The silver blade flashed past.
Its gleam vanished amidst the countless obscure lights filling this space, swift as a meteor, striking the neck of the Wrath Demon Lord. The blessed, razor-sharp edge sank slightly into the nape. Only by slowing time down a dozenfold and magnifying the point of contact between blade and flesh could one see the blade vanish a few millimeters into the skin. After a few millimeters, its descent slowed and halted.
For a three-meter-tall monster, a few millimeters amounted to nothing more than a shallow indentation.
Returning to normal time flow, one could only witness the silver blade striking down with the force of a tidal wave, striking the Wrath Demon Lord squarely on the back of the neck before springing back. If the Wrath Demon clone Tashan had struck minutes earlier was like soft cartilage, this true form of the Wrath Demon, favored by the Abyss, was like tough old cowhide encasing steel-hard bones. It simply could not be cut—at least not severed in such a fleeting contact.
Blade and wielder separated instantly upon contact, spinning away with the same blinding speed they had arrived, for the colossal Wrath Demon had already turned. Simon stood as imposing as a wall of twisted muscle, yet moved with astonishing agility, like a nimble ape. Tashar, having just swung her blade, was too close to evade. She could only shift her stance, exposing a vulnerable spot. A claw as large as a water barrel swept out. That single swipe tore away a chunk of her dragon wing.
Tasha flew backward, her body spinning wildly in midair. The claws ripped through her left wing, and the torn membrane made it difficult to maintain balance. That single strike had inflicted significant damage.
"Why are you attacking? You can't break through its defenses!" Victor cried urgently. "Get out of the way! Wait until the Abyss's attention shifts!" The Abyss's attention shifts quickly. It won't favor this creature forever!"
Tasha's response was to hurl the Book of Dungeons forcefully into the distance.
The Wrath Demon, Saemon, noticed. Even in such fury, it seemed instinctively fixated on its old adversary. Victor's ability to draw hatred was truly unparalleled. The Book of Dungeons glanced that way, gasped, and flapped its pages futilely in midair like a comical snail attempting to sprint. The Archfiend grinned, lunging toward it without pause.
Tasha remained motionless, flapping her wings wildly. She still seemed unable to regain her balance, preventing her from evading the Wrath Demon's inevitable path.
Simon charged like a bull, the distance between him and Tashar vanishing in an instant. Ten meters, five meters, two meters... Only when he was close did the dragon-winged form barely swerve aside, creating the space needed for the Wrath Demon's charge, hovering just above and to its left. Amid Victor's curses, Simon's eyes were fixed on the pages within his grasp—he was about to pass Tashar by.
Two meters, one meter, half a meter.
Tasha suddenly sank.
She had regained her balance during the struggle, every adjustment made for this moment. The silver blade swung, tip downward, swift as a hare, piercing toward the Wrath Demon's skull in an instant.
This time, the blade sank nearly to the hilt.
Saimon let out a deafening roar of agony. His eyes, after all, had not solidified into rock. The metal, blessed by the divine artifact of Saro, sliced through like a knife through butter, piercing completely through. The power of the runes tore apart the crystalline lens, and the pitch-black eyeball burst open like a punctured grape. Black blood splattered over Tasha, soaking her hair and seeping into the corners of her eyes. Through this layer of filthy blood, Tasha locked gazes with the Wrath Demon.
Frenzied rage washed over her.
The next moment, Tasha was sent flying—not by her own retreat, but completely knocked back. The wounded Wrath Demon wildly swung its arms, lacking precision but brimming with force. Hard knuckles grazed her skin, yet a monstrous force tore through flesh and bone wherever it touched. Her left arm, raised to block, shattered inch by inch beneath the iron fist—as futile as a mantis trying to stop a cart. Tashar used the momentum to launch herself backward, escaping the lethal range at the last possible moment. Even so, the cost was steep.
Her left shoulder was a mangled mess, her arm severed clean at the shoulder.
One exchange: one arm traded for one eye.
Victor's voice echoed through the link, shouting something, but Tasha couldn't process a single word. She knew someone was speaking, she felt the excruciating pain radiating from her left shoulder, but none of it mattered.
The only thing that mattered was—
Rage.
Black eyes locked in a gaze, their distance impossibly close. Through the medium of blood, Tasha briefly invaded the Wrath Demon's soul. Yes, even a raging Wrath Demon offered no defense, yet the soul of a demon lord was far beyond Tasha's reach. But she had no intention of attacking. On the contrary, she opened her own soul and crashed it into his.
Victor had done the same to her. He had coaxed, disguised, and deceived her without a trace, ultimately causing Tasha to briefly synchronize with him. Infecting another's soul required immense skill, but allowing one's own soul to be infected by another source of corruption only required lowering one's defenses.
