The Seventh Surya

[Behemoth.]

✦ THE SEVENTH SURYA ✦
Chapter One: Natural Born Tyrant
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Completely original story aside from Tanya just to let y'all know.
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You know, when it comes to religions that preach the dogma of reincarnation, they rarely tell you just how waiting feels. In that space between life and absolute oblivion, where the entirety of one's form is laid bare to the void, it's terrifying. There's a constant sense that you and your lived experience are a chimerical illusion. That the perpetual gap surrounding you is the truth. That knowledge, life, growth, and existence itself are a mirage in an endless desert—the shadow of a word on a blank page. With just a movement, your memories would leak and disappear.

It's more than death. It's the extinction of the self, something people come to peace with—at least those who don't believe in a god—but they fail to truly comprehend the sheer omnipresent, sinking, tearing dread one feels when truly faced with spiritual extinction.

And for that, she hated Being X all the more.

But, as always, she was a special case. Eventually, in that void without time or space or reality, she was moved. She was funneled across some metaphysical tunnel. At the end of it, she assumed she would find her new body. The process compressed her being, painfully so, as expected when the literal essence of your existence is squashed like playdough. It shot her along at what she thought were obscene speeds, if such a space even followed those rules.

This continued for an unknown length of time—every moment an eternity, and every eternity a second. But she could feel herself getting closer. Then it happened.

An ambient force warped the very shape of the tunnel, like a metaphysical black hole capable of bending space-time. The tunnel warped until it finally broke. Her soul wasn't subject to the void; it was absorbed into that black hole. Unlike death, which promises stillness, this experience was visceral—a transformation where the very essence of her being was broken down and reforged. Pain was her only anchor, the only thing keeping her from dissolving into nothingness.

Despite the torment, she clung to her identity, refusing to disappear. Her soul was destroyed and used to fill the cracks of something else. Imagine staying conscious as a corpse and feeling everything happening to your body—decay, the crushing weight of rotting wood and earth, insects and bacteria eating you, weathering from fire, ice, and rain. Now multiply that by a factor of a million, and you'd start to understand her pain.

After that, there was only darkness.

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"Ohhh damn..."

Midea grabbed his head in pain. His skull throbbed as if one of those fat asses from the Circle of Greed was using it as a trampoline. Everything was a haze—not just his memory, but his vision. Large clouds of gray mixed with flashing spots of black and white, like colliding stars across his sight. He put his paws to his face, trying to recall the series of events that led him here.

"W-we were locked in battle, then... ughh… no. Baal made a deal with the Devas. The Circle of Pride was under attack, right? Yeah, that should be right. She—our queen—called in her friend, that thing. And it had been pregnant and then, errgghh. THAT'S RIGHT! The eggs! I was supposed to watch the eggs!"

The imp's memories began to clear. He was a demon from the Pride Circle. One of the kings of hell, Baal—that big-nosed duck bastard—had made a deal with some outside deities to gain more land in hell in exchange for spreading their preachy nonsense. Their queen, Lilith, had called in a favor from that creature. He didn't know much about its race, but apparently, Lilith and the creature had been close, almost like sisters in the past. Despite being pregnant, it came to help in the war. It laid its eggs during the war, which were placed in the most sacred area of the Pride Circle, protected by hundreds of wards, made of hellfire and demon blood to ward off violence, misfortune, and curse magic alike. Guarded by billions of demons who could have been fighting in the war, but none of them could compare to her assistance.

The assistance of that unsettling being who called herself Lervea.

He was one of them—a highborn pride imp sent to guard the eggs due to his family's influence. Despite his low rank, he had great potential for future evolution. Even in his imp stage, he was strong and came from a good background. He had been thoroughly checked before being assigned this duty, thanks to his family. In hell, nepotism was one of the few ways to claw yourself up. It was supposed to be an easy job that padded his resume. He had expected offers from powerful Abyssal Zephyrs—demon groups that trained young demons for evolution and taught them various mantras or techniques. He'd evolve into a fiend and move into a mid-class kingdom, where he'd work his way up to being directly under Lilith, as a king of hell, rather than just an imp from a privileged family.

But then, chaos. A bunch of his fellow demons had transformed into Devas before his eyes. They unleashed some sort of bomb that destabilized reality, and then... everything went dark. But it was fine—as long as he was alive, he could start again. Maybe with veteran benefits or something.

His vision finally cleared, and the world came into focus. The sky above him was clear blue, with several stars hanging overhead, each a different color of the rainbow. The blue sun shone particularly bright, standing out against the sky like an electric beacon . Its brilliance filled his vision with spots, mocking him for his previous hopes of an easy job. This was not the purple sky of the Pride Circle. This wasn't hell.

The stars stared at him, insouciantly mocking his misfortune.

"Dammit!"

He angrily unleashed a burst of hellfire, scorching the ground beside him. But suddenly, a clattering sound interrupted his outburst. It was like two stones knocking against one another. Midea turned his head, scanning the area. He was in a crater—not a deep one, but a crater nonetheless, surrounded by a clearing and tall blue-green trees, their branches twisted together in visually pleasing spirals. But that wasn't important. Not right now.

Next to him were two spherical objects. One was red and black, about a meter in diameter, and the other was purple and gold, about the same size. The purple and gold one had cracks in it.

"Ohhh, fuck! Oh, my glorious lord Satan, who drank the blood of a billion virgins, say it ain't so!"

As a low-class imp, albeit from a good family, Midea was never qualified to get anywhere near Lervea's eggs. Even high demons weren't. Only the king-class demons Lilith trusted most were. However, as a guard, he had seen the eggs and knew exactly how they looked. This fit the description perfectly.

Had he cracked the egg?! No way. But why was it cracked? Even if it wasn't his fault, just being near it could lead to his execution for failing in his duty. His family? They'd be killed and eaten by Lervea if they dared speak a word in his defense. Getting killed by one of her kind was extinction. Even though his family had his soul imprint and could normally revive him, if she killed him, it was over. No one in hell could stand against her. The Pride Circle had been massively outmatched by Baal, his forces, and the Devas, but as soon as Lilith called Lervea in, they had begun winning, taking over Baal's kingdom, and collapsing parts of the divine realm of the Devas . Even stealing divine territory to expand the Pride Circle.

One being had changed the course of the war. That's the kind of monster Lervea was.

"Nononononononononono…"

He rushed to the cracked purple and gold egg, tracing the area with trembling hands. Light was leaking out of it, but he had no idea what to do. Panic welled inside him, but then something extraordinary happened.

A light blue energy was drawn from the void. Midea could feel its nature—it was a soul. He had seen a few souls descend into hell to become Jarati, captured by the ferrymen. The ferrymen were demons who pulled unsuspecting, sin-filled souls into hell, unlike the naturally born demons like himself. Souls tended to vary in structure depending on the race, but he recognized this one. It felt human, or at least human-adjacent.

The blue energy filled the cracks in the egg, slowly mending the damage. The shell sealed itself shut, without leaving a mark.

Lervea's little monster had absorbed a random soul from the void to heal itself. Midea let out a breath of relief.

"Truly, what an absurd lifeform. Little bastard had me scared for my life."

No one knew much about them. Lervea was the only one of her kind to appear in hell or any of the surrounding realms. According to his elder, a king-class demon, she was part of a race of monsters who could devour the souls of anything they killed. Midea shook his head. He had to take care of the eggs in this alien world, or risk his life—and possibly worse, no definitely worse—at Lervea's hands.

Leaving them here was out of the question. Lervea would feel their aura on him and track him down. He had no illusions about how terrifying she was.

Midea got to his feet, dusted off his pitch-black skin, and began carrying the huge eggs. They were heavy, but he was a demon, after all. As he trekked through the alien lands, golden lights flashed through the blue-green forest. Strange creatures, made of interlocked fingers, rolled across the ground. Large, floating plants hovered nearby, surrounded by gliding beasts that looked like the lovechild of a lemur and a dragonfly.

The imp needed shelter, and fast.

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It was an odd experience, knowing you weren't quite yourself anymore. Tanya was aware, on some level, that the very core of her being had changed. She couldn't be sure if this was some machination of Being X, but it didn't feel like his doing. No, that tunnel had been leading her to wherever she was supposed to go—but something had intervened. Something had taken her soul from its intended course, breaking it down completely. Everything that made her who she was remained intact; she could remember every detail from both of her past lives: Being X, Visha, Viktoriya, the war, Japan, Eric, and her university in her first life. All of it was still there. Yet, the core of her being had shifted.

She had become part of something greater, something that had absorbed her. But she wasn't separate from this entity; she was its memories, its consciousness. The entirety of what had once been Tanya von Degurechaff had been relegated to memory. In a very real sense, she was dead. Truly dead. Her original soul no longer existed. What remained was more like a clone—an amalgamation of accumulated memories that had fused with a new soul during that event.

She wanted to hyperventilate, to claw at her face, to laugh at the absurdity of it all. As soon as she had escaped that damned god, she had died. Her immortal soul erased. But now there was only darkness surrounding her—no movement , no feeling, no vision. She was dead. Forever dead. She couldn't even scream or cry. This was suffering in its purest, most distilled form. And so she stayed there, her mind shaking, cursing at what she had become . She cursed Being X, cursed fate, cursed everything that had led to this.

She railed against the unfairness of it all. But time, as it always does, began to work its crude magic, healing the wounds, or at least slapping a big, ugly scab over them. Eventually, an instinct seemed to wash over her, urging her to rest, to let go. And so, she began to calm—if only slightly.

"I think, therefore I am."

"I think, therefore I am."

She repeated the phrase over and over again, clinging to it like a lifeline. Even if she was nothing more than memory, just a flicker of consciousness and not the core—what truly made a person a person? If that bastard god decided to reincarnate her without her memories, would she still be Tanya? Would the choices she made, the things she said, truly reflect who she had been?

Who was to say the most important part of a person wasn't their memories? One's past reflected the present, after all. Without the past, what was left but origin? Perhaps the soul was just a blank canvas, one capable of holding the essence of a person. An essence that was only attained through life. If reincarnated and stripped of memory, even if the soul remained the same, could that truly be considered "you"?

Tanya still believed she was herself, and in that thought, she found comfort. Because if not, she wouldn't know what to do.

Ignoring the looming threat of mental collapse, she focused on her surroundings. Slowly, she began to feel again, to move. She was in a confined space, filled with some kind of fluid. If she was in a new body, then she was trapped, but not drowning. Was it amniotic fluid? The thought crossed her mind. She considered her reality—absorbed as part of a larger soul, yet she had somehow retained her sense of self. That made no sense unless she had been absorbed by some mindless, ancient entity.

She chuckled darkly at the idea. Reborn as some eldritch, formerly mindless being who could hunt down Being X and eat him alive. A fitting irony, perhaps. But if not that, the only other explanation was that she had been reborn in a baby's body. After all, babies were also mindless, lacking previous memories or experiences. However, that was an absurd notion. No infant should have the power to destroy her soul and absorb her memories. The fact that she—a person with two lifetimes of experience—perhaps had lost to an infant stirred a sense of pride in her she hadn't realized she possessed. It made her bristle with irritation. Such a thing was implausible.

But as time passed, her ability to move slowly returned. Her body was weak, feeble even, but she could feel it—something was growing closer. She wasn't sure how she knew, but her instincts told her. Release was near.

And soon, she would see what she had become. She would see this new world and whatever it had in store for her.

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Midea had struggled immensely over the past few days. This planet was a nightmare. He was convinced it was the twisted creation of some god of torture's private amusement. At first, it didn't seem so bad, but as he continued trudging along with the eggs, he noticed how quickly exhaustion crept in. The gravity here was uncharacteristically high. The seven suns stirred up the ambient numen into chaos, increasing its density and quality, but it permeated everything, making even the simplest movements feel like a battle.

The planet itself seemed intent on killing him. The weather literally chased him down with murderous intent. He had faced rolling finger beasts attacking him at night, and shades trying to possess him—luckily, he had enough experience as a demon to fend them off . Then came the metallic winds that nearly shredded him and the eggs into dust. Three separate meteor storms had unleashed flame spirits that hunted down and killed anything in their path. And then there was the virus swamp—a literal swamp of constantly mutating viral creatures. , each more disgusting than the last, constantly growing and trying to infect everything they touched. He ran from that abomination fast.

He was a demon, and even he had never seen anything so vile.

After escaping countless life-threatening events, Midea found a cave—a small victory in the war of survival. It wasn't ideal, but it was relatively safe. He placed the eggs inside and covered them with leaves from the strange trees nearby. At first, he considered burying them, but if they suffocated or were damaged somehow, the consequences would fall squarely on him.

Sighing, Midea took in his surroundings. It was… well, a cave. The rock was dull red and malleable, reminding him of clay. Several stalagmites rose up in a rough oval formation in the middle of the cave. He filled the area with leaves, carefully placing the two eggs there. Water dripped from the stalactites above, which he collected in stone bowls he had shaped from the cave walls.

Stretching, Midea brushed the dirt off his knees and caught a glimpse of himself in one of the makeshift water bowls. He stood about seven feet tall, with pitch-black skin and four horns that pointed upward from his head. His eyes were the classic demon-red, glowing faintly even in the dim cave light. His body was a mixture of strength and menace—six clawed fingers on each hand, hooved feet, and a lower body that resembled a goat's. His tail was long and black, ending in a sharp, arrow-like point. He admired his reflection, flexing for a moment to appreciate his own demonic form.

He was a Dark Satyr, an imp the second lowest in the demonic hierarchy—but a Dark Satyr was a rare class of imp to evolve into. He allowed himself a brief moment of pride, then refocused on his task.

After all, today was going to be risky.

He dragged the corpse of a beast he had hunted into the cave—a feathered pangolin-like creature with warts reminiscent of a toad. Using its blood, Midea inscribed basic wards at the entrance to the cave. Imbuing the demonic symbols with his numen was surprisingly easy, thanks to the richness of the energy in this world. His family had invested heavily in his training; back when he was just a darkling (the stage before an imp), they had hired tutors to teach him the basics of wards and spells. After finishing the wards, he felt the familiar drain of energy, but a quick breathing exercise allowed him to absorb the ambient numen and replenish his reserves.

With a final exhale, he exited the cave and pulled a huge boulder from the ground, setting it in front of the entrance. He carved wards into the boulder as well for added protection, then moved into the forest, cloaking himself in shadow. Cloaking wasn't a technique a demon from the Pride Circle typically excelled at, but Midea came from wealth, and wealth afforded a variety of useful skills.

He approached the area he had scouted earlier but had ignored in his rush to find shelter for the eggs.

"As I thought," he muttered, crouching low.

The tracks were faint, but they were there. He traced them with his fingers—bipedal creatures, moving fast, judging by the distance between the imprints. They had talons, too. But what caught his attention even more was the thread lying next to the tracks. It was braided in different colors, dexterously crafted. On the end was a wolf head carved from the same blue-green wood that populated this world.

"Civilization."

If he wanted to survive here, he'd need allies. He'd need a stable place for his evolutions and for the eggs. He couldn't always be their sole protector. His shapeshifting abilities, as a demon of the Pride Circle, were nonexistent at his current level, unlike the bastards from the Envy Circle who could easily transform and infiltrate other species. But he had other options.

This world—or at least this region—seemed primal. Judging from the state of their tracks and tools, the sapient races likely had poor numen-cultivating techniques. Numen was the universal energy that flowed through all things, manifesting in various ways depending on its attributes. Demonic and divine energies were simply numen with specific characteristics. All beings with a soul could cultivate it, connecting the body and soul through meridians to refine it. Cultivation techniques expanded and prepared the soul, and once the soul reached its limit, it would be compressed, allowing for transcendence. And the creation of another layer of the soul.

Each layer of transcendence involved breaking nine shackles. How this second layer manifested itself and how the shackles were broken varied depending on technique and race. Demons, in particular, gained racial evolutions with each layer, an advantage few others had. While angels might gain more wings and elves might become more beautiful, demons underwent far more significant transformations, making them one of the strongest factions. Of course, their tribulations were also far harsher. The highest known layer of cultivation was twelve, though lesser realms and worlds often believed no second layer existed. So there may be even more than twelve.

This world, rich in numen, likely had inhabitants past the first layer, but their techniques were probably garbage. Midea could offer them higher-grade non-demonic techniques to form an alliance, ensuring protection for himself and the eggs.

He began running, following the tracks deeper into the forest.

For hours, Midea tracked the faint imprints left by the creatures. The alien forest pulsed with life, the canopy above glowing faintly with the light of the blue-green trees. Swirling golden lights flickered in the distance, mixing with the sounds of this strange world. The atmosphere felt alive, as if the forest itself was watching, waiting for him to slip up.

His sharp claws left small impressions on the soft, moss-covered ground as he moved. The shadow cloak kept him mostly hidden, but the ambient numen of this world pressed against his concealment at times, as if threatening to reveal him.

It was in this tense moment that the attack came.

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The forest suddenly exploded into motion. A blur of feathers and warts shot from the underbrush with a predatory screech—feathered pangolins, their long, warty bodies coiled with sinewy muscle, their talon-like claws extending as they leaped toward him. Midea's red eyes caught their movements, and in an instant, his mind calculated their trajectory.

The first one lunged straight for his head, claws poised to rip through his horns. Midea ducked, his horns narrowly missing the swipe as he spun, feeling the rush of wind as the beast flew overhead. He kicked off the ground, leaping backward and spinning in midair. The second pangolin came from his left, its claws gleaming in the dappled sunlight that filtered through the forest canopy.

Midea extended his arm, palm facing out. His lips curled into a wicked smile.

"Hell's Embrace."

In a fraction of a second, his hand flared with black, flickering flame. The flames, infused with demonic energy, surged forward, wrapping around the pangolin in a swirling vortex. Its screech turned into a wail of agony as the flame bit into its flesh, the heat so intense that its warty scales melted like wax under a torch. Midea moved swiftly, sidestepping another pangolin that darted from the shadows.

Without breaking his stride, he leaped onto a nearby tree, his clawed feet finding purchase on the trunk as he vaulted off it. He twisted in the air, spinning to avoid the sharp talons of yet another creature as it lunged at him from below. His six fingers extended, each clawed tip glowing with numen-infused energy as he struck out at the beast mid-flight, his claws slicing deep into its throat.

The creature's momentum carried it forward, but its body crumpled into a lifeless heap at Midea's feet, blood pooling in the dirt. Midea barely had time to relish the kill before more pangolins surged from the underbrush, their claws raking at the air as they coordinated their attack. Three of them now—flanking him, circling him like wolves on the hunt.

But Midea wasn't prey.

"Time to teach you poor assesses about the strength of the rich." He laughed boisterously.

With a fluid motion, he dashed forward toward the closest pangolin. His movements were a blur, his cloak of shadow shifting around him as his hand lashed out like a whip, imbued with the full force of his demonic power. He touched the creature's side with a single finger, but that was all it took.

A heartbeat later, the pangolin exploded in a shower of blood, bone, and viscera as the dark flames of Hell's Embrace detonated inside it. The blast charred the nearby trees, the leaves catching fire, and the other two pangolins skittered back in terror, momentarily stunned.

Midea grinned. "Run all you like." His voice was calm, filled with glee, as his red eyes glinted. "Omae wa, mou shinderu."

He moved again, faster than the eye could follow, his body a blur as he closed the gap between him and the two remaining creatures. His hand touched their bodies in passing—just a gentle tap, as if he was brushing off dirt.

The first pangolin ignited from the inside out, flames bursting from its eyes and mouth as it writhed in agony, collapsing in a burning heap. The second managed to turn and flee, but Midea had already marked it. The flames caught up, and with a final scream, the creature's body erupted in a violent explosion of flame and gore, its remains scattering across the forest floor.

The forest fell silent, save for the crackling of fire and the faint dripping of blood from the nearby trees. Midea stood amidst the carnage, breathing heavily but satisfied. The warm, thick air was filled with the stench of burnt flesh, and blackened leaves fell gently from the charred canopy above.

He flicked the blood off his claws and surveyed the scene, his tail flicking lazily behind him. "Bastards." He muttered, giving a final insolent middle finger to the charred remains.

But the fight wasn't over.

Out of the shadows came another threat—this one larger. Midea's eyes narrowed as he sensed its presence before he saw it. A massive pangolin, far bigger than the others, emerged from the underbrush, its body glistening with a thick coat of armor- like feathers. Its talons were longer, sharper, and its eyes glowed with a sickly yellow light. It growled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated the very earth beneath him.

"Finally, something worth killing," Midea snarled, his body tensing in anticipation.

The enormous beast charged, and the ground shook with every step. Midea responded in kind, his form blurring as he rushed toward the creature. Their clash was thunderous—the beast's claws slamming into Midea's horns with a deafening clang as Midea pushed back with all his strength. His feet dug trenches into the ground, but he held his ground, grinning wildly.

With a growl, he leapt backward, dodging the creature's second swipe. As he moved, he channeled numen into his body, his veins glowing faintly with power. He thrust his palm toward the ground, and with a guttural snarl, the earth erupted beneath the beast, a jet of black flame shooting upward and engulfing it.

The creature screamed, thrashing violently as the flames consumed its armor, but it didn't fall easily. With a roar, it lunged through the flames, its claws reaching for Midea's throat.

In one swift motion, Midea brought his Hell's Embrace to bear, slamming his claws into the beast's chest. His fingers sank deep, and with a surge of demonic power, he released the full force of his flames directly into the creature's core.

The pangolin's eyes widened in shock, its body convulsing as the flames erupted from within, tearing it apart from the inside out. Its massive form collapsed in a heap, the light in its eyes fading as the last of its strength left it.

Midea stood over the carcass, panting heavily, his chest heaving from the effort. He wiped the blood from his face and looked around, ensuring there were no more threats. The forest had fallen silent once again, the only sound the crackling of the still -burning trees.

He kicked the beast's body, letting out a small laugh. "I told you," he muttered, satisfied, "you were already dead. At the very least you could have played along and said, 'Nani.'"

The imp had been able to watch Fist of the North Star from searching through the soul of Jarati that he soul-searched. They were those transformed from the souls of sinners and often had interesting life stories. The natural denizens of hell sifted through their souls for entertainment at times.

Laughing at the memories, Midea continued before he finally found it: the village wall, made of thick wood and crowned with an imposing black stone archway, loomed before him. At the peak of the arch was a wolf head, intricately carved and reminiscent of the trinket he had found earlier. Midea prepared himself mentally as he cast a common demonic spell, one that would allow him to understand and communicate in the language of this world once the other person spoke.

He approached cautiously and knocked on the gate. Afterward, he moved back, bowing low in a gesture of submission. It irked him to perform such acts—a demon of the Pride Circle lowering himself in such a way. But Midea was no fool. He knew survival, and more importantly, protecting the eggs, was worth far more than his pride.

The gates creaked open slowly, revealing a group of warriors, tall and imposing. Their wolfen features—ears, tails, and claws—marked them as something more than humanoid. They wore armor made from beast hide and carapace, weapons forged from wood and the sharp teeth of creatures native to this world. Their spears gleamed with sharp points made from beast teeth, and their auras flickered with numen energy. Each of them had first-layer cultivation, a fact that made Midea sneer internally. Primitive, but not without potential.

One of them stepped forward, spear pointed directly at Midea. His presence exuded authority, his voice a low growl.

"What are you, creature of the night?" The warrior's voice was gruff, filled with suspicion. "I am Garran, son of the leader of Wolvenblade village, general of the Great Canid clan, son of the Lupus line!"

Midea resisted the urge to roll his eyes at the wolf-centric titles. Lord Satan knew they could chill with that shit.

He straightened himself and gave a courteous nod. "Greetings, great Garran. I am a Dark Satyr, a benevolent creature from the noble house of Valefor. My name is Midea Scelus. I come asking for your ear." Lies flowed easily from his lips, as they always did for a demon of his caliber. His words dripped with false sincerity, the kind that could easily sway the minds of those who weren't aware of his true nature. Well, he wasn't lying about his house or name, but Dark Satyrs were anything but benevolent.

Garran didn't seem convinced. He took a step forward, the spear in his hand glowing with refined numen energy, streams of spear intent swirling around the weapon in an impressive display of power for such a primitive clan. Intent was rather advanced.

"And why would we listen to you, Midea?" Garran's voice was low and dangerous, filled with suspicion.

Midea allowed a sly grin to creep across his face. "Because I have knowledge—techniques that could change the course of your clan's power forever. All I ask is a place to stay in return for sharing this gift."

Garran's eyes narrowed as he felt the implication of Midea's words. "What do you mean by that, exactly?" There was a sense of unease in his voice now, the faintest flicker of curiosity tempered by wariness.

Midea decided it was time to demonstrate. He flexed his second-layer numen, sending waves of demonic energy outward. It rippled through the air, a dark force that scratched at the souls of those who stood before him. The warriors flinched visibly, their expressions betraying the sudden fear that had gripped them. To them, it must have felt as though the shadows themselves were reaching out, trying to claw their spirits from their bodies.

"As you can see, Garran," Midea said, his voice dripping with confidence, "I am at the second layer of cultivation. My numen is... special. I can teach you a technique that will allow your people to grow stronger —stronger than you've ever dreamed possible."

Garran hesitated, the numen around his spear wavering slightly. The intimidation had worked, but there was still caution in his eyes. "Our chief—my father—is at the third layer," he said, his voice steadying. "Can your technique take us beyond even that?"

Midea's grin widened, revealing sharp teeth as he leaned forward slightly, his voice a low, conspiratorial whisper. "Beyond that... until you can step upon the stars themselves."

The words hung in the air, heavy with promise and temptation. Garran's eyes flickered with something more—desire, ambition. The thought of transcending even his father's power, of leading his people to new heights, was too tantalizing to resist. But Midea could sense the hesitation. The Wolvenblade clan was not without caution.

Still, Midea knew the seed had been planted. Power, after all, was the ultimate currency, and Midea had just promised them an endless supply. Whether or not the truth of his offer matched their expectations mattered little for now. What mattered was gains their trust, or at least their interest.

Garran stepped back, the tension in his posture easing slightly. "We will see what the chief has to say about this." He gestured for Midea to follow, the warriors still watching him warily, but with a hint of curiosity. The gates creaked open further, revealing the sprawling village behind them, where the Great Canid clan waited.

As Midea stepped forward, he suppressed the smile that threatened to break across his face. Everything was going according to plan.

---

Midea entered the Wolvenblade village, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. Despite the primitive appearance, there was a strange sense of community and order here. At the village's heart, he observed the central buildings—guild halls, official structures, and a park where children and civilians played. The dirt-paved roads led deeper into the village, where he could see a school and another building likely meant for older children. The houses, some simple wooden structures and others made from stone, dotted the residential areas. A few of the homes were little more than shacks, but the village seemed well-organized despite its modesty.

Surrounded by Garran and his troupe, Midea continued walking, eventually arriving at the largest structure—a ceremonial hall adorned with red streamers hanging from the ceiling. The room itself was a sight to behold, filled with primal ceremonial objects and intricate decorations that glowed with an almost supernatural vibrancy. The walls were lined with symbols reflecting the colors of the seven suns that hung over this world, arranged in patterns that seemed to shift with the light.

At the center of the room, a massive man sat on a throne of beast skulls, his sheer size imposing, even while seated. Midea estimated him to be well over eight feet tall. The man wore a wolf skull on his head like a crown , giving him a regal yet savage appearance.

"Father!" Garran bowed deeply, crossing his arms with two clawed hands pressed against his shoulders in a sign of respect. Midea quickly mimicked the stance, understanding the importance of such displays in this culture.

The massive figure on the throne let out a booming laugh. "On the days of the seven suns, I receive such a visitor." Midea raised an eyebrow in surprise but listened carefully as the man continued.

"The seven suns do not show themselves all the time," the man said, his voice filled with gravitas. "When they do, it is a time of chaos, violence, and change. The world's energy becomes denser, and the air stirs with the potential for upheaval. Children born during these days often shortly die after birth because the environment is too intense. But those who survive... they are given the title 'The Seventh.' They tend to have immense potential." He shook his head, his tone reflecting a mix of reverence and sorrow. "The greatest changes come on days when the seven suns show their faces."

The man stood up from his throne, towering over the room. "I am Remus Lupus, leader of the Great Canid clan and lord of Wolvenblade village."

Garran nodded, gesturing for Midea to speak. Midea took a breath and stepped forward.

"I am Midea Scelus, of the noble house Valefor, a benevolent Dark Satyr. I come seeking a place to live, but not without offering recompense."

Remus's eyes glinted with interest. "Speak."

"I offer a numen cultivation technique that will strengthen your people beyond what they know. This technique will allow you and your warriors to breach the limits of your current strength and reach the fourth layer and beyond."

Remus's entire body jolted as if struck by lightning. "The fourth layer?" His voice trembled with disbelief. "Do you mean breaching the next shackle?"

Midea allowed a sly grin to stretch across his face. "No, Lord Remus. I mean beyond that—to the fourth layer and beyond. The power I offer will not only increase the strength of your warriors but ensure that your every step is annihilation for your enemies. The trail you leave behind will serve as fertilizer for your clan's future, your path shall be one of prosperity, your name a legacy for generations to come."

The words were as smooth as honey, each one crafted to stoke Remus's ambition. Though Midea's offer was partly based in truth, there was a devilish undertone to his grin. He was more than capable of delivering what he promised, but the fine print of demon bargains were always complex.

Remus leaned back into his throne, his keen eyes narrowing as he studied Midea. "You want more than just a place to live." It was not a question, but a statement filled with expectation.

Midea nodded, lowering his voice slightly. "Yes. I have two... children under my care." He chose his words carefully. "They are currently immobile, housed within eggs. But I need your village to help guard and protect them as they grow. They are special, and I assure you, should you offer your protection—even at the risk of death—I will fight by your side and teach you all I can."

"Eggs?" Remus's brow furrowed, his deep voice filled with suspicion. "Are these mythical beasts you speak of?"

Midea smiled wryly. "Something like that, yes."

Remus stood from his throne once more, his large frame casting a shadow over Midea. Without warning, he grabbed Midea by the shoulders and lifted him to his feet, his large hands gripping tightly as he sized him up. Then, with a booming laugh , he slapped Midea's shoulders and pulled him into a rough embrace.

"I don't see why not!" Remus declared, his voice filled with enthusiasm. "I accept your offer! Let us celebrate the long relationship that is to come!"

The surrounding clan members erupted into cheers, their voices echoing through the grand hall. Red streamers fluttered as the room seemed to come alive with the anticipation of festivity.

Midea, for his part, allowed himself a smile. His gamble had paid off. Now, all he had to do was secure the safety of Lervea's eggs and use the power of this clan to ensure that no one would threaten his mission. He had sown the seeds of alliance and, perhaps, control. As the celebration began to roar to life around him, Midea's mind was already working, calculating the next steps in his plan. And with the protection of the Great Canid clan, his future, and the future of the eggs, had just grown far more secure.

Next, it was time to bring the eggs to the village.

---

Garran had never trusted the so-called Dark Satyr. Midea was too smooth, too careful with his words, like a serpent coiled and waiting for the perfect moment to strike. There was something unnerving about him, an aura of darkness that seemed to cling to him like a second skin. Even now, after his father, Remus, had welcomed the stranger into their village, Garran's instincts screamed at him not to lower his guard.

Though Midea had only demonstrated second-layer numen, Garran wasn't sure even his father, a powerful third-layer cultivator, could easily defeat the Satyr if it came down to it. The dark, oppressive energy that Midea commanded unsettled Garran. His kin, however, had been too easily swayed, too quick to cheer and embrace this new ally. The Dark Satyr had wormed his way into their ranks with promises of power, and now they all followed his lead without question. Garran couldn't help but resent their blind enthusiasm.

The village had worked tirelessly under Midea's supervision to build the pens for the two eggs he had brought back. Garran had been curious about what kind of creature could lay such massive, radiant eggs. He had seen larger eggs from titanic beasts like the Apis, whose bodies dwarfed mountains, but these were different. The patterns of gold, purple, black, and red shifted across their surfaces like living brushstrokes, mesmerizing and almost enchanting in their beauty.

For just a brief moment, Garran had found himself unable to look away. The swirling patterns arrested his attention, stirring emotions of their beauty he didn't quite understand—he was never one to appreciate art. But then, with a shake of his head, he snapped out of the trance. There was something more than physical beauty about these eggs; they radiated a strange power that he couldn't place, and it unsettled him further.

After organizing the work crew, Garran called out to his men. "Alright boys, let's get to work!"

They worked well into the evening, building two pens near the center of the village, where the eggs could be kept safe and exposed to the sun. The pens were made from Fuulatru, a material harvested from the branches of a special tree known for its softness and strength. Under Midea's watchful, over-attentive supervision, they crafted the pens before Midea inscribed intricate wards, symbols imbued with strange energy. Midea had promised to teach the village the secrets of these wards, though Garran was certain the Satyr would never share his best techniques.

By the time the suns had set, and the moons had begun to rise, the pens were finished. Exhausted but satisfied with their work, Garran's men dispersed, ready to rest after a long day. Garran, too, was ready to retire to his quarters, but as he made his way through the village, a sound shattered the evening calm.

"Krshhh BOOM!"

The sound echoed across the village, shaking the very ground beneath Garran's feet. His instincts kicked in, and without hesitation, he bolted toward the village walls. His feet pounded against the dirt as he raced up the steps to the top of the barricade, his eyes scanning the horizon for the source of the disturbance. And then he saw them.

"Damn Vampyrs!" Garran hissed through clenched teeth.

The creatures clawed their way up the walls with disturbing speed. Their bodies were nothing more than desiccated husks of flesh, their skin stretched tightly over their bones. Their long, talon-like claws dripped with a sickly green poison that corroded everything it touched, and their red, glowing eyes pierced through the dark like beacons of malevolence. Around them, blood floated in eerie, ethereal streams, as if the very essence of life had been twisted and enslaved by these abominations. Their fangs glistened under the moonlight, sharp and deadly.

The stench was overwhelming—rot and decay, a nauseating aroma that clung to the air and made Garran's stomach turn. But there was no time to dwell on the horrors of the Vampyrs. They were scaling the walls faster than Garran had expected, and his men needed orders.

"Men, take your positions!" he shouted, his voice carrying over the chaos. "Those skilled in wood arts, get to the lower walls! Thrust your spears—don't let them through! Someone bring the oil—slick the walls and dilute their blood, and they'll lose control!"

The Vampyrs had a twisted control over their own blood, using it as a weapon, but Garran knew their command over it weakened when diluted. He had faced them before, and he was no stranger to their tactics.

As if in response to his command, one of the Vampyrs raised its grotesque arm and fired a blood bullet straight at him. Garran reacted instinctively, ducking to the side as the crimson projectile whizzed past his face, narrowly missing him. Without wasting a second , Garran retaliated, thrusting his spear downward. His spear's tip gleamed with numen energy as he imbued it with spear intent, sending a shadowy spear-like projection through the air. The projection pierced the Vampyr's skull with a sickening crack, and its body fell limp, crashing into the mass of creatures climbing behind it.

"Go! Go! Go!" Garran yelled, urging his men into action.

The soldiers followed his orders, pouring oil down the walls and making it nearly impossible for the Vampyrs to gain traction. The slick surface sent several of the creatures tumbling back down into the horde below, their blood projectiles splattering harmlessly against the now-coated wall . But for every Vampyr that fell, more took its place. There were hundreds of them, their desiccated forms swarming the village like a tide of death.

His men were holding the line for now, but Garran could see the strain. Even with the oil, the Vampyrs' numbers were overwhelming, and it was only a matter of time before they breached the defenses. The wood arts users worked tirelessly at the lower walls, summoning sharp wooden protrusions to impale the Vampyrs as they climbed. It slowed their advance, but it wasn't enough. Garran could hear the pained cries of his soldiers as the creatures broke through the defenses, their talons ripping through flesh with ease.

The Vampyrs were breaching the village.

"Fall back to more defensive positions!" Garran ordered, his voice cutting through the growing panic. His men scrambled to comply, retreating from the walls to regroup closer to the heart of the village. Garran stayed behind to cover their retreat.

A Vampyr leaped toward him, its claws outstretched, venom dripping from its talons. Garran met the attack head-on, his spear glowing with numen energy.

'Cut.'

He swung his spear in a fluid motion, slicing through the Vampyr's body with ease. The creature's desiccated form split in half, the venom dissipating harmlessly into the air. Two more Vampyrs lunged at him from the sides, but Garran was quicker. He flipped over the one on his right, grabbing its head and slamming it into the other. With a powerful thrust, he drove his spear through both their skulls, ending them in an instant.

Behind him, he sensed movement. A blood bullet shot toward his back, but Garran was ready. With a swift turn, he deflected the projectile with his spear, the sound of metal against liquid reverberating through the night.

'Lunge.'

In a burst of speed, Garran closed the distance between himself and another Vampyr, his spear piercing through the creature's chest with a shower of green energy. The abomination let out a final, agonized wail before disintegrating into dust.

Garran moved like a whirlwind, his spear an extension of his body, each strike precise and lethal. The light of his spear cut through the darkness, and with every motion, another Vampyr fell. But despite his efforts, the creatures just kept coming. His men were falling back, their numbers thinning as the relentless assault continued.

As Garran prepared to regroup with his men, a voice echoed through the battlefield, cutting through the chaos.

"Pride is the fortress of the fool and the weakness of the man."

Garran turned to see Midea standing at the edge of the battlefield, his body shrouded in a haze of purple-black numen. The energy rained down upon the Vampyrs like a deadly mist, and Garran watched in astonishment as the creatures' movements became erratic.

The Vampyrs grew more frenzied, their attacks becoming wild and uncoordinated. But something else was happening—their bodies were breaking down. Every step they took shattered their bones, every movement tore their muscles apart. It was as if the very weight of existence had become too much for them to bear. The once-dangerous creatures crumbled under the force of gravity, their own bodies betraying them.

Midea moved through the battlefield like a wraith, his dark energy twisting and coiling around him. Wherever he went, death followed. His presence alone seemed to sap the strength from the Vampyrs, their bodies disintegrating at the mere touch of his numen. But even with Midea's intervention, the tide of battle hadn't completely turned. Their battle continued.

---

Tanya had been banging on that space of darkness for what felt like an eternity. At first, it was suffocating, like being trapped in a coffin, but the longer she waited, the more she learned. The dark walls seemed to weaken under the force of her blows, and slowly, the structure began to crack. With a final, forceful slam, the darkness gave way, and for the first time in what felt like forever, light flooded her vision.

She rolled out from her prison, the sudden sensation of air against her slick body overwhelming her senses. Everything felt off. The air was dense, almost too heavy, like it was trying to pin her down. But instinctively, her body shifted in a way that made the weight vanish, her new form already adapting to the pressure.

The first thing she registered was the softness beneath her. She was enveloped in warm, fluffy material, its touch oddly comforting. She blinked, her mind struggling to adjust. The second thing she noticed was an all-consuming hunger—an overwhelming urge to devour something, anything. And the third was her surroundings. Slowly, she opened her eyes to take in her environment, and immediately, the fragments of a gold and purple shell caught her attention. They were slick and glistening with fluid, as was she .

Without hesitation, she began devouring the fragments, chewing them down with ease. Her teeth were sharp, two rows of them, fully developed despite her being an infant. She couldn't help but pause as the realization hit her: she was in a baby's body. And not just any baby—a creature that had hatched from an egg, slim but large for an infant and undeniably different. Her form felt far stronger than it should be, and the hunger gnawing at her told her that feeding wasn' t just a necessity—it was survival.

The soul of Tanya von Degurechaff had lost to whatever she had been reborn as—this creature with two rows of teeth, an unusual physique, and an overwhelming instinct to consume. She was keenly aware of her current state, yet she couldn't bring herself to be shocked. What was there to be shocked about when her entire existence had already been obliterated?

She felt another pair of eyes beneath her normal pair, though they remained closed. Odd, but not entirely surprising considering everything else about her body was strange. She chose not to focus on her physiology just yet. Instead, she looked around, taking stock of her surroundings.

A roof made from blue-green wood stretched above her. The fluffy material that had cushioned her landing surrounded her, and the remnants of the egg she had hatched from were strewn across the pen she was in. Everything was unfamiliar, and yet somehow she wasn't afraid. Not of this new world, nor of her current state. Fear was useless now. She needed to She needed to adapt, to understand.

Then she heard it: screams, roars, and clashing blades in the distance.

The sounds of battle, all too familiar from her second life. She recognized them instantly. Chaos. War. It seemed like she had been dropped into another battlefield. Typical violence, really. Even in this strange new world, she was still surrounded by it.

Instinct took herself over. She climbed to her feet, noticing how surprisingly steady she felt despite her small, infant body. She flapped her wings to lift over the small wooden wall of the pen, and that's when she realized—she had wings.

Not just one set of wings, but four. They flapped almost instinctively, helping her rise above the barrier with ease. She took a moment to register the wings but again brushed it off. She was an avian creature now, or something similar. The fact that she had hatched from an egg, combined with these wings and the strange physiology of her body, seemed to confirm that she was part of some avian race—though the four eyes and multiple wings felt… off. Unusual.

There was no time to dwell on it. She needed to assess the situation.

Peering over the edge of the pen, her eyes landed on the chaos outside. Blood, bodies, and monsters filled the scene. Desiccated creatures, their flesh twisted and decayed, moved through the battlefield, with blood flowing unnaturally around them. Their claws, dripping with a sickly green poison, slashed at the wolf-like humanoids that fought back with strange energy. Strange—they were just like her, perhaps it was a property of this world? The wolf-beasts were tall, humanoid in form but with distinctly animalistic features, wielding weapons charged with energy that looked vaguely familiar to her. It wasn't magic, but it was something close.

She scanned the area and noticed the battlefield was nothing short of pandemonium. Monsters rampaged through the village, and these humanoids, who seemed like the local inhabitants, were defending themselves with everything they had.

Her attention was drawn to a figure darting through the battlefield. A dark, goat-legged humanoid with a maniacal smile was weaving between the monsters, destroying them with a single palm strike, leaving nothing but ash and destruction in his wake. Tanya's lips curled into a sneer. The sight reminded her too much of her second life, of magic, of battles she had fought as Major Tanya von Degurechaff. She wondered faintly if Being X truly was unrelated to this particular reincarnation given the sight.

Tanya then looked upward, noticing the suns—several of them—rising into the sky, each shining in a different hue. The air was still thick with energy, an ambient force that hummed through everything. Her instincts sharpened, and she felt something stirring within her. The power of this world felt raw and primal, but she could sense the violence beneath it, the constant undercurrent of danger. She didn't know how she could sense it, but it was something she could do—something her instincts told her.

Her instincts flared again. Something was wrong.

Her gaze was drawn to a pen just a few meters away, similar to the one she had just climbed out of. Inside was another egg, red and black, slightly shorter than hers but radiant in its colors. As soon as her eyes landed on it, she felt a wave of something powerful—a connection. It was deeper than instinct, something primal and profound like this egg was tied to her very being. She felt a softness toward it, something she couldn't explain. But then she noticed the threat.

One of the monsters—one of those desiccated, blood-wielding creatures—was stalking toward the pen. Its red eyes gleamed with malice, and its green talons dripped venom as it closed in on the egg. Tanya's heart pounded in her chest, her the entire being suddenly alight with rage.

Before she could even think, her body moved .

____________________________

Midea was growing irritated. The Vampyrs had been assaulting the village since nightfall, their relentless onslaught pushing his endurance to its limit. By now, the sun had risen, yet the creatures continued their attack. He had slaughtered hundreds of them, their bodies piling up like grotesque hills beneath the walls. But no matter how many fell, more took their place, as if drawn by some unholy force. The exhaustion was catching up to him—he had used a considerable amount of his energy in a powerful technique that amplified the pride of the weak-minded, causing their physical durability to crumble under the weight of their inflated arrogance. It was a legacy technique from the house of Valefor, but it drained him heavily. It was great for killing those weaker than you en mass, but like all such abilities, it was energy-intensive.

Despite the chaos surrounding him, his eyes constantly flicked back to the two eggs he had to protect, or risk spiritual annihilation. He had checked on them several times throughout the battle, reassuring himself that they were still intact. But now, something was different .

Midea blinked, stunned at the sight before him.

A girl—a child—stood outside the pen where the purple-gold egg had been. She was small, though huge for her status as a newborn, as she stood a hair over a meter tall, and there was an unmistakable strength in her stance. Despite her newborn status, despite the baby fat that softened her cheeks, she stood like a warrior, firm on her feet. Her body was, strangely enough, lean and oddly muscular for a child so young. But it wasn't just her physical form that caught Midea's attention—it was the strength radiating from her. Not physical, but a presence that suggested she knew of the world and its violence. There was a calmness and coldness in her gaze that could only be born through experience.

Her amethyst eyes glowed like galaxies condensed into her gaze, their brilliance cutting through the battlefield's gloom. Beneath her eyes were intricate gold line tattoos, born with her, making her look oddly beautiful and profound. Her hair was a shimmering cascade of pure gold, woven from the light of a thousand stars, and nestled within her locks were silver-grey feathers, delicate yet strong, shimmering with a subtle gradient from dark to light. Despite her chubby cheeks, her delicate features had already begun to stand out.

Four wings spread from her back, majestic and powerful, their span twice her height. Each feather gleamed silver-grey, like celestial metal, catching the first light of the rising sun and almost giving her the appearance of an angelic warrior, much to his chagrin. She looked around curiously, her head tilting toward the sky as she took in the world surrounding her.

Midea's heart raced. He knew what this child was—Lervea's offspring, the firstborn of that great beast who called her people the Tyrannius.

Suddenly, her gaze shifted, and Midea followed her line of sight. His stomach dropped as he saw what she was looking at—the other egg, the red-and-black orb, the one that was still intact. But something was wrong. One of the Vampyrs was already moving toward it, its green claws reaching out to strike.

Fear. He felt fear, and he immediately went to take action. But before he could even move, he saw the first child of that monster Lervea act.

In an instant, she blazed forward, her movements a blur, almost faster than Midea could track, though that was mostly due to his exhaustion. Her speed was beyond anything he expected, especially from someone so newly born. But there was no denying her power—she moved with pure instinct and a surprising combat sense that could only belong to someone more experienced. Her wings propelled her with terrifying force.

The Vampyr had no chance. She ran through the monster, the very moment she had done so, the creature exploded into a shower of blood and gore, its body obliterated as if it had been struck by the wrath of the heavens themselves. The sheer force of her attack shook the ground beneath them, sending shockwaves through the air. The remains of the Vampyr scattered like ash in the wind, as if its existence had been erased in the blink of an eye. Despite the feat, she stood there unharmed , despite running through a creature of the first layer. The huge boom was enough to attract the attention of the civilians and warriors.

The battlefield went silent.

All eyes turned to her—warriors, civilians, even the few remaining Vampyrs paused in their frenzy, as if recognizing the absurdity of what had just occurred. The light of the yellow-gold sun, the youngest of the seven, bathed her in its glow, casting her in an almost divine radiance. Her bloodstained body stood in stark contrast to her brilliant hair and gleaming wings, but it only served to enhance the otherworldly presence she exuded.

Her brilliant amethyst eyes were like gems among the blood-stained visage of her face. They shone like two brilliant stars in the midst of the carnage. The halo of light from her wings made her appear larger, grander than her small form would suggest. Blood dripped from her hands, but she didn't seem to notice. Her focus was solely on the egg she had just saved. She looked like something straight out of legend, and in a way, Midea supposed, she was.

"The seventh Surya," he heard Garran mutter.

"The seventh Surya?"

"The seventh Surya!"

"'"'THE SEVENTH SURYA!!!""" The chant rose among the crowd, echoing across the battlefield. The myth was well-known—Surya, the seventh sun, the youngest of the celestial bodies that watched over their world, was said to herald great change and potential. The suns were like gods in this world, each representing different aspects of life. All children born on days when the seven suns were in the sky gained the title 'The seventh,' and due to the little monster's look, they had already named her Surya—the seventh sun, born on a day when the seven stars hung in the heavens. It was a powerful name.

Midea watched in silence as the chants grew louder, the village's awe palpable. He couldn't help but shake his head, remembering the epithet his elders had whispered to him with regard to Lerveas people. A wry smile tugged at his lips as he exclaimed .

"Truly a race of natural-born Tyrants."

__________________________

 

[Behemoth.]

𝔽𝕀ℝ𝔼𝕊 𝕆𝔽 𝔽𝔼𝔸𝕊𝕋 𝔸ℕ𝔻 𝕊𝕆ℕ𝔾𝕊 𝕆𝔽 𝕍𝕀ℂ𝕋𝕆ℝ𝕐

____________________________________________

Tanya could not look away from the egg before her, despite the gibberish that echoed in her surroundings. There was something far more important about it than anything else around her. It pulsed with a presence, a rhythm, like a silent voice calling her to it. And so, she responded, step by step, her body drawn forward with a sense of inevitability. The closer she got, the stronger the pull became, until she found herself standing right in front of the large red and black sphere.

Almost without thinking, she leaned her ear against it.

Thump. Thump.

The pulse was powerful, steady. Tanya felt a strange, almost unconscious smile spread across her face before she could stop herself. It wasn't her own reaction, but something deep, something instinctual. She tried to suppress it, catching herself, though the joy she felt from that heartbeat was raw and real. Her instincts had kicked in, running her body on autopilot.

But the truth was unavoidable—there was a connection between her and this egg. She had remembered from her biology classes in university that when it came to eggs, if she was an avian race like she assumed, then pigments could be distributed in the oviduct leading to different egg colors from the same mother. That being said when it came to chickens in particular usually the breed decided the color of the egg. Though colors could be mixed if there was inter-species crossbreeding. But her connection to this egg was not so simple, so while their colors were not the same she could expect there to be some level of relation between them. The connection between her and this egg simply felt too real to ignore.

Despite this, she tried to remind herself that these emotions weren't hers . She was no longer purely Tanya von Degurechaff. She was something else now, something that had changed on a fundamental level. But that was not something she wanted to think about , not yet. She had to focus on the situation at hand.

Turning her attention to the wolf-like humanoids surrounding her, she noticed they were pumping their fists into the air, chanting something in their strange, guttural language. She didn't understand a word. Their language was all sharp sounds and low growls, fitting for a race of their appearance—feral, primal beings. Yet even more distracting than their incomprehensible speech was the strange feeling stirring within her as she looked at them.

Her jaws creaked as her teeth clenched together. They donned her face in a mask of ferocity that was unfamiliar to her. Somewhere in the back of her mind, in the very blood roiling in her body and pulsing in her veins, something screamed.

KILL. KILL AND EAT THE STRONG.

It was overwhelming—the hunger, the desire to consume, to feast on the strength of others. Her body ached for it, urging her to take action. It was as if another being, deep within her, was trying to take control. It was strange to have such overwhelming almost speaking instincts that were so distinct from your conscious mind. The sensation of having the two battle it out was bizarre, even for someone like her, who had faced strange and terrifying things in her two lives.

This new body, this new form—it crowded power, and it screamed for blood.

She could sense the truth of it too. These beings were strong, and her body yearned to consume them, to take their power and make it her own. But she wasn't foolish. Even exhausted from their recent battle, these villagers wielded abilities far beyond anything she had encountered in her past life. This body was strong, but it was also newborn. She could not stand up to the might of a combined village. And the thing about civilizations was they never fought alone, she would be overwhelmed even if she killed everyone here, if she was even capable of such a feat. So as much as her instincts urged her to strike, she understood the consequences. She couldn't overpower a village, not yet, and even if she could somehow succeed in slaughtering them.

She wasn't some mindless beast. She wasn't a mass murderer. Well no that was a lie. But she had never murdered en masse for that sort of reason.

Her gaze drifted back to the egg behind her. The thought of leaving to deal with these urges crossed her mind. And suddenly, a white-hot pain seared through her skull, as if a magic-infused bullet had torn through her brain. A feeling she actually knew. She grimaced, biting down a curse. Ah, yes—leaving the egg was simply not an option. Her instincts, primal and powerful as they were, would not allow it. If holding back from killing the villagers would be a struggle, then abandoning the egg would surely tear her apart. She could feel the inherent wrongness of the very thought, the deep-rooted need to protect it. She shook her head wearily, well that was simply that.

Tanya then clicked her tongue, frustration building within her. What a troublesome situation this was.

She sighed, clearing her throat, and testing her voice. Despite her youth her tongue while differently shaped compared to her life as a human–she could literally feel she could make it barbed with a flex–had more than enough in common with her human one to speak with. She cleared her throat. Yes, speaking would be no issue at all, and that was a problem. It was hard to remain silent in emotionally charged situations, even for someone as composed as she was. And if she spoke , they would realize she was intelligent. They wouldn't understand the words she spoke, but the mere fact that she could speak would reveal far more than she wanted.

Tanya had no idea how these creatures would react to discovering a newborn who could not only run through desiccated blood-controlling monsters with ease but could speak an unknown language as well. Maybe the children of this world were born with such innate power, or maybe her form was special. Whatever the case, it would be safer to avoid speaking for now. She'd need to come up with an explanation if she slipped, but for now, her best bet was to remain silent and hope to learn their language quickly. If she did so she wouldn't be caught period.

As the villagers calmed themselves from their chanting, she scanned the crowd, searching for anyone who looked similar to her in form. Her head twisted around, observing the wolf-like humanoids with their various ear colors—tawny brown, silver like her wings, gold like her hair, and even dark black. Yet none of them had wings.

The only exception was the goat-like man—pitch-black skin, six fingers on each hand, and red eyes. He stood apart from the others, watching her with a wry smile. Despite his calm demeanor, there was a nervous glint in his eyes, one that was quickly masked when a gigantic wolf-humanoid—easily over eight feet tall—approached him, pointing in Tanya's direction.

The goat-man's smile faded slightly as the two began to talk, their conversation growing more intense, with occasional glances thrown her way.

Yes, this was going to be interesting.


____________________________

Midea watched the child of Lervea—now named Surya—with an interested grin, though the expression was more to mask his anxiety than anything else. He hadn't expected the egg to hatch, not yet, not for while it was in his possession . And now? Oh, ever sinful Lord Satan who slaughtered a thousand lambs, what was he supposed to do? He was no expert in raising a child. What if he taught her the wrong thing and Lervea decided to turn him into fucking goat stew ? He was cooked, fried, might as well kill himself and feed himself to Lervea already.

The more he thought about it, the more the weight of the situation settled on his shoulders. After all, he was barely more than a child himself, an imp in the hierarchy of demons. He wasn't prepared for any of this. He had heard what happened to those who displeased Tyrannius—being erased, soul and all, with no chance of revival. Yeah, he definitely didn't want that. The suddenness of it all had him on edge, like at the actual point of the knife, but he tried to keep his composure, watching Surya with a mix of curiosity and fear.

He tried to keep his expression neutral, watching as Surya placed her ear against the other egg. Her small face lit up with a smile, amethyst eyes sparkling like stars as she listened to the pulse of life within. The life of yet another little monster who may hatch at any moment. So while the sight was oddly cute, it did nothing to soothe his nerves. In fact, it made everything worse. The more he thought about it, the more he realized just how unprepared he was for this responsibility .

It was a bit curious though, did she know? Know that the other egg was her sibling that is? And despite her apparent innocence, there was something unnerving about her. Those amethyst eyes of hers held a light of experience—an intensity he had only seen in seasoned warriors. Could it be that her mind was already developed? It wasn't impossible. He'd heard of races like the dragons from the Deluvian planes, who passed down knowledge and abilities genetically, creating a sort of ancestral library in their offspring. He knew nothing of the Tyrannius, so who was to say they didn't have something similar?

The headache brewing in his skull intensified. He couldn't rest, not yet. While no one else had noticed, Midea had seen the way Surya's jaws had clenched, her teeth grinding together as if trying to contain some deeper emotion. There was something dangerous simmering beneath the surface, and it worried him.

That raw, bloodthirsty aura—he recognized it immediately. Surya might still be a child, but he could feel the lethal intent radiating from her. Though he was confident he could defeat her if necessary, the problem was that he couldn't afford to harm her. That was a line he dared not cross.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Chief Remus approaching. The leader of the Great Canid clan was massive, even for a member of his race, easily towering over everyone else. His excitement was palpable as he approached him. Oh, wonderful .

The massive wolf-like man gestured toward the baby Tyrannius, his voice booming with excitement. "A mythical beast! You truly weren't lying. What kind of child, who has yet to begin cultivation, can run THROUGH a cultivator of the first layer? Is she one of your kind?"

"No, Chief Remus, she is not," Midea replied smoothly, having covered up his previous nervousness. "But she is important—important enough that I will protect her with my life. I hope you'll help me do so, as our agreement stated." His voice held a subtle edge, probing for Remus's commitment.

The chief let out a throaty laugh that shook the air around them. It was the type of laugh only a man of his sheer stature could give. "HAHA! Of course, of course! Look at them," he waved toward the crowd, "they've already accepted her and named the girl! She's a child of the suns. She is special."

"From today forward, let us call the girl Surya!" Remus roared, his voice booming across the village.

'RAAAHHHH!' The villagers responded in kind, their collective cheer shaking the trees with the force of their voices. Surya flinched slightly at the noise, but quickly steadied herself, her expression neutral.

Midea shook his head slightly. "That's good to hear, Chief Remus, but I have to ask—are these Vampyr attacks a common occurrence?"

Remus's laughter died down, his expression darkening as he glanced at Midea. "They've become more frequent recently," he said, his voice quieter now. "The accursed races have been almost targeting us, as if they were sending their forces to whittle down our numbers. I don't know why, but it feels like a coordinated effort. I will do whatever it takes to protect my people, even if it means forming alliances I wouldn't have considered before. I am no simple fool ruled by power or ambition. If I need power then I will take it."

Midea's interest was piqued. So the chief wasn't just some power-hungry leader; he was a man willing to gamble everything for the sake of his people. His words also carried a subtle warning—if Midea had been lying about his promises of power, there would be consequences. He was willing to risk letting him into his village with two supposed mythical beast eggs for power in order to save his people. He could see his intent.

And he could respect it. After all, pride was the very nature of demons like himself, born from the Circle of Pride. Remus wasn't naive, and Midea could appreciate the chief's willingness to walk the fine line between cooperation and caution. He also recognized the threat—if Midea failed or betrayed him, Remus was likely planning to use him and the eggs as a bargaining chip in a larger conflict. Or simply attack him or the eggs while he was in combat with the Vampyrs. The Vampyrs were indiscriminate the clan was not. But while he could respect the man's will, he had a will of his own.

"Of course, it's natural to be wary, Chief Remus," Midea said smoothly, snapping his fingers. In an instant, an inky blackness spread from the pens, enveloping the area in shadows. The villagers jumped back, startled, and Surya flapped her wings, hovering above the ground to avoid the encroaching darkness.

Remus's eyes widened in shock, his voice rising in anger. "What is this, Midea?"

Midea allowed a serpentine smile to spread across his face as the darkness receded back into the pens. "Just a precaution, Chief. I am no fool either. It's always best to be prepared." The darkness was his own art, linking the area to the cave he had set up earlier. With just a few words, he could transfer the eggs—and himself—back there in an instant.

Remus exhaled sharply, his frustration evident before he masked it with another laugh. "I see." His tone was calmer now, but there was a lingering tension between them.

"Worry not," Midea added, his voice more diplomatic. "I will teach you the wards and breathing techniques I promised. But in return, I'd like to hear more about these attacks—and about the accursed races you mentioned."

"For now, though, I have a baby monster to deal with," Midea said, his gaze shifting to Surya.

As he walked toward the pens, the child of Lervea descended from the air, before doing so she looked at him then at the sky, and with a sigh that was everything but vocal she returned to the ground landing gracefully by the second egg. She looked at Midea with curiosity, her gaze devoid of fear. There was only expectation in her eyes, a quiet assessment that unnerved him more than it should have. Damn! Why did she feel more mature than he was?

Just then, Garran, the son of Remus and the general of the clan, approached with a fresh flick bandage on his waist. A red-eared girl was by his side, her tailing excitedly as she walked with him. The two warriors glanced at Surya, then at Midea.

"She's probably scared of you," Garran said with a hint of distrust. "That darkness was your doing, right?"

Before Midea could respond, the red-eared girl slapped Garran's wound.

"Arrgh! What the hell, Hati?"

Hati wrinkled her nose at him. "Weren't you the one grateful for having fewer lives lost today? Not to mention, you're arguing in front of a child! Apologize!"

"...This is why you're still single." The wolf girl put up a threatening hand while Garran flinched.

Garran sighed in defeat. "Alright, alright. I'm sorry." He nodded toward Midea, begrudgingly.

Hati's face lit up with a wide grin. She reached behind her and pulled out a flask, bending down to Surya's level. "Rannhorn milk," she said, uncorking the flask. "It's a delicacy, and it's good for newborns. This one here, with the stick up his bum," she pointed a thumb at Garran, "thought of it."

She grinned up at him. He couldn't help but let out a chuckle while Garran rolled his eyes. He was surprised at the girl. Most of the women from his observations held more domestic roles and wore conservative clothing and had longer hair. But she had short fiery untamed hair. A battle scar that split her left brow and wore no clothing on her midriff like many of the shirtless male warriors. Though she obviously covered her chest. Garran flicked her on the top of the head which made her look at him with an annoyed glare. He responded in kind.

Midea turned his head away from the pair instead watching in amusement as Surya's eyes widened at the scent of the milk. She cautiously took the flask, sniffed it, and then, with a look of pure ecstasy, began to drink greedily. Hati took the opportunity to pounce, wrapping her arms around the child in a playful hug.

"Aww, your wings are so soft," she cooed, nuzzling her face into Surya's neck.

"HATI!" Garran shouted, his voice filled with panic. "You can't just—"

"What?" Hati interrupted her tone light and teasing. "She's already part of the clan! We named her and everything. Plus, look at her—she's adorable."

Midea watched the scene unfold with amusement. Despite being a newborn, Surya seemed entirely unbothered by the attention. She continued drinking from the flask, her expression one of pure satisfaction. When she finished, she looked up at Hati expectantly, as if waiting for more.

"Isn't she just the cutest?" Hati said with a grin, producing another flask and handing it to Surya.

Midea shook his head. "You're not afraid of her?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Hati looked at him like he'd just said something ridiculous. "Afraid? Of what? I'm the moon-devouring wolf. Why would I be afraid of a child?"

Midea raised an eyebrow. "Moon-devouring wolf?"

He was pretty sure she was just on the first layer, however. To his estimation only at the 4th shackle as well. Eating a moon, such a feat was reserved for those at the late 5th layer. She couldn't possibly achieve such a thing.

Garran sighed deeply. "She's not well. She changed her name to Hati, based on a myth of a wolf that devours the moon in our culture. It's… ambitious. And kinda fucking honestly stupid."

"It represents my goals!" Hati declared proudly, her grin as wide as ever.

Garran rubbed his temples in exasperation. "Please, ignore this brat."

Midea couldn't help but chuckle. "Ambitious indeed."

Garran rubbed his temples, clearly exhausted by the entire ordeal. "Let's have tonight's celebration here," he said, directing his words toward Midea. "It's unlikely she'll want to leave the egg, right?"

Midea nodded, his gaze drifting back to Surya. "Yes, I believe she'll stay close to the egg for now."

He crouched down to meet her at eye level, an awkward task given his goat-like body structure. "Nice to meet you, child of Lervea. I am Midea Scelus, your guardian in this world."

Surya looked into his eyes, her gaze piercing and intense. Then, with deliberate slowness, she reached out and grabbed his hand.

Surya met his gaze with those piercing amethyst eyes. Then, with a deliberate motion, she reached out and grasped his hand.

In that moment, Midea felt it—a bond forming between them, something deeper than words or promises. It was a contract, unspoken but absolute.

A bond that would not be broken.

________________________

Garran shook his head with exhaustion as he stepped into the ceremonial hall. The weight of the night's battle still lingered, his body aching with every step, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone. Not after what had happened. Midea had been useful —annoying, but useful—especially with that eerie darkness he had summoned. Garran wasn't sure if he trusted the Dark Satyr, but the fact that fewer of his warriors had died was undeniable. And for that, Hati had convinced him to offer the Rannhorn milk. Not that he would've come up with the idea himself.

Oh, Hati. She was his childhood friend. Originally her name was Amara but she decided to change it as she felt it wasn't grand enough for her. She was atypical, to say the least. Unlike the other girls, she insisted on going against tradition and fighting in battle. She was pushy and often downright annoying. She was also somewhat stupid. But even then he couldn't help himself worrying about her. If only so that she wouldn't get herself killed on the battlefield. In a way, he felt guilty. Their village was somewhat patriarchal the only reason she was somewhat allowed to act as she pleased was because her dad was a great warrior under his father who died saving his life. That and she was his own childhood friend. While he did like the traditions of the village somewhat he would change them when he became chief. He was not so blind as to think all women were the same. And he was not so cruel to restrict his friend as such.
He sighed shooing the thoughts, before making his way toward the back of the hall where the celebration supplies were stored. He grumbled as he began rifling through a pile of assorted materials, pulling out what he needed for the night's feast. As he pulled one too many items from the top of the pile, the entire thing came crashing down on him in a loud, echoing clatter.

"Shhh crkkk!"

"Oh, great Fenrir, help me..." Garran groaned under the weight of the supplies, the world momentarily spinning from the force of the fall.

Before he could even attempt to push the load off, a dark curtain of hair surrounded his vision. He blinked, looking up through the mass of fallen items to see a familiar face staring down at him with a soft smile. Her black hair cascaded over her shoulders, framing her delicate features. Unlike most of the women in the village, her skin was a pale milky white, which often made her stand out among the more tanned populace. But it wasn't just her complexion that drew eyes—it was her features. Her heart-shaped face held an elegance that was rare, her button nose perfectly centered, her cheeks lightly flushed with a hint of red that contrasted beautifully with her pale skin. Her long lashes cast faint shadows over her striking blue eyes, as bright and deep as the fifth sun. Her lips, a reddish-pink hue, curved into a knowing smile as her black ears twitched slightly in his direction.

It was Lain.

"You just gonna keep laying there, oh great general?" she asked, tilting her head, amusement evident in her voice.

Garran scrambled to his feet, almost knocking his head into hers in his haste. He kicked aside the pile of fallen materials, sending them clattering again, his face flushing in embarrassment.

"HAH HAH! Ahem. Yes, yes, I was just doing some... uh... weight training, you know, trying to lift things. Gotta train the muscles, right?" He raised his arms, flexing his impressive physique . His muscles bulged beneath his skin, a testament to his warrior training, and to his heritage as his father's son. His old man was the biggest dude in the village after all. Unfortunately for him, the act of flexing tore the wound at his side, causing blood to see through the freshly applied bandages.

Lain's smile widened knowingly as she watched him, clearly seeing through his bluff. "Yes, yes, of course. Training, right." Her voice was laced with amusement. "Now, let's get you patched up, hmm?" Without waiting for a response, she reached behind her long, flowing dress, pulling out a fresh set of bandages. The dress despite its size could not hide the curve of her chest he noted embarrassingly enough.

Garran, caught off guard by her sudden kindness, began unraveling the makeshift bandages Hati had wrapped around him earlier. He dropped them to the floor with a slight grunt of discomfort, failing to notice the little detail Hati had added—a crude drawing of a wolf devouring a moon at the end of the bandages, now soaked in blood.

Under the moonlight that filtered through the ceremonial hall's high windows, Lain worked quietly, her hands gentle yet precise as she wrapped the fresh bandages around Garran's waist. Her fingers brushed against his skin, and though the touch was clinical, Garran couldn't help but feel his heart skip a beat. She hummed softly as she worked, her voice as light and soothing as a breeze, and Garran found himself lost in the rhythm of her movements.

"Thank you," Lain said suddenly, her voice breaking the quiet.

Garran blinked, looking down at her in confusion. "What for?"

Lain paused for a moment, her fingers stilling as she finished tying the bandage. She glanced up at him, her blue eyes meeting him with a warm, gentle smile. "For protecting the village, of course. You were brave out there, fighting the Vampyrs and keeping us safe."

"Oh!" Garran felt a rush of pride swell in his chest. "Of course! It's my duty, after all. As general, it's what I'm meant to do. Bashing vamps and the like." He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, trying not to let his grin spread too wide. He wasn't used to praise, not like this. It was mostly adult men–or Hati–slapping his back harshly with yelled congrats.

Lain's smile deepened, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "No, I meant thank you for falling over and ripping your wounds open while trying to flex your muscles."

Garran's face turned beet red. "HEY! I told you, I didn't fall over! The flexing was an accident!" He stammered, his words coming out jumbled as he tried to defend himself.

"Hoh? So you admit you were flexing?" Lain's teasing voice sent another wave of embarrassment crashing over him, and Garran felt his heart pound in his chest, more from the embarrassment than the pain.

"W-wait! No, that's not what I—uh—" Garran fumbled for a response, but Lain's melodic laughter interrupted him, her laugh like the soft chime of bells in the cool night air.

Her laughter echoed in the stillness of the hall, mingling with the soft glow of the moons. Garran found himself unable to distinguish her laughter from the rhythmic beating of his own heart. She seemed so effortless, so graceful, and in that moment, under the moonlight, with her laughter filling the air, Garran was acutely aware of just how much she stood out from the others. How different she was from a warrior girl like Hati, and how her presence seemed to stir something deeper in him.

For a moment, Garran didn't respond. He simply stood there, watching Lain as she finished bandaging him up, the scent of the fresh herbs in the bandages mixing with the cool night air.

________________________________________

Tanya had learned many things about herself in the past few hours, though some discoveries were more startling than others. The strangest revelation thus far was that she could fly. Not just the propulsion-enhanced flight she had once achieved with magic in her former life , but true, organic flight. Her wings flapped naturally, instinctively, lifting her effortlessly into the air. The sensation was strange, yet it gave her a sense of freedom and power—one she hadn't expected to feel so soon after being reborn . It was one small comfort amidst the confusing and overwhelming situation she now found herself in. Despite everything, flight felt like a piece of control she could hold onto.

However, that was the least of her problems. The presence of the other egg continued to weigh heavily on her mind. Even if she wanted to leave, she couldn't. Her instincts screamed at her not to abandon it. This egg, this being, was tied to her in some way—perhaps a sibling or another member of her race, something more significant than the mere desire to nurture it. Whatever it was, leaving it was simply not an option.

The goat-man, who had earlier displayed his impressive power by blowing up the monsters maniacally in battle began to approach her. From what she had observed he had been the one to cast the field of darkness as well. Tanya had already pegged him as a suspicious and slimy figure, the type she had dealt with many times before in her previous life. But there was something about him, a certain nervousness in his eyes whenever he glanced at her, that made her feel less afraid of him. Despite his show of power, there was a vulnerability there—a fear he couldn't quite mask. Or at least he couldn't mask before it was hard to see now. Even so, she could tell he was treading carefully around her. Whether it was because he feared her or because of his knowledge of her true nature she was unsure.

It didn't take long for more figures to approach. One was a tall, well-built wolf-man with short brown hair, sharp emerald eyes, and a square jaw. His muscular frame suggested a life of battle, though he carried himself with a calm and steady presence. The second figure was a stark contrast—a fiery-haired woman with a scar across her brow and eyes that practically gleamed with energy. Her burnt orange gaze, framed by thick eyebrows, was full of life and confidence . She was smaller than the wolf-man, but her toned physique and the ever-present grin on her face gave her a heroic and somewhat mischievous look.

The two of them engaged in playful banter, though Tanya couldn't understand the words exchanged. She was, however, beginning to recognize certain sounds they made when referring to her. A specific word or sound was thrown around often enough that Tanya started to suspect it was her name—or at least, the name they had given her.

The red-haired woman—the one who had been glacing at her with excitement—pulled out a flask and uncapped it. Immediately, an intoxicating smell hit Tanya's senses. She had never smelled anything so good in either of her lives. Her body responded immediately, her instincts urged her to accept whatever it was. Still cautious, she took the flask from the woman, giving it a few tentative sniffs before taking a sip. The liquid inside was heavenly, warming her body from the inside out, and she couldn't stop herself from greedily downing the rest.

