From the veil of time, Ezmelral's breath seized. Her lookalike was a falling star, a silver streak of fury hurtling downward. With both hands locked on the hilt, her blade screamed through the air, tearing the atmosphere itself in its vengeful descent.
The Overlord reacted with preternatural grace. It twisted its stitched form, its left foot tapping the ground—a motion so slight it seemed to defy physics—and rocketed upward in a fluid arc, the killing edge whistling past it.
The lookalike's sword struck the earth.
The world detonated.
A thunderous crash erupted as the point of impact became the heart of a volcanic upheaval. Debris—splintered wood and shattered stone—was launched outward in a destructive halo. Simultaneously, the far wall opposite her exploded inward, the concussive ripple of Air Essence from her missed strike pulverizing the lacquered surface to dust. The Overlord's evasion had saved it from obliteration.
Without a moment's pause, the lookalike pivoted, her gaze locking onto the ascending Overlord. Essence surged at her command, and the wind itself answered with a eager hum, catapulting her upward in pursuit.
High above, the Overlord's voidlit eyes scanned the chaotic debris field. Its corrupted Essence Core flared, and the swirling fragments of wood and stone obeyed, snapping together to form a jagged, makeshift shield before its torso.
"Earth Essence too?!" Ezmelral gasped, her voice a sharp cry of disbelief from the veil.
Her lookalike's blade met the crude barrier. The shield held for a fraction of a second before disintegrating into dust, but the sword's momentum was undeniable. It carved an upward gash across the Overlord's chest, splitting stitches and flesh. The force of the blow sent the creature hurtling backward, crashing through the temple wall in a shower of splinters.
Not letting the momentum fade, the lookalike channeled her Essence once more. The air surged beneath her feet, and she shot forward like an arrow, bursting out of the ruined building to give chase to her wounded prey with relentless, cold determination.
Meanwhile, across the Heartmash, the Consilium Disciplinae were embroiled in their own wars of elemental fury against the PraLumunix Commanders. In a fleeting moment of respite, their collective gaze was drawn upward by a violent upheaval—the Overlord hurtling through the cavern's gloom, a stitched projectile launched from its own sanctum.
As their leader began her ascent in pursuit, the Overlord raised a hand in a gesture of raw defiance. The very ground convulsed. In response, a colossal earthen hand erupted from the earth, its titanic fingers splayed to crush her from the sky.
The crimson mark on the lookalike's forehead ignited, painting a scarlet trail behind her like a comet of vengeance. For a single, suspended heartbeat, the earthen hand froze. Then, it disintegrated—sliced into countless segments by a flurry of invisible blades, its form collapsing into a harmless rain of dust and rubble.
High in the veil, Ezmelral watched, breathless, as her lookalike halted her flight with poised elegance, assuming the familiar samurai stance—the same that had felled the Void General. She closed her eyes, a serene focus settling over her. Then, the incantation rolled forth, her voice resonating with gathering power:
"GodKing Bloodline..."
The Bloodmark blazed, its crimson light straining against her mortal form as Essence erupted around her in a radiant nimbus.
"...Snowy Mountain, Wind's Wrath, Avalanche's Judgment."
She became a blur.
A silver streak sliced the air. The Overlord, reacting with desperate speed, channeled its corruption to wrap the fallen debris around its neck in a thick, stony collar.
It was futile.
She materialized behind it in the same instant the earthen shield detonated into shrapnel. A fine, crimson line now graced the Overlord's neck.
And she did not relent.
She vanished and reappeared within an eleven-foot radius, a constellation of afterimages flickering around the Overlord. With every exhale, a cut. With every inhale, a deeper carve. The single wound on its neck deepened with each phantom pass, the relentless, invisible dance systematically hewing through its corrupted flesh, the battle poised on a razor's edge.
And just as in the Void Realm, she appeared above her enemy to conclude the assault—but she was transformed. The samurai's poise was gone, replaced by a terrible, upright grace. Her hair lashed in an unseen wind, now threaded with streaks of blazing crimson, her entire being a testament to a mortal will straining at the very limits of its power—radiant, untouchable, a force of nature incarnate.
She lifted her palm. Her voice cut through the chaos, cold and absolute:
"Gravitational Essence—Absolute Breathlessness."
The vacuum was instantaneous. The very atmosphere of the Heartmash was crushed under an invisible, overwhelming weight. Every PraLumunix, and even her own Consilium Disciplinae, were driven to their knees, their lungs screaming for a breath that would not come. The cavern filled with the sound of their desperate, wheezing gasps.
Only the Overlord remained upright, suspended in the gravitational field as if pinned by a god's thumb. Its arms, the sole limbs granted movement, flailed wildly, claws scrabbling at its own neck in a futile battle for air. Its body convulsed, a grotesque pantomime of a drowning victim fighting a merciless tide.
From above, Ezmelral's lookalike watched with cold, detached precision, forcing the tyrant to relive the suffocating terror of every one of its victims.
With a subtle rotation of her wrist, her palm turned skyward. A translucent orb phased into existence—a sphere woven from every stolen breath, shimmering with fragile, deadly potential. A gentle swipe of her hand sent it drifting slowly, inexorably, toward the paralyzed Overlord.
As it neared, a primal, understanding terror seized the creature. Its claws dug frantically into its own stitched flesh, tearing at the seams in a last, desperate attempt to hold onto a life it had long since forfeited.
The lookalike's expression did not change.
The orb made contact.
The Overlord's eyes bulged, straining against their sockets. Its body began to bubble and swell violently, the compressed air within seeking release, but the gravitational prison held it together—resulting in a grotesque, contained expansion, its form distending like over-ripe fruit.
Then, she exhaled.
Air rushed back into the Heartmash with a deafening WHOOSH. The Overlord did not so much explode as splatter, its stitched form bursting inward and outward simultaneously, its remains scattering across the floor like wet, broken pottery.
Without a second glance at the vanquished foe, as if swatting a gnat, the lookalike turned her gaze upward to the captive northerners. A sharp, precise chop of her hand sliced through the air—and the illusory threads binding them snapped. Her Air Essence cradled each body, guiding them gently to the ground in a silent, solemn descent, finally liberating them from the nightmare.