture, slowly giving way and allowing her a precious moment to catch her breath, the air around them growing less oppressive. And then, like a thunderbolt unleashed, he surged forward with instantaneous acceleration from zero to maximum velocity, no wind-up or preparation whatsoever, his form a streak of lethal intent.
Splat
The sickening sound sliced through the tension-filled air. Blood sprayed in a vivid arc.
Medaka gasped sharply as the blade plunged deep into her abdomen, tearing through flesh and muscle with savage brutality. Waves of excruciating pain radiated outward from the wound, pulsing through her body like electric shocks, threatening to overwhelm her senses. But her expression remained unbroken, a mask of unyielding determination; if anything, her crimson eyes burned even brighter, fueled by the fire of revelation.
She had found the breach in his armor.
In the exact instant the blade pierced her, her left hand clamped down on the knight's arm with monstrous strength, fingers digging in like iron vices, refusing to let go despite the agony. Arcturus's eyes widened in a fleeting moment of shock, but it was already too late to react.
Medaka's right fist erupted in a radiant purple light, enveloped by the surging power of her Mana Burst, the energy crackling around her like contained lightning. The punch landed squarely on the knight's hooded head, the collision booming like a thunderclap that shook the leaves from nearby trees. The iron mask shattered into jagged fragments, the ancient runes inscribed upon it crumbling to dust, and the skull beneath was utterly obliterated, reduced to a pulpy mess in an explosion of force.
The tremendous impact caused the colossal body to stagger, knees buckling as it knelt for a heartbeat before collapsing heavily to the ground, kicking up a massive cloud of dust mingled with shattered ice particles that glittered in the dim light like fallen stars.
And in that final moment, she heard a faint whisper: "Thank you, brat." Accompanied by a fleeting glimpse of the true Arcturus, unmarred by whatever curse had twisted him.
"How pathetic… even as a so-called honorable knight, he was nothing more than a mere fragment of what he once was in his prime, a shadow clinging to faded glory."
The older woman's words were straightforward, cutting through the silence like a knife, but she continued to speak, her voice carrying an undercurrent of philosophical cruelty.
"True freedom isn't about being saved from your burdens… it's about having no one left to answer to, no chains of loyalty or duty binding you."
The laughter that followed was soft and deeply unsettling, a low rumble that seemed to vibrate from the depths of her being, echoing unnaturally through the clearing. And then, from the blackened soil tainted by her corrupting aura, a new presence arose from a circle as dark as an endless abyss, swirling with malevolent energy that warped the air around it.
This time, it was a woman of disturbingly captivating beauty, clad in a tattered gala dress fashioned entirely from congealed blood and swirling red mist, the fabric shifting and undulating as if alive, dripping occasionally with viscous droplets. Her form flickered between the grotesquely horrific and the ethereally divine, a duality that mesmerized and repulsed in equal measure. Half of her face retained an exquisite allure, with skin as pale and flawless as fine porcelain, lips painted a deep, intoxicating shade of wine that hinted at forbidden pleasures. But the other half… it was a stark, blood-red skull, perpetually oozing fresh blood that trailed down in endless streams, pooling at her feet. Where an eye should have been on that side, there was only a hollow socket, from which a ceaseless crimson fog billowed forth like smoke from a infernal fire. On the intact side, a single vivid crimson eye glowed with raw, seething hatred, piercing through the gloom like a predator's stare.
Spotting her next foe, Medaka raised her guard instinctively, her body tensing as she noted the mission-like expression on the summon's face—it offered no more hints or riddles. But Medaka had already pieced together the enemy's power mechanic, her sharp mind connecting the dots from the previous encounters.
'It seems her power is tied to those she's killed in the past. They're probably like chess pieces in her arsenal, summoned as twisted echoes of their former selves,' the young woman thought, steeling herself for the impending assault as the new invocation took its first step, leaving behind a lingering afterimage tinted red like spilled blood. With each subsequent step, another afterimage materialized, multiplying rapidly until——
In mere moments, dozens of these spectral images hurled themselves at Medaka in a coordinated onslaught.
She responded with greater ease than against the knight, her dodges precise and her counterattacks landing with pinpoint accuracy, her movements a graceful dance of survival honed from countless battles in the DxD world. However, the real challenge lay in the overwhelming quantity of strikes, which ballooned exponentially within seconds, forcing her to weave through a storm of illusory assaults that tested every fiber of her being.