Just as she finished, Tanya felt the weight of the woman's body against her. The redhead had taken the opportunity to glomp her, wrapping her arms around Tanya and burying her face in her neck. It was a strange sensation, especially considering she was still naked. Though Tanya preferred not to be manhandled, she had to remind that she was currently a baby. These people were, in some form, her caretakers, and she needed to play the role of an infant—at least for now. If that meant letting them hug her and coo over her, she would endure it.

Still, the red-haired woman's overly affectionate nuzzling was a bit bothersome, especially since it seemed to amuse the others.

The goat-man crouched down to her level, offering his hand while speaking in that strange, guttural language. His voice was soft, almost as if he was making a promise or oath. Though Tanya couldn't understand the words, she understood the intention behind them. The thing about people, especially when they thought they were making deals with innocent beings, was that they tended to keep their promises. There was something in the human psyche–or perhaps it should be labeled non-human psyche here– that tilted toward honesty when swearing to children or beings perceived as pure. Tanya decided to take advantage of this. She reached out and touched his hand, her small fingers gripping his larger, clawed ones.

The Goat man's eyes widened, clearly not expecting the gesture. He hesitated for a moment, then a wry smile spread across his face, as though he realized he had been cornered into some sort of responsibility. Whether he wanted it or not, he was now bound to her—at least in some capacity.

The night continued, with the wolf-man leaving briefly before returning with a beautiful woman who had long black hair. Together, they and the villagers began setting up for a celebration. They built a fire pit in the center of the former battlefield, stacking wood in an octagonal formation and filling the middle with dry leaves. The goat-man casually flicked his hand, and the wood burst into flames. Civilians, who had gone off to hunt, returned with massive, skinned beasts that they began roasting over the fire. The smell of the cooking meat filled the air, tantalizing Tanya's senses. Her body rumbled with hunger, but she held back for now, observing everything around her.

The red-haired woman, who had been bothering her earlier, now seemed visibly annoyed as she watched the wolf-man, who was gallivanting around with the black-haired woman. Tanya noticed how focused the redhead was on the wolf-man's wound, particularly the fresh bandages he had recently applied. The jealousy or frustration was clear on her face, though she didn't seem inclined to act on it—at least not yet.

Tanya's attention drifted away from the petty drama, and she began focusing inward. She needed to understand her new physiology if she was going to survive and thrive in this world. For starters, there was her tongue. It was much longer than a human tongue and almost prehensile, like a monkey's tail. With a slight flex of the muscles, she realized she could also make it barbed, a feature she would need to explore further. Then there were the marks just beneath her eyes. The red-haired woman had traced them earlier, but they weren't just decorative markings. Tanya knew instinctively that they were a second pair of eyes—though for now, they were dormant. When she tried to open them, nothing happened. They felt like skin, rougher than the rest of her face, but she was certain these were eyes waiting to awaken. It was strange however she could feel no eyeball under them. Nor any eyelashes where the markings were despite the fact they shared the color of her hair. Her new body seemed to be a bit magical, but that was to be expected she supposed.

Her wings were another marvel. Like her tongue, they could be hardened with a simple thought, becoming as tough as steel. It wasn't just for flight—they were weapons, a shield, and a tool for survival.

But the most interesting part of her new body was its ability to absorb energy. From the moment she entered this seven-sunned world, she could feel a constant, ambient energy flowing through everything around her. Her body seemed to drink it in naturally, constantly filling her with a pleasant soreness, like muscles after a workout. Yet as soon as the energy entered her body, it vanished—consumed by something within her. Whether this was unique to her or part of the natural order of this world, she didn't know yet. But it was something to be explored.

For now, though, she focused on her surroundings. The red-haired woman had stopped pestering her and was instead staring daggers at the wolf-man. She seemed intensely focused on him, particularly his interactions with the black-haired woman. Tanya smirked inwardly at the small soap opera unfolding before her. These people, despite their power and strange forms, were still prone to such human emotions. Petty jealousy and romantic rivalry. It was almost comforting to witness such normalcy in an otherwise alien world.

As the villagers continued their preparations, stacking wood and lighting fires, Tanya remained by the egg. She wasn't going anywhere. Whatever happened next, she would be here, watching, learning, and waiting for the next step in her strange new life .

The fire in the pit roared to life, and the scent of roasting meat grew stronger, causing her body to rumble again in hunger. Her stomach growled, reminding her that while she was no longer human, she still needed to eat. And soon, she would have to figure out what exactly her body crved.

But for now, she remained patient. The night was young, and there was much more to learn.

________________________

Midea observed the lively celebration from a distance, his face mostly unreadable, though the familiar sly smile played on his lips. The villagers were in high spirits, roaring with laughter and cheers, their recent victory over the Vampyrs still fresh in their minds. feasted and sang with abandon, the scent of roasting meat filling the air. Yet despite the apparent joy, Midea's mind was elsewhere, focused on the far more critical and dangerous developments unfolding in the shadows.

He swirled the dark, aromatic wine in his cup, the liquid catching the light of the roaring fire. His thoughts lingered on the eggs—the one that had hatched, now named Surya, and the unhatched one that pulsed with an ever-growing presence . The villagers had no idea how lucky—or unlucky—they were to have these Tyrannius beings among them. Surya was a child, yes, but she was far from innocent. He had seen it in her amethyst eyes, the cold, calculating light that shone far beyond her apparent age. The aura she gave off was not that of a child but of a predator.

As Midea took a sip of his wine, his eyes flicked to the fire where the villagers had gathered. Garran, the general of the clan, stood at the center of it, his powerful frame towering over most of the other warriors. His short brown hair was slicked with sweat from battle, his sharp emerald eyes gleaming as he exchanged playful jabs with Hati, the fiery redhead who was bouncing around him, her enthusiasm undimmed despite the long day of fighting.

Hati was relentless, her energy infectious as she egged Garran on, pulling him into the center of the warriors. She had a wild grin plastered on her face, her scarred brow only adding to the fierceness of her appearance. Her burnt orange eyes sparkled in the firelight, and her voice rang out louder than any of the others.

"Come now, Garran! It's tradition to sing after a victory, isn't it?" Hati shouted, her voice full of mischief.

"You made the damn song," Garran responded, though a grin tugged at his lips.

"And that's why I'm leading! Now stop being a sourpuss and sing with me!" Hati jabbed him in the ribs, earning a good-natured grunt from the wolf-man.

The other warriors began to gather around them, clapping and stomping their feet in rhythm. Midea watched with mild amusement as the entire village seemed to gather for the performance. This was an old tradition among the wolf-clans, singing war songs after a successful battle to honor the fallen and celebrate the victory.

Hati threw her head back, her red hair practically ablaze in the firelight, and began to sing, her voice powerful and full of passion:

"Stomp the bloodsuckers, crush their bones,
Tear their heads and claim our thrones!
Vampyrs dead, let the bodies rot,
Victory's ours, we take the lot!"

She sang with ferocity, her voice ringing out over the crackling flames. Garran, grinning now, joined in with the other warriors, their voices deep and booming as they responded:

"Fangs in the night, but we don't fear,
We sent those blood fiends far from here!
Claws like steel, but hearts of stone,
We cracked their skulls, now they moan!"

Hati spun around, her movements fluid and graceful despite the roughness of the song. She was in her element, commanding the attention of everyone around her. The warriors stomped their feet in unison, creating a thunderous beat that echoed through the night.

"Stomp the bloodsuckers, crush their bones,
Tear their heads and claim our thrones!
Vampyrs dead, let the bodies rot,
Victory's ours, we take the lot!"

Midea watched, his grin widening as the scene unfolded. The villagers, for all their primitive customs, had a certain charm. The raw energy and emotion in their celebrations were a stark contrast to the cold calculations constantly running through his mind. He couldn' t help but admire their spirit, though he knew it would only get them so far.

As the warriors continued to sing, they paired off, linking arms and stomping in time with the beat. Hati, however, stayed focused on Garran, spinning and twirling in front of him, her body flickering like the flames themselves. She was bold, far bolder than the other women in the village, her fiery nature reflected in her every movement. She practically danced circles around Garran, who, despite his best attempts to keep up, was clearly caught off guard by her energy.

"Drank our blood, but now they choke,
We lit the flames, and watched 'em smoke!
No more shadows, no more teeth,
We'll grind their bones beneath our feet!"

The song continued, the warriors chanting and jeering as the fire blazed higher. Midea chuckled to himself. This was the kind of moment he enjoyed—watching others let their guard down, revealing their true selves. Even Garran, who normally maintained a stoic demeanor , was swept up in the revelry. Hati, of course, was the spark that kept the flames burning.

But even as Midea enjoyed the scene, his attention was pulled away by the quieter interactions happening in the background. His sharp eyes caught the figure of Lain, the pale-skinned woman with the raven-black hair and striking blue eyes. She had been watching from the sidelines, her gaze lingering on Garran and Hati's playful banter. Midea had noticed her earlier—her beauty was undeniable, and her quiet presence stood in stark contrast to Hati's fiery energy.

After the song came to a close, with the final verse roaring through the air, the warriors cheered, clapping each other on the back. Garran, wiping the sweat from his brow, ruffled Hati's hair affectionately before turning back to Lain. Hati's grin faltered for just a moment as Garran walked past her, heading straight for Lain, who smiled softly at him. The flicker of jealousy that crossed Hati's face was unmistakable, and Midea, always observant, noted it with interest.

Hati was a force of nature, but she was not immune to the pangs of unrequited affection. Her feelings for Garran were painfully obvious, though whether the wolf-man was aware of them or simply ignoring them, Midea couldn't tell.

Meanwhile, Garran approached Lain, his demeanor softening as he spoke to her in low tones. She smiled up at him, her delicate features bathed in the moonlight. The contrast between the two women was striking—Hati, wild and fierce, while Lain was quiet, almost ethereal in her beauty. Midea couldn't help but wonder how this little drama would play out.

As the fire continued to roar, Midea turned his attention back to the child—Surya—who had been watching the entire display in silence. Her expression was neutral, her gaze unreadable. She hadn't joined in the celebrations which was expected as she was a child. But she hadn't shown much interest in the song either. But Midea knew better than to assume she was completely uninterested. She was watching, learning, and likely storing away every piece of information she could.

Midea took another sip of his wine as he mulled over his thoughts. These people had no idea what they were dealing with. Lord Satan knew the Tyrannius were monsters, and Surya was no exception. She might be small now, but going off her mother her potential was immense, and Midea wasn't foolish enough to think that she wouldn't grow into something far more dangerous than anyone could expect. But he would take it in stride. He was of the house of Valefor, his pride would not allow him to fail.

As the warriors began to settle back down, sharing food and drink around the fire, Midea's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar presence beside him. Chief Remus approached, his gaze focused on the village gate where a tall, thin man entered dragging a child by the hand. The man's figure was cast in shadow, his posture tense and wary.

"That's my brother, Remulus," Remus said quietly, his deep voice tinged with sorrow. "He used to be one of the strongest among us. But after the Vampyrs took his wife... he hasn't been the same. Only his child survived the attack but even he was quiet for months from the trauma."

Midea's eyes followed Remulus as he led the child away from the celebration, his form disappearing into the night. There was something off about him—something dark and familiar, though Midea couldn't quite place it.

"He's been using dark numen arts," Remus continued, his voice growing heavier. "Evil magic. And ever since, the attacks on our village have increased. I fear he may be the cause of it all."

Midea's interest was piqued. Such numen arts were dangerous, forbidden in many places, but incredibly powerful. The fact that Remulus had turned to such methods was troubling but also intriguing. It added another layer of complexity to the situation.

"You want me to investigate," Midea said, more a statement than a question.

Remus nodded. "Yes. I need to know if he's behind this, or if something darker is at play. I need answers, Midea."

Midea sipped his wine thoughtfully before replying, "And what of the accursed races? You mentioned them earlier."

Remus's expression darkened. "The accursed races are creatures born outside the light of the suns. Beings of darkness and shadow. They are mindless, soulless... monsters. They only exist to destroy and feed."

Midea nodded, though inwardly he felt a pang of skepticism. He had dealt with such beings before, mindless creatures that were often little more than tools for higher powers. But something about this situation felt different. These attacks were too coordinated, too deliberate. There was intelligence behind them, even if Remus didn't want to admit it.

"I'll look into it," Midea said finally, his eyes narrowing. "But be prepared. If your brother is involved... this won't end well."

Remus sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I know."

As Remus turned to rejoin the celebration, Midea's gaze lingered on the village pathway where Remulus had disappeared. There was something about that man, something deeply unsettling that nagged at the back of Midea's mind. He couldn't shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something far more dangerous.

Taking another sip of his wine, Midea allowed a small, cold smile to cross his lips. The villagers had no idea what kind of storm was coming, but Midea did. And when it hit, he intended to be ready. He always was. He was a Scelus after all.

 

[Behemoth.]

𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒉 𝑺𝒖𝒓𝒚𝒂: 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑻𝒉𝒓𝒆𝒆-𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒆𝒏𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑯𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔

Holy yap sesh. Lots of worldbuilding.
______________________

Tanya had never thought of herself as some sort of extraordinary genius. She had no illusions that she was the pinnacle of strategic thinking or analysis. She was smart, yes, and she had a memory that allowed her to recall details that most people would overlook. She was also undeniably strong-willed; who else could claim to have defied the will of a godlike being without breaking? She was competent, both in her first life or her second as Tanya von Degurechaff. But genius? No, she had worked hard for her success. She hadn't coasted through university on natural brilliance—she had studied relentlessly to get where she was. She could study better than most, but she didn't have the kind of raw intellect that allowed her to ace every test effortlessly.

That being said, very few people had such effortless talent, so she never felt inferior. She knew she was still on the higher end of the intellectual spectrum. But again, she wasn't a genius.

So it was quite a shock when, only a few days into this new world, she began to understand the villagers' language at an incredible speed. It was still in bits and pieces, but her mind was making leaps in logic that astounded her. She would observe the villagers making references or gestures, and her brain would instantly start associating sounds with meaning. Somehow, the jumps in her logic were almost always correct. Her analytical abilities had been enhanced beyond anything she had experienced before. It could only be attributed to this new body. Or perhaps it was the combination of her adult consciousness and the neuroplasticity of a baby's brain. Who knew?

Her new living situation wasn't terrible either. The villagers had converted her former pen into a small house after persistent pestering from Hati—she knew her name now. Hati had also brought her an assortment of toys that Tanya didn't need, but that was fine. The important thing was that her new home was conveniently located near the other egg. She didn't feel compelled to be near it constantly, but there was something about the egg that made her want to check on it at least once a day. A protective barrier had been placed around the egg by Midea—the goat-like man she had come to know as her primary caretaker.

Tanya had spent her time following Midea, observing both him and the structure of the village. The village was decently organized, with clear divisions between the residential area, the official hall, the ceremonial building, and what appeared to be a guild hall and judicial court. Deeper into the village was a school, which Hati had dragged her to several times. The children there always stared at her, wide-eyed—not because she was still without clothing (she had finally gotten some), but because she was different from anything they had ever seen before.

Despite the odd attention from the children, what really irked Tanya was Hati's insistence on dragging her around. If Hati spent as much time worrying about her own spurned love life as she did on throwing Tanya into every situation, maybe she wouldn't end up as a spinster. Tanya smirked inwardly at the thought, though she lacked the courage to say anything out loud. Partly because she wasn't confident in her grasp of the language yet, and partly because she didn't want to deal with the repercussions. She was still trying to fly under the radar.

Hati had also taken her to the training field. It was a large open space, enclosed by wooden walls, with a massive dirt pit in the center. From the layout, Tanya assumed it was used for fighting. Around the pit were stone pillars, arranged in straight lines, and beyond that was an obstacle course designed for brutal training. Swinging blades, pits filled with snakes, walls crawling with serpents, stretches of spikes—it was a gauntlet of horrors. Tanya didn't need to understand every word Hati said to gather that she was proud of her achievements on the course, and she was hoping Tanya might follow in her footsteps as a warrior.

Tanya sighed. She had no intention of running through an obstacle course designed to kill her. But today wasn't the day to dwell on that. Today, Midea was giving a lecture on the principles of this world. From what she had gathered, Midea was planning to teach a higher form of technique to the villagers—something that involved manipulating the ambient energy that permeated everything here. It was different from the magic she was used to. Instead of channeling energy through calculated spells and incantations, these people seemed to draw energy directly from the atmosphere, absorbing it adding it to some theoretical pool of energy before molding it to their will.

She had already witnessed the effects. Warriors moved at impossible speeds, their fists capable of generating explosive force with a single blow. They wove through battle with a grace that made every movement lethal. Men who were faster than sound, spears that could piecre things several hundred feet in front of them, and abilities that seemed to defy the natural order. Then there was Midea himself—a force of nature. If she had encountered him in her past life, she would have died within moments. And it wasn't just Midea. The large wolf-man, the one who wore the most garish garb, exuded a power that made her wary. She assumed he held some position of leadership.

All of this only reinforced her desire for power. It wasn't just her instincts that screamed for it—though they certainly did—it was her own sense of survival. This world was dangerous, and if these villagers ever turned on her, she would need power to protect herself. She needed power to protect the egg. Most importantly, she needed power because she was no longer herself, the reason she had been reincarnated, was due to her lack of power in her former life. The reason she was dead, was because she had been weak. Being X had toyed with her, and she had been completely powerless to stop it. She vowed that if she could help it, she would never be powerless again. Whether she called herself Tanya or Surya, it didn't matter, as long as she was strong.

Knock, knock.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door. She turned her head to the blue-green door and opened it, stepping outside. Waiting for her was Midea, standing in all his goat-like glory. He bowed his head slightly, his serpentine grin ever-present.

"So, little princess, are you prepared to learn more of the world... or what lies beyond it? There is much I must teach you."

Tanya grimaced inwardly. The man knew she understood most of what they were saying now, and he was as slimy as ever. She hadn't yet spoken, but she had pieced together enough of their language to follow conversations. Midea, in turn, had been observing her as closely as she had been observing him. There was an old saying about the mantis stalking the cicada, unaware of the oriole behind it. She couldn't help but feel like Midea was the oriole in this scenario.

His way of addressing her was also different from how the others in the village treated her. The villagers called her "The Seventh Surya," a title she had yet to fully understand but one that clearly held significance. Midea, however, referred to her as "little princess," and his tone carried layers of meaning. He seemed to know more about her circumstances than he let on, and that made her wary. There was also the fact that he was the only member of his kind in this otherwise monoethnic village—aside from her, that is. His lack of surprise at her rapid development and understanding only fueled her suspicions. He was connected to her in some way, and though she didn't know how yet, she intended to find out.

For now, however, she simply nodded in response to his question. Midea's grin widened, and he extended his hand toward her.

"Then let us go, little Surya."

And without another word, she followed.

_________________________

Midea walked down the village road, making his way toward the training field, which was near the guild hall. Both places were set to host the lessons for the day. Behind him trailed the child of Lervea, her footsteps perfectly in sync with his. The villagers gawked at the odd pair, whispers flitting through the crowd as eyes lingered on them.

"Look, it's the Satyr and Surya."

"I heard she was blessed by the Seventh Sun."

"I heard Midea is as strong as the village chief!"

The chatter followed them everywhere, though Midea, ever used to such attention, found it mildly annoying. The village was small, so it wasn't too overwhelming, and as a genius of House Valefor, attracting the attention of those beneath him had been the norm since he was but a darkling.

Still, as they walked, his mind drifted toward Surya. The light in her eyes was something else—terrifying, even. It wasn't normal for a child, but then again, she wasn't a normal child. Her learning ability bordered on frightening. It had only been a few days, but Midea could already tell, just from how her eyes followed lips and how she studied the world around her, that she was picking up the language of this place far faster than any normal child could. The connections her mind was making, the sharpness in her gaze—it was strange but, at the same time, expected for a Tyrannius. Still, for him, it raised a crucial question: What the hell was he supposed to do with a creature like her?

Sure, her intelligence gave him some hope that he wouldn't need to rock her to sleep or sing her lullabies—though if it came down to it, he knew the ever-popular Satanic classic Wither, Wither Little Soul. But her ability to understand the world around her presented a unique opportunity: he could start teaching her immediately how to fend for herself.

Which was why he was bringing her to his lecture today.

It was time to teach the village warriors a new technique, and in doing so, he planned to initiate Surya into the ways of cultivation. Typically, one didn't start cultivating until their body had developed—around childhood or later, depending on the race. The soul and body needed to mature together. But Surya? She already looked plenty developed, far ahead of her infantile stage. There was a simple test to determine if someone was ready for cultivation, and he planned to run it on her after the lecture.

Cultivation, as he knew it, involved both the soul and the body. The soul drew in numen from the surroundings, influencing the body through spiritual organs called meridians. These meridians weren't physical but acted as conduits, threads of the soul that ran through the body, allowing it to absorb numen. The number, thickness, and quality of these meridians determined one's cultivation talent, and they could vary greatly from person to person—and even between races. Once a being passed the infant stage of their race, their meridians would become primed, ready to absorb numen. All it took was a simple flow of energy through their body to determine if they were ready to begin cultivation.

Lost in thought, Midea chuckled as he realized they had already arrived at the training field. He pushed open the doors, which groaned loudly, revealing a room full of soldiers sitting cross-legged in anticipation. A small podium had been set up, and there, atop it, stood Remus, the village chief. The man's fists were planted firmly on his hips, and he was laughing heartily as he regaled the warriors with tales of his battles. He seemed like that type—the kind who enjoyed recounting his own exploits, whether they were exaggerated or not.

Midea shifted his gaze toward the front of the group, spotting the familiar figures of Garran and Hati sitting together. Garran appeared somewhat exasperated, while Hati looked positively incensed, her hands clenching and unclenching as if preparing for an argument.

"I'll surpass you one day, old man!" Hati declared, her voice full of challenge. "You beat ten Featherlins and a Turbeast at once? I'll beat sixty Featherlins and six Turbeasts!"

Midea blinked. Featherlins? Wait, were those the feathered pangolin creatures he had encountered in the forest a while back? What an uncreative name. It was as if they didn't even try to come up with something better. He made a mental note to look up what a Turbeast was later.

"You can't even beat Garran in a straight fight, little girl," Remus teased, his voice full of mirth.

"That's because he's at the ninth shackle, and I'm still at the eighth!" Hati retorted, her frustration palpable.

Remus laughed louder. "My son has spear intent and was able to defeat an opponent above him in cultivation. What do you have?"

The surrounding men erupted into laughter, their voices filling the space with a mix of humor and derision. Garran just shook his head, clearly used to this kind of exchange.

"Urrggh, you'll see! You'll all see!" Hati growled, her defiance unshaken.

Midea, however, had turned his gaze toward the back of the room. There, standing in black garb, was a tall figure. He seemed to be roughly shoving a child toward Lain, who took the boy away, her face grimacing at the rough treatment. The man then stood there, still, before his head snapped toward Midea, as if sensing his gaze. Midea simply grinned, he knew a lot about the man from his recent exploits, though he quickly turned his attention back to the room as he walked in, drawing the eyes of the warriors to him.

"Midea! You're finally here!" Remus called out, his voice warm with welcome. "And with Surya as well?"

The chief looked a bit confused, but Midea didn't skip a beat. "Yes, it is better to expose her to these things as soon as possible."

"I thought it was better not to expose one so young—might color their path too early," Remus mused, though he didn't push the point further.

"Well, in most cases, yes, but there are exceptions to every rule," Midea replied smoothly, gesturing to Surya behind him. "This child of the sun doesn't follow the rules."

He could feel the intense gaze of the little girl boring into the back of his head. While he didn't want to admit it, the pressure made him a tad bit uneasy. The girl was not to be provoked openly. And she did not like too much attention. That much he could already tell.

"Well, I suppose she is a creature of legend," Remus said with a laugh. "Perhaps she carries the mark of the sun itself. We might have a nascent deity on our hands, people!"

The soldiers chuckled at his words, but Hati, ever the boisterous one, spoke up above the jeers. "My Surya will be the strongest in the village one day! She'll kick your useless asses, so don't get complacent men. You saw what she can do."

"Shut up, Hati," Garran muttered, pulling her down to sit next to him. The man was clearly exasperated by her antics he was also a bit worried. And Midea could see why.

He scanned the room, noting how most of the soldiers took the exchange in good humor, but a few wore expressions of annoyance. Their faces soured, and Midea inwardly shook his head. He didn't quite understand the dynamics of this village yet, but one thing was clear: sexism was alive and well here. Among the Canid race, men tended to be physically stronger than women, but that was irrelevant once cultivation began. Cultivation was the great equalizer. This was how it was everywhere else sexism was an absurd notion. A woman of the first shackle could easily surpass a man of the same level, but in this village, primitive notions still held sway. But regardless it wasn't his problem.

'Hmm,' Midea thought, watching as Surya moved to look at the men who had been jeering. Damn, nevermind this might become a problem.

Whatever, it was best to take one thing at a time.

Clap, clap.

"Alright, settle down," Midea called out, clapping his hands to draw the room's attention. He moved toward the podium, watching as Hati jumped up to grab Surya and pull her into a seat between herself and Garran. Midea shook his head inwardly. They were treating the girl like a child,when in actuality she was a intelligent little monster. They were pushing their luck, he thought.

Arriving at the top of the podium, Midea cleared his throat, preparing to introduce himself. "For those who don't know me, I am Midea Scelus of noble House Valefor. I am a Dark Satyr, and while I'm here, I am at your service." He gave a slight bow, hearing Garran scoff in the background. The man's annoyance didn't bother Midea. He wasn't here to win a popularity contest. Though he did sneer at the man inwardly a bit. He was a demon of pride after all.

"As you might have guessed, I'm from a very different place than this village," Midea continued. "I have experience with cultivation that you may lack." He nodded toward Surya. "And she is also from a different place, of a race unlike my own. Treat her well and don't aggravate her. This world is new to her obviously and it can't be said to be her kinds natural habitat."

He was talking out of his ass, honestly. He had no idea what kind of environment a Tyrannius was used to, but it didn't hurt to play it safe. Plus, it was always a good idea to get on her good side. The little girl had looked annoyed when he drew attention to her earlier, and now, those amethyst eyes were staring up at him, unblinking and unsettling.

Midea cleared his throat and pressed on. "Now, do you all know the nature of cultivation?"

Garran raised his hand, and Midea nodded for him to speak. "Cultivation is the act of expanding and building upon the soul using numen. Our souls are connected to our bodies, and this connection affects the physical form as well. It's the process of inscribing the secrets of creation onto the soul."

"How poetic," Midea responded, impressed by the general's understanding. "Yes, you are correct. In cultivation, we absorb numen through certain techniques to surpass the natural limitations of the soul. The soul, you see, has nine shackles—natural limits to its growth. Think of it as water being poured into a vessel. If the vessel becomes too full, you must break the vessel and replace it with a larger one to hold more water. When you break a shackle, you expand your vessel, allowing your power to grow both quantitatively and qualitatively."

Another warrior raised his hand, and Midea acknowledged him.

"You said that cultivation requires techniques, but even without learning something like the Great Wolf Sutra, people are able to absorb numen and begin cultivation, right? Like our chieftain here."

Midea nodded. "Good question. The Great Wolf Sutra is your village's cultivation technique, correct?" He looked to Remus, who nodded in confirmation. "And it only sustains you up to the second layer but not the third, am I right?"

Remus blinked, his surprise clear. "How could you tell?"

Midea grinned. "I can tell from your energy, Chieftain. You broke into the third layer without a technique, purely through your own effort and comprehension. It's an impressive feat."

Turning back to the audience, Midea continued. "Cultivation, in its most basic form, is indeed innate. In worlds rich with numen, like this one, life naturally progresses toward cultivation. I'm sure some of you have heard of tribulations—perhaps some of your elders have experienced them. But have you ever wondered what tribulation really is?"

He paused, letting the question hang in the air for a moment. "Numen and the soul are two different things. While the soul can interact with numen, it is not made of numen. The soul is something else entirely. It is the firmament of sentience—the only force that can tame numen. That is why only beings with a soul can cultivate. No matter how intelligent a being might be, without a soul, it cannot cultivate."

Midea looked around, noting the curiosity on the faces of the warriors. Good. They were paying attention.

"However," he continued, "numen is the energy that permeates all creation. It is the source from which all other energies are derived. Concepts, too, can be reflected in numen and influence reality. This is what we call the Dao—the way in which numen colors creation by embodying those concepts. Numen can be considered the the force that moves everything and keeps the system working. Cultivation is the process of absorbing numen and using it to carve your own path in the system of creation. Simply put cultivation is to take numen and use it to gain authority in creation."

He took a breath, letting his words sink in. "But the universe has rules. It allows cultivation, but it also imposes restrictions. Tribulation is one such restriction. When you break through a layer, you are challenging the universe's order, and the heavens will strike down those who dare to overreach. But there are rules to this, as well. The universe cannot strike you down without offering benefits in return. If you survive a tribulation, your soul becomes stronger, more capable of interacting with the system of creation."

Hati, who had been silent up to this point, suddenly spoke up, her voice filled with disbelief. "Are you saying the world is alive?"

Midea chuckled. "Not alive, per se, but there are laws and principles in place that govern everything. Think of it like laws in a village—rules that must be followed."

The sickly-looking man from before raised his hand again, his voice strained. "How do the pathways in our bodies—our meridians—relate to this?"

"Ah, meridians." Midea nodded, pleased with the question. "Meridians are unique to each individual. They vary from person to person, and some species tend to have more meridians than others, giving them a natural advantage in cultivation. But this isn't absolute. Occasionally, a person from a weaker race can be born with astonishing talent. Meridians are the channels through which your soul interacts with your body, allowing you to absorb and manipulate numen. The number and quality of your meridians determine how fast you can absorb numen and how efficiently you can rise through the ranks of cultivation."

He paused for a moment, letting the warriors digest the information. "Meridians are often graded by multiples of nine, a number integral to creation. The highest-grade meridians are called Firmament Grade, where a person has eighty-one meridians. There are nine levels of meridians, but they are not all equal. You might have seven meridians compared to someone else's nine. Aside from the number, there's also the quality of the meridians to consider. Some people are born with wider meridians, allowing them to channel more energy and purify it faster. These are rare and can boost your talent considerably. They are graded in four divisions. World, star, sphere then realm. A world grade meridian is worth one and a half a normal meridian. That being said having higher quality meridians is tremendously rare. I can guarantee no one in this village possesses them."

Midea glanced at the sickly man again. "That's why some people are faster at cultivation than others, even though everyone has a soul. Talent, my friend, is not something that can be forced."

"Why are they graded that way, though? Why 'world,' then 'star' then the others?" the man coughed out.

"Because they are based on cosmological structures," Midea explained. "A planet, a star, and then a sphere of existence, also known as a universe. After that comes a realm."

The warriors erupted in shock, their collective "Huhhh?!" filling the room. Midea barely suppressed a smirk. He'd forgotten how primitive they were for a moment.

"Of course," Midea added with a wave of his hand, "that's just speculation from my people."

The warriors nodded, accepting the explanation, and Midea let out a small sigh of relief. He wasn't quite ready to reveal the full extent of his knowledge—or the fact that he wasn't from their world.

Hati suddenly raised her hand, and before Midea could even nod to acknowledge her, she blurted out, "If cultivation is so natural, and so are meridians, then why do we need techniques? The chief managed to break into the third layer on his own."

Midea sighed. "Strength is one reason. Powerful techniques can lead to greater strength. Cultivating without a technique will leave you weaker than others at the same shackle or layer. And while cultivation is natural to an extent, it requires comprehension. The higher you climb, the more difficult it becomes. Errors in cultivation can be fatal. Techniques are the fruits of generations of elders who paved the way, dying on the path so future generations wouldn't. Without a technique, you risk a slower pace and a weaker outcome. And of course almost certain death at tribulation."

He looked around, raising his voice to emphasize the point. "Techniques provide a path—a clear road to follow. Each layer in cultivation builds upon the last, and techniques help you navigate these layers safely and efficiently. For my people, we refer to the layers as Darkling and the like. But the general way to refer to the first realm is as the Accumulation Realm. In this realm, you simply gather energy to fill your body. You can reinforce weapons and your own body, but projecting your energy outside of yourself is difficult at this stage."

He glanced at Garran, adding, "Of course, with something like Spear Intent, there are exceptions."

Midea's explanation continued, drawing the warriors in as he outlined the realms of cultivation. The second layer was the Pathblazing Realm, where one would hear the Dao and begin carving their path into their meridians. Techniques could help align numen with the practitioner's path, making it easier to progress. During this stage is where one can use unique abilities aligned with their dao and project it well beyond their bodies. The third layer was the Spirit Projection Realm, where one uses their comprehension of the dao and technique to carve a shape onto the third layer which they can project into reality. While the fourth layer was the Great Well Realm, where a practitioner could create a conceptual well to amplify their spirit projections. Each shackle in the fourth layer could create another well, but reaching the full nine wells was considered nearly impossible. You can also enter the sinking state where numen around you attributed to you is drawn from the ambient energy into you increasing your power and stamina massively. Spirit projections connected to a well become overlays which is a set up for the next layer. As he spoke more and more people started to nod their head. Especially after hearing about the fourth layer their chieftain had yet to reach.

Finally, Garran spoke up, challenging Midea with a grin. "But we can do this ourselves, right? Like you said, Spear Intent is rare. Do we really need your techniques? It seems like each layer builds upon the last, so wouldn't it be better to go it alone?"

Midea grinned, feeling the thrill of the challenge rise within him. "You doubt the power of techniques, do you? How about a demonstration? Care for a bout?"

Garran leaped to his feet, excitement radiating from him. "Undoubtedly, but you're higher than me in cultivation."

Midea smirked, releasing his aura for all to observe. Then, with a controlled breath, he sealed his power, restraining himself back to his level when he was merely a peak Darkling, rather than the formidable Imp he now was.

"I'll face you on your own terms, Garran. Let me show you the massive difference these techniques make."

Garran cracked his knuckles and laughed. "I'll make you regret it, Satyr."

They moved toward the fighting circle, and the soldiers erupted in a chant, their voices booming with excitement.

"Yuu-dah! Yuu-dah! Yuu-dah!"

The cheers echoed throughout the training hall, wild and unrestrained, and Midea, for the first time in a while, felt the adrenaline of a true fight course through him. And it seems the villagers were ready too.

This was going to be fun. For more reason than one.

_____________________________


Tanya watched as Midea and Garran made their way to the center pit. The moment she saw the smirk tugging at the corner of Midea's lips, she knew what was coming: an absolute beatdown. She tilted her head in slight curiosity, wondering if Hati would find it less attractive to see her crush get humiliated. But when she glanced over, she was greeted by Hati bouncing on her toes, fists pumping in the air with childlike excitement.

"Kick his ass, Goat Dude!" Hati cheered, seemingly without any hesitation.

Tanya blinked.

…Does she actually like him?

Shaking her head, Tanya turned her attention back to the pit. The chieftain, Remus, watched on from the edge of the ring, his expression giving away that he too understood more than he let on. Midea had spoken of realms and universes in such a nonchalant manner, and Tanya wasn't naive enough to believe it was just wild speculation. Remus' face confirmed that. But that wasn't what intrigued her the most. What caught her attention was the cultivation system Midea described—a power system similar to those she'd read about in Chinese fiction back on earth.

It was no ordinary magic like in her second. The cultivation process was tied to ephemeral concepts like the soul, energy absorption, and, if one played their cards right, godlike power and immortality. So, the soreness I've been feeling in this new body, is that just me cultivating instinctively? Her mind raced as she put the pieces together. It wasn't too far-fetched. After all, she had already displayed feats far beyond her physical form's age. Perhaps I'm exceptionally talented? No... I'm likely blessed with extraordinary potential!

The thought sent a chill down her spine, one of dark excitement. If everything aligned, she could very well reach the pinnacle of power in this world—perhaps even beyond. And if she achieved that, she could finally exact her revenge on that damnable Being X.

Her wings twitched in instinctually in anticipation as the image of Being X's decapitated head floated through her mind. The grin that split across her face was one of unrestrained malice. A wicked, almost feral smile. It was somewhat unlike her.

Oooff! Hati let out a startled yelp as Tanya's wings suddenly flared out, knocking the wolf-woman back a few feet.

"Oh," Tanya blinked, looking over at her.

Hati, however, simply grinned back at her, brushing herself off. "You're excited too, huh, Surya?" she laughed. "But, uh... your smile's kinda scary. You've got a lot of sharp teeth."

Tanya blinked again and brought a hand up to her mouth, running her thumb over her teeth. Sharp? She hadn't noticed before, but now that she felt it—dagger-like points. Her teeth had become something far more predatory than she remembered. It wasn't until she stopped smiling that her teeth shifted back to their normal state. Interesting, she mused.

'Two rows of razor sharp teeth? Am I some kind of xenomorph now?'

Before she could dwell on it further, the roar of the crowd pulled her back to the battle. "WOOOHHHHHH!"

Her gaze snapped back to the pit where Garran stood, spear in hand, facing Midea. The satyr remained weaponless, a confident smirk still plastered on his face.

This should be interesting.

---

Garran wasted no time, lunging forward with his spear, the green numen surrounding it crackling like lightning. The spear shot forward with incredible speed, aimed directly at Midea's chest. Midea sidestepped with almost lazy grace, but Garran anticipated the dodge, swinging his spear in a wide arc to catch the satyr off guard.

Midea, ever nimble, ducked beneath the swing, using the opening to close the distance. His palm shot out toward Garran's chest, but the warrior wasn't so easily outmaneuvered. With a sharp twist of his body, Garran brought his foot up, kicking Midea's leg to throw him off balance.

Midea staggered, but only slightly, quickly retreating to regain his footing.

Garran grinned. "Is this the power of your so-called technique?" he taunted, twirling his spear with fluid grace.

Midea offered no response, only a smirk as he resumed his advance.

Garran thrust his spear again, this time sending out multiple spear projections—phantom strikes generated by his spear intent, each one aiming to pierce Midea from a different angle. But Midea weaved through the attacks effortlessly, his body a blur of motion. However, Tanya noticed something—Garran was baiting him, forcing Midea to leap upward to avoid the low strikes.

And Midea fell for it.

"I've got you now!" Garran roared, his spear glowing with a fierce green light as the energy around it transformed into the maw of a snarling wolf. "Savage Maw!" The wolf's maw lunged toward Midea, snapping its jaws with deadly intent.

But Midea was far from finished.

With a powerful stomp in midair, Midea summoned a circle of dark energy beneath his hooves and used it to double-jump, vaulting higher into the air. Flipping in midair, he kicked off the energy platform again, diving down toward Garran like a descending meteor.

Garran barely managed to raise his spear in defense, but the force of Midea's descent was too much. The impact sent Garran flying back, skidding to the edge of the pit. His spear cracked slightly at the center where Midea had struck, though Garran seemed not to notice.

"Cut," Garran growled, swinging his spear in a wide arc. A blade of green energy shot toward Midea, cutting through the air with a sharp whistle.

This time, Midea didn't dodge. His hand glowed with dark energy, spiraling around his palm like a vortex. With a smooth, almost casual motion, he thrust his palm forward. "Shell of Pride."

The twisting energy around Midea's palm diverted the incoming blade, sending it careening off course. Garran snarled in frustration and launched a flurry of thrusts and slashes, each strike laced with spear intent. But Midea dodged and parried with ease, inching closer and closer with each move.

"Thrust!"

In the blink of an eye, Garran appeared right in front of Midea, his spear aimed directly at the satyr's chest, a deadly precision driving it through what appeared to be Midea's body. But instead of the sound of tearing flesh, there was only silence—the spear had passed through nothing but a shadow. Garran's eyes widened as the illusion dissipated, and before he could react, a sudden, sharp force slammed down on his extended spear from above. Midea, descending from midair, stomped down with his hoof, the ground beneath him trembling as the impact forced the spearhead into the dirt.

Garran barely had time to recover when Midea's palm shot forward like a viper, connecting squarely with his chest. The air rang with the sound of impact, and Garran was sent flying back, his chest seared with a red six-clawed imprint that glowed ominously through the haze of dust.

Despite the force of the blow, Garran gritted his teeth and kept hold of his spear, his body tumbling but never letting go of his weapon. He rolled back to his feet, his eyes narrowing in focus. He was unshaken. This was a test of resolve, and no pain would deter him from facing Midea head-on.

Undeterred, Garran closed the distance once more, his movements sharper, more precise. This time, there was no hesitation in his strikes. His spear became a blur of motion, each jab and thrust executed with the grace of a seasoned warrior. His mastery over the spear was evident—every move calculated, every strike lethal. The numen-enchanted weapon hummed through the air, forcing Midea to bob and weave with lightning-fast reflexes.

The crowd watched in stunned silence, captivated by the relentless barrage.

Garran's assault became a rhythm, an unending pattern of thrusts, feints, and sweeps. He forced Midea back with a flurry of thrusts, pushing him toward the edge of the pit. And just when Midea sidestepped to avoid the last strike, Garran swung a vicious cut, aiming to drive the satyr off balance.

But Midea's reflexes were faster than any mortal eye could track, dodging each swipe with fluid grace. He was toying with Garran, letting the warrior exhaust his most intricate spear techniques while his expression remained unbothered, a faint smile playing on his lips.

In the middle of the exchange, however, Garran's stance shifted. His spear twisted with a sudden break in form, and without warning, he spun, using the butt of his spear to strike at Midea's solar plexus.

The unexpected shift in Garran's technique made the crowd gasp—Midea had been baited. But the satyr, ever composed, caught the blow with one hand, his muscles flexing with ease as he halted the strike. With a quick motion, Midea's other hand came crashing down on the center of the spear, a shockwave of numen rippling outward as the wood splintered in his grasp, breaking the weapon clean in half.

For a brief moment, Garran's eyes filled with disbelief. His spear, the weapon that had carried him through countless battles, lay shattered in his hands. But he had no time to dwell on it.

Without missing a beat, Garran gripped the remaining half of the spear—the one with the blade still attached—and poured all his numen into the weapon. The energy flared violently, green flames licking the air around him as he swung the blade with everything he had, aiming for Midea's head in one desperate final strike.

Midea's eyes gleamed as he raised his hand once more, his palm coated in dark, swirling energy. The two forces met with a deafening crash. Green numen clashed against black and purple energy, sending sparks of raw power in all directions. The air itself seemed to buckle under the strain of their energy clash. For a moment, it seemed like neither would give—Garran pushing with every ounce of strength left in his body, and Midea holding his ground effortlessly.

"GRRAAAHHHH!" Garran roared, his muscles straining as he tried to break through Midea's defense, the green glow of his numen intensifying.

Midea's smirk widened, his voice calm and mocking. "I told you, Garran. I have two hands."

In a swift, almost casual movement, Midea unleashed his other hand, sending a powerful palm strike into the exact spot on Garran's chest he had hit before, deepening the six-clawed imprint. The sheer force of the blow sent Garran flying backward once again, his body tumbling across the ground, coughing up blood as he landed in a cloud of dust and dirt. This time, even his iron grip on the spear faltered, the remaining half clattering uselessly to the side.

The arena was silent for a moment, the spectators holding their breath. Garran lay motionless for a few heartbeats, his chest heaving as he struggled to stand. Slowly, shakily, he rose to his feet, his entire body now glowing with a fierce green light. His numen was flaring wildly, his last-ditch effort to channel everything he had left into one final, desperate attack.

"Dual Fanged Destruction!" Garran bellowed, his arms coated in numen energy. His form seemed to blur as his body took on the appearance of a giant, dual-fanged wolf. The green light around him exploded in intensity as he charged forward with speeds that dwarfed anything Tanya had seen so far.

Midea cocked his head, his expression one of mild amusement. "Ah, applying spear intent to your body now? Not bad. You're on the verge of breaking through to the second realm of intent... impressive, Garran."

But before Garran could land his attack, Midea's body moved faster than any of them could track. With a fluid motion, he ducked under Garran's right arm, locking it with his own in an iron grip. Using his superior momentum, Midea swept Garran's legs out from under him and threw him into the air as if he weighed nothing.

And then Midea was airborne again, leaping into the sky to meet Garran mid-flight. With one hoof planted firmly on Garran's face and another on his chest, Midea grinned down at the helpless warrior below him. "Let me show you the true difference between us."

His body exploded with dark, crackling energy as the two of them began to plummet toward the ground at breakneck speed. The air around them warped and distorted from the sheer force of their descent.

"Demonic Descent."

The energy around Midea flared violently, accelerating their fall. The resulting impact was nothing short of cataclysmic. A shockwave of raw energy rippled outward from the point of contact, sending warriors flying backward, their bodies tumbling through the air like ragdolls. Even Hati was knocked off her feet, though Tanya, curiously, remained unmoved, her wings shifting slightly in the wind.

As the dust settled, the pit was no longer recognizable. A massive crater now dominated the training ground, and standing triumphantly in the center was Midea, a smirk still plastered across his face. Beneath him lay Garran, unconscious and defeated.

Hati, despite all her earlier cheers for Midea, rushed toward Garran's body, casting the satyr a venomous glare as she knelt beside the fallen man. Midea simply turned his head away, suppressing a grin.

It was his win. And Tanya couldn't help but be impressed.

What a show.

________________

Lain sighed deeply as she led little Peter away from the noise and commotion of the training ground. In the distance, she could hear the faint echoes of Garran yelling, likely still locked in his boisterous antics. Despite her concern for Garran, her thoughts were consumed by the small boy in her arms. Peter, the son of Remulus, had been quiet and withdrawn ever since the attack by the Vampyrs in the woods—an attack that had claimed his mother. In the aftermath, his father had grown cold, distant, and harsher than before. Remulus had once been a devoted family man, but now he seemed almost a stranger.

Lain looked down at Peter, his small frame curled in her arms. He was a child of the Lupus line, with tawny brown hair and bright green eyes—eyes that reminded her so much of Garran's. She couldn't help but notice how similar they looked, though Peter's expression was filled with an innocence that was beginning to fade. Gently, she reached up and scratched behind his ears, a comforting gesture among their people.

"Hey, let me take a look at that injury," Lain said softly, pulling at the collar of Peter's shirt to see if the bruise from his father's rough treatment had worsened.

Peter reacted immediately, jerking away from her touch, his small hands pushing her fingers away with an instinctive fear. Lain's heart clenched. But in that brief moment, she had seen it—a black, runic mark, seared into his skin like a brand. It wasn't just a bruise.

Peter's eyes filled with guilt, as if he had done something wrong. "I'm sorry, big sister. But I'm okay… really, I'm okay…"

Tears welled up in Lain's eyes. She struggled to hold them back, but the overwhelming cruelty of the situation pressed on her. How could a father, especially one like Remulus, do this to his own child? She had heard whispers from her mentor that Remulus might be dabbling in dark arts—a potential reason why the village had been plagued by attacks recently. Lain's mentor, the head priestess of the Seven Suns, had long suspected something sinister. And as her successor, Lain knew it was her duty to root out such darkness, to purify the village and protect the spiritual health of its people.

But this… this was far worse than she had imagined.

"It's okay, Peter. It's okay," she whispered, pulling the boy into a tight hug. Peter trembled in her arms, his small frame shaking with fear and confusion.

His voice was small, barely more than a whisper. "Big sister, will you play with me today? Can you come to my home and play with me? I… I don't want to be there alone."

Lain smiled softly through her tears, trying to offer him some semblance of comfort. "Of course, Peter. In fact, I was about to suggest the same thing."

As they walked, Peter clung to her hand, his mood lifting ever so slightly with the promise of companionship. They made their way toward Remulus's home, a large and imposing structure that loomed over the rest of the village. The house was tall, standing three stories high, and grander than most in the village. The base was constructed from black stone, giving it a cold, unwelcoming feel, while the walls above were made of a deep blue-green wood, dark and foreboding. The windows, which had once been clear and bright, were now tinted black, making it impossible to see inside. The once-proud symbol of the sun, which had adorned the door, had been scrubbed away, leaving nothing but a blank, hollow space.

Peter ran ahead, excitedly reaching for a small key hidden beneath a stone by the door. He unlocked it with ease, pushing the heavy door open. Lain hesitated for a moment before following him inside, the chill in the air instantly crawling up her spine. The house felt wrong—there was a palpable darkness here, a sense of something ancient and malevolent lurking just beyond sight.

As Peter darted off to fetch his action figures, Lain took a moment to glance around the dimly lit interior. Dust clung to every surface, and the air felt stale, heavy with the weight of forgotten memories. The house, once filled with warmth and laughter, now seemed like a tomb, its walls echoing with the shadows of the past.

The pitter-patter of Peter's footsteps echoed down the hall as he returned, clutching his toys with a smile. Lain forced herself to smile back, sitting down to play with him. They mashed the figures together, reenacting battles between heroes and villains, Peter casting himself as the valiant knight rescuing the princess from the evil Vampyrs.

But as they played, Lain couldn't shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Her mind kept drifting back to the dark mark on Peter's skin, and the cold emptiness of the house weighed on her more heavily with each passing minute. Finally, she decided to act on her suspicions.

"Peter," she asked gently, "can you show me any room your father goes to a lot? A place where he spends time when he's home?"

Peter stopped, looking up at her with wide, innocent eyes. "There's a room in the back, but it's usually locked, big sis. I don't think Dad would want us to go in there."

Lain's heart tightened. "I promise, Peter, it'll be okay. We won't get in trouble, I swear."

After a moment of hesitation, Peter nodded, his expression brightening with a mischievous grin. "Okay then!"

He grabbed her hand and led her through the darkened hallways, past rooms filled with dust and silence, until they reached a heavy, wooden door at the back of the house. The door was thick and imposing, unlike any of the others in the house. Peter pressed against it, and to Lain's surprise, it creaked open.

"It's unlocked, sis!" Peter exclaimed, running inside.

"Peter, wait!" Lain called out, but it was too late.

There was a crash, followed by a terrified scream. "AHHHH! IT'S THE DARK PLACE! I DON'T WANT TO BE IN THE DARK PLACE!"

Lain's blood ran cold. "Peter!"

She rushed inside after him, her heart pounding in her chest. The room was dimly lit, but she could make out the outline of a massive trapdoor in the center of the floor, its edges lined with strange, arcane symbols. The air in the room was thick with the stench of something old and unnatural, something that didn't belong in the light of day. Even with the flickering candlelight, the trapdoor seemed to stretch into an abyss of darkness.

Peter stood frozen at the edge of the opening, his small body trembling with fear. "Please help me!" he cried, his voice shaking before he fell in.

Lain hesitated for only a second before steeling herself. Shame burned in her chest for even considering leaving the boy. She couldn't turn back now. She had to see what lay beneath, for Peter's sake, and for the truth.

She jumped down into the darkness, her heart racing. And what she saw below made her breath catch in her throat.

The scene before her was a nightmare.

It wasn't just a trapdoor—it was an entrance to a hidden chamber, one filled with things no child should ever see. The walls were lined with grotesque artifacts, dark runes etched into the stone, glowing faintly with an eerie, pulsating light. Blood—fresh and old—streaked the floor in twisted patterns, forming symbols that Lain instinctively recognized as dark magic.

In the center of the room, an altar stood, stained with blood and surrounded by what looked like offerings—bones, strange talismans, and remnants of dark rituals long forgotten.

And then there was Peter.

_________________________________


Midea observed the warriors as they fumbled with the task of inscribing wards onto the thin sheets of parchment. He wandered from table to table, his gaze shifting from one clumsy attempt to the next. Despite his initial instructions to simply focus on penmanship and accuracy without even imbuing the symbols with numen, most of them failed miserably. It was clear they were struggling to grasp the intricate nature of warding, let alone the deeper mechanics of rune formations.

He sighed inwardly. How hard is it to draw a proper line? Midea wasn't asking them to understand the complexities of how runes interacted with the Dao, or how they shaped the ambient energy of the world. But their inability to even produce clean, clear symbols grated on his nerves. He glanced towards the pit where Garran had been carried off for healing. The thought of his recent one-sided sparring match made him smile, despite himself.

He hadn't hated Garran, not exactly, but there was something deeply satisfying about humbling him in front of the entire village. His earlier comments during the lecture had been grating, to say the least. Midea's victory had earned him both glares of disapproval and looks of admiration from the onlookers, balancing the scales of his reputation for now. To smooth things over further, he had decided to start the lesson on wards, as well as teaching them the Solgaleo Sutra—a powerful technique associated with yang energy and solar principles. Though not a perfect fit for the wolf clan, the sutra was valuable, able to carry one to the eighth layer of cultivation. Far beyond what this village could ever hope to acquire on its own. They could spend a trillion years gathering treasures and it wouldn't begin to compare. Such was the ability of the rich.

They'll help save my ass, so I suppose it's a fair trade, he mused, though he still grumbled inwardly at the thought of giving them such a treasure.

His eyes drifted to Surya, sitting off by herself. Hati had abandoned her to accompany Garran to the infirmary, leaving the little monster alone with a brush and paper. To Midea's surprise, she was focused intently on drawing something. He moved closer, curiosity getting the better of him.

Is she trying to draw a ward?

Despite her potential, he hadn't expected much from her. Drawing wards required not just precision, but a deep understanding of how symbols connected with the Dao, the cosmic order itself. It wasn't something easily grasped, especially not by a child. And the act of drawing them did drain some amount of mental stamina.Yet, as Midea leaned over her shoulder to examine her work, his expectations shattered.

There, on the paper, were wards inscribed with flawless precision. The strokes were clean, the symbols perfectly aligned, as if she had been doing this for years.

Sensing his presence, Surya glanced up at him, her violet eyes expectant, clearly waiting for some form of praise. Midea rubbed his nose awkwardly, suppressing his surprise.

"Good... great!" he stammered. "Almost as good as I was at your age."

He couldn't bring himself to admit that she had, in fact, surpassed even his own skills as a child. After all, pride was ingrained in his very nature.

Shaking off his discomfort, he studied her more closely. This was as good a time as any to test her meridians. Given her freakish talents, he had to know what kind of cultivation technique would suit her best. He needed to see how far along she was, or if she was even ready to begin the process of cultivation.

"I'm going to test your meridians now, okay?" Midea said carefully. He was hesitant to touch her without asking, for various reasons, but once she gave a nod of approval, he proceeded.

Placing his hands gently on her back, between her upper wings, he sent a pulse of energy through her body, probing for the network of spiritual pathways that should be there. As the energy flowed into her, something strange happened—it vanished, as though swallowed by a void. There was no absorption by meridians, no feedback, nothing. Just... emptiness.

Midea frowned, sending more energy into her, hoping to get a clearer picture. Each time, the result was the same. The energy disappeared, leaving no trace. He couldn't sense her soul, nor could he detect any meridians or the flow of numen through her body. It was like trying to peer into an abyss—an unsettling, incomprehensible black hole.

He glanced down at her. She shivered slightly under his hands but didn't seem uncomfortable. In fact, she looked oddly content, almost as if enjoying the sensation. What in the world?

"Is this hurting you?" Midea asked, his brow furrowed.

Surya shook her head, the motion small but clear. She looked more relaxed than ever, as though he were simply giving her a gentle massage. But that wasn't right—she shouldn't be able to absorb energy without meridians, and she definitely shouldn't be able to mask them from him at her level.

This broke the rules.

Souls, regardless of race, all shared fundamental properties that allowed for cultivation. They all had the same core mechanics—meridians were the channels that connected the soul to the body, enabling numen to flow. And yet, here she was, defying all that knowledge. He couldn't even sense her soul, which was the cornerstone of any being's existence, let alone their capacity to cultivate.

"Unless you're somehow hiding them from me, you don't have any meridians," Midea said, keeping his voice low so as not to attract attention.

Surya's eyes widened, the shock evident on her face. She stared at him, unblinking, as though the revelation had shaken her to her core.

"That doesn't mean your path is closed," Midea added quickly, though he wasn't entirely sure what he was saying. He was working on pure conjecture now, but if the Tyrannius were truly as unique as he suspected, it was possible that their physiology operated on entirely different rules. Maybe they didn't need meridians. Maybe they were—quite literally—built different.

Before he could ponder further, he caught sight of Remus beckoning him over from the far side of the training area.

"We'll discuss this later," Midea said, giving Surya a small wave before turning to walk towards Remus. He couldn't help but chuckle inwardly at her shocked expression, but he had more pressing matters to deal with now.

As he and Remus left the training grounds, they made their way to a secluded room, one that Midea covered in protective wards to ensure privacy. Remus's face was tight with worry, and as soon as the door closed behind them, the chieftain's stern demeanor cracked.

"Have you investigated Remulus at all?" Remus asked, his voice low and heavy with tension.

Midea thought back to the shadow he had planted in Remulus's house. He had seen enough to confirm his suspicions—Remulus had been dabbling in dark arts. He recalled the unsettling sight of dark energy twisting around the man while his son cowered in the corner, shaking in silent fear or at least that was what it had looked like. The vision had been brief, and the numen in his shadow had run out soon after, but it was damning enough.

"He's using dark arts, no doubt," Midea said. "I can't be certain what they're for, or if he's behind the attacks on Wolvenblade Village, but he's definitely using them."

Remus's expression darkened, his fury bubbling just beneath the surface. With a sudden, violent movement, he slammed his fist into the stone wall, nearly shattering it.

"Damn him!" Remus roared, his voice thick with anguish. "Why? Why would he do this to us? He was my brother, my second hand! We grew up together—I loved him like family! Why would he betray us for the very monsters who killed his wife, who destroyed his family?"

Midea watched in silence, giving the man space to vent his emotions. He couldn't be certain of Remulus's motives, but the evidence pointed to something dark and insidious.

"If not betrayal," Midea said carefully, "then it's something worse. But I can't say for sure until I know more."

Remus's shoulders slumped, his face a picture of grief and disbelief. "We made a promise, Midea. As brothers. To stand by each other, no matter what. He was supposed to be by my side, supporting me through all of this."

Midea's gaze turned cold, his voice quiet but sharp as a knife. "Oh, Remus. Didn't you know? Shadows always fake their love."

_______________________

Amaleus fled through the endless void, his dharma body tearing through reality with such speed that he traversed hundreds of spheres of existence in the time it would take light to move a Planck length. Despite his titanic size—dwarfing some of the lesser spheres he passed—he could not shake the presence behind him.

Lervea.

She trailed him effortlessly, her pace almost leisurely despite the vast distances they crossed. Amaleus, a Deva of the tenth layer, a lord of Svargaloka, and one of the strongest beings in all creation, was running for his very life. But the beast in the shape of a woman, this terror called Lervea, was always just behind him, closing the gap with every heartbeat.

Lervea was smaller than his current form by a significant margin, standing only sixteen meters tall, but that did not diminish the suffocating dread she exuded. Amaleus had heard the rumors—this was her true body, not a manifestation like his own. A form that was rather large compared to most humanoid beings. Granted he didn't know if he should call that monster humanoid.

Her dress clung to her body, accentuating her sculpted form. She was the apogee of femininity—muscular yet graceful, her curves like the rise and fall of mountain ranges. Her silver-white hair flowed behind her like a river of moonlight, though the tips were as black as the void they raced through. Behind her, golden wings shimmered, embodying every shade of the sun from dawn to dusk. Yet, despite their beauty, they cast a shadow that seemed to drain the light from the stars themselves. Her tail, fish-like and covered in dark, shimmering scales, glowed with an eerie black light that flickered between quantum states, existing and not existing all at once.

Her face... her face was a thing of horror and beauty, a perfection that surpassed mortal comprehension, yet contorted into something inhuman. Her four eyes, glowing a stark blue, radiated cold malice. Rings of black circled her slit pupils, bestial and predatory, locking onto him like a hunter watches wounded prey.

Her grin, that hideous grin stretched from ear to ear, exposing teeth like blades. Each one gleamed with a wicked light, an unnatural contrast to her otherwise flawless visage. Her gaze pierced through him, promising a slow, inevitable doom.

Amaleus was terrified. Truly, deeply terrified. The kind of terror that sank into his bones and smothered his thoughts, though he tried to convince himself otherwise. His fear was justified, for even as a Deva of the tenth layer—one of the highest beings in existence—he could not escape her. And despite the waves of dread threatening to drown him, he held onto one thought. She couldn't kill him.

They had laid the perfect trap, after all.

Their agents had leaked information to Lervea's allies, whispering that Amaleus knew the location of her lost eggs—the very offspring that had driven her mad with grief. She had taken the bait, just as planned, driven by her mind-shattering despair and fury. No matter how strong she was, she couldn't resist. They had used him, a tenth-layer Deva, as bait to draw her into the killing zone.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Amaleus saw his destination—a seemingly insignificant sphere of existence, tucked away like a pearl in the vast ocean of creation. He shrunk his dharma body, slipping into the universe, and Lervea followed behind him, her presence casting a monstrous shadow over the tiny cosmos.

Amaleus grinned as the realm artifact snapped into place, a colossal structure woven from the power of collapsed realms. The space around them turned gray, and infinite concentric circles appeared in the void, each ring bigger than the last. Above, trillions of Devas and demons aligned with Baal hovered in the distance, their energy focused on the artifact. He floated upwards toward the circles, clutching the strange circular device in his hand.

"It's over, Lervea," he declared with an arrogance he didn't quite feel.

The realm artifact, Amarletact, activated, the force of its power pressing down on the fabric of reality itself. Each circle above them was filled with the combined might of three hundred tenth-layer Devas, 870,000 ninth-layer warriors, and billions of eighth-layer cultivators and a incalualable number of seventh layer and lesser beings. The weight of their collective strength made the very cosmos tremble.

"This is Amarletact," he continued, his voice rising. "Forged from the remnants of collapsed realms, it alters causality itself. Everything you do will be reduced to nothing, while everything we do will be amplified beyond comprehension. The laws of life, the very essence of numen, will collapse within this space. Here, your soul—no matter how strong—will implode under the pressure. The stronger your soul, the faster it will disintegrate! Not only that you will be crushed and restrained by the force of all the realms that went into making this artifact!"

His voice carried a frantic edge, but Lervea's expression remained unchanged. Her monstrous smile never faltered. She stood within the artifact, her gaze fixed on him, unblinking and indifferent, as though everything around her was meaningless. Amaleus felt sweat trickling down his face.

"ATTACK! STRIKE HER DOWN, AND YOU WILL BE REWARDED BEYOND YOUR WILDEST DREAMS!"

At his command, the trillions of Devas and demons unleashed their full might. Countless beams of energy, waves of numen, and the most destructive forces known to creation cascaded down upon her. Their attacks, amplified by the realm artifact, rained upon Lervea for hours, each blow a hundred times more powerful than it would have been in any other realm. The void itself screamed as reality buckled under the strain of their combined onslaught.

The display was awe-inspiring. If not for the artifact's protective barriers, their attacks would have torn apart entire realms, shattering existence as they knew it. They had brought their greatest power to bear, a cosmic light show that should have been more than enough to annihilate any being—no matter how strong.

As the barrage of energy finally ceased, the endless assault coming to a halt, Amaleus and the others floated above the smoke-filled void, waiting for the inevitable.

They expected nothing. Not even the peak of the eleventh layer could survive such a concerted attack without being reduced to ash, much less someone below that level. Even the twelfth-layer beings, the supreme rulers of existence, had not faced such overwhelming force in millennia.

The smoke began to clear, revealing the figure below.

Lervea stood there, nearly unscathed.

A trail of black-gold blood ran from her lip, barely noticeable against her pale skin. She raised her hand, wiping it away with a thumb, the same maddening smile still carved into her face. Her eyes gleamed with malicious amusement as she tilted her head slightly, looking up at the countless warriors above her.

Amaleus's breath caught in his throat. She was supposed to be dead. She should be dead.

Then, the flowers bloomed.

At first, it was just one. A golden lily, its petals opening gently beside him. He looked down in confusion, only to realize it wasn't a flower at all—it was a burst of blood. Deva blood. His eyes widened in horror. In the blink of an eye, every single Deva and demon surrounding him—every one of the hundreds of thousands who had fought alongside him—had been slaughtered.

The air was filled with the scent of gold and iron as blood exploded into the void, leaving only him.

Amaleus looked around, his mind struggling to comprehend what had just happened. The 299 other tenth-layer Devas... gone. Dead in an instant, their lives snuffed out like candles. And now, there was only her.

Lervea stood before him, her horrid grin widening as she took a slow, deliberate step forward. Amaleus, in his true form, was fourteen feet tall, but he felt like an insect beneath her gaze.

She said nothing. She didn't have to.

A broken laugh escaped his lips, the sound hollow and manic. His mind shattered under the weight of the despair that gripped him. His laughter grew louder, turning into a deranged mix of sobbing and howling.

"We never stood a chance," he whispered, his voice trembling. "We were doomed from the start."

He looked up at her, the terror overwhelming him. "Oh Heavenless Huntress... Lervea."

The last thing he saw was her gaping maw, wide and monstrous, descending upon him.

Then, darkness.

______________________

In a small corner of the universe that would soon meet its end, life went on in blissful ignorance. The twin suns hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the landscape. The fields of emerald grass swayed gently in the breeze as children laughed and played near a flowing river. Their mothers, sitting on the bank, exchanged stories and gossip, their faces bright with contentment. Farmers toiled in the distance, their hands pulling fresh crops from the earth while birds chirped overhead, celebrating the day's harvest.

In the capital city, merchants haggled in the bustling marketplace, their stalls overflowing with vibrant fruits, handmade goods, and colorful fabrics. The city's streets were alive with chatter and the sounds of hoofbeats as traders and travelers moved between stalls, sampling food and bartering for rare treasures. Towering above them all was the grand spire of the temple, its golden roof gleaming in the fading light, a symbol of the gods' watchful protection over their world.

Inside the temple, an elderly priest knelt before the altar, his hands clasped tightly in prayer. The smell of incense filled the sacred chamber as he offered his daily supplications. He prayed for his people, for the children who ran through the streets, for the families that gathered for their evening meals. He prayed for protection from the dark things that lurked beyond their knowledge, secure in his faith that the gods would watch over them.

In the village outskirts, a young couple sat on a hilltop, the wind tousling their hair as they held hands, gazing out over the landscape. They whispered promises of a future together—marriage, children, a home where they would grow old side by side. Their laughter blended with the rustling trees as they spoke of things mundane and meaningful, unaware that the world around them would soon be reduced to ash.

Life, in all its normalcy, continued in peaceful harmony, a serene existence untouched by the violence and chaos that lurked just beyond their understanding. But the air held a tension—one too faint to be noticed by mortal senses. The birds, too, began to fall silent, as if they knew something was coming.

For now, though, the people lived, breathed, and dreamed. And in those final moments of calm, they believed in tomorrow.

---

Lilith emerged from behind Lervea like a shadow, her presence sudden and ominous in the aftermath of the massacre. Her purple hair shimmered like a violet flame in the wreckage of the shattered realm artifact, and her glowing amethyst eyes locked onto Lervea. The contrast between them was striking—Lervea, a monstrous goddess, with a visage both bestial and divine, and Lilith, more human in her appearance but no less terrifying in her own right. Their beauty was on par with one another, though Lilith's felt more grounded, more akin to mortals. Yet in this moment, even she was taken aback by Lervea's sheer physicality.

What had just unfolded before her was beyond even her expectations.

Lervea had not used any special ability, no profound manipulation of energy or laws. She had simply moved. Moved with such speed that even a tenth-layer Deva—beings whose power exceeded the limits of most realities—couldn't perceive her. She had torn them apart with nothing but her hands, her body alone sufficient to annihilate them. Ending endless numbers of enemies all with physical force so quickly that it had seemed instantaneous. Amaleus had been swallowed whole, devoured like a mere snack after his futile escape. His blood dripped from her jaws before she wiped away the excess.

Lilith's shock deepened as she watched Lervea shatter half of the realm artifact with a single, devastating punch. The artifact—built from collapsed realms and empowered by the collective might of countless numbers of high-level beings—should have been indestructible to all but the most supreme forces of existence. And yet, here it was, crumbling beneath Lervea's fist like fragile glass.

What a waste. Lilith thought, though she had no desire to confront Lervea. Not now. Not when the true horror of her power had been so clearly demonstrated.

"Are you satisfied?" Lilith's voice cut through the thick silence, her words laced with a touch of sarcasm, though caution lay beneath the surface. "We already knew the information was fake, and Amaleus had no idea where your children were. You came here just to kill them. Was it pleasant?"

Lervea's head turned halfway towards her, and Lilith felt something deep inside her shudder. Those eyes—those cold, unblinking blue eyes—pierced into her soul with a detached, animalistic intensity. It was as though Lervea had weighed her very existence in that glance and found it insignificant. There was no hatred, no malice, just an overwhelming sense of indifference—a predator that cared not for the writhing of its prey. Yes Lervea had been extremely indifferent towards her since her children were lost under her care. But every so often when she was alone she could see her pain. But she didn't show that side of herself to Lilith. Not anymore.

Lilith held her breath. She was powerful, yes. A lord of Hell, an eleventh-layer being, but in this moment, standing before Lervea, she could feel the gap between them. Lervea was something beyond even her vast understanding—a creature that defied the natural order of existence. She knew that since she met her when she was young all those years ago. That being said she was much cuter back then.

Without a word, Lervea flapped her golden wings, and in an instant, she was gone. The void echoed her departure, and Lilith released the breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

Turning her attention away from where Lervea had vanished, Lilith's eyes fell upon the sphere below them—the universe that had just been the battleground. The attacks, amplified by the realm artifact, had been contained, but the aftereffects were not. Rivers of blood poured from the realm artifact, cascading down like a macabre waterfall, flooding the tiny sphere with divine ichor.

The blood of the slain Devas and demons was no ordinary fluid. At the seventh layer, even a single drop of blood contained enough power to warp space and obliterate the fabric of lesser spheres. Here, it was not just a drop. It was a deluge—a tidal wave of destruction, golden and sickly, sweeping through the universe like a plague.

Below, the creatures of that world—sentient beings with lives, hopes, dreams—were caught in the flood. They screamed, their voices rising in a cacophony of terror that echoed through the dying skies. They ran, but there was nowhere to escape. The blood consumed everything in its path, its sheer power dissolving matter, warping space, and even burning away the souls of those it touched.

Some fought. Some clung to technology, launching ships in a desperate attempt to flee their doomed world. Others used their meager cultivation, trying to erect barriers or summon energy to stave off the inevitable. But it was futile. The blood devoured them all.

Families huddled together, their eyes wide with terror, clutching each other in their final moments. Mothers held their children, whispering false comforts as the walls of their homes melted away. Lovers clung to one another, professing eternal devotion, swearing they would meet again in the next life. But the blood, suffused with the power of the Devas, would ensure there was no next life. Their souls were consumed, erased from existence entirely.

In orphanages, children held hands, seeking solace in the darkness as the flood of blood swept toward them. They didn't scream—they were too young to fully understand. They just held on, waiting for the end, their tiny voices murmuring songs of peace. In the end, they too were erased.

Chaos reigned. Some turned on each other, consumed by madness. They trampled their neighbors, tore at each other's flesh, and committed the basest of acts in the final moments of their existence. Others simply lay down, eyes vacant, accepting the futility of their struggle. The blood washed over them all the same.

And Lervea? She cared not. Not a single glance had she spared for the billions dying in her wake. She had left without hesitation, without thought, as if the universe that now crumbled beneath her feet was nothing more than an afterthought. A mere consequence of her hunt.

Lilith watched the devastation with a distant gaze, her violet eyes reflecting the dying light of the universe. Her voice, soft and dripping with dark amusement, whispered into the empty void.

"How savage. How savage indeed."

She turned away, indifferent to the death throes of the sphere. The souls, the blood, the lives—they were nothing to her. Just collateral damage, remnants of a universe that had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

With a final glance at the wreckage, Lilith followed after Lervea, her form disappearing into the void, leaving the shattered universe behind to rot in silence. The Huntress had her fill, and Lilith had no more interest in the broken remnants of this dying world.

They were returning to Hell.

 

[Behemoth.]

Oh, Terrid Tarak
_________

Tanya was stunned. The information she'd gotten during the lecture had been startling. She had no meridians. That meant she was likely incapable of interacting with the power system in this world. Her dreams of hanging up Being X's head like a chamber pot were scratched right then and there.