Destruction was easier than creation; falling was simpler than climbing. Tashar recalled the sensation of that initial synchronization. In that fleeting exchange of gazes and collision of souls, she had actively sought contamination.
It wasn't difficult. After all, she had once studied under a master of soul manipulation.
The instant synchronization was achieved, a tidal wave of rage engulfed Tashar.
If fury could truly ignite flames, this rage alone could boil an entire ocean dry. The anger of that magical monster she once encountered paled in comparison to that of a Wrath Demon. Once this inferno ignited, it needed no justification. Until it burned out, everything became fuel for its fury, everything existed only to be destroyed.
Strictly speaking, Tasha didn't feel her mind clouded.
Victor was nearby, the dungeon core was nearby. They risked being shattered by the battle's fallout—dangerous, critical. Reason grasped this. Yet these thoughts became utterly insignificant, like fleeting insects. The agony hadn't lessened one bit, yet the pain couldn't distract Tasha. Compared to the fury, it was trivial. Tasha even drifted into a thought: Did Victor feel this much pain when he was torn apart? The Dungeon Book was bound to Victor's soul; he felt touch and pain just as Tasha did when using the Dragonwing form.
Soon, all the scattered thoughts were pushed out of his skull by rage. Beyond the tangled fury and hatred, Tasha even felt a tinge of joy.
How splendid—a Wrath Demon manifesting in true form.
Now, I can kill you completely, utterly.
In that instant, Tasha understood the Wrath Demon's laughter. She grasped the fury consuming its mind, the exhilaration of being ruled by rage while simultaneously mastering it. Blood-stained eyes narrowed, a sharp curve lifting her lips. Across her face, drenched in crimson and black blood, bloomed a smile eerily mirroring her enemy's.
The one-eyed, one-horned Saemon charged headlong at Tasha once more. Her attacks had finally drawn its full hatred onto the dragon-winged form. The Wrath Demon resolved to tear her to shreds first, casting aside both the Dungeon Book and the Dungeon Core.
Instead of retreating, Tasha pressed forward, striking without hesitation. The meticulous calculations of past battles vanished, replaced by a raw, kill-or-be-killed fury. Rage severed all strategy; in this moment, the thoughts of the two enemies attacking each other were eerily identical.
Kill—!
The silver blade in his hand screeched. The portion gripped by Tashan glowed with runes, searing his palm. The essence of the Abyss steadily saturated the Dungeon Core, finally pushing the dragon-winged form past a critical threshold. It had become an abyssal creation, loathed by the power of Saro.
The silver blade let out a piercing, drawn-out howl.
Under the dual assault of Abyssal power, Saros's runes unleashed their full might. The blessed, sacred metal erupted in a blinding light, like a meteor burning across the heavens. The power of the Celestial Realm made the Wrath Demon roar. The Abyssal power upon its head churned as if provoked. Its claws shifted direction, lunging entirely toward the blade, seemingly determined to crush this detestable weapon bearing the scent of its foe.
The Abyssal and Celestial energies ignited each other, the silver light slicing through the black mist only to be swallowed by it. The collision sent shockwaves reverberating through the passageway.
Tasha's right hand emitted a scorched stench, the flesh twisted as if she'd grasped red-hot coals barehanded. But it didn't matter—the damage inflicted upon the Wrath Demon was far greater. Like a red-hot branding iron piercing ice, the previously impenetrable body of the Wrath Demon split apart. The palm Simon had used to block was severed cleanly in half, hanging by a thread of flesh. Simultaneously, the long blade shattered with a crack.
All the runes had unleashed their final burst of power—a last, desperate surge that was both their weakest and strongest. The silver blade shattered, smooth and dull. Tashar discarded the sword, reached out, and plunged headlong into the Wrath Demon's wide-open embrace.
Her right hand transformed within a single breath. Slender, pale fingers twisted into menacing blades. Bones cracked and snapped as claws formed in an instant. The cold, gleaming beastly paws—neither wolf nor wolf-like—could cleave through gold and shatter jade.
[Full Moon]
No, this was none of the forms: [Full Moon], [Full Moon - Wild Call], or [Call of the Full Moon]. The dungeon card remained blank. It had no name, was nothing. When Tashan unleashed this strike, she thought of nothing—it was like a rabid beast lashing out reflexively.
This was its true nature.
Tasha had gained this power from the descendant of the Wolf God. Within her mind's eye, she had categorized this incomprehensible, uncontrollable ability, organizing it into "skills" she could wield. This categorization was a shortcut, a trick—one that allowed Tasha to master the basics quickly in the beginning, yet later became a bottleneck preventing her from advancing further, a limitation and a shackle. This was precisely why the core of the shattered dungeon required consolidation and restructuring. How could a broken machine possibly run when overloaded with too many auxiliary programs?
There were no skills to begin with. Before being named, power was simply power itself.
The claw, sharp enough to slice through iron like mud, plunged into the Wrath Demon's side neck, tearing downward. Tasha's arm plunged deep into the flesh, relentless in its search for the rage demon's beating heart. This left her wedged against the demon lord's body, unable to free herself for the time being. Simon had lost his claws, but his severed hands remained—two bloody stumps as hard as steel. The palm-sized base of his hand rose, poised to crush the insect clinging to his shoulder into a bloody pulp with a single clamp.
How perilous, how reckless! Tashar's strike seemed to embrace death itself, a gamble for mutual annihilation. What kind of madman would attempt such a thing? What entity could applaud such a move?
It must be chaos within chaos, madness within madness.
Tasha felt the Abyss.
It came from all directions, yet was more than merely omnipresent. This force emerged from some unknown corner, plane, or space, leaping without warning into Tasha's soul.
This was what Tasha had risked everything to seek.
Dodging relentlessly, waiting for the Abyssal favor upon the Wrath Demon to pass—but was it feasible? Upon reflection, it was utterly impossible. Resisting the favored Archfiend demanded immense strength and luck, fraught with countless variables—equivalent to passively surrendering one's life to enemy and fate. Cowards perish in battle, and those who flee with their backs to the enemy meet death more swiftly. To grasp a sliver of hope, one must confront it head-on.
Ever since receiving the Abyssal Favor from the Wrath Demon Saimon, ever since first touching the Abyss, Tasha had rapidly analyzed and dissected its patterns. Even the most chaotic existence reveals patterns—isn't a love for chaos and slaughter one such pattern? The Abyssal Favor can be sought.
But a calculating heart will never earn the Abyss's favor.
Sounds contradictory? Not at all. Tasha had personally proven its feasibility through action. Pre-battle calculations were countless, but during combat, her mind was utterly focused. The final action was the culmination of endless deliberation and design. Yet the moment she began moving, striking, swinging her blade—all hesitation vanished. Life, death, victory, defeat—all were cast aside.
Synchronizing with the Wrath Demon, harnessing fury to expel distractions—thus drawing near to the Abyss's favored ones, further courting the Abyss's attention. Choosing slaughter, where limbs could be sacrificed, life could be forsaken, everything rendered insignificant, offering this body and soul to the Abyss of Chaos—Tasha was not such a person. Yet, in this moment, she deceived herself. She forgot the dungeon core was the true entity, that the destruction of her dragon-winged form would not claim her life. She forgot all her earlier calculations, driven only by an almost instinctive bloodlust. This moment of single-minded madness earned the favor of the Abyssal Will.
"The Abyssal Will observes you. Your Abyssal aura rank increases."
"The Abyssal Will touches you. Your Abyssal aura rank increases."
"The Abyssal Will praises your existence. You have gained the favor of the Abyss."
This was no trivial matter to be described lightly. The impact of the Abyssal Will far surpassed that of the Natural Will; compared to the former, the latter was as gentle as a lamb. Tashan, attuned to the Wrath Demon, was already mad enough, but facing the Abyssal Will made her seem like a mere novice.
It was—
Demon spawn emerging from purplish-black soil, learning to slaughter one another before their eyes even opened. Spiked heads clashed, razor-sharp teeth tore apart the defeated, flesh and viscera devoured clean before the bodies hit the ground. Tainted blood saturated the earth that held both life and death, while vermin feasted, licking the carcasses and fetal membranes.
Countless Abyssal monsters of every kind slaughtered one another. Infinite cacophonies erupted from every corner. Their attacks were utterly chaotic; sometimes the will to survive yielded to frenzied instinct. From sky to abyss, whether in ice caverns or molten lava, every corner is a battlefield—battles fought without reason, without victory or defeat. The abyssal earth may suddenly churn, stirring up bones buried beneath for untold millennia; the abyssal sky knows no weather, the appearance or absence of its three suns never foretold, lightning and thunder eternal companions on the horizon. Here rivers of blood flow upside-down; here stars crash to earth.
Birth and evolution occur every moment, extinction and death every moment. Life and death cycle here with such rapidity, endlessly repeating, that this chaotic jumble of fragments ultimately constitutes the very essence of the Abyss. The Abyss's will is a mad band playing death metal, a drunken crowd's grand revelry before the apocalypse, a erupting volcano that levels all yet allows everything to grow swiftly on fertile soil. If the core of natural will is "survival," the core of the Abyss's will is "chaos."
It is utterly terrifying, yet utterly magnificent.
This maddened power surged into the dragon-winged form.
The massive, severed palm had already struck Tashan's back, tearing away the dragon wing along with a large chunk of flesh. Viewed from behind, one might glimpse exposed vertebrae. Yet the dragon-winged form still lived. A mere seconds ago, that blow could have pulverized her into mincemeat; now, it was but a scratch. Tasha's back healed at an astonishing rate. A thin layer of flesh and blood instantly covered the stark white spine. New wings broke free from their shell, dragon wings studded with bone spines.
The newborn wings suddenly beat the air, rapidly hardening as they flapped. Barely born, they struck the Wrath Demon, sending it staggering. Tasha dodged the next near-certain blow, clawing out half a heart and crushing it in her fist. To her eyes, the Wrath Demon Saemon's speed was no longer impossible to track, nor its strength impossible to resist.
The dungeon's integrated progress bar advanced slowly, creeping from twenty-five percent to twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight... Under the Abyss's favor, Tashan underwent a fundamental enhancement.
Even if fleeting, in this moment, she finally gained the strength to stand against the Archfiend.
The Rage Demon, having lost half its heart, roared in fury. The vitality of such a Great Demon was terrifying; half a heart was insufficient to bring it down.
This was a battle devoid of any semblance of beauty.
Rage clashed with rage, madness met madness, one spawn of the Abyss confronting another. It resembled two steel golems colliding at full power—both in sheer force and in their utterly straightforward combat style. The Abyssal Will favored both combatants equally, which was hardly surprising given its nature. The Patron had equipped the gladiators with the sharpest weapons, watching them with hungry eyes, craving the next drop of blood.
Claw met severed hand, flapping wings dodged lunges. In an instant, they exchanged countless blows, each strike destined to inflict immense damage. Both combatants were transformed into bloody monstrosities by the battle's toll, every inch of skin mangled and torn.
When Tasha swung her claws, blood blossomed across the skin.
Spatial turbulence began to entangle Tasha as well, for her sudden surge in power exceeded the limits the passage could bear.
The turbulence had never truly vanished; Tasha had previously remained unaffected only because her weakness prevented her from tearing the passage apart. Now, with her power surging, even her slightest movement could rip open this unstable space, filling the air around her with countless razor-sharp blades. Judging by the blood splattering from the Wrath Demon Saimon, it still held the upper hand over Tasha.
In the next exchange, the Wrath Demon Saimon seized Tashan's arm.
Two severed hands clamped down on her wrist, pinning the dragon-winged form that once again attempted to rip out the demon's entrails. Saimon grinned savagely as he tightened his grip, bones snapping easily beneath his palms like slender twigs. Those terrifying hands pulled fiercely toward its chest, poised to draw Tashar close for a deadly embrace.
Tashar lashed out, driving her foot hard into the Wrath Demon's body.
She couldn't knock the Wrath Demon Lord down, but using the momentum from her twist and downward kick, she wrenched her captured right hand free.
Like a lizard shedding its tail to survive, Tashar leapt from the Wrath Demon's embrace, leaving behind the arm that was instantly crushed into a pulp. Yet her next move seemed less about survival than defiance. Seizing the moment while the Wrath Demon crushed its own limb, Tashar executed a backflipping kick, striking Simon's sole remaining eye with brutal force.
Saimen's roar nearly deafened her.
"Don't provoke it at a time like this..." Victor seemed to groan painfully from the side. "A Rage Demon like this..."
Tasha retreated at lightning speed.
Simon's head and face were covered in flesh and blood torn apart by spatial turbulence. Even without eyes, this highly perceptive demon remained combat-capable. To be clear, aside from the eye gouged out by a weapon imbued with Saros power, all other parts could regenerate at any moment. Thus, the loss of this single eye held little significance—it only served to enrage Simon further.
It was hard to imagine the Wrath Demon could grow any angrier.
Yet strangely, its fury intensified like boiling water transforming into searing steam. The Abyssal Blessing synergized perfectly with the Wrath Demon's innate trait of "growing stronger with rage," causing its power to surge again and warp the surrounding air.
Its face had vanished entirely. Spatial turbulence intensified with each surge of power, growth once again failing to keep pace with destruction. The blood-soaked visage revealed only a gaping maw—an ill-timed analogy, like a gaping hole carved into watermelon flesh. Every ray of light passing through Simon warped, straight lines bending into curves—visibly thickened background lines. If this were a comic, dense halftone dots would now blanket the Wrath Demon Lord's back. The atmosphere was so heavy, the backdrop so terrifying, anyone could sense something was about to happen.
Centered on Simon, the space seemed to brew a storm.
Indeed, something did happen—but it wasn't the "Wrath Demon Lord breaking through again with divine might." As its power surged once more, the final straw was placed upon the camel's back, pushing the passageway's capacity to its absolute limit.
The storm erupted.
In an instant, the Wrath Demon's body was torn into countless fragments. Flesh was ripped apart again and again, as if passed through the finest shredder multiple times. Without a heart, without a brain, without a single connecting thread of muscle, organ, or skin, Simon—the very force that had caused this spatial collapse—finally failed to survive.