The enemy's motions were elegant and fluid, reminiscent of a ballerina performing on a stage of carnage, each spin and lunge flowing into the next with hypnotic rhythm that could lull the unwary into a fatal mistake. Yet, compared to the insane velocity of the previous adversary, this didn't impress as much in terms of raw speed. Still, the peril came from the relentless volume, demanding not just lightning reflexes from Medaka but an unbreakable endurance that bordered on superhuman, her breaths coming in controlled gasps as she pushed her limits further. But—
The assault wasn't merely physical; it assaulted the mind as well. Each afterimage throbbed with waves of negative energy, overloading her senses like psychic static, making her heart pound erratically in her chest, sweat pouring down her skin in torrents that soaked her clothes, and her vision beginning to blur as if viewed through a veil of thick, coagulating blood that distorted shapes and colors. When Medaka finally zeroed in on what she believed to be the original—tracking it with her keen eyes—she swung with full force, only to feel her fist slice through empty air, the wind whistling past as she realized the "shadow's" reaction time was phenomenally quick, almost precognitive.
"Something strong enough to tear the heavens apart…" Medaka murmured like a sacred mantra, repeating it for three long seconds—more than enough time for thousands of those afterimages to swarm her in a frenzied barrage, yet—
All of them were annihilated in a single, devastating pulse of Void energy, the original form disintegrating alongside them in a burst of violet power. It was utterly destructive, no… it was like erasing elements from the fabric of reality itself, the universe's canvas being wiped clean with an invisible hand. This force nearly equated to one of the fundamental "colors" or laws of creation, bending existence to its will in a way that defied natural order.
On the other side, Velzara watched in stoic silence, her expression unchanging. Then, a slow, wicked smile crept across her lips, twisting her features into something predatory and amused.
"Heheheh… how intriguing. You dare to wield that which shouldn't even exist in this realm. The Void itself." Her voice wavered between gleeful chuckles and a shiver of excitement, as if she'd just witnessed a forbidden delicacy that was both tantalizing and perilously risky. It was clear from her cold, narrowed gaze that she viewed this development with a mix of caution and delight, her eyes glinting like sharpened daggers.
She gradually extended her right hand, on the verge of summoning another dark circle, when Medaka closed the distance in a flash, aiming a thunderous punch straight at the woman's head. But… Velzara held her ground, her stare unflinching as if this was no surprise at all, and her lips curled into a serpentine smile, like a viper welcoming its prey right into its fangs.
An abnormal gravity field erupted, warping the space around them with crushing intensity, threatening to pulverize Medaka mid-strike; her attack halted abruptly, but she managed to leap back, keeping her footing even as the immense pressure ground rocks into powder beneath her feet. Thanks to her quick reflexes, she evaded the colossal punch that followed, though the gravitational pull made every movement labored, dragging her toward the ground like invisible chains.
But—
A sharp whistle pierced the distorted space, followed by a blinding flash. An arrow of pure light, swift as a shooting star streaking across the night sky, pierced through the gravitational barrier and hurtled directly toward her chest. Medaka raised her fist in defense, blood splattering as the absurd force of the projectile tore into her skin and sent tremors through her bones, rattling her frame to its core. She deflected the shot, yes… but not without paying a heavy toll, her hand throbbing with fresh wounds.
Her gaze locked onto the source.
And there they were.
Two new presences materializing side by side, emanating the same foul stench of death and twisted distortion that she'd sensed in the prior summons, their auras thick and oppressive like a shroud over the battlefield.
The first hovered with a morbid stillness, draped in black ecclesiastical robes embroidered with inverted symbols that seemed to writhe subtly, engulfed in purple flames that burned eternally without consuming, instead emitting faint, ethereal wails like the cries of tormented souls. On its face, a ceremonial mask cracked down the middle: one half frozen in a grotesque smile, the other weeping streams of blood that never dried. Its fingers, unnaturally elongated and skeletal, clutched a rosary crafted from bones—bones that Medaka instantly recognized, with a single piercing glance, as belonging to Low-Class demons, each bead a trophy of suffering. It stood short, only about 1 meter and 68 centimeters tall, but its presence loomed large, carrying the crushing weight of a thousand eternal condemnations, as if it embodied judgment itself.