While Midea had claimed that her path wasn't gone, from his tone, Tanya could tell he wasn't even confident in his own assertions. That being said, she had some theories about why she lacked meridians. If meridians were so intimately connected to the soul, perhaps it was the fact that her soul had been absorbed by this body that had destroyed them. She was working purely off speculation, but she clearly remembered resisting vehemently when she was being absorbed. It was the only way she managed to keep her consciousness intact.

If there had been a clash of souls, there was a very real possibility it had damaged the soul of this body. Perhaps the instincts that were so strong in this form were the latent mind of the infant she had inhabited? But it didn't seem that way to her. She was certain they were more than base instincts but not a fully formed mind in itself. She still didn't understand why this body was able to absorb numen—the spiritual energy of this world—so easily, or why it felt so comfortable, but perhaps this soul was a broken vessel. Able to absorb energy but unable to wield it.

Whatever the case, it was bad news.

She carried the paper as she walked toward her home, her mind still racing with possibilities. The wards she had studied earlier were interesting, at least. She noticed others had struggled to draw them. They were markedly complex and even seemed to tire some of the wolf-men out just from writing a few. But she herself felt little to no real mental exertion. According to Midea, these wards were imbued with the Dao, the concepts of this world that led to different paths of power. They took a strong mind to even draw because inscribing such shapes was like imparting a piece of your soul into them. The act literally exhausted the soul itself, like a muscle being strained. Some had innately stronger souls, according to the man, which led to inherently greater talent in the art of drawing wards.

If there was one thing Tanya did not doubt, it was the strength of her soul.

If she couldn't cultivate beyond this body's inherent absorption of energy, then she would become a legendary ward master. It was always better to focus on one's strengths rather than lament one's weaknesses. She shook her head and turned her thoughts to her guardian, mostly due to the fact that he had been called away by the chieftain of the village, Remus.

Tanya had observed that Midea held a high position in this village—or at least, he was an important guest. After all, the chieftain even showed him a certain measure of respect. And he had knowledge that far exceeded anything the village had, and it was obviously clear he wasn't a wolf-man like the others. He wasn't from this race. More intriguingly, he was connected to her and had spoken of other universes and realms. It wasn't difficult for Tanya to deduce that he was from another place far from the village. In fact, she found that the least likely possibility. She found it much more plausible that he was from another world or universe entirely. She herself was aware of the greater multiverse due to her experiences with Being X, but it seemed the people of this world in general were not. Unless, of course, this village was a complete backwater in this world, which very well may have been the case.

She could see it in his eyes. He tried to be subtle about it, but he couldn't help himself. There was always an air of subtle disdain when he walked among the villagers, as if they were beneath him. Tanya was well-experienced with people of his type. He was capable, yes, but he was also a brat. Someone used to novelties and riches. Someone whose actions and capabilities had been positively reinforced his whole life, which had accumulated into an air of palpable pride about his form.

She could definitely see it in his speech patterns. Something, something Scelus, something, something noble house Valefor. The man was a noble through and through. Albeit a strong one.

She looked up at the sky. The lesson had been rather long, and the moons were now high, hanging in the dark sky like silent sentinels. There were three of them, full and almost unnaturally large.

I wonder if these wolf-men have werewolf forms, she mused inwardly.

Honestly, she had no idea how this planet even functioned. Having three moons was plausible, but having several suns? That was not. According to her understanding of physics—which admittedly wasn't much, as astrophysics had been far from her major—planets had to be in a sort of Goldilocks zone to support organic life. It couldn't be too hot nor too cold, and gravity had to meet certain conditions. In a three-body system alone, the planet would need to orbit one of the stars while the other stars orbited the primary star in the system. This meant that the other stars would also directly affect the planetoid in question. The sheer gravitational fluctuations and changing heat zones would make organic, or at least carbon-based, life exceedingly unlikely to evolve on the given planet.

Yet this planet had several suns, with different colors: green, purple, aside from the more traditional red, blue, and yellow ones that she was used to. While she was aware that atmospheric conditions could affect how a star's color was perceived, that didn't seem to be the case here. Then again, this world was literally magical. It ran off principles that didn't follow the same fundamental laws of science that she had learned about in university.

She wasn't too hung up about it, though. As long as the environment was habitable and she didn't die because the planet entered a random gravitational shift, she could deal with it. If she died again, that would be it for real. There would be no Being X to take her from the void this time. She would simply waste away and cease to exist. No legacy of what she had been would remain.

Tanya had no intention of dying. None at all.

She had decided to be greedy. Revenge, power, happiness, wealth, immortality—she wanted it all, and she would find a way to get it. The world had given her shit hands again and again, but she had not bowed down to a self-proclaimed god. Why the hell would she bow down to the circumstances of this world?

If immortality was possible, she would find a way to attain it. No matter what she had to do.

Plus, there's a faint possibility that this is natural.

The other egg was likely—no, definitely—of the same species as herself. She could still cling to the hope that this was natural for their species. She latched onto this possibility because of Midea. Despite his air of superiority, when it came to her, he was hyper-aware. He had gone so far as to correct his mistake after drawing unnecessary attention to her, just because she had shot him a dirty look. She actually found it a bit funny how he seemed to squirm at times.

Despite his strength, the man hesitated to lay a hand on her. And when he had spoken to the chieftain, he had referred to her to the village as a "mythical beast." He feared her, but not because of her strength alone as she was confident he was stronger. No, rather he feared her because of her lineage, something Midea knew more about than he was letting on. It tracked with her current physical abilities—those of the first layer when coating themselves with numen are far more durable than the average creature. But she had run through one like papier-mâché and was uninjured. This was unnatural, while the beings in this world were strong, they were strong due to numen. Their physical bodies when not being enhanced by the supernatural energy were normal, albeit stronger than a being with no cultivation at all. What she had done was impossible for any child of this village. Given all of the following, there was definitely something more to this new race of hers that would allow her to reach the places she wished to reach. But time would tell, she would have to speak with Midea soon.

"Surya!"

Tanya's musings were interrupted by the shout. She saw Hati running toward her, waving her hands frantically, trying to catch her attention. The woman was rather touchy, but Tanya tolerated her because of her current situation—and because she always seemed to have something useful when she came to speak with her.

Hati reached for a flask and handed it to Tanya with a wide grin. It was filled with rannhorn milk. Despite herself, Tanya couldn't help but feel a bit excited. She was utterly beguiled by the drink. Her body seemed to crave it with an intensity that bordered on addiction. She had even wondered if it was drugged, but considering Midea's meticulous nature, she doubted he would have allowed that.

Besides, Hati lacked the subtlety for such a scheme.

"Hehe, I know it's late, but think of this as a midnight snack! Once you're able to talk, you can teach big sis here how to do that wardy thing the goat man did." Hati hugged Tanya close, pressing her cheek against hers. The woman lacked any concept of personal space.

"That being said," Hati continued, her voice slightly muffled by Tanya's hair, "he went too hard on Garran. I'm sure it was just experience. If Garran was at the second layer and had a technique like that, he would have made goat stew with the Satyr!"

She rambled on about Garran's feats, emphasizing how impressive he was and how he could have won.

Weren't you cheering against him? Tanya thought, sighing inwardly. You living, breathing archetype.

Tanya sighed again, but audibly this time, her patience already thinning. Hati was clearly a chatterbox, bouncing from topic to topic with seemingly no internal filter, and Tanya just wasn't in the mood to deal with it right now.

"Hmmm, oh, sorry, Surya. You must be tired. It was a really long day for you, huh?" Hati looked down at her with those burnt orange eyes that glinted under the light of the moons. Her red hair seemed to shimmer as she tilted her head, a mixture of concern and motherly affection crossing her face.

"Want me to rock you to bed and sing you a lullaby? No, I definitely will." At that moment, the woman's expression turned downright evil in Tanya's eyes.

Oh hell no.

Tanya quickly widened her eyes, pointing dramatically behind Hati as if something alarming was there. It was the oldest trick in the book, but effective nonetheless.

"Huh? What is it?" Hati whipped her head around in worry.

The instant her back was turned, Tanya bolted. Full speed. Her bare feet literally cracked the earth beneath her with each step as she shot off like a bullet, small clouds of dust trailing in her wake. She heard Hati sputtering behind her, coughing on the dirt she'd inadvertently kicked up, as she literally forced Hati to eat dirt. Something she felt moderately sorry for but was definitely more humorous than anything.

"Pfft— ahem, Surya!—cough—where are you going?" Hati's voice echoed behind her, but Tanya wasn't stopping.

There was no way in hell she was letting herself get sung to bed like some infant. Despite the reality of her age.

She didn't run home right away, though. No, Hati would probably try to stake her out there first, so that was out of the question. Besides, she'd already checked on the egg earlier today, so it should be fine. For now, she wanted some peace and quiet away from the walking ball of chaotic energy that was Hati.

The village was serene at night. The triple moons bathed everything in soft, silvery light, illuminating the blue-green wood of the houses and casting gentle shadows on the dirt roads. The towering trees beyond the village walls had strange spiral branches, and when silhouetted against the moons, they looked like something out of a painting. Swirling golden lights danced in the distance, probably some form of wildlife, and the sounds of the night created an almost harmonious backdrop.

It was peaceful. Alive.

Tanya's instincts thrummed with satisfaction. Her body was still passively absorbing the ambient streams of energy, numen flowing into her almost effortlessly. The village itself felt vibrant, and the quiet of the night soothed her usually tense mind.

As she passed a more rural area with fewer houses and more fields, something unexpected happened.

A hand shot out from an alleyway, attempting to drag her into the darkness.

Instincts kicked in immediately. Tanya didn't panic. She resisted the pull with ease, yanking her arm the opposite way, and the next thing she knew, a body went flying.

Tanya blinked, looking up at the figure she'd just thrown into the air like they weighed nothing. She was still shocked by her physical strength, even now. The person she'd thrown was a young girl with silver hair, about Tanya's height, which meant she was likely around nine or ten years old. She had, in fact, grown a fair few centimeters since her birth a few days ago. Hati said it was due to the rannhorn milk, but she was sure that it was due to her energy absorption. Great, another kid.

"AAAHHHHHH!!!" the girl screamed as she flew through the air, clearly caught off guard.

Tanya moved fast, her wings flapping to propel herself upwards. She caught the girl around the waist and carried her like a sack of potatoes back to the ground before letting her go.

The girl blinked up at Tanya, wide-eyed. "Whoa! You're not my sister. But that was fun! Let's do it again!" She seemed unfazed, which honestly annoyed Tanya even more. This girl had just tried to kidnap her and was now asking to be thrown around like a toy.

Typical.

"Well, she's a kid, I guess," Tanya mused. But she needed to figure out why the girl had done it. Considering Midea already knew she could understand language and she had a reputation as a mythical beast, maybe she could speak without it drawing too much attention—plus, it wasn't like this one random kid could do much damage if she blabbed. Tanya figured she could bribe the girl with promises of fun to keep quiet about her ability to talk.

"Your sister?" Tanya asked, feigning faint curiosity.

"Oops! I wasn't supposed to say that!" The girl smacked a hand to her forehead in mock panic before continuing, her voice filled with excitement. "Wait, what are you? No, wait, I know! You're that sun angel who killed a vampyr when you were born, right? Have you come to bless me? Or choose me to be a knight of the sun? Or maybe you're here to eat me! Oh, oh! How are you so strong already? Have you cultivated? Do blessed ones need to cultivate?"

The questions came flying out of her mouth rapid-fire, like a machine gun, and Tanya could barely keep up with what the kid was saying. But she could deduce a few things. The girl was supposed to meet her sister here for some reason but had grabbed her instead. What she found strange was that she had never seen the girl before. It was strange solely considering the fact that she remembered all the children from the school Hati had dragged her to, looking out at her in wonder. She thought back, going over her memories, which were clear and distinct as a photo and went over every face she had seen until now. This girl's did not register, but she did remember a girl who bore some similarities to her in facial structure but was possessed of golden hair instead. While there was a possibility she missed some kids for various reasons, she found it unlikely. All the kids seemed to be funneled into the schools. The village wasn't exceedingly large, so it's not as if there were a lot of them. That one school pretty comfortably held all the younger kids in Wolvenblade.

"Who are you?" Tanya sighed, the faint curiosity in her tone now very real. This kid was a chaotic bundle of energy, and Tanya already felt mentally exhausted from just standing near her.

"Oh, me? I'm Luna! And you're Surya, right?" she answered, her voice high-pitched and excited.

Tanya just nodded. She had no idea why this child was so eager, but she played along for now. The girl went on, barely taking a breath.

"Sorry for rambling. Sol always tells me not to do that."

"The sister you mentioned earlier?"

"Yeah! Sol's the serious one and the strong one, and I'm just me. But it must be so cool to be so strong, even though you're so young!" The girl sounded cheerful, but Tanya detected a faint undercurrent of melancholy behind her words.

"You were waiting for her?" Tanya asked, her curiosity genuinely piqued now.

Luna looked surprised, as if she hadn't expected Tanya to pick up on that detail. After a moment of hesitation, she nodded.

"Hey… can you keep a secret?" Luna asked, lowering her voice.

Tanya simply nodded, already expecting something absurd.

"Our moms don't want us to ever really meet or talk to each other. So, Sol sometimes sneaks out at night to see me. I mixed her up with you because your hair color is so similar. Sorry!" Luna clasped her hands together in a pleading gesture, her eyes wide with sincerity.

Their moms didn't want them to meet? So they had different mothers and the same father then. Perhaps he cheated on one for the other, which led to the split in families? Marriage was a thing in this village, but due to its patriarchal structure, divorce really wasn't. She had listened to a few of the village women and pieced together how the relationship between men and women worked here. A man could have multiple women, or he could leave a woman, and she'd get nothing at all. That being said, it was the men who were on the front lines fighting and dying to defend the village, but that was not a necessity given this world had cultivation. Just as she was the greatest warrior in the empire due to magic. Women tended to do more domestic duties. There was the exception of the few disciples of Baya, who had unique healing arts, and they were all women. Baya was the head priestess of Wolvenblade who somewhat worshipped the seven suns. Fenrir being their Jesus, in a way.

It was a sad situation for Luna, but one that wasn't uncommon in this kind of society.

"It's fine, is your sister coming tonight?" She looked around.

"Well, I don't know. We don't ever really get a chance to plan it. She comes when she comes. I just wait outside of here for a few hours before I head back inside. My ma never notices because she's sickly and sleeps like a log, but it's a lot harder for Sol to sneak out."

Ah, so the man had left this girl's mother for the sister's mother then? A shame for the girl. She herself had a special position in the village, so she didn't know how the misogyny would affect her in the future. If it came down to it, she would have to do something about it, but for now, it was irrelevant.

"Can you also keep a secret, then?" Tanya asked, putting a finger to her lips.

Luna straightened up and put her hand to her head in a mock salute. "Yes, of course I can!"

"Don't tell anyone I can talk—at least not for a few days." Tanya's voice was serious, but Luna seemed more excited than anything. She blinked, thought for a second, and then as if realizing something, immediately put on a dramatic show of stroking an imaginary beard, as if pondering the request deeply.

"Hmmm. Yes, I can keep that secret. But you'll have to do something for me." The girl grinned mischievously.

Tanya sighed. Of course, there's a catch.

The next few hours were spent with Tanya throwing the girl into the air and catching her repeatedly as Luna squealed in delight. By the end, Luna was visibly sweating but still grinning ear to ear.

"Okay! Deal's a deal. I'll see you tomorrow, Surya! Don't forget—you have to come here from now on!" Luna waved as she ran off.

Tanya waved back half-heartedly. It was a small price to pay, honestly. Plus, she was still curious about Luna's situation. Why couldn't they meet during the day when they were at school? Something didn't quite add up.

I'll figure it out later.

For now, she was satisfied. By now, Hati would have given up waiting for her. It was time to check on the egg and rest for the next day. She would start speaking in bits and pieces tomorrow and start fully speaking over the next few days. She had to check on the egg too.

As she headed back, the night was quiet, but Tanya's mind buzzed with plans and theories.

____________________________

Midea extinguished his shadow once he was sure Surya had safely made it home. He couldn't help but feel both amused and disturbed by the situation she'd placed herself in. That little monster had asked the young girl, Luna, to keep her speaking ability a secret for a few days. The implications were clear—Surya intended to gather more information while everyone still believed she was mute, likely planning to manipulate how fast she let people think she'd learned to speak. It was a terrifyingly cunning strategy for someone so young. The fact that she had the self-awareness to realize how quickly she was learning and that it wasn't normal for a child, made her all the more frightening.

Midea knew she could understand language, but until now, he hadn't known she could talk.

"The offspring of Lervea, indeed," he muttered, his body giving an involuntary shiver at the mere thought of the woman. Despite his immense pride, Lervea was one of the few who could make him feel something akin to fear. If his elders from House Valefor were here, they would undoubtedly admit the same. According to his knowledge, Lervea had laid both eggs—Surya's and the other—at roughly the same time. That meant if Surya had hatched, the other one might not be far behind. Two monsters. He pinched himself, forcing his composure back before clasping his hands together for a prayer, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Lord Satan, in moments of difficulty and uncertainty, I call upon your dark and profane intervention. Let your corrupting influence seep into my life and bend fortune to my favor. Amplify the challenges of my enemies a hundredfold, bringing chaos and ruin to their every step. Grant me opportunities for victory and the strength to crush the bloodlines of those who dare oppose me. May I rise victorious as their legacies fall into oblivion, for your will is my weapon, and your power my shield. Nema."

If had the time he would have done a few blood sacrifices too. He exhaled, feeling a slight, hollow satisfaction. Of course, Satan wouldn't actually answer him. It was a long-standing superstition among his people that if you were devout enough, Satan might help you out in a pinch. The ritual was more habit than belief, ingrained into every demon from birth. After all, Satan was the absolute ruler of Hell, a being of the twelfth layer, and unlike any other demon. He wasn't even referred to as a demon anymore—he was simply the Devil, an entirely different entity. Even Lilith, lord of Midea's own circle of Pride, was merely an archdemon compared to him.

But such thoughts were beyond him now, or at least they would have been if he weren't stuck in this cursed situation—watching over Lervea's offspring. Somehow, he had found himself at the epicenter of the conflict between the Circle of Pride and the Devas, solely because of these children. The fate of a war, a race, rested on his shoulders. Usually, he'd be smirking casually at becoming the center of attention. It was where someone liked him belonged after all, but he was prideful, not arrogant. He understood when he was out of his depth, but even then the responsibility stuck with him all the same. This would be either his rise to magnificence with the full support of Lervea and her children behind him or it'd be his complete annihilation

With that sobering thought in mind, he made his way to a secret meeting. A few hours after his conversation with Remus, Lain had invoked her mentor's authority to call together a council of the village elders—those who had reached the second layer in their cultivation. The meeting was shrouded in secrecy due to the possibility that Remulus had allies or spies in the village. He turned a corner, approaching a medium-sized wooden structure that smelled faintly of herbs. It was likely one of the village's many storage houses.

Knock, knock.

A gruff voice called from behind the door, "What's the password?"

Midea let out a weary sigh before replying, "And the wolf wore pig skin. And the wolf ate the pigs. And the wolf's teeth were red. And the pigs were wolves. And the sky was gold. And the suns were eaten by Tarak. And the wolf was cold but his stomach was warm. And then the wolf was killed by pigs. And then the pigs were wolves. And the world was cold, the sky black—it was never gold."

How needlessly complex. The door creaked open after what felt like an eternity. An older man with tiny eyes, a bald head, but thick black eyebrows and wolven ears ushered him inside. The corridor was covered in dust, clearly an ancient part of the village, which made sense for secret gatherings. Yet the smell of herbs persisted. Perhaps it had been used as a storage for medicinal supplies at one point, or maybe that smell simply lingered in this world, sticking to the walls and air. Lain, with her practice in medicine, always carried that scent with her.

The old herb house had been transformed into a kind of amphitheater. Chairs encircled the center of the room where Remus, Lain, and an elderly woman stood. The old woman had kind wrinkles etched into her face, her hair turned silver with age. Despite her short stature—especially next to the imposing Remus—she exuded a vitality that belied her years. She wore ceremonial white robes adorned with images of the seven suns and a formless beast burning beneath their light. Above the suns was a wolf, enshrined and protected by their glow. Around her neck was a crystal laced with gold, clearly a symbol of heavy cultural significance, and she held a wooden staff in her left hand.

"Midea, welcome. Please, have a seat," Remus gestured toward one of the chairs.

Midea took a seat next to a man with a long, grotesque scar that ran down the right side of his face, leaving his eye milky white. The sight was repulsive; he silently wondered why the man didn't wear a mask to spare others the displeasure of seeing it. The man's damaged visage was an affront to Midea's sensibilities—House Valefor valued beauty and strength, and this man represented neither.

"I'll introduce everyone," Remus began. "The man beside you is Hathor."

The scarred man gave Midea a dismissive glance but said nothing. His rudeness sparked Midea's inner disdain, but he chose not to react. Now wasn't the time to create unnecessary enemies.

"That is Skollf, that is Ondallf, and that is Randalk," Remus continued, pointing out the other figures in the room. Skollf was taller than Midea but not as tall as Remus. He had sandy brown hair and a leaner physique compared to the other warriors. Ondallf was round, surprisingly so for a people who lived such hard, survivalist lives. His well-groomed mustache gave him an air of nobility. Randalk, on the other hand, was a sheer wall of muscle, shorter than Remus but equally as broad. The man's crimson-tinted skin gleamed in the moonlight, and Midea wondered for a moment if the villagers used steroids or if this was simply the result of cultivation gone overboard. Some simply liked the aesthetic after all.

Remus continued, introducing four more elders, all men, before finally pointing to the elderly woman at his side. "And this, Midea, though I'm sure you've heard, is the High Priestess of the Seven Suns, Baya."

The old woman's laughter filled the room. "Bagyagyagya! I heard a damn goat-man had entered our village, but I wasn't sure whether to believe it. Tell me, what sun birthed a race like yours?"

Midea was taken aback by the woman's rudeness but wasn't one to be cowed by such things. His upbringing in as a Scelus had taught him to stand his ground.

"Apparently, one that favors me, given my youth," Midea replied smoothly, allowing a smirk to curl on his lips. "It seems cultivation hasn't been as kind to you."

He knew when to submit and when to push back. He could feel several sharp glances towards him but he didn't care. He had grown up in House Valefor where he was in competition with several hundred of his father's children. And he had been the one to come out on top. He knew where to give in but he also knew when to stand up for himself. If one bowed their head in submission all the time the weight that kept their head down would decapitate them one day. Such was the state of hell.

Baya cackled, her eyes gleaming. "Bagyagyagya! At least this young goat has a spine! Let's get on with it, you useless children."

The tension eased, and Remus chuckled softly. "I apologize for Baya. She has… a certain way about her."

Midea nodded but said nothing, watching as Remus' face turned grave. "I've called this council because we need to discuss something of grave importance. Midea has brought to my attention that my brother, Remulus, maybe using dark arts. Lain, who entered his house, has witnessed something that supports this. She has the floor to speak on it now."

Lain stepped forward, clearing her throat nervously. "I swear on the Seven Suns, what I witnessed today was evil. I went to visit Peter, Remulus' son, but I also wanted to investigate the rumors surrounding Remulus. As Baya's successor, it's my duty to ensure the village is protected from any dark influences."

Hathor shifted beside Midea, clearly unimpressed. "It is not your duty, woman, to investigate elders, especially someone like Remulus."

"Hathor!" Remus' voice thundered through the room, silencing any further protest. "Let her finish and then raise your objections."

Lain, unfazed, continued. "As I said, I wanted to investigate. Remulus' house was strange—there was a hidden chamber beneath the floorboards in one of the back rooms. Inside… I saw things. Twisted things. Blood and flesh, though I couldn't tell if they were from our people or animals. I wanted to leave immediately, but my duty kept me there."

Despite her soft appearance it seems she had a formidable inner strength to her being as well.

"I found out that what he had made was a summoning ritual. During the night of the three new moons, he will go to the highest point in the village and summon the accursed races upon the Wolvenblade." She continued.

She pulled out a wooden plaque, carving symbols into it as she spoke. The room fell silent, everyone turning to Baya for confirmation.

The old woman nodded, her expression suddenly serious. "She speaks the truth."

Midea recognized the crude summoning symbols. They weren't too dissimilar from the basic rune work the villagers had been using to enchant their weapons, though they were far more advanced.

"He has defenses in place," Lain continued. "I believe the room is lined with self-destruct runes. He wasn't home when I investigated, but if he were…"

Randalk, the warrior, stood, his bulk casting a large shadow across the room. "Then we should strike now! Catch him off guard and stop this madness before it begins."

The room murmured in agreement, but Baya quickly silenced them.

"Quiet down brats! My disciple here thought a lot about this. Hear her out completely before you continue your ignorant gossip." Baya spittled at them and with an authority that could only come from seniority. It was rather funny to see how much power the old woman held despite the literal patriarchy of the village.

Lain nodded gratefully and continued, "If we attack him now, the self-destruct runes will go off. And as we know Remulus was one of our strongest warriors. Our second strongest in fact at the ninth shackle of the second layer for a long time like our chieftain before he broke through to the third. Combined with his self-destructive runes and himself how do you think confronting him would go, with his power enhanced by dark arts now? Even if we win, the destruction would be immense."

Ondallf stroked his mustache before saying. "Even with that being the case we have the chieftain and several warriors of the second layer including Midea. He will be trouble but out victory is assured. Would the destruction he caused not be vastly inferior to what will happen if his plan succeeds?"

"Yes lord Ondallf, however, the summoning ritual is not as simple as you think. Because the Vampyrs are mindless creatures he would have to go out into the surrounding forest and somehow mark large amounts. And we know he has been leaving the village recently as we all know he just came back just after the last big attack."

"While the accursed races are generally mindless," Lain explained, pointing to the runes again. "Remulus has been subtly influencing them. He's been leaving the village often, marking them in the forest. And Vampyrs move in pacts. When he marks beings and they come to the village he is able to mark more and more. Think of it like an infection that spreads amongst them. So it's likely cases of attacks will increase until the new moons. And when the new moons come, he'll have already marked enough to bring them straight to our walls directly. If we break the ritual before the new moons, the Vampyrs will go wild. The forest will become even more dangerous."

She paused before continuing her explanation.

"During the new moons, both Remulus and the ritual will be at their most tenuous state. During this time if we destroy the ritual and defeat Remulus the vampyrs souls will be directly impacted by the backlash from the broken connection amplified by the power of the new moons and ritual." Lain said making her point.

"Bagyagya, what she means is all those damn Vampyrs will die and no self-destruct runes will go off and we can deal with the bastard!" Baya said as if it was plain obvious. Which it was to him but the others didn't get it.

"""Ahhh.""" They all let out sounds in agreement to the simplified explanation. However, there was something wrong here. It didn't sit right with Midea.

"If, they are mindless and there are no other ways to control them." He said breaking the room of agreeing people. He saw Lains eyes snap up at him as the room fell silent.


"The accursed races have always been mindless," the room echoed in total agreement like what they had said was an indisputable law of nature. He even saw some looks of disdain from the elders. But no law was absolute cultivation itself exemplified this rule, all laws could be flipped as easily as a greedy person could be with a bribe. No rule was absolute, and Midea knew better than to trust in the static nature of the world.

"If you are confident, then I have nothing more to say on it. I will not lecture you on your culture as if I know better. However, I think it's best to be wary. You never know after all."

They shook their heads as if what he was saying was absurd. When in actuality they were the absurd ones for throwing aside his warnings so completely and utterly. He sighed in exasperation inwardly.

They scoffed at him, clearly unwilling to entertain the idea. Midea sighed inwardly once more. How Foolish.

"In any case," he continued, "if attacks are going to increase, I'll reinforce the village walls with wards. I can also set up a few teleportation points for emergencies, though I can't link too many without causing spatial interference. Thus they are unable to exist in close proximity to one another. Not to mention they require a great deal of numen to maintain."

Baya cackled once more. "Bagyagyagya! It'd be wise to place a few at the core seed as well."

The elders reacted with shock at her suggestion, and Midea raised an eyebrow. "The core?"

Remus explained, "It's an area only priestesses can enter. All priestesses practice healing and wood arts. The seed is connected to the main wall that surrounds most of our village. It runs numen through the structure and it is why it is so easy for our wood art uses to manipulate it somewhat to guard against enemy attacks as you saw in our first battle. As those who worship the sun, they practice unique wood arts that allow them to manipulate the seed. The seed is a piece of rune work that controls the wall to be simple. It can even make openings in the wall aside from the main gate."

"Hoh. And you're willing to let me near it?" Midea asked, genuinely surprised. The seed was the village's greatest defense. Letting him near it was either an act of complete trust or reckless desperation. After all, this was the core of their village, without their wall they would be subject to all the horrors of this world and vampyrs would kill off so many of them that Wolvenblade would go extinct not soon after. They had no idea what he could do while he was there with the object. And they knew for a fact that the old woman couldn't stop him. Even Remus couldn't stop him at least not without him doing some serious damage first. It seemed bold and somewhat absurd.

Baya laughed again. "Bagyagyagya! After you warned us to be cautious, even when we disagreed, I can tell you're not just a slimy bastard. You've got some spine to you. Plus, we're not completely trusting you—we've still got those two kids you brought with you. Their safety is tied to ours. It's not all faith, goat-man."

Despite the seemingly rude words, Midea could feel the intent behind them. The woman was both crude and kindly. He couldn't help but feel as if they had put too much faith in him. A literal demon not that they knew that of course. Which was kind of his point.

Remus chuckled. "Exactly. You wouldn't disappoint us, would you?"

While he didn't quite like the way the chieftain or priestess had put it, he would let the wolves have their moment. No need to save his pride here. One had to know when to advance and retreat. And of course, one had to know when to put in a little flair to gain more trust. Because trust was control and stability. And that was what he needed right now in this place.

As such Midea allowed himself a serpentine grin. "Disappointment? That's for those who aim low. I do not miss, falter, or fall short. I am the crescendo of expectation, the embodiment of certainty. To know me is to understand that failure is reserved for lesser beings. In my hands, even chaos bends to perfection. To those who doubt—well, you'll simply have to wait and see. In my homeland, we have a saying: A Scelus never disappoints.

_____________________

In the dark, abyssal chamber beneath Remulus' home, an altar stood grotesquely at the center, its surface slick with dark, viscous blood. The space was bathed in shadows so deep they seemed to move and writhe like living creatures, with shapes shifting in the periphery of vision—half-glimpsed figures that weren't quite there but always just beyond sight. The air itself felt heavy, oppressive, weighed down by some unseen presence, while the walls seemed to breathe in tandem with the ragged, unsettling whispers echoing from unseen corners. Dark runic marks glowed faintly around the altar, pulsing with a sickly green hue, their origins and meanings lost to madness. The symbols crawled, alive with chaotic energies, twisting the very fabric of reality around them as if the room itself was struggling to remain anchored to the world outside.

Reality sagged here. Corners weren't quite right, stretching off into distances that shouldn't exist, and shadows clung to the edges of things like parasites, feeding off the space. Gibbering, incoherent voices whispered incessantly, echoing from corners beyond corners, from places that defied spatial logic. This room wasn't just wrong; it was broken. A wound in the world.

Sagged against the wall like a discarded ragdoll, Peter sat slumped, his body an empty shell. His eyes were wide open, pupils glazed over as if he stared into some terrible abyss—seeing everything and nothing all at once. His chest rose and fell shallowly, but there was no life in his gaze. His limbs were limp, and his mouth hung half-open, dribbling spit down his chin. It was as though his soul had long since fled, leaving his body a hollow, animated corpse, nothing more than a puppet to the horrific forces now occupying the space.

Atop the altar, Remulus knelt, naked, his trembling form covered in blood and twisted, dark runic symbols that writhed on his skin as if they were alive. His entire body shook violently, though the tremors were slowly beginning to calm. Two grotesque spinal cords jutted from the center of the altar, their origins buried deep within a monstrous corpse-like figure fused grotesquely with the stone floor, as if it had been dragged halfway from some burial pit or birthed from the floor itself. Its emaciated arms were splayed out over the altar, draped like withered, skeletal vines, their clawed fingers caressing Remulus' bare form in a sick parody of intimacy.

The creature's heads—two gaunt, skeletal faces—were perched atop the spines like grotesque flowers blooming from rotten stems. Flesh, bone, and darkness intertwined to create a nightmarish imitation of what a face should be, each malformed, horrid, and wrong in every possible way. Their eyeless sockets were pits of pure darkness, their mouths open wide, spewing thick rivulets of blood onto Remulus as they babbled insanities. The blood reeked of iron and rot, soaking into his skin and matting his hair. It wasn't just blood—it was something more. It was tainted, corrupted, pulsing with dark energy as if it carried the essence of the monstrous creature itself.

The air was thick with the stench of decay and something far worse—something primordial. The shadows, responding to the madness of the room, whispered things too quiet to hear but too loud to ignore. Their voices were slurred, nonsensical, and layered in such a way that it was impossible to tell how many there were. Some muttered, others screamed, and still others seemed to laugh—a chorus of madness.

"Remulus, Remulus, Remulus!" one of the heads shrieked, its voice a sickly, gurgling wail that echoed unnaturally in the chamber.

"You know what you must do," the voice continued, its tone warped with malice. "The new moons. Death and destruction, rot and rot and rot. Blood and horror, sorrow and despair. Flesh and bone. Devour, consume, replace."

The other head joined in, echoing the madness, its voice overlapping in a discordant symphony with its twin. "Eat, eat, eat and rot! Death, death, death! Blood and ruin! Rot and rebirth! Remulus! Remulus! Remulus!"

The blood soaking into Remulus' skin seemed to crawl of its own volition, pulsing in rhythm with the voices as they pushed him toward submission. His trembling began to ease as the madness wrapped tighter around his mind.

"...Will I get my wife back then?" Remulus asked, his voice a broken whisper, barely audible above the gibbering insanity. "Will that satisfy you?"

One of the heads twisted downward, its hollow eyesockets dripping with congealed blood. Its grin was wide, stretching too far to be human. "Remulus, Remulus, Remulus... didn't we bring your child back to you?" the head cackled, its voice both mocking and cruel. "We dragged him from bone and dirt, pulled him from the maggots and the beasts. Isn't he with you now? Look!"

Peter's body jerked upright, his limbs twitching unnaturally as he began a horrid, twisted dance around the altar. His empty, blackened eyes locked onto his father as he moved like a marionette controlled by invisible strings. The child's expression remained blank, but his mouth hung open in a terrible, silent grin, as though death had twisted his once-innocent face into a nightmarish mask.

He swayed closer to Remulus, arms flailing in grotesque mockery of joy. Then, leaning in, Peter's face hovered inches from Remulus', his lifeless green eyes staring into his father's.

"Bring back my mommy," Peter whispered, his voice a childish whine. But as the words left his mouth, his face contorted, warping into something hideous and inhuman. His mouth stretched far too wide, revealing a gaping abyss of pure darkness where his throat should be. "Bring me my mommy. BRING ME MOMMY!" His voice escalated into an unnatural, deafening shriek that reverberated through the chamber.

Remulus turned his head away, tears streaming from his bloodshot eyes as the voices of the heads pushed him further, prodding at his sanity like knives.

"Bring him back his mommy, Remmy! Remmy! Remmy!" The voices chanted, their laughter bubbling up from the shadows, distorted and cruel.

"FUCK YOU!" Remulus screamed, his voice breaking with raw, agonized fury as he jerked upright. His green eyes, identical to his brother's and son's, were wide with rage and sorrow. "Don't you DARE call me that! Only SHE called me that!"

The heads cackled in unison, their laughter a harsh, grating sound. "Gonna hurt us, Remmy? What about your boy?" they taunted, the skeletal faces bobbing mockingly above him.

Remulus' fists clenched, his teeth grinding together as the mockery continued, the heads bouncing and twisting as they jeered. But then, as if sensing his weakness, one of the faces began to shift, warping in front of his eyes. The gaunt, skeletal visage twisted and transformed, taking on the appearance of a beautiful, tanned woman with long black hair and narrow, piercing dark eyes. Her sharp features were softened by sorrow, and her lips quivered as if she were about to cry.

"Kiyanna…" Remulus whispered, his voice breaking. His fury was instantly replaced with despair.

The woman's face drew closer to his, her eyes brimming with tears. "Remmy," she pleaded softly, her voice a delicate whisper that cut straight to his core. "Please help me. Please save me, Remmy. I don't want to die. Why didn't you help me back then? Why did you fail me? Why did you fail us?"

Her words stabbed into him like daggers, and Remulus' resolve crumbled. His mind was flooded with memories, fragments of the life he once had with her. Her laughter. Her warmth. And the day he had lost her. His hands trembled, reaching out toward the vision of his wife as tears streamed down his face.

"I-I tried my best. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'll do anything... please, I just, I just—"

"Why did you fail us, daddy?" Peter's voice whispered, his childlike face now inches from Remulus, his expression blank yet filled with accusation.

Remulus gasped, his pupils shaking as the walls between memory and reality blurred. His heart pounded painfully in his chest, each beat a reminder of his failures. He had tried. He had done everything he could, hadn't he?

"You were always jealous of Remus," Kiyanna's voice whispered, now filled with bitterness. Her lips curled into a sneer. "He had everything you didn't. The affection of the village, the respect. He shone like a star, and you were just a shadow."

"No… it wasn't like that…" Remulus' voice wavered, his mind spiraling as memories of his brother's successes and his own failures crashed into him.

The other head warped, transforming into the stern, bearded face of his father. The old man's harsh, unyielding gaze bore into Remulus, his lips twisted in the same disgusted scowl Remulus had seen so many times growing up.

"From the moment of your birth, every single step you've taken, every idea you've had, has been nothing but a disappointment," his father's voice growled, dripping with contempt. "Nothing you've ever done has been 'right,' Remulus. Nothing."

The words reverberated through his skull, shattering his already fragile mind. He couldn't remember anymore. Had his father really said those things? Or was this some twisted delusion born of guilt and madness?

"But when Remus came to him, he was met with only love," Kiyanna's voice hissed in his ear. "Maybe it's because your mother was just a one-night stand, a mistake."

Her words tore at him, the insinuation ripping away any remaining semblance of composure. His heart ached, and his soul screamed in protest. It wasn't like that, he told himself. It wasn't.

"For people like that… why do it, Remmy? We always loved you. Bring us back. Even now, they look at you with fear, with distrust. They only see a bastard. A shadow. But you were always our sun."

"Kiyanna wouldn't say that," Remulus whispered, but even his voice wavered with doubt.

The head shifted back into its previous grotesque form, its wide grin splitting its face. "We can bring her back, Remmy. Just follow the plan."

"REMMY! REMMY! REMMY!" The chamber filled with their chanting once again, the voices rising to a deafening crescendo, drowning out the last remnants of his sanity.

Defeated, broken, Remulus nodded weakly. The shadows recoiled, retreating back into the walls and corners. The twisted body of the creature, along with its dual heads, sank back into the stone, leaving the chamber eerily quiet. Peter's puppet-like body collapsed to the floor with a sickening thud, his limbs bent at unnatural angles as he lay still once more.

But the blood remained. The blood always remained, congealing into a thick, tar-like substance that clung to the floor and walls, bubbling and separating, merging into grotesque shapes and patterns.

"AHHHHHHHH!!" Remulus screamed, clawing at his face, his nails drawing blood. He couldn't stand it. The guilt, the rage, the sorrow—it all tore at him, ripping him apart from the inside. The world itself seemed to mock him. His mind was a prison, each memory a chain pulling him deeper into the abyss.

Why? Why is nothing the same as it was?

_________________________

It had been a few days since Tanya's fateful meeting with Luna, and much had changed in that short span. The night after the lecture, where she'd lamented her lack of meridians and cursed her fate, had now drifted into memory. The day after that, Tanya had finally begun speaking—albeit in half-words. The effect was immediate. Shock rippled through the village, a collective astonishment that someone so young was already forming speech.

Hati, of course, had reacted with typical exuberance, grabbing Tanya and swinging her around as if she were her own child, boasting loudly about how smart the little "sun angel" was. The redhead's enthusiasm was palpable, her voice carrying through the village. She had boasted to Garran several times in particular, which she thought was strange. There was probably some psychological reason for that but she had no intention of thinking to deeply in the issue. Garran, meanwhile, had looked startled and mildly disturbed, though he kept his usual stoic demeanor. His eyes, however, betrayed a flicker of unease. And then there was Midea. The satyr shared a similar sentiment with Garran—he was both amused and disturbed, though there was an air of familiarity about his reaction. He had known all along, or at least suspected it.

Tanya could see it in his eyes. There was no surprise in them, only a smirk that said, I knew this would happen. Yet, behind that smirk, there was something more: a glimmer of disturbance. An interesting combination of emotions and one Tanya filed away for future questioning. Now that she could speak openly without arousing too much suspicion, she was curious to dig deeper into Midea's mind. He had, after all, been playing her up for days, helping to ease the villagers' shock by creating an aura of awe around her. Although she was pretty sure he did that unintentionally. She didn't particularly enjoy the attention, but if it meant she could speak years ahead of schedule, she wasn't about to complain too much. She couldn't find it within herself to be angry at the Satyr for it.

Her nights had been filled with Luna's company—amusing the girl while simultaneously learning more about her situation. Luna had opened up quickly, offering Tanya a wealth of information about the village's culture and myths, often comparing her to the stars and mythical figures she idolized. Tanya found the girl's excitement contagious at times, even if she found it baffling how quickly Luna accepted her as something extraordinary. Then again Tanya in this life had been named after one of the seven stars that were revered almost like deities in this world. She even had a title simply by virtue of her birth during a particularly rough time for the planet.

In the future she would have to grow used to reverence or at least admiration it seemed. Her full name, which sounded more like an epithet than anything, carried weight in the village. The people viewed her in an almost divine light, which was understandable, given the strange circumstances of her birth and her latent abilities. It wasn't hard for Tanya to relate to them. She could understand how strange her existence was, given how people were starting to look at her, but she didn't enjoy the deity comparisons. Still, she was pragmatic enough to recognize the benefits such respect afforded her.

The days, meanwhile, were busy. Hati dragged her from place to place, and Garran continued to be the unwilling subject of her training demonstrations. Hati had asked Garran to teach her various combat moves, all under the pretense that she wanted to learn quickly once she was old enough to begin formal training. Tanya, however, was fairly certain Hati just wanted an excuse to see Garran without his shirt on. Something she didn't understand because the men rarely wore shirts. In fact they wore their armor more than they did their shirts despite the pieces of clothing being readily available. That being said it was still something Hati seemed to enjoy commenting on.

Aside from observing Hati's antics and absorbing Luna's stories, Tanya spent her days following Midea, watching him inscribe wards around the village. She babbled intentionally in his presence, her words half-formed, but her eyes took in everything he did. All the while he looked at her with that same sense of being both amused and disturbed. The Vampyr attack had apparently been enough to warrant a complete overhaul of the village's defenses. As Midea had been working tirelessly, often layering wards in ways Tanya found fascinating. She watched him carefully, storing away every detail of his craft for later use. The man was an artist through and through. If she could not cultivate then she wasn't so terribly upset that this may be her path. The Satyr also went slower in order to teach her intentionally. Or he would just straight up explain things.

Today was no different. Midea was currently inscribing another ward near the outer wall, his movements methodical and precise, tracing the intricate symbols with a mixture of blood and ink.

"This is the stacked technique," Midea explained as his hand deftly layered the wards. "Wards can be layered directly atop one another through manipulation of numen and a slight change in how they're drawn. Intent is critical, as the wards drink from the essence of the soul—well, not truly, or you'd die, but they're exhausting to create, as I'm sure you've experienced."

Tanya hadn't experienced any real exhaustion when drawing wards, but she nodded along, observing the way the wards floated, stacking themselves seamlessly with subtle alterations to their shapes. There was something hypnotic about the way he worked—an art form, really. She couldn't use numen, but her analytical mind devoured the information eagerly. She mostly noted how he slightly changed the shape of that he drew them in. This was a huge part of why they were able to stack and it was really the only part that the current her could learn thoroughly at the moment. It would grant her a solid foundation for her future endeavors.

"And a single ward can only be layered a maximum of nine times, correct?" she asked, tilting her head as she watched him.

Midea froze, nearly dropping his brush. His eyes snapped to her, wide with shock.

"...And how did you come to that conclusion?" he asked, his voice measured but clearly surprised.

Tanya shrugged. "You mentioned previously that nine is integral in creation. Nine shackles in each layer of the soul before transcendence into higher authority in... well, I suppose I can't say 'universe.' You also mentioned meridians are graded in multiples of nine. It seemed reasonable to assume the rule of nine applies to the wards as well. The stacking technique resembles the explanation you gave for how shackles function, so I put two and two together."

Midea shook his head in disbelief, muttering something under his breath before clearing his throat. "Ahem, you're truly a little monster, aren't you? Just as good as me when I was your age."

Tanya allowed the ghost of a smile to form on her lips. It wasn't the compliment that amused her, but the fact that this intelligent, prideful man was acting like one of those fathers who exaggerated their past glories. I could bench press four plates in high school, she thought sarcastically. Still, she was curious about something. Midea had used the word "monster" to describe her. It wasn't just about her intelligence; there was something else behind the term. Was it because of her avian physiology? Her unnatural strength? She'd recognized early on that her exceedingly violent instincts were abnormal. And essentially knew for a fact that Midea knew more about her new race than he let on. She had no intention of asking him in public due to the possible leak of their shared secrets. But she did have the intention of asking the man to go to a more private place soon.

Before she could ask, they were interrupted by a boy no older than ten. He had tawny brown hair and green eyes, a spitting image of Garran. 'Has Hati already lost out to the other girl?' Tanya mused, though she doubted it, given how determined Hati still seemed.

"Woaahhh, what are these?" the boy asked, his eyes wide with childlike wonder as he looked at Midea's work. Before Tanya could respond, he turned to her briefly. "Nice to meet you, I'm Peter!"

Tanya nodded at him, but before she could say a word, Peter had already turned back to Midea, his curiosity clearly overriding any sense of decorum. Children, she thought with a sigh.

"Where are you putting all of these? They're so cool!" Peter asked excitedly.

"Just around the walls and some other areas to reinforce them," Midea replied calmly, though Tanya noticed he was watching Peter closely now as if something about the boy warranted attention.

"I heard you can even teleport with them! Where will you put them? I want to be able to teleport from my house to school. Then I'd never be late for any class!"

Midea stopped and then grinned slightly, his eyes still focused on the boy. "Unfortunately, I can only set up one, and it's for the warriors to travel between the barracks and another key location. Civilians might also be transferred during an attack—to keep kids like you safe from the bad guys."

Peter beamed at the explanation but then seemed to fidget. "I wonder if I'll ever be as good at wards as you are!"

Midea's smirk widened. "I doubt you'll ever be as good as me, but I'll make sure you get a chance to learn."

Peter grinned in response, but suddenly his face shifted to one of shock. "It's a monster!" he screamed and ran off immediately. Midea didn't react, only grinning wider. Tanya, on the other hand, turned around to see what had scared the boy.

Her face met a pair of large breasts. It wasn't as pleasant as it sounded.

"Hi, Surya!" Hati said, leaning over her with a mischievous grin. "Come on, walk with me. The old goat is done with his warding, right? Oh! That reminds me, you can teach me those wards! Garran missed his first lesson, and he hasn't held another lecture since."

Tanya stared at her, still processing the sudden change in circumstances, while Midea chimed in with his usual calm demeanor. "I have responsibilities, Hati, and I'm certainly not old. But yes, I'm done with the wards here. She's free for you to drag elsewhere."

Tanya shot him a glare as she was dragged away by Hati. This is betrayal, she thought. There will be consequences. She locked eyes with Midea, refusing to blink until he, visibly uncomfortable, vanished from sight using some sort of technique. It did satisfy her that it made him use a technique of some sort to disappear rather than endure her gaze, but it was a fleeting solace.

Hati didn't seem to notice Tanya's internal turmoil as she produced yet another flask of milk, thrusting it into Tanya's hands while parading her around the village. "This is the smithy," Hati explained, pointing at a shop with axes displayed on its sign. "The guy in there, Bardo, is a bastard. Didn't want to make weapons for me because I'm a girl, so I just stole them."

Tanya took a sip of the milk—still the highlight of her day—as Hati continued her tour. "That's where they make clothes. They don't like me either, say I have no talent in sewing. But we both know I could definitely be the best if I tried, right, Surya?"

Tanya just sighed inwardly as Hati rambled on, listing her grudges with each stop. Eventually, they reached the training grounds near the barracks, where Hati suddenly turned to her with a gleam in her eyes.

"I think you should try running the course today! And then we can sit down for some milk afterward!"

Tanya raised an eyebrow. Is she serious? I'm barely a week old. Unnatural strength non-withstanding "Don't you think it's a bit early for that?"

Hati's expression turned deadly serious as she locked eyes with Tanya. "Surya, let me teach you something. It all starts with you—everything you've ever wanted, everything you've ever dreamed of. It starts today. Live each day pushing at the bounds of what's possible. Live each day like you want to eat the moon or the sun because tomorrow is never guaranteed."

Tanya blinked. Did she just turn into a motivational speaker?

As much as she appreciated the message(or didn't) to Hati's knowledge she was a week old. In actual terms of the age of her soul she was also around that age. Only her mind was ahead, what the hell could she have dreamed of or desired in this short time? She was somewhat breaking her tsundere archetype with this, no?

As Hati dragged her toward the obstacle course which she had no real intention of doing, they encountered a group of boys around Hati's age. Which she estimated to be around 19 given her character and level of development. The leader of the group was a walking stereotype: slicked-back blonde hair, a cocky smirk, and an attitude that screamed spoiled brat. Trailing behind him were a fat boy, a muscular one, and a lanky one. They all had that air of false confidence, the kind born from following someone else's lead.

"Well, look who it is," the blonde boy sneered, his smirk widening as he eyed Hati. " It's this manly bitch. Going to try and train your tears away again because Garran thinks your ass is so ugly he doesn't consider you a woman? Becoming more manly is not the solution to your issue Amara. And look at you corrupting the next generation."

Tanya felt an immediate surge of annoyance. What a sleaze.

"My name is Hati, and if you don't call me that, I'll kick your ass again Conryn." Hati snapped back, her voice filled with venom.

Let it be known that Hati was actually really strong. She was just under Garran in terms of shackles and there were not that many soldiers on that level. After all, Garran was the general of the entire village. The only people on the second layer aside from Midea were the eight elders of this village and apparently the high priestess. Everyone else was middling in the first layer somewhere. Which was to say Hati was one of the strongest people in the small army they had.

Conryn, as the boy was apparently named, chuckled. "Like I said, so brutish. Are you sure you aren't some hermaphrodite? You didn't even beat me last time."

Hati sneered, her eyes glinting dangerously. "If one of us is a hermaphrodite, it's you. Never before have I seen such a whining little bitch who calls for his daddy in a fight. Have your balls dropped yet? Or is your daddy still holding your sack to help you piss? Hathor isn't here to help you, Conryn."

Tanya was impressed. Hati really knows how to put people in their place.

Tanya had pegged him correctly this boy–Conryn was just the type. Incompetent and sleazy and relying on other people. He was a spoiled brat on top of it and in a different way from someone like Midea.

Conryn turned bright red, and the boys behind him stifled their laughter. "Fuck you!" Conryn spat, his voice cracking slightly as he and his group walked past them.

But then Tanya heard the telltale sound of something whistling through the air. She turned just in time to see a glowing rock hurtling toward Hati's head. It was moving fast, imbued with numen, and Hati wasn't prepared. Without the supernatural energy coating her, the blow could knock her out—or worse.

Without thinking, Tanya extended one of her wings, deflecting the rock with ease, right back at his face of course. She felt no pain. In fact, she hadn't even hardened her wing. The rock flew back at twice the speed, slamming into Conryn's face with a sickening crunch.

"AAAUUUGGGHHH!!" Conryn's scream echoed through the training grounds as blood sprayed from his nose, his head snapping back from the force of the impact.

Tanya felt a wave of satisfaction wash over her. How satisfying.

"What the hell is that little bird thing?" one of the boys shouted.

"Fucking monster!"The muscular boy and the skinny boy said in concert.

She wondered if they were reading from a script considering how basic they were. It was really almost cartoonish, their actions that is. She was half of the mind to just cut off their han— yeah this body is definitely affecting the way she thinks.

The group scrambled to help Conryn, their bravado evaporating as they realized they were outmatched. They hurried away, shooting nervous glances over their shoulders.

"Yeah! That's what you fucking get!" Hati yelled after them, her voice dripping with satisfaction. "And don't you ever call my Surya a monster again!"

Tanya smirked, but before she could react, Hati turned and glomped her, rubbing her cheek against hers.

"So you do care about me!" Hati cooed, her voice filled with affection.

Tanya rolled her eyes. "Five flasks."

"Huh?"

"Five flasks of milk," Tanya repeated, dead serious.

Hati grinned. "Only five? I'll get you ten!"

________________________

Conryn stumbled out of the healer's house, his wounds still aching despite the day's worth of treatment. He wasn't fully healed yet, but enough had been done for him to leave under his own power, albeit with a limp. His face still bore the bruises and cuts from the earlier altercation with Hati and that accursed winged creature, Surya. Rage bubbled in his chest like molten lava, simmering just beneath the surface, threatening to boil over. Outside, his minions waited for him, the three of them lined up like obedient dogs. The moment he exited, Worgen, the fat one, dropped to his knees, eyes wide with fear.

"Ah, Conryn!" Worgen wailed. "That manly bitch is as evil as Tarak, isn't she? How dare she—"

SLAP.

The crack of Conryn's hand against Worgen's cheek reverberated through the street. The force of the blow sent Worgen sprawling several meters away, the fat boy's head spinning as he collapsed to the ground, clutching his stinging face. Tears welled up in Worgen's eyes as he groaned in pain.

"You think I didn't hear you holding back a fucking chuckle, minion?" Conryn sneered, advancing on him, his eyes flashing with malice. "Do you want me to tell my father what happened? Do you know what he'd do to your dad's business? Actually…" Conryn's smile widened, turning predatory. "I hear your younger sister is pretty cute, unlike you. I wonder what would happen if I really asked for her?"

Worgen's face drained of color as he crawled back up to Conryn's feet, sobbing, tears and snot mixing on his already bruised face. "No, please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean anything by it, I swear!"

"Enough." Conryn spat on him, the thick glob landing squarely on Worgen's head. "You already look pathetic enough on the daily, you bloated sack of shit."

Worgen whimpered but said nothing, too terrified to respond.

"Get up," Conryn ordered, his voice low and venomous. "We're going to fuck up that little monster's house. How dare it strike me? It's not even part of this fucking village."

With that, Conryn led his trio of lackeys to the small home where Surya had been staying. Fear gnawed at the back of his mind as he neared the house, but he pushed it down, refusing to let it show. He might be terrified of facing her in direct combat—she'd killed a Vampyr of the fourth shackle, something he, at the sixth shackle, couldn't dream of doing—but that didn't matter. Hati was also stronger than him, yet she still had to bow to his father's influence. His father was at the second layer, a true powerhouse in the village, and Conryn was confident that no matter what happened, he would be protected. Midea's presence in the village meant little to him. That goat-man might have strength, but he didn't have the deep roots here that Conryn's family did.

No, whatever happened today, he could blame one of his minions. His father had always protected him, and with the talisman in his pocket, he could summon him at a moment's notice. He could push the blame onto Worgen or Ohkong if things went sideways.

He sneered as he approached Surya's home, his anger rising with each step.

"You, Ohkong. Knock in her walls."

The muscled minion obeyed without hesitation. He slammed his fists into the wooden structure, shattering the walls with ease, leaving fragments of broken toys and scattered debris in his wake. Conryn watched with twisted satisfaction as the once neatly arranged home was reduced to ruins.

"Skinny one, ruin her shit."

The skinny boy immediately rushed inside, overturning furniture and tearing through the few possessions Surya had. He kicked over a small table, splintering it into pieces, and then gleefully smashed a pot against the ground, sending shards skittering across the floor.

Conryn stood by the doorway, a sick grin on his face. His heart swelled with a sense of triumph. It felt good to ruin something that belonged to that monstrous little bird. But his bloodlust wasn't sated yet. He wanted more.

"Worgen," Conryn said, turning to the fat boy with a smirk. "Shit on the ruins."

Worgen's eyes widened in horror, his face paling. "W-what?" he stammered.

"Did I fucking stutter?"

Worgen hesitated, looking at the wreckage, then back at Conryn. But the fear of defying Conryn was stronger than his revulsion at the order. With trembling hands, he unbuttoned his pants and squatted over the ruined remnants of Surya's home, his face scrunched up in humiliation.

Conryn, Ohkong, and the skinny boy burst into laughter, jeering at Worgen's misery. "Look at the little piggy go!" Conryn howled, slapping his knee. "Too much to eat, fatass?"

The mockery continued for a few minutes until they grew bored of it. Conryn wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling. "Hey, look at that other egg." He pointed to the large, red-black egg that was still nestled in its pen. "Go fuck with it."

The skinny boy hesitated, but with a nod from Conryn, he moved toward the egg. As soon as he stepped past a certain point, a purple barrier of numen flared to life, blocking his advance.

"No can do, boss," the skinny boy said, knocking on the opaque shield. "This thing's solid as a rock."

Conryn growled in frustration and stomped toward the pen, kicking at the barrier in anger. But before his foot could even make contact—

CRRKKK! CRRKKK!

Cracks began to spread along the surface of the numen shield. Conryn froze, his heart racing. How the hell was the barrier breaking? Midea had set those wards himself, and they were supposed to be impenetrable, especially to someone at his level. Fear crawled up his spine as the cracks widened, and then, with a deafening shatter, the barrier disintegrated like glass.

Conryn whipped his head toward the pen, and his blood ran cold. The red-black egg was broken, shattered into large pieces. And standing in its place was something… inhuman.

The newborn creature stood in the pen, chewing on pieces of its own eggshell, devouring them like they were the finest delicacies. The boy—or what seemed to be a boy—had skin the color of rich mahogany, his thick black hair streaked with silver at the tips. But it was his horns that drew Conryn's attention first. Four of them, black with white tips, jutted from his skull—two curving backward from his upper forehead, while the other two curled around his temples like a demonic crown, their tips pointing forward in a deadly arc.

His body was already well-developed, muscular despite his apparent infancy, parts of his form covered in patches of dark, pitch-black scales with white edges that gleamed under the sun. The scales and ridges ran down his spine, his shoulders, and his thighs, while a long, thick tail swayed behind him, its surface covered in jagged, black plate like scales the edges also white. His crimson-red eyes, slitted like a predator's, locked onto Conryn with an intensity that made his blood run cold. Black tattoos lined the boy's eyes, giving him an eerie, almost mystical appearance, as if he were something born of nightmares or legends.

The boy bared his fangs—sharp, blade-like teeth that glistened with the remnants of egg shell—and growled, a low, guttural sound that sent a primal fear through Conryn's very soul. For a moment, they stood there, locked in a standoff.

"What the hell… it hatched," Conryn whispered, his voice barely audible. He took a step back, the weight of the situation settling in his gut like a stone. This thing… this creature wasn't like the other one. It wasn't even the same species, was it? It had no wings or anything of the sort. There was no divine blessing here, no aura of sanctity. This was just a monster. A beast.

"You! Attack it! It's a literal infant!" Conryn barked, his voice shaking with a mixture of fear and desperation.

Ohkong hesitated for a moment, then pulled out a knife he always kept on him. He charged the boy, imbuing his body with numen, his blade flashing as he aimed for the creature's arm. But the boy moved faster—his hand shot out, bare, unprotected, and caught the blade mid-swing.

Ohkong sneered, expecting the boy's flesh to be torn apart by the blade. But to his horror, the knife didn't cut through. Instead, it shattered, crumbling to pieces in the boy's grip. The creature's crimson eyes flashed, and before Ohkong could react, the boy twisted his arm with terrifying ease, nearly ripping it clean off.

"AAAAHHH!!!" Ohkong screamed, his body convulsing in pain, but the boy didn't stop. He bit down on the man's arm, his razor-sharp teeth slicing through flesh and bone like they were nothing. Blood spurted everywhere as Ohkong's arm was severed at the stump, the boy chomping down on the flesh with grotesque satisfaction.

Ohkong tried to fight back, punching at the boy's face with his remaining arm, but the blows barely registered. The boy's tail whipped around with deadly speed, jagged spikes forming along its length mid-motion. The tail snapped forward like a whip, slashing through the air with a sickening crack. It severed Ohkong's remaining arm as if it were made of wet paper. The man's scream echoed through the clearing as he crumpled to the ground, blood spurting from his stumps. His body convulsed in pain, but the boy paid no attention, continuing to devour the flesh of his latest victim with savage hunger.

Conryn felt bile rise in his throat as he watched, paralyzed with fear. This wasn't a newborn—it was a monster, a creature born of blood and violence. The satisfaction of ruining Surya's home had completely faded, replaced by a gnawing terror that gripped his heart.

"Holy shit, help him!" Conryn yelled, snapping his head toward the skinny minion, who was frozen in fear. The boy's crimson eyes shot toward them, locking on with a predator's gaze. The skinny boy gulped, fumbling with a dart gun he kept for emergencies.

"Use the dart gun, aim for its eye!" Conryn hissed, his voice shaking. The skinny boy, his hands trembling, quickly loaded the dart and imbued it with numen, praying it would be enough. He took a deep breath and fired.

The dart whistled through the air, aimed directly at the boy's eye. Conryn's heart soared for a moment as he imagined the dart piercing the beast's vulnerable eye. It was a common strategy—eyes were hard to reinforce with numen, even at higher cultivation levels. Surely, the dart would take it down.

Ping.

The dart bounced harmlessly off the boy's bare eyeball, as though it had struck solid iron instead of flesh. The crimson eyes blinked slowly, almost lazily, before narrowing in anger. Without hesitation, the boy dropped Ohkong's lifeless arm and launched himself forward, moving faster than anything Conryn had ever seen.

The boy moved on all fours, his body a blur of black scales and muscle. He darted straight toward the skinny minion, running like a shadow through the man's legs with a sickening crunch. Blood sprayed as the boy's claws and body tore through the man's lower body, completely obliterating his legs just above the knees. The skinny boy crumpled to the ground in a heap, now rendered completely useless. He screamed, his body writhing in agony.

"Aughh! Errk!" The skinny boy could barely breathe, his cries of pain turning to gurgles as the shock of his injuries overtook him.

The boy—no, the monster—didn't even pause. It turned its head toward Conryn and Worgen, its eyes flicking between them as if deciding which one to devour next.

Conryn's hand shook as he reached into his pocket, desperately pulling out the talisman that could summon his father. He sent a pulse of numen into it, hoping beyond hope that help would come before the beast reached them.

The boy's eyes locked onto the talisman for a moment before shifting back to Conryn. His predatory gaze seemed to flicker with thought, as if contemplating whether or not to attack. But then, the decision was made. The boy's crimson eyes gleamed with intent, and he crouched low, preparing to strike.

Conryn panicked, pulling out his own knife and grabbing Worgen by the collar. He shoved the fat boy in front of him like a human shield, hoping the creature would go for the easier target first.

The boy lunged forward with terrifying speed, his tail trailing behind him like a shadow. Worgen, to his credit, tried to raise a shield of numen in defense, but the boy ignored it completely. He leaped over Worgen's head, twisting his body mid-air. His tail swung down with full force, aiming directly at Conryn.

Conryn barely managed to jump back, the tail grazing his side but still slicing through his flesh like a hot knife through butter. The air pressure alone sent him crashing backward into the wreckage of Surya's home. His body collided with debris, splinters and shards of broken wood stabbing into his skin. The worst part, however, was the smell—the unmistakable stench of shit. He had landed right in Worgen's filth, his face and body smeared with the foul substance.

Gagging, Conryn tried to push himself up, his vision spinning from the pain. But before he could fully regain his bearings, he felt the boy's presence looming over him. He looked up, his breath catching in his throat.

The boy's crimson eyes were right in front of his face, only centimeters away. He could feel the creature's hot breath on his skin, see the blood still dripping from its fangs. Fear overwhelmed him, paralyzing him to the spot. He could do nothing but tremble, tears mixing with the filth on his cheeks.

"I'm going to die," Conryn thought, panic seizing every fiber of his being. His whole life, he had relied on his father's influence, his status in the village. But now, none of that mattered. He was at the mercy of a monster, one that clearly saw him as nothing more than prey.

In sheer terror, his body betrayed him. He did exactly what Worgen had done earlier—out of pure fear, he soiled himself.

The boy's tongue shot out of his mouth, a long, barbed appendage that pierced into Conryn's cheek, the sharp edges scraping against his flesh as it pulled back, leaving a ragged, bloody hole. Conryn screamed, his voice hoarse from terror, but it was drowned out by the sound of the creature's fangs descending toward him.

Suddenly, a blaze of red numen exploded between them, the force of it blasting the boy away from Conryn. The creature's tongue snapped back, pulling with it chunks of flesh as it retreated. The monster landed a few feet away, growling as it staggered to its feet, its crimson eyes flashing with anger.

Conryn recognized that energy immediately. It was his father—Hathor. Relief flooded his chest, but it was short-lived. He knew his father would come, but the reality of the situation had changed. He was not in control anymore. This beast was far more dangerous than he could have ever imagined, and now his father would have to deal with the consequences of his actions.

As Hathor's imposing figure materialized, his eyes immediately locked onto the scene before him—the wreckage, the blood, and the terrifying creature standing amidst it all. His face twisted in fury, not at the monster, but at his son.

"What in the name of the Seven Suns is that damned thing, Conryn?" Hathor's voice boomed, filled with anger and disgust.

But before Conryn could respond, the boy let out a bone-chilling roar, his body coiling as if ready to strike again. Hathor's expression shifted, his eyes narrowing as he prepared for the inevitable clash. The monster, though newborn, was no mere infant—it was a force of nature, and Hathor knew that dealing with it would take everything he had.

And Conryn, still lying in the filth and ruins of Surya's home, realized in that moment that he had not just made a mistake.

He had unleashed a nightmare.

________________

Tanya had been evading Hati for most of the day, dodging the woman's insistence that she run through the village's obstacle course, which Tanya privately dubbed "the course of doom." Hati had thrown out motivational quotes like candy, her words brimming with energy and enthusiasm, but Tanya was no fool. She knew better than to give in. Instead, she had used her natural advantage—flight—launching herself into the air and gracefully escaping Hati's relentless persuasion. It had worked, and she'd been free to head home, where she planned to check on the other egg. Her instincts had been nagging at her all day, urging her to check on it, something primal within her stirring at the thought.

Then, the ground shook beneath her.

BOOOOMM.

The sound echoed through the air, and Tanya's blood ran cold. It came from the direction of her home. Instincts surged through her as her wings flared wide, propelling her forward with powerful beats. Was it the Vampyrs again? Or something worse? Every fiber of her being screamed at her to protect the egg. Her wings sliced through the air as she flew faster than ever, closing the distance between her and the small dwelling she had come to see as a shelter.

But when she arrived, her breath hitched at the sight before her.

Her house was a wreck. Splintered wood and shattered belongings were strewn about, and the foul stench of defecation hit her nose like a slap. The scene was chaos: a boy lay in the dirt, smeared with filth, a fresh scar running across his torso and a gaping hole in his face. Another man, missing both legs above the knees, writhed in agony. Yet another, limbless, lay unconscious. And there, standing in the middle of it all, was a creature—a boy, no more than a newborn, yet primal and monstrous. Horns spiraled from his head, sharp and menacing, and a long, reptilian tail flicked behind him like a whip. His bare body glistened with blood, and his crimson eyes gleamed with a savage intensity that made Tanya's own instincts scream.

But it wasn't fear. Not at all. It was something deeper—a connection. The boy's eyes locked onto hers, recognition flashing in them instantly. And just as she recognized him, he recognized her. They were bound, not by chance, but by something far greater. Since before they were even born.

The boy turned his head fully toward her, and in that moment, Tanya felt something stir deep within her soul. This was her kin. There was no doubt about it.

But the man facing the boy—an elder, by the looks of him, with a scar across his face and one milky white eye—didn't care about that connection. His face twisted in rage as orange energy blazed around his spear, the heat of it warping the air around him. He took advantage of the moment.

"What an absurd creature," the elder spat, his voice filled with venomous hatred. "Able to survive the full force of a second-layer cultivator with nothing but a flesh wound? You need to die!"

He lunged forward, his spear aimed directly at the boy's heart, the fire surrounding it blazing hotter with every second. Tanya's instincts screamed at her, and she moved before her mind could catch up. Her wings beat fiercely, propelling her forward. But the elder's spear struck true, slamming into the boy's chest with meteoric force. But even as the weapon made contact, the boy's flesh barely gave way. The spear only managed to pierce an inch deep before sending the boy flying backward from the sheer force.

Tanya didn't hesitate. She launched herself toward him, catching him mid-air, her arms wrapping around his waist as her wings absorbed the brunt of the impact. The force of the blow rattled her, but she held steady, refusing to let him hit the ground.

The boy in her arms didn't struggle. He didn't lash out. He simply looked at her, his fierce crimson eyes softening as if he recognized her as something familiar, something safe. He nuzzled against her chest, and Tanya's heart swelled with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. Her soul responded to his actions thrumming with a deep, primal sort of love. It was that same instinct which had her protect the egg in the first place.

She glanced down at the wound, her fingers tracing the small gash on his chest. The boy flinched slightly, but that was the only reaction he gave. The injury was shallow, barely more than a scratch. And then, before her very eyes, the wound began to close. The flesh knitted itself together, sealing completely in mere moments.

"Hoh!" she whispered in awe, her fingers brushing over the now unblemished skin. It was as if the attack had never happened.

Tanya looked at the boy more closely. His features, though distinct, bore undeniable similarities to her own. His skin was a different color, but the sharpness of his eyes, the markings beneath them—these were the same as hers. Although his were black, the same color as his hair just like hers she noted. He was her sibling, without a doubt.

But there was no time for further reflection. The elder's voice cut through the air again, filled with righteous fury.

"Solgaleo Sutra Unique Move: Spear of Seven Suns!"

The elder's spear split into seven blazing points of light, each one radiating immense power. The fiery weapons surged toward them, and Tanya knew she couldn't dodge in time. She had no choice but to protect her brother. She wrapped her wings around them both, hardening the feathers into a shield of pure steel-like strength.

The spears collided with her wings, each impact causing the air to shake with violent explosions. But Tanya held firm. Her wings, despite the force of the attack, remained unscathed, protecting them both from harm. When the dust settled, the elder's attack had left nothing but scorched earth.

Soon, the clearing was filled with the sounds of approaching footsteps. A group of villagers had gathered, including Midea, his face a mask of cold fury.

"HELL'S EMBRACE SEVENFOLD!!"

Midea's voice echoed through the air, his hand erupting in flames as six ethereal palms orbited around his own. He moved with blinding speed, faster than Tanya could track, and his attack was aimed directly at the elder. The blow would have killed him outright if Remus hadn't intervened, blocking the strike with his own weapon. Even so, Remus was sent skidding backward, his arms trembling from the force of the impact.

"MIDEA!" Remus roared, his voice filled with authority. "What are you doing? You would have killed him! He is an elder of our village!"

Midea's eyes blazed with contempt as he stared Remus down. "I do not negotiate with the weak. In fact, I do not negotiate at all. I make deals, Remus. We had a deal, and you would do well not to violate your side of it. Because I promise you, if you do, I will make you suffer more than any Vampyr ever could."

The venom in Midea's voice was palpable, his words dripping with malice. Even Remus, as powerful as he was, seemed to hesitate before responding.

"Clear out! Take away the injured!" Remus finally commanded, his voice brooking no argument. "MOVE, HATHOR!"

The villagers obeyed, dragging the wounded away from the scene. Even Remus himself stepped back, giving the three of them one last look before leaving.

Midea rushed over to Tanya and the boy, his expression softening with concern. "Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice tense.

"I'm fine," Tanya replied, glancing down at her brother. The boy's eyes were still fixed on Midea, a low growl rumbling in his throat. He was ready to attack.

"Stop it," Tanya said firmly, her voice gentle but commanding. Instantly, the growl ceased, and the boy relaxed in her arms, his savagery completely snuffed out at her word.

Midea chuckled softly, a hint of amazement in his voice. "I suppose between monsters, hierarchy is based on age."

Tanya met the Satyr's eyes, her mind whirling with the enormity of the situation. Then, the name came to her, a name that felt right, that resonated with the essence of the boy in her arms. "Tarak," she said softly.

Midea and the boy both looked at her, curious.

"In the legends of this village, Fenrir was the great wolf, born under the Seven Suns—a hero," Tanya explained, her eyes locking onto Midea's. "But Tarak... Tarak was the beast that chased the first sun, the crimson sun. According to their myth, the other suns were born from it to distract and help seal great Tarak."

"You want to name him after the great evil of their myths?" Midea asked, raising an eyebrow.

Tanya looked down at her brother—the boy who had already shown such incredible power, whose red eyes burned with the spirit of a predator. "Look at his eyes," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "They are the eyes of a hunter through and through. As red as the sun up above."

Midea glanced at the boy, then back at Tanya, a slow wry smile spreading across his face. "Tarak it is, then."

___________________

 

[Behemoth.]

Tyrannius And the Legends Of Lervea

______________________________

Tanya held her brother's hand as they made their way to Midea's home, their footsteps kicking up small clouds of dust along the village's narrow roads. The decision to stay with the Satyr was practical—both their homes had been destroyed, and they needed shelter. But more importantly, Tanya sought a private moment with Midea. She needed answers about her origins, and she wanted to better understand her physiology. She knew instinctively that she and Tarak were not ordinary, and the sooner they learned the full extent of their abilities, the better prepared they would be for the challenges ahead.

As they walked, Tanya couldn't help but glance down at Tarak. His red eyes were fixed on her, full of trust—complete and utter trust, as though he believed she would never harm him. And he was right. The connection between them felt undeniable, and she scoffed inwardly at how easily her rational mind was giving in to the overwhelming instincts of this new body. Already, she was thinking of him as family. Her thoughts, once sharp and analytical, were now clouded by these primal feelings. They weighed on her heavily, making it difficult to separate her own emotions from the instincts that had been ingrained in her new form since birth.

Despite the relative calm around them, Tanya couldn't ignore the growing tension in the air. As they passed through the village, people began to gather along the roads, huddling in small groups beneath the green-blue roofs of their homes. She could hear their whispers—some in shock, others in fear or amazement.

"That's the girl... she's the one with wings."

"And that... that creature with her... look at his eyes!"

"Did you see what happened earlier? He tore through men like they were nothing."

The murmurs grew louder, and more villagers came out to stare. Tanya noticed many were children, their wide eyes filled with a mix of awe and terror. She stiffened, her senses heightened, and she could feel Tarak tense beside her. A low growl began to rumble in his chest, and she shot him a sharp glance.

"Wait, Tarak," she hissed under her breath.

There was no need to provoke more distrust than they already faced, but she couldn't completely blame him. He was an infant, in mind if not body, and the instincts that came with their birth were likely much stronger in him. They screamed at them both to kill, to dominate, and to destroy anything that threatened them. Tanya, with her previous life's experience and discipline, could suppress these urges—barely. But Tarak was too young, too raw, to understand that restraint.

Her eyes scanned the crowd, noting the looks of terror from some of the adults, who whispered while sending worried glances in their direction. She spotted one woman clutching her child protectively as they hurried inside their home. They had become a spectacle, something beyond human understanding.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed a girl watching them from a distance—this one wasn't Luna, but Sol, Luna's sister. Sol stood with her hair as bright as sunlight, cascading down her back in golden waves. She was staring at them with wide, curious eyes, wearing a pendant with the image of a sun inscribed on it. But before Tanya could make sense of Sol's gaze, her mother appeared, roughly grabbing the girl by the collar and dragging her away with clear urgency. The woman's face was dark, etched with anger, and Tanya immediately recognized her as Sol's mother. So, this was the woman Luna's father was currently with—or at least, that's how Tanya understood the situation.

Tanya's mind raced as she pieced together what little she knew about the family. Luna and Sol—two sisters, one so similar to herself in hair color, yet so different in demeanor. Luna's mother had always been sickly, and she had never seen the woman out during the day. In fact, she had never seen her at all. If Luna's mother was so prone to sickness that she couldn't leave the house, why was Luna never outside during the day either? Something wasn't adding up. Why was Sol out in the daylight while Luna remained hidden until nightfall? There was something more to this family than a simple scorned lover. It was certainly curious if nothing else. She remembered seeing a similar pendant on Luna—though it bore the image of the moon. Did that have any relation to the situation?

These thoughts were pushed aside as they finally approached Midea's home, a modest building made of the same blue-green wood as the others in the village. Tanya let out a small sigh of relief. They had made it without further incident.

"There you go, little monsters," Midea said with a grin as he held the door open for them.

Tanya shot him a glare, and beside her, Tarak growled again. He didn't understand Midea's words, but the tone alone was enough to make him bristle. Tanya, however, didn't stop him this time. The Satyr seemed to enjoy provoking reactions from them.

Once inside, Tanya took in the sight of Midea's home. It was, in a word, opulent—or at least as opulent as one could manage in a place like this. The walls were decorated with stitched hides of various beasts, the floors covered in thick, fur-lined carpets. A large, imposing head of some winged creature—likely some variant of a featherlin—was mounted on the wall, its glassy eyes staring blankly at them.

"How crude," Midea lamented with a shake of his head. "But it's the best I could do with what I had."

Tanya rolled her eyes, sighing in exasperation. "Are you always like this?"

"It's in a demon's nature to brag," he said with a smirk.

At his words, Tanya's attention sharpened. A demon? While Midea certainly resembled the classic descriptions of devils—red eyes, clawed hands, and the arrow-tipped tail—an actual demon? Her mind raced, connecting the dots. Was this related to Being X? The creature had always fancied itself as some divine figure, switching between claiming to be the Abrahamic God and other high deities. As long as it was the most high, it didn't matter to the creature. Could it be that she had been reincarnated as some sort of demon herself? Or perhaps she was of a higher house than Midea's, which was why he seemed to tread carefully around her. But that didn't explain everything—not by a long shot.

Before she could question him further, Midea disappeared into another room to fetch clothes for Tarak, leaving her alone with her brother. She took the opportunity to observe him more closely. His facial features were similar to hers, though there were distinct differences. Anyone could tell they were siblings, but where she was more lithe, he had a surprising amount of muscle for someone so young. His abs were already visible beneath his smooth, brown skin, and she found herself wondering how their physical traits could vary so much despite their shared origins.

"Ahhhh," Tanya opened her mouth, making a sound as she pointed to her teeth.

Tarak, confused for a moment, mimicked her. "Ahhhh."

His voice was deeper, but he followed her lead, opening his mouth wide. Tanya leaned in, peering inside, and her suspicions were confirmed—two distinct rows of teeth, sharp and deadly like her own, and a barbed tongue resting at the back of his mouth. It was strange how similar they were in some ways and so wildly different in others. She scratched her chin, deep in thought. Why was her brother so muscular already, while she was more wiry? And why did their non-humanoid traits differ so much?

Just as she was about to lose herself in further speculation, Midea returned, holding a simple white shirt and dark trousers.

"Alright then, let's get him dressed," he said, walking up to Tarak.

Before Tanya could stop him, Tarak's tail bristled, spikes sprouting along its length as it lashed out at Midea. The demon weaved around the blow, but the speed seemed to catch him by surprise.

"Huh, as fast as an early second layer right out of the womb... or egg, I suppose," Midea mused, shaking his head in amazement.

Tanya narrowed her eyes. So it had been a test after all. She had suspected as much. After all, she had blocked a full-force blow from that elder Hathor earlier, and Tarak had taken a direct hit with little more than a scratch. Even without cultivation, their bodies were capable of feats that defied explanation.

"Give me the clothes, I'll dress him," she said, snatching the garments from Midea's hands.

Tarak, though initially agitated, quickly calmed down as Tanya helped him into the oversized clothes. He stood still, trusting her entirely. The shirt and trousers were hilariously large on him, his arms practically swimming in the sleeves, and his tail had already torn a hole in the fabric of his pants. Tanya couldn't help but chuckle, and to her surprise, Tarak smiled back at her. He was still a child—despite everything, he was just a child.

But the moment of levity passed quickly. Tanya turned back to Midea, her expression serious.

"Midea, is this place warded enough for us to talk privately?"

Midea's grin faded, and he nodded. "Naturally, Surya. Ask whatever you want."

Now, it was time for answers.

---

"You said you were a demon. What does that mean? Where are you from, and how are you different from the people of the village?" she asked. While she knew of Hell from Earth's mythology, his version of the place could be entirely different. Besides, this world had no legends of Hell, so for her to possess such knowledge would be impossible to explain. She wasn't keen on revealing her reincarnation to him—it was simply unnecessary. Moreover, based on her theory that she might be a newborn demon from a house higher than Midea's, it could be exceedingly detrimental. While she was sure her original soul had been destroyed, what if her current parents still disliked the fact that her mind had developed before their child could even grow? They must have been powerful beings, so wiping a soul into a blank slate wouldn't be beyond them.

"Demons are a race of entities from a place called Hell," he began, confirming her suspicions. Damn it, of course, she was right.

"Hell is a vast realm," he continued, unaware of her inner turmoil. "It's composed of eight individual realms, each with its own structure and numerous sub-spheres. At the center of it all is where the Prince of Darkness rules. Surrounding his domain are seven circles, each a realm in itself, governed by one of the seven Archdemons. These circles align with the seven sins. But since you wouldn't know those, just know I come from the circle of Pride."

Seven sins? Prince of Darkness? Is he talking about Satan? She almost laughed but held it in. This is insanity. If this is true, does that make Being X... God? For real? Did Satan take her from his plans? What does cultivation mean now that she knows this?

He didn't seem to notice her confusion and pressed on.

"Lord Satan is a being of the Twelfth Layer, while the Archdemons exist at the Eleventh Layer. Just so you know, the Twelfth Layer is the highest level of cultivation I'm aware of. That's where the supreme beings reign. My house, House Valefor, is part of the king-class households, with an elder at the Ninth Layer of cultivation. That makes us one of the highest noble houses in the circle of Pride. No one in our circle has reached the Tenth Layer, and only Lilith, our Archdemon, stands at the Eleventh."

So Satan is at the Twelfth Layer of cultivation, and that's the peak as far as he knows. She processed the information, trying to fit it into her understanding. If Being X really is the Abrahamic God, then he too would be at the Twelfth Layer—a level that can be reached through cultivation. And Midea's attitude makes sense now, considering he's from one of the highest noble families in Hell.

She shifted in her seat, focusing her thoughts. "So, what does being a demon actually mean? Who are your enemies and allies? And... are we demons?" She hoped to pry some clues about her origins and the enemies of Hell.

"Our enemies?" He gave a dry chuckle. "Well, we used to be locked in a war with the Enochians, also known as the angels, over territory in the mortal realms. That war ended long before my birth, though. Right now, the circle of Pride is engaged in a war with Baal and his allies who hail from the realm of Svargaloka. The other circles won't interfere—they don't care. Demons aren't exactly fond of one another, even though we technically serve the same lord. Think of the seven circles like separate villages under the rule of a head village. The head only steps in when things get really bad."

So, it's more like an empire made up of warring states... similar to ancient China. She mentally filed that comparison away. And they aren't at war with the angels anymore? That's unexpected. She had assumed they were still fighting angels, but the conflict had ended before this demon's lifetime. Judging by his tone, it didn't seem like a loss, but Pride's current conflict with Baal's forces was of greater concern. And Svargaloka... that sounds familiar. Middle Eastern, maybe? She didn't know much about the region, but she knew Baal was a well-known figure from the Key of Solomon. So Baal is leading a rebellion? And Satan allows this?

"As for demons," he continued, "we vary by circle, especially in terms of abilities. But one thing we share is that when we ascend to a higher layer of cultivation, we evolve. We become fundamentally different from what we were before. So, if I get stronger, don't be surprised if I don't look the same."

Evolve like Pokémon? She thought, amused for a brief moment before focusing on the more important point: her theory had just been proven wrong. So... we aren't demons after all.

The demon spread his hands, as if explaining a universal truth. "There are more realms than the ones I described. There are infinite spheres of existence, each with countless realms. No one has explored them all—no one knows the true limits of creation. Not even those at the Twelfth Layer, I'd wager. Many races exist out there, though demons are among the most powerful."

He rubbed his nose, clearly proud of his heritage. "There are the Deluvian Dragons, the Kovri, the Asura, and the Prismari. These are just a few of the races that can rival demonkind. And of course, there are the Enochians, as I mentioned earlier. But you and your brother aren't from any of these races. You're Tyrannius."

Tyrannius? She raised an eyebrow. So dragons, Asura, and even beings like angels exist, but we're something else entirely? Tyrannius. She hadn't heard of that race before, but at this point, mythology seemed to pale in comparison to the reality she was experiencing. That being said it was a bit annoying that she had no clear mythological roots to pull information from. If you could even call them myths anymore.

"Where do the Tyrannius come from? Why are we here with you, a demon? And why do you fear us?" she asked, more determined to get to the bottom of it.

"Fear you?" He smirked. "I don't fear you—I fear your mother." He paused, letting that sink in before continuing. "As for where your kind comes from, I have no idea. No one knows, except maybe Lilith. I don't think even Lord Satan would know. But your mother... your mother is a friend of my lord, Archdemon Lilith. As I said, the circle of Pride is currently at war—a war we were losing until your mother showed up to reinforce us. Now we're winning, gaining territory."

She listened intently, sensing the gravity of what he was about to reveal.

"But your mother... she was pregnant when she arrived. She laid her eggs during the war... and those eggs were you and your brother."

---

She could hardly believe it. A being with such immense power that she alone had shifted the course of an entire war, a divine war at that. Her mother in this life was such a being. It made it rather clear why Midea always walked on eggshells around them. It was still somewhat troubling that even Midea knew nothing about the origins of her race. The mysteries surrounding the Tyrannius only deepened, but there were more immediate questions to be addressed. Some things still didn't add up.

"So, why are we here on this planet instead of in Hell? Where exactly is this place, and if my mother holds such high status, why is it that only a second-layer demon has been assigned to watch over us?" she asked, her curiosity tinged with frustration. The thought of being abandoned in a foreign land with no clear path back to their origins gnawed at her. She glanced down and felt a sudden weight against her side. Her brother, too young to fully comprehend the conversation, had rested his head in her lap and drifted off to sleep. A small smile crept onto her face despite herself as she gently stroked his hair before turning her attention back to Midea.

Midea sighed in exasperation, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah, well, it's not like I volunteered for this job. Watching the two of you in this veritable wasteland. Your mother commanded that her eggs be watched over by millions of demons and surrounded by powerful wards. There wasn't supposed to be any real threat to her offspring. I managed to get the job due to my connections—it was supposed to be an easy job, you know? Pad my resume, look good for my future endeavors, lead me on the path to becoming a true overlord... But things didn't exactly go as planned. In fact, they seldom do."

He leaned back, his face darkening slightly. "Some devas, masquerading as demons, infiltrated the ranks. They activated some kind of bomb, likely tied to space-time manipulation. The wards protecting you interacted with the bomb's power, and the result was a rift—a space-time tear. At least, that's my theory. The next thing I knew, the whole place was blown to hell—literally. When I came to, I found myself here, stranded on this Satan-forsaken planet with the two of you."

A bomb that distorts space and time? It wasn't entirely implausible, given what she knew of cultivation and its potential. But devas? Those were supposed to be divine beings, or at least, beings of great power in Hindu mythology. The name was familiar to her from what little she had studied. If the devas were involved, it meant that the attack likely came from Svargaloka. It was easy to draw that connection now with the associated knowledge. But why would devas be able to disguise themselves as demons so easily? Were they long-term spies? Or was it a betrayal from Hell? Spies seemed more likely; if it had been an outright betrayal and they had intended to kill her and her brother, the wards wouldn't have been such an issue. There was no point in keeping them alive unless they had no choice.

"I see. So you're taking care of us because of your duty as a demon, and because you fear our mother. If you fail in your duty, you won't be able to return to Hell. But if you manage to return with us, you stand to gain immense rewards. And... you have no idea where we are, do you?" She folded her arms, analyzing the situation.

Midea chuckled, leaning forward slightly, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "You've got it mostly right. If I return to Hell without you two, not only will I be slaughtered, but my entire bloodline will be wiped out. And trust me, that's not an exaggeration. Your mother... she'd eat me, my family, and anyone who had the misfortune of associating with me." He sighed with exhaustion rubbing his brows as if imagining his demise. "I suppose I could abandon you both and live my life out here, never returning to Hell. But on the off chance I run into your mother again, well... there'd be nothing left of me. Simply put, I'm doing the smartest thing that I can."

He straightened up, brushing a hand through his hair with an air of theatrical flair. "Not to mention that I, Midea Scelus, have never lacked ambition. I will see you both returned to your mother, and I will step onto the path of an overlord. My will is not so shallow, and my path is not so short."

Killed and eaten? The thought made her stomach churn, though she couldn't deny she had already felt those instincts within herself, and there was obviously Tarak. But even our mother? She had assumed the Tyrannius, being a sapient race, would eventually move beyond such base savagery. If her mother was friends with Lilith—a being of the Eleventh Layer—then she must be as ancient as time itself. Still, despite the horrifying image Midea painted, she wasn't overly worried about meeting her mother. For one thing, Midea had made it clear that her mother cared a great deal about her offspring, and for another, she had Tarak. Even before she had known Tarak was her sibling or even that he was the same race as her, her instincts had screamed at her to protect the egg. The bond between them was undeniable, and just being near him felt natural, like a primal instinct that comforted her. If the bond between siblings was that strong, she could only imagine how intense the connection with their mother would be.

There was also something deep within her body—something fundamental—that longed to meet her mother, to be reunited with the one who had laid her egg. These damned instincts again.

"What kind of creature is she?" she asked, her voice calm but filled with an underlying intensity. "What exactly are the Tyrannius? Tell me everything you know about them. And how do you plan to get back to Hell?"

Midea's expression shifted, becoming more serious as he leaned in slightly. "Your mother's name is Lervea. Lervea the Heavenless Huntress. I don't know much about the Tyrannius as a whole. Almost no one does. Hell has only ever interacted with one of your kind—your mother. According to her, your race are natural-born tyrants. It's fitting, given what I've seen from her, well, at least heard about her and... well, from you. Your birth was extraordinary."

"My birth?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Midea nodded, his face darkening as he recalled the event. "Before you were born, your egg was damaged during the transfer—likely due to that Satan–damned bomb. Something was leaking out of it... I assumed you wouldn't survive. It was a terrifying time for me because if you had died, I'd have been doomed to death eventually. But fortunately, you didn't die. Somehow, despite not even being born yet, you instinctively pulled a human soul from the void and absorbed it into yourself to regenerate. It's... insane, really. But it's also fitting, given what I know of your mother. She has a reputation—when she kills you, she doesn't just kill your body; she eats your soul."

Her stomach twisted at his words, the implications sinking in. So her body, in an act of desperation, had absorbed her human soul to survive. I was devoured by an unborn child... a pure survival instinct. She had always suspected that something like this had happened, but having it confirmed now was both unsettling and somehow... comforting. It wasn't malicious; it was just a child trying to survive.

But then another thought struck her. He knows about humans? That wasn't something she had expected from a demon. She decided to press him for more information.

"Humans? What are they?" she asked, feigning ignorance. The more she knew about his understanding of her former race, the better.

"Humans?" he repeated, raising an eyebrow. "They're one of the lesser mortal races. Well, 'mortal' is a bit misleading—all beings are technically mortal until they reach a certain point in cultivation. But humans, they're from the lesser spheres. They're rarely born in realms with enough numen to even begin cultivating."

Lesser spheres? Mortal realms? She needed more information, and quickly.

"Is this the same race that Hell warred with the Enochians over?" she asked, hoping to piece together more of the puzzle.

Midea shook his head, chuckling slightly. "No, no. The war wasn't specifically over humans. They were just one of many races involved. The war was over souls. Souls are valuable. They're a resource, and back then, it was a competition to see who could collect the most. Nowadays, it's more of a split. Souls are divided based on their traits. We have demons known as Ferrymen—usually around the Fifth Layer—who take sinful souls into Hell. On the other side, the Enochians have their Psychopomps who ferry souls to their realms. It's a relatively peaceful agreement now."

So that's it. Being X had likely been a Fifth Layer being playing with human souls. Claiming to be God, huh? Well, at least I have a target.

Midea continued, oblivious to her inner thoughts. "Now, most souls aren't that easy to destroy. Even for weaker beings, a soul's core tends to drift into the void after death, even if nothing else remains. The void eventually consumes most souls, of course. At higher levels, the soul evolves, making it much harder to destroy entirely. Beings are more aware of their souls at that stage, too. Sure, there are ways to attack a soul directly, but most can escape with a damaged soul. And, there are plenty of ways to revive a being from just a soul imprint. Avatars, soul clones, there is a variety. But your mother... she's different."

Midea shuddered slightly as he spoke the next part, his voice tinged with a bit of genuine fear. "When she kills someone, their soul is gone. Completely. No fragments, no chance of revival, no imprint. Just... gone. Obliterated."

He paused, letting the weight of that statement sink in before continuing. "There are ways to avoid it, of course. Using flesh puppets, or splitting your soul into fragments and creating a soul clone, but even then, she's known to track those fragments down and destroy them. That's why she's called the Heavenless Huntress. If you project your soul into someone else's body, and she destroys that body... your soul will be extinguished. I have no idea if this is an ability unique to her or if it's something all Tyrannius possess."

So, when she kills, she truly kills... even the soul. That made her mother far more terrifying than she had initially realized. She herself had felt a warm satisfaction when she had killed that Vampyr, but at the time, she had far too many other things on her mind to dwell on it. Is that what it means to be Tyrannius? To annihilate not just the body, but the soul itself?

---

Midea nodded, continuing his explanation, his tone shifting to a more cautious, almost reverent cadence. "Your mother, Lervea, in her natural form is a giant. She stands at sixteen meters tall, which would be about seven and a half of me stacked on top of each other. She has four eyes, two golden wings, and a pitch-black tail."

Sixteen meters... Tanya blinked, trying to envision that size. Her mother was a giant, far beyond anything she had ever seen or imagined. Was that her natural height due to cultivation? Could the sheer size of her have come from such power? Or was it simply a natural trait of the Tyrannius race? Lervea had laid an egg almost as tall as a meter, so maybe this was normal for them. She glanced at Tarak—small in comparison, but clearly growing, perhaps into something just as imposing.

Her thoughts shifted as she considered other aspects of her mother's appearance. Four eyes. She herself could feel something under the surface of her skin, where two additional eyes should be. At least where she felt they should be there was neither an eyeball nor a socket where the marks were. Ultimately she had suspected as much, but this confirmation ignited a deeper curiosity. Those extra eyes... why couldn't she open them? Even though she felt an innate awareness of them, it was as if they were sealed off, dormant. Not to mention the lack of signifiers beyond the marks. And while she had wings, Tarak had a tail—an intriguing variation. Were these differences common among Tyrannius?

"What color is her hair?" Tanya asked, a hypothesis forming in her mind.

"Her hair is white, with black edges," Midea replied. Tanya's mind immediately leaped to Tarak, who was almost the inverse with his black hair streaked with white. She herself, however, was blonde—a deviation from both of them. Where had that trait come from? Was it unique to her, or was there more to it?

"Does she have marks like mine when one pair of her eyes are closed?" she asked, pointing at the golden lines beneath her eyes.

Midea paused, thinking it over before nodding. "Yes. The same marks appear when her lower eyes are closed, just like yours. If you wanted to know they also share the same color as her hair just like your own."

Tanya exhaled slowly. So, it was confirmed. Those golden markings were indeed her sealed eyes, eyes neither she nor Tarak had yet been able to open. It added another layer of mystery to their physiology—two rows of teeth, a barbed tongue, an immense stature, and four eyes that might hold some unknown power. And then there were their animalistic traits—her wings, Tarak's tail... but Lervea had both wings and a tail.

"Are her wings like mine? And is her tail similar to Tarak's?" she asked, hoping for more clarification.

Midea shook his head. "No, her wings are golden, unlike your silver ones. And she only possesses two compared to your four. And while her tail is black like Tarak's, it's not plated or armored like his. Her tail is sleeker, more fish-like in appearance."

Tanya's thoughts twisted at that. It seemed even within their own race, physical traits could vary widely. She would need to study these differences more closely. Not just for herself, but for Tarak too—he needed understanding just as much as she did.

Midea's expression darkened slightly as he continued. "Lervea is horribly strong. No one knows her exact power, but it's widely assumed she's near the peak of the Eleventh Layer, maybe even capable of contesting with someone from the Twelfth. One thing she's famous for is her unmatched physical strength. I mentioned the Deluvian Dragons before, right? They're one of the most powerful races, constantly evolving, each generation stronger than the last. Due to their genetic library that is. Their physical might is unparalleled, even among the strongest demons from the Circle of Sloth, which specializes in brute strength."

Tanya's ears perked up. Dragons are always the most absurdly powerful beings in any mythology or story, and it seems they lived up to their reputation in this world as well. And yet, it was the next part that struck her with even more intrigue.

"Dragons also have their geniuses," Midea continued. "One such genius, a Tenth Layer Deluvian Dragon, challenged your mother. He wanted to make her his mate. Typical dragon arrogance. He believed that because of his sheer physical bulk, he could overpower her. After all a Dragon at the tenth layer's true body would dwarf even the dharma body of a deva at the same level. And pound for pound they are unequaled. At least they were supposed to be."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of Tanya's mouth. She could already guess where this story was going.

"He invited his children and mates to watch, thinking it would be an easy display of dominance," Midea went on, shaking his head. "But your mother... she wasn't having any of it. The dragon's form dwarfed her, yet all she did was pull a single strand of her hair. She wrapped it around her wrists, pulled it taut, and no matter how much the dragon strained, he couldn't break it or even budge her as he drove his horns forward."

Tanya's eyes widened slightly. A strand of hair? Holding back a Tenth Layer Dragon with just that?

"In his embarrassment," Midea said, his tone growing more somber, "the dragon attacked in full force. But your mother decapitated him in a blink and tore him to pieces. She didn't just kill him—she ate him. Right there in front of his children and mates. Then, when his family tried to retaliate, she devoured them too. She ate them all."

Tanya blinked slowly, feeling a strange mix of horror and... pride? As horrifying as the image was, there was a raw, primal satisfaction in knowing her mother was not only a peerless warrior but also a force that would not be challenged lightly. It was survival of the fittest, and Lervea stood at the pinnacle. Even so, Tanya realized that her growing instincts, her tendency to view things through a predator's lens, was undoubtedly a reflection of this lineage. So were these feelings for a woman she had never even laid eyes on.

Midea smiled grimly. "After that, no one dared challenge Lervea's physical might. Even the dragons bowed down. And you... you and your brother? You've inherited that strength. With no cultivation, you're already as strong as someone in the Second Layer. It should be impossible, but your physical bodies are just that terrifying."

Tanya absorbed that information silently. It made sense—her ability to tank blows, her speed, her strength. It wasn't learned nor cultivated; it was inherent, deep in her very bones. She looked at Tarak, who even now seemed capable of incredible violence despite his age and lack of understanding. It was in their blood.

"So, high physical strength and durability are natural traits for us, then," she said quietly. "But... can Lervea use numen?"

She was concerned that while their race had immense brute strength, they might be limited in other areas, like numen manipulation. Being physically powerful was one thing, but in a world of beings who could warp reality, sheer strength wasn't always enough.

"Of course she can," Midea replied confidently. "Lervea's control over numen is... different, though. It's not like regular cultivation. She has strange abilities unique to herself. For example, there's a space in creation known as the Protoflux, which was the source of numen for an entire grouping of spheres. It powered their civilizations, their soul realms after death. Then, something—likely caused by another race—messed with the wellspring of energy, and it exploded, destroying those spheres."

Tanya leaned forward, intrigued.

"Lervea appeared just as the Protoflux was on the verge of collapse. And she did something no one thought possible. A halo appeared above her head—a kind of inborn crown—and with it, she imposed her will on the Protoflux itself. She stabilized it, controlled it, even though it wasn't her own energy. No one had ever controlled something so immense before."

Tanya's heart raced. "So she saved those spheres?"

Midea grinned, his eyes twinkling. "She saved them, but not for free. After she stabilized the Protoflux, she absorbed it. Every drop of that numen, all that energy... it became hers. The civilizations survived, but the Protoflux was gone. She left them a patchwork soul realm, but they lost their most valuable resource."

Tanya couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of pride before she snuffed it out. She could, however, appreciate the cold calculation behind Lervea's actions. Her mother was no ordinary being—she was a being who rewrote the rules, who took what she wanted and left the rest. Survival of the fittest, in its truest form. Savage but justified, given the circumstances. Well, in a way.

"You said it was impossible to control something like the Protoflux," Tanya said, her mind racing. "Why was it impossible?"

Midea chuckled. "Because the Protoflux is imbued with the 'will' of creation. It isn't just energy—it's a fundamental part of the universe, tied to the laws of existence. Normally, no one can impose their will on it, let alone absorb it. It's the same with numen in general. You can't just absorb someone else's numen or attacks—it's tied to their own authority. But your mother? She broke that rule. That halo of hers... it gave her the power to override the laws themselves."

How curious, she wondered about it. Perhaps it was something innate to the race. But that was unlikely.

"And the halo," she asked, "was it some sort of technique?"

Midea shrugged. "No one knows for sure. It might be a technique, but perhaps it isn't. From what I've gathered, regardless of its true nature, your mother is the only one to have it. And the only one to achieve such a feat. But you asked me this question because you were worried about your lack of meridians, correct?" The demon said with a knowing smile.

---

"You guessed it," Tanya said with an exasperated sigh, glancing at her slumbering brother. "I'd appreciate it if you could check Tarak for me."

Her mind raced as she considered the implications. Lervea, their mother, was apparently able to use numen, but only Tanya's egg had been injured during the transfer. It was becoming more likely that the reason she lacked meridians was tied to the damage her egg had sustained, coupled with the soul of Tanya von Degurechaff she had absorbed. She still wasn't certain if her physical abilities could ever reach her mother's without the ability to cultivate, and that thought gnawed at her.

"I'll check for you then," Midea said, moving toward the boy who lay curled by her side, exhausted from his chaotic birth and the immediate battles he had faced. The demon placed his hands on Tarak's back, doing whatever mysterious test he had performed on Tanya earlier. She watched as her brother visibly relaxed under Midea's touch, almost purring. It reminded her of the sensation she'd felt when Midea had done the same to her—it had been extraordinarily comfortable.

She shifted her gaze to the Satyr's face, noticing his expression darken, disturbed.

"It's the same," Midea muttered, his voice tense. "I can't feel any meridians in him either. And I can't perceive his soul at all. Any energy I shunt into him just... disappears. Exactly like it did with you." He ran a hand through his hair, slicking it back as he processed the shock.

Tanya understood his disbelief. They were anomalies, creatures that seemed to break the very system upon which everything in this world functioned. It was a revelation worthy of shock, even from a demon as seemingly unflappable as Midea. But while he grappled with this, Tanya felt a mix of both relief and concern. On one hand, she wasn't alone—Tarak had the same bizarre physiology. On the other hand, they were left in the dark about what this truly meant for their future. With no meridians, neither of them could practice conventional cultivation techniques. However Lervea had managed it would, it seemed, remain a mystery for now. They might be forced to rely entirely on their bodies, which—though terrifyingly strong—still seemed limited compared to the powers this world valued.

"Midea," she said after a moment, "could you get a beast for me? Some small creature, anything will do. I want to test your theory."

Shaking off his own confusion, Midea nodded and quickly left the house, returning a few minutes later with a weasel-like creature in hand. The small animal had sandy brown and green fur, six legs, and a mock head on its tail—a natural defense mechanism to fool predators. It might fool lesser creatures, but not a demon. Midea set the animal down on the floor before Tanya. It squeaked loudly, eyes darting nervously, before bolting for the door.

But it didn't get far.

In a flash, Tanya's wing shot forward, moving faster than even she anticipated. A blur of silver streaked through the air, and the weasel continued running for a few more steps before collapsing—cleanly bisected down the center. Midea let out an appreciative whistle.

"Impressive! So, how does it feel?" Midea asked, curiosity ablaze in his eyes. He was learning about an entirely new race in real time, and she could sense his excitement.

Tanya stood still for a moment, concentrating. She felt a pulse of energy enter her body from the creature's death. Unlike the ambient energy she absorbed from the air, this was more tangible—it didn't just vanish into the abyss within her. However, she noticed that only a portion of the energy was perceivable, the rest dissipating, almost wasted. She didn't understand exactly where it was going, but she could feel it lingering inside her, swirling in that mysterious space where everything else disappeared.

An instinctual urge surged through her—a primal hunger to devour the corpse before her. She resisted it for the time being, but the feeling lingered. Something told her that consuming the body would complete the process, that the energy was meant to be fully absorbed, not left half-wasted. The energy within her was not escaping; rather, it was being destroyed, almost as if by not eating the body, she had interrupted some natural cycle. So in this world, energy could in fact be destroyed, it seemed. Physics was once again violated.

As these thoughts churned in her mind, she recalled the sensation from earlier—when she had eaten the meat the villagers had offered her. She'd felt warmer, stronger afterward. Perhaps killing and eating were both integral parts of the process. Killing enhanced her strength, but eating afterward perfected the absorption. Both were important, but doing both herself was optimal. Both eating and killing alone, however, seemed to increase her strength to some degree. It made sense now why her instincts screamed at her to hunt, to kill, to devour. It wasn't mindless savagery; it was survival. Violence was not just beneficial for her kind—it was essential.

"It seems that killing and consuming souls is indeed an inherent attribute of the Tyrannius," Tanya said, turning her gaze back to Midea. "But I'm not sure what this has to do with numen. It's like there's this... abyss inside me, and it takes the lion's share of any energy I absorb. I only get the remnants, which I think is what's been fueling my physical growth. I'm certain I'm stronger now than I was when I was born. Physically, at least."

The sensation was strange. There was something important happening within her body, but she didn't know what. Her instincts, the same ones that had led her to protect Tarak, whispered to her that this process was natural, part of who she was. Yet instincts were not enough to provide clarity. She needed answers.

"Yes, I've sensed it too," Midea said, nodding thoughtfully. "Your body has been passively absorbing numen to grow stronger. Normally, I would assume you possessed legendary-level talent. Perhaps even something as rare as eighty-one realm-grade meridians. I was prepared for an absurd possibility like that." He paused, rubbing his temples. "But to find none at all—that's... that's something I can't explain. Especially when the numen you absorb directly increases your physical strength."

He gestured vaguely, as if trying to make sense of something so fundamentally alien. "Numen doesn't work like that. It increases physical might to a degree, yes, but it stays in the soul. It can be used to enhance physical characteristics, but it doesn't directly interact with the body. That's why body-cultivating manuals exist—to infuse numen into the flesh, forging it like an artifact. But those techniques are extremely rare, usually created by those in the Tenth Layer and above. And used by them as well, seldom are such valuable techniques leaked to the lower levels. Only the elite of the elite start using them when they begin cultivation. Body cultivation is both hard, expensive, and time-consuming. Simply put, few can do it."

Midea shook his head, still incredulous. "But here you are, breaking all the rules again. Unfortunately, I don't have any body-cultivating manuals to teach you, nor the riches required for such a path. You'll have to rely on basic physical training to test the limits of your body. Your body is growing stronger passively, little by little every day, but if you want significant growth, you'll need to push it. For normal cultivators, pushing their physical limits yields only minor gains. They can hit a little harder, carry a bit more energy, but it's nothing compared to advancing in cultivation."

He leaned back, looking at her seriously. "But you—you and Tarak—your limit is likely beyond anything I can imagine. Given your passive growth and current abilities, I can only assume it's absurd. While I don't know body cultivation techniques, I do know several martial arts. That will be your lifeline. I can begin teaching you once Tarak is capable of understanding language. How does that sound?"

Tanya considered his offer. It seemed her immediate future would revolve around training her body and learning martial arts until she could uncover the deeper secrets of her physiology. It wasn't an ideal solution, but it was something. She also had the option of hunting, of consuming creatures to enhance her strength. She smirked inwardly, wondering if this body could even get fat from overeating.

Rather than mystical exercises and energy absorption, she'd be stuck lifting weights and pushing her body through rigorous physical training. But it wasn't entirely unfamiliar to her. In her first life—if she could indulge in such nostalgia—she had been a mountain of a man, known not only for his business acumen but for his imposing physique. Picking up and putting down heavy weights to grow stronger was second nature to her.

She sighed, imagining herself going back to that routine. In her previous world, being small and nimble had been advantageous. But here? Here, it seemed bigger was better. Dragons, after all, were among the strongest races, and they dwarfed even her sixteen-meter-tall mother. It wouldn't be too much for her to put on muscle, if her body functioned that way.

---

"I suppose I should thank you, then. I'll make sure Tarak follows along with your teachings," Tanya said, her voice firm but with a touch of gratitude. She paused, eyeing Midea carefully. "Oh, and you never answered my question, by the way. How exactly do you plan on getting us back to Hell?"

At this, the demon visibly flinched, his composure slipping for a moment. It was almost as if he'd been caught in a lie, though she suspected it was more likely he'd just been avoiding the subject altogether.

"Well, you see... that's a bit of a problem," Midea began, his voice wavering with hesitation. "I don't actually have a way back. My only real option is to get strong enough to leave this world and, well, drift my way back into the realms of Hell... somehow."

Tanya blinked at him, incredulous. She could practically feel her patience slipping away like sand through her fingers.

"In other words, you have no fucking plan at all," she stated flatly, exasperation dripping from every syllable.

Midea's eyes widened at her bluntness, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before glancing back at her with a smirk as if to mask the feeling. It seemed he hadn't expected her to be quite so direct. "I mean, not no plan. Just... a very loose one," he added, though the weak attempt at justification only made Tanya roll her eyes harder.

It seemed clear now. They were stuck on this world, likely for a long while. If Midea had no solid plan to get back to Hell, she couldn't rely on him to deliver them out of this situation anytime soon. The realization settled heavily in her chest. They weren't leaving. Not for a long time.

"Well," she sighed, running a hand through her hair, "that's just wonderful."

Midea squinted at her, frowning slightly. "By the way... where did you even learn to speak like that?" he asked, a trace of disapproval slipping into his voice. "So uncouth, really."

Tanya raised an eyebrow at the demon, unimpressed by his criticism. Who even used the word "uncouth" like that anymore?

"Blame Hati," she replied casually, crossing her arms as she spoke. "She was the one who taught me this, got a problem with it, go take it up with her. Maybe you'll be lucky enough to survive her venomous tongue."

A flash of annoyance crossed Midea's face, but it faded quickly into reluctant acceptance. "Hmph, I'll pass," he muttered, shaking his head. He knew better than to argue with Hati about anything, especially not something as trivial as speech. In fact, he seemed to realize he had no room to complain, given his current predicament.

"I'll take Tarak to bed now," Tanya said, glancing down at her sleeping brother, who was still nestled at her side. "And I'll look forward to your training tomorrow. I'll also work on mending our relationship with the villagers a bit. After all, whether they like it or not, we're all stuck in this together."

She caught Midea's expression darken for a moment as she mentioned the villagers, as if some shadow of worry crossed his mind, but he quickly nodded, accepting her plan without protest. He had to—there was little choice in the matter. Tanya was aware that their relationship with the villagers was on shaky ground, and the sooner she addressed it, the better. Perhaps she could use her reputation as a child of the sun to do something.

Tanya bent down and lifted Tarak into her arms, noting with mild interest how heavy he was compared to someone like Luna. Though not outrageously so, his weight was solid—dense. She wouldn't be able to chuck him around like she had Luna, at least not without more effort, but for now, he wasn't too much of a burden. She carried him to the other room, stepping carefully over the plush carpets, and laid him down on the bed. As soon as she set him down, he instinctively rolled toward her, burying his head into her lap.

Tanya couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. The bond between them was undeniable. Despite everything, despite the chaos and the mysteries that surrounded their existence, this connection felt strangely grounding. Tarak might have been born into this brutal, unfamiliar world, but he was her brother, and she would protect him. It was one of the few things she could be certain of.

She thought briefly of Luna, the girl she had been supposed to meet tonight. She had intended to follow through with that plan, but the day had been long and exhausting. Between learning about her mother, confronting her own nature, and dealing with Midea's bombshells, she was worn out. She sighed, leaning back slightly. Tomorrow would be soon enough to deal with Luna and whatever other mysteries that family held.

For now, she had a new family member to look after.

Her gaze fell to Tarak again, and she noticed his horns poking into her thigh. Oddly, they didn't hurt. Even though they dug into her skin, they didn't pierce it, and she found herself thankful for her new body's durability. It seemed that even without the ability to use numen or cultivation, her physical strength and resilience were formidable assets. But as she thought about that, a sense of frustration bubbled up. Was she really relegated to purely physical strength, while others wielded reality-warping power? Would she have to rely solely on her body's raw might forever?

She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. The path ahead was uncertain, filled with unknowns, and she had a sinking feeling that her challenges were only just beginning.

Tomorrow, she reminded herself. Tomorrow, she would tackle it all. Tomorrow, she would face the villagers, learn from Midea, and continue figuring out this new world and all its complexities.

But for tonight, as Tarak's horns pressed into her leg, she allowed herself to drift off into a rare, peaceful sleep.

Tomorrow would be another long day.
______________________

A bit of explanation done. And so origins are revealed. We unveil a bit of mystery and some innate traits of Tanya's new race.

 

[Behemoth.]

✦ 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕊𝕖𝕔𝕣𝕖𝕥𝕤 𝕠𝕗 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕄𝕠𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕊𝕦𝕟 ✦

Edit: Trigger warning-- sexual assault/rape
_________________

Midea sighed, rubbing his temples as memories of the previous day's events replayed in his mind. He reached over to shift the simple, worn linen blinds from his window, letting the early dawn light spill across his face in a seven-colored stream—a product of this world's unique suns casting their rays. The day had just begun, and he already felt a pang of exhaustion weighing him down.

In the last day alone, he had explained everything he knew about Lervea and his own origins to the two young Tyrannius siblings under his care. The revelations had hardly been met with the gratitude one might expect. No, the little winged freak of nature, Surya, had greeted his candid confessions with something akin to scorn. Apparently, she wasn't thrilled that he didn't have an immediate escape plan from the planet they had been forcibly transported to through what he could only describe as a catastrophic nuke of space and time.

Veins pulsed in frustration along his forehead just thinking about it. What did they expect? For him to just magically "pop" them back to the comfort of Hell as if he were some legendary archdemon? The absurdity of their expectations left him simmering, but he knew better than to let his irritation show openly.

What am I supposed to do? he thought darkly. Strike them? Lervea's children? If I were fool enough for that, I'd have died as a darkling the day I slipped into my first puddle of darkwater.

No, his duty was clear, and it did not involve harming them. Despite his rough exterior, Midea was not without morals—or, at the very least, a survival instinct that doubled as a moral compass. While he held no illusions about his own nature as a demon, he wasn't about to go harming children unnecessarily. Besides, the repercussions from Lervea alone would be catastrophic.

Nonetheless, their training wouldn't be some coddling, gentle affair. They'd receive "tough love" and whatever physical conditioning he could concoct. He wasn't entirely sure how long they'd be marooned on this backwater planet, but he suspected it would be a while—long enough for them to forget whatever punishment he planned to inflict.

Midea tugged a pile of spare cloth from his makeshift closet, inspecting the humble rags he'd collected from the village. Well humble to him at least none of them came close to the silk of Paimon. Now that was proper cloth! Some were a bit frayed, but he had a knack for repurposing worn materials. Muttering under his breath, he began weaving numen into a hand-carved needle he'd whittled from a sturdy branch, intent on stitching together an outfit that might fit young Tarak.

As his hands worked, his thoughts drifted to the immediate concerns at hand. Surya was right in that they needed to begin mending their relationship with the villagers—a precarious endeavor, considering the damage caused by her sibling's... instinctive aggression. The little brute had caused no small amount of alarm, and while Midea had managed to secure a tentative alliance with Remus, the local chieftain, he knew full well that it wouldn't survive if Tarak kept terrorizing the townsfolk.

But while Midea was a stranger in this place, he'd already played a role in helping fortify the village, teaching them wards and even sharing a defensive ward technique previously known only to the demons of his world. His thoughts drifted to Hathor, one of the elders in the village. The man was sharp-tongued and abrasive, and Midea sensed something more sinister lurking beneath the elder's rude exterior—a darkness that ran deep, perhaps.

Distracted, he accidentally pricked his finger with the makeshift needle, causing a thick bead of his dark, viscous blood to well up. Demon blood, he noted, was thicker than that of other races, almost sticky. He wondered what Tyrannius blood would be like—surely stranger, more potent. A race capable of consuming souls upon killing was beyond the natural order, unsettlingly so. While many beings had unique innate abilities, such as the demons' own evolutionary abilities or the Asura's sage mind that granted them brief clarity in battle, the Tyrannius surpassed them all. They didn't just have abilities; they altered the very fabric of existence, one should not be able to touch the soul so easily. It was a terrifying concept. However, his duties remained the same.

Even so the image of the villagers' fearful faces flashed across his mind, and he frowned, his brows knitting in thought. Given the severity of Tarak's reaction, Midea was increasingly sure something deeper had transpired to set off the boy's primal instincts. Why didn't he have the same restraint as Surya? She had been able to hold back her instincts from the very beginning, albeit barely. Was Tarak truly that different from her, or had something else triggered his behavior?

Shaking off his thoughts, Midea finished the final stitch, inspecting his handiwork. The clothes were modest but functional—a plain shirt and trousers that would, hopefully, endure Tarak's more... active tendencies. With the garment complete, Midea set it gently on the small table in his room, slipping out silently and closing the door behind him. He took a deep breath, letting the crisp morning air fill his lungs. It was a surprising chill, given how the afternoons in this strange world often grew stiflingly hot. A thin mist clung to the air, swirling and dissipating as he exhaled, creating a brief foggy veil. It lent the quiet village a mystical serenity, disrupted only by the distant rustling of creatures stirring in the wilderness. The peace of dawn was unfamiliar to him; demons were rarely afforded such luxuries. He steeled himself, reminded that he was here for a purpose.

The dirt road beneath his boots was silent as he made his way toward the scene of the previous day's destruction, his gaze drifting over the quiet, untouched homes nestled under the shadow of the ancient trees. For now, the village slumbered, save for the soft symphony of nature filling the air. The peaceful atmosphere was oddly comforting, though it felt out of place against the tension that loomed over the village.

The sun was still low, casting muted pastel hues across the landscape and bathing the world in a soft, quiet glow. His breath continued to fog slightly in the chill, and he took another deep breath, letting the fresh air ground him.

He had two priorities for the morning: first, to investigate the site of the incident from the previous day and see if he could glean any clues about what had truly transpired. And second, to gather any information that might prove useful in placating the villagers. If diplomacy fails, he thought grimly, I'll have to dig up some leverage on that elder Hathor, or perhaps his cronies. That type of man definitely had some.

Thinking of the elder once more made him curl his lips in distaste. His mind thinking of the multitude of issues he'd have to face.

Lost in thought, Midea almost didn't notice Garran—a familiar figure in the village, with a tall, broad-shouldered frame and eyes that shone a piercing green under his shaggy, dark brown hair—until he was nearly upon him. The man stood, scrutinizing the damaged homes with an air of barely restrained fury, his posture rigid.

"And what brings you here, Garran?" Midea called, the corners of his mouth twitching in a faint smirk.

The man turned abruptly, his eyes narrowing in surprise before he let out a resigned sigh. "Just trying to assess the damage from yesterday," Garran replied, his voice low and clipped. "The villagers are anxious. One egg gives birth to a 'child of the sun,' and the other a... a monster." His tone hardened on the final word. "And then, to add to our woes, we're running out of shadow cores, which has made our excursions more dangerous than ever. Supplies are harder to secure, and your little beast hasn't exactly helped the situation." His eyes bore into Midea's with a hard, accusing glare.

Midea's patience wore thin at the subtle insult, but he held his tongue, masking his irritation with a forced calm. While he could understand the man's concerns on a practical level, Garran's prejudice grated on him. Well if it could be called prejudice the boy had in fact permanently crippled two boys. But while it was true that Tarak's attack had only worsened the village's perception of them, Midea couldn't help but feel defensive of the boy. He may have been a "beast," but he was still a child—a fact that, evidently, the villagers struggled to understand. Not to mention the fact that he was along with his sister that is Midea's lifeline.

"I would appreciate it if you refrained from speaking about the boy in that way," Midea replied coolly. "He has a name. It's Tarak. And yes, I'm aware of how that sounds." He quirked a brow almost daring Garran to challenge him.

Garran's expression twisted in incredulity. "So, you want him to be accepted among us, yet you name him after a creature from our darkest legends—the very name of an evil beast? And this after he crippled two of our kin, possibly for life." His sneer was evident, laced with venom.

Midea exhaled, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. "As I said, I'm aware of how it sounds," he replied evenly. "But Tarak was a newborn, unfamiliar with his surroundings and those around him. What did you expect? He's a mythical creature in his own right. If you stumbled upon a young dragon, would you approach without caution, assuming it harmless? Even if it looked like a child?"

Garran scoffed, crossing his arms. "Perhaps. But even the children of our wolf clan don't maim those they're unfamiliar with."

"Is it that they don't," Midea countered, his voice calm yet unyielding, "or that they're simply too weak to do so? Children cry, they lash out. Most can do little more than bruise. But for beings like Tarak and Surya... their strength is their defining trait. They don't have the luxury of gentleness." He adopted a lecturing tone, knowing it would grate on Garran's nerves.

Sure enough, Garran's initial sneer deepened before a thoughtful frown crossed his face. For all his faults, Midea had to grant him one thing: he could be reasoned with. After a moment, Garran sighed, the rigidity in his stance easing.

"Perhaps there's some truth in that," he admitted begrudgingly. "But it still doesn't sit right. The village is on edge as it is, and now we're facing the real possibility of attacks due to our lack of shadow cores. Without them, our soldiers' excursions have become even more perilous. The villagers believe the shadow cores are essential for our protection, yet here we are, unable to secure enough to keep them safe. We have soldiers out today including that girl Hati. Hopefully, they come back successfully. That being said," He shot Midea a hard look. "your little... 'incident' hasn't exactly helped matters."

Midea raised a brow, the mention of shadow cores again piquing his curiosity. "Shadow cores, you say? And these... help with stealth?"

Garran nodded, his expression grim. "Shadow cores are the harvested remains of creatures we call 'shades of the wild.' Their essence helps cloak our village from outsiders, muffling our presence and keeping away unwanted attention. It's hardly foolproof, but it has served us well in avoiding conflict with stronger beasts, like the Turbeasts that roam the forests. Soldiers can also carry them, but because of the shortage the soldiers are vulnerable. And relations with the goblins, who once provided us with a steady supply, have all but collapsed. Fucking Gobbies."

Midea's mind began to churn with possibilities. So the villagers rely on shadow cores for protection and stealth... interesting. He allowed himself a small, satisfied smile. "It sounds like things have been... difficult for you," he replied, his tone almost sympathetic.

Garran's gaze flicked to him, wary. "Yes. The shadow cores are just one issue. Our resources are spread thin, and rumors about my uncle's practices are... troubling. And then there's the matter of your... charges," he said, catching himself before speaking further. "Suffice to say, your presence hasn't exactly eased tensions."

Midea's eyes glinted, his mind working quickly. "And these soldiers of yours," he asked casually, "when do you expect them to return?"

"They should be back by noon, give or take," Garran replied. "The forest is unpredictable, but they left early enough that they should be back soon."

Midea nodded, his plan slowly coalescing. "Very well. As for this... incident," he said, gesturing toward the remnants of Surya's home, "I'll investigate and see if I can't... clarify things."

Garran gave him a dubious look, but after a moment, he nodded. "Fine. Just... do what you have to." With a curt wave, he turned and strode off, leaving Midea alone once more.

Time to get to work, Midea thought, rolling his shoulders as he surveyed the scene.

"Traces of the past."

A wave of violet numen rippled from him, cascading across the scene like a shimmer of starlight. The spell was an art of detection—a minor ability he had acquired from his time with certain... unsavory succubi of the Lust Circle. If he of all demons had the right to say that. Not exactly a standard ability for demons of Pride at least it didn't use to be. But it had proven its usefulness over the years. Every noble demon has slept with a succubus or two or four or eight. Really it's hard to hold back, demons are known for many things and restraint is not one. Traces of the past could not actually show one the past of course. But it was useful for exposing recent traces of where one has been. Things like footprints or body liquids through unique remnant numen signatures. It was a good art to find adultering nobles who had been cheating on their partners with other demons. Most usually from the circle of lust. It was pretty widespread through hell. Of course, it was such a simple art that their were a multitude of ways to counter it that were equally as widespread when it became so common. But this was a little village in the middle of nowhere. Simply put he had nothing to worry about.

Midea surveyed the illuminated traces. Faint remnants of grime and foul residue clung to the edges of Surya's destroyed home. A dark smudge, distinct and pungent, covered part of the broken beams. Clearly, the intruders had left their marks here. He glanced at the footprints that led toward the ruins, and his suspicions solidified. Two distinct sets of signatures, larger and clumsier than the small, clawed prints that might have come from the Tyrannius children, well particularly Tarak.

It was the others—the boys who had gathered here, he thought, his jaw clenching. The remnants of their presence lingered around the perimeter of the broken-down house, their numen signatures faint but unmistakable. The footprints wound in and out of the structure, some even trailing up onto the planks and ledges of the ruined roof.

He moved closer to inspect the wreckage of the pen as well. The wards he had set were shattered, their remnants scattered across the broken foundation. While that was likely from Tarak the boys' numen signatures were faintly imprinted on the fragments—a clear sign that they had tampered with the barriers before Tarak's outburst.

More importantly, however he could not with this technique sense any traces of Surya nor Tarak. No matter how he looked there seemed to be nothing of the children. Though they had been here the day before. This made little sense given how all beings even those who never embarked upon the path of cultivation had numen signatures, but then again he supposed he shouldn't be surprised at this. Regardless of how absurd it was. Of course because of this fact he couldn't put together an exact picture of what happened but that didn't really matter. He had more than enough to piece together a plausible story that might ease tensions, and even if he had to embellish certain details, he could lay the groundwork to shield the children from blame. Plus it's not as if he was one to care for right and wrong.

Simply put it was far from absolute proof, but it was enough to tell a convincing story. At least to the villagers. His lips curled into a satisfied smirk. This could work.

Satisfied, Midea pieced together his next steps. While he doubted that any punishment would fall upon the boys, their privileged position in the village made sure of that, he could at least chage their perceptions of the kids. There was enough evidence here to fabricate a narrative that could turn the village's fears in the children's favor, but he needed a final touch to set it in motion. If he played his cards right with this the villagers might even see the children as defenders rather than monsters.

Now, he thought, already moving to the next step. I just need to ensure the soldiers' timely return... with a bit of extra company.

He closed his eyes, concentrating. Three shadowy figures unfurled from his own form, flickering to life with a faint, ethereal glow. These were shadows he had summoned—a Pride Circle art that allowed him to create tangible, though weak, copies of himself. They weren't much in a fight, but they were invaluable for recon. They were what he had used to essentially spy on both Remulus and Surya.

The shadows slipped out through the village's wards, gliding soundlessly over the wall and into the dense forest beyond. Through their eyes, he observed the wild landscape as if he were there himself, watching creatures of all shapes and sizes move through the underbrush.

A spiral of iridescent light drifted past one shadow—a bioluminescent tube-like creature with dozens of sensory organs, swaying in the breeze. A heavily-armored beast with a head like an anchor dragged itself across the ground, its carapace glinting under the filtered sunlight. Featherlins darted overhead, leaping between trees as they hunted small, cup-shaped creatures with leafy legs that shuffled in the shadows below.

But he wasn't interested in them. He was looking for something specific... and dangerous.

A glimmer of movement caught his eye, and a sinister smile crept across his face. There, just beyond the treeline, lurked a group of Vampyrs—pale, emaciated figures that prowled the forest with a predatory grace. The shadows had done their job well, guiding the Vampyrs into the soldiers' path.

Perfect.

Opening his eyes, he allowed himself a satisfied grin. His plan was nearly complete. He'd lead the Vampyrs to the village gates, timing their arrival with that of the soldiers. And with Surya and Tarak present, the villagers would witness the siblings' prowess firsthand. Villagers would think this is due to a lack of shadow cores and he could subtly disable the wards and claim it was a malfunction from how rapidly they were set. The childrens save when combined with the proof he had mustered up would lead to many seeing them in a positive light once more. Also given his own contributions to the village they would not be denied.

By the time I "fix" the wards, he thought smugly, they'll be hailing those two as heroes.

Turning back toward his house, he spotted Surya and Tarak waiting outside. The boy wore the new clothes Midea had fashioned for him, and he seemed to glare at Midea with a watchful wariness. As if debating whether or not he should attack based on how close the demon got to Surya. Surya on the other hand looked at him with open suspicion, her gaze sharp and discerning.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, folding her arms. "Did you speak with the chieftain about mending relations?"

He resisted the urge to smirk. Clever little monster, he thought, admiring her perceptiveness. "Nothing so formal," he replied smoothly. "But I did see Hati earlier. She's returning with some Rannhorn milk for you both. I suggest you wait for her at the front gate. I have... arrangements to make for your training, so wards will have to wait until later."

Surya's nose wrinkled in irritation, but he caught the faint flicker of interest in her eyes. "Really? Just for that?"

He nodded. "Yes. And interacting with soldiers who brave the wilds to provide for the village will help build some trust. Hati may be... difficult, but she's respected. In a way, she's at least strong. If you two are seen in her company, it will do you more good than my presence ever could."

Surya looked at him for a moment, clearly skeptical, but after a beat, she sighed. "Fine. Come on, Tarak."

She held out her hand, and Tarak took it, casting Midea a final, wary glance before allowing himself to be led toward the gate.

Watching them go, Midea's smile grew sharper, his mind already running through the final steps of his plan. No one would die—he'd make sure of that. But a little staged heroism would do wonders to sway public opinion.

Yes this was a masterstroke worthy of House Valefor.

_____________________

Hati raced through the dense forest alongside her troupe, the rhythmic pounding of their feet echoing in sync as they moved through dappled patches of sunlight. It was a bit past noon, and they were overdue to return. Although she felt the thrill of the hunt pulsing through her, invigorated by the day's battles, the thought of encountering a Turbeast sent a chill down her spine. She'd love to tear into one someday, rip it apart and taste victory, but today wasn't the day. Not with her team in this state. She glanced around at her troupe—exhaustion and injury marked each of them. One of her comrades was limping, another's torso was wrapped in blood-soaked bandages, and a third had crudely amputated fingers, flesh still raw from the makeshift cauterization. He had been hit by a beast of the viral swamp so they had no other option.

Despite the fatigue in their eyes, they pressed forward, pushing through the dense underbrush. They had encountered more aggressive beasts than usual, likely stirred up by the goblins who'd been bargaining like snakes, demanding wall rune work and techniques in trade. The core secrets of any village in this world. She was half-tempted to pummel those greedy bastards into the ground and take what they needed by force, but Garran—ever the voice of patience—had held her back. Thinking of him brought a scowl to her face. Garran had been seen running around with Lain lately, that gentle, calm healer with her irritatingly soft-spoken manner. Hati scoffed, her fists clenched. So what if Lain could heal wounds with a whisper? Hati could eat more than any man in the village. And one day she would devour the moon if it pleased her! That's far more impressive! Garran was just a fool.

She pushed these thoughts away and focused on her other reason for rushing back—her little Surya. News had reached her that Surya had been attacked by Elder Hathor, all because her newly arrived brother had apparently shredded Conryn and his lackeys into pieces. Hati grinned. Well done, boy. She would have torn the bastards apart herself if given the chance. And the audacity of that old one-eyed dick to raise a hand against Surya! She'd gone charging in that day too, only for Garran to hold her back once again. But today, nothing would keep her from meeting the boy who shared Surya's blood.

"Hati!" a voice called, snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned her head, catching sight of Lennix, a sickly but fierce blond member of the clan who was bringing up the rear, watching their backs. She had a grudging admiration for the man's tenacity—despite his frail frame, he always pushed himself. He was a hot-blooded one just like herself.

"We've got Vampyrs on our tail!" he shouted, urgency tightening his voice. Hati's instinct flared, almost forcing her to spin on her heels and confront them then and there. But she gritted her teeth, forcing her gaze forward. Her troupe was battered and bleeding, barely able to hold themselves together, let alone withstand a clash with Vampyrs. The last thing she wanted was to lose anyone to those walking corpses.

"Hold formation! We're almost at the wards. Once we're inside, we'll be safe!" she bellowed, her voice carrying through the dense trees, loud and commanding.

A resounding, "YES, MA'AM!" followed, bolstering her spirit. She could feel their loyalty in every syllable, and it made her grin. She had trained them well. She remembered when they were hesitant to be led by a girl.

The forest grew denser as they zigzagged through clusters of trees, dodging low branches and roots that threatened to trip them. Numen coursed through their bodies, allowing them to glide through the woods in silence, reducing their footprints to faint impressions. Despite their speed, the Vampyrs were relentless, their guttural snarls growing louder with each step. Hati clenched her jaw, her fingers itching for her spear as the creatures closed the distance.

"GROOWWWER HEEERRKKK!"


Their voices echoed, twisted and unnatural, accompanied by the rancid scent of decay. Hati's nose wrinkled in disgust. She could almost feel their rancid breath against her back, their decayed claws hungry to rip her and her comrades apart. She cursed under her breath. If not for the damned goblins' meddling, she'd have been more than ready to deal with these creatures.

A piercing shriek echoed behind her, and she glanced over her shoulder to see Lennix, surrounded, narrowly avoiding a swipe from a Vampyr's claw as it tore a chunk from his armor, exposing a patch of raw, bloody flesh beneath.

"Go on ahead! I'll catch up!" she ordered, her voice firm, not allowing room for argument. Her gaze swept over her troops. They hesitated for just a second, faces twisted with worry, before nodding and pushing forward. She wouldn't allow herself to fail them, not now. Not ever.

"Lennix! To me!" she shouted, breaking formation and sprinting back. Lennix barely managed a nod, stumbling toward her, blood dripping down his side. Hati moved with purpose, each stride measured and powerful as she drew her double-sided spear from her back, the familiar weight calming her.

She summoned her numen, feeling it ripple through her muscles as she dashed past him, planting her feet into the soft earth. Gathering her strength, she let her momentum build, each step grounding her stance. In one smooth, practiced motion, she pivoted, twisting her waist and wielding her spear in a fierce arc.

"Solar Eclipse!"


Numen surged along the length of her weapon, the energy forming a radiant, circular arc. To anyone watching, it would have looked like a miniature eclipse—a brilliant halo of light that glowed as her spear cleaved through the air. The weapon sliced through Vampyrs with brutal efficiency, their legs and torsos split as if they were nothing but paper. The remnants of their bodies hung suspended, momentarily hovering in the shape of a halo before crashing down around her.

With her spear already lifted, she took advantage of the momentum, driving the blade into a Vampyr's torso that had flown upward in the wake of her initial attack. She imbued the severed body with numen and launched it at the staggering creatures ahead.

"Sun Hammer!"


The corpse exploded on impact, scattering flesh and bone across the clearing, forcing the remaining Vampyrs to falter in fear. The numen-infused blast scattered them, reducing their ranks to scattered limbs and blood-stained soil.

At the first layer while numen could not be projected from the body easily without rare exceptions like Garran's spear intent. Imbuing numen into objects for various effects was easy enough.

Lennix's eyes widened as he stumbled to a halt beside her, admiration flaring in his gaze. "Holy Fenrir, you tore through them already!" he shouted, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Heh, of course I did. I'll be one of the rulers of this village one day, after all," she replied, a cocky grin spreading across her face. He rolled his eyes, and warmth bloomed in her chest, this would be fun. "But don't get too comfy. You're slowing down, Lennix!"

"What? I'm not—Ahhhh!" Before he could finish, she hoisted him up onto her shoulder, ignoring his protests. She was back to running in an instant, accelerating to catch up with the others, her stride as relentless as before. Finally, the forest broke into a clearing, the village walls were visible just ahead. The other soldiers were already nearing the wards, some shouting with relief as they crossed into safety.

"With a head start barely any one of you made it back before me," Hati boasted, setting Lennix down roughly, his dignity bruised but his gratitude evident. A dark-skinned warrior, Kofi, clapped him on the back with a laugh.

"Hati carrying you like a princess now, Lennix? Trying to win her over, are ya?"

"Shut it," Lennix grumbled, but he couldn't hide the flush creeping up his neck. Hati laughed, tossing her hair back.

"Nice try, but you're not my type. I like a challenge! Plus you were running to Kofi. Get to the eighth shackle and you'll have room to talk!" She shot back, eliciting a round of laughter from her comrades. They walked toward the main gate, and Hati banged her fist on the heavy wood, her voice echoing as she announced their return. The gates creaked open slowly, each inch revealing familiar faces of the village. She was a bit upset to not find Garran waiting for her. If she found him walking with Lain she swore he'd have two new lumps on his skull. But her irritation was quickly snuffed out when she saw who was waiting for her.

Standing there, dressed simply yet glowing with a prettily as she always did, was her Surya. The girl's amethyst eyes and golden hair glistened in the midday light, her silver wings tucked elegantly behind her. Next to her stood a boy, wearing a simple white shirt and dark trousers, his gaze bright with curiosity. He was her mirror and her kin, his red eyes sharper and more intense, his scales obsidian with white flecks, and four horns cresting his head. Hati's heart swelled with pride as she grinned, ready to call out to them.

"Eeehhh my Surya was waiting for me—"


Her words cut off as a low, ominous rumble shook the ground beneath her. Hati's eyes widened, and she whipped around just in time to see a horde of Vampyrs charging toward the now-open gate, clawed hands reaching out, lips twisted in hungry snarls.

"Malfunction in the ward! Close the gates!" a sentry yelled from the wall, his voice tinged with panic. But it was clear the gates wouldn't close in time. The Vampyrs were too close, and the few villagers around them stood frozen in horror, unprepared for the bloodshed approaching.

Her mind sharpened, every instinct screaming to protect the civilians. The Vampyrs were closing in fast, and her soldiers weren't in fighting condition. But Hati was born for moments like this. She planted her feet firmly on the ground, gripping her spear with both hands, ready to meet the creatures head-on. Her voice rang out, unwavering and fierce, "All who can fight, stand with me! No soul shall be lost today—not one! This I solemnly swear!"

Just as she took her first step forward, a blur of silver and gold shot past her, startling her into a momentary pause. Hati's eyes widened as she registered that the blur was Surya, her wings outstretched, the sunlight glinting off her feathers, making her seem almost otherworldly. And trailing just behind her was a streak of black and white—the boy, his sharp gaze fixed on the oncoming horde, his mouth curled into a fierce snarl. The siblings moved with lethal purpose, a natural ease that belied their youth.

And she looked ahead only to see violence in it's truest form.



_________________________


Tanya felt her gaze settle on Midea, suspicion flickering in her amethyst eyes as they observed him closely. For all the things he'd done to help her and Tarak so far, she knew better than to trust the demon implicitly. She had no doubt he had his own agenda—he wasn't exactly subtle about it. He grinned far too often, always with that same sly look that made it hard to gauge his true thoughts. She was certain that every time he plastered on that smile, he was cooking up something, some scheme he'd keep hidden behind that facade. If she wasn't careful, she'd find herself tangled in whatever he was planning. The tricky part, though, was that Midea seemed well aware of how he was perceived. He smiled often enough that it was impossible to tell if it was genuine or just his way of masking his intentions. There was no clear line between the two.

As she recalled the morning, she felt her suspicion deepen. Midea had shown up with of talk of Rannhorn milk, already knowing they would wait near the village's front gate for Hati. The way he had looked at her then, with a glint in his eye, suggested that he was hiding something more than just a few mundane details. Tanya couldn't quite put her finger on it, but it was almost as if he'd put something in motion, an invisible thread pulling her toward an outcome only he knew. She was grateful for his assistance with Tarak's clothing, given that she wouldn't have to watch her brother dragging his oversized clothes through the mud. Still, that look had told her he was planning something beyond their morning routine. Something he had no intention of revealing, at least not yet. She had thought he had done something with the chieftain but apparently that was not the case.

Her thoughts lingered on Tarak, her mind drifting to the events of the previous day. Despite the fresh scents of the forest and the villagers bustling around, she could still remember the pungent odor that had clung to the air when she'd found her brother yesterday amid the ruined remains of her home and the wild battle. Strangely, there was no scent of filth on Tarak himself, which only added to her suspicions. It was likely that someone had defiled the area, desecrating her home in the short span of time between Tarak's birth and the ensuing battle. The culprit was clear in her mind—Conryn and his lackeys, the same lot she'd injured when they had attacked Hati. While it seemed that Tarak had definitely done more than simply defend himself. Given what she'd pieced together, she was sure that they had contributed to the destruction as much as any of Tarak's actions.

While she couldn't muster much sympathy for them, she knew her indifference wasn't solely out of spite. There was something primal within her that had solidified her loyalty to Tarak above all else. He was her kin, her brother, and her instincts screamed to protect him, a fierce compulsion woven into her very being. Her own thoughts and emotions had melded with this innate sense of kinship, sharpening her focus on him in a way that overrode nearly everything else.

A quiet sound pulled her out of her thoughts. "Aughhh," came the faint murmur, and she glanced down at her brother. His red eyes were wide with wonder as he looked around, taking in the world with a sense of raw curiosity, almost as if each step revealed some new marvel. A small smile tugged at her lips. She had to admire his resilience, his relentless curiosity that persisted despite all he had gone through so far.

She leaned down slightly, speaking to him with a softer tone, "I'll treat you to something really nice, Tarak. Well, Hati will. You haven't met her yet, but try not to attack her when you see her, alright? I'll be there with you." She kept her voice gentle, as she knew that children, no matter their origin, were more receptive to kindness.

Her brother's head snapped back to her, his eyes sharp, gentle but almost calculating as well as he considered her words. Though he was still learning, she could already see flickers of understanding in his expression. He was picking things up quickly, even if he wasn't quite on par with her own rapid understanding when she was born. But that was to be expected. She had a unique advantage, an edge he didn't possess. Still, it wouldn't be long before he mastered speech himself.

They finally reached the main gate, the heavy wood towering over them. She mused about Hati, wondering briefly why the woman hadn't mentioned picking up milk for her the day before. Then again, with the recent events surrounding her and Tarak's arrival, Hati probably hadn't been able to make time. Not that she would have begrudged her friend for it—Hati had always been protective, perhaps even excessively so, ever since they'd met.

The echo of Hati's voice soon reached her ears from beyond the gate. "Opening!" she called, her voice carrying a sense of strength and command that could rally even the most hesitant heart. Tanya watched as the soldiers filed in, their steps heavy, marked with exhaustion and tension after what was undoubtedly a grueling journey. Though her face remained composed, Tanya made a mental note of the weariness in their eyes and the bruises marking their bodies. It was a stark reminder of the dangers lurking outside the village, dangers she would one day have to face.

As the last of the troupe entered, Hati came into view, her red hair wild and untamed, burnt-orange eyes scanning the area with an intensity that betrayed her readiness for action. Tanya noticed Hati's gaze soften as it settled on her, but before that they had been flickering through a myriad of emotions—first relief, then a brief flash of irritation, and finally a spark of delight once she saw herself. Tanya suppressed a chuckle. Hati's emotions were like an open book, her face far too expressive to hide her thoughts.

"Eeehhhh, my Surya was waiting for m—"

Before she could finish, a low, thunderous rumble shook the ground beneath them. Tanya felt it reverberate through her bones, and she stiffened, turning her head sharply in the direction of the sound. The sentry's voice rang out, high and urgent from above, "Malfunction in the ward! Close the gates!"

The gate began to creak, but it was too little, too late. Shadows writhed in the distance, growing in size as a horde of Vampyrs surged toward them, their grotesque forms barely visible through the haze of dust and decay. They moved with unnatural speed, clawed hands stretching out hungrily, eyes burning with the primal instinct to devour. Tanya's muscles tensed, instincts flaring as her body prepared for battle.

Hati's voice cut through the air, fierce and resolute. "All who can fight, stand with me! No soul shall be lost today—not one! This I solemnly swear!" She positioned herself, feet planted firmly on the ground, her spear raised with both hands, ready to meet the advancing creatures head-on. Her voice held a commanding authority that left no room for hesitation, her presence a beacon for the others to rally behind.

And yet, before Hati could even take a step forward, Tanya felt a surge of energy well up within her, an uncontrollable urge that propelled her forward. She moved instinctively, shooting past Hati, her body a blur of silver and gold as her wings unfurled behind her, catching the sunlight and scattering rays in a halo around her form. The sunlight glinted off her feathers, illuminating her as she dashed toward the horde, an avenging spirit wrapped in light and fury.

A second blur followed close behind her, black and white flashing in the periphery of her vision. She didn't need to turn to know it was Tarak. Something primal resonated between them, a connection that ran deeper than thought or reason. She had wanted to tell him to wait, to hang back for safety's sake, but the moment she felt his presence beside her, she knew he wouldn't heed any such command. They were family, and family didn't stand idly by in times of danger. A predatory grin spread across her face, her teeth sharpening into dagger-like points as the thrill of battle ignited every nerve. Instincts surged within her, urging her forward, filling her with a savage joy she could no longer deny.

______________________


Tanya barreled into the first Vampyr, her momentum alone tearing through its torso, the sickening crunch of bone and sinew echoing as she thrust its body forward into another Vampyr that had leaped to intercept her. She twisted her wrist, claws digging deeper, and with a brutal pull, tore the head clean off the second Vampyr through the first, using it as an improvised weapon to slam into yet another. Her strength was overwhelming, each movement efficient, honed, and lethal. Blood splattered across her face, warm and viscous, heightening her awareness as every instinct sharpened.

Sensing movement at her back, she spread her wings in a powerful arc, and they whipped out with shocking speed, decapitating two Vampyrs that had closed in from behind. Their heads rolled across the ground as their bodies collapsed in lifeless heaps. Tanya vaulted into the air with a powerful beat of her wings, ascending above the horde. With a calculated glance below, she pinpointed Tarak weaving through the creatures like a force of nature, his tail cutting through the enemies with brutal efficiency, each flick of its barbed end slicing flesh and bone as though they were paper. The forest floor was soon littered with dismembered limbs and torsos, a crimson tapestry painting the earth in his wake.

A hail of blood bullets suddenly hurtled toward her, trailing crimson arcs as they sliced through the air, forcing Tanya to dodge mid-flight. She twisted, her wings folding briefly as she cut through the onslaught, but one Vampyr, clearly more adept, condensed a spear of blood and hurled it at her with lethal precision, its velocity three times that of the regular projectiles. In an instant, Tanya caught the spear, her hand wrapping around it as she redirected its energy, turning sharply in the air. With an effortless throw, she launched it back with twice the force, the air rippling and leaving cones from the sheer speed. The spear shot through the horde, tearing into multiple Vampyrs; the shockwave alone was enough to blast several others backward, splattering their remains against the trees.

With a mighty dive, Tanya plunged back down, her wings hardening instinctively flew parallel to the ground, cutting through Vampyrs with the precision of a scythe. Blood sprayed in wide arcs as her wings cleaved through the attackers, turning them to pieces in a matter of seconds. She felt the exhilarating rush of power coursing through her, instincts roaring, her thoughts receding to primal simplicity as her body moved with lethal grace. Vampyrs began to swarm her, their numbers pressing in until she was pinned beneath a pile of bodies, jaws gnashing and clawed hands grabbing at her arms and wings. But Tanya, unfazed, tensed her muscles, and with one immense surge, flared her wings and shook them all off. The Vampyrs, though ferocious, were no match for her raw strength; they flew into the air, jaws snapping helplessly, as she flapped her wings to scatter them further.

Pushing her speed, she lashed out at the air each punch now blurring with raw power, tearing holes through the attackers that were airborne with just the pressure. Every blow sounded like a gunshot, the sheer force sending shockwaves through the ranks, cracking the bones of any Vampyr too close. Her fists were a blur, the air around her vibrating with each strike, leaving shattered forms of Vampyrs lying in her wake. She threw one final punch, its power creating a powerful gust that scattered the remaining Vampyrs, their bodies flung in all directions as if they weighed nothing.

She caught sight of Tarak again, his mouth smeared with blood as he bit down on a Vampyr's skull, feasting on its gray matter with a frenzied hunger. The sight ignited her own instincts further, her primal side pushing her on. She turned to face a Vampyr that had condensed a blood blade, the weapon gleaming as it sliced through the air toward her. She sidestepped, dodging with calculated precision, and delivered a brutal punch to its head, sending it skidding back, though not dead. It was stronger than the others, likely a higher shackle, and lunged again, the blade aiming for her throat.

She twisted, her two right wings stabbing forward in unison, impaling it through the head and stomach. The creature retaliated, acid-tipped claws raking across her face, and she felt the sting as it scraped over her eye, momentarily blinding her, though it failed to destroy her eyeball. A hiss of pain escaped her as her vision blurred in one eye. Yet she could feel her body healing, the irritation fading as her regenerative abilities surged to repair the damage. She retaliated with a brutal blow, sending the creature flying backward, disoriented and vulnerable.

More Vampyrs swarmed, trying to use her momentary distraction, their bodies pressing in, jaws snapping as they tried to latch onto her. But Tanya, seeing through her one good eye, ripped an arm off one mid-leap, using it to impale another Vampyr through the mouth, pinning it to the ground in a single motion. Another leapt from her blind spot, its claws reaching for her side, but it might as well have struck iron; her skin resisted its attack easily. With a predatory grin, she grabbed its skull, crushing it effortlessly in her hand. Her eye blinked open again, vision restored as if the injury had never occurred.

A barrage of blood bullets filled the air, whizzing toward her like a deadly storm. She angled her wings, deflecting them back with a powerful sweep. The bullets ricocheted, their force redirected, striking down several of the Vampyrs in their own ranks. The nearby Vampyrs exploded into clouds of blood and viscera, their bodies torn asunder from the unexpected assault. Glancing to her side, she saw a spray of Vampyr limbs and gore erupt as Tarak, moving on all fours, charged through their ranks. His entire body was a weapon, each movement precise and deadly, his horns stabbing through any creature foolish enough to stand in his way. He ran through them and tended to lead with his horns like some legendary bull it was amusing to see. It was a technique reminiscent of what she had done with her low flight.

Tanya couldn't help but feel a dark pride at the sight, a recognition of their shared blood. Taking advantage of the break in the enemies' ranks, she shot into the air, creating a vortex of wind with her wings. The sheer force of her wingbeats whipped the Vampyrs into a chaotic frenzy, flinging them backward like leaves caught in a hurricane. Blood projectiles scattered, unable to reach her through the wall of air she generated.

As Tarak leapt between Vampyrs ignoring the air pressure, he slashed and tore, his claws rending flesh with a gleeful savagery. He pounced on one of the last Vampyrs, tearing chunks of flesh from it piece by piece, his motions so swift that the creature barely had time to react before it was reduced to a skeleton. His eyes flashed with exhilaration, and he moved even faster, bounding between his targets with terrifying agility, each strike more brutal than the last.

With only a handful of Vampyrs remaining, Tanya felt an instinctive urge to end this with a final display of power and flair. Rising high above the battlefield, she folded her wings tight and angled downward, building speed as she dived. The air split around her, creating rippling shockwaves as she plummeted like a silver meteor, her fist cocked back and ready. The moment her fist connected with the ground, a tremendous force erupted, sending a cascade of shattered earth and debris into the air, creating a crater large enough to swallow a small forest clearing. The explosion blasted the remaining Vampyrs into the air, their bodies twisted and broken from the sheer impact. Hundreds of boulders that would dwarf a man the size of Remus flew airborne almost as if stationary for a second.

In the brief moment of weightlessness, Tarak leapt from chunk to chunk of flying earth, his agile form striking down the last of the airborne Vampyrs. Each of his strikes was precise, his claws and teeth shredding through the Vampyrs mid-air before they could even begin to fall. He tore through one, then another, moving so quickly it seemed as though he were everywhere at once, his claws slicing through the monsters in a red blur of carnage. Tanya mirrored his assault, dispatching any stragglers that drifted within her reach, her movements swift and relentless.

As the shattered earth finally crashed down, a cloud of dust enveloped the battlefield, the remnants of the Vampyr horde reduced to scattered pieces, painting the ground in thick, dark pools of blood. When the dust settled, only Tanya and Tarak remained, standing amidst the ruins of the massive crater, drenched in the blood of their enemies, their expressions fierce and unyielding.

Side by side, they walked back toward the village walls, the evidence of their brutal victory surrounding them, each step leaving distinct clawed footprints in the dirt. Perhaps because of the speed they were moving at the footprints they left behind seemed to release steam as if they were atavistic beings leaving behind an eternal mark on the world. They were like a god and devil walking side by side.

And the fight? The entire fight had ended in barely over a minute.

_________________

The warmth Tanya felt was both energizing and strangely overwhelming. She had absorbed a considerable amount of energy from the battle, her body instinctively siphoning it in a way that left her buzzing with vigor. Yet, because she hadn't consumed any of the creatures directly like Tarak had, much of that excess was dissipating into nothing within her, her body subconsciously destroying it because of her failure to complete the cycle of hunting and eating. From the corner of her eye, she noticed her brother glancing back toward the massacre, his crimson eyes lingering on the bloodied corpses sprawled across the battlefield.

"C'mon, Tarak," she called gently, her voice steady yet coaxing. "I know it's tempting, but let's head back." The underlying urgency in her tone made it clear this was not the time to indulge in further bloodshed. He gave a slight grunt of dissatisfaction, but heeded her words, falling in step beside her.

As they approached the village gates, she could feel the villagers' gazes on them, a mix of fear, awe, and something else that made her chest tighten—a strange kind of pride. The sheer scale of what she and Tarak had accomplished was dawning on her, too. She had relied on nothing more than instincts and fragments of martial knowledge from her past life, yet each move had felt like second nature. This body—her new form—was born for combat, every muscle, every nerve wired for efficiency and destruction. In that brief battle, she had felt something primordial and raw guiding her, a violent grace that had made her strikes devastatingly precise.

And she had also confirmed some of her guesses. For one her wings even when not hardened were the most durable part of her body. And her eyes were also exceedingly durable in fact the blow to her eyes didn't feel much different from the blows to her skin. There was an absurd possibility that broke the rules of biology that she was considering at the moment. It was that the durability of this body was uniform. While it didn't make much sense and would make a lot of the body redundant. It was a distinct possibility especially because she felt every part of her body slowly drinking in the ambient numen of the world.

But her musings were cut short as she observed the crowd's reactions in more detail. Some villagers were wide-eyed, staring at her with a mixture of reverence and fear. Others were huddled close to one another, whispering with expressions of disbelief. She could catch snippets of their mutterings, phrases like "unnatural strength," "dark power," and "blessing from the sun spirits." The awe in their voices was palpable, feeding the warm embers of her own confidence in changing their perception of her kin.

Her thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a familiar figure charging toward her. Hati sprinted across the village square, her face tight with worry. Tanya's chest tightened slightly; she knew exactly what was about to happen. She shot a quick glance at Tarak, who, already sensing the incoming force of Hati's enthusiasm, had tensed, his tail spiking defensively. She nudged him with her shoulder, whispering, "Tarak, don't hurt her!"

Just in time, Hati skidded to her knees before them, sweeping both siblings into a fierce embrace. Her arms wrapped around them tightly, and Tanya could feel the woman's pulse racing, her breathing quick and erratic from worry. She turned her head, catching Tarak's wary expression as he stiffened in Hati's hold, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. His tail prickled, spiking in defense, but one pointed look from Tanya softened his posture. He allowed Hati's embrace, though he clearly wasn't thrilled by it.

"Surya, are you okay?! That was incredible, you two!" Hati exclaimed, her voice a mix of pride and lingering anxiety. "Thank you for protecting the village like that. You were both so fast, I barely had time to help." She punctuated her words with a gentle bonk on both of their heads, a playful reprimand masked by affection. "And remember, it's the adults' job to handle these things! Plus, you're hogging all my glory," she added with a grin, clearly impressed despite herself.

Before Tanya could respond, she noticed that others were beginning to gather around them—Garran, Remus, and several other familiar faces, all wearing expressions that ranged from admiration to fear and disbelief. Recognizing a chance to take advantage of the situation, Tanya straightened, clearing her throat and adopting a serious tone. "I just felt the power of the sun filling my body at that moment. Faced with such creatures, I couldn't let them endanger anyone." She kept her voice steady, though the mere mention of the word "sun" made her body momentarily cringe in resistance. Attributing her victories to some faux deity wasn't pleasant but if it was useful then she'd do it. The effect on those around her was immediate. Heads nodded in understanding, expressions softening with admiration.

"There are truly too many strange things in this world. Are you alright, Hati?" Garran asked, his voice laced with a hint of concern as his gaze shifted from Tanya to Hati.

Hati's eyes flashed, her protective instincts flaring up. "Of course I'm alright! And don't call my Surya strange!" she snapped, a hint of playful irritation in her tone. Then, as if realizing who she was speaking to, her gaze sharpened. "And why are you even here, Garran? Weren't you off doing more 'important' things?"

Tanya observed the exchange with an amused glint in her eye, sensing the undercurrent of unresolved tension between the two. Garran looked momentarily taken aback, but sighed in quiet defeat. "I… was, but…"

"Forget it," Hati interjected, her tone dismissive, though there was a slight, begrudging smile tugging at her lips. Tanya could tell this was simply the nature of their relationship—a dance of friendly jabs and challenges that, for all its bickering, didn't seem to disrupt their bond.

With the small talk momentarily over, Tanya decided it was time to address something more pressing. She raised her voice just enough to catch Hati's attention, her expression expectant. "By the way, where's my Rannhorn milk?"

Hati blinked, momentarily thrown by the unexpected question, but then her eyes softened with amusement. She pulled the siblings close again, chuckling softly. "Rannhorn milk? I don't have any on me right now, but I'll get you two some soon, you little cuties." She flashed them both a warm grin, her tone dripping with affection.

Tanya's brows knitted, a flicker of irritation simmering beneath her calm demeanor. Typical, she thought, letting a sigh escape. Tanya felt the veins on her forehead bulge. She had never been fond of gods but as it turns out she wasn't fond of demons either. Her gaze shifted to the shadows, fully expecting to see the imp.

And, predictably, with a faint whiff of brimstone and a flash of light, Midea appeared, emerging from a swirl of dark flame and shadow, his familiar grin stretching wide across his face. He clapped his hands together, his voice smooth and serpentine as ever.

__________________

Midea had observed the fight closely, honest-to-Satan astonished by the display of raw power. Their speed and strength were absurd, almost otherworldly in their intensity. Tarak's tail lashed through the Vampyrs like a divine blade, the spikes along its length gleaming as they sliced through undead flesh with lethal efficiency. Surya was equally devastating. Her wings—absurdly powerful—became weapons of pure destruction, able to become sharp as blades to rend anything in her path. With a single punch, she had shattered the earth, creating a crater that stretched several meters deep and over a thousand feet across, its edges jagged from the sheer force of her strike. Her wings seemed to cover the sky, casting vast shadows, while Tarak's teeth and claws came up from the earth carving through their foes with a savage elegance. Midea couldn't help but be reminded of some mythical battle, a legendary scene destined to be remembered forever, unfolding before him. Wings that covered the sky and jaws and teeth that erupted from the earth. It was similar to Behemoth and Ziz of legends. Of course, that thought was an insane one. Or maybe not considering their mother.

Creation had infinite realms, but none had prepared him for dealing with this shit. He was, after all, Midea Scelus—one of Hell's foremost geniuses. And yet, as he watched them fight, he couldn't shake the unsettling realization that should he ever face them both in combat, his own victory was uncertain. The idea was so ludicrous he almost scoffed out loud. Midea, the prodigy of House Scelus, was seriously contemplating the possibility of defeat at the hands of two literal infants who hadn't even begun to cultivate their power. His father would likely be pissing himself laughing if he could witness this moment. The man did have the bad habit of looking down on his children's failures with disdain and humor rather than anything else.

Despite his lingering astonishment, Midea couldn't help but scoff at his own thoughts this time aloud, his pride unwilling to let the reality fully settle in. This girl was more perceptive and dangerous than he had initially realized, but that also worked to his advantage. He had seen Surya's mind at work—keen, adaptable, and calculating. Her invocation of "sun power" was brilliant, both for rallying the villagers and for subtly altering their perceptions of her kin. It was a move that could shift favor toward them, and he was more than happy to play along with the divine act if it would serve his goals.

He planned to make his way toward the crowd with an embellished flair, moving at high speed, his appearance cloaked in shadow and flame. It wasn't true teleportation, simply an art to look grand and intimidating. Such techniques were popular among his circle for obvious reasons, enhancing the dramatic impact of his presence.

With a dramatic flourish, he activated the art. Shadows flickered around him as he moved at impossible speed, leaving behind a swirl of dark flames and wisps of shadows for effect. The embellishment was purely for spectacle, something his circle of nobles in Hell had perfected. Appearances mattered, after all. He clapped his hands, drawing the attention of the gathered villagers.

"Alright, everyone, I must apologize for the malfunction with the wards," he announced, his voice resonating through the crowd. Bowing his head in a faux show of humility, he wore his usual grin. Not that they knew that of course. "I've been working around the clock to secure them, and this may have caused some instability. I sincerely apologize for any unease it caused. I promise that it will be better in the future."

His apology was met with murmurs from the crowd. Without giving them time to voice any doubt, he raised his voice, gesturing toward Surya and Tarak. "However!" he continued grandly, "in the face of this peril, your young protectors—the seventh Surya and Tarak—did not hesitate. Without a second thought, they stood against the shadow of death that loomed above this village and shattered it! Where there could have been devastation, there is instead peace, and you owe it to these two remarkable beings." His words hung in the air, commanding the crowd's attention as a sense of reverence settled over them.

His words were practically dripping with grandeur, and words planted the seeds of admiration within the crowd. Some villagers appeared shocked at the mention of the boy's name—Tarak—but others seemed appreciative of what the siblings had done. Some faces lit up with awe, and others remained wary, their expressions a blend of uncertainty and resentment. He could see the doubt lingering, the unease that not everyone was swayed so easily. Midea knew not everyone would give in.

And he was proven right when a man near the front of the gathering, his voice dripping with skepticism, interrupted. "You named the damn boy Tarak, and that doesn't change the fact that he crippled two members of our clan permanently!" The crowd shifted, tension brewing as eyes fell upon Midea, Hati, and the siblings.

Midea noticed Hati tense, her body ready to leap to their defense. He held up a hand quickly, silently urging her to hold her peace. Before he could intervene, another voice rose from the crowd, a steady and authoritative tone that commanded immediate respect.

"He's a child, Bardo," Garran's voice cut through the crowd, his tone even and powerful. "And let's not forget, Midea warned us these children were akin to mythical beings. Kids lash out when they're scared or overwhelmed, and unfortunately for those boys, Tarak wasn't weak enough to make that inconsequential. I'm not saying what he did was right, nor that the other boys deserved it. But think of the circumstances and remember what these children did today."

A thoughtful silence spread through the gathering, and Midea felt a flicker of respect for the man, the village's general and future leader. Looking down, he noted the soft smile Hati directed at Garran, one that spoke volumes about her trust in him. Perhaps Garran wasn't as short-sighted as he had previously thought. Then, another voice spoke, calm and clear, shifting the energy once more.

"The girl is named after the seventh sun," Lain stepped forward, her presence serene yet resolute. "Today, she felt the blessing of the sun. As for Tarak, he is of Surya's blood in this life. Fenrir himself once said that all living things are his pack, and that those within it should be uplifted by their merit and actions. He taught us that every creature of merit deserves patience and understanding. Today, the blood of the sun and part of our pack protected us. Will you reject them, going against the teachings of Lord Fenrir because of their past mistakes?" Her voice, though gentle, held a weight that resonated deeply within the crowd, her words aligning seamlessly with Garran's stance.

"Look at you!" Hati's voice thundered suddenly, her eyes blazing as she addressed the villagers. "These children fought and bore injuries to protect you while you adults cowered behind them! And now you have the audacity to call them evil? Are your skulls cracked? Are your brains leaking? Because that would explain why you can't think straight!" Her fierce declaration drew a few laughs from the crowd, and more than a few heads nodding in agreement. She had a way of cutting through pretense, and her support was clear and unapologetic. Her words cut sharply however, leaving some of the crowd however murmuring in shame and silence.

A smirk tugged at Midea's lips as he saw his argument practically forming itself before him. Hati, Garran, and Lain were already doing his job. But not everyone was convinced. Conryn stepped forward, his father trailing closely behind him, anger written clearly across his face. He raised his arm, pointing a finger toward Tarak with barely contained rage. "That thing," he spat, his voice trembling with emotion, "crippled two of my friends permanently. Look what he did to me!" He ripped off a patch on his face, revealing a scarred hole, and lifted his shirt, exposing a long wound that stretched from his shoulder to his torso. A few gasps sounded from the crowd, sympathy stirring for the boy's injuries.

At that moment, Elder Hathor stepped forward, his presence cold and unyielding as he spoke to the chieftain and the crowd both.

"Indeed, Remus," Hathor's voice rose from the crowd, his words measured yet tinged with disdain. "Are our laws so fragile that we allow this monstrosity to walk among us? Does the word of an elder mean nothing? I can appreciate the boy's bravery today, but saving lives does not erase his crimes. We should lock him up, or better yet, expel him entirely. Today's battle showed what dangerous creatures they are—mythical beasts with no place among us."

A ripple of agreement rolled through some of the crowd, their fear and uncertainty manifesting as hesitant nods and murmurs.

Remus raised a hand, attempting to placate both sides. "Enough. Both sides have valid points. We are a village of laws, and we cannot ignore them. But these children did save us, and if Surya is indeed blessed by the sun… and if Midea continues to support our village… Perhaps instead of punishment, we can consider placing him in a controlled environment, to limit any potential harm." His tone sought balance, though his gaze shifted to Midea with unease.

Midea only smiled, his confidence unwavering as he caught Surya's expectant glance from the corner of his eye. With a subtle nod, he assured her—this was only the beginning of his plan. He grinned, after all a Scelus never disappoints.

"Actually," he began, addressing the crowd, "I have something that may ease your minds." He gestured toward Conryn. "Since he's here, let's bring the uninjured boy as well. We'll go to the scene of the incident and investigate what truly happened."

Hati looked at Midea with interest, her gaze flickering with a spark of understanding before she dashed off, going to grab the large uninjured boy to bring to the site.

"What are you getting at, Midea?" Remus asked, a note of suspicion in his voice. Midea's grin only widened, his eyes flashing with intrigue.

"Things aren't as simple as they seem. When Surya was born, she attacked a Vampyr—an obvious threat—but no one else. Ask yourself, why is that?" His words hung heavily in the air, each syllable calculated to intrigue and unsettle.

"What are you implying, boy?" Hathor spat, irritation flickering in his gaze. Midea's patience wore thin, but he maintained a cool demeanor, returning the elder's glare with an even sharper edge.

"I am no boy," Midea retorted smoothly, "and I mean that your son, Hathor, is not blameless. Is it so hard to imagine that a child, sensing danger, might react defensively?" He raised his voice, addressing the crowd with a force that silenced the elder, ripples of curiosity spreading through the onlookers.

Remus sighed, defeated, and gestured for him to continue. "Very well, Midea. Show us this evidence of yours." From the corner of his eye, Midea observed Conryn tense, a flicker of guilt betraying his defiant stance. This was going perfectly.

The crowd followed Midea and the children, their numbers swelling as they moved down the dirt roads toward Surya's ruined home. Surya walked beside her brother, her hand clasped firmly around his, while villagers gave them a wide berth, their respect tempered with a hint of residual fear. As they arrived at the site, Midea noted a glint of golden hair among the crowd—a girl whose hair shone with the same woven gold sheen as Surya's. But there was no time to consider this further; he had work to do.

"I have a technique called 'Traces of the Past,' which identifies unique numen signatures and reveals traces people leave behind. Let me demonstrate."

As he activated the art, energy swept over the area, illuminating signatures left behind by distinct presences. The bloodstains, footprints, and even the foul stench of defecation in Surya's home became visible markers. Midea's gaze scanned the area, the numen signatures pulsing faintly, revealing the intruders' paths with startling clarity.

"As you can see, there are footprints leading directly into Surya's home, one set up to the rafters. There's even defecation left by two individuals, not one," he announced, his tone firm and unyielding. "And if you observe the echoes of the wards around Tarak's pen, there's a distinct print there as well."

"How do we know this signature is my son's?" Hathor demanded, his voice dark.

Midea met his gaze coolly. "He can step within the range of the art and demonstrate any move, or simply walk, and we'll see if it aligns."

The elder began to protest, but Hati returned just in time with Worgen, who looked visibly shaken. "Let's put it to the test, then," she said, her voice steady as she reassured the frightened boy. Midea observed Conryn's panicked glance toward Worgen, who backed away in fear. Reading the situation, Midea stepped forward.

"Naturally, nothing will happen to you," he said calmly. "We're simply confirming facts." Worgen nodded hesitantly, stepping into the technique's field, his numen flowing. Sure enough, the trace matched the remnants found in Surya's home, the prints aligning perfectly. Gasps echoed around them as realization struck.

"I—I was there with Conryn and Ohkong," Worgen stammered, voice trembling as he recounted the events. "We… destroyed the house… and, um, defiled it."

"I say that's a lie!" Hathor barked, but Remus's voice cut him off, his tone final.

"SILENCE! This is proof enough. The boys have faced their punishment already, and Tarak's actions were in defense, not malice. Our laws remain intact, but our judgment should reflect the truth." His voice was steady, firm. "Let it go."

Public opinion had shifted definitively. The villagers looked at the children with acknowledgment, some fear remaining but no longer outweighing respect. Midea met Surya's gaze, flashing a triumphant thumbs-up, though she only rolled her eyes in response. Still, his mood wasn't dampened. There was something deeply satisfying in watching a plan unfold to perfection.

He truly was a brilliantly handsome and intelligent demon. A worthy future overlord.

___________________

As the sky deepened into twilight, Tanya walked beside her brother, his small hand warm in hers. Shadows stretched across the village as soft lanterns began to flicker on, casting a gentle glow on the winding dirt path. Despite the day's challenges, a sense of accomplishment hummed within her, though tempered by frustration at Midea's hidden manipulations. The demon had orchestrated something with those wards—she was almost certain of it. She was aware of his meticulous nature, she did not buy that excuse. Yet, whatever annoyance she held for his covert methods, she couldn't deny his intelligence. He had somehow known the Vampyrs would file in behind Hati's group, and despite the chaos, his plan had cast her and Tarak in a favorable light.

As they walked, villagers who passed by whispered in hushed tones, casting glances her way that seemed softened by awe, even reverence. A man approached and handed them an apple with a quiet nod, his hand slightly trembling. Before she could fully process the gesture, another villager stepped forward, offering a skewer threaded with sizzling meats. A third villager brought forth a bundle of new clothes, murmuring his thanks. The generosity, though unexpected, reminded her of the deep sense of community among the villagers, even when tinged with apprehension.

She tightened her grip on Tarak's hand, glancing at the moons that hung low and full in the sky. She hadn't even been here a full month, yet her presence—and that of her brother—had stirred the village to its core. Each passing day seemed to bring new revelations and conflicts, each experience deepening her connection to her new life. If she could even call it hers truly. A gentle sigh escaped her lips as they turned toward the rural outskirts, where shadows cast the night's embrace across the quiet fields.

The warm night air drifted around them as they walked, and she noticed a subtle change in Tarak—he seemed taller than when he'd first been born, and the realization struck her. It had only been a day, yet his growth was perceptible, his head now way above her shoulder. Though not taller than her yet if you didn't count his horns. His slender limbs were lengthening, his presence already shifting from newborn fragility to something stronger. Her thoughts lingered, considering the possibility of sexual dimorphism among the Tyrannius. Or perhaps it was the animalistic traits in his blood driving his rapid development—after all, some reptiles matured far faster than birds. But more likely, it was the sheer number of lives he'd taken today, the way he had fought so instinctively. Energy seemed to help their kind grow.

Reaching over, she ruffled his hair, chuckling as he leaned into her touch with a soft huff of satisfaction. The memory of that man, the one who'd suggested they lock up or even expel Tarak, brushed the edges of her mind, igniting a protective fury she hadn't felt since she'd first awakened in this body. The thought of anyone threatening him filled her with an almost primal wrath, yet she knew she'd concealed it well. She was gaining control over the instincts of this body, feeling her reactions and impulses more as tools she could wield rather than distractions. A similar surge had overtaken her earlier, too, when Hati had been in danger. Had Hati imprinted upon her? She grimaced slightly at the thought, realizing that perhaps it was too late to escape the fierce loyalty she felt for the warrior woman. And given her bond with Tarak, she had likely consigned him to a similar fate.

"Sorry I couldn't get you any of that Rannhorn milk, Tarak," she murmured, glancing down at him.

He responded with a gentle nod, his quiet affirmation revealing his understanding beyond mere words.

"And… thanks for your help today." Her voice softened, and in response, he let out a proud, almost self-assured grunt, as though to say that protecting her was simply his duty.

A smile broke across her face. What a reliable little brother she had. Turning a corner, she spotted Luna waiting for her, practically bouncing on her feet. She had meant to meet the girl the night before, but the chaos of recent events had made it impossible.

"Surya! Why weren't you here yesterday?" Luna's voice shot out in rapid-fire excitement, her gaze darting to Tarak. "Le gasp—who's that? What is that?! His horns are so cool! Do you think I would look good with horns? Like, imagine—a wolf with horns! That's an amazing idea, right? Oh, and he has a tail too, but it's all scaly. Too bad you don't have a tail, Surya. His eyes are amazing, so red and shiny—yours are purple, which is also amazing. I'm so jealous! My eyes are just black. And… wait, his marks look like yours! Oh! Is he the other one, the other egg? But why are you feathery and he's all scaly? Hmm…"

Her words poured out like a stream, each sentence tumbling over the next without pause. It reminded Tanya of their first meeting, when Luna's exuberant chatter had been almost too much to take in. She raised a hand, signaling for the girl to slow down.

"Easy, Luna. Yes, this is my brother, Tarak. Tarak, say hello." She gestured to him, and he gave a slight nod to Luna, his understanding of their language progressing rapidly.

"Hi, Tarak! Nice to meet you!" Luna greeted, her excitement undiminished. "But why are you named after the evil beast of legend? That's kind of a weird name."

A flicker of irritation crossed Tanya's face, but she held back, knowing Luna meant no harm. She was the adult here, after all, and could afford to be the bigger person.

"I named him that, Luna. Don't worry about it—I actually have some questions for you." She exhaled, hoping to steer the conversation back on track. Luna's hands flew to her mouth, her eyes widening as she realized her mistake.

"Oh! I didn't mean to say it was weird, just, you know, I thought—sorry! What do you want to ask me?"

She fumbled, clearly worried she'd offended Tanya and eager to change the topic. Tanya smiled inwardly, appreciating the girl's candor.

"Your necklace—where did you get it from?" Tanya asked, her eyes narrowing on the delicate crescent moon pendant hanging around Luna's neck. "I noticed your sister has a similar one."

Luna fingered the pendant with a curious look. "Oh, this? I got it from my dad. But have you seen Sol? It's been ages since I saw her, and I've been a bit worried."

The admission surprised Tanya, casting doubt on her initial assumption that Luna's father had abandoned her and her mother for the mother of Sol. Perhaps the man had some sense of duty after all.

"I saw her recently. She seems fine, though her mother's very strict," Tanya replied. "Your father, though—he still comes to see you?"

A shadow passed over Luna's face, and she shook her head slowly. "No my dad died a long time ago, when I was little. He left us these necklaces in his will. Said he found them outside the village somewhere. He always wanted Sol and me to have names like these—sun and moon, y'know? Oh and Sol's mom is super strict."

Her tone was casual, which surprised Tanya but then again she had likely never gotten to know the man. This new information stirred curiosity in her. So Luna's father had been dead for years, yet both mothers still kept their daughters apart. And the necklaces, obtained from beyond the village, held an aura of mystery, as though they connected to a history unknown to either girl.

Luna's bright voice broke her thoughts. "Hey, you still haven't answered my question, Surya," she said, leaning closer with a curious gleam in her eye. Tarak, sensing her closeness, tensed slightly, his body preparing for what he perceived as a threat.

Tanya laughed softly, squeezing his hand. "Tarak, you can go explore, but don't wander too far."

He shot her a grateful look before turning and sauntering off into the evening shadows, his cautious steps quiet against the dirt path.

Luna pouted. "Why'd you send him away? He's so cute! I was having fun looking at him."

"Well, he was just born yesterday," Tanya replied, her voice tinged with amusement. "I had to take care of him and handle some trouble from a boy named Conryn and his little gang. They… messed up my house, and it caused some problems today. You didn't hear about this?"

Luna's eyes grew wide with disbelief. "No! That's terrible! Who ruins someone's house? If he comes around here, we'll both beat him up!" She pumped her fist with exaggerated fervor, her enthusiasm bringing a small smile to Tanya's lips.

"Him? He's the son of Elder Hathor—"

The moment the name slipped from Tanya's lips, Luna's entire body stiffened. Her eyes widened in horror, pupils shrinking as her breathing grew shallow, her chest rising and falling in rapid, panicked bursts. Without warning, she clutched her head, tears spilling down her cheeks as she took a stumbling step back, her hands pressing tightly against her temples as if to shield herself from something invisible.

"Luna!" Tanya moved forward instinctively, reaching out to comfort her, but Luna flinched, recoiling as if Tanya's touch would burn her.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" she screamed, her voice shrill with terror, echoing in the quiet of the evening. Without another word, she turned and bolted down the path, her sobs breaking the stillness of the night as she ran, her figure shrinking into the distance, silhouetted against the darkening sky.

Tanya's heart ached as she watched the girl disappear, realization dawning upon her. The signs were all there: Luna's avoidance of crowds, her reclusive nature, the way her vibrant personality dimmed at even the mention of Hathor. The pieces fell into place—Luna wasn't cursed or mystically tethered to the moon or anything of the sort. She was deeply, painfully scarred. Agoraphobia clung to her like a second skin, and Tanya had no doubt it was connected to Hathor in some way. The man had likely done something to the girl, or perhaps to her family, leaving a lasting wound that went far deeper than any she could see.

Tanya's instincts rumbled within her, a low simmer of anger beneath her calm exterior. She clenched her fists, feeling the fury burn. Just as Hati had imprinted herself onto Tanya's heart, Luna's pain now carved a place within her, too.

_________________________


Tarak wandered away from his sister, the world around him brimming with unfamiliar sights and smells, each one tugging at his curiosity. He didn't fully understand her words earlier, but he recognized her tone and gestures well enough to know she was thanking him—and that made him feel something warm and good. That proud feeling, like the dark, horned man who had basically exuded the feeling. Tarak liked his sister; he had from the very moment he was born. She had shielded him, even against the one-eyed man, and that had cemented his affection for her.

But most others… they grated on him, like an itch under his scales. All he truly wanted was to stay near his sister, to hunt and devour and sleep deeply, with no other distractions. But it seemed there were always obstacles and other people in his way. They looked at him, watched him from the corners of their eyes with that strange hesitancy and fear. It made him feel something off, like an uncomfortable twisting in his chest that he didn't know how to name. He wanted to hurt them, to reach out and crush that feeling away, but his sister's presence held him back. He wasn't quite sure why, but he sensed that the twisting feeling would only grow if he acted on it. His mind was split into two. It hurt when he thought of it too much so he simply didn't.

As he wandered, his steps pressing into the cool, grainy dirt beneath his bare feet, he became absorbed in the sensations of the earth. His claws dug into the ground with each step, the tiny particles squeezing between his toes and leaving a satisfying roughness behind. The air held a warm scent, a richness that seemed to fill him from the inside out, soothing the strange fire in his throat. Above, the sky was as black as his scales, vast and deep, and the largest moon hung above him, as white as the tips of his horns. He felt like he could eat the world, take in every fragment of it with each breath and step. A part of the world's energy constantly seeped into him, and he relished it, basking in the warmth it provided.

He thought of the hunt from earlier, of the creatures he had slain alongside his sister, their energy filling him and feeding that strange fire within him. He felt full, content even, though he regretted not consuming them as he instinctively knew he should. But his sister had told him not to, and so he obeyed. As he roamed through a patch of greenery, he stumbled upon rows of plants lined neatly in the ground, their green leaves stretching out, thin and small. He crouched down, observing a cluster of tiny green creatures crawling along the leaves. They were segmented and had twelve tiny legs, their bodies moving in rhythmic coordination as they weaved through the plants.

In a sudden motion, Tarak's hand darted out, fingers curling around one of the little creatures, feeling it squirm before he crushed it between his fingers. Warmth spread through him at the familiar feeling of a life snuffed out, a sensation he found oddly satisfying. Curiously, he licked his fingers, noting with satisfaction that the small bit of energy didn't disappear. His eyes gleamed with interest, and he began tearing up the plants, hunting down more of the tiny creatures, his sharp teeth crunching through their soft bodies. A few of them tried to bite him back, their small jaws ineffective against his thick skin.

He would have continued, content with his small feast, but the soft rustle of footsteps from behind broke his focus. His tail snapped toward the disturbance, poised to strike, but he froze when he recognized the color of the intruder's hair. It was golden, shining under the light of the moons, a hue reminiscent of his sister's. But it wasn't her. A small girl stood there, her hair like sunlit wheat, but her eyes were deep black, mirroring the night sky above.

The girl didn't flinch at the sight of his tail. Instead, she brushed it aside with a scowl, as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience. He allowed her to, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Perhaps it was because her hair reminded him so much of his kin.

"Stop it! What are you doing, tearing up all these plants and killing these poor little Pipla?" she demanded, her voice tinged with irritation. She marched right up to him, raising her hand, and before he could react, she brought it down on his head in a quick, solid smack. It reminded him of the red-haired woman from earlier.

"Ouch! Your head is hard in more ways than one, huh?" she muttered, rubbing her stinging hand with a grimace. Tarak tilted his head, watching her with an unblinking gaze. He didn't understand most of what she said, but her tone was familiar. He could sense that she thought he was tough, and that made him nod in satisfaction.

The girl didn't seem to have that same look in her eyes as others did. There was no fear, no hesitancy. It was something closer to the expression of the silver-haired girl who had stared at him without flinching. But this was even more unfamiliar. He didn't feel that twisting discomfort around her gaze, something that struck him as unusual.

She crouched down beside him, taking his hand in her smaller, gentler one. Carefully, she guided him, placing his hands over the dirt and showing him how to pat it back down over the plants he had uprooted. He followed her lead, more curious than resistant.

"See?" she said, her voice softening as she glanced at him. "This is how things should be. Don't destroy things for no reason, okay? People put a lot of effort into planting these. They cared for them, kept them safe, just like…" She paused, her dark eyes reflecting the soft light of the moons. "Just like you care for something fragile and precious. When something's so tender, it's easy to damage, easy to ruin with just a touch. And once it's ruined, it's not beautiful anymore. It becomes… ugly. Incomparably so."

For a moment, her voice faded, her gaze drifting, lost in thoughts he couldn't follow. But he felt something then, a strange discomfort in his chest, different from the irritation he felt toward the villagers' fearful glances. It was almost… sad. He couldn't name it, but it made him feel heavy, like a weight pressing against his scales.

She cleared her throat and straightened, her expression brightening again as she brandished her small fist. "And we take care of them and that is not something a caretaker should do. And we should all strive to be good caretakers right! Anyway, you don't need to ruin things to feel strong! You're strong already, Tarak, I can tell. So let's be closer from now on. This way, I can keep an eye on you and smack you whenever you're bad." She grinned, half-playful, half-stern, covering up the softer moment with a forced cheerfulness.

As Tarak gazed at her forced smile, he felt the strange discomfort deepen. It wasn't the same feeling he got from the other villagers' stares—it was something gentler, something quieter, but somehow even more painful.

If he had known more of the world and its emotions, he might have recognized it as sorrow.

________________________

Luna's world was swallowed by the suffocating cacophony of screams, an endless torrent that echoed and rebounded in the corners of her mind. Each scream held the rawness of her own voice, a voice from years ago—so small, so broken. Hathor's cruel jeers mingled with the twisted echoes of her past, an inescapable reminder of a time when she had been utterly helpless, stripped of any dignity or safety. Every nerve felt as though it was on fire, burning with the phantom sensations of that day. She could feel his weight pinning her down, his coarse hands pressing her small frame into the cold floor, her skin crawling under the memory of his filthy touch. She could almost smell his fetid breath, rancid and hot against her neck, his sour saliva left on her cheek like a brand, making her shudder even now as if his leering presence was right behind her.

She tried to run faster, as if speed alone could free her from the chains of memory. But each step only seemed to echo the dull, sickening thud of her heart in her ears, amplifying the dark sensations that lurked beneath her skin. She could feel the weight of his milky gaze, that one clouded eye that wobbled and jiggled, as though mocking her, haunting her with a gaze that had stripped her bare, peeling away any semblance of safety she had once known. No matter how much time passed, that eye seemed to linger in the darkness, a mark of her lost innocence.

Her own screams overlapped with the memory of those desperate cries from the child she'd been—a younger self who had lost her voice to terror. She had been so fragile then, so breakable. And that brokenness had turned into an iron cage, locking her away from everyone. Unable to ever leave her home. She had never told a soul, not her mother, not her sister—she hadn't dared. The fear was a constant companion, gnawing at her every attempt to connect, to trust. And so she kept that dark day buried within her, a festering wound that robbed her of everything outside her mother's embrace, especially during daylight when faces and places seemed to press in on her with claustrophobic intensity.

Tears blurred her vision as she sprinted, her bare feet pounding against the ground, each impact an assault against her fractured psyche. She reached her house in a frenzy, her shoulder slamming into the door. Without the presence of mind to even try the knob, she hurled herself at it again, heedless of the growing pain. Her forehead smacked against the wood, splitting open and sending warm blood trickling down her face. The smell was metallic, but it was somehow a relief—a reminder that she was here, in the present. Her trembling hand found the handle, but her strength failed her as she collapsed against the door, sobbing.

The door swung open, and she tumbled into the arms of her mother, who held her tightly. Her mother's arms, familiar and soft, anchored her as she gasped for breath between sobs. Luna buried her face in her mother's shoulder, clinging to her with a desperation that bordered on feral. Her mother's silver hair was the same shade as her own, but her sightless eyes, a ghostly blue with no pupil, were fixed somewhere beyond the visible world. Her mother's touch was warm, steady, but even that was tainted by the cruel truth of their reality—the black, cracked scar that ran down her mother's chest, a wound that had never healed, both physical and spiritual.

"Mommy!" Luna's voice was raw, ragged as she choked out the word, over and over like a prayer. "Mommy! Hic… Mommy!" Her body convulsed as she clung to her mother, fists pounding weakly against her chest, as though trying to exorcise the vile ghost of her memory through sheer physical force. She could feel her mother tense under each blow, her body shuddering as the repeated strikes aggravated her injury, sending sharp jabs of pain through her. But her mother held on, absorbing the blows without a word of protest, even as blood flecked her lips.

The woman's arms, though fragile, wrapped around her daughter tightly. "Shhh, Luna… I'm here." Her mother's voice was soft, trembling, each word laced with unspoken grief. "I'm here, my love. Your useless mother… I'm so, so sorry… I'm so sorry your mother is useless, so very useless…"

The apology fell from her lips like broken glass, sharp and cutting, but it was the only comfort she had to offer. She held Luna tightly, even as the tears fell freely down her own cheeks. She had known, on some deep level, the pain her daughter carried, but she had been powerless to shield her from it, helpless to stop the darkness from leaving its permanent stain.

Luna cried harder, feeling her mother's thin frame shake beneath her. They clung to each other as though the world beyond them didn't exist, as though by sharing in their mutual grief, they could somehow knit the shattered pieces of themselves back together. She could feel her mother's heartbeat, unsteady but resolute, matching the rhythm of her own racing pulse. The two of them sat there on the threshold, the night air cool around them, cocooned in the shared weight of their silence and pain.

Time blurred as they held each other, bound by a pain neither could voice, and for those moments, the rest of the world fell away. In that embrace, they sought healing for wounds that couldn't be mended, for nightmares that refused to fade.


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Sol moved through the quiet, dim-lit paths back home, her heart still pounding from the encounter with Tarak. She thought back to his curious, fearless way of tearing up the fields, and a faint smile crept to her lips. Sure, he was a bit reckless, but she'd found something exciting in his wildness. Granted she would have to spend time beating his destructive qualities out of him. But there was something untamed and raw about him that made her want to be stronger too. He was amazing during the day against the Vampyrs! Her grin faded slightly as she squared her shoulders—she had to be the best. She would be the best. Maybe then, maybe one day, things would be different.

As she reached the edge of the village's residential area, her mood sobered. Her house loomed ahead, larger than the neighboring homes, a shadowy silhouette in the dimming light. Her father's old spear was mounted above the door, its polished metal dulled by time, a constant reminder of his absence. She stood for a moment, taking a deep breath, her fingers grazing over her cheek where her mother's anger often left invisible marks. She opened the door as quietly as she could, slipping into the darkened entryway, her heart sinking a little deeper with each careful step.

The house was silent except for the soft flicker of candlelight coming from the living room. Sol's breath caught in her throat as she took in the shadows cast by the candle, dark and twisted, playing across the walls like grasping claws. Beneath that single, eerie glow sat her mother, her face a study of sharp angles, shadows collecting in the hollows beneath her cheekbones. Her mother's eyes caught Sol's, cold and unfeeling, like shards of ice buried in darkness. Sol's heart tightened painfully as she forced herself forward, an uneasy warmth rising in her throat as her mother's gaze pinned her in place.

"Back so late?" Her mother's voice was barely more than a whisper, yet it dripped with an accusation that clawed at Sol's insides. "You went to meet that whore's child again, didn't you?"

Sol tried to look away, but her mother's eyes were relentless, bearing down on her with a contempt that sliced through her resolve. Before she could process the movement, her mother's hand flashed out, her palm cracking sharply against Sol's cheek. A jolt of pain shot through her, and she tasted the metallic tang of blood filling her mouth, her lips stinging from the force.

"You're just like her—useless," her mother sneered, her voice filled with disgust. "What did I even raise you for, hmm? You caused me to lose my husband, and now you parade around with his bastard offspring? You're worthless."

Sol held herself still, focusing on the fading candlelight, willing herself not to cry, to keep the tears locked away. She felt her mother's fingers knotting into her hair, her scalp prickling with pain as her mother yanked her closer, the dark glint in her mother's eyes intensifying with each second. Sol tried to stand firm, tried not to wince, but her heart thundered as her mother's cold, cruel words seared into her mind.

"You will not embarrass me again," her mother hissed, her breath chilling against Sol's face. "From now on, I'll be picking you up after school. And every day, after your classes, you'll spend seven hours training here, in this house, until you are better—until you're worth the food I allow you to have. No more coddling, no more excuses. You will be the best, do you understand?"

"Yes, M-Mother," Sol whispered, her voice cracking despite her efforts to keep it steady.

A flicker of rage flashed in her mother's eyes, and she gripped Sol's hair tighter, jerking her closer. "Do not stutter, girl," her mother spat, her voice razor-sharp and ice-cold. The sudden harshness in her tone sliced through Sol like a blade, but she nodded, her head bowing as she bit down on her lower lip to keep herself from trembling. She would likely not strike her again. She never did so more than once.

Her mother lingered, her grip loosening as she watched her daughter, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before she shook her head in disgust, releasing Sol and turning away. She retreated into the shadows of her bedroom, her silhouette melting into the darkness, leaving Sol standing alone, trembling, the stinging ache in her scalp and cheek lingering like a wound.

The dim, hollow silence of the house settled around Sol, each shadow deepening, stretching over her like the claws of some unseen monster. Her mother's words replayed in her mind, each one leaving a fresh scar, cutting deeper than any slap or blow ever could. She pressed her hand to her bruised cheek, her fingers brushing over the faint warmth that remained where her mother's hand had struck. The pain was a reminder of her mother's disdain, of the weight of the expectations that had been heaped upon her fragile shoulders since she was old enough to understand what they meant.

In the stillness of the empty room, she allowed herself to breathe, to let out a soft, broken sigh. Her father's spear glinted faintly in the dark, its cold metal reflecting the candle's dying flame. In a way she blamed him for this. But she didn't want to be that person. No she refused to be that person.

Sol's hand drifted down to her side as she stared into the fading light, the flickering flame casting delicate shadows on the walls. The candle guttered once, twice, and then it was gone, plunging the room into darkness. She closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the silence pressing down on her, the hollowness of her home echoing around her like a cage.

Love is such a tender thing, she thought, her hand still pressed against her stinging cheek. So delicate, so fragile, so easily broken. Always so easily broken

And in the darkness, she wrapped her arms around herself, bracing against the cold, clinging to the few flickers of warmth and hope that remained as she stood alone in the silent, shadowed house.

________________

Haha first big fight scene for Tanya. Stuff happens with hathor. Best boy Tarak gets his own pov scene. And things move forward. good god this arc is long. Edits always happen last minute. I spent so long I fudged up several things. Hope you peeps enjoy.

 

[Behemoth.]

✦✧ ✦ Beneath the Surface ✦✧ ✦
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It had been a few days since Tanya had come to understand why Luna never ventured outside during the day. Agoraphobia was the most likely conclusion she could draw—a disorder that urged people to avoid open spaces where they might feel trapped or unsafe. Her knowledge of it was limited, but she knew it could arise naturally or as a response to trauma. People who endured horrid experiences often hid themselves away to avoid reliving the feeling of helplessness. Considering Luna's visceral reaction to the name Hathor, something significant must have happened, though Tanya could only guess at what. Of course she could make up theories but that was all. Some of them were startlingly negative.

The thought of questioning others about any crimes Hathor might have committed made her pause. She was still a newborn in this world, with limited social standing, and while she had her own reasons to dislike him, Tarak's recent altercation with Hathor's son had only fueled tensions. They were already on thin ice and them saving the village made them barely get back in Wolvenblade's good graces. Any investigation on her part might look as though she were actively scheming against the elder. Which she was sure would not be received well at all. Now that being said of course, one could argue she would be scheming, but that was beside the point. He was deeply rooted in the village, a tree she had no means of toppling—at least, not without considerable risk.

Still, Tanya wanted to get more information, preferably from Hati. She felt a strong sense of trust toward the woman—though she wondered if that could be her body talking again. No it was definitely her body talking without a doubt. However, Hati had been conspicuously absent as of late. Word around the village was that she did, in fact, have a formal position, leading a troop of soldiers, and had recently been called away for an extended multiple meetings to talk about her excursion to the the forest she had recently come back from. And she heard something about "resin" regarding these meetings. Tanya could easily imagine Hati now, banging her head against some rough desk, cursing meetings and paperwork. Not that Tanya was a stranger to bureaucracy; her past life had introduced her to it, though she'd always preferred it over meaningless warfare.

With Hati busy, Tanya had tried to spot Luna by sneaking out at night, hoping she might emerge under the cover of darkness. Ultimately, it seemed a wasted effort; Luna remained as elusive as her namesake. Something in Tanya told her that she'd need patience if she wanted answers from the girl herself. It wasn't surprising given the girls visceral reaction a few days prior. It was only natural she wasn't ready yet.

"Urrgh, Surya." Tarak's groan broke her thoughts, and she smiled down at him.

Her brother had grown remarkably in a few days. He was already speaking, albeit not habitually. His face was usually expressionless—apart from when he spoke to her—and his voice held a slight drawl, as though he were perpetually tired. She brushed his hair away from his face, his ruby-red eyes blinking in the colorful seven-colored light filtering through the window. He liked to rest his head on her lap, as he was doing now. She supposed it was because he was still young, though, truthfully, she didn't mind. Her skin was tough enough that his horns didn't bother her at all. But they couldn't stay idle; today was their first day attending the village academy.

It wasn't required, given their unique situation, and Tanya honestly hadn't intended to go back to "school" in any fashion. She figured she could absorb knowledge simply by observing or by sifting through the village records on her own. But today's lesson on the local flora and fauna piqued her interest. Judging by the battered state of the soldiers who'd returned yesterday, she felt she needed a survival guide for this place. And she would finally be leaving the village for the first time since her birth—if one didn't count that little skirmish against the Vampyrs just outside the walls.

Now that Tarak could speak, Midea had mentioned he would start their physical training soon. The imp had seemed genuinely intrigued, hinting at a few martial arts techniques he planned to teach them. Curious, she looked forward to whatever methods he had in store. While she was more accustomed to teaching than being taught, she reminded herself that this was a new world and that she was technically a new person. There was no need to feel embarrassed about receiving instruction, regardless of her mental age. Though Midea himself grated on her she would absorb the knowledge well.

"C'mon, Tarak, we gotta go, alright? We have that school thing to attend," she said gently.

At this, Tarak perked up, his excitement evident. She'd noticed that he'd wandered off with her one night recently, seemingly searching for someone. Though he hadn't said anything, she could guess it was probably Sol, Luna's sister. After all she was the only other person who would go over to that area. It was likely she had been looking for her sister but ran into Tarak. Tanya hadn't spoken to the girl yet, though her curiosity was piqued. Perhaps she knew something about Luna's situation? She would have to see but now was not the time. She could figure out that mystery later.

Rising, she put on a dark blouse, while Tarak donned a simple black shirt and trousers. Just as they were about to head out, Midea appeared, leaning against the doorframe in his usual fashion, a smirk stretching across his face. Shadows wreathed his form, flickering with occasional licks of flame. The man truly was the definition of needless opulence.

"Make sure you're back soon. I've looked into some interesting things in this world that we could use for your training. Today, we'll start with some physical exercises. I'll push you to see where you stand. Martial techniques can come a bit later."

Tanya nodded, but Midea seemed to relish the opportunity to continue.

"And remember, you promised to do whatever I said in regards to your training today. You swore because you wanted to get stronger," he said, his smirk widening.

"Yes, I am aware. No need to remind me as you have several times since yesterday," she replied, with a touch of annoyance.

She disliked his phrasing, not to mention the gleam in his eye, but she understood the necessity of training. Tarak just looked at him, likely weighing his opinion of the imp. While Midea had been around since their birth, Tanya could sense her brother's wariness. She trusted Midea, even if she didn't fully like him, but Tarak would come to his own conclusions. She had no desire to dictate who he did or didn't associate with—unless it was dangerous, of course.

As they walked to the academy, a throng of wolf-children gawked at them with wide eyes and hushed murmurs. Tanya caught whispers like "sun goddess Surya" and "legendary monster Tarak," most of it seeming to be in good spirits. She looked up at the building as they approached; unlike the other structures, naturally painted in blue-green hues due to the color of wood in this world, the academy was painted red and white in places, bearing the symbol of a wolf's head, just like the village gate. A smaller wolf head, likely representing the younger generation, hung beside it. She could infer from her knowledge about the culture that the head was probably Fenrir or something of the sort.

"Why do they keep pointing at us?" Tarak asked, genuinely curious.

"Hmm, because we're strong. They are admiring us Tarak. It's a good thing, especially given our former situation," she explained.

"Admire?" he repeated, trying the word.

"Yes. It means they look up to you or even like you a lot."

He thought for a moment. "I think I admire you, Sis."

This cute brat. Tanya gave him a warm smile despite herself.

"Yes, so think of that and don't attack anyone, alright? They're not a threat," she reminded him, hoping he wouldn't lash out today.

He nodded eagerly, which made her smile again. She was glad that he wasn't as wild as he seemed when he was first born. They entered the academy, where the air was filled with children's laughter and the playful sounds of sparring swords clinking and feet scuffling in the sand. It was a serene scene, one she wouldn't have minded seeing more often in her past life. She wasn't overly fond of children, but there was something to be said for such peaceful innocence. It was much superior when compared to the screams of soldiers and horrors of war.

As they ascended the winding staircase, Tarak trailing just behind her, she felt a gentle poke at her wing. Turning, she saw a small boy, his face streaked with snot, gazing up at her with amazement as he lightly poked her feathers.

"This is so cool! Can you fly, like for real for real? I heard only third layers can fly for real," he said, his voice brimming with excitement.

Tarak moved to grab the boy's hand, but thankfully, he didn't harm him. The boy looked startled, then quickly withdrew. Honestly, she was grateful; the thought of snot in her feathers was nightmarish.

At last, they reached the classroom, finding children chatting and playing around while they waited for class to begin. The setup was strangely familiar—rows of desks, a podium at the front, and even a green board, just like the classrooms she'd known on Earth. That was rather eerie, that things were so similar. A portly, elderly woman stood at the front, her kind eyes wrinkled with age. Upon seeing Tanya and Tarak, her face lit up.

"Oh, hello! Surya and Tarak, is it? Welcome to class!" she said, her voice sweet and inviting. Then, to Tanya's surprise, she turned to the children and barked, her voice loud and commanding as a battle horn, "EVERYONE SHUT UP AND SAY HELLO TO THE VILLAGE HEROES!"

The children snapped to attention with startling speed, chanting, "HELLO!" in perfect unison. From the corner of her eye, Tanya saw Tarak flinch from the noise. She sympathized.

"Alright, now you two can take a seat in the front, right next to each other," the teacher said, her voice now back to its gentle tone.

Tanya decided to comply; the last thing she wanted was to risk her eardrums with another unexpected shout. Actually, she wondered if she even had eardrums in this body. Given the other distinctly human parts she must have them no? With Tarak beside her, she took a seat, preparing herself for what she hoped would be an informative—if slightly surreal—experience.

"Alright, let's get started, kids!" The teacher clapped her hands, signaling the beginning of class.

___________________________________________


"All of you know me, but for our two new students, I'll introduce myself," Ms. Linda began, nodding warmly at Tanya and Tarak. Her voice softened, then abruptly took on a sharper edge, as though she were issuing orders on a battlefield. "My name is Ms. Linda, and today, we'll be covering the dangers outside the village walls. I know many of you dream of becoming soldiers and venturing out. That makes today's lesson even more important."

A ripple of excitement passed through the room as some of the younger boys exchanged looks, their imaginations clearly alight with visions of adventure beyond the walls. Tanya couldn't help but smirk; there was an almost palpable energy of youthful ambition in the room. She'd seen soldiers' dreams dashed often enough in her past life to feel a mixture of cynicism and amusement at the sight.

"Yeah!" shouted a few boys, pumping their fists and grinning as if they were already holding swords and shields.

But Ms. Linda's voice thundered through the air, dispelling the playful atmosphere. "SILENCE!"

The sharp command echoed around the room, bouncing off the walls as the children immediately went quiet, eyes wide, their posture straightening in sync. Even Tanya, who was only partly invested in the lesson, felt the urge to sit up a bit straighter.

"Thank you," Ms. Linda replied, her voice dropping back to its usual kind tone. Tanya tilted her head slightly, watching the woman with newfound appreciation. She wielded authority like a weapon and seemed well-practiced in using it. Ms. Linda looked back to the class, holding up a drawn image of a swamp, filled with misshapen, melting creatures whose form was more tumor than flesh.

"This," Ms. Linda said with quiet gravity, "is what we call the viral swamp. Creatures from here don't tend to wander far, but they are horrid, festering things. If they touch you or hit you, you have to cut off the affected flesh immediately and cauterize the wound. If not, you're as good as dead." Her gaze lingered over the children, waiting for the warning to settle in.

The class erupted into a collective "Eww!"—a sound that rang through the room with a mixture of revulsion and fascination. Tanya fought the urge to shudder; even in her previous life, she hadn't encountered anything as viscerally grotesque as a "viral swamp." It felt like the setting of some twisted sci-fi horror manga she might have read as a kid, a place where the rules of nature seemed to warp and turn against you. This world was beginning to feel even stranger, and it hadn't felt exactly welcoming to begin with.

"The viral swamp is overrun with countless viruses, all intertwined, that only seem to grow stronger with time," Ms. Linda continued, her voice a shade darker. "We have no cure for them." The words hung ominously in the air, sinking into the silence that followed.

Ms. Linda flipped to another image: a patch of grass, innocuous enough at first glance, but marked with a sinister-looking face drawn in by the teacher's own hand to emphasize the danger.

"This is leech grass. Unlike normal grass, it has one purpose: to paralyze you while you sleep, and slowly drain every drop of blood from your body until you're left nothing but an empty husk. That's why," she continued, emphasizing her words with a tap of her pointer against the drawing, "you must never, ever sleep on bare ground without checking it first."

Tanya could almost feel her brother's curiosity intensify beside her. She could imagine his thoughts, wondering how one would even check for something as subtle as grass that could drain you dry. The fantastical horror of these dangers was beginning to shift in her mind, taking on the chilling weight of reality.

Ms. Linda's lips thinned into a hard line. "Now, for the shadows in the wild—the shades. Some of you call them 'Shades of the Wild,' or the 'Ghosts of the wild' which isn't too far off. They're beings made of shadows, and they can possess your body if you're not careful. Light repels them, but without specific techniques, most people below the third layer can't truly damage them. Shades are where we get shadow cores from. They are used to protect the village as you all know drawing from the shades innate stealth and spectral physique," she explained, her tone softening slightly as she glanced at Tanya and Tarak, their expressions a mix of horror and fascination. Tanya was truly disturbed at the idea of ghosts being part of the wildlife. But it was also rather interesting.

Shadow cores, Tanya thought, noting Ms. Linda's explanation. So the cores were essential to protecting the village, creating some kind of illusion or cloak that kept them hidden from the worst of the wild's horrors. It made sense that the villagers would be in constant need of these if excursions were to be even remotely safe.

Moving on, Ms. Linda displayed another illustration: a large, bowl-shaped mushroom, filled with a viscous, bubbling liquid. The image alone was enough to make the children recoil slightly.

"Entecal," she announced, her voice barely above a whisper. "A giant fungus filled with acid. The Entecal emit a pheromone so strong, it makes the acid smell like the most delicious thing you could ever imagine. Creatures lured in by the scent are dissolved almost instantly, their remains adding to the acid." She paused for effect, her eyes sweeping over the wide-eyed class. "We've lost a number of good villagers to these things. Stay far away from anything that smells too sweet."

Tanya exchanged a look with Tarak, his normally stoic face displaying a flicker of unease. The concept of something so harmlessly inviting, yet deadly, didn't sit well with her either. What kind of world was this, where even the flora seemed to lure you in like an unsuspecting prey? She was worried about him. Sometimes her brother could be a slave to his instincts.

Ms. Linda continued, flipping to another picture. This time, it depicted a snake-vine hybrid, its green body covered in sharp, deadly-looking spines.

"These are snavines," she said, her voice turning grave. "They look like an odd mix between a snake and a vine, but those spines on their body? They're composed of an incredibly dense biomaterial, hardened to pierce even second-layer defenses as if they were made of paper. They're dangerous, incredibly so." Her eyes darkened as if remembering something, perhaps a victim of these creatures.

At this, Tanya found herself leaning forward. So even the plant life here had enough defenses to pierce what was considered advanced protection. And they weren't even close to that level yet. Well at least not in terms of actual cultivation. The idea of encountering one of these snavines in the open, much less fighting one, made her stomach twist with unease. She wondered if those spines could pierce her wings.

Ms. Linda took a breath, her next words slower, as if delivering a particularly dark warning. "Then there are the hive plants—also known as 'screen plants.' Walk through their screen, and they'll create a plant copy of you, one that can drain your cultivation energy to enhance itself. It's weaker than you are, but persistent, and if it catches you, it'll plant a hive seed in you that spreads through your body until you're just another part of its hive. The hive plants have many soldiers and if they want you dead can send a group of plant lifeforms to end you."

A whisper of horror escaped from one of the girls in the back, and Tanya felt her fingers clench involuntarily. A hive mind that could clone its victims? It was like something straight out of a twisted nightmare. It was absurd this was a true blue deathworld. She glanced down at her lap, where her hands were tapping at her knees without end. She thought about the soldiers she'd seen returning battered and bruised, and the grim reality of what they must face each time they ventured outside. She shook her head, this might be harder than she would have thought.

"Then there are the chrono-spores," Ms. Linda said, almost under her breath, as though afraid the words might manifest the creatures themselves. "They're rare, but their effect is nothing short of horrific. They attach to your body and accelerate your aging, drawing out every bit of your life force within three days. We've had incidents, tragic ones, where people went from young to frail and dying in just a matter of hours."

The class sat in stunned silence, the enormity of the dangers outside sinking into them as Ms. Linda shifted to another image. This time, it was of an odd grove of trees, connected by beams of light in a network, like lasers crisscrossing through the forest.

"These trees make up what's called the laser grove," she said, her tone softening as though she were speaking of something almost beautiful. "The trees absorb sunlight and communicate by shooting these concentrated beams of heat between each other. If you wander into one of these groves, the beams can turn you into ash in seconds. Many have lost their lives not knowing what they were walking into."

Next, she showed them an image of a segmented leech, each ringed section alive with a grotesque vitality. "And then there are the ring infestors. They look like ordinary leeches, but every ring on their body is actually a separate creature. When they get inside your body, each ring can separate and turn into a new infestor, feeding on you until there's nothing left but more leeches. They just separate and separate agin. It's a horrid fate."

Tanya felt a chill crawl down her spine. A creature that could turn its host into a living hive of parasites? The twisted horrors of this world were unlike anything she'd known. It wasn't enough that she had to face monsters and hostile beasts; even the simplest leech could be a death sentence.

And then Ms. Linda spoke of the iron winds and gravity spots, environmental hazards that could tear a person to shreds or crush them into the ground. "These iron winds can reduce an unguarded cultivator to ribbons. And gravity spots—they're places where the numen shifts, creating pockets of intense gravity. If you're not quick enough to sense the change, you'll be flattened in seconds."

"And of course we all know about the meteor storms. Oh actually Resin day is tomorrow. But meteors come down and create immense flame storms and many times flame spirits who come down to attack the everything in their surroundings they are extremely dangerous." She said with with a scary face.

Tanya felt as though she'd been thrown into some surreal, twisted version of her old world. The air around her grew heavy as the weight of these revelations bore down on her. This place was a crucible, a brutal test of survival and adaptability.

She felt a slight tug at her arm and glanced down to see Tarak wiggling uncomfortably in his seat, his hand raised hesitantly.

"I have to use the restroom, Big Sis," he whispered, sounding small in the face of the grim tales they'd just heard.

"Go ahead," she murmured, patting him on the shoulder as he shuffled out. Ms. Linda, to Tanya's relief, allowed him to leave without her usual bellow, likely out of respect for their recent status as village heroes.

As she continued to listen, Ms. Linda's words were a harsh reminder that survival here demanded strength beyond anything Tanya had known. She even talked about the Goblins and the Gu being threats due to relations. In fact there was apparently some sort of war with the Gu in the past. The villagers' extreme resilience made more sense now. This world was no place for the weak, and though she felt a flicker of hesitation, she knew that staying behind these walls forever was never an option.

She sighed, casting one last glance around the room, thinking of everything they'd just learned, her mind already churning with strategies. She had to figure out a long term way to survive in this world. The lesson had ended but even so she didn't see her brother. Where was Tarak, she wondered, hoping he hadn't wandered too far.


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Sol stood alone in the training ground behind the school, her fists clenched around the worn handle of a wooden sword. The world seemed narrower back here, enclosed by the shadow of tall trees and the dense, humid air that pressed in on her like an unrelenting force. Her breathing came in steady, controlled breaths, but her eyes held a fierce, unyielding determination. She wasn't just any ordinary girl in the village—she was Sol, a fourth shackle cultivator at only ten years old. It was a rank many her age couldn't even dream of, but in her mind, it still wasn't enough.

She had peers, of course, and rivals too. But none of them held a candle to her cousin Peter. She hadn't spoken to him since the accident that tore his life apart and left a bitter rift between them. She clenched her jaw, the memory biting at her like a shard of ice lodged deep within her heart. Peter had once been a friend, a teacher even, helping her with cultivation and techniques with an ease that only deepened her resentment now. But those days were gone. Even if he were the same as before, she wouldn't accept his help, not after everything. Not with her mother.

Determination burned in her gaze as she shifted her focus back to the task at hand. Earlier in class, their combat teacher had demonstrated a technique to channel numen through a blade and release a shockwave powerful enough to shatter an object twenty feet away. It wasn't flashy; it wasn't even complicated. But it was a skill that demanded precision, control, and, above all, discipline. Each time she failed to master it, the feeling of inadequacy simmered hotter beneath her skin. It was supposed to take weeks to master, but how could she be satisfied with that for such a simple skill.

The sun dipped lower, casting shadows that elongated the apple she had set up as her target. The once-fresh apple was now riddled with bruises and dents from her repeated attempts, its skin marred from near-misses that only served to taunt her. She glanced at her hands—skin raw, knuckles bleeding, her grip slipping with the smear of her own blood against the handle. Her fingers trembled slightly, but she barely noticed; all she could focus on was the need to succeed, to prove she was stronger than her doubts, stronger than anyone else thought possible. Stronger than that woman thought she was.

With a sharp inhale, she tightened her grip on the wooden sword, the pain only fueling her resolve. She pulled in her numen, forcing it into the sword with reckless intensity. Her focus was unwavering as she raised her arms and swung, directing everything she had at the apple. But just as the wave of energy surged through her, it backfired—a vicious recoil that shot through her arms, throwing her backward with a force that made her gasp. She hit the ground hard, her vision blurred momentarily by the impact.

"Damn it!" she spat, slamming her fist against the dirt. Tears pricked at her eyes, hot and unwanted, but she couldn't stop them. The frustration, the helplessness—it was all bubbling to the surface, her earlier composure crumbling with every agonizing second. "Why can't I do it?! Why can't I do anything?" Her voice wavered, and she choked out the words, her pride barely holding together as she buried her face in her hands.

A loud crack shattered the silence, and she looked up, startled, to see the apple—now completely obliterated, fragments scattered across the ground in a fine mist of juice and pulp. Her gaze darted to the side, and she froze. There stood Tarak, his arm extended, his small fist still raised from the blow he had just dealt to her target. His expression was calm, unbothered, as if he hadn't just shown up and done with a single punch what she had been struggling to do all afternoon.

Something inside her snapped.

"Why did you do that?!" she yelled, her voice breaking as her emotions surged up, spilling over like a dam giving way. "I didn't need your help, you stupid pipla-killing asshole!" The words tumbled out, fierce and raw. She knew he wasn't to blame, that he hadn't meant to show her up or make her feel small. But the fury, the frustration—all of it was too much to hold back. Her chest heaved as the words continued to pour out, unchecked. "We aren't all monsters from birth, you know! Some of us actually have to work for this! I could do it myself… I could…"

The strength in her voice faded with the last words, and her shoulders slumped as the anger drained from her, leaving only the exhaustion and a deep, aching sadness she couldn't quite shake. She wiped a stray tear from her cheek, feeling ashamed of the outburst, of the weakness she'd just shown. But when she looked up, Tarak hadn't moved. He was watching her with the same calm expression, his crimson eyes steady, almost gentle. Though there was confusion in them as well.

Without a word, he approached her, bending down until his face was level with hers. She noticed, for the first time, how delicate his features were—his long, dark lashes, his striking red eyes, the perfectly sculpted lines of his face. He looked almost like a doll, something too perfect, too unnatural to belong here in the dirt beside her. Yet there he was, his expression unreadable as he reached out and gently took her hands.

"You said caretakers don't hurt things unnecessarily," he said quietly, his voice soft, with a strange, almost thoughtful drawl to it. "So why are you hurting your own body?"

His words struck her with an unexpected weight, like a sudden gust of wind that left her momentarily off-balance. A faint, hollow laugh escaped her lips as she looked down at her bruised, bloody hands, the sting of her own self-inflicted pain settling in anew. "I'm just training," she said, though her voice sounded small even to her own ears. "I'm not hurting myself, I…" Her words trailed off, and she felt a strange, unwelcome warmth rise in her chest.

"You are hurting yourself," Tarak interrupted, his gaze unwavering as he pressed his hand to his chest. "Not just here," he gestured toward her hands, then pointed at his own heart, "but here too. I can feel it when I look at you, so you must feel it, too."

She stared at him, her heart pounding in her chest, caught off guard by his words. Did he really understand? She didn't know whether to feel anger or comfort at the idea that he could sense the turmoil she'd been struggling so hard to keep buried. She wasn't used to feeling this seen, this exposed. And yet… something in his words made her feel a sliver of relief, a fleeting sense of connection.

"I… I don't know," she whispered, the frustration in her voice softened now, almost gone. Her gaze dropped to the ground as she wrestled with her own confusion. She had spent so long trying to carry her burdens alone, to push everyone away, to prove that she didn't need anyone. But now, hearing his words, she wondered if maybe… maybe there was a different way.

Tarak tilted his head, his expression thoughtful as he considered her words. "I haven't been here very long, but I know what I like," he said, his voice quiet but certain. "I like eating. I like sleeping. I think I like fighting. And I like being alive. But the thing I like most—the person I like most—is my sister." He paused, his gaze steady on hers, as if willing her to understand. "I like being with her more than anything. So, I don't think doing things with others is bad. If it was just me without her… I'd feel sad. Yes, very sad."

Sol felt her chest tighten, a strange warmth spreading through her as she listened to his words. She looked into his eyes, her own eyes widening slightly as he continued, his voice soft but resolute.

"I think… I'm starting to like you too," he said, his words simple but weighted with an honesty that struck her deeply. "So, I want to do things together with you. I want to learn more about you. And I want to make this uncomfortable feeling in my chest go away. It's always there when i look at you."

Her heart leapt at his words, a feeling of surprise and something deeper, something she couldn't quite name. She had spent so long pushing people away, building walls around herself. But here was Tarak, unafraid, offering his hand to her, offering a friendship she hadn't known she'd wanted.

"So… you really want to be together with me?" she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, as if saying it any louder might shatter the fragile hope that had started to bloom in her chest.

He nodded, his face calm, his tone as steady as ever. "You can't hurt me, not really," he replied, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips his voice tinged with certainty and a bit of pride.

And in that moment, she couldn't help it—she laughed, a genuine, unguarded laugh that felt like it shook something loose inside her. Before she could think twice, she shot forward, wrapping her arms around his neck in a fierce hug. She felt his arms hesitate, then slowly come up to return the hug, and a warmth spread through her that she hadn't felt in what seemed like forever. Though he did kind of awkwardly pat her back as well.

"If you're saying I can lean on you, then we're partners from now on," she declared, her voice filled with a new confidence. "I'll look after you, Tarak. I'll be a proper caretaker, just like you said. After all, your sister is still little, right? Someone's gotta look after you."

Tarak's expression shifted slightly, a flicker of protectiveness flashing in his crimson eyes. "Don't make fun of my sister," he replied, his tone serious.

She couldn't help but laugh at his earnestness, pulling back to look him in the eyes. "Oh, you're something else," she said with a grin. "And why do you talk all slow like that?"

Tarak stared at her deadpan, clearly unamused by her teasing, but she only laughed harder. Without thinking, she reached out and gently stretched his cheeks into a semblance of a smile. "Come on, smile! It won't kill you!"

His expression softened slightly, and she thought she saw a glimmer of amusement in his eyes before he pulled back, his face settling back into its usual calm.

As he stood up, ready to walk away, she called after him, "I'll see you tomorrow, Tarak!" He paused, giving her a small nod before continuing on his way. Watching him disappear back into the school building, she felt a warmth settle in her chest, one that lingered long after he was gone.

After a moment, she knelt down to gather the broken pieces of her mock sword. The frustration she had felt earlier was gone, replaced by a calm resolve. She knew she would still struggle, still have moments of weakness, but now… now she didn't feel so alone.

"Take care of myself, huh?" she murmured, a faint smile curving her lips as she stood, holding the pieces of her sword close to her chest. She made her way to the school's nursing area, carefully wrapping her hands in fresh bandages.

She would smile for the rest of the day.

_____________________


Midea had spent the better part of the morning making preparations for the siblings' training session. He'd meticulously researched the area, learning what he could of the planet's wildlife, but even more so, he had focused on its unpredictable environmental factors. The world was anything but normal, and Midea's suspicion had only grown with each passing day. The density of numen here was on par with his former home in Hell, and Hell was no ordinary realm but a structured, multi-layered dimension. This dense numen pointed to one thing: they were either on a particularly unique planet or, perhaps, in an unusual pocket within a much larger realm. Or perhaps even a realm fragment despite how rare those were.

Still, the planet's dangers didn't faze him entirely. They only underscored the necessity of training the two siblings, preparing them for the times he couldn't be around. His mind flashed to images of shades, viral swamps, and leech grass, things most young villagers couldn't dream of surviving. Yet, Surya and Tarak were hardly "ordinary" young villagers, and their adaptability and sheer physical might gave him some confidence that they could survive. More than that, he'd counted on it in the course of their training.

Now, leaning casually against a tree near the training grounds, Midea wore his signature smirk. The training location he'd picked was perfect: dense trees surrounded the area, giving it a secluded, almost ominous feel as shadows stretched across the grass. He'd put together a series of drills that would leave the two of them thoroughly exhausted. Alongside these, he'd crafted special, warded vests designed to add resistance—restraints that would aid their training by forcing them to overcome their own power. He chuckled to himself. They'd be pushed to their limits, whether they knew it or not.

The sound of footsteps reached his ears, signaling the siblings' arrival. As they approached, Midea noticed Surya's cautious expression, her eyes narrowing slightly at him as if already anticipating his schemes.

"Alright then, little ones, let's head to the site!" he called out, his voice carrying an unsettling cheer that didn't quite match his usual composed demeanor.

"Have you made the proper preparations?" Surya asked, her gaze wary. "You're aware of how dangerous this world is, right?"

Midea chuckled, feigning nonchalance. "You needn't worry. A Scelus never disappoints, and besides, you need to face the wild if you ever hope to conquer it. Lervea's children shouldn't be so cowardly!" His laughter echoed, undercut by an almost mocking tone.

Surya's gaze hardened, her mouth twisting into a slight smirk. "You call it cowardly; I call it common sense. Have your horns grown into your brain? Do you struggle to understand that fact?"

He raised a brow at her words, catching the faint influence of Hati in her tone. The girl was becoming sharper, her retorts more biting, and Midea could only blame her growing camaraderie with Hati. She was already being "corrupted," as he'd put it, but this would only make their training more entertaining.

As they made their way deeper into the woods, Midea's smirk widened. He'd planned a little surprise to kick off their training. With a subtle snap of his fingers, he activated a ward he'd set earlier, releasing a shade he'd trapped within a carefully arranged circle. The creature materialized in the air, its form shifting and flickering, a spectral, shadowy figure with shifting, amorphous limbs that seemed to flicker between existence and oblivion. It surged toward them, emitting a low, unearthly growl that rattled the branches overhead.

Midea watched with satisfaction as Surya and Tarak both jumped back, their faces momentarily filled with shock. The shade lunged closer, its eyes glinting with an unnatural, ghostly light that seemed to hunger for them. Midea chuckled, fully expecting them to be suitably rattled by the encounter. Yet, even as the creature neared, he felt confident—he'd set additional wards on it, preventing it from truly attacking. A form of curse, using wards on it's form to restrict its abilities. It was meant to be a harmless scare, an introduction to the kinds of dangers they might face.

But then, something unexpected happened.

Surya, in a sudden surge of determination, swung her fist at the shade's flickering head. Her knuckles made contact—solid contact. A shockwave rippled outward as her fist struck, and in a single, resounding blow, the shade's head disintegrated, its entire form evaporating into a fine mist before dispersing into nothingness. The air stilled, and in the quiet that followed, a small shadow core clattered to the ground, rolling to a stop by Tarak's feet.

Midea's chuckle died on his lips. What the hell?

Surya stood frozen, her hand still raised in the position of her punch, her gaze fixed on the spot where the shade had been just moments before. She looked just as stunned as he felt, her expression a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

Tarak, meanwhile, crouched down to pick up the shadow core, his small fingers curling around the dark, semi-transparent orb. He glanced up at his sister, holding the core out to her with a blank but expectant look.

"Midea," Surya began, finally breaking the silence as she turned to him, her brow furrowing. "Did you… do something to that shade?"

He could hear the thin thread of suspicion in her voice, but there was also a faint hint of genuine curiosity. Usually, she would be furious at a stunt like this, but her confusion seemed to have eclipsed any irritation for the moment.

He cleared his throat, struggling to recover his composure. "I set a curse on the creature to prevent it from attacking you," he explained, his own bewilderment creeping into his tone. "It was supposed to be harmless, just a little scare. You shouldn't have been able to hit it, let alone destroy it."

Surya raised a brow, her gaze sharpening with intrigue as she glanced at the shadow core in her brother's hand. She looked back at Midea, clearly deep in thought. "You're saying it was just affected by a curse, yet I still destroyed it? Is that… normal? Do curses make the intangible tangible?"

Midea shook his head, still at a loss. "It's likely related to your ability to devour souls, though I've never seen it work quite like this. Shades are spectral entities—not exactly souls but connected to the souls in a unique way. They could be considered the shell of a soul thay is what a shade is an entity similar to a ghost. Many beings with strong souls who lose their bodies might become beings like shades, yet they're notoriously difficult to kill." He paused, a hint of fascination in his voice. "It seems you can do more than just devour souls after they've perished. There's something about you—something beyond the usual."

Surya looked back down at the core in her brother's hand, a strange, hungry glint flashing in her eyes. He noticed it immediately and cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable. "Ah, and don't eat that," he said quickly, holding up a hand. "The village needs those shadow cores, especially given how vital they are for protection and camouflage on excursions. They're struggling without them."

She gave a resigned sigh, tossing the core to Midea, though the reluctance in her expression was evident. "Fine. But you should probably think about how we can use this to our advantage." She smirked, glancing at her brother. "If they value these cores so much, and they struggle to collect them, doesn't that make us… invaluable?"

Midea could only nod, his mind racing with new possibilities. Relations with the neighboring Goblin tribes were strained, to say the least, and the lack of shadow cores had limited the village's ability to gather resources without being exposed. His teachings, sutras, and wards had fortified the village to some extent, but the outside world was still incredibly perilous without a constant supply of shadow cores. This situation was likely why Remus had taken a chance on him in the first place. The way things were going they would have had to enter war with the goblins or simply collapse. The idea that Surya and likely Tarak could provide a reliable source of these rare items was invaluable—and could solidify their status within the village, making it impossible for them to be cast out. It could also lead them to helping the village with their little gobbie problem.

"You're absolutely right," he finally said, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "But let's save that plan for later. For now, we have some training to get through." He motioned for them to follow, his mind already buzzing with schemes and strategies for how to leverage this new revelation.

The training area he'd chosen was rugged, set amid a grove of towering trees that cast long shadows over the moss-covered ground. The air was thick, filled with the scent of damp earth and decaying leaves, and the distant hum of insects created an almost eerie backdrop. Small patches of mist clung to the ground, giving the place a haunting atmosphere that seemed almost alive. A perfect setting, he thought, to test the limits of their endurance.

He handed each of them a vest laden with small weights, designed to add resistance with every movement. "These will help you build strength faster. Think of it as carrying a bit of the forest on your shoulders."

Surya eyed the vest with a wary look before slipping it on, adjusting the straps as they tightened around her torso. She could feel the immediate added weight, grounding her movements and adding a satisfying challenge to every step.

"Let's start with some basic drills to get you both warmed up," Midea said, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched them adjust. "Then, we'll see how well you can handle yourselves when things get… intense."

As they began the drills, the forest around them seemed to close in, the shadows growing longer and darker with each passing minute.

__________________

Midea had been looking forward to this exercise all morning. His lips curved into a satisfied smirk as he led the two young Tyrannius to the clearing, where two towering boulders stood like giants awaiting a challenge. Each stone was roughly five meters tall and composed of dense, mineral-heavy rock—a formidable weight even before he'd applied his little twist. The siblings followed, a mixture of determination and mild annoyance visible on Surya's face as she took in the boulders.

"Alright, now go pick those up for me," he said with a taunting smile, reclining in a conjured chair as if he were about to watch a performance.

The two siblings exchanged a look before stepping toward the stones. Their hands met the coarse surface, gripping the weighty mass. Even with their natural strength, the boulders demanded their focus and concentration to lift. Midea observed their attempts with a satisfied hum, leaning back and snapping his fingers to trigger the wards woven into the stone. A faint glow traced over the rocks, sinking back as the ward's effect took hold.

"Hmmm?" Surya's expression shifted in surprise.

"Haah!" Tarak's normally composed face showed a flash of irritation as he felt the boulder become heavier in his grasp.

Midea's laugh rang through the clearing. "Ah, yes. I forgot to mention," he said, clearly savoring the moment, "I've set wards on the boulders. They'll double in weight every thirty minutes or so." He leaned back, gesturing nonchalantly with one hand. "There's a limit, of course, but trust me, you won't get that far." The limit was four hours. After all he could not increase the weight infinitely. It wasn't as if he was an eighth layer that was beyond him. But those things would get absurdly heavy by that point. They'd see their limits.

At first, Surya and Tarak managed the weight with relative ease, adjusting their grip and bearing the load with natural Tyrannius resilience. But as the minutes passed, the weight seemed to press down relentlessly, seeping into their bones and muscles with a force that was more than just physical. Tarak's muscles visibly tensed, his face holding its usual calm but with a bead of sweat forming on his brow. Surya's wings gave an instinctual twitch, as though her body urged her to use every available means to stabilize herself, but she held back, determined to rely only on her own limbs.

"You may want to think twice about using wings or tails," Midea called out, feigning a helpful tone. "You see, I've known fighters who relied too heavily on extras. Real strength, however, is in the fundamentals. And truth is my tail is useless for combat you have to train your four limbs because those are the sort of martial arts I will be teaching you. " His voice was laced with amusement, and a satisfied gleam danced in his eyes as he watched Surya shoot him a glare.

As the thirty-minute mark approached, both siblings could feel the weight grow again, a gradual yet undeniable increase that forced them to readjust their stance. Surya's jaw clenched, her muscles burning as she strained to keep her balance. The stone was beginning to feel like a living entity, pressing down with its relentless, crushing mass. Tarak, though silent, had a faint crease of concentration between his brows, his crimson eyes glinting with a faint irritation at Midea's underhanded tactic.

"Giving up already?" Midea taunted, his voice dripping with mock concern. "It's only been thirty minutes, you know."

The two siblings ignored him, though their focus was fierce. Midea's smirk deepened as another thirty minutes ticked by. The boulders seemed almost to grow heavier in response to the mounting tension, their weight compounding in a way that would've left an average eighth shackle cultivator of the first layer gasping for air. A cultivator of that level would have already collapsed. Surya's arms quivered slightly as she shifted her stance, adjusting her grip and letting the weight settle onto her shoulders. She shot Midea a brief look of defiance before refocusing on the task, her grip tightening with renewed determination.

The relentless weight continued to press down, and with each half-hour, the strain became more intense, pushing them closer to their limits. The forest around them grew hushed, as if the very trees were holding their breath, watching the struggle. Midea leaned back, thoroughly entertained. He was used to seeing warriors break under these kinds of trials, and yet, as an hour and a half passed, the siblings were still standing. This was insane. A second layer of the first shackle would only be able to keep it up in that position for a few moments. Cultivators focused more on battle power through techniques. Amplifying physical strength with numen was not a priority and didn't do much past a certain point.

To his surprise, Tarak lifted the boulder just slightly, balancing it momentarily on his horns, the stone swaying like some macabre carnival trick. The gesture was subtle, but unmistakably mocking. Midea's smirk faltered, his pride flaring at the quiet rebellion in Tarak's gaze before the boy steadied himself, returning his grip to his hands.

As another half-hour passed, the siblings grew visibly fatigued. Their muscles trembled under the strain, shoulders tense, faces glistening with sweat. Surya's breaths came in quiet, controlled gasps, her focus sharper than a blade's edge as she forced her body to comply. Her eyes caught Midea's for a fleeting moment, and though her exhaustion was evident, there was a flicker of triumph in her gaze, as if to say, "Is this all you've got?"

Midea, his pride still smarting from Tarak's earlier stunt, leaned forward, his gaze narrowing. These two were tougher than he'd anticipated. What he'd expected to exhaust them within an hour had turned into a full-blown test of endurance, and with each passing minute, they seemed to grow stronger, their bodies adjusting to the punishing weight with a resilience that bordered on supernatural. Would they get to the limit?

Two hours turned into three, the boulders now bearing down on them with a weight that no ordinary second layer cultivator could sustain. Each breath was a struggle, each shift of their stance a calculated effort to distribute the mass. Tarak's face remained composed, though his gaze held a smoldering determination, his crimson eyes never wavering from Midea's. Surya's teeth clenched as her muscles burned, the ache in her arms and legs growing unbearable. But she held on, her grip unwavering as her body pushed through the searing exhaustion.

Finally, as the fourth hour approached, the weight surged to its final increase, an overwhelming pressure that nearly brought them to their knees. Midea's satisfaction grew as he watched the boulders wobble, the siblings visibly struggling to maintain their grip. And yet, they held on.

With one last surge of effort, Surya gave a guttural cry, the sound raw and defiant as she forced herself upright, her arms trembling but locked firmly under the weight. Tarak was better standing tall, his face still a mask of focus, though his chest heaved with exertion. They'd lasted the full four hours—an achievement that, even Midea had to admit, was far beyond what he'd anticipated.

With a shared, silent understanding, the two finally let go, allowing the boulders to crash to the ground. Dust flew up in clouds as the stones settled, and both siblings staggered back, their breaths coming in harsh gasps. Despite their exhaustion, there was a glint of triumph in their eyes, a shared sense of victory that left Midea momentarily at a loss for words.

Even he could not hold up that weight for long let alone without cultivation. He was stronger than them but cultivation was not just about physical power. He had a variety of techniques they lacked and had his unique abilities like pride is the fortress of the fool. But what made these two so dangerous despite the fact that they lacked these abilities and the power output he had was that they possessed an insane level of sheer strength, speed and durability. Cultivators can hit you with a big attack and for most that would be death or at least cause severe injury within the same realm. But not for them, they were much to durable. And the fact that they lacked numen reserves meant their only limit in combat is the limit of their stamina. A cultivator without numen is a weakling most of the time but these two are never weak. A big attack can leave you without numen but how many times could these siblings punch? He remembered from reading the soul of a Jarati about wizards who were entities somewhat similar to cultivators. In fact he was pretty sure there was an actual race who called themselves wizards and claimed cultivation was magic. Which it was in a way. Numen was the basis for all things after all. Magic or otherwise you could call it whatever you wanted but cultivation was most accurate. That said the Jarati had a joke about some wizards casting fist. That was the Tyrannius in comparison to the average cultivator.

He composed himself quickly after his musings. Quickly clearing his throat and calling out, "Alright, then. Get up. We've got the next spot to head to." His voice held its usual cheer, but there was a grudging respect in his gaze as he watched them recover, standing tall despite the grueling trial.

______________

"What the hell? Was lifting a boulder above my head not enough?" Surya panted, her gaze narrowed on Midea with wary irritation.

Ignoring her question, he flashed a grin and motioned for them to follow. "Now we're going to test both your strength and agility," he said as he walked ahead. The siblings had to jog to catch up, their exhaustion showing in the shuffle of their feet. The vests he'd put on them weighed down every step, and he noticed the faint strain in their faces—though they would rather keel over than admit it.

As they walked deeper into the forest, a faint, bioluminescent glow began to light the dim underbrush around them. Aspar—he tiny, golden, tube-like creatures—floated like gentle will-o'-the-wisps, weaving between branches and casting a warm glow against the twilight-shaded trees. They seemed to increase in number as they moved, adding an almost magical quality to the otherwise treacherous woods. Midea watched as Tarak casually snatched a few of the floating creatures out of the air and popped them into his mouth, the golden juice running down his chin as he chewed with a satisfied look.

Midea stifled a chuckle, shaking his head. Lord Antichrist, something is wrong with these kids.

They finally came upon a large clearing, surrounded by thick trees and thorny underbrush. In the center of the clearing was a bare expanse of ground, and growing from the dirt were hundreds of stems topped with single, colorful leaves. Each leaf had a vibrant, almost unnatural hue that stood out in sharp contrast to the muted greens and browns of the surrounding forest, making the whole scene appear oddly serene—deceptively so.

Midea's smirk widened as he imagined the chaos about to unfold. He gestured toward the colorful leaves. "See those leaves? They're durable, strong enough to support your weight if you know how to balance properly. So you'll be hopping from one to another across the clearing. Simple enough, right?"

Surya's eyes narrowed, catching the mischievous glint in his expression. "What's the catch?" she asked, crossing her arms.

"The catch," he continued, as though savoring every word, "is that these aren't ordinary leaves. They're the sensory organs of the viernes snap trap." He paused, letting that sink in. "The moment they feel any pressure, they'll lunge out and snap at you, trying to make you a meal. Your task is to cross the field without getting caught. I'm giving you an hour. Oh, and—" he added with a pointed look, "the two of you are tough enough to survive a few snaps, so I won't be rushing in to save you."

Surya's eyes widened with incredulity. "So you're telling us to go get eaten by plants? Are you insane, Midea?"

"Insane?" he mocked with a grin. "Weren't you the one who promised to do whatever it took to train? If this is enough to make you squirm, you'd die in your first tribulation. Now, get on with it. Trust me, it's not the worst thing in the world."

Surya's glare sharpened into an expression that could have sent lesser beings running. Even Midea felt a flicker of unease as he met her gaze; they were Lervea's children, after all, and that wasn't something he could afford to forget. But the unease only heightened his satisfaction. These little terrors had needed humbling from the start, and he was going to make damn sure they got it. He glanced at the vests weighing them down—another layer of difficulty in his plan. The resistance would do more than slow them; it would force them to rely solely on balance and bodily control without a single ounce of help from their usual abilities.

There were about one hundred and eighty leaves stretched across the clearing in a chaotic, almost maze-like pattern, forming the treacherous obstacle course. Though there were many more that was roughly how many there were to get across to the other side. It was wider than it was long. Tarak went first, moving with that unnervingly calm determination as he launched himself from the ground onto the first leaf. He landed cleanly, managing to jump to a second and then a third. But on the fourth, he misjudged his footing, slipping slightly. Before he could fully adjust, a giant mouth, lined with thorny teeth, shot up from the ground and swallowed him whole.

Surya's shocked yell cut through the silence. Midea's laugh echoed across the clearing. "Well, that's one attempt wasted for him!"

He watched with amusement as Tarak clawed his way out of the plant's maw, his face set in an expression that was equal parts rage and frustration. The orange, sticky sap of the plant clung to him, giving his already intense appearance a strange glow as he tried and failed to shake off the residue. Midea saw him turn, fists clenched, ready to strike back at the plant.

"Ah, ah, ah! No killing the viernes!" Midea called out, wagging his finger in warning. "They've been so generous to help us today. Besides, you'd probably end up destroying the entire field."

Tarak shot him a murderous glare, but Midea merely chuckled, turning to Surya. Her expression was one of almost pure loathing, her eyes practically saying, You are the worst scum. Midea waved a hand with exaggerated cheer, signaling her to take her turn.

Surya, still casting Midea a murderous glare, took a breath before launching herself onto the first leaf, then the second. Her steps were careful and precise, each landing perfectly balanced. But as she leapt to the fifth leaf, the weight of the vest threw her off, her wings instinctively twitching to stabilize her balance. The momentary hesitation was enough for the plant to sense her misstep. With alarming speed, the trap shot up and snapped around her, closing its thorny jaws over her form.

When she finally forced her way out, sticky orange sap coated her wings, solidifying almost instantly in the open air. She shivered, scratching at the gummy material stuck to her feathers. "This feels horrid. I need to get this out of my wings—it's disgusting!" she complained, her face twisting in revulsion.

Midea stifled a laugh, feigning sympathy. "Just bear with it; we'll get them cleaned… once we're back at the village. But I'd suggest picking up the pace—you've got forty-five minutes left."

This was of course part of his plan for the next stage of their training. Gunking up her wings was a necessity. Flight was tricky to deal with. And of course, if he had his way the kids wouldn't be going back to the village for quite a while. He wasn't lying though he would get her cleaned. It would just be longer than she thought.

Surya's fists clenched, trembling with irritation, but she let it drop with a defeated sigh, understanding there was no other choice. The siblings resumed their attempts, each fall ending with them being snapped up and spat out, covered in more of the sticky substance. Every time Tarak's tail got slurped up like a noodle, Midea couldn't help but laugh, lounging back as he enjoyed the show.

As the minutes ticked by, the siblings' progress became noticeably faster. Midea was impressed despite himself. Surya had adapted quickly, using her feet to shift her weight the moment she landed, and her brother was using his tail to counterbalance his jumps. It was efficient and showed an admirable degree of improvisation, even though the vests made every movement painfully slow compared to their normal selves. They were at leaf fifty with thirty minutes remaining, Surya ahead by a few leaves while Tarak trailed slightly behind. It was clear they wouldn't make it through all one hundred and eighty, but that hadn't been Midea's expectation. Only cultivators with trained numen control could manage a course like this unscathed.

But, he thought with a hint of satisfaction, these aren't just any kids. They're the spawn of that legendary cannibal. No, cannibal wasn't the right term, not when no one else shared her race. Perhaps "gourmet" was more accurate.

The pace of their jumps accelerated. Surya broached the hundred-leaf mark, her brother only a few leaves behind at ninety-two. He watched their faces, noting the intense concentration. A small part of him felt a spark of pride watching them push through, but he quickly stifled it. Wait, am I rooting for them now? He shook his head, forcing himself back into the mindset of their unforgiving trainer. He was a demon after all. He couldn't get caught lacking like that.

With fifteen minutes left, both siblings had surpassed his expectations. Surya had reached one hundred and fifty leaves, and her brother was rapidly catching up. The determination on their faces was palpable. They fell, then climbed right back out and tried again, never pausing to wipe their bodies or catch their breath.

As the clock approached the final five minutes, Surya moved with almost reckless confidence, bounding between the leaves in a fluid, almost dance-like rhythm. She hit the one-hundred-and-sixty mark with a brilliant grin, adrenaline pushing her through. Tarak was at one hundred and forty-five, his face set in grim determination.

At three minutes, Surya was flipping from leaf to leaf, barely touching them before propelling herself forward, clearing the final leaf with a triumphant, breathless laugh. Tarak, eyes locked onto his sister's progress, powered forward with one last burst of energy. There were only thirty seconds left, and he jumped leaf to leaf with a reckless abandon, almost falling twice but recovering with the aid of his tail. With five seconds left, he cleared the last leaf, landing beside Surya just as the timer hit zero.

A grin broke across Surya's face as she wrapped her brother in a fierce hug, murmuring a quiet congratulations. The brat flashed a middle finger at Midea, and his eyebrow twitched in irritation. He scowled, muttering under his breath, Satan—no, dammit, Hati, I swear these kids are going to be the death of me.

Despite the orange gunk still coating them, the two siblings were laughing, each seeming to revel in their small victory. They ignored the sticky residue that clung to their bodies, their faces alight with a shared triumph that only came from grueling effort. Midea watched them jump around in celebration, struggling not to let his respect show. They weren't supposed to finish the course, and yet somehow, they had managed to clear it with seconds to spare.

Damn impressive, he admitted grudgingly to himself. Both of them showed incredible talent, even beyond the physical. Surya had displayed agility and quick thinking, adapting her movements as she went. Tarak, on the other hand, had shown a surprising level of balance and strength, his body naturally suited for resilience. Maybe it was a matter of gender, or perhaps something unique to them individually. If it was a matter of gender then that was a bit terrifying. No one could claim to be the superior of Lervea in sheer physical strength. Not the great archdemon of sloth even, probably not the twelfth layers either. The idea that there was a man out there even stronger than her was insane. But, in either case, their strengths balanced each other well.

Midea leaned back, contemplating the depth of their potential. It was rare to see such raw martial aptitude, especially in those so young. This test wasn't just about physical strength; it was a challenge of adaptability, control, and agility. It demanded finesse—a careful balance of power and precision. They had all the makings of formidable martial artists, ones who could someday even grasp powerful concepts like fist intent or body technique mastery. Their combat talent was undeniable. He had seen it in their prior battle, but today had solidified the knowledge that they were exceptional. However, he didn't know about their talent with weapons. To his knowledge, Lervea didn't use any and she never used armor either. Of course, they didn't have to be their mother but he assumed there may be some reason for that. With cultivation, it wasn't like armor had to actually look like armor. There were beautiful dresses out there more durable than a planet of orichalum. So it wasn't as if fashion was an issue. He shook his head, he was far too weak to worry about Lervea's choice of clothing or lack of weaponry. And it wasn't as if he was a weapon master either. That being said they weren't done. It was time for his plan to come together.

After all, this wasn't the end of their training. Today wasn't about honing martial prowess or simply agility; it was about pushing them to their very physical limits.

"Alright, that's enough celebrating," he called out, the grin on his face sharpening with fresh intent. "We're not done just yet."

Surya narrowed her eyes. "You've got something else for us?" she asked, her tone wary but defiant.

"Oh, indeed," he replied with a grin that promised anything but kindness. "This last one's a reward for passing that last test in an hour. But," he added, casting her an amused glance, "maybe not the kind of 'reward' you're thinking of."

Surya sighed, shooting him a look of exasperation. "Somehow, I'm pretty sure you don't know what a reward is."

Ignoring her, Midea continued walking, leading them through a path that twisted around thorny plants and towering foliage. He'd made sure this path was difficult to reach, and it wasn't somewhere the village kids would find on their own. Finally, they came upon the covered hole, where he stopped, pretending to inspect the ground, although he knew exactly what lay beneath the leafy cover.

"Here we are," he said with an air of mock ceremony, gesturing to the patch of bare ground in the center of the clearing. It appeared undisturbed, aside from a faint layer of leaves and branches that covered a concealed hole beneath. Surya's sharp eyes narrowed, and Tarak tilted his head, both looking at him with a mix of curiosity and suspicion.

"What's the catch?" Surya asked, a hint of defiance in her voice. "Just a patch of dirt?"

The area was heavy with numen, the invisible energy thick enough to feel like a subtle hum in the air. Though he doubted the kids could fully sense it—beyond what their bodies absorbed naturally—he knew they could feel something different here. The clearing was bathed in a soft, faint glow from aspars that drifted lazily around them like tiny, golden fireflies.

Midea glanced at the hole once more, knowing that beneath lay a gravitational flux, a rare phenomenon that increased gravity to a nearly crushing degree. The pit was deep, and the walls were slick and unforgiving. It would be a nightmare to climb out, especially with the vests still weighing them down. But he had prepared well: he'd stashed enough food and water down there to last them three days. He thought they'd probably need longer but they'd be fine as Tyrannius. They would however face a grueling trial to climb back up. It was why he had planned for the Vierenes. He had done that to gunk up Surya's wings so she couldn't simply fly out of the hole.

Standing behind them, Midea gave the kids a light push toward the hole. Surya twisted around, her wings sticking awkwardly with the lingering orange sap. "Midea, what are you doing—ahhh!"

Both siblings tumbled forward, their protests swallowed by a brief flurry of leaves as they plunged downward. The last thing Midea saw before they disappeared was their shocked expressions, which brought a wicked grin to his face. Perfect. He dusted his hands, already imagining the lessons they'd be learning as they clawed their way up.

The forest around him was quiet, with only the distant calls of animals and the soft rustle of aspars drifting through the trees. Midea leaned against a tree at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed as he settled in to watch the hole's entrance from above. He had no intention of leaving them; he would ensure no dangerous creatures wandered near while they were down there. But he had no intention of helping them out, either.

This secluded part of the forest was beautiful in a stark, eerie way, a blend of primal nature and lethal challenges that reflected the wilderness of the world they lived in. Shafts of dim light illuminated clusters of carnivorous plants, their bright colors a warning to any who dared venture too close. Midea's gaze drifted back to the hole as he chuckled to himself, feeling a brief, mocking sympathy.

"Enjoy the climb, little monsters," he murmured, his voice lost in the forest's silent watch.

___________________


Tanya's stomach lurched as she fell into the hidden pit, her vision spinning as the world became a blur of jagged shadows and dim light. The rocks scraping past barely registered as her body took the brunt of the fall with barely a scratch. Actually not a scratch at all. But it was the oppressive weight pressing down on her, the relentless, invisible force in the air that left her stunned.

She hit the bottom with a solid thud, and even her bones seemed to vibrate with the impact. Beside her, Tarak landed heavily, his breath coming in short, strained gasps as he adjusted to the sudden, crushing gravity. They both tried to push up, to move even an inch, but found that even lifting their arms felt like attempting to break through steel.

Tanya managed a frustrated sigh, though it was shaky. Of course, she thought grimly, it's a flux. This wasn't some ordinary fall—it was like they'd been dropped into an abyss that sought to grind them down with sheer, unyielding weight. She could feel her heartbeat thundering in her chest, each beat straining under the multiplied force of gravity around them. The vests, which had already left their muscles screaming from their earlier training, now seemed like solid slabs of iron strapped to their chests and shoulders.

For a few moments, all Tanya could do was lie there, the weight of the world pressing her into the hard ground below. She could feel every ache, every bruise from the long day settling into her bones, and she fought the overwhelming urge just to close her eyes and drift off, giving in to the relentless pressure. But the thought of Mideas shitty grinning face, and of the life waiting for her above, forced her back from the brink of just falling asleep. She wanted to deck the shit out of that demon.

Beside her, Tarak's breathing steadied, his voice emerging in a low, heated growl, completely abandoning its usual slow drawl. "I'm going to eat him from the legs up," he muttered, his eyes flashing with irritation.

"Together," she agreed, her own voice dark with promise. The two exchanged a look of shared vengeance that said more than words. Midea had put them through grueling trials all day, pushing them to their limits, mocking them, testing their patience and strength. But, despite her anger, Tanya couldn't deny that his methods had helped. Through the previous challenges, she had felt her body slowly adapt, adjusting to the insane challenges, shaping itself to handle the increased strain with an efficiency she'd never imagined. For example while she was capable of lifting that boulder at it's heaviest before it would not be for long. But with the gradual training she felt her strength and endurance increase quite a bit from before. She would be able to lift it for a longer time now.

When she'd been born into this life, she'd been hyper-aware of the sheer density of the air around her, the constant tug of gravity heavier than anything she remembered from her previous life. But her body had already learned to adjust, evolving to survive in an environment that would crush an ordinary human. That was the instinctive shift she felt after she was born. Today's trials had only intensified that process, forcing her muscles to strain, to adapt with each new weight. She thought of her mother sparingly. No wonder the woman was known for her immense might. Tyrannius blood seemed to be top-grade steroids. That being said this was far beyond the gradual growth she'd felt before. This was a brutal, relentless test of endurance.

Still, she thought, fighting to catch her breath, it's doable. She could already feel it—her body slowly adjusting to the flux, bit by bit, like an unseen mechanism beginning to shift, recalibrating under the crushing pressure. It was a barely noticeable change, but it was there. And knowing that it was only a matter of time before she could stand, even if it took hours, filled her with a renewed, if grim, determination.

She glanced at Tarak, who was grinding his teeth, the tendons in his neck taut with effort. She could feel her body responding faster than she expected, and she was certain he was experiencing the same. They didn't speak further; they were too focused on each other's breaths, each slow, shallow inhale, and exhale helping to ground them as they fought against the gravity's pull.

Around them, the dim glow of bioluminescent moss lit the cavernous walls of the pit, casting the area in an eerie greenish-blue light. She could see the faint shimmer of spores drifting through the heavy air, thickening around them with each passing moment. The walls themselves were jagged in some places, slick and smooth in others, with patches of bioluminescent moss growing in uneven clusters. She noted how the moss seemed to almost pulse under the weight of the flux, as though responding to the same gravitational forces that held them captive.

A faint rustling sound drew her attention, and she noticed tiny, darting shapes flitting in and out of the shadows—a type of insect she recognized as Pipla. She squinted, watching them scuttle through cracks in the walls, their movements unimpeded by the crushing weight around them. She felt a flicker of envy at the creatures' ease, noting their odd, almost defiant resilience against the numen-dense environment. Perhaps they are of a higher shackle, she mused, watching them scurry past.

"Well, there is one way to make this go faster…" She murmured under her breath, then reached out, catching one of the Pipla in her fingers, examining it briefly before popping it into her mouth. It crunched between her teeth, and she could feel the faint flicker of numen settle into her body, minimal but tangible, as though her cells were absorbing every ounce of the energy. A cycle completed, even from a single Pipla. It was the first cycle she completed as she had never actually killed and ate the same thing she killed. She felt her body hum in satisfaction as she finally got all the energy rather than a bit being wasted. All that said and done most of it went to that abyss, but it definitely helped. She glanced over at Tarak and gave a slight nod, wordlessly suggesting he do the same. He agreed and but after a moment, followed her lead, snatching up a few of the insects and eating them with the same focus.

The energy was faint, almost negligible, but each Pipla seemed to add just the smallest amount of strength to their exhausted forms. For the first time, Tanya felt herself settling into a rhythm of survival that felt oddly… satisfying. She wasn't sure if it was her Tyrannius nature asserting itself or just her sheer will to survive, but she allowed herself to enjoy the brief respite, knowing it would fuel the climb ahead.

Sorry, little Pipla, she thought, letting a flicker of guilt pass through her. But if I'm staying down here, it won't be for a week. If you want to blame someone blame the demon. It was a bit cruel but it wasn't as if they were sapient. But perhaps in a world where nearly everything had a soul the distinction between sapience and sentience wasn't nearly as important as she had thought it was before. But she was always a survivalist, good or evil that kind of thing only mattered when you had the power and privilege to decide what you wanted to do. People when faced with death could care less about good or evil. They are illusory concepts, one must do what they must to survive and advance. This was the dogma she lived by in her second life. Perhaps she didn't have to live that way in this one but humans were not so easy to change. And she had decided she never would be weak again. Then again I'm not even human anymore.

Time stretched, and eventually, her body felt light enough to shift slightly. She strained against the force pinning her to the ground, feeling her muscles scream as she moved, slowly pushing herself upright. Beside her, Tarak managed to roll onto his knees ahead of her, his hands trembling as he gripped the ground. But rather than worry about himself and his own restraining vest he turned to her. Without a word, he leaned over and began helping her instead, hands steady despite his fatigue. She was capable of doing it herself, her body beginning to adjust, but she let him help, feeling a quiet warmth at his instinct to care for her. Even so, Tanya refused to let this affection make her soft. The world was harsh, and no amount of sibling camaraderie would change that. Well at least she would try not to let it change her. Instincts were hard to fight.

After a few minutes of strained movements, they finally shrugged off the vests, feeling a sudden, blessed lightness as the crushing weight on their shoulders eased. Under the moonlight filtering through the opening above, they locked eyes, a silent resolve passing between them as they prepared for the climb.

Tanya extended her claws, digging into the wall, finding a narrow edge that would support her weight. But as she gripped it and pulled, the stone beneath her hand crumbled, collapsing in a fine layer of dust. She gaped in disbelief, her hand instinctively retreating as she frowned down at the shattered rock. She hadn't put that much force into it.

"Must be the moss," Tarak said, observing the area around them. "I heard certain kinds can weaken stone over time."

She nodded, mentally scolding herself for not noticing sooner. On Earth, such a thing wouldn't make sense, but here—where even the air seemed ready to crush them—such things were par for the course. Each handhold, each foothold, had to be chosen carefully, or else the moss would render the stone beneath it brittle as paper.

The climb was brutal. At first, every movement took monumental effort as their bodies fought against the crushing weight, muscles burning as they inched their way up. Tarak's tail proved useful, anchoring him when he stumbled, though she occasionally felt a flash of envy. It was a useful tool at the moment compared to her who was struggling more. She forced herself to focus, knowing her wings would serve her eventually… once she got this sticky gunk off of them.

Hours seemed to pass as they struggled upward. The soft glow of the moss and Pipla insects cast their path in dim light, enough to see but barely. Each time her claws dug into clean stone, Tanya felt a surge of satisfaction. And though they occasionally lost their grip and tumbled back down a few feet, they learned quickly, choosing their handholds with caution and avoiding moss-laden patches. At one point, her foot slipped, and she felt herself start to fall, but Tarak's hand shot out, gripping her shoulder and steadying her before she could slide too far.

Her muscles screamed in protest, her lungs aching with every breath as they climbed higher, inch by painful inch. The world above them seemed so close, yet so far—an endless goal just beyond their reach. They could see the faint silver light of dawn filtering in, casting the stone in ghostly shadows, making it feel like they were ascending into another world.

As the night bled into morning, Tanya could feel her body adjusting fully, her senses sharpening, her strength solidifying as the adaptations to this crushing weight took hold. With renewed resolve, she pressed on, every clawed handhold bringing them closer to freedom. And finally, as the last of the moonlight faded into the soft light of dawn, Tarak crested the edge of the pit, his breath heavy but triumphant. She followed, her body spent, drenched in sweat and exhaustion, as she hauled herself over the lip of the pit, rolling onto her back.

A shout of surprise reached her ears, and she cracked one eye open to see Midea staring down at them, clearly taken aback.

They had made it out, barely. But as she looked up at the wide sky above, every grueling inch of the climb felt worth it. For what she would do next of course.

______________

"What!" Midea's voice echoed in sheer disbelief. "It's only been ten hours!"

Tanya didn't care. Her narrowed eyes found the demon's face, her mouth set in a determined line. She could see the faintest twitch of shock on his face as he watched her stagger upright. The mix of anger and exhaustion twisted into a singular focus: Midea was going to pay for that "reward."

"Come on, Tarak," she growled, never taking her eyes off their instructor. "Let's show him just how much we appreciated this lesson. I've been craving goat stew."

Tarak was already at her side, an equally dangerous glint in his eyes as he cast one last look at the pit. "Of course sister," he replied, cracking his knuckles with a gleam of mischief interlaced with violence that was unmistakable.

"Wait! Calm down, it was for training!" Midea exclaimed, his voice laced with an odd mixture of panic and amusement. "You'll thank me one day, I swear!"

Without missing a beat, Tanya took off at a sprint, every sore muscle coming alive with the single-minded determination of catching him. Tarak followed, matching her stride for stride, his expression just as fierce. Midea, realizing he was outmatched, turned on his heel and bolted, his crimson cloak flaring behind him as he wove between the trees, laughing and muttering curses under his breath.

"Come on, little ones, we can all be mature about this!" he shouted over his shoulder, though the mocking lilt in his voice made Tanya's blood boil.

They chased him across the clearing, dodging roots and low-hanging branches, weaving through the tall stalks of strange, spiny plants that seemed to reach toward them. Golden aspars drifted around like floating embers, casting an eerie glow across the twilight-draped forest. Tanya could feel the sting of her own bruises as she ran, but the sight of Midea's wide-eyed, feigned horror was more than enough motivation to keep her going.

Tarak, catching up to Midea's side, lunged, claws outstretched. But Midea ducked just in time, grinning as he rolled to avoid the grab. "Nice try, Tarak! But you'll have to be faster than that to—"

A chunk of earth whizzed past his face, courtesy of Tanya. She grinned as Midea did a quick sidestep, narrowly avoiding the projectile. "Alright, alright!" he shouted, his voice carrying that same cocky tone. "Lesson learned! Let's not resort to barbarism here, huh?"

"Barbarism?" Tanya growled, grabbing another rock. "That's rich, coming from the demon who shoved us into a fucking gravity well!"

Midea kept just out of reach, expertly weaving through the trees and letting out a mocking laugh every time one of them came close. He darted left, and they both adjusted, cutting him off from all sides and closing in. For a moment, Tanya felt a thrill of triumph—they had him cornered.

But in a flash, he vanished, his laughter echoing as the two of them collided, stumbling into each other with a mutual groan.

"Didn't anyone ever teach you that patience is a virtue?" Midea taunted, reappearing a few paces away, his eyes dancing with mischief.

They glared at him in unison, their breaths heavy. They were still panting from the climb, and every muscle in Tanya's body throbbed, but there was no way she was going to let him off that easily.

As she reached down, searching for another stone, a hiss cut through the clearing. She froze, her hand tightening around the rock as her gaze dropped to the ground.

In the tall grass nearby, a Snavine slithered, its green scales glistening in the dim light, rows of sharp, venomous spines lining its back. The creature coiled itself, its body rigid, as if preparing to strike. And in one fluid motion, it launched its barbed quills directly at her.

Tanya reacted on instinct, throwing her arms up as a barrier. Pain shot through her, sharp and fiery, as several of the spines pierced her forearms, embedding themselves deep in her flesh. The force of the blow sent her stumbling back, her vision blurring for a moment as she felt the rush of hot blood trickling down her arms, staining the ground in splatters of dark crimson and faint silver.

"Surya!" Tarak's voice was filled with panic, his face a mask of horror as he whipped around, his tail lashing like a whip.

Midea's expression lost its usual playful edge, his gaze sharpening with genuine concern. But in that instant, Tarak's instincts kicked in. With a single, powerful movement, his tail whipped across the ground, catching the Snavine's body and slicing it clean in half. Midea's palm shot forward, crushing the creature's head with a pulse of energy that splattered green ichor across the ground.

But the damage had been done.

Tanya could feel the barbs lodged deep in her arms, every pulse of her heartbeat sending another wave of fiery pain radiating from the wounds. Her breath came in short gasps, and though the agony was sharp, she fought to keep her expression steady, her gaze calm as she looked at Tarak.

"Surya, are you okay?" Tarak's voice trembled, the look in his eyes frantic as he stared at her wounds.

She forced a small smile, reaching up to gently pat his head, her hand trembling slightly from the effort. "I'm fine," she murmured, her voice steady. "I'll recover. It's… not as bad as it looks." Children should be comforted at times like this.

But Midea's face was grim as he knelt down, examining the barbs embedded in her skin. He muttered something under his breath, probably swearing in demonic or enochian if the bible was right, before shaking his head. "I'm shocked you're still standing. Those spines could pierce the defenses of a higher second layer—barely stopped by your arms alone. Your very tough indeed." He sighed, the weight of his concern visible as he added, "We need to find something to help heal you."

But Tanya had had enough of the waiting. Grimacing, she braced herself and gripped the first barb, yanking it free in one swift motion. The sudden pain was blinding, but she stifled a cry, gritting her teeth as blood flowed freely from the open wound. She was no stranger to such injuries she had been a soldier after all. Midea's eyes widened as he lunged forward, grabbing her arm and channeling numen into it, trying to stem the bleeding.

But his numen disappeared, vanishing into the same inexplicable abyss that seemed to devour every bit of external energy she encountered. Nothing happened, though she could feel her body working to seal the wound. The healing was slow, but it was happening, her cells knitting together at a barely perceptible pace. Still, it was enough for her. After all she could see the wound closing slowly. It was far faster than her healing as a human had been.

"Surya!" She felt a light scratch at her wrist and looked down to see Tarak's claws carefully prying at one of her wounds. But she caught sight of something else—a small, writhing, white shape. She barely had time to register it before Tarak ripped out half of the creature, a leech, leaving the other half burrowing further into her wound.

Instinct told her not to panic, to ignore the sense of alarm flashing through her mind. "It's probably nothing," she said, though she was mostly trying to convince herself. She pressed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Just a little leech… I'll deal with it later."

Midea's frown deepened as he looked between the wound and her calm expression. "Let me try something." He ran another pulse of numen through her, but, as usual, it vanished without effect.

"Satan–dammit!" he muttered, rubbing his temples in frustration. "I can't even see into your body, let alone locate that thing. Your physiology… it's like staring into a void."

Tanya glanced at him thoughtfully, recognizing the perplexity on his face as he struggled to reconcile her physical form with his understanding of how energy and flesh were supposed to work. Her body felt real enough, with flesh and blood, muscles, and a heartbeat—or rather, several, a discovery she had made in her early days here. And yet, her body defied scrutiny, like an impenetrable fortress hiding its secrets within. He could not see her soul not could he see her body. She was confident from what happened to her consciousness that this body had a soul. And well she obviously had a material body. Was there a connection between them? Not being able to see her soul and see into her body that is.

Midea shook his head, snapping out of his musings. "We need to get you back to the village. They'll likely know what type of leech this is and have medicine to deal with it. It might be nothing… but it might be something."

Tanya nodded, and as they made their way back, she found herself looking around at the dense forest that had become a battleground that day. The spiral branches overhead twisted together like an endless web, Aspars glowing like stars in the deepening twilight. The silence here was laced with a constant sense of lurking danger, each rustling leaf or snapping twig reminding her of the unforgiving nature of this world.

As they walked, the day gradually bled into dusk, the forest casting elongated shadows that seemed to breathe with life. It was beautiful in a brutal, haunting way—a world of survival, challenge, and raw power.

With the silence hanging heavy between them, Tanya felt her thoughts drift back to earlier, remembering the shade and what she and Tarak had done. The ease with which they'd destroyed it, despite the creature's ghostly nature, lingerd in her mind. Her instincts told her that this ability to destroy shades was unusual, something even Midea hadn't fully understood. If she and Tarak could kill these entities with such ease, there could be ways to turn this power to their advantage.

A small smirk pulled at her lips as she glanced at her brother. He was still tense, his jaw set in a stubborn line. The day's trials had clearly worn on him too, but he kept close, watching her carefully as though ready to catch her if she faltered. Her heart warmed, even in her weariness. She wasn't sure if it was her affection for him or the strange nature of her new body, but her bond with Tarak felt unbreakable. They had both survived a hellish day, facing each test with tenacity and defiance, and somehow, they had come out of it stronger. But the truth was, she wasn't ready to show Midea any gratitude—not yet.

As the village walls came into sight, Midea glanced back at the two of them, a wry grin spreading across his face. "Well, I have to say, you both exceeded expectations today," he began, voice thick with smug amusement. "Consider this a taste of the trials ahead. You'll thank me someday."

Tanya just rolled her eyes. She just wanted wash up and fall asleep.

_____________

Bang Bang Bang.


Hati's forehead met the desk with a muted thud as she slammed her head against it, groaning. Frustration welled in her chest, spilling over as she replayed the past week in her mind—a series of setbacks and disappointments, one after another. Her recent excursion had been a wash: they'd barely managed to gather any useful resources, and apparently the seeds for the village fields had been taken by a plague before they'd even begun to germinate. She was supposed to bring back more but she had failed. She was also supposed to get cultivation resources but she had barely found any. One of her biggest responsibilities was supposed to have been keeping tabs on the Vampyrs' movements, tracking them quietly, but instead had ended up leading a group of them straight to the village. The lack of shadow cores made things difficult.

She let out a bitter laugh, pushing herself back in her chair. As dawn light filtered in through the small gaps in her cabin's wall, her mind drifted to today's duty—Resin Day. For everyone else, it was a cherished tradition, a sort of village holiday that brought everyone together. But for her, it was another reminder of their dwindling supplies. Every year, they coated the wooden walls of the village with sap from the great resin trees, bolstering their defenses against the destructive meteor storms and the unpredictable fury of fire spirits that roamed the land.

The resin itself was extraordinary, an amber-colored sap that hardened like rock and was almost entirely resistant to flames. Its application protected the village's walls, fortifying the wood that had been imbued with numen from the start. The resin's potency only lasted so long, however. Every year, as soon as the sap began to flow, they gathered as much as they could, and each villager would contribute to the collective effort to help coat the walls. During the night they would eat and play a game to celebrate. But this year, with resources spread thin, they only had enough for a single coating—nowhere near the three layers they typically applied. Hati let out a long, frustrated sigh, rubbing her temples as she thought about the potential damage a bad meteor storm could bring if Fenrir or the Seven Suns weren't on their side this season.

She rolled her shoulders, stretching her stiff muscles like a cat waking from slumber. "I'm leaving, Ma!" she called out, her voice carrying through the small cabin. A low grunt of acknowledgment was her only response, and Hati shook her head with a small smile before stepping outside, into the crisp morning air.

The village was quiet at dawn, with the first traces of sunlight casting a muted glow across the walls. Dew clung to the leaves, and golden aspars drifted lazily on the light breeze, their bioluminescent bodies leaving soft trails of light in the mist. Hati took a deep breath, steeling herself for the day ahead. She would be coating the wall with resin soon, and part of her wondered if she should gather the kids—Surya, Tarak, and maybe Garran(if she could separate him from Lain) or Peter—to help. Resin Day had been her favorite tradition as a child, and she wanted to share that with with Surya and Tarak, though the added responsibilities she had this year had meant she hadn't had the time to even broach it with them.

Just as she started to mull over the plan, her thoughts were interrupted by the sudden shouts of the sentries. She whipped her head toward the gate, eyes narrowing as the heavy wooden doors swung open to reveal a trio trudging back into the village. Her heart gave a small leap of surprise—it was Midea, Surya, and Tarak. The siblings looked a sight; Surya's hair was disheveled, sticking up in odd places, and both she and Tarak were covered in some kind of orange goop and grime. Midea, somehow, had managed to emerge untouched, his face as smug as ever. Hati bit her lip, stifling a laugh, her cheeks bulging from the effort.

As the three neared, she moved closer, her amusement bubbling to the surface. Surya and Tarak's eyes lit up as they recognized her, and she reached out, ruffling their heads, drawing a grunt of protest from Tarak. "What happened to you two, huh?" she teased, her voice filled with genuine warmth as she looked them over.

Midea cleared his throat, his tone as nonchalant as ever. "Oh, we were just out training in the forest. Nothing too serious," he said with a smirk, the casual tone doing little to mask the intensity of their experience.

Before he could elaborate, Tarak's voice cut through with an urgency that surprised her. "Do you have medicine for leeches or anything?" The usually calm, steady boy sounded uncharacteristically anxious.

Her heart skipped a beat, her instincts instantly sharpening. "Leeches?" She grabbed him by the shoulders, her gaze sweeping over his body as she checked for any signs of injury. But she found nothing out of the ordinary, no marks or wounds on his skin. Confused, she looked back at him, only for Surya to step forward, her voice calm but weighted.

"It was me, Hati," she said quietly, extending her arm. "A leech got into my arm before the wound healed over."

Hati's eyes widened, her gaze zeroing in on Surya's arm. She shot a sharp look at Midea, who merely gave a wry smile, hands raised as if to say he was innocent. Hati's grip tightened on Surya's shoulder, a spark of anger kindling in her chest. If Midea had let something hurt Surya—if he'd been careless—she'd make him regret it. But a leech, in her wound? A cold dread settled in her stomach. No. No, it couldn't be.

"What did it look like?" she demanded, her voice tight as she gave Surya a light shake. The girl blinked, surprised at the urgency in her tone. But it was Tarak who answered, his voice low and hesitant.

"It was white… and it had a kind of segmented body."

Hati's blood ran cold, her mind whirling. She felt a shiver ripple through her, and she saw Surya's expression shift as realization began to dawn on her as well. No. Not that. Not a ring infestor.

Without thinking, she turned on Midea, her fists clenching in a fury she hadn't felt in years. Her hand shot out, and Midea barely had time to register the movement before he caught her fist, holding her back with a look of mild surprise.

"HOW DID YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!" she shouted, her voice cracking with anger and desperation. The usual brightness in her eyes was gone, replaced by something dark and fierce.

Midea held her gaze, his own expression uncharacteristically serious. "Calm down," he said evenly, though she could hear the faint tremor in his voice. "There has to be a cure for it, right? Your village knows these creatures well. There has to be a way."

But her next words seemed to strike him like a physical blow, her voice barely a whisper, raw with helplessness. "There is no cure, Midea. There is no cure at all."

The words hung in the air like a death knell, and Midea's face drained of color, his confident smirk vanishing as he processed the weight of her statement. Around them, the early morning peace of the village seemed to shatter, the quiet now filled with a suffocating tension. The few villagers nearby paused in their work, drawn to the scene unfolding in the square, their faces etched with concern and confusion as they watched Hati, her expression one of despair, clutching Surya as though the girl might slip away at any moment.

The forest loomed in the distance, a silent, brooding presence that seemed to close in on them, its shadows creeping forward as if in mourning. The golden aspars drifted past, casting ghostly glows across their faces, illuminating Hati's stricken features as she gripped Surya's arm, her fingers trembling.

________________


Tanya felt the weight of Hati's words settle over her like a thick shroud. So it was a ring infestor. Her mind clicked through the memories she had, cataloging every detail she knew about them from fragments of stories and what she had learned about the lecture the previous day. The creatures were ruthless parasites that crept through the bloodstream, splitting themselves into tiny, ring-like segments as they grew, each new ring absorbing nutrients before then detaching and moving independently. Those segments would turn into new ring infestors. But they didn't reproduce instantly. If she acted quickly, she might have a chance.

Her eyes flickered with the cold, calculating determination she often used to mask any dread, her mind already forming a plan. If she cut her arm off now, she might avoid the infestor spreading into her entire body. She took a measured breath, tightening her muscles in preparation.

"What… what is a ring infestor?" Tarak's voice broke through her concentration, the worry lacing his words so palpable that she felt a pang of guilt.

Hati glanced over at him, her own face softened with pity as she explained quietly, "A creature that invades the bloodstream and uses the host's own blood and nutrients to split, spreading like wildfire through the body. It eats away at you from the inside out." Her voice dropped to an almost whisper, as if saying it aloud might worsen the situation. "There's… no cure."

She saw Tarak's expression darken, his brows knitting together as he digested the weight of the words. He turned back to Tanya, a haunted look in his eyes. But before he or anyone else could speak further, she raised her voice with clear resolve.

"I'm going to cut my arm off."

The abruptness of her words shattered the tense silence, pulling shocked gasps from both Hati and Tarak. Hati's hand shot out, eyes wide with alarm. "What are you talking about?!"

But Tanya had already begun her preparations, assessing the best angle to take, her gaze steely and unyielding. Her wing tensed, ready to harden into the lethal edge she would use. Considering how dense her body was it would take a few hacks but she had to do it to live. She knew her body well enough by now to understand it wouldn't regenerate something as severe as a missing limb. While she had a healing factor she was fairly certain it wasn't the restore a limb type. Wasn't fast enough it was more likely the wound would seal over. In the end it didn't matter. Pragmatism won out over sentiment, and she steadied her wing for a quick swing, bracing herself for the pain for the incoming pain.

Midea's voice sounded from her side, quieter than usual but without protest. "That may indeed be the only way." His eyes held a flicker of sympathy, but she knew that her death was the worst-case scenario for him. The demon couldn't afford to lose her, and so he accepted her choice without question. It was better than being erased by her angry mother.

She took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the faint, crawling sensation inside her arm, the small yet disturbing movement of the parasite exploring her veins. She could almost feel it seeking out the softest parts of her insides, probing like a hungry specter looking to latch on. But her resolve hardened; she would do what needed to be done.

Just as her wing descended, Tarak's hand shot out, intercepting her strike, and blood splattered from where her sharp feathers sliced into his palm. She recoiled in shock, pulling her wing back as she met his eyes, wide with worry and fierceness. "Tarak, what are you doing?" she shouted, irritation mixing with confusion.

Ignoring his injured hands, he placed them on either side of her face, leaning in close as his eyes bored into hers with uncharacteristic intensity. "Surya, don't do it. Don't cut off your arm. You can conquer this—I know you can. Can't you feel it?" His voice was thick with desperation, but there was something else there, too. A faith in her, an earnest belief she hadn't expected.

For a moment, she paused, uncertain. But something in his gaze made her stop. Slowly, she closed her eyes and stilled her mind, listening to that primal part of her instincts she so often tried to silence. In the background, she heard Hati and Midea's muffled voices, but she let them fade, focusing inward, attuning herself to the sensations of her body. Her skin tingled, and that faint sense of shifting stirred within her again—a sensation she'd felt during their grueling trials, as her body adapted to every obstacle thrown her way.

And there it was. A strange calm settled over her. Her instincts weren't in panic, nor did they signal danger. There was no alarm in her body, no sense of impending death. Instead, it was as though her body regarded the infestor with… indifference, as if it was little more than an inconvenience. She took a deeper breath, listening to that calm resolve within, and felt her body's inner mechanisms shifting in response. They had been provoked as soon as the creature began moving too much.

Inside her arm, the ring infestor writhed as it latched onto the wall of her blood vessel, its tiny teeth scraping against the inner lining in an attempt to secure itself and failing horribly. If Tanya could see into her own body, she would have noticed the strange lattice of crystalline structures interwoven through her bones, supporting a network of veins that spiraled and twisted in complex formations. Her bones were not hollow but instead formed of dense, almost diamond-hard structures that made up a unique system, each vein fortified and pulsing with tiny, bead-like organs acting as miniature hearts, propelling blood with force and precision.

As the infestor dug in, trying to split and spread, it encountered resistance. The strange, mineralized nature of her veins seemed to resist its grip, preventing it from latching on at all. As durable as her skin externally. The blood rushing through her vessels was different too, heavier, harder. The parasite struggled against the weight and density of the blood cells, each one striking it with a force that pained the tiny creature, damaging its body and breaking segments apart. Her body seemed to thrum about it observing the creature in some act of physiological acknowledgement.

But after it figured something out it wasn't merely resistance anymore. There was movement. It methodically repurposed what it observed and in her bones, specialized cells began to gather and clump, merging into small, predatory creatures that moved like white blood cells with intent, racing through her bloodstream with the express purpose of eradicating the intruder. They were larger than any normal blood cell, almost as large as the infestor itself, and they moved with purpose, closing in on their target.

The infestor sensed the threat, writhing as it tried to escape, but the bone-formed cells were faster. They closed in around it, tiny crystalline claws and teeth tearing into its segmented body, ripping it apart ring by ring. The parasite barely had a moment to resist before it was disassembled completely, each part devoured and absorbed back into her bloodstream. Once the job was done, the cells split back into countless smaller parts, returning to their original function, leaving nothing of the intruder behind.

Tanya's eyes fluttered open, a faint, triumphant smile tugging at her lips as she looked at Tarak. She felt the energy enter her body a signifier that she had killed and eaten something. It could only be the infestor. Her expression softened with a gratitude she rarely allowed herself to show. "It's gone. My body… it ate the thing, somehow. You don't have to worry."

Tarak's shoulders slumped in relief, and he let out a shaky breath before pulling her into a tight hug. She allowed herself a brief moment of weakness, resting her forehead against his as he murmured, "I knew you could do it Surya. You are my big sister that I admire so much after all." He said his voice earnest.

Hati's arms wrapped around them both a second later, her fierce grip conveying all the worry she had held back. "You still need to get a checkup," she said, her voice firm yet tinged with softness as she pulled back, her eyes scanning Tanya's face as though to make sure she was truly alright. Tanya gave a small nod, accepting the concern without argument.

Midea let out a long breath, wiping a sheen of sweat from his brow as he broke into a shaky laugh, though his usual cocky tone was noticeably absent. "It would be absurd if one of Lervea's children could be defeated by a bug," he said, the laughter holding a hint of relief. His usual confidence was shaken, but he masked it with a smirk.

Tanya looked at him, exhaustion creeping into her bones. The weight of the morning hung over them all, the fear lingering in the air slowly fading as the tension dissolved. She could see the dawn beginning to break over the village walls, casting golden light across the clearing. It had been a long, hard night, but as she glanced around at the faces of her family, she felt a warmth in her chest, and the first real sense of peace in days.

Yes, she thought, the promise of a better day finally beginning to settle over her. Today would be better indeed.
_________________

Honestly I planned on this being a short chapter after I just slapped yall with 18k. But it didn't turn out that way. I had originally planned to add a lore nugget to but I was to tapped out. I'll probably add one tomorrow or something titled Lilith and Lervea. It won't expose any mysteries though. Just a tidbit. it will be much shorter at like 3k probably, actually, I might push myself to reach 100k. I hope you enjoy. We are almost at 100k peeps and almost to 200 pages on Google Docs. Also for anyone confused yes Tanya's durability is uniform. Her insides are as tough as her outsides. Every cell shared the same durability even her blood cells. Though they aren't compact so its just like really dense liquid. Think mercury. I don't know if that was confusing or whatever. Her biology is actually redundant on several levels.

 

[Behemoth.]

✦ Lilith and Lervea ✦

______________________

Hahhh. Hahhh. Hahhh.

Lilith drifted in the void, her breaths coming hard and fast, clouding the air in translucent wisps. Stars speared through the darkness around her, their brightness piercing like needles, mocking her with their serenity. These cold celestial lights weren't the garish glow of Enochians or the up–high divinity of the Devas; they were indifferent witnesses to a slaughter. And this time, it wasn't outsiders she faced, but her own people.

"Slay her! Tear her apart, piece by fucking piece! We don't need any more threats!"

Their howls tore through the silence, cruel and gleeful, as a horde of reapers from the Circle of Wrath closed in around her. Wrath demons—reapers, grotesque creatures born of living bone, their skeletons twisted and fused with tendrils of fire that crackled as they moved—surged through the dark like falling stars. Red-orange embers flickered from their limbs as they swooped, shrieking, towards her, sending wave after wave of flames roaring across the abyss. Each inferno blast shredded the vacuum, lighting up the bodies of her fallen comrades that now floated, still and silent, in the vast, empty gulf. Her allies had been ambushed, cut down in waves, while she, the young prodigy from the Circle of Pride, was left to face the reaper pack alone.

Rumors had painted her as dangerous—too dangerous. They whispered that Lord Satan himself saw promise in her, that she was one who could overturn the balance of circles and disrupt the old hierarchy. Because of this, she was marked for death.

A reaper broke from the swarm, scythe glinting against the starlight, and lunged for her neck with a cackle. She ducked, pivoting as the blade hissed past, twisting her body to dodge and capture his arm. With a brutal twist, she wrenched the blade from him and drove it through his ribs, the bone snapping with a sickening crunch, severing his spine. Before his body was even cold, another reaper closed in from behind, his jaws wide, embers dripping like saliva. But this was the void, and Lilith was a demon of Pride.

Reality warped around her; with a thought, she peeled back the dark folds of space. She could see through its infinite depth, unraveling threads of time and shadow with her vision, diving deep into the variations that made up every reaper, every injury they had endured, every change etched into the memory of their flesh and bones. Wounds, after all, were just another state in the existence of space and time—a mark that she, with her affinity, could control. One must be prideful in their past. With a furious twist of her wrist, she invoked her command:

"All of your pride!"

A purple, radiant sword formed in her hand, a pure extension of her will, and with a sharp wave, she unleashed it, forcing the painful memories of every past injury to resurface within her enemies. Their screams echoed across the void as their bones cracked, twisted, and shattered, their bodies buckling under the sudden return of every wound they had ever sustained. She surged forward, weaving between them with a deadly grace, her sword materializing out of thin space as she accelerated, her blade impaling reaper after reaper, cleaving them with precision.

She was a knight class demon of the sixth layer. An affinity for space is what she had gotten upon her evolution. She was formidable able to fight even above her shackle. These reapers could not face her in battle. She shuttled through the darkness every movement a kill.

But victory, however fierce, was fleeting. She felt the dark void pulse behind her—a greater reaper with a towering frame, his shadow stretching vast and foreboding. His skeletal hands gripped a scythe that radiated a holy flame. It wasn't just any weapon; this was a high artifact, something far more sinister. She spun, raising her sword to block the blow, but the artifact carved through her blade, and the fiery edge sliced through her flesh, leaving a deep, gaping wound that sizzled as her blood met the cursed flame.

It wasn't just an ordinary wound. She could feel the sting of the flames gnawing at her essence, tearing at the threads of her very being. Blood leaked from her side, a sickly, smoke-laden steam rising as it reacted with the unnatural fire. A sneering laugh cut through the void, filled with unrestrained glee.

"This is the flame of samadhi! We stole this little treasure off a few traveling Buddhist monks," the reaper taunted, voice cold as the void. "It's super effective against our kind, bitch! This fire can purify anything—even a demon's soul." His voice sharpened with mockery as he swung the scythe again.

But Lilith's reflexes were sharper. Her sword, fading from sight, rematerialized in an instant behind her attacker and pierced through his skull. His body slumped, but the damage to her was done. She looked back noticing he had managed to survive somehow by sacrificing the life of one of his comrades. She shook her head now was not the time. Pain tore through her abdomen, tendrils of flame burrowing into her flesh, devouring her strength. She staggered back, but her instincts wouldn't let her rest. As she fell, a reaper launched a heavy punch that caught her unguarded, and the force of the blow sent her reeling across the void. Her body sailed past the stars, her form a blur of motion, until she collided with a distant planet. The impact shattered the celestial body, splintering it into fragments that scattered across the emptiness, a mist of pulverized rock clouding the battlefield.

But the reapers were relentless. More portals flickered open, spilling wave after wave of fresh demons, their twisted forms tearing through the veil of space. Her eyes widened, her heart pounding as she beheld the bodies of her comrades, lifeless and adrift, encircled by the monstrous horde. She fought back a rising tide of despair, feeling hot tears prick at her eyes.

Yet survival instinct spurred her on. She whipped around, plunging deeper into the void, bending shadows and space around her to slip from view. She moved with all the strength she had left, ducking into pockets of darkness to conceal her presence as the horde howled and seethed in the blackness. The burning gashes in her side pulsed with pain, the cursed flame tracing her like a beacon, its cursed light glowing in the shadows.

But Lilith was nothing if not cunning. In her flight, she hunted smaller life forms—wandering astral creatures that barely registered on a demon's scale of importance. Snaring them, she invoked a dark spell, weaving pieces of their souls into an abomination fueled by her essence. Her spell was one of profound corruption, a parasitic creation designed to carry her trace. Though she could never touch the true core of a soul, this twisted art left a vile enough impression to pass for her. When the reapers found her again, she sent the shadowy construct forward, watching as it bolted through the void, radiating her essence like a blaring signal.

"Over here! We've got her!"

"She can't keep running—she's ours!"

The reapers roared in excitement, their voices blending into a monstrous crescendo. Their flames flared, lighting up the darkness in fiery wrath as they followed the shadow with frenzied glee. The greater reaper's artifact flared with power, its flames lashing out like whips, burning through the abomination. The samadhi fire worked quickly, exposing the corruption within, dissolving the construct into a cloud of blackened ash.

The greater reaper, seeing the shadow's demise, clenched his jaw in satisfaction, his grim smile spreading like a crack through the darkness.

"We got that bitch!"

"RAAAHHHH!"


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Her eyes narrowed into slits of simmering malice. One day, she would return and kill them all, make them pay for every strike, every wound. She was a demon of Pride, and her vengeance would be a masterpiece.

Lilith descended, her body hurtling through the atmosphere of an unfamiliar planet. She crashed down into the ground, the impact sending waves of fractured earth and dust spiraling outward, creating a massive crater. Rising slowly, she glanced around, taking in the scenery. For a place so far from Hell, it was almost…pleasant.

The sky hung above her like a golden tapestry, its light casting a warm glow over the world, while clouds floated lazily, each puff painted in shades of pink that reminded her—fleetingly—of the Circle of Lust, where skies bloomed in colors so vibrant they bordered on hallucinatory. Here, however, everything was softer, more gentle. The land was dotted not with trees, but with giant fungi, towering structures of vibrant purples, blues, and yellows, each cap forming an umbrella of color. Thick stems twisted upward like columns, some with swirling patterns, others with bioluminescent spots that gleamed faintly even under the daylight. A gentle, earthy scent filled the air, mingled with something faintly sweet, almost floral.

Lilith took a breath, feeling a stab of irritation that even breathing now hurt, each inhale agitating the flame-borne wounds that still burned in her side. She needed shelter, somewhere to hide and rest. As she stepped forward, her foot suddenly collided with something soft and yielding.

She glanced down, momentarily startled. There, sprawled against the vibrant undergrowth, was a creature—a small bunny of sorts, though unlike any she had seen before. It had six legs, all tucked under its delicate frame, with fur as black as night, absorbing the light around it. Its eyes, however, were bright, piercing blue, and beneath each eye were two small white marks, like tattoos or war paint. Its chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid breaths, and she noticed a deep wound along its side, staining its sleek black fur with a hint of dark crimson.

Sympathy tugged at her, an emotion she was neither familiar nor particularly comfortable with. Yet here it was, softening the hardness in her chest, as if seeing this small creature's struggle mirrored her own. She crouched down, her movements slow, and opened her palm, summoning a healing pill from her ring of holding, selecting a less potent one—she didn't want the creature to explode from a surge of foreign energy.

"Here," she whispered, her voice softened in a way that felt strange on her tongue. She held the pill near the bunny's mouth, and without a trace of fear, it sniffed it once before nibbling at it.

As the creature chewed, she watched closely, expecting the familiar glow of green light that usually accompanied healing magic. But to her surprise, there was no flash, no gleaming aura. Instead, the wound on the bunny's side simply sealed itself shut, the skin knitting back together seamlessly, as if the injury had been merely a suggestion rather than a reality. The bunny looked up at her, its blue eyes calm and unblinking, and with a small nod that was almost…acknowledging, it turned and bounded away into the forest, vanishing between the vibrant mushroom stems.

She shook her head, a rare smile playing at her lips. Perhaps that one small act of kindness could offset some of her endless sins—not that she particularly cared about things like redemption. She wasn't one to tally her good deeds or seek absolution. No, her mind was set on one goal alone. One day, she would become an Archdemon, commanding the power and fear that came with it. But to reach that lofty position, she would have to topple the current Archdemon—or make them bow. Serving Lord Satan directly, rising to the ultimate power in the Circle of Pride—that was her dream, and it was the only thing that mattered.

Turning on her heel, Lilith began moving through the forest, eyes scanning for any sign of shelter. She wanted to find a cave or some hidden alcove where she could lick her wounds, but her thoughts kept straying back to the small, strange creature she'd encountered. The little bunny's nod…could a creature like that even be capable of such an acknowledgment?

Days passed, and each one weighed heavier than the last. Her injuries weren't healing as they should; the cursed flames gnawed at her insides, each spark burrowing deeper, leaving her feeling raw and exposed. As the sun rose and fell over the alien sky, casting shifting patterns of golden light across the mushroom canopies, she kept herself moving, knowing that stopping for too long could mean the end.

In her restless wanderings, she saw the bunny again. This time, it appeared as she rested at the edge of a shallow stream, where she had paused to clean her wounds. The water was cool, its surface shimmering with tiny flecks of bioluminescent spores that drifted like stars on the current. She sensed a presence and turned to find the bunny sitting a few feet away, its blue eyes fixed on her intently. She offered it a small nod, acknowledging the creature, almost hoping it would do the same.

To her amusement, it did, dipping its tiny head in a gesture that felt oddly familiar, almost like a companion's greeting. She chuckled to herself, a sound that was rusty and unpracticed. The creature watched her for a moment longer before bounding away, disappearing once again into the undergrowth. She found herself wondering why she was so amused by its presence, but perhaps, she mused, it was just a distraction from the relentless ache that had taken up residence in her body.

Their paths crossed again and again, as if by some unspoken agreement. Once, as she huddled beneath a large mushroom cap during a sudden, gentle rain shower, she saw the bunny darting across the wet ground, its fur glistening under the rain's fine mist. She lifted a hand in greeting, and once more, it acknowledged her with that subtle nod. There was no fear in its gaze, no hesitation. It had accepted her presence in its forest, much as she had accepted it.

But her own condition was deteriorating. The samadhi flames refused to subside, their cursed fire embedding itself deeper with each passing day, eating away at her strength and slowing her healing to a crawl. She had once thought she could endure it, but the pain had grown beyond her control. She needed to return to Hell, to immerse herself in the infernal energies that could extinguish this cursed fire, or she would perish on this alien world.

As she limped through the forest, her mind racing with thoughts of survival and escape, she saw the bunny again. This time, it was only a flash—a black streak darting between the mushrooms, but it paused once more, looking back as if expecting her to follow.

The thought struck her, absurd but persistent, that the bunny somehow knew she was struggling, that it sensed her desperation. She smirked at the idea—an animal caring for a demon of Pride. Yet, as it darted away, she found herself following, drawn by curiosity and the faintest hope that perhaps, just perhaps, this world had some hidden sanctuary where she could rest and gather her strength before making her way home.

It led her to relatively peaceful cave before moving out to leave. Once more she waved and it nodded. She found herself exceedingly amused and somewhat grateful. She rested her eyes for a few hours however peace was not to be.

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The sound tore through the air like a scream, "Shiiieekkk crshhhh!" Lilith's head snapped up, her gaze fixing on the sky, which had fractured, a spiderweb of cracks rippling across its surface as if the heavens themselves were breaking apart. Those Satan-damned reapers had found her, and there was no place to hide. Flames licked at the edges of the cracks, and the air grew heavy with the scent of burning embers. She bolted, racing toward the cover of the shadows, but her body was betraying her—she wasn't fast enough, not with her injuries.

The reapers descended like falling stars, striking the ground with such force that the whole world seemed to tremble. Each one stood nearly nine feet tall, hulking and intimidating, their forms a mass of interwoven bone and flame. They towered over her, embodiments of rage and death. She could feel the heat radiating from them, scorching the ground to ash beneath their feet.

One of them surged forward, his fist wreathed in flame, and before she could react, he drove it into her face. The impact shattered the ground beneath her, sending cracks spiraling out in all directions. Pain burst through her vision, and her blood smeared across the earth in a spray of dark crimson. But Lilith was not so easily slain.

As the reaper loomed over her, she twisted her body and swung out her leg, her foot infused with the lethal edge of sword intent and numen of space. Her heel connected, slicing clean through him in a single brutal arc. The reaper's body severed at the spine, collapsing in a pile of burning bone. Lilith staggered to her feet, her breaths ragged, blood dripping down her face, but her eyes blazed with defiance.

More reapers circled around her, their bone-thin limbs casting shadows like the grim specters of death. She bared her teeth, ready to tear, scream, and claw her way through them all, her voice ringing out in the howl of a queen.

"HAVE YOU NO PRIDE!" she roared, her voice raw with fury. Her fists clenched so tightly her nails bit into her palms.

The reapers merely cackled, a chilling sound, their bony faces stretched into mocking grins. One of them, wielding that cursed artifact blazing with the flame of samadhi, sneered at her. "We are demons of wrath, not pride. We just want you dead—nothing more, nothing less." He laughed, the sound grating like metal scraping stone.

Lilith's teeth ground together, her jaw tight as she fought the urge to lunge at him then and there. She pulled out her blade, a sliver of shadow and space, and launched herself forward. Her movements became a blur, flipping over one reaper and lopping his head clean off. She slipped in and out of the shadows, twisting space to her advantage, moving at impossible angles as she tore through them with deadly precision. She was darkness incarnate, a blur of slicing shadows and flickering flame.

The greater reaper swung a flaming fist her way, and she used the guard of her sword to deflect the blow, redirecting the cursed flame back at one of his own. The blast struck, and the reaper erupted in agonizing screams, dissolving into ashes. Lilith used the momentary distraction to sever the reaper's arm, her sword cleaving through bone and flame alike, scattering embers as she moved. Hearing an enraged scream from behind her.

But there were too many. Wrath demons moved in groups for a reason—overwhelming quantity was their quality. She couldn't keep up. Soon, they were on her, fists and blades striking from all sides. She fought with every ounce of strength, slicing, blocking, twisting, but blow after blow landed, each one sapping her remaining energy, leaving her body battered and bruised. Her bones cracked under the assault, piercing through her skin, her dense, dark blood flowing down her battered form in thick rivers.

Finally, one of the reapers, his arm the one she'd severed earlier, grabbed her by the head with his remaining hand, pulling her up to meet his blazing eyes, his grip like a vise. His gaze seethed with rage, an inferno of fury flaring behind his skeletal face.

"You know, I was just going to kill you," he snarled, his voice low and dripping with menace. "But now you've pissed me off." His voice twisted into a sneer. "I think I'll pull a Lust Circle move. Right here, in front of the stars, I'm going to burn your guts with this rod of mine. And we'll all have our turn. We'll immolate you from inside your most sacred place!"

Even as his words dripped with venom and threat, Lilith glared, a cold, disdainful smirk pulling at her lips. She spat blood into his face, her voice low and filled with venomous promise. "You'd better kill me right now. Because if you don't—and I survive—I'll slaughter you and your kin. I'll melt your bones into a pot for the beasts of Pride to shit in."

The reaper's expression twisted in fury. He reared back, striking her hard across the face, sending her sprawling onto the ground. Her vision spun, her body wracked with pain, but out of the corner of her eye, she noticed something—a faint shape in the shadows, almost like… the bunny. Her chest tightened; had it come to watch her die? The irony wasn't lost on her.

She shut her eyes briefly, preparing for the inevitable, but then, suddenly, something changed.

The bunny's shape began to shimmer, morphing, growing in size. Lilith's eyes widened as it transformed, expanding into a towering figure that stood at least five meters tall, looming over even the wrath demons who stood about eight feet on average.. The transformation was as fluid as water, the creature's form shifting into a woman of supernatural beauty, a presence that seemed to draw the very light from the stars around her.

The woman's face was breathtaking, a flawless collection of features that somehow escaped the trap of perfection, a uniqueness to her beauty that transcended mere appearance. Her eyes were a fierce, piercing azure, framed by long, silvery-white hair with black tips that cascaded down her back like a waterfall of midnight and moonlight. Two golden wings extended behind her, their feathers shimmering with a warm, ethereal glow, and a long, sinuous black tail curled around her form, black as the void of space.

She wore a short, dark dress, the hem ending at her mid-thigh, exposing her powerful, toned legs that still held a softness, a distinctly feminine grace that only accentuated her power. Around her waist hung a medallion, intricate and mesmerizing, depicting a man standing before a beast, and behind them both, an endless starry sky encompassed them all—a symbol of boundless dominion.

But what caught Lilith's eye most were the familiar silver marks beneath the woman's eyes, identical to those of the little bunny. The realization struck her like a thunderbolt—this was no ordinary creature, and it certainly wasn't here to spectate her death.

The woman's eyes flicked to Lilith briefly, a glimmer of recognition and a hint of something unreadable passing over her face before she turned her gaze to the reapers. Her expression shifted to one of cold, unyielding authority. The wrath demons hesitated, their jeers and mocking laughter falling silent under her piercing gaze.

______________

One of the reapers sneered, his jagged teeth glinting in the eerie, distorted light around them. "Who the hell is this giant bitch interrupting our fun?"

The towering woman didn't bother responding with words. Instead, she lifted one finger, pointed directly at him, and three golden orbs manifested above his head while seven black ones materialized within his body, glowing faintly beneath his skin. With a twist of her wrist, the orbs abruptly switched positions, an act that seemed almost trivial to her. But the effect was devastating.

The reaper's body convulsed, his flesh dissolving into a writhing mass of numen as his soul reshaped, coated grotesquely in twisted sinew and muscle, an inverse of its natural form. His meridians, now little more than dark, sinewy tentacles, writhed and crawled like a mutated creature, dragging themselves across the ground in a sickly, tumorous mass. His screams were barely coherent as his malformed body finally collapsed, oozing into a pool of festering corruption.

The woman's voice carried a chill as she observed the grotesque result of her work. "I heard souls here have seven po and three hun. The hun represents the energy, mind, and cultivation, while the po represents the body. It's unfortunate his got switched around."

Lilith frowned, her mind reeling. That was an ancient, long-disproven theory—an outdated attempt to understand the complexities of the soul. They knew by now that the soul wasn't composed of differing parts but was a singular entity interwoven with one's cuumulated layers, true soul and meridians. Spectral entities could debunk the idea alone. Yet this woman wielded it as though it were fact, and somehow, it had worked.

"You dumb bitch!" another reaper roared, launching himself toward her with fury blazing in his eye sockets. The woman merely flicked her fingers, her expression almost bored, and suddenly, reality seemed to split. Half the world around them was cast in an impenetrable black, while the other half shone a blinding white. Between the two was a thin, gray line, extending far into the horizon.

When the colors faded, everything in that line's path had been cleanly severed, including the reaper and several of his comrades. Even space itself. Their bodies crumpled to the ground, their lifeless forms halved in neat, smoking slices. Silence settled over the remaining demons as they stared at the aftermath in shock.

"Oh ho, are you afraid?" she said, her lips curving into a chilling, dagger-filled grin. "You have yet to feel fear."

Lilith watched, entranced, as the silver marks beneath the woman's eyes shifted, revealing a second pair of eyes, each one piercing and brimming with ancient, dreadful power. An overwhelming weight descended upon the battlefield, a presence so oppressive that even Lilith, though not the target, felt her own pride falter, instincts screaming at her to submit, to bow, to yield.

The woman's voice was low, cold, and commanding. "Fear is the act of giving power to another. It is submission in its truest form. It makes the body soft and the will weak. And you are subject to it."

At her words, black halos appeared above the heads of several reapers, marking them as if by fate. Their skeletal bodies, once formidable and rigid, began to soften, melting as though their bones had turned to clay. They slumped to the ground, limbs dangling like wilted branches, their flames snuffed out in an instant as the very essence of their numen drained away, siphoned into the woman's being.

The remaining reapers gritted their teeth, casting defensive mental arts in a desperate attempt to resist the aura of fear bearing down upon them, but more and more continued to succumb. One by one, they fell like puppets with their strings cut, their bodies limp and helpless.

She tilted her head, as if amused. "Well, that's enough of that, isn't it? Now, let's be clear: none of you should even think about killing yourselves." Her grin widened, and Lilith felt a chill. "I need to kill you myself to get my fill."

Lilith couldn't look away, caught between horror and fascination. The woman's face, twisted in that grin, was somehow both hideous and beautiful, her smile a perfect storm of malevolent delight and terrifying calm.

The reapers, enraged by her taunting, roared in unison and surged forward. But she merely flicked her tail, the void-black appendage shimmering with a quantum-like dark light. In an instant, shadows erupted from beneath the reapers taking the form of her tail, coiling up like serpents before shooting straight through their skulls, leaving gaping holes where their heads had been. More reapers charged, only to find themselves rooted to the ground as if bound by unseen chains, their legs sinking into the shadowy earth.

"What the hell is happening? Why can't we move?" one of them screamed, panic lacing his voice.

The woman's expression remained placid, even casual. "If one's shadow is a sea representing all their yin, how could they escape drowning in that sea? It is one's shadow that will always follow them after all." She watched impassively as the reapers struggled, their bones snapping as they sank deeper, terror distorting their hollow faces.

A desperate reaper managed to break free, his bony hand brandishing a curved blade as he charged toward her, intending to cleave her head from her shoulders. She didn't flinch. With a subtle flick of her wrist, a reversal of black and white spread across the battlefield. In an instant, his weapon clattered to the ground, his head following suit as it slid cleanly off his neck, his body frozen in place.

"She may be big, but her body is weak!" The reaper wielding the samadhi artifact bellowed, his voice desperate yet rallying. "If we get close, she's finished!" He gestured at her, trying to embolden his comrades, who were already visibly shaken by her display.

Lilith's gaze shifted to the woman's face, catching a brief flicker of amusement that quickly vanished. She knew right then—the reapers were walking into their own deaths.

They surged forward, their collective roar tearing through the void. The woman simply flapped her golden wings, and from behind her, an image of the sun appeared, radiant and burning with an almost sentient intensity. Its light was neither warm nor comforting; it cast an ominous glow, rising above her head like a harbinger of doom.

"The sun, in many places, is the origin of life, the center of fate," she murmured, her voice carrying across the battlefield. "A rising sun is a symbol of luck and fortune for some. What they don't tell you, though, is that for one to rise, another must fall."

Lilith could see an aura emanating from her, not from the surrounding world but from within herself, wrapping around her in an ethereal shroud. It puzzled her—she'd met cultivators who could manipulate fortune, but fortune was supposed to be an external, unpredictable force. Here, it radiated from the woman's very being, as though she embodied luck itself.

The effect was immediate. The reapers' ranks dissolved into chaos, their attacks misfiring, spells fizzling into useless sparks, some even turning on each other in frenzied confusion. One reaper's cultivation base destabilized, and he exploded in a violent burst of numen, sending fragments of his form scattering across the battlefield.

The woman exhaled, a faint hint of exertion in her eyes. "Admittedly, that one took a bit out of me." She turned, grinning at Lilith, her expression less terrifying, even a little playful. "But it's nice to show off every once in a while."

Lilith's gaze shifted, catching sight of a reaper charging toward the woman's exposed side. She opened her mouth to shout a warning, but before the words left her lips, two linked portals—one golden, one black—materialized behind the woman. The reaper surged forward, running directly into the portal. His body split apart, each half sucked into the respective portals and reappearing disjointedly at opposite ends. His torso and legs fell in a crumpled heap, his severed head rolling several feet away, eyes still wide in shock. That was something she could not do with her current power over space.

And the woman hadn't even turned her head.

The battlefield erupted in chaos as the reaper leader bellowed, "She's protecting the wretch! Go all out—aim everything at her!" With that command, the reapers converged, dark flames and spectral energies twisting together as they charged up their attacks. The air buzzed with the malevolent hum of building energy, each reaper pushing themselves to unleash the entirety of their wrath and fury in one final assault.

The woman remained perfectly still, an unyielding statue amidst the growing tempest. Her face betrayed neither fear nor worry. As the reapers' combined blast roared toward her, a shimmering halo materialized above her head, radiating an ethereal blend of gold and black—a celestial glow infused with a depth and darkness that defied conventional light. She raised her hands, and with a simple motion, stretched out her fingers as if gripping something intangible.

"Polarity split…" she murmured, her voice a soft chant that carried across the battlefield. Her words were laced with ancient power. "Without yin and yang, there is no chaos. Without chaos, there is no form."

Threads of black and gold energy spiraled outward from her hands, spreading across the oncoming attacks like an intricate web. Reality itself seemed to tremble as her energy met the oncoming assault, and in a stunning act, she tore her hands apart as if rending fabric. A ripple spread through the air, colliding with the reapers' combined power, and then everything stilled. Their attacks, raw and relentless, stuttered, frozen mid-flight, each blast suspended by an invisible force. With a single, decisive motion, she wrenched her hands apart, and the attacks disintegrated, fracturing into streams of numen particles that floated into the void before vanishing completely.

Lilith watched in disbelief. To disperse another's attack in such a manner was a feat bordering on the impossible. This woman was rewriting the rules of battle itself. Yet the reaper leader smirked, his flame-wreathed form flickering with grim determination as he activated a hidden art, a last-ditch technique that brought him directly above the woman. Fueled by his life force, the flames of samadhi blazed even brighter, imbuing his artifact with destructive potential beyond its limits. He swung down with every ounce of hatred he could muster, the artifact a meteor of wrath descending upon her.

The woman's head tilted, almost as if she were mildly intrigued. Her hand shot up in a blur, catching the scythe in her grip. The purifying flames danced across her fingers, licking her skin with searing, unrelenting heat.

Lilith's heart raced. "Don't touch that!" she shouted, her voice raw with alarm. "It's a purifying flame—it can wound you, maybe beyond healing, even if you're not a demon!"

"That's right! You're done for now!" the reaper leader laughed, his voice frenzied as he poured the last of his power into the artifact. The flames intensified, spreading over the woman's hand. But instead of recoiling, she merely examined the fire, her eyes narrowed in cold curiosity. Her four eyes traced the tendrils of heat as if studying each particle, each strand of numen interwoven within the flames.

A derisive chuckle escaped her, laden with contempt. "I see," she murmured. "The concept here is one of purification, of erasing anything that cannot transcend the sea of suffering. All creatures with form, all with history, can be unmade by this flame." Her eyes gleamed with disdain. "A respectable attempt. However, to me, this is merely a warm fire. Such tricks are feeble against us."

Her grip tightened, and with a bone-crunching sound, she clenched her fist around the scythe. The artifact shattered, fragments of twisted metal scattering as the flames dissipated in a last, futile gasp. Before the reaper could react, she grasped him by the throat, lifting him into the air. A pulse of black and gold energy extended from her hand, binding him in place with shimmering tendrils, locking him in midair.

Desperation flooded his eyes as she summoned two orbs of pure energy, each a churning, impossible color—a fusion of black and gold, a hue beyond mortal comprehension. She took a deep breath, the orbs swallowing the orbs like candy, and as she exhaled, a beam of that unknowable color burst from her mouth, aimed directly at the struggling reaper.

The beam struck him, erasing him from existence. His scream was obliterated before it even left his lips, his form dissolved into nothingness as the beam continued its path, slicing through the void. The very sky itself tore open, reality ruptured by the sheer force of her energy. Lilith, her own supernatural senses heightened, could see the path of destruction extend beyond their battlefield, stretching to a distant planet which crumbled into fragments under the impact, vaporized without a trace.

As the beam faded, a wound in the fabric of space remained, a dark scar in the cosmos that pulsed with residual energy, the edges frayed and bleeding as the universe struggled to mend itself. The void held a profound silence, as if every particle of matter and every sliver of numen around them was holding its breath.

Lilith's gaze shifted from the rift back to the woman, but the reapers had seen enough. Panic seized them, and with fear clouding their judgment, they turned to flee, abandoning all semblance of order. Yet the woman's response was swift; in an instant, she moved faster than Lilith's eyes could follow, appearing in the path of each reaper. With brutal efficiency, her hands, her tail, even her wings struck out, decapitating each demon with flawless precision. Heads rolled, bodies fell, and in seconds, the remaining enemies lay scattered, lifeless, across the ground.

Her task complete, the woman allowed herself a single glance over the field of corpses, her four eyes glowing with a satisfied glint. Every reaper had been slain. She turned to Lilith, who was struggling to keep her eyes open, her vision dimming as her injuries took their toll. The adrenaline faded, and Lilith's strength finally gave out. Darkness crept into her sight, and the last thing she saw was the woman's towering form standing amidst the destruction, a silent guardian or perhaps a monster in the void.

Lilith's world slipped away, her consciousness succumbing to the weight of her wounds. But even as she drifted into unconsciousness, a sense of triumph filled her. Her enemies were dead, and even if she died here, she would go down with her pride intact. She allowed herself to fall, her battered body surrendering to rest, confident that whatever happened next she would not be violated. At least she could take comfort in that.

___________

When Lilith's eyes fluttered open, she was greeted by the crackling warmth of a flame nearby. She blinked, the scent of something rich and savory filling the air. Holy shit. They were cooked—literally. The woman who had saved her was crouched by the fire, cracking the bones of the fallen reapers open to suck out the marrow, savoring each bite before crunching the bones themselves with unnerving relish.

Lilith turned her head, curiosity getting the better of her. The woman's lower pair of eyes were closed, appearing like intricate tattoos that marked her face. She wondered how it worked—how those eyes seemed to open and close at will, turning from mere tattoos into something more.

The woman glanced over, noticing her stir, a glint of humor and something far more indeterminable flashing in her gaze. "Hmm, you're awake?" She gestured to the fire, her grin almost predatory. "Come on, eat with me."

There was a confidence, an intensity in her invitation, but Lilith had never been one to be easily swayed. She sat up slowly, dusting herself off. "I cannot. I'm no cannibal, but… I appreciate your help, benefactor." She squared her shoulders, her pride shining through even in her exhausted state. "I am Lilith of House Superbia, one of the foremost houses in the Circle of Pride. A knight-class demon of the sixth layer." She inclined her head respectfully, feeling no shame in acknowledging the debt. "I swear, I shall repay this favor in full."

The woman stood up, her towering five-meter form casting a long shadow over Lilith. She looked down with an expression that was both calm and quietly intense, her piercing gaze sizing her up. "So you won't eat with me, even though I just saved your life?" She phrased it like a question, but her tone sent a chill down Lilith's spine, its edge unmistakable. Lilith barely had a chance to respond when, suddenly, she found herself swept up in the woman's powerful arms, held aloft as effortlessly as a doll.

"Well, if you won't eat, I guess I'll just have to punish you… in the bedroom," the woman said with a mischievous grin, striding purposefully away from the fire with Lilith in tow.

A laugh bubbled up from Lilith's throat despite herself, a helplessly incredulous sound. "Hoh? So you did save me just to drag me off to bed, huh?" She couldn't help but smirk, the absurdity of the situation settling over her. For a demon of pride, she found herself surprisingly relaxed in the strange woman's grip.

The woman's grin only widened, her voice a low, playful rumble. "Oh? So you can laugh, huh?" Her shoulders shook with laughter, the two of them sharing a moment of levity in the otherwise bleak aftermath of battle.

Lilith's smirk turned teasing. "You didn't actually go through all that trouble just to whisk me away, right?" she asked, cocking an eyebrow.

The woman chuckled as she set Lilith down, her form shrinking in a shimmering, graceful shift until she stood at a more modest height—still a good head taller than Lilith, though, at a solid eight feet. She grinned down, that playful glint now fully visible in her eyes.

"Halfway serious, actually," she admitted with a grin that was equal parts bold and mischievous. "I like what I see, Lilith. I want you to be my woman."

Lilith felt her pulse quicken, but she held her composure, feeling a strange warmth bubbling up within her. She was young by demon standards, not even close to her prime, and in truth, she'd never had much chance for these kinds of games—flirting, laughing. Even amongst the Circle of Pride, her life had been one of ambition and isolation. This… this was new, and strangely exhilarating.

She tilted her head, giving the woman a sly look. "And what if I'd said no? What would you have done then?"

The woman's gaze flickered to the field of dead reapers, her lips quirking up. "Funny how I don't see any witnesses around," she replied, tapping her head with feigned innocence.

Lilith snorted, barely able to stifle her laughter. "Ewww, Satan-damned disgusting," she muttered, both of them erupting into shared laughter, the sound echoing over the silent remains of the battlefield.

As their laughter subsided, the woman's expression softened. She stepped closer, wrapping her arms around Lilith in a sudden, unguarded embrace, her forehead resting gently against Lilith's. Her smile, while still laced with mischief, held a rare warmth that seeped into Lilith's bones.

"You've been through a lot," the woman murmured, her voice quieter now, intimate. "From now on, we're friends."

Lilith arched an eyebrow, though a smirk tugged at her lips. "Do I get a choice in the matter?" she asked, her voice a teasing lilt.

"No," the woman responded without missing a beat, her grin unfaltering.

For a moment, Lilith felt her usual guardedness slip, a strange lightness settling over her. Right now, she didn't want to think about the endless challenges, the ambition, the debts she'd pledged herself to. All she knew was that, in this moment, she had found someone who understood the blood-stained path she walked, someone who had waded through fire and bone to stand by her side. There was a raw, unspoken bond that thrummed between them, the beginning of something unbreakable.

"Well," she said finally, her voice a murmur as she met the woman's gaze. "What's the name of my new friend, then?"

The woman smiled, a genuine, almost shy curve to her lips as she answered, "Lervea. Just Lervea."

And with that, they stood side by side, two demons amidst the ashes, bound by fate, blood, and a friendship forged in battle.

 

[Behemoth.]

Fun, Scum, and Heroes
________________

Garran scratched his head, groaning with frustration. The morning suns streamed through the thick canvas curtain in his room, casting patches of seven colored light that danced across the bare stone floor. It was early, and yet his day had already been brimming with concerns—a long series of meetings with Hati and the village elders had consumed his thoughts. As the general of Wolvenblade, his responsibilities often centered on the village's safety and its precarious resources. Today, however, the focus of their meetings had been the persistent shortage of resin, which placed the village at significant risk during the approaching meteor storms. Resin Day was upon them, a day when the villagers would reinforce the great wall with protective coatings of resin, yet supplies were running dangerously low as they only had enough for a single coat.

Garran had also found himself repeatedly defending his strategy regarding the goblins. Although the village had grown stronger since his father had struck an alliance with the Satyr—a move that had bolstered their defenses and unified the villagers—there were still many resources they lacked. Shadow cores and other essential cultivation materials remained out of reach, and it didn't help that the goblins, who were masters of maneuvering through the dense forests, guarded these resources zealously. Occasionally clashing with those of the great canid clan as well heightening tensions. Garran had crossed paths with them on numerous occasions, but each encounter had ended the same way: he and his men were forced to retreat, their attempts thwarted by the goblins' mastery over the terrain and their stealth given their shadow cores. It gnawed at him, that feeling of being outsmarted on his own turf.

Rubbing the back of his neck, he tossed on a pair of worn green pants and pulled a simple white shirt over his shoulders. Before leaving his room, he grabbed his spear, its polished handle familiar and reassuring in his hand. He took a moment to glance around his room. It was spartan, bearing only a few wooden shelves adorned with ceremonial wolf teeth and small figurines—heirlooms from his ancestors, members of the Lupus line, who had ruled Wolvenblade for generations. Garran was heir to that legacy, and one day, the mantle of leadership would fall on his shoulders. His training, his relentless drive, was all for that. He would be the one to uphold the honor and history of the Lupus line. Maybe then, he thought, he'd have the means to bring lasting change—not just for the village, but perhaps even for Hati and Lain.

Pushing these thoughts aside, Garran stepped out of his room and into the hallway, his footsteps echoing softly on the wooden floorboards. The Lupus family home was the largest in the village, built long ago by his ancestors. Its walls were adorned with old tapestries, each one woven with images of fierce wolves, symbols of the Lupus line's strength and tenacity. Flickering torchlight cast long shadows across the walls, lending the house a timeless, almost reverent air.

As he made his way down the corridor, he heard voices filtering through the air, voices he immediately recognized. They were coming from his father's study.

"With things as they are now, perhaps it's time we consider it. The village has struggled for years, and these attacks are only growing worse," the raspy voice of Baya, the village's eldest elder and head priestess, drifted through the partially open door. "I believe the plan, Remus, but maybe… just maybe, we need a backup. Perhaps they could help."

"It's been several generations since our people established themselves here. What is the measure of a man, of a people, if not their pride?" His father's voice was thick with conviction. "I understand the need for pragmatism, but I will not betray the dreams of my ancestors so easily."

"Bagyagyagya," Baya's throaty laughter echoed down the corridor. "Remus, I understand, truly. All I'm suggesting is that we prepare for the worst. I'm not saying we abandon anything, but we must ensure our survival, so that our people are never truly lost." Her voice softened, as if trying to temper her words.

"Wolvenblade is on an upward path, Baya," Remus replied, his tone firm. "We don't need it, and even if we did, would it really make things better? This village is my home, and I will not forsake the path we've chosen. This is the will of the first Lupus, our ancestor! You, of all people, should know that."

Garran paused, leaning against the wall as he listened. It was rare to hear his father speak with such intensity, and rarer still to hear him debate with Baya. Their voices crackled with history and passion, carrying the weight of lives spent defending the village and its traditions.

"Pride cannot shield our people, Remus," Baya continued, her tone calm but unyielding. "It cannot fill their bellies or sustain their lives."

Remus let out a heavy sigh, a creak sounding as he likely leaned back in his chair. "And if we did consider it, would it really change anything? Would it solve the deeper issues we face? Or might it make matters worse? After all this time just how much has changed?"

"A chance, Remus," Baya pressed, her voice thick with determination. "A path, a variable, a hope. Hope is more substantial than legacy, no matter how old. The hope for survival, for the possibility of change, will always outweigh the weight of history. People face forward for a reason, Remus. Our eyes, our feet, our nose, we are born with them all facing forward into the distance."

Garran heard another deep sigh from his father, followed by the soft groan of a chair shifting. He could almost picture his father's weary expression, the lines of responsibility etched deeply into his face.

"Very well, Baya," Remus said finally, his voice tinged with exhaustion. "I'll consider it, but let's not rush into decisions."

"Bagyagyagya," Baya chuckled. "You've grown just a little, Remus. I remember when you used to wet the village houses and drove poor Arthas to madness with your pranks!"

"Uggh, must you bring that up?" Remus laughed, a rare sound, though tinged with fondness.

As their laughter echoed through the hallway, Garran continued down the corridor, his mind buzzing with questions. Despite his position, there was still much about the village's deeper matters that he wasn't privy to. He knew about the attacks, the escalating conflicts, and, of course, his father's alliance with the Satyr. And naturally, he knew the matter regarding his uncle and his choices. Yet, the conversation he'd just overheard was different—it touched on something deeper, an object or perhaps a plan related to the Lupus lineage and the village's survival. One day, he would inherit that legacy, and when that time came, he would bear the full weight of these responsibilities. He felt that truth pressing on his shoulders now, a burden he knew he had to carry with pride.

With that pride came a sense of duty that was as heavy as it was sacred. To be the Lupus heir meant devoting his life to the village, ensuring its safety and prosperity, and bearing the weight of every decision. The mantle was his alone, and while it sometimes felt stifling, Garran found himself oddly comforted by it. A life without purpose would be worse—wouldn't it? Perhaps being free, carefree, and driven by nothing but personal desires was better, but such thoughts felt foreign to him, almost dangerous. After all, he had seen that kind of life before… lived by that man. And yet, even if he dared ask about the matters discussed in his father's study, he knew the answer would be the same as it always had been: "Not yet."

As Garran turned away, a flicker of frustration twisted his brow. He was old enough to defend the village, to bleed and perhaps even die for it. But he was not old enough, it seemed, to share in all its secrets. Resigned to his fate, he shouldered his spear and moved toward the door, murmuring under his breath, "One day, I'll understand. And when I do, I'll do right by all of you."

The village's cacophony of sounds greeted him as he stepped outside. The rhythmic hammering of artisans preparing for Resin Day, the murmur of villagers bustling around the market stalls, and the distant laughter of children—all these sounds filled the air, grounding him in the present. Garran took a deep breath, inhaling the earthy scent of resin and the warm tang of the forest beyond. One day, the weight of his birthright would settle fully on his shoulders. And on that day, he vowed to himself, he would be ready. Until then, he'd leave it to the future him.

_____________

Midea shook his head, his patience wearing thin as he looked at the rotund, wolf-like figure standing before him. Bardo, the village blacksmith, was quite the sight: though his belly hung prominently over his belt, his arms were as thick as tree trunks, packed with sinuous muscle. Each movement of his forearms displayed cords of strength and power beneath his weathered skin. His shoulders bulged with the kind of muscular density only years of intense labor could carve into a man, a physique befitting a smith. Deep black hair, flecked with streaks of gray at the temples, framed his bald scalp. Bardo's sweat-slicked face and bellowing voice only added to his rough character. Though he was capable of shaping the most intricate weapons and armor, his understanding of runes was, to put it kindly, lacking.

"Oh ho! But why are you putting the runes on top of one another and in opposite formation?" Bardo asked, squinting down at the length of polished wood in his hands. His thick fingers traced over the pattern with a mix of curiosity and confusion.

The weapon in his hand was carefully marked with runes—multiple wards aligned to reinforce its structure. On a separate piece of wood, identical symbols were drawn, inverted, and arranged in an opposite order. Midea's brow furrowed slightly. He had gone through this with Bardo six times already, each time trying to break it down into simpler terms, yet here they were again.

"This is the property of repulsion," Midea explained, his voice measured but tinged with exasperation. "It invokes aspects of yin and yang, opposites, to make it simpler for you to understand. Certain wards, when applied in this mirrored and opposite order, strengthen the overall effect. It's crucial, though, that the components be precise—intention, perfect separation, and exact reflection are essential. If any one of these elements is off, then, congratulations, you'll have an explosion on your hands."

He paused, observing Bardo's blank expression. Was he getting through? With a sigh, Midea tried once more to explain the intricate process. "You see, the structure of these runes must align perfectly with the Dao. When inverting them, you're not just drawing a reflection—you're mirroring a fragment of the Dao itself. Everything, from the placement of the wards to the spacing between them, must be precise. A margin of error greater than one percent, and the weapon becomes a liability. This is why a numen-conductive surface is needed between the layers."

Midea could feel his own frustration simmering, but he kept his voice steady. Repulsion techniques were complex; they required an understanding that went beyond physical labor and into the realms of spiritual insight. But if Bardo could master this, the village would benefit immensely. Weapons enhanced with runic repulsion would provide a significant boost to Wolvenblade's defenses.

"I'll be here to oversee the process until you get it right," he continued, a note of finality in his tone. "I'll also bring several soldiers to assist and observe. Surya herself will join us. She may even act as your instructor where I cannot."

Bardo's face twisted in shock, and then, almost immediately, contempt took over. "Why the hell would I take instruction from that little girl?" he scoffed, his eyes narrowing. "Are you crazy? I don't need some winged little monster prancing around my shop, pretending to know more than I do. And I sure as hell don't need soldiers underfoot, especially if that little runt Hati is among them."

Midea's patience cracked, just for a moment. He had little tolerance for the traditions of this village if they would actively impede his duties. He fixed Bardo with a chillingly calm stare, his tone unyielding. "Are you gay, Bardo?" he asked, voice edged with sarcasm. "Because if not, I assure you, being around a woman will neither corrupt you nor cause your precious shop to crumble. We're talking about the defense of this village, something that concerns life and death. Your petty complaints are pathetic in the face of the sins you'll bear if your stubbornness leads to Wolvenblade's fall. You will accept the help of soldiers, including Hati, if she's assigned, and Surya will be present, whether you like it or not. That girl and her brother saved your miserable hide, Bardo. Show some respect. Do you understand me?"

Bardo's face reddened, the flush creeping up his neck and spreading across his cheeks. Anger and embarrassment flared in his eyes, his hands twitching with barely restrained frustration. After a tense pause, he let out a begrudging sigh, nodding stiffly.

"Good." Midea's voice held an icy satisfaction. "Now, as for the conductive material, use basic plant oils—no precious herbs or high-grade materials. Mix it with animal fat to create a waxy coating, something similar to the candles you make. The flesh of living beings retains traces of numen even in death, carrying the essence of creation itself. Once you have that wax coating, apply it over the wards on the weapon. Bind it securely with a strong adhesive, then wrap it with string. And let me be clear, if that adhesive isn't stable, the weapon won't just fail; it'll likely be destroyed, and the backlash could injure or kill any soldier wielding it."

Bardo's brow furrowed as he processed Midea's instructions. A few of the terms seemed to go over his head, and he scratched at his chin, a look of deep concentration settling over his face. Midea stifled another sigh and patiently went over the confusing terms, breaking them down further until the concept finally clicked. Bardo gave a slow nod, a hint of understanding dawning in his eyes.

The room was stifling, the air thick with the scent of burnt wood and metal, mingling with the sharp tang of oils and grease. The blacksmith's forge glowed behind them, casting flickering shadows across the workshop walls. Tools lined the shelves, battered from years of use, and a few unfinished weapons rested on the stone counters, their edges gleaming in the forge's light. It was an environment that suited Bardo—brutal, practical, a place where strength and skill determined worth.

Finally, when Bardo seemed to grasp the entire process, Midea turned to leave, feeling a peculiar sense of relief. Dealing with Bardo was, to put it mildly, taxing. The blacksmith's bullheadedness and ingrained prejudices had made every moment in his presence an ordeal. There were several points in that conversation alone where Midea had been sorely tempted to slice off the man's fingers just to make a point. But now, at least, he could walk away with the knowledge that the village's defenses would soon be strengthened, thanks to his guidance.

Midea's hooves echoed on the stone floor as he left the workshop, his mind already shifting to the next task at hand. It was good for his soul, he supposed, to exercise patience—even if that soul was as demonic as his. And maybe, just maybe, he had planted a seed of change in Bardo's stubborn mind, though he wasn't holding his breath.

___________

Midea shook his head, tuning out Bardo's lingering grumbles as his thoughts drifted back to the morning's events. Today marked the village's holiday, Resin Day, and as if summoned by the oddities of the celebration, Surya had somehow been infected by a leech—a parasitic creature that was just one part of the absurd fauna in this world. Remarkably, her body had destroyed it entirely. He still had no idea how she had managed it. With no ability to actively manipulate her own internal physiology via numen, she should have been at the mercy of the parasite. The only explanation he could think of was her bloodline.

Certain races, families, or ancient lineages bore potent marks of cultivation inscribed in their very bodies, passed down through generations and imprinted in their bloodlines. Such people typically descended from powerful beings, inheriting traits, defenses, and even abilities. Midea himself had a bloodline, though it wouldn't have helped him in that situation without numen. Still, there was a more unnerving possibility—that her ability to fight off the leech could be a natural fact of her biology, akin to how wolfmen, and most demons and biological beings, bore a powerful heart that pumped their lifeblood. That sort of thing wasn't a bloodline it was just a fact of how they functioned. If her ability was instinctive rather than acquired, it made her nature even more formidable, and that was saying something.

The children had already surprised him numerous times with their uncanny adaptability. They had grown accustomed to weight and gravity faster than any ordinary being, adjusting to their training with a startling speed that far exceeded his expectations. Midea was impressed, though even they tired eventually. They'd gone to wash up and rest after their encounter with the "ring infestor" parasite this morning, and he was fairly certain Hati would have dragged Surya for a check-up before running off to handle her own duties. Likely, she would rouse them both later for the holiday after her tasks were done.

As for himself, Midea planned to join the festivities. It would be a way to build a positive reputation among the villagers, helping him to integrate further. He needed their goodwill, not just for the children's benefit but for his own. He wanted aid in venturing into the forest to seek cultivation resources without risking his life to do so. Soon, he would reach the ninth shackle of the second layer—a milestone he'd been preparing for diligently. Accumulating power for as long as he could, he aimed to maximize his cultivation to make his eventual evolution to the third layer all the more significant. But the prospect of his impending tribulation left him feeling cautious, even uneasy.

Midea knew that his trial wouldn't be simple. As a genius, the intensity of his tribulation would likely dwarf whatever Remus had endured. This village lacked any resources or supports to help him through it, making his breakthrough that much more dangerous. Despite this, he couldn't afford to falter. He needed the power for influence and, ultimately, to protect the children. His recent reputation—fueled by his and Surya's claims of being blessed by the sun and by his own actions—had already earned him some influence. But the third layer, where only the chieftain currently stood, would signify something much greater. Reaching it would position him as someone worthy of the villagers' trust and support. Another third-layer warrior was a history-altering event for the village, and it would mark Midea as someone the people needed to follow.

With the support of Surya and her brother, the possibility of forming a genuine faction loomed tantalizingly close. Perhaps it wouldn't be a fully-fledged faction just yet, but it could serve as the foundation for one, a step toward a larger vision. He was especially glad that the siblings were becoming close with Garran and Hati. He himself had made a conscious effort to be more personable. Power, combined with strong allies, meant safety, and safety meant the freedom to pursue his ambitions. If all went according to plan, this village would be a crucial stepping stone on his road to power—one that could even aid in his eventual rise in Hell. Well in the fact that it would help him save the kids that is.

With a heavy sigh, he began the trek back down to the house, his hooves crunching against the rough stone path that ran through the village. Shadows stretched long across the ground as the sun angled lower, casting a warm golden hue that softened the rough edges of Wolvenblade. The rustic houses, with their dark wood and sturdy foundations, stood shoulder to shoulder, their walls covered in ivy and moss, the scent of damp earth lingering in the air. Flowers—wild and bright—grew along the path, patches of blue and yellow breaking up the deep greens of the village's natural flora. Wisps of smoke curled from the chimneys, and the faint sounds of laughter drifted through the air as the villagers began to prepare for the evening's celebration.

Arriving at the house, he paused to take in the quiet. It was peaceful here, the quiet hum of village life muted in this corner of Wolvenblade. He knew the children were likely asleep, their small frames curled up and resting from the day's events, or else Hati might still be there, keeping an eye on them. He turned to walk away. He might as well not disturb them. It had been a crazy morning after all. They would get up at their own pace.

________________

Tanya rubbed her eyes, feeling the rough weave of the sheets against her skin. The lingering drowsiness was broken by a rustling sound at the edge of her awareness. Oddly, she felt well-rested despite yesterday's grueling ordeal—lifting a boulder, climbing up what might as well have been a gravity well, and being swallowed whole more times than she'd like to recall. Yet here she was, fully recovered, as if her body had somehow restored itself in mere hours. It was a strange sensation, realizing how fundamentally different she was from her former self, like a chasm had formed between her and who she used to be. Tanya, the child, had faded into Surya, a being molded by resilience and strength. She was Surya now, in every sense of the name; Tanya barely existed anymore.

After her checkup, the ring infestor had been confirmed dead within her body. Though the doctors couldn't perform a diagnostic with their numen, they found no symptoms lingering, only murmurs of curiosity over her unusual biology. Eyes blinking against the light, she glanced around and spotted Tarak getting dressed. His brown skin stood out sharply against the cool-toned woodwork of their room, a reminder of how vividly their presence contrasted with this new world.

"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

"Oh, sister! I didn't know whether or not to wake you up, given… everything." He paused, casting a glance toward the door. "I heard sounds outside, something's going on in the village. I thought I'd go see wha—"

Boom!

A deafening sound echoed through the house, shaking the front door on its hinges. Tanya snapped to attention, every fiber of her being sharpening into alertness. Tarak tensed too, stepping back into the shadows behind the door, preparing himself. The door crashed open, and in a split-second, they leaped into action, hurling themselves at the intruder. Only as they collided did they pull back their attacks, their limbs tangled in a mess of limbs and laughter.

"Oof! The two of you sure are heavy!" came the familiar, playful voice. "Didn't know you'd be so glad to see me that you'd jump for joy! I know I'm cute, but let's not get too attached now," Hati laughed, tousling their hair as they lay sprawled atop her.

"Or could you smell my gift for you?" she added, grinning slyly.

Gift? Tanya's heart leaped in anticipation; she knew that meant Rannhorn milk. She watched eagerly as Hati pulled two flasks from her satchel, handing one to her and one to Tarak. She uncorked her flask, savoring the rich aroma, while her brother poked at his with a look of curiosity.

"Here, Tarak." She leaned in, uncorking his and guiding it to his lips. While Tarak looked rather large, he was still, in the end, just a child. He accepted the drink, and his eyes lit up, a delighted shiver running down his spine as he started rolling around on the ground, flask in hand, drinking gleefully.

Hati chuckled at the sight, giving Tanya's shoulder a friendly pat. "Hehe, you two should get ready. Today's Resin Day! Join in on the festivities; you'll love it. I promise!"

"Resin Day? Is that what Ms. Linda was talking about before?" Tanya raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "What exactly does it involve?"

"Just some tradition. We'll be painting the walls with resin, and at night there's fun to be had!" Hati's grin widened with excitement as she began helping Tanya pick out clothes for the day.

Tanya chose a simple aquamarine blouse, admiring its simplicity as Hati fussed over the fabric. The mention of "Resin Day" lingered in her mind, though. Resin existed in this world? With wooden walls, coating them in resin seemed logical, but given this world's peculiarities, she wondered if it served the same purpose as she remembered from Earth. Surely, they couldn't produce synthetic resin given their technology level, barely advanced enough to make glass. Why not use other methods to protect wood?

As they stomped through the narrow, winding halls, passing some of Midea's eerie, demon-themed decorations hung in alcoves and corners, she voiced her question aloud. "Why coat the walls with resin?"

Hati looked at her as though the answer was obvious. "To protect the wood against fire, of course! We coat it in Resin tree sap to defend against the fire spirits and meteor storms. You've heard about those, right?"

Tanya's mind stalled. Resin, to protect wood against fire? Resin was known to be flammable, practically nature's kindling, so why would anyone use it as a defense against literal fire spirits? Then again, these wolf-men weren't foolish, at least not most of them. If the tradition had endured long enough to become a village holiday, it was likely that this world's resin didn't burn the same way. Different suns, altered biology, and her own bizarre resilience were all reminders that the rules of her old world didn't necessarily apply here.

They reached the front door, which Hati swung open, and the scene that greeted them was a riot of color and light. Seven-hued sunlight painted the village in dazzling streaks, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across everything it touched. Streamers of all shades fluttered in the breeze, stretched from house to house, carried by children and adults alike as they wound through the narrow, cobblestone streets. Children dashed around in handmade wolf masks that seemed to symbolize Fenrir, while small red carvings of twisted, shriveled trees decorated nearly every doorway and windowsill, marking the celebration. The unique wood of the village homes, with its greenish-blue tint, had been brushed with streaks of red paint, lending an air of solemn beauty to the rustic structures.

Near the center of the village, a long line had formed at what looked like a large wooden cart, where soldiers and priestesses handed out buckets of thick, yellowish sap to each villager who passed by. They were funneling the entire village toward the outer walls. Even from here, Tanya could hear the hum of excited chatter, the squeals of children, and the sporadic crackling sound as villagers dipped brushes and rollers into the resin and began painting wide swathes of the wall with the sticky substance.

"Let's go!" Hati grinned, already pulling Tanya and Tarak forward, her excitement infectious as she tugged them into the bustling, lively crowd.

______________

"Resin day, Resin day!"
"Oh, I can't wait for nighttime. I hope we win this year!"
"Do you think if I confessed, she'd accept it because of the festival spirit?"
"My brother, you look like a prolapsed asshole—even if you achieved apotheosis and became like Fenrir, she wouldn't accept you."
"Fuck you, dude…"

Excitement charged the air as villagers milled about, their voices carrying over the sounds of feet pounding the earth, laughter mingling with curses, and the occasional yelp as someone jostled or playfully shoved another. Children wove through the crowd, tugging on skirts and tugging one another toward painted booths and festive displays. Hati dragged Tanya and Tarak through the bustling throng, stopping to chat with some of the soldiers who leaned against a stand doling out buckets of resin and brushes, making playful jabs at them before collecting their supplies. Their feet kicked up clouds of dust as they made their way to the village wall, drawing glances and nods of approval, but also whispers and sidelong glances that lingered a bit too long on Tarak, reminding Tanya that, despite their service to the village, lingering fear and distrust still clung to her brother.

"We're here!" Hati announced excitedly, handing each of them a bucket of resin and a brush with a flourish.

Around them, the village wall loomed high, a sturdy barrier that fortified the village year arround being painted for this occasion. Ladders lined the structure, and a throng of villagers bustled around, climbing up and down, coating every plank with the yellowish resin as they laughed and chatted. Children painted sloppy shapes on the lower portions of the wall, giggling as they sprinted back to refill their brushes, while parents shook their heads, giving affectionate smiles before continuing with their own duties.

"Alright, you two start here. I have to go find Garran and Peter! Especially that guy Garran—he'll meet Lain and then vanish for the rest of the day," Hati said, patting their heads before dashing off, leaving Tanya and Tarak to fend for themselves. Tanya couldn't help but smile, watching the spirited warrior woman disappear into the crowd with her typical boundless energy.

Tanya glanced around, feeling eyes on them as villagers whispered and glanced in their direction. Ignoring the looks, she gave her brother's hand a reassuring squeeze, nodding at him before moving toward the wall. She dipped her brush into the sticky resin and began painting, finding the repetitive strokes surprisingly calming. Still, the constant glances weighed on her, gnawing at her patience. Perhaps it was time to show them a little more of what she could do, she mused. This festival celebrated the village's strength and the defense of its people; why not give them a demonstration? After all, she and her brother were respected here precisely for their strength and the reputation she'd crafted around herself as being blessed by the sun. She should help them do their duties showing her desire to protect the village in a somewhat grand fashion.

Glancing up, she saw villagers struggling to coat the upper reaches of the wall, teetering precariously on ladders or waiting their turn. She turned to Tarak with a smile. "I'm going to help them up there, okay? Don't wander too far and… don't hurt anyone, alright?" she added, her tone soft but firm. Tarak nodded, and she ruffled his hair, a gesture he always seemed to enjoy, his eyes crinkling in quiet contentment.

With a deep breath, Tanya lifted off, her wings unfurling as she took to the sky, eliciting gasps of awe and exclamations of surprise from the crowd below. Her movements were smooth and swift as she zipped along the wall, painting the higher sections with ease. She heard soldiers on the upper platforms cheering her on, the festive energy surging as more eyes turned to watch.

"It's the Seventh Surya!"
"Look at her up there, helping everyone out. She truly is blessed by the stars, loved by Fenrir!"
"Wow, Mommy, when can I fly like that?"

Grinning, Tanya knew she'd made the right decision, her confidence growing as she moved from section to section. Spotting a soldier struggling with his balance on a shaky ladder, she flew over and offered a steadying hand, drawing grateful nods and cheers. She moved fluidly, dipping her brush in resin and swooping down for an extra dose of flair, enjoying the excitement and joy her presence seemed to bring.

Just as she was about to move to another section, she heard a loud creaking sound and turned to see a soldier, pale and unsteady, lose his grip on the ladder as he doubled over in a coughing fit. His hands slipped, and he began to plunge toward the ground.

"Lennix!" a deep, booming voice shouted from atop the wall, thick with alarm.

Without hesitation, Tanya swooped down, catching Lennix in a graceful, practiced motion, cradling him in the famous princess carry as she spun in the air for an added touch of spectacle. Cheers and gasps erupted below as she descended slowly, gently setting the soldier on his feet amidst the crowd.

"Hah! That makes two times you've been carried by women now, Lennix. Is this becoming a bad habit?" the dark-skinned soldier atop the wall bellowed with a laugh, his voice carrying over the crowd.

Lennix's face flushed red, a vein pulsing angrily on his forehead as he shot his comrade a glare, but he sighed and turned to Tanya with a respectful nod. "Thank you, Sun-Blessed," he said, inclining his head in a slight bow.

She returned the gesture, hiding a small smile. "There's no need for thanks. I'm simply doing what's needed. After all, we're all part of the pack," she replied, recalling Lain's words during the incident with Tarak. She'd learned quickly how deeply ingrained religion was here and was beginning to understand the advantages of tapping into those cultural beliefs.

A wave of admiration rippled through the crowd around her, murmurs of approval and nods of respect following her words. She bowed a bit deeper, her wings hiding a wild grin as she basked in their acceptance. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted, as flames and shadows flickered nearby, drawing startled gasps and yelps as people jumped back. And there he was—Midea, arms spread wide in an almost reverent pose, like some twisted demonic messiah. Tanya's brow twitched at the sight, wondering if he realized how absurd he looked. Really, that pose should debuff him.

"I am here to join in the festivities!" Midea proclaimed grandly, striding forward as he nodded to Lennix, drawing the crowd's attention with practiced ease. Tanya's irritation flared, but she couldn't be mad; she'd only have herself to blame for bringing so much attention to herself after all. Part of it was what she had gone through the day before.

"There are several wards here that will make falling nigh impossible," he announced, producing a stack of talismans from his cloak. He handed them out to nearby villagers, explaining, "Just stick these on your ladders. They'll create a pull to keep you steady. No more falls today."

Had this guy really tampered with the ladders? Or was she overestimating him? How would he know to make those talismans? That being said it was better to overestimate than underestimate so she'd consider that he did it. Regardless her and Tarak were helped by it so she wouldn't make a scene. The villagers around him burst into applause, clapping him on the back in thanks, smudging his cloak with sticky resin. She watched Midea's face contort briefly in irritation before he forced a smile. Tanya snickered quietly at his misfortune; sometimes, the universe had its way of delivering small victories.

Satisfied, she reached out, grabbing Midea by his six-clawed hand, startling him. He turned to her, eyebrows raised in curiosity. Without a word, she led him through the bustling crowd, weaving between clusters of villagers as they entered one of the shops near the wall, which had been left empty for the holiday.

The interior was dim, illuminated only by slivers of light streaming through the gaps in the wooden walls, casting long shadows over rows of tools and herbs hanging in bundles from the low ceiling. Dust motes floated lazily in the shafts of sunlight, and the scent of dried earth and aged wood filled the air. She shut the door behind them, leaving them in a quiet, secluded space away from the festive commotion outside.

"Well then, Midea," she began, her voice low and serious, "we need to talk."

"Surya? You dragged me here for what exactly?" Midea questioned, his tone skeptical as he looked around the dimly lit shop.

"I brought you here to talk about the shades. I've come up with a plan of sorts," Tanya replied, her voice calm yet filled with determination.

"The shades, huh?" he echoed, a glimmer of interest sparking in his red eyes. "So, you've come up with a plan to get more shadow cores and free the village from the power struggle with the goblins?"

"Precisely. And you are the most essential part of that plan," she continued, her gaze unwavering. "Shades hate the light and thrive in shadows, but they're drawn to places rich with vitality. They tend to gather where there's life. You were able to control that shade before, thanks in part to your curse ward skills and because your shadow attribute aligns somewhat with theirs. Here's the idea: you set up a numen-gathering formation that uses beast blood, a few shadow cores, and your own innate energy to draw them all into one place. Essentially, we'll set out bait. The vitality from the beast blood and the lure of the shadow cores should be enough, and your numen will seal the deal."

Midea listened closely, his expression sharpening as he absorbed her words, though he soon frowned, questioning, "I can't control or kill that many shades at once. If you're thinking I can simply curse them all, it won't work. That's impossible. I would have brought it up already."

Tanya's face shifted slightly in the shadows, her violet eyes gleaming as she replied, "The shades' greatest strengths come from their spectral nature. They're almost impossible to kill, can slip away easily, and their ability to affect the soul or possess others makes them a nightmare for the average cultivator."

She leaned forward, her grin widening. "But I am not the average cultivator. Neither is my brother. We'll stand in the center of the gathering circle and kill them all."

Midea's face registered both surprise and incredulity. "You're basing this on the assumption that your ability to handle shades isn't some one-off occurrence. We don't know if the last encounter was unique, if that shade was different, or if the circumstances were special. Even if you're right and both of you can physically interact with shades, that doesn't mean you're immune to possession. You'd be facing dozens—hell, maybe even hundreds—of shades swarming you at once."

"Naturally, I'm not throwing myself into this situation without testing it first," Tanya responded, unfazed. "But if nothing else, I'm confident this body of mine is resistant, if not immune, to possession. You remember the story of my birth. And these shades—terrifying as they are to most—don't have much beyond their intangibility and possession tricks. They're physically weak, with no real numen techniques or powerful attacks. In a straightforward physical battle, they wouldn't stand a chance against either me or Tarak. From what I felt the last time, they couldn't even scratch us."

Midea's skeptical frown softened as he began to see the logic in her words, his eyes glinting with intrigue.

"Since shadow cores are vital to the village, and you'll need support setting up the formation, you'll likely have to get Remus involved," Tanya continued, her voice steady and resolute. "We'll need to run tests beforehand to ensure the viability of this approach. I'm not asking you to jump on this immediately, but I think it's a decent starting point, no?"

Midea regarded her for a moment, the wheels visibly turning in his mind. He let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head as a wide grin spread across his face. "Extraordinary. Truly extraordinary. Yes, I think it's a solid plan—very decent, indeed. If it works, we'll have a serious advantage, and our influence will only grow." He extended his hand toward her, a gesture of mutual ambition.

Without hesitation, she grasped his hand, her grip firm. They both knew the risks, the uncertainties—and the potential power that awaited if they succeeded

_____________________

Sol sprang out of bed with a burst of excitement, her mind already spinning with thoughts of Resin Day. Despite being punished severely for her recent antics, today was special, and she clung to the hope that her mother would let her join in on the festivities. Quickly, she slipped on her favorite dress—a cheerful yellow piece covered in sunflower prints. It was simple, but she adored the way the bright fabric made her feel. She dashed out of her room, her heart light and ready for fun, only to come face-to-face with her mother, Terra, standing at the doorway with an unreadable expression.

Sol's excitement faded as her mother's steely gaze met hers.

"What are you waiting for, girl? Let's go," Terra said in a flat tone, reaching out and firmly gripping Sol's hand.

The joy drained from Sol's face as Terra's cold fingers wrapped around her own, making her heart sink a little. She could feel her palm growing damp, but Terra showed no signs of letting go. Instead, she pulled Sol forward, out of the house and onto the bustling street. Around them, the village was alive with colors and sounds; children wearing wolf masks darted between the decorated poles and buildings, their laughter filling the air. For a moment, Sol managed to lose herself in the excitement, taking in the vibrant energy of her world. Lanterns in seven colors hung above, casting a warm glow across the walls, while streamers fluttered in the light breeze. Even the adults seemed a bit lighter, talking and laughing with one another as they helped each other get supplies for the day's activities.

Sol spotted some of her classmates, who waved enthusiastically and called her over. She waved back, but just as she began to step forward, Terra's grip tightened, stopping her in her tracks. She felt a pang of disappointment but didn't say anything, her gaze lingering on the groups of friends chatting happily.

They approached a small stand where a priestess with glossy black hair and striking blue eyes handed Sol a bucket filled with resin and a paintbrush. The woman's gentle smile made Sol's heart skip, and she blushed as the priestess reached down to give her a warm pat on the head.

"Terra, you should let your daughter go play at the wall," the priestess suggested softly, her voice laced with warmth.

"No need. She can stay with her mother," Terra responded coldly, her tone dismissive and mechanical.

The priestess laughed lightly. "It's a festival. Why not let her enjoy herself? Days like these don't come around all that often, you know." She beckoned over two other young girls who wore small badges signifying their priestess training, Reina and Amoux.

"Reina, Amoux, go have fun with Sol!" she encouraged with a knowing smile.

Sol's face brightened as Reina, a girl with curly blue hair and soft brown eyes, and Amoux, a pink-haired girl with bright pink eyes, each grabbed one of her hands and pulled her away from her mother. Relief and exhilaration filled her as she giggled, barely able to contain her joy. She caught a glimpse of her mother's hand hesitating in mid-air before she turned away, her expression shifting into something almost… vulnerable, before sighing deeply and walking off.

"What do you want to do when we get to the wall?" Amoux asked excitedly, her pink eyes sparkling as they made their way through the crowd.

"Yeah! We could paint Fenrir fighting Tarak on the wall and play hopscotch!" Reina chimed in, her voice as eager as her bouncy steps.

Sol laughed, a small blush creeping onto her cheeks. "I mean… Tarak isn't all that bad, actually," she mumbled, rubbing the back of her neck as both girls stared at her, shocked at her unexpected defense.

"What are you talking about? Tarak is the great evil beast!" Amoux exclaimed, her face a picture of scandalized disbelief.

Sol quickly shook her head, holding up her hands to clarify. "No, no! Not that Tarak. I mean the other Tarak, the boy."

"Ohhhh!" Both girls said in unison, realization dawning on their faces.

"You mean the cute boy with the horns and scaly tail?" Reina asked, snapping her fingers.

Sol's face turned a shade darker as she spluttered in embarrassment. "What do you mean by cute? Are you crazy? He's just a boy, and he's still little!"

Reina and Amoux exchanged knowing glances, a playful grin spreading across Amoux's face. "My mom says you're so cool and smart, but honestly, Sol, you're pretty immature when it comes to boys. Boys don't have ring infestors; they're not contagious! I mean, if they were, why would our moms be married to our dads, huh?" she said, waving her finger like a teacher.

Sol laughed nervously, feeling a sting as the thought of her own father bubbled up. Their dads huh. Well her dad was dead and gone. He was in the ground now, leaving a rift between her, her mother, and her sister. Boys may as well be infected with ring infestors. She gritted her teeth and forced herself to brush the thought away; after all, it wasn't as if she hated boys. Her outburst at Tarak the other day had just been a moment of frustration. Taking a steadying breath, she looked back at her friends with a smirk.

"Whatever! Like you two know anything about boys. I heard you both ran away from that snotty brat Greden the other day when he tried to say hi to you, Amoux," she teased, nudging her friend.

Amoux's face scrunched up in disgust as she waved her hand at her nose. "Of course I ran! Not only is he snotty, but he stinks! I don't want anything to do with him."

The three girls burst into laughter, their giggles mingling with the cheerful noises of the festival as they finally reached the wall. The streets around them were bustling; children with painted faces were running around, some playfully dashing between adults, while others smeared splashes of red and green on each other's cheeks. Vendors lined the streets, offering snacks and drinks, their stalls adorned with colorful garlands. The vibrant atmosphere was infectious, filling Sol with an excitement that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.

The wall itself was bustling with villagers, young and old, painting in groups or climbing makeshift ladders to reach the higher parts. Streamers in all seven colors draped from the wall and nearby poles, fluttering like rainbow-colored flames in the wind. Adults were supervising with indulgent smiles, while soldiers kept watch, ensuring everyone was safe amid the lively chaos. A few of the younger children painted swirls and figures on the wall, their laughter echoing with each brushstroke as parents looked on with patient affection. Every inch of the scene was alive with motion and warmth, making Sol's heart feel like it might burst.

"Resin Day, Resin Day!" someone called out, while others joined in to cheer.

"Oh, I can't wait for tonight! I just know we'll win this year!" another voice chimed in, adding to the joyful energy of the gathering.

"Hey, think if I confess, she'll accept me since it's a holiday?" a young boy asked, sounding hopeful.

Someone else snorted. "Brother, even if you became as great as Fenrir himself, you'd still look like a prolapsed asshole to her!"

"Hey, screw you, dude!"

Sol giggled, rolling her eyes at the playful banter around her. The village seemed transformed, radiating joy and anticipation. Her heart swelled as she looked at her friends, grateful that for today, she could be part of it.

__________

Sol scanned the bustling scene, her gaze darting from one familiar face to another as she searched for someone specific. After weaving through the crowds, she finally spotted him. Tarak stood at the wall, diligently painting in smooth, methodical strokes. His dark brown skin stood out starkly against the bright resin coating, while his large, sinuous tail made him instantly recognizable. Sol grinned and dashed toward him, throwing herself against his back. She barely made him budge, but she didn't mind. To her surprise, her friends Amoux and Reina followed suit, colliding with him in a cheerful pile. Sol felt a quick stab of annoyance at their enthusiasm—this was supposed to be her moment with Tarak.

"What are you all doing, piling on me like this? Please stop," he said in that calm, emotionless tone he always had.

"Wow, Sol! You talked about him earlier, but I didn't know you actually knew him this well!" Reina gushed, gripping Tarak's arm and inspecting his face with wide-eyed admiration. "He really is super pretty up close!"

With a sweeping motion, Tarak's tail wrapped around Reina's waist and pulled her off him, drawing a surprised yelp from her. He repeated the action with Amoux, then peeled Sol off himself with his hands, one by one. Sol huffed and crossed her arms, annoyed that he didn't just let her stay. After all, they were friends!

"Tarak! You promised you'd play with me today. Don't even think about breaking your word!" She shook her finger at him in a mock-threatening manner. Tarak's eyes flashed with a familiar glint before he gave a small nod, accepting her request.

"Woohoo! He's gonna play with us today!" Amoux and Reina squealed, clapping their hands together with excitement. Sol grimaced—this wasn't what she had in mind. But it was too late to back out now, and she couldn't deny that Amoux and Reina had helped her escape her mother's grip earlier. She sighed and gestured to the wall.

Amoux eagerly explained the game they were about to play, setting it up with gusto. They marked a large tic-tac-toe grid on the wall with resin, four boxes across, and Amoux took her place in the center, covering her eyes. The game was called Stop-and-Go Tic-Tac-Toe: whenever Amoux shouted "Go!" everyone would move, and as soon as she said "Stop!" she would uncover her eyes. Anyone caught moving would have to go back to the starting line. The goal was to make it across and mark a box in the grid with either an X or an O or a triangle, and the first to get four in a row would win.

"Alright, everyone ready?" Amoux grinned, covering her eyes. "Go!"

As soon as she said the word, Tarak blurred forward in a flash, disappearing behind Amoux and marking an X in one of the boxes. Sol blinked, then burst out laughing, unable to help herself. Her laughter must have caught Amoux's attention because she uncovered her eyes, laughing as well.

"Tarak! You can't run like that! You're way too fast," Sol managed between giggles, wiping tears from her eyes. "You have to walk in this game, okay?"

Tarak tilted his head, clearly confused, but he nodded and moved back to the starting line. They resumed the game, and this time, he walked, moving at their pace, which allowed Sol and Reina to keep up. He still managed to get caught by Amoux's sudden stops a few times, though, having to return to the start several times over, which only made Sol and Reina laugh even harder.

On her final approach, Sol dove past Amoux just as she shouted, "Stop!" and managed to mark the last circle, completing her row of four. She shot up, victorious.

"I win!" she crowed, her eyes shining with triumph as she grinned at Tarak. "That was fun, right?"

Tarak nodded, his expression unreadable as always, but there was something almost approving in his gaze. Sol's heart swelled with happiness at the small gesture.

Reina clapped her hands, excited. "Alright! Amoux didn't get a turn, so let's go again! I wanna see if I can win this time!"

They repeated the game several times, under the bright sky and amid the sounds of the festival. Laughter rang out as they dashed back and forth, freezing in place with exaggerated poses whenever Amoux called out "Stop!" Tarak's solemn face broke into the smallest of smiles each time he'd get caught off guard, and Sol found herself feeling lighter than she had in a long time. She couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so freely.

After their third or fourth round, they collapsed onto the grass near the wall, breathless and grinning. Sol looked up at the wall, her eyes drifting to the parts that still hadn't been painted.

"I want to paint the upper walls," she announced between pants, staring up with determination. Beside her, Tarak got to his feet, surprising her by suddenly hoisting her up onto his shoulders.

"Woahhh! Haha!" Sol's laughter bubbled up as he began to scale the wall, his movements sure and steady. As he climbed, she leaned forward, paintbrush in hand, reaching the untouched sections of the wall and adding her strokes. The whole village spread out below them, the view dazzling and vibrant, filled with color and movement. She felt an unexpected rush of gratitude as she took it all in.

High above, she could see the entire village—not just the bright, bustling parts filled with laughter and life, but the quiet corners, the shadowy, isolated areas. She suddenly felt something deeper stirring inside her. This village was her whole world, the only place she had ever known, filled with people she loved and memories she both cherished and loathed. But now, seeing it from above, she realized she didn't want it to be her entire world forever. She thought of the vast unknown beyond this village, of all the places she could go, all the experiences waiting for her. There were greater and bigger worlds out there. Like wherever Tarak had come from. She wished to take care of this world she wanted to love the things in it. She wanted her mothers love and to be with her sister. But it shouldn't be her totality no she wanted it to be one of many worlds she saw. She wanted to see more, to live beyond what she'd always known. Beyond this village beyond tradition beyond her mother. Beyond it all with the people she wanted to bring with her.

A grin spread across her face, and she leaned back, cupping her hands around her mouth. She took a deep breath, and from the depths of her soul, she howled.

"AAAWWWOOOOOO!!!"

The villagers below heard her call, and one by one, voices rose up to answer, filling the air with a chorus of howls. Tarak, ever-stoic, continued down the wall, but as they reached the ground, Sol noticed a faint glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes.

Reina and Amoux ran over, their faces alight with awe. "You're so strong, Tarak! Can you carry us too?" Amoux squealed, clapping her hands.

Sol glanced at Tarak, a strange flutter in her stomach. Would he agree to it? She waited, almost holding her breath.

"What do you think, Sol?" he asked simply, tilting his head toward her.

Her face broke into the biggest grin yet, excitement bubbling up as she nodded. "Can you carry all three of us?"

In the next moment, the villagers looked up to see a black-and-white blur racing along the wall, three girls on his back howling with laughter and excitement. Their joy was infectious, spreading through the crowd like wildfire, and the villagers only smiled, taking it as a sign of good fortune. As the sun began to dip toward the horizon, casting warm hues across the village, it seemed to everyone that this was indeed a good omen—a blessing for Resin Day and beyond.

____________

Midea watched the sky transition from soft dusk into a deep, velvety night, as the aspar—those faint, glowing creatures of the dark—began to flutter about, their light casting an enchanting glow over the festival. It was a surreal, mystical sight, as if the world around him had fallen under a spell that only came alive under the night sky. The discussion with Surya lingered in his mind as he took his time admiring the scene. He had left her, the audacious little genius, after their talk, only to find himself marveling at how much she had discerned about his abilities and wards in such a short time. It was rare for someone so young to grasp such knowledge, let alone utilize it strategically. But her insights—and her confidence—were something else entirely.

His hooves left soft prints in the dirt as he ambled through the village streets. With every step, his black coat caught the gleam of the three moons overhead, each casting a unique light that merged into a quiet symphony of hues on his skin. He had spent some time painting earlier, humoring the children and gaining the admiration of several villagers. The sticky resin stains from when the villagers had slapped him when he brought the talismans had eventually forced him to wash up a bit, though he chuckled at the thought of their genuine praise for him. As he rounded a corner, he heard the pulsing beat of drums, which grew louder with every step until he reached an open area where villagers danced and laughed. People of all ages swayed to the rhythm, their movements alive with laughter and freedom as men clapped in rhythm and raised their cups to the night sky. Some villagers leaned against trees, playing cards or telling bawdy jokes, while children darted between them in giggling packs.

Just ahead, he spotted Hati cheering loudly for Tarak, who was in the center of a small crowd. The boy balanced on his horns, spinning in a circle, his expression serene as his tail helped keep his balance.

"Go, go, go!"

Around him, three young girls clapped and cheered, mirroring Hati's enthusiasm as they watched him show off. Soe even seemed intent on joining the boy. Just beyond the edge of the crowd, Surya observed her brother with a soft smile, her violet eyes shimmering in the evening glow. Midea's gaze wandered from the siblings to Remus, who stood talking animatedly with Skollf, both men laughing heartily. Not far from them, Baya could be seen whacking Lain over the head with her cane, muttering instructions while Lain rubbed her sore scalp and nodded begrudgingly. Midea noticed Peter sitting alone, his gaze distant as he stared towards the wall, an invisible weight pressing on his shoulders.

Following Peter's line of sight, Midea spotted a figure striding purposefully along the outskirts—the unmistakable form of Remulus, cloaked in his own thoughts. Midea's lips curled into a small, amused smile. There were layers to everyone's stories tonight, hidden threads woven beneath the festive atmosphere.

He meandered over to a stand, poured himself a cup of wine, and found a quiet spot near the edge of the festivities. The world continued around him, drums pounding and people laughing as he took a slow sip, savoring the earthy warmth of the wine as he glanced to his side.

"No point in hiding in the shadows, oh great general," he said, his tone amused but knowing.

A figure stepped out of the darkness—Garran, whose exasperation was evident even before he spoke.

"So, you knew I was there," Garran replied, sighing as he plopped down next to Midea with a wearied expression.

"Of course," Midea chuckled, taking another sip. "Following me because you still doubt my intentions? I thought we had moved past this absurdity."

Garran shook his head, his voice uncharacteristically uncertain. "It's not that… though I won't say I trust you completely. I actually needed to talk with you about… something else. Something a bit more… personal."

"Oh?" Midea arched a brow, hiding a smirk. He could guess where this was going. Garran's demeanor held the weight of unspoken turmoil, his shoulders slumped, his gaze avoiding Midea's. For a man so dedicated to his responsibilities, to seek advice on personal matters meant this was significant. "And here I thought you'd come to discuss military matters. I didn't realize we'd reached the point of discussing affairs of the heart."

Garran groaned, pressing his hands to his face, but the subtle flush in his cheeks gave him away. "Look, it's just… there's no one else in the village I can talk to about this. If I went to friends, rumors would spread like wildfire. Wolvenblade is not an exceedingly large place after all. And it's not the sort of thing I can take to my father. I needed an outside perspective."

Midea leaned back, a grin playing at his lips. "Alright, alright. Fair enough. So, I suppose the first question is… are you a 'top' man or a 'bottom' man?"

"What?" Garran blinked, thoroughly lost.

"Do you prefer a fine rear or ample breasts, General?" Midea continued without missing a beat, his eyes gleaming with mischief. "Hati has a notable figure, well-endowed in the former. Lain, on the other hand…"

"Oh, Fenrir, why did I even ask you?" Garran groaned, feigning a move to get up and leave, but Midea caught his arm, chuckling as he waved off the joke.

"Sit, sit, Garran. It's a valid question," Midea said, his tone softening. "I'm saying this because, whether you want to admit it or not, you have feelings for both women, or you wouldn't be so torn. Love is fickle, Garran. It can be as steadfast as the earth itself or as fleeting as the morning dew. If you waver too long, you might end up losing both of them. Be careful, or you'll find yourself pulled in two, chasing both and holding onto neither."

Garran looked at him thoughtfully, finally settling back down with a sigh. "It's… it's not that simple, though. I'm not sure if what I feel for Hati is more than friendship. I mean, we've been together since we were kids. She even joined the military to be by my side. Well no that's arrogant, it's something she always wanted to do. But she did join my division for a reason.. She's always been my closest friend, and I can't imagine life without her… but I don't know if that's love. And I don't want to ruin what we have if I'm just confused."

Midea nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he took in the young man's words. Around them, the night had come alive with vibrant color and sound, the villagers immersed in the celebration of Resin Day. The light from torches cast flickering shadows across Garran's face, revealing a softness and vulnerability rarely seen. Midea took in the sight, the shadows dancing in his own eyes as he considered his words.

Midea let out a soft chuckle, swirling the wine in his cup thoughtfully. Around them, the festival buzzed with life—the crackling of torches, the rhythmic pounding of drums, and the overlapping voices of villagers celebrating Resin Day. The air was thick with the mingling scents of freshly painted resin and the earthiness of the night, all under the distant glow of the three moons. Against this vibrant backdrop, the two men spoke in lowered tones, the quiet intimacy of their conversation contrasting the revelry around them.

"And that is why you treated her the way you did, right?" Midea mused, tilting his head thoughtfully as he studied Garran. "But, as I understand, taking more than one woman isn't exactly unusual in this village. Have you ever thought of that possibility?"

Garran let out a sigh, a slight frown etching his brow as he considered the question. "I don't think either Hati or Lain is the type of woman who'd accept that," he replied. "And… I don't want to be like that man. At least, not in that way." His eyes took on a distant look, a flicker of something—admiration, nostalgia, maybe even regret.

Midea raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Ah, you mean a man who was wild, free—a soul who roamed as if the world were his to command," he ventured, "someone who didn't care about rules or order. Am I right?"

Garran's head snapped towards him, his eyes widening just slightly in recognition. Midea held his gaze, unflinching. "And that man is dead now, isn't he?" he continued calmly, taking another sip from his cup.

Garran's expression softened, his shoulders sagging as he nodded. "How did you know?" he asked quietly, the vulnerability in his voice barely concealed.

Midea's smile was faint, almost sad. "Because that kind of spirit—fiery, untamed—burns hot and fast. They live short, brilliant lives that tend to end in tragedy, leaving behind an impact so fierce, it feels like the final flash of a dying star," he said, his voice carrying a weight of both admiration and sorrow, as if recalling a memory of his own.

"A final flash…" Garran echoed, a wry smile playing on his lips. "How fitting."

Midea's eyes held a glimmer of empathy as he continued, "I'll tell you this, Garran. You should speak to Hati and be honest about what you feel. Pretending not to know your own heart—that's the move of a coward. And cowardice, Garran, is what kills the self." He paused, letting his words sink in, watching as Garran absorbed their weight. "Love… it's not for the faint of heart. It's like opening the bloom of your heart and laying it bare, allowing someone else the power to trample it, tear it, or nourish it until it thrives."

Garran's face softened, his eyes downcast as he considered Midea's words. Around them, the laughter of villagers rang out, voices mingling with the celebratory sounds of the festival. Some people were lighting small lanterns along the edge of the square, casting a warm, flickering glow that added a touch of magic to the evening air.

Midea continued, his voice low but intense, "Even someone who has no ill intent can damage you without meaning to. Love doesn't always come in the form of grand gestures or gentle kindness. Sometimes, even the calmest, gentlest soul can crush you without realizing it, simply by existing in your heart." He took a thoughtful sip of his wine, a distant look in his eye. "But love can also be a force of beauty. It can elevate you, make you feel as if your soul is the crown jewel of creation. That's rare, though—far rarer than anyone likes to admit."

Garran's expression turned to one of shock, but he quickly composed himself, nodding slowly as Midea's words resonated within him. After a long pause, he responded, his voice softer now, tinged with something close to regret. "Maybe it's better to live wild and free, without worrying about love. At least that way, you don't risk losing yourself."

Midea let out a quiet laugh, the sound laced with a hint of bitterness. "Ah, yes. The life of unrestrained freedom—infinitely pitiful, infinitely great. There's something beautiful in that kind of existence, a life of unbound intensity. But in the end… that's not who we are, is it?" He looked at Garran knowingly, a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "If that were truly who we were, we wouldn't be here, having this conversation."

Garran released a sigh, his gaze drifting to the villagers around them, to the couples laughing together, to children playing without a care in the world, and to the elders sitting in contented silence, observing the night with quiet wisdom. There was a moment of understanding between him and Midea, a shared recognition of the paths they'd chosen and the lives they led.

"Yes," he murmured finally, nodding in agreement. "You're right. I couldn't live that way, even if I wanted to."

________________________


Tanya looked over, watching her younger brother Tarak laughing and having fun with Sol and some other kids, clearly enjoying himself as they tried their best at hip-hop moves while Hati cheered them on, clapping her hands with infectious enthusiasm. It was a lively, funny scene, and despite her urge to speak to Sol about what had happened with Luna, Tanya hesitated. The girl's dark eyes, so similar to Luna's, and the sheen of her hair matched Tanya's own. She did not know if the girl shared the same trauma with Hathor as Luna did. And today was a festival, and Sol deserved the joy and laughter that came with it. Besides, any unexpected confrontation might bring the young girl's fears bubbling up to the surface or even make her retreat altogether, something Tanya wanted to avoid. If she reacted in the same fashion as Luna the consequences could be disastrous. Maintaining her budding reputation mattered; a single, panicked scream could undo so much of her work.

She sighed softly, tilting her head back and letting herself soak in the atmosphere. The festivities played in her ears like gentle waves on a beach, a rhythm of laughter and joy spreading through the village. Moonlight trickled through the spiral-shaped branches of the trees, casting shimmering patterns across the gathered villagers. The fires from the roasting meats sent warm, savory smells wafting through the air, mixing with the earthy scent of grass trampled by hundreds of happy feet. Tanya felt pleasantly full, having enjoyed her fair share of food. Her body swam with energy she had attained from the food all of course absorbed into the abyss. Her instincts wanted her to hunt and kill but even they seemed tempered by the pleasant atmosphere. Of course the energy was nothing compared to what she had gotten from fighting the Vampyrs but it was enough.

She was just taking a deep breath, enjoying the sights and sounds, when Hati appeared by her side, her eyes bright and her hand outstretched. "C'mon, Surya! Let's set up the big event for the night!" she said, her excitement palpable. Without waiting for Tanya's reply, she took her hand, pulling her through the crowd toward a group of soldiers working intently on the preparations for the final celebration.

Tanya observed curiously as the soldiers wrapped lanterns in glassy bark from trees she vaguely recognized, each lantern casting faint, colorful glows in shades of red, green, blue, and more. They were scattering the lanterns throughout the village, while others were focused on arranging a row of vests in vibrant, glowing colors—seven different hues, each one radiant in the torchlight. The soldiers were also handling what looked like balloons filled with those same shades of glowing liquid, adding a mystical, surreal touch to the night.

"Look at this," Hati grinned, pointing at one of the soldiers. He was busy crushing several aspar, squeezing out their glowing golden blood into a mixture of water before adding a few drops of a rich, red dye. The liquid swirled and thickened, transforming into a glowing crimson color as it mixed, reminiscent of blood but with an otherworldly glow.

Tanya's brows rose as Hati explained with obvious delight. "This is for the final event of the night—the Sun Wars! We use bark from the laser grove trees to wrap the lanterns. During the day, they absorb energy from the seven suns, and at night they light up like this, casting beams of colored light all over the place. It's like a rainbow came down and wrapped itself around the village!"

A disco ball in the form of mystical tree bark, Tanya thought, or better yet, laser tag made entirely from the elements of this strange world. It was ingenious, whoever had come up with the idea. She couldn't help but feel a touch of admiration for the creativity behind it.

"Everyone who wants to join gets a vest," Hati continued, "and the distribution is random, so you never know which team you'll be on. Once you've got your vest, you'll also get a few balloons filled with the aspar blood that matches your vest's color. There'll be more balloons hidden around the village, but here's the catch—you can only hit others with a balloon that's your color. If you use a different one, it won't count. And the paint stains, so there's no way to hide who got hit! Oh, and no one's allowed to use numen during the game; it's pure skill!" She finished with a grin, clearly pleased with the simplicity and fairness of the rules.

Tanya nodded, processing everything. It was almost exactly like laser tag but with balloons—and the addition of natural resources made it even more festive. She could already envision villagers dodging and darting through the village, throwing brightly colored balloons with gleeful abandon, each team rallying together to claim victory in this lighthearted war. The restriction on numen was a nice touch, making the game accessible to all, regardless of cultivation level.

Just then, a booming voice echoed through the village, cutting through the laughter and chatter, "ALL RIGHT, PEOPLE, NOW IT'S TIME FOR THE ANNUAL SUN WARSSSSSS!" Remus's voice held a cheer that seemed to energize everyone, and his words sent a ripple of excitement through the crowd.

The villagers erupted in a loud, joyous response, voices raised in unison: "WOOOOOHHHHH!!" The air was suddenly charged with even more anticipation, the enthusiasm spreading like wildfire as people of all ages rushed to pick their vests and balloons.

Tanya looked at the villagers around her, their faces alight with childlike joy and eagerness for the game to begin. It was hard to resist the infectious energy surrounding her. It was a nice night it would be a fun event to watch.

"Alright, Surya, we have to hurry! Let's win this thing, alright?" Hati said, her eyes blazing with excitement.

Tanya blinked, caught off guard. When had she even agreed to participate? But her confusion went unnoticed—or maybe Hati just ignored it altogether—as she was dragged back toward the central square. As they moved, Tanya caught sight of Tarak waving from across the crowd, surrounded by a group of little girls who were laughing and talking excitedly. She couldn't help but smirk at the sight, noting to herself that those "cradle snatchers" were already after her brother, who was less than a month old.

The crowd buzzed with excitement as vests were distributed in random colors. Tanya found herself handed a golden-yellow vest, and by some twist of luck, Hati was assigned to the same team. She held up the three balloons of glowing aspar blood she'd received, watching as Hati did the same, and turned to see Tarak tilting his head as he examined his own red vest. Beside him, Sol sported the same red color, which meant they were on opposing teams.

"ALRIGHT! YOU ALL KNOW THE RULES! NO ONE THROWS UNTIL THE HORN ECHOES! ANYONE WHO DOES IS DISQUALIFIED!" Remus's booming voice carried across the square, capturing everyone's attention. "WHEN I SAY THE WORD, GO FIND YOUR POSITIONS! THREE, TWO, ONE… WARRRR!!!"

On the final word, the crowd broke into a frenzy as villagers dashed in every direction, aiming to find defensible spots or a hidden stash of balloons to bolster their three-shot limit. Tanya and Hati sprinted together, their feet kicking up clouds of dirt as they wove through the crowd, dodging around obstacles and veering toward a corner of the village. They scrambled over fences and climbed onto lower roofs, Tanya taking the lead as her keen eyes caught a faint glimmer of yellow tucked under a wooden beam.

She pointed. "There! More balloons!"

Hati let out a delighted cheer, throwing her arms around Tanya's neck in an overjoyed hug that had Tanya laughing as she struggled to peel Hati off. With their stash secured, they were loaded with balloons. The two grinned at each other, and Tanya felt a competitive spark light up within her. If she was playing this game, she might as well win—and with numen banned, she had an advantage no one else could touch.

URRRNNNNNN!!

The sound of the horn split the air, signaling the start of the game. In an instant, the village transformed into a battleground of color and chaos. Teams moved in packs, brightly colored vests flashing as they stalked one another, hunting for rivals like packs of wolves closing in on their prey. From her vantage point on the roof, Tanya saw groups clashing and scattering like startled birds.

One particularly formidable cluster of red vests was advancing with disciplined precision. At the center of their formation stood Bardo, the portly and self-important blacksmith, barking orders like a general, his deep, mocking laugh audible even from Tanya's distance.

"Hoh hoh! If you want good weapons, you better act as my meat shields!" he called out, voice dripping with arrogance.

"Yes, sir, Bardo!" his followers replied in unison, holding their positions protectively around him like a moving fortress.

Hati clenched her fists with excitement. "Let's get them, Surya!" Without waiting for a response, she launched forward, leaping down from the roof and flipping effortlessly over a balloon that came whizzing her way, retaliating with deadly precision. Her balloon hit one of Bardo's cronies square in the face, bursting with a satisfying splatter of yellow.

The group turned, eyes burning with indignation as Bardo let out an angry grunt, rubbing his face where Hati's well-aimed shot had landed. But they barely had a chance to react before Hati spun, dodging their return fire and kicking another balloon with perfect aim, nailing Bardo right on the forehead.

"Arrgh!" he shouted, stumbling back in shock.

Tanya, quick on her feet, darted forward, grabbing Hati's hand and pulling her behind the cover of a building just as the red team launched a hail of balloons at them, splattering harmlessly against the wooden walls.

"Wasn't that badass? Say it! Say I'm super cool!" Hati laughed breathlessly, her eyes shining with triumph.

Tanya rolled her eyes, a slight smirk on her lips. "Yes, yes, you're super cool. Now shhhh." She pressed a finger to her lips, glancing around the corner. With the extra balloons they'd collected from their hidden stash, they were ready for any retaliation. Tanya could see other groups taking their positions, moving stealthily as they watched for targets.

Just then, a flash of red caught Tanya's eye as another team approached from the side. She grinned, tossing a balloon to Hati. "Time to put these balloons to work."

Together, they took off in a mad sprint around the edge of the building, Tanya launching a yellow balloon that curved mid-air and splattered perfectly on one of the red vests. Hati, just behind her, followed up with a pinpoint shot that struck the next target, leaving them scrambling and shouting as the duo laughed.

Before long, they found themselves in an open courtyard where the fighting had intensified. Groups clashed and scattered as balloons flew in all directions, hitting with colorful explosions that only amped up the players' excitement. The air was thick with cheers, laughter, and playful taunts as villagers young and old found themselves caught in a relentless assault of color.

It was risky there so after leaving they made their way across the village, seeing a group of blue vests suddenly ambushed by two little girls in purple vests who had climbed up onto a nearby roof. Tanya recognized them as the same girls who had been hanging out with Tarak earlier. The girls cackled with glee as they launched their balloons down on the unsuspecting blue team, who yelped and stumbled in surprise, one by one getting splattered with purple paint as the little duo picked them off from above.

Hati grinned, nudging Tanya. "See? Those two are just as ruthless as Tarak. They're practically tiny mercenaries."

"Priestess bash!" Tanya heard the pink-haired girl shout as she slammed down her balloon onto a blue-vested player's head. The two girls were unstoppable, launching a spirited assault and completely annihilated the blue team in a burst of giggles and color.

"Let's go get Sol and Tarak," the one with blue hair suggested, mischief in her eyes.

"Yes, let's get them good! Hehehe!" her pink-haired partner echoed, grinning as they prepared to hunt down their new targets.

But just as they began to turn, Tanya acted swiftly. She tossed two yellow balloons straight at their chests, watching the aspar blood explode on impact, painting the two girls in bright, glowing yellow.

"What?! No!" the blue-haired one yelped in surprise.

"Awww…" the pink-haired girl added, deflated. Tanya felt no sympathy—that's exactly what they got for targeting her brother.

"You're a good big sister, Surya," Hati whispered approvingly, a grin spreading across her face. Tanya merely rolled her eyes, though she couldn't deny the inherent satisfaction of defending Tarak.

They pressed on, hitting several people, particularly those Hati seemed to have longstanding grudges against. Hati took immense glee in targeting old rivals and teasing them mercilessly. Tanya was beginning to think the game had turned into Hati's own personal vendetta marathon. And then they encountered an unusual sight.

There, striding calmly in the middle of the road, was a lone woman in a blue vest, walking as though she hadn't a care in the world. She had no visible balloons and appeared completely unruffled by the surrounding chaos. Something about the scene felt strange, almost too calm. As the woman turned, Tanya recognized her unmistakable blue eyes, framed by black hair and pale, milky skin. It was Lain.

"Hehehehe…" came a low, almost unhinged chuckle from Hati. Tanya's eyes widened. Fuck Hati had snapped.

"I'm going to get her good, Surya. You just wait here and watch," Hati whispered, an almost fiendish gleam in her eyes.

"Hati, don't go! It's way too suspicious—there's no way she's just standing out there alone," Tanya warned, her instincts prickling.

But Hati waved her off. "You worry too much. I've got this!"

Ignoring all sense of caution, Hati dashed out onto the open road, twirling a balloon in hand, ready to launch. She took aim and threw, her balloon hurtling toward Lain with deadly accuracy—only for Lain to effortlessly duck beneath it, her expression unchanged.

Then, from the surrounding rooftops, an entire squad of blue-vested players suddenly rose into view. It was a trap. Tanya barely stopped herself from laughing; Hati had stepped right into it. Lain turned, stuck out her tongue, and blew a playful raspberry at Hati, a display so childlike it took Tanya by surprise.

Hati's face flushed red, veins bulging in sheer indignation, but instead of retreating, she planted her feet firmly. "I'm the moon-devouring wolf! I will never surrender before you!" she roared, her eyes blazing.

Lain laughed, her voice lilting through the night. "Loser says what?" She snapped her fingers, and as if on command, countless blue balloons descended from the rooftops, raining down on Hati like a monsoon.

Hati attempted to dodge and retaliate, launching balloons with surprising speed, her throws picking off a few of the attackers. But the sheer number of balloons overwhelmed her, and soon she was covered head-to-toe in glowing blue aspar blood, dramatically sinking to the ground.

"AVENGE ME, SURYAAAA!!!" Hati cried, extending her hand theatrically toward Tanya's hiding spot as if reaching out for one last lifeline before collapsing in a final, defeated heap.

No. No, I don't think I will, Tanya thought dryly, watching Hati's exaggerated display of defeat with an amused smirk. But her mirth was short-lived as she heard footsteps rapidly approaching. She quickly ducked out of sight and slipped further into the shadows, escaping unnoticed just as the blues began to celebrate their victory.

As she crept around a corner, she found herself witnessing another clash—this time between two teams, the green-vested and the orange. At the head of the green team stood Garran, rallying his teammates like a war commander. She entertained the thought of sneaking up and sniping him, a little payback for Hati's misfortune—after all, part of this debacle stemmed from Garran's own indecisiveness in certain matters.

But just as she was about to act, a loud shout pierced the air.

"Tarak, I choose you!"

Tanya's head whipped around to see Sol, proudly riding on Tarak's shoulders like a miniature general. Sol clutched a sack filled with red balloons, her eyes gleaming with mischief. Tarak seemed entirely unfazed by the arrangement, moving with swift, practiced agility as he dodged incoming balloons with ease. With Sol's commands ringing in his ears, he launched balloons with uncanny accuracy, each one smacking his opponents directly in the head, leaving them stumbling back with their faces dripping red.

Under the scattered light of the laser bark, it looked as though heads were popping off with each direct hit, red aspar blood creating an almost surreal effect of red "beheadings." The stunned green team quickly realized they were no match and scattered in every direction, trying to avoid the relentless assault.

After they had cleared the area, Sol patted Tarak on the head with a delighted laugh, like a captain rewarding her loyal knight. "Good job, Tarak! Now let's find more of them!"

Tanya raised an eyebrow, watching the scene as they rushed off with a blend of amusement and faint exasperation. Oh, my brother, she thought with a wry smile. Please don't let this go to your head. She could almost imagine him wearing that deadpan expression, completely oblivious to the attention he was receiving from the little girls.

Just then, she spotted a group of yellow vests—her team—peeking out from behind some barrels up ahead. Smiling, she motioned them over with a wave, and they quickly joined her in the shadows, eagerly sharing their own stashes of balloons. Together, they watched as the reds and greens clashed in the street ahead, each team narrowly dodging and narrowly missing, their balloons splattering the air with vibrant color.

"Alright," Tanya whispered to her team, "let's hit them from both sides. We'll take advantage of the confusion while they're too busy with each other."

With careful precision, they split up, some staying in cover while Tanya and a few others snuck around the back. On her signal, they all launched their balloons at once, an ambush of color raining down on the unsuspecting groups. The reds and greens were caught entirely off guard, their shouts of surprise drowned out by laughter as they found themselves covered in a chaotic mix of red, yellow, and green.

In the midst of the ensuing mayhem, Sol and Tarak reappeared, rushing through the chaos like a crimson storm. Tarak deftly maneuvered them both past the falling balloons, Sol tossing her own with gleeful abandon, taking out stragglers one by one.

"Let's get 'em, Tarak!" she shouted, her voice brimming with excitement. And Tarak, true to form, did exactly as she commanded, never once breaking his calm, steady expression.

As the night wore on, the village transformed into a maze of color, sound, and laughter, punctuated by the shouts of victory and defeat. Tanya moved with her team through the village, each step leaving behind remnants of aspar blood in splatters across the ground and walls. Their once pristine yellow vests were now covered in vibrant smudges of yellow, red, and blue from close encounters and narrow escapes. Many of them had been hit and dropped but other remained.

Tanya glanced around, taking in the sights of the night's chaos: the blonde man she'd saved earlier sprinted across her line of sight, only to be expertly sniped by a red-vested soldier who let out a victorious whoop. A few younger children ganged up on Ms. Linda, pelting her with their balloons as she good-naturedly dodged, laughing as she half-heartedly pretended to be horrified. Then, her gaze fell on her brother—hanging upside down by his tail, high up in the wooden beams of a nearby building. Sol was dangling off his back, eyes narrowed in concentration as they scanned the area, each acting as the other's lookout.

As much as she hated to admit it, this was turning out to be a genuinely fun night. Memories of the earlier training fiasco flashed through her mind, and then she saw him—Midea himself, his unmistakable figure sidestepping around the corner. She and Tarak locked eyes, and with a single mischievous grin shared between them, they knew what had to be done. United by a mutual vendetta, they pounced, hitting Midea with a flurry of balloons despite his yelps and protests.

But, as all the night's excitement narrowed down to the final moments, it came down to her and her brother. Sol had been taken out by a stray balloon not long before, leaving just the two of them in the village square as onlookers gathered on rooftops and hidden alcoves to witness the showdown.

They stood still for a heartbeat, grinning at each other, sharing that unspoken challenge. And then, without another moment's hesitation, they launched into a blur of motion, each determined to win.

Tanya darted forward, her feet barely brushing the ground as she sprinted through the narrow lanes, weaving in and out of alleyways. Tarak mirrored her, his eyes sharp and focused, but he moved with a different strategy. He leaped from one beam to another, using his long tail to swing between buildings, hanging briefly in midair before launching himself again. His agility and strength made him look like a monkey on a mission, balloons in hand, ready to strike.

Their speed was nearly identical, but Tanya's nimbleness allowed her to twist and turn sharply, anticipating his throws and weaving between buildings with ease. She could hear the onlookers cheering and gasping with each close call, and even some of the soldiers—no longer participating but still armed with balloons—joined in the commentary, their voices ringing out in the excitement of the match.

She spread her wings, not to fly fully—she wanted to keep things fair—but to give herself a bit of extra lift and dodge potential shots. Tarak adapted instantly, his tail serving as an extension of himself, swinging him into unexpected angles. With quick, calculated moves, he launched a balloon from his elevated position, a perfect throw aimed directly at her.

Tanya rolled sharply, dodging at the last second as the balloon burst against the wall behind her. She retaliated, whipping a balloon in his direction, but Tarak swung out of reach, disappearing from her view.

The chase was on. Tarak leaped down from his perch and raced through the center of the village, with Tanya hot on his heels. Their laughter echoed through the square as they both pushed themselves to the limit, their breaths coming faster but their grins never fading. They were two unstoppable forces, and the crowd could feel the tension, rooting for each one equally.

Just as Tanya closed in, her wings giving her a slight boost to close the gap, Tarak suddenly shot up from behind a stack of barrels, using his tail to springboard himself into the air like a bullet. He launched a balloon from an angle she hadn't anticipated, a perfect throw aimed at her back.

But Tanya had anticipated his move this time. She twisted mid-air, spinning to avoid the throw, and in one smooth motion, she released her own balloon. It hit him squarely in the back with a loud, satisfying pop, sending a shower of yellow aspar blood across his vest.

She grinned in triumph, only to feel a cool splash on her shoulder at the exact same moment. Tarak's tail had been holding a balloon behind him, and as he was hit, he'd managed a final throw that splashed onto her, marking her with a glowing streak of red.

For a split second, they both froze, staring at each other in disbelief. And then they burst into laughter, the competition forgotten in that shared moment of joy and camaraderie. They drifted down to the ground, his arm around her shoulder and her head leaning against his as they floated down, their laughter carrying through the night.

It was in these fleeting moments that Tanya allowed herself to feel a rare sense of peace. In this instant, as they touched down amidst cheers and applause, she let herself be a child again, free from the weight of her thoughts and burdens.

_________________________

The following day, Tanya found Hati by the edge of the village, sharpening her spear as sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dancing patterns across the ground. She approached cautiously, her mind already formulating how to bring up the question that had been lingering in her thoughts since last night.

"Hati," she began, her voice quieter than usual, "do you know much about Sol and...Luna?"

Hati's hands paused on the blade, her eyes softening as she looked over at Tanya. There was a flicker of something in her gaze—perhaps a touch of sorrow or nostalgia.

"I do," she replied, almost to herself. Then, as though realizing Tanya was still waiting, she shook her head slightly and nodded. "Yes, I do. The two of them come from that mans line, and their father… he was quite the man. For good or bad."

Tanya sat beside her, listening intently. "What kind of man was he?"

"Juraf," Hati said with a wry smile, "he was known as the World Swallowing Spear. Garran looked up to him, admired him more than anyone else. The whole village did, in a way."

Her voice grew quieter, a hint of reverence mingling with her words. "He was a man unlike any other—fiercely independent, driven by nothing but his own desires. Greedy, in a way that makes most men look like saints. He chased after life without hesitation, took what he wanted, and threw himself into the world with the sort of freedom others can only dream of. And he was talented, unbelievably so. I'd go as far as to say that Juraf was one of the strongest and most talented this village has ever seen. He was garran's old master as well."

Tanya felt her curiosity deepen. "What made him so… unforgettable?"

Hati's gaze grew distant, as if she could see Juraf right in front of her, spear in hand, face set with that trademark grin she'd heard so much about. "He had this way of making you feel like you were looking at something wild and untamable. The way he fought, the way he lived, it was like he wanted to devour the world. Nothing was enough for him; he wanted more strength, more knowledge, more of everything. Even women."

She paused, a faint smile crossing her lips. "Garran admired that about him. Well, not the woman part. That spirit of living for himself, of doing whatever he felt like, even if the world tried to stop him."

"But with all that strength and spirit came risks," Hati continued. "Juraf left a mark on everyone he met, but he also left gaps. That kind of person doesn't stay in one place, and people like him… they don't always live long. Garran knew that too. And I think, in some ways, he admired Juraf because he couldn't bring himself to be like him."

She tilted her head back. "I'm glad he's not like Juraf. That man was scum. But he was also a hero. He just wanted to much far to much. Garran is fine just the way he is. And if Garran was like him he wouldn't be around for long."

Hati's gaze met Tanya's, her expression a mix of admiration and reminiscence. "The world took him early, like it does to all those who try to take too much from it. Garran took his place as general after Juraf passed, though he still carries that admiration for the man's freedom. But we all know that a legacy like Juraf's is both a blessing and a curse. It's made Sol and Luna who they are, but it's also left them with pieces of him they'll be chasing their whole lives."

Indeed considering the situation with their mothers the man had left behind a lot of baggage. Both scum and a hero eh? How curious. She wondered what exactly was the story of Juraf. What was the story of the world swallowing spear?

 

[Behemoth.]

Lilith and Lervea No. 2-Sidestory

____________________

Lilith stood at the edge of the crater, her gaze somber and unblinking as she took in the sight before her. There was her friend, her once lively, irreverent, and magnetic companion, Lervea—now reduced to silence as she sat alone, clutching that medallion as if it held the fragments of her very soul. The crater was vast and desolate, a scar carved deep into the fabric of hell itself, with fissures emanating outward, each crack filled with a dim, flickering light that pulsed like the final gasps of life lost here. It was this very same crater where her children had been lost. The ashen winds whipped around them, thick with a bitterness that stung her senses, while swirls of black and grey hellfire twisted in ghostly tendrils above, casting eerie, fractured shadows that crawled over the scorched ground.

Lervea's sixteen-meter figure was stark against this backdrop, her silhouette sharp, a broken but unyielding shard in this hellscape. She held the medallion close, her fingers wrapped so tightly around it that Lilith imagined it might splinter into pieces from sheer force. It was the same one she'd always kept on her—a simple, yet beautiful emblem that had endured countless ages by Lervea's side. Lilith knew it as well as she knew her friend's laugh, her reckless grin, and the warmth she would always feel in her presence. The Lervea of old had been vibrant, mischievous, and far from the cold, godlike figure many revered or feared. She'd had her faults—she was boisterous, sarcastic, sometimes outright rude. But to Lilith, she'd also been deeply endearing. Their bond had been something rare, something not easily understood by those outside it. And though that closeness felt like a memory from another life, Lilith knew that the feeling was still there, pulsing quietly beneath layers of pain and time.

Lilith's gaze drifted upwards, where the hellfire clouds swirled and churned, their thick billows shifting between shades of obsidian and slate, woven through with veins of dull crimson. Jarati floated above in lazy arcs, their spectral forms flickering in and out as if they too were unsure of whether to remain in this darkened realm. The four-winged spiders drifted through the ashen haze, their iridescent carapaces catching fragments of purple light that broke through the clouds. Their delicate, glass-like shells seemed ethereal against the dreary landscape, a small but vibrant glimpse of beauty amid the devastation. Lilith watched as one spider flitted near Lervea, its wings creating a soft hum, before it drifted away, sensing the despair radiating from her friend like heat from a dying fire.

And then, a strangled cough broke the silence. Lilith's head snapped back to Lervea as her friend doubled over, expelling a torrent of black and gold blood that splattered across the ground, staining the dark soil with shimmering streaks. Lilith's eyes widened, shock flooding her as she rushed forward. In all the years she'd known Lervea, she had never seen her like this. The sight of that rich, metallic blood was an anomaly—a twisted, surreal picture of something that was supposed to be invincible now showing signs of weakness.

"Lervea!" she cried, appearing beside her friend, her eyes alight with a mixture of worry and disbelief. "What's wrong with you? I know for a fact you weren't injured by the realm artifact, so then…why?"

Her gaze traveled downward, and she felt her breath catch as she saw the cracks spider-webbing across Lervea's chest. It was as if her friend's very skin had transformed into fragile porcelain, and someone had taken a hammer to it, leaving deep fissures that leaked blood. Lilith stared, her mind racing. Lervea's four eyes—once so filled with warmth or humor in their private moments—now met hers with that same disconcerting, bestial indifference, even as her own body betrayed her.

And then, without a word, as effortlessly as a shadow slipping into darkness, Lervea disappeared.

Lilith's outstretched hand fell, empty, as she let out a small sigh of frustration. It was just like her—vanishing as soon as things grew vulnerable, slipping into the vastness of hell or the folds of time as if she could evade reality itself. That was the thing about Lervea. She could be injured, torn down, beaten—but she never deteriorated. Other cultivators dealt with lingering scars, with sequelae that left their bodies weaker, their spirits strained. Not Lervea. Once she survived the initial trauma, she would emerge whole, her body renewing as if even the concept of damage couldn't lay a claim on her. She'd come out of it pristine, unburdened, as if nothing could leave a mark on her existence. Well at least eventually, but the injuries never got worse than they did when she first got them.

Lilith's thoughts drifted, memories flooding in with sharp clarity. A younger Lervea flashed in her mind—a Lervea with that mischievous grin, one who would laugh and tease, who would wrap her arm around Lilith's shoulders and laugh at the universe itself, as if she could bend it to her will. She recalled the times Lervea would appear at her doorstep unannounced, a bottle of hell's finest in one hand, and some toy or object in the other, daring Lilith to join her in another reckless escapade. Or the times they lived together rolling around in the bed and having fun and playing games.

But there had been one exception—a moment Lilith had thought was long buried.

______________

Lilith stretched luxuriously under the silken sheets, feeling the numen-infused fabric pulse gently, washing over her with warmth and comfort. The blankets, crafted by Paimon, her close friend and a skilled artisan from the Circle of Lust, held an almost spellbinding quality. Each thread was imbued with numen that seemed to resonate with her soul, offering a sensation both calming and invigorating, like a heartbeat of gentle fire tracing along her skin. Paimon, half-spider and known throughout the circles for her impeccable fashion, was a young yet highly influential figure, the head of her own corporation—a feat in Hell's cutthroat society. But despite her grand status, her connection with Lilith remained genuine, and Lilith treasured the comforts her friend's craft brought her.

As she rolled over, she collided with another form nestled close beside her, a figure as stunning as her own if not even more so. Lervea lay there, still half-lost in sleep, her silver hair spilling across the pillow, shimmering with black at the edges like shadows seeping into moonlight. Her figure was forged in strength and femininity, both powerful and soft in a paradox that Lilith found endlessly fascinating. Lervea's curves were ample, yet her form wasn't excessively made for allure alone; there was a grounded, formidable presence to her, as if her body was as unyielding as the mountains themselves. Her skin, beneath Lilith's fingers, had an unusual texture, something between flesh and polished stone—flexible yet somehow resilient. And her wings, oh, those wings—they caught the faint morning light filtering through the silk-draped windows, scattering rainbow patterns across the dimly lit room. Meanwhile, her tail, dark and absorbing all light, curled in a languid arc around her, ending near her hips in a way that drew Lilith's eye without fail. That tail, especially when it rested just so, hugging her curves, seemed almost to radiate gravity, tugging at Lilith's gaze like a silent demand.

"Hmmm, you're awake?" Lervea's voice came as a soft, sleepy murmur, her eyes cracking open with a hint of that timeless, sharp intelligence Lilith found both familiar and endlessly alluring.

"Mmm… maybe," Lilith replied, voice low as she watched Lervea rise from the bed, allowing Lilith an unobstructed view of her in all her glory. Her muscles moved beneath her skin with a quiet power, a strength tempered by an undeniable elegance. Lilith's gaze lingered, her appreciation verging on adoration as she took in the contrast of Lervea's hair, her skin, her aura—a being of opposites, of light and shadow, a paradox made perfect in flesh.

Lervea's lips quirked in amusement as she glanced back over her shoulder, meeting Lilith's stare with a playful lilt in her voice. "Lilith, you do know I can see you, right?"

Lilith felt her cheeks heat, a rare blush. "How exactly?" she replied with a small huff, covering her embarrassment. "You don't have eyes on the back of your head, and you're not using any technique. How in the seven Hells do four front-facing eyes give you a 360-degree view?" She stood, slipping out from under the covers, and sidled up behind Lervea, wrapping her arms around her waist.

Lervea laughed, a rich, melodious sound, as she twisted to look at Lilith, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "It's just the way it works, nothing more, nothing less. Though I seem to remember last night you liked certain…aspects of my vision quite a lot," she teased, her voice soft and intimate. She shot Lilith a roguish grin that held no small amount of wicked satisfaction. "Let's just say I can… see exactly where I'm needed."

"Oh, Satan, I can't with you," Lilith muttered, rolling her eyes and detaching herself with a smirk as she turned away. She barely made it a step before Lervea's hands slipped around her waist, lifting her effortlessly. She couldn't hold back the small thrill that ran down her spine as Lervea's soft breath tickled her ear.

"Why so prickly, Lilith?" Lervea murmured, her voice a playful purr. "You are always like this you only get soft when it's right before, during, or after we've had our way with one another. It's almost adorable."

Lilith tried to wriggle free, feeling the intensity of her own emotions surge—a demon of Pride didn't simply submit. Her life, her status, her every action was a controlled performance of strength and poise. And yet, sometimes, especially with Lervea, she found a curious enjoyment in letting herself be vulnerable, in allowing the walls she'd so carefully crafted to slip, if only a little. But she'd never admit that to Lervea, who seemed all too aware of it anyway.

Managing to slip from her grasp with an almost theatrical huff, she turned back to face her friend, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. "Why do you keep changing your size?" Lilith asked, genuinely curious. "When we met a couple thousand years ago, you were about five meters tall, and now you're steadily getting taller. You like being this big all the time?"

"Changing my size?" Lervea's eyes widened, and a puzzled expression crossed her face before she chuckled, realization dawning. "Oh, you mean me growing. No, this is just… me, I guess." She shrugged, utterly nonchalant.

Lilith's eyes narrowed as her mind raced. "Wait, are you one of those races that grow endlessly over time, like a lobster?" she pressed, her curiosity piqued.

Lervea laughed, waving off the idea with a dismissive hand. "Oh no, we cap out eventually. It's nothing like that," she replied with an almost casual indifference. But Lilith's mind seized on the revelation, her thoughts whirling as something monumental clicked into place.

"Lervea…" Her voice grew urgent, her eyes fixed on her friend. "How old are you?"

Lervea blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then, as if realizing something, she pressed a hand to her forehead, feigning exaggerated offense. "Lilith! Have you never learned that it's rude to ask a woman her age?" she teased, her tone light and airy.

But Lilith wasn't in the mood for jest. "No, I'm serious, Lervea," she said, her voice dropping to a low, intense tone that left no room for mischief.

Lervea tilted her head thoughtfully before finally giving in. "Alright, alright. Let's see… I think I'm somewhere over a million years old by now. Actually, Lilith, you're older than me!" She flashed her a grin, as if that fact were as ordinary as the sunrise.

But Lilith couldn't hide her astonishment. Her mind reeled. In all of creation, life was finite until one reached the ninth layer of cultivation, where existence and lifespan became intertwined with power. Only then could a being's natural lifespan be disregarded, extending indefinitely. It was known as the Rule of Nines, a natural limit in their world. Similar to the nine shackles and the nine stacks of wards and the nine meridian grades. But before that, lifespans varied drastically. Darkling demons, her own people, boasted an unusually long natural lifespan of around 30,000 years without cultivating—a point of pride, as theirs was one of the longest known. Deluvian dragons and Lumines, beings of pure energy, each lived roughly 200,000 years even without cultivation. And yet, here stood Lervea, over a million years old, still growing, still vibrant, as if age held no dominion over her at all. The reason Lilith could be considered a younger demon was because she evolved fast enough to keep her youth alongside her cultivation level. She was technically considered a teen in her current body even though she was nearly two million years old. Even though two million years was beyond base darkling lifespan.

Lilith's mind whirled with implications. There was simply no way she could be so young and so powerful without cultivation, and certainly not still physically maturing. For beings with souls, biological immortality was impossible without cultivation; eventually, even the sturdiest soul would wither. And yet here was Lervea, not only possessing a soul but thriving in defiance of all known limits. Which meant…

"You… You're still not fully grown," Lilith murmured, her voice thick with awe as her thoughts clicked into place. It was inconceivable. Was she some sort of experiment? There was no way no one had ever heard of the Tyrannius before!

As the soft, early light filtered through the intricately woven silken curtains, casting a delicate, warm glow across the room. Shadows danced along the walls, flickering over the rare ornaments and treasures Lilith had collected—crystals from the Abyssal Sea, chalices encrusted with flame-forged rubies, and old scrolls with ancient demonic scripts that had long since faded. The room was a careful mixture of luxury and power, an extension of her pride, her dominion. Yet here, in this quiet morning light, her gaze wasn't on her possessions but on Lervea, whose presence seemed to eclipse everything else.

"Lervea, where do you come from, actually?" Lilith asked, her tone soft yet edged with a curiosity she rarely allowed herself to voice. Their friendship had been filled with unspoken understandings, a delicate dance of respecting boundaries, especially where the mysteries of their pasts were concerned. But today, that curiosity bloomed into words, coaxed by the knowledge Lervea had allowed her.

Her friend tilted her head, expression thoughtful as she contemplated the question. "In relation to here?" Her voice, usually so light-hearted, softened with a hint of melancholy. "To tell you the truth, I have no idea." The admission hung in the air, simple yet profound, and Lilith felt an unexpected ache bloom in her chest, imagining Lervea, who had always seemed larger than life, wandering through existence without any real sense of origin.

As Lervea moved, her gaze fell to a small bundle of clothes on the floor. They'd been discarded hastily the night before, their passion too urgent to spare much attention to details. She bent down to retrieve her medallion, delicately unwrapping it from the fabric. The medallion, its surface dark and glossy like polished obsidian, seemed to pulse faintly in the light. It was a symbol Lervea never parted with, worn close to her at all times. The polished edges and intricate carvings of a man a beast and a universe were reminiscent of some ancient craft Lilith couldn't place, though she suspected it held a significance beyond what she could see. While the symbols themselves were nothing to extraordinary something could be said for it's durability.

As Lervea leaned down, her form stretching with her movement, Lilith's eyes caught something that shouldn't have been there—a faint scar on her side, a thin, silvery line that marred her otherwise flawless skin. The mark wasn't there a moment ago; she was certain of it. And more than that, she recognized it.

The memory surged up from deep within her mind—the first time she'd met Lervea, who had, at the time, taken the form of a peculiar six-legged bunny. They'd shared an unusual encounter, and Lilith had noticed a scratch on the creature's side, and she had fed it a pill and the bunny or Lervea instinctively healed it. That same scratch, that oddly shaped scar… it was right there, etched faintly into Lervea's skin.

"Lervea?!" The alarm in Lilith's voice broke the stillness of the morning. "What happened to you? You've never scarred before. And this scar—it wasn't there before." She reached out, fingers hovering close to the mark, drawn by both concern and a strange fascination. But just before she could make contact, Lervea's hand shot out, capturing her wrist in a gentle yet firm grip.

"Please… don't touch that," Lervea murmured, her voice thick with a vulnerability Lilith had never heard before. Her eyes softened, almost haunted, and her fingers clenched around the medallion as though holding onto it for strength. "It's not the same as the others. It's… difficult to explain, and I don't want to talk about it. It isn't about you—it's just… it's not something casual to speak about, okay?"

Lilith's hand fell away, a quiet understanding settling between them. She noticed how tightly Lervea clung to the medallion, her fingers whitening under the pressure. Whatever this scar meant, it was tied to something far deeper than a mere wound, something that rattled even the steadfast Lervea.

"…Okay," Lilith whispered, the single word carrying a weight of unspoken support and slight shame. But no sooner had she spoken it than Lervea's demeanor shifted, the intensity melting away as a playful grin broke across her face. She leapt forward, catching Lilith off guard, and smothered her with a flurry of kisses, her laughter bright and carefree.

"It's fine, it's fine! I'm sorry for getting so serious," she laughed, her lips grazing Lilith's cheeks, her forehead, her jaw, in a playful barrage of affection. The sudden shift had Lilith giggling, half-heartedly attempting to push her away, but Lervea only held her closer, glomping her as if to erase the solemnity of the moment with sheer joy.

"Lervea!" Lilith gasped between laughs, her initial shock giving way to warmth as she surrendered to her friend's embrace. But as her laughter subsided, she couldn't help but glance back at the scar. And to her surprise, it was gone, as though it had never been there in the first place. The skin was smooth, unmarked, and flawless, with no trace of the blemish she'd seen only moments before.

___________

Lilith stood atop her palace balcony, her gaze sweeping across the vast, ever-twisting realm of Hell below. Shadows danced beneath the dim, throbbing lights that hung like cursed stars, casting an eerie, otherworldly glow over the chaotic landscape. Demons of every form and size scurried below, some caught in labor, others indulging in endless feasts, a few locked in combat as old as time itself. Their powers flared briefly, then faded, barely leaving an imprint on the vastness of Hell.

Palaces sprawled in every direction, extravagant monuments to ambition and desire, rising like towers of vanity. Crimson and gold banners rippled in the heat, shimmering illusions of wealth and power that were, in the end, hollow. It was a world of constant change and yet eternal stagnation. Opulent halls filled with nothing but emptiness; alliances forged only to be broken; promises turned to ash long before they could be fulfilled.

Lilith's gaze lingered on the gilded towers, the gardens of flame and ash, the rivers of molten metal that wound like veins through the hellish domain. Her thoughts drifted to the countless beings here, trapped by their own ambitions, their endless cycles of love and hatred, of betrayal and war. Demons forged in the fires of Hell, each one fierce and unyielding, yet bound by invisible chains, cursed to live out the same twisted stories over and over again. Was even she twisted by them?

A bitter taste filled her mouth as the weight of it all settled within her, a strange, weary ache that only seemed to grow the longer she watched. Hell was alive, pulsing with an energy all its own, yet it was a life marked by emptiness, by power without purpose. Here, even the grandest dreams felt small, swallowed by the vast expanse of suffering and chaos.

And all she could say, as her gaze traced the burning horizon, was a quiet question that felt as old as Hell itself, a question cast into the darkened air with a sigh.

"Satan, is it worth it?"

 

[Behemoth.]

World Swallowing Spear No. 1: The Insurgent Spear
___________________

Slap!

The meaty fist of the man before her crashed into her cheek, sending a sharp sting across her face. Her father, large and bloated, stood towering over her, his breath thick with the stench of cheap tavern spirits. His red, flushed face contorted with anger, lips wet and sneering. His entire form heaved up and down, panting, barely restrained rage lacing his every breath. One of his legs was a stark, unnatural gray, deadened from some past wound or illness—a permanent mark of his weakness. But she could never call it that. Weakness was something he would beat out of her, or try to. Exposing his own would be unthinkable. He was a strong man or at least he thought that he was.

Terra's gaze slid sideways, catching sight of her elder brother, Allo, lurking in the shadowed corner. His lips curled into a disdainful sneer, eyes cold and mocking as they watched her endure another round of punishment. In her dreams, she imagined ripping out those eyes, tearing them from his hateful face. At least there, she could be free. But reality was not as merciful; reality kept her chained to this life, bound by rules that men like her father and brother wrote for her.

"I better not catch you trying anything like that ever again, you stupid bitch!" her father roared, his voice a harsh, drunken slur that grated against her ears. "You're just a useless whore, just like your mother. Useless, useless, useless!"

He was furious because she'd dared to try to learn something, to steal scraps of knowledge to lift herself out of this hell. Perhaps learn a trade or become a priestess. To that purpose she had hidden away a few books, snuck them into their miserable shack of a home, but Allo, that miserable, conniving rat, had found them. Naturally, he ran to their father, eager to see her punished, eager to remind her that she was nothing.

She didn't answer. She knew better. Her head remained bowed, the picture of submission, while her father continued his tirade. Men ruled everything here, and someone like her—someone without power, without worth in the eyes of their twisted society—had no one to turn to. She could cry out a thousand times, but no one would save her. The men of this village had set their laws, and those laws kept women like her voiceless. Her father was a man, a veteran—those two things alone made him untouchable, invincible in the eyes of their world.

"ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME?" he spat, grabbing her by her hair—a dull golden shade, once bright, now tangled and dirtied from her life in this filth. He yanked her head back and then slammed her face against the wall, the rough wood scraping her skin. But she didn't give him what he wanted; no tears, no pleading. A single, restrained sniffle escaped her, the only betrayal of her pain. She had nothing else left to give, and even if she did, she wouldn't let him have it.

Allo stepped forward, his expression twisted with smug satisfaction, and placed a hand on their father's shoulder. He shook his head, a silent gesture that somehow held more venom than words ever could. He was pathetic, a parasite living off their father, doing nothing with his life. And yet their father indulged him, tolerated him. Not out of love or pride, but because he was nothing more than an extension of himself—a mirror to his own worthlessness. Trash begot trash. Rot accumulated, spread, festered.

Her father's life was a cycle of drinking, ranting about his so-called glory days, and harassing women. Allo was nothing different—a shadow cast from the same diseased mold. Why, she wondered, why was she born into this world, into this family of festering rot?

"WHY!" Her scream broke the silence, her voice raw with years of suppressed rage. Both men flinched, momentarily stunned by the sudden defiance.

Her brother's hand came down with ferocity, a brutal slap that rang out with a sickening crunch. She crumpled to the ground, her cheek burning, her head spinning from the impact. Her breath came in sharp gasps, the metallic tang of blood flooding her mouth. She pressed her hands against the cold, dirty floor, feeling the grit and splinters under her fingers.

"Crazy bitch," Allo muttered, wiping her blood off his knuckles with an expression of pure disgust, as if she were less than the filth caked beneath his nails. He turned on his heel, stalking away, leaving her there like discarded trash. Her father clicked his tongue in irritation and stalked to the fireplace, snatching up her precious books and tossing them carelessly into the flames. The pages curled, blackened, disintegrated, the knowledge she had craved turned to ash before her eyes. She reached out a trembling hand, the flickering flames reflected in her gaze, a lone symbol of all she had lost.

What was the point? What was the point of fighting, of hoping? This was her fate. No matter how much she struggled, no matter what small scraps of defiance she tried to cling to, it all ended the same. Defeated, she let her hand fall, watching the last fragments of her stolen dreams disappear.

She crawled to her room, every inch of her body aching. Their house was a dilapidated hovel, barely standing. Her own corner of it was somehow worse than the rest—a cramped, dank cell where the walls dripped with rot and mold. The floorboards were warped from water damage, and every inch seemed to be falling apart. Her bed frame was splintered, rough, and dangerous to touch, the wood rotting from the endless leaks that crept in from the roof above. Mold crawled along the walls, spreading in dark patches, filling the air with a damp, sour stench that choked her.

Insects of every kind crawled in the corners, hidden in the shadows, scurrying across her floor and creeping into the corners of her bed. She had no blanket, only the cold, bare wood that scraped against her skin. The air reeked of filth from the waste pit they called a latrine, barely masked by a simple sealing formation that had long since lost its power. The stench invaded her every breath, a bitter reminder of her place in this world. Every night, the smell hit her anew, sinking into her skin, clinging to her hair.

This was her reality. Her prison. She lay down on the bed, closing her eyes, trying to shut out the squalor, the hopelessness, the anger that bubbled beneath her skin. She wanted so desperately to escape, to dream of something better. But there was no home here, no warmth. She had no blanket, she had no comforts.

In the end all she really had was hell.

__________

"Gyahahaha!" A tan-skinned teen with pitch-black hair and mischievous eyes sprinted down the bustling market street, weaving past stands and startled townsfolk. Behind him thundered a rotund, red-faced man with hair only on the sides of his head, waving a spear as if it were an extension of his fury. The man's wolf ears twitched, betraying his volcanic temper.

"Gotta control that shit, old Bardo!" the boy taunted, glancing over his shoulder with a wide grin. "Makes you reallll easy to read!"

"You ugly fucking orphan bastard, get back here!" Bardo bellowed, his face purple with rage as he tried to keep up.

"Me? Ugly?" The boy scoffed, quickening his pace and dodging around a group of gawking villagers. "My brother in Fenrir, your fat-ass head looks like a half-shaven, pale testicle! And when you get all riled up and those veins start bulging? It's like a ball about to pop. Gives me subtle phantom pains just lookin' at it!" He barked out a laugh, leaping over a pile of crates as a few bricks whizzed past him, courtesy of some unimpressed townsfolk.

The street was alive with the clamor of merchants hawking their goods, the chatter of townsfolk, and the fragrant, earthy scent of roasted meats and fresh produce. Civilians ducked out of the way, some scowling, others chuckling at the spectacle of the chase. Some cheered Bardo on, hoping to see the boy get a long-overdue beating, while others watched in amused horror, clutching their wares and avoiding the chaos.

"Aiiieee!" The boy skirted past a cute girl about his age, giving her a light pat on the rear as he passed. "Nice rump you got there! You know my place—I'll be waiting~" he called with a wink, dodging a swipe aimed at his head as the girl swung at him with a cry of outrage.

"Get back here, you little shit!" Bardo thundered, his pace slowing but his resolve unyielding. He was angrier than ever, fists trembling with a faint, ominous glow as he prepared to channel his numen energy—a basic shockwave move that would be more than enough to stop the boy in his tracks. But seeing the faint glow, the boy's grin only widened.

"Oh, you're bringing out the big guns, huh?" he snickered, taking a sharp left and heading toward a crowded area where stands were piled high with fresh fruits, vegetables, and skewers of sizzling meat.

He darted through the crowd, snatching an apple here, a skewer there, nibbling as he ran and hiding some in his clothes, leaving a trail of outraged merchants and toppled goods in his wake. He ducked under hanging baskets of garlic, narrowly dodged a towering stack of onions, and snagged a handful of grapes from a nearby stand, laughing as he popped them into his mouth mid-sprint.

He spotted a cabbage stand up ahead, with a rickety frame that barely supported its own weight. Perfect. In one fluid motion, he flipped onto the stand, balancing nimbly atop it, and grinned down at Bardo just as the man threw a numen-empowered punch in his direction.

BOOM!

The shockwave exploded outward, obliterating the cabbage stand into a storm of leaves, shattered wood, and dust. The impact sent debris flying in all directions, and villagers shielded their faces, coughing and swearing as cabbage leaves rained down on them. The boy used the force of the explosion to springboard himself into the air, leaping clear over Bardo's head.

"My cabbages!" wailed the stall's owner, an older wolf man with greyed hair and ears, clutching a ruined cabbage to his ear as if in mourning. The poor vegetable hung in tatters, its shredded leaves slipping through his fingers like his lost dignity.

"Sorry, old man!" the boy called down with a careless shrug, already several feet away.

He landed gracefully on Bardo's shoulders, balancing just long enough to plant a muddy boot right in the center of the man's red, sweaty face. Bardo let out a startled grunt as the boy used him as a springboard, launching himself to the roof of a nearby building, where he crouched, looking down with a smug expression.

"Mr. Ball Head just couldn't do it, I see." He wiped at an imaginary tear, feigning pity as Bardo sputtered below, his face smeared with grime.

"I'll take this spear," he called down, reaching over and effortlessly snatching the weapon from Bardo's hands, twirling it with mock elegance. "You don't need it anyway. What you should really worry about is growing a 'spear' out of that testicle head of yours. Has to be natural, you know? Toys like this don't exactly win the ladies around here. Not that any would talk to your fat ass anyway."

With that, he gave a mocking salute, turning and bounding off the rooftop, leaping effortlessly from building to building, his laughter echoing through the market.

"FUCK YOU, JURAF!" Bardo's voice roared behind him, a mixture of rage and humiliation as the villagers around him chuckled, murmuring and shaking their heads.

"I LIKE WOMEN!" Juraf hollered back, the grin never leaving his face as he disappeared over the rooftops, leaving Bardo sputtering, defeated, in the dusty street below.

Juraf slipped through the winding dirt paths that led to Shadeside, the seediest corner of the village, his home turf. This was where the forgotten gathered, where shadows seemed to cling to the air, thick and cloying, and where despair drifted like smoke from the cracked, muddy huts. Broken fences, shattered bottles, and splintered remnants of carts littered the path, markers of a place where no one cared enough to clean. He walked past beggars huddled beneath fraying blankets, their eyes glinting dully in the twilight. Shadeside was the only place he could ever belong—a boy with a whore for a mother and a ghost for a father, tethered to this place by blood and circumstance.

As he approached his "home," if it could even be called that, he pulled out the fruits and meats he'd pilfered, casting a wary eye over the rickety structure. The place was little more than a shamble of wooden planks barely holding together under beast skins that flapped against the wind, giving the illusion of stability. The entire hut groaned as a gust swept through, rattling its feeble bones, as if mocking his attempt to find shelter here. For just a moment, Juraf's carefree expression faltered, the mask slipping to reveal a flicker of frustration, maybe even shame, but he quickly smothered it, replacing it with his trademark grin. No one was around to see his slip, but it was for himself, a reminder to never give in to the weakness this place tried to breed into him.

He kicked open the door, swaggering in with a wide grin, only to be met with a blur of black hair and flailing limbs hurtling toward him. He barely ducked in time as a small girl, her dark eyes fierce, flew past him, mouth open, ready to take a bite out of him like a feral beast. But in his duck he jammed one of the apples he had stolen into her mouth before she landed. She skidded to a halt, turning around, eyes flashing in a challenge.

"Little Kiyanna, you gotta be faster than that if you want to catch me, the great Juraf!" he crowed, striking a ridiculous pose, one hand on his hip and the other raised in triumph.

She glared, holding up a frayed string he hadn't noticed before, tugging it with a triumphant grin. He barely had time to blink before a wooden rafter, barely held together by her makeshift trap, dislodged and fell, smacking him square on the head and knocking him flat on his ass.

"Ow! Fuck!" he groaned, rubbing the growing lump on his skull.

"Mmmfmmm—pegh!" Kiyanna spat the apple he'd jammed into her mouth onto the ground, wiping her lips in disgust. "Juraf, you idiot! Where were you all day, and why the hell do you have a weapon? And where did you get all this food? With what coin, huh? We're broke! I've told you a million times, you can't become a soldier. They wouldn't accept someone like you; we barely even went to the village classes!" She jabbed a finger at him, her voice shrill with frustration, though her eyes softened just slightly with worry.

Juraf rolled his eyes, brushing off her nagging as he stood and adjusted his stolen spear like it was a prized possession. She wasn't wrong, not exactly. Coins, crafted from the carapace of rare insects and infused with aspar blood, giving them that eerie glow in the moonlight, were precious in Wolvenblade. Each bore a stylized symbol of Fenrir, a numen formation etched into its surface, making even a single coin worth guarding. Coins ran the economy, but bartering was more common down here in Shadeside. Bartering happened in Sunside to it was just less common. Juraf, of course, owned nothing of worth to trade. Still, none of that mattered to him. He had no need for rules or limits.

"Shut it, brat! We have nothing now, but that'll change soon enough. I'll make sure of it," he said, his voice unusually serious for a brief moment, the usual jest falling away as he met her gaze head-on. "I'm gonna make it into the army somehow. I'll become strong enough that they won't have a choice but to notice me."

Some of the frustration drained from Kiyanna's face, replaced with a flicker of doubt and something that might've been hope, if she dared believe in it. "We could both just get service jobs, you know. I wanted to get one, but you stopped me. You're out there every day stealing, and you never tell me why. What happens if you get caught, huh? What am I supposed to do then?" She reached out, her hand hesitating, hovering near his face as if seeking to reassure herself of his presence.

Juraf laughed, brushing her hand away and tousling her hair with a grin. "Caught? Me? Getting caught is for amateurs and talentless nobodies. Your brother is secretly the son of Fenrir, you know," he boasted, puffing out his chest. "Didn't you see the way the suns shone down on me in divine fashion that one time? Actually, I'll let you in on a little secret—the seven suns are goddesses, all of 'em, and they're just waitin' to join my harem. I, Juraf, shall fuck the heavens!" He struck a dramatic pose, arms wide, as if the goddesses themselves would descend at that moment to confirm his claim.

Kiyanna wrinkled her nose, her face contorted in disgust. "You're such an idiot. Why do you always do that?" She scoffed, her hand dropping as she turned her back on him, trudging off toward the deeper shadows of the slums, shoulders tense with an irritation that couldn't entirely hide the fondness beneath. That being said she was very angry he could tell from experience.

He watched her go, the mocking bravado slipping slightly as he muttered under his breath, "Better you be annoyed with me than worried."

__________________

Juraf sighed as Kiyanna's footsteps faded into the distance, leaving him alone in the quiet squalor of their tiny shack. He scanned the small heap of food he'd managed to gather today, separating out a few pieces that would have to be rationed for tomorrow. The rest, he tucked away for what would happen later and some for Kiyanna little for him. He didn't need much; his mind was on other things, things that filled the space that food couldn't. He lowered himself onto the rough, dirt-streaked floor and shut his eyes, letting his thoughts drift to the rhythm of his own breathing.

With each breath, he felt the numen flow into him, an unseen force slipping into his veins and settling in his meridians like liquid energy. It pulsed with a quiet, primal hum, resonating with his heartbeat. His chest rose and fell, each breath drawing the numen deeper, cycling it through his body, each cycle stripping away impurities from his flesh and spirit. A faint mist of turbid air left him, carrying away the toxins that had built up from the hard, unforgiving life he lived. It was as if the numen held echoes of a mighty howl, a note woven from the threads of the Great Wolf Sutra, a path of cultivation that carried the untamed essence of his people. Even street urchins like himself knew it, they were all allowed to learn.

Juraf felt the numen refining him, cleaning him from within, but there was more—something incomprehensible, layered beneath the numen's raw energy, faint whispers that seemed to brush against the edges of his mind. It was a symphony of sounds, twisted and tangled, ancient and cryptic. The sounds didn't make sense to him, not entirely, but he knew instinctively that they were the Great Dao itself, the secrets of creation murmuring at the threshold of his understanding.

Most people would consider it a rare privilege to hear the Dao, even in fragments, maybe even call it a minor enlightenment, but for Juraf, it was an experience that felt as natural as breathing. Every time he sat down to cultivate, every time he drew the numen into himself, he could hear those whispers, like faint shadows cast across his mind. Tonight, he reached out to them, focusing his thoughts, his will, trying to grasp something specific within the tangle of sounds. He sifted through the cacophony, searching, waiting. Wolfish howls reverberated somewhere in the echoes—the wolf Sutra technique guiding him—but that wasn't what he sought tonight.

Then, he heard it.

Fwip!

A single, piercing sound, like a great spear cutting through the air, clean and unstoppable. As the noise settled in his mind, his vision shifted. He was no longer in the shack. Before him was a vision—a spear, monumental in size, thrust from the ground like a jagged tooth, piercing the heavens themselves. The sky split around its tip, the very void torn asunder by its sheer presence. The suns hung in the sky, framing it like silent spectators, casting their light as a backdrop to this symbol of pure destruction, this embodiment of dominance.

What is a spear? The question echoed in his mind, and the answer came as naturally as the vision before him.

Yes, a spear was a weapon, but it was also more than that. It was the first weapon. In the ancient tales of Wolvenblade, back when the founders walked the wastelands and battled the savage beasts, they used spears to hunt, to kill, to defend themselves against the merciless world. The spear was the first weapon of man and thus was the first true departure from nature. It was Wolvenkind's first rebellion, their first act of defiance against nature itself, carving something deadly from the earth to wield against the world. In that moment, they had forged their path to dominance.

The spear was more than just a tool; it was the spirit of rebellion, a manifestation of strength in the face of adversity. It represented a choice to face the horrors of the world head-on, to pierce through the obstacles with unyielding resolve. To wield a spear was to embody the path of dominance, to say to the world, I will not bow. It was man's weapon, the weapon that drew the line between beast and sentient, the weapon that tore open the fabric of opportunity and paved the way for civilization. Among weapons, it was the undisputed king.

The vision burned in his mind, this colossal spear towering toward the heavens, unbreakable, unchallenged. He felt his chest tighten, his heart pounding with the rhythm of the ancient battles, the spirit of man against the uncaring savagery of creation. In that spear, he saw his path, the way forward, clear and undeniable. He reached out in his mind, grasping at the spear's image, feeling the raw, terrible power of dominance surge through him—

Suddenly, a sharp pain lanced through his skull, shattering the vision. He gasped, clutching his head as the echoes of the spear's power faded, leaving him dizzy, aching, yet exhilarated.

"Woohh!" He breathed out, leaning back with a grin of satisfaction. "I made a lot of progress today. I'll crack the seventh shackle soon," he muttered, his voice filled with a note of pride. For a boy with no formal training, barely surviving on the streets at just fifteen, his progress was nothing short of extraordinary. Not only that—something else had happened, something that had been brewing for a long time but was finally taking shape.

He raised his hand, focusing on the numen swirling around it. But this time, it felt different. The numen was no longer just an energy flowing through him; it had taken on a new quality, a faint but unmistakable resonance with the spear. It was still rough, half-formed, but he could feel it. This wasn't merely numen—it was numen tinged with his own will, an essence of dominance and sharpness he'd etched into it from the depths of his mind. A half-formed intent, born from his spirit.

The sensation thrummed through him, and he could tell that it made his attacks a little stronger, his movements a bit sharper. Yet he knew, deep down, that this was only the beginning. When he fully grasped this essence, when it crystallized into something whole, he knew it would change him in ways he couldn't yet understand.

He shook his head, banishing the thoughts as his gaze drifted upward. The shack's ceiling was riddled with holes, each one letting in shafts of pale moonlight that seemed to cut through the darkness. The beams cast an ethereal glow over the room, adding an almost mystical quality to the dingy, damp walls and the worn-out floor. He hadn't fixed the roof yet, and in truth, he barely noticed the cold drafts that crept in through the gaps. But as he sat there, he became aware of a nagging sense of time slipping away.

She wasn't back yet. Kiyanna. Damn, was it already that late? No not only that, it was that time. This was worrying.

____________

"Kiyanna?!" Juraf's voice echoed through the dark, tense with hope yet biting with anger. He waited for a response, anything—a shout back, a faint noise—but only silence met him. Of course, nothing could ever be that easy. He spat a curse under his breath. "Fucking Fenrir, what is this? Payback for blaspheming the suns earlier? They can suck my big black spear."

He grabbed the stolen spear with a determined grip, setting off toward the place he knew those bastards would be. They were the reason he resorted to stealing, why he never considered finding honest work. A gang, if they could even be called that—they were more like a force, a festering rot that ran unchecked through the slums. Wolvenblade was split into four roughly distinct areas: the central village square and the market where all the main action happened; the nicer residential area reserved for the more fortunate folk; the rural outskirts dotted with sparse crops and scattered homes; and then the slums, known as Shadeside, the village's forgotten, dark underbelly. Shadeside was the smallest, huddled around the jail like a scar the village preferred not to acknowledge. The law barely reached here, and that neglect had given the gang free reign to operate with impunity, extorting and threatening residents with violence and worse. He knew all too well the lengths they'd go to—using threats of forced prostitution, blackmail, anything to keep a hold over the desperate.

He tore through the grim night, the sights of Shadeside flashing past him like twisted memories. Emaciated children lay sprawled on the cold ground, eyes glassy with hunger. Lepers wandered aimlessly, draped in ragged clothes, their skin marked by rot. Women, some barely older than him, leaned from doorways and beckoned to passersby, their voices sweet and broken as they called men in for a night of fleeting escape. His gaze flicked over each sight with a numbness born from years of exposure. This was his home. This was Shadeside.

He turned a corner and halted as the gang's hideout loomed before him—a building that stood like a dark monolith against the broken skyline, an eyesore even in this cesspit. Its walls, once a faded blue-green, were now painted a suffocating black. An emblem of a wolf's head, inverted and spewing blood, was smeared across the front—a blatant, over-the-top display of sacrilege that even Shadeside's jaded residents found unsettling and edgy. Yet, despite the bravado he wore so easily, he couldn't deny the knot of anxiety coiling in his stomach. Moths fluttered against his insides, a frantic, chittering dread that clawed up his throat, but he swallowed it down. He was Juraf. If he was anything, it was stubborn.

Bam! Bam!

He banged on the heavy wooden doors, shouting up at the guards inside. "For gang Odinblood! I've got goods from Sunside, just like you asked. Let me in!"

He threw a lilt of deference into his voice. He had no respect for these bastards, but he knew better than to openly defy them without a plan. A bit of feigned obedience might save him a beating—or worse. Better to bend than break, at least until he could finally get out of this hellhole.

The door creaked open, and a man stepped out. He was thickset, