The sixth month of the regression did not arrive with a dawn, for Ren Hanshin had already murdered the concept of morning. In the absolute, crushing silence of the Okutama summit, the world had become a monochromatic sanctuary of dark violet and matte obsidian. The Eternal Noon of the God of Light was a distant, flickering candle viewed from the depths of a bottomless well.
Ren stood at the center of a localized void, his form no longer reflecting the laws of physics.
[Synchronization: 70.0% (STABLE)]
[Level: 124 -> 125]
His midnight-indigo hair was a torrent of dark mana that didn't drift in the wind but pulled the air toward it. His right arm, the Obsidian Graft, was etched with pulsing crimson runes that glowed with the rhythmic heartbeat of the Weaver herself.