The second, by contrast, was a towering bastion of gravitational fury, standing at two meters and ten centimeters, clad in the tattered remnants of regal purple mantles that hung like rags from its frame. Atop its exposed skull, a melted crown had fused permanently to the bone, a scarred remnant of a fallen monarchy in perpetual torment. Its body was skeletal and gaunt, yet encased in a supercondensed black energy that pulsed rhythmically, distorting the surrounding space with waves that bent light and pulled at everything nearby. In its eye sockets, spheres of inverted gravity spun endlessly, devouring the ambient light and plunging the nearby forest into deeper shadows, as if it were a living black hole hungry for all existence.
The air grew heavier, as though the very atmosphere had thickened into a suffocating miasma, pressing down on the battlefield with an oppressive weight that made every breath feel like inhaling molten lead. The once chaotic arena, already resembling a hellscape torn apart by unrelenting violence, now felt like an inescapable tomb, its boundaries sealed by an invisible force that whispered of despair and finality. The ground beneath was littered with the debris of shattered trees, cracked earth, and the faint, lingering scent of blood and scorched air, a testament to the relentless clashes that had unfolded. The dim light filtering through the dense canopy above seemed to flicker, as if the world itself was struggling to hold together under the strain of the powers at play.
Velzara, the demonic orchestrator of this macabre symphony, stood with an air of unshakable confidence, her posture regal yet predatory, like a conductor poised before a twisted orchestra of horrors. She raised her hand with a languid, almost theatrical grace, her fingers curling slightly as if pulling invisible strings that commanded the very fabric of reality. Her crimson eyes gleamed with a sadistic delight, her lips curling into a smirk that dripped with malice and mockery.
"Did you truly believe I needed all that pomp and circumstance to summon my shadows?" Velzara taunted, her voice cutting through the air like a needle scraping against rusted iron, each syllable laced with biting irony that seemed to mock Medaka's every effort. The sound was grating, almost physically painful to hear, as if it carried a subtle venom that burrowed into the mind. With a single, dismissive wave of her hand, she unleashed her next piece in this deadly game. The colossal [Rook] surged forward, its massive form resembling a living monolith carved from jagged, pulsating basalt, each step sending tremors through the ground that rippled outward, cracking the earth further and causing pebbles to skitter across the surface like frightened insects. For a creature of such immense size—towering over the battlefield like a walking mountain—its speed was nothing short of terrifying, a blur of raw power that defied its bulk. Yet, even this fearsome velocity paled in comparison to the fluid, almost otherworldly grace of the crimson queen Medaka had faced moments before, a fact that did not escape her sharp analytical mind.
Simultaneously, the [Bishop] began its sinister chant, its voice a discordant cacophony that wove together irregular, guttural notes into a blasphemous hymn that seemed to wound the very act of hearing it. The purple flames cloaking its emaciated frame writhed and twisted like living serpents, flaring brighter with every cursed word it spat into the air. Each syllable seemed to corrupt the atmosphere, tainting it with a sickly, rotting quality that made the air feel thick and toxic, as though it were decaying from the inside out. When the [Bishop] unleashed its barrage of cursed projectiles—dark, pulsating orbs that oozed malevolent energy—Medaka reacted with the honed instincts of a seasoned warrior. She darted through the air, her body a streak of motion as she sliced through space with supernatural speed, weaving between the deadly missiles with a precision that bordered on the miraculous. But something was wrong, terribly wrong. The attacks she had once deflected with relative ease now struck with a deeper, more insidious bite. Each impact sent jolts of searing pain through her body, far beyond what she had anticipated, as if the very essence of the curses was burrowing into her flesh.
Looking down at her hand, Medaka's sharp crimson eyes widened slightly as she noticed the damage. Her skin, once unmarred despite the ferocity of the battle, was now etched with dark, pulsating veins that snaked across her flesh like cracks in a fractured mirror. The blood seeping from her wounds burned like acid, hissing faintly as it dripped onto the ground, leaving scorched marks where it fell. The [Bishop]'s curse was alive, a parasitic force that pulsed with malevolent intent, attempting to consume her from within, gnawing at her vitality with every passing second. The pain was excruciating, a corrosive fire that threatened to unravel her resolve, but Medaka's spirit remained unbroken, her determination a blazing inferno that refused to be extinguished.
She drew a deep, steadying breath, her chest rising and falling as she centered herself, her crimson gaze sharpening with a fierce intensity that seemed to pierce through the chaos around her. In that moment, she made a decision that pushed her beyond anything she had ever attempted before—she would unleash her Mana Burst [Void] at its full, unbridled potency, sustaining it in a continuous state that would test the very limits of her existence.
The explosion that followed was not one of fire, nor of thunder, nor of any earthly force that could be easily described. It was a silence—an all-consuming, suffocating silence that seemed to swallow the world whole. The silence radiated outward like a shockwave, tearing through the arena with a force that defied comprehension. The trees lining the battlefield's edge didn't merely collapse or burn; they vanished entirely, erased from existence as if they had never been. The air itself seemed to fracture, breaking apart in jagged fragments as the boundaries of reality wavered under the weight of the expanding purple aura that poured from Medaka like a tidal wave of annihilation. This was no mere attack—it was the [Void] itself, a power so absolute that it unraveled the very threads of creation, leaving nothing but absence in its wake.
The [King]'s gravitational field, a force so potent it could crush stone to dust and bend space into impossible contortions, faltered violently against this onslaught. The swirling spheres of inverted gravity in its hollow eye sockets trembled, flickering like dying stars on the brink of collapse, their once-overwhelming power unable to withstand the void's relentless erasure. The [King] itself seemed to recoil, its skeletal frame quaking as the laws it manipulated were undone by Medaka's sheer will.
Seizing the fleeting moment of vulnerability, Medaka pushed through the agony and exhaustion that threatened to consume her. Her magical reserves were draining at an alarming rate, her mana bleeding out like water from a shattered vessel, but she refused to falter. With a speed that transcended comprehension—undoubtedly reaching the level of a Maou-Class entity—she struck with devastating precision. In a single, blinding instant, she unleashed three catastrophic blows, each one a masterpiece of destructive force.
The colossal [Rook], its basalt form towering like a fortress, was obliterated before it could even register the attack. Its torso disintegrated into nothingness, leaving only a faint cloud of dust that dissipated in the wind. The [Bishop], with its writhing flames and cursed chants, was reduced to ashes of nonexistence in the same breath, its malevolent presence snuffed out like a candle in a storm. The [King], despite its dominion over gravity, was shattered from within, its core—the very essence that anchored its power—erased by the collision with Medaka's void-infused strike, its skeletal form collapsing into a heap of broken bones and fading energy.
Three movements. Three deaths. All in less time than it took to blink.
But victory came at a harrowing cost.
The [Void] demanded its toll, and it was merciless. Medaka's muscles burned as though millions of ravenous larvae were burrowing through her flesh, tearing at her from the inside out with relentless ferocity. Her mana, once a vibrant reservoir of power, was now in tatters, leaking from her body like water escaping a cracked jar, leaving her dangerously close to collapse. Her vision swam, the world tilting and blurring as her body screamed in protest, every nerve alight with agony.
She fell to her knees, her body trembling uncontrollably, her chest heaving as she gasped for air in desperate, ragged breaths. The battlefield, now eerily silent save for the faint crackle of lingering energy, seemed to close in around her, the weight of her actions and the price she had paid pressing down like an invisible anvil. Yet, even in her weakened state, her crimson eyes burned with an unyielding fire, a testament to her unbreakable spirit as she prepared to face whatever horrors Velzara would summon next.
In that tableau of near-total exhaustion, where Medaka's body trembled on the brink of collapse, Velzara advanced with predatory intent. Her steps were slow and deliberate, each one resonating with the weight of inevitability, as though the ground itself bowed to her presence. Her crimson eyes gleamed with a razor-sharp triumph, a predator's gaze fixed on prey she deemed already broken. Yet, she maintained a calculated distance, like a lioness circling a wounded gazelle—not out of fear, but out of a sadistic desire to prolong the torment, to savor the moment before the kill. The air around her seemed to hum with a malevolent energy, the battlefield now a desolate graveyard where hope felt like a distant memory, the faint moonlight casting long, jagged shadows that danced across the shattered earth.
"Ara ara~ It was only a matter of time before you ended up in this state, wasn't it?" Velzara purred, her voice a melodic taunt that dripped with syrupy irony, each word carefully crafted to sting. The sound was almost hypnotic, weaving through the air like a venomous lullaby, designed to burrow into Medaka's psyche and erode her resolve. With a lazy, almost dismissive flick of her hand, she summoned an array of glowing magical circles around her lithe form. Scarlet runes pulsed within them, radiating a power so intense it vibrated through the atmosphere, distorting the very air in visible waves that shimmered like heat rising from a desert floor. The sheer magnitude of the magic was palpable, a high-caliber spell that seemed to bend reality itself, the pressure alone enough to make the ground beneath Medaka's knees groan and crack further.
Before the panting, battered young woman, Velzara's smile only widened, a crescent of cruel delight that revealed sharp, gleaming teeth. But in her arrogance, she made a fatal mistake—a momentary lapse that would shift the tide of their deadly dance.
Her eyes blinked, a fleeting, involuntary reflex, nothing more than a fraction of a second. But in that infinitesimal pause, Medaka was no longer kneeling, no longer the broken figure Velzara had assumed her to be.
When the demonic woman's eyes reopened, Medaka was already there, a mere two centimeters from her chest, her fist raised like the hammer of a god poised to strike. The air around her crackled with the raw, untamed energy of her Mana Burst, a force so immense it could have obliterated entire mountains, reducing them to dust in a single blow. The sheer momentum behind her fist made the atmosphere hum, a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the clearing like the prelude to a cataclysm.
For one breathless second, the world seemed to freeze, time itself holding its breath as the two forces stood on the precipice of collision.
"…!" Velzara gasped, a flicker of genuine surprise flashing across her face, her composure cracking for the first time. Her crimson eyes widened, betraying a momentary vulnerability that Medaka's sharp instincts immediately seized upon.
But only for an instant.
A serpentine smile curled across Velzara's lips, venomous and knowing, as if she had already regained control of the situation. "Fufufu~ Little girl… you're not the only one with tricks up your sleeve," she whispered, her voice dripping with malicious glee, each word laced with a delight that bordered on perverse.
From the moonlit ground, shadows writhed and slithered upward like living chains, coiling around Medaka's arms and legs with a speed and precision that defied reaction. The bindings were cold as death, their touch an oppressive weight that seemed to sap not just her freedom but the very life force from her body. They pulsed with a dark, draining energy, leeching her strength with every passing second, tightening like a vice that threatened to crush her bones. Medaka strained against them, her muscles bulging with effort, but the [Void] within her was ravenous, a double-edged sword that devoured her own energy even as it empowered her, leaving her teetering on the edge of collapse.
Velzara licked her lips, her crimson eyes gleaming with a cruel, almost sensual excitement, as if she were savoring the sight of Medaka's struggle. "The real battle begins now, my dear," she purred, her voice a silken promise of suffering.
And then, she pronounced her sentence.
From the void behind the demonic woman, lances of pure darkness began to materialize, coalescing into forms as solid as forged steel yet alive with a malevolent will. One. Two. Ten. Twenty. Each spear hovered in the air, their tips glinting faintly under the moonlight, all aimed directly at Medaka. For a single, agonizing second that stretched into eternity, they remained motionless, their presence a silent promise of annihilation.
Then, they struck.
The lance pierced her skin, slicing through flesh and driving toward her heart with ravenous intent. But it never reached its target. The moment it touched the organ, the [Void] erupted within her like a starving abyss, a silent maelstrom of purple energy that consumed everything in its path.
"…!" Velzara's eyes widened, her smug confidence shattered as a look of genuine shock flashed across her face. The black lance began to dissolve, disintegrating into nonexistent particles that vanished into the air. And it wasn't just the lance. The chains binding Medaka's limbs, the spears impaling her body, even the suffocating pressure that had crushed her frame—all of it was erased, consumed by the [Void]'s relentless hunger. Nothing could withstand it; nothing could survive its touch. Velzara staggered back instinctively, her mind reeling as she struggled to comprehend the impossible. For the first time, her mocking laughter fell silent, her face stripped of its triumphant smirk, replaced by a mask of disbelief.
Seizing the moment, Medaka launched herself forward with a brutal, unstoppable charge, her body moving faster than the eye could follow. Her crimson eyes flicked briefly to her system interface, specifically to her stats, which flared with the temporary boost from her Mana Burst:
[Strength: C → A (2 Seconds)
Agility: C+ → A+ (2 Seconds)]
A faint smile tugged at her lips as she noted the timer. Her speed, amplified to levels far beyond Velzara's reaction time, made her a blur of motion. Her fist, still glowing with the radiant purple light of the [Void], struck with devastating force, obliterating the entire right side of Velzara's body in a single, cataclysmic blow. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the clearing, uprooting trees and cracking the earth for miles around, the sound echoing like a thunderclap that shook the heavens.
"I finally did it…" Medaka murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she activated her [Wound Erasure] ability, restoring her body to its pristine state. But the toll of her actions was too great. Her legs buckled, and she collapsed face-first onto the ground, her body trembling from the exertion. She gazed up at the starry sky, a faint, weary smile crossing her lips. Her mana and mental reserves were utterly depleted, pushed to their absolute limits by the repeated use of her Mana Burst [Void]. She had calculated her final strike to minimize energy expenditure, but even that had nearly broken her.
Medaka sighed, her head tilting back as her body sank into the earth. The system in her vision flickered, displaying a new notification:
[Emergency Mission Completed: Anomaly Neutralized
[Reward: 5000 EXP, Unlocked Ability: Voucher for Purchasing Any Rank B Skill]
Her muscles relaxed, her mind easing into a fleeting moment of peace, but the respite was short-lived. A sudden chill ran through her, a primal instinct screaming in warning. The air grew dense, saturated with a familiar, malevolent energy: demonic magical circles. Not one, not two, but multiple, manifesting at various points in the distant forest like beacons igniting in the darkness. Their pulsating energy sent ripples through the air, each one a heartbeat of malice that set her nerves on edge.
Medaka's eyes snapped open, her heart pounding as adrenaline surged through her battered body. "Damn it…" she hissed, frustration mingling with exhaustion. The battle against Velzara and her shadows had been too intense, her Mana Burst [Void] a blazing signal that had broadcast her presence to every supernatural entity within miles. She had underestimated how far her energy could resonate, a beacon drawing predators like moths to a flame.
With a groan of effort, Medaka forced herself to her feet, her body protesting with every movement. Her knees trembled, and for a moment, the world spun violently, as if she were caught in the center of a whirlwind. Her mana was perilously low, hovering at a mere 3%, and even with [Wound Erasure] healing her physical injuries, the mental and physical exhaustion weighed on her like a mountain. "I can't stay here," she thought, her crimson eyes scanning the devastated clearing as she calculated her options. Facing more enemies in her current state would be suicide. Her only chance was to escape and recover.
Taking a deep breath, Medaka activated [Presence Concealment], feeling her existence dissolve into the environment like a shadow blending into the forest. The Rank EX ability was one of her greatest assets, erasing every trace of her aura, sound, and physical presence. To anyone tracking her, she would simply cease to exist. But even this couldn't fully quell the tension gripping her chest. The approaching magical presences were growing stronger, their vibrations pulsing through the air like the heartbeat of a malevolent entity.
With a swift gesture, she conjured a teleportation spell, a technique she had learned from her parents and refined through her [Instant Understanding] skill. Purple runes flared briefly around her, forming a glowing magical circle that pulsed with a soft, ethereal light. "Home," she whispered, visualizing her familiar bedroom with its white wooden bed, the comforting scent of lavender her mother insisted on maintaining, and the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. The world around her dissolved into a blur of colors, and in the blink of an eye, the forest vanished.
Medaka reappeared in the center of her bedroom, her feet landing softly on the plush rug, the sudden shift nearly causing her to stumble. The room was a stark contrast to the ravaged battlefield: white walls adorned with discreet posters, a neatly organized desk stacked with books and papers, and the queen-size bed where, just hours earlier, she had shared an intimate moment with Kalawarna. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, now tinged with the subtle traces of sweat and residual mana, a reminder of the night's earlier intensity.
She staggered to the bed, collapsing onto the mattress with an exhausted sigh, her body sinking into the soft embrace of the covers. "Should've focused a bit more on Constitution…" she muttered, a small, ironic laugh escaping her lips. The thought was fleeting, but she knew the truth: prioritizing Constitution over mana and speed would have left her vulnerable, likely dead, forcing her to rely on her Mana Burst earlier and depleting her reserves even faster. Her current state, with no physical wounds thanks to [Injury Erasure], was a testament to her strategic choices, even if her mana was critically low and her body screamed with fatigue.
◇ ◇ ◇
The pale moonlight filtered through the shattered stained-glass windows, casting fragmented patterns of red and blue across the dusty stone floor. The air was thick with the scent of mold, ancient wax, and a subtler, more sinister trace of supernatural energy that pulsed faintly in the shadows. Broken pews littered the abandoned church's nave, some toppled over, others draped in cobwebs that shivered in the cold breeze slipping through the cracked walls.
"What was that?" Mittelt's voice cut through the silence, sharp and laced with nervous energy. The young Fallen Angel, her blonde hair styled in twin tails, whipped her head toward the west, her wide blue eyes reflecting the moonlight like twin sapphires. Her black dress with white frills and a large bow at the front trembled slightly—not from the cold, but from the unease gnawing at her. Beads of sweat glistened on her pale forehead, trailing down her face as she clutched the black ribbon atop her head, as if the gesture could anchor her against the rising tide of fear. "That energy… it was insane. You guys felt it, right?" Her voice wavered, betraying the panic bubbling beneath her confident facade.
Her gaze remained fixed westward, more sweat trickling down her face as the memory of that overwhelming energy spike lingered. She was beginning to question her alliance with Raynare, the weight of that decision growing heavier with every passing moment. If that presence found them, they'd be dead—slaughtered without a chance to fight back.
But Mittelt wasn't the only one on edge. Kalawarna, too, showed signs of unease, though her demeanor carried a different undercurrent, one that didn't go unnoticed. "You seem rattled. Something wrong, Kalawarna?" The question came from a middle-aged man with short black hair and deep blue eyes, his voice calm but probing. Dohnaseek, clad in a light gray overcoat over a white shirt with a matching ascot, black pants, shoes, gloves, and a black fedora, stood with a calculated stillness. His narrowed eyes studied Kalawarna, searching for any crack in her composure.
"Nothing," Kalawarna replied, her tone carrying its usual arrogance, though carefully measured to mask her true feelings. "I've just had an uneasy feeling ever since we allied with Raynare and her little scheme." Her words were a plausible deflection, and neither Mittelt nor Dohnaseek challenged them, confirming that she'd chosen her excuse wisely.
Mittelt huffed, crossing her arms and shooting an irritated glance at her companions. "That's what I've been saying since we agreed to this! Especially after that tanned, exhibitionist woman with glasses had her private chat with Raynare…" She shuddered, her voice trailing off as if haunted by a traumatic memory, her body trembling slightly at the thought.
Kalawarna's authoritative tone cut through the tension. "She's from the Old Satan. That alone is suspicious enough." She crossed her arms under her chest, her index finger tapping rhythmically against her elbow like a ticking clock, a subtle sign of her growing unease.
Dohnaseek, the eldest of the trio, remained silent, his deep blue eyes half-lidded as he adjusted his fedora with a slow, deliberate motion. His gray overcoat swayed slightly in the breeze, and the black gloves covering his hands added to his air of cold calculation. As the most experienced, he was the hardest to deceive, and Kalawarna knew it. "Suspicious is an understatement," he muttered, his voice low and almost growling. "That woman, whoever she is, isn't some casual ally. The Old Satan wouldn't approach us without an agenda, especially knowing we're Fallen Angels."
"Well, I think we'd better—" Kalawarna began, but her words were cut off as all three sensed Raynare's presence sweeping through the church's entrance. At 1.64 meters tall, Raynare's slender yet curvaceous figure was clad in an outfit designed to intimidate and seduce in equal measure. Black leather-like straps hugged her ample chest, leaving little to the imagination, while a thong-like garment, secured by thin straps at her hips, swayed with each confident step. Long gloves adorned with delicate chains climbed her arms, their faint clinking adding to her menacing aura, and sharp, pointed shoulder guards protruded from her right shoulder, giving her the appearance of a warrior goddess. Black high-heeled boots clicked against the stone floor, each step echoing like a war drum. Her long, silky black hair cascaded to her hips, shimmering like a living curtain under the moonlight, and her violet eyes gleamed with a malevolent intensity that promised chaos.
"Mission accomplished," Raynare announced, her cruel smile curling as she strode into the nave, the moonlight accentuating her curves. "Once I claim the Twilight Healing from that girl arriving in a week…" She clenched her fists, her eyes blazing with near-fanatical ambition. "No one will stop me. Not demons, not angels, not anything that dares cross my path."
◇ ◇ ◇
The chamber was a den of darkness and indulgence, a sanctum where light seemed to falter at the threshold, as if wary of crossing into the oppressive atmosphere within. The walls, draped in heavy, dark tapestries woven with intricate patterns of writhing flames and arcane symbols, swallowed any trace of brightness, their designs pulsing faintly as though imbued with a life of their own. The air was thick, saturated with the heady scent of exotic incense—notes of sandalwood and myrrh laced with something far more primal: the musky undertones of sweat, desire, and raw, unbridled power. Black candles flickered in wrought-iron holders, their flames casting dancing shadows across the room that seemed to twist and writhe like living creatures, their movements synchronized with the palpable tension that hung in the air. The cold stone floor, polished to a mirror-like sheen, was partially covered by a circular velvet rug in a deep, blood-red hue, its rich texture a stark contrast to the unyielding stone beneath. This rug served as the stage for the scene unfolding at the heart of the chamber, a theater of dominance and submission.
Several women, their figures slender and graceful, knelt in a semicircle on the floor, their bodies trembling with anticipation as their glassy, entranced eyes fixed on the central figure of the room. Their expressions were a haunting blend of submission and reverence, as though they were in the presence of a god whose whims could either elevate or destroy them. Some wore delicate, translucent garments that clung to their skin, others were bare, their vulnerability a testament to the power dynamic that ruled this space. Their breaths came in shallow, uneven gasps, each one a silent prayer to please the man who commanded their devotion.
Lin Ming, the reincarnated scion of the Phoenix clan, stood as the undeniable centerpiece of this twisted tableau, a vision of arrogance and raw power. His golden hair glimmered faintly under the dim candlelight, cascading in perfect waves that framed a face both youthful and etched with a cruelty that seemed far older than his apparent age. His body, lean yet muscular, was bare, every line of his physique radiating strength and an almost supernatural vitality. The air around him shimmered with an unnatural heat, as if his very presence could ignite the world, his scarlet eyes glowing like smoldering embers that promised destruction to any who dared defy him. His aura was a tangible force, a suffocating wave of dominance that filled the room, bending the will of those around him to his desires.
"Tch… Why hasn't Sona accepted me yet?!" Lin Ming roared, his voice reverberating through the chamber like a thunderclap, the temperature spiking as his frustration boiled over. The air grew almost unbearably hot, the candle flames flaring brighter as though feeding off his rage. His fists clenched, the veins in his forearms bulging as he glared at an unseen point in the distance, his mind conjuring the image of Sona Sitri—her cool, composed demeanor, her sharp intellect, her unyielding refusal to bow to him. "No one rejects Lin Ming!" The words dripped with wounded pride and an obsessive desire that bordered on mania, each syllable laced with a venom that made the kneeling women flinch. In a sudden, brutal motion, he seized the head of one of the women before him—a young brunette whose eyes were lost in a trance of devotion—and forced her face toward his groin with a violence that spoke more of control than pleasure. The act was a raw display of dominance, a way to channel his fury into something tangible. After a few tense seconds, he released her, letting her gasp for air as she stumbled back, her chest heaving, her gaze still locked on him with a mix of fear and worshipful adoration.
Lin Ming reclined into an ornate chair, its dark wood carved with motifs of roaring flames and soaring phoenixes, the craftsmanship so exquisite it seemed to pulse with the same fiery energy that coursed through him. His posture was one of languid arrogance, one leg crossed over the other as he surveyed the room like a king on his throne. Before him, a translucent panel floated in the air, visible only to his eyes—a manifestation of the system that had followed him through his reincarnation, a tool that both guided and goaded him. The text on the panel burned into his mind, each word a spark that fueled his ambition:
[Mission: Conquer Sona
Time Limit: 1 Month and 20 Days
Reward: +50 Intelligence, +25 Mana
Penalty: None]
A malevolent smile curled across his lips, revealing sharp, gleaming teeth as he licked them slowly, his scarlet eyes blazing with an intensity that seemed to set the air ablaze. "You'll be the next addition to my harem, Sona," he murmured, his voice low and dripping with malice, each word a vow that carried the weight of inevitability. He reached out, his fingers curling around the shoulder of a woman clinging to him—a figure with jet-black hair and alabaster skin, her eyes filled with blind devotion as she gazed up at him. Lin Ming pulled her close, his lips crashing against hers in a kiss that was more possessive than passionate, a claiming of her body and soul as his mind churned with plans and strategies. Sona Sitri, the heir of the Sitri clan, was not just a woman he desired—she was a trophy, a symbol of his supremacy in this world. To conquer her was to prove that he, a reincarnated soul from another realm, was above all others, a force that could bend even the strongest wills to his own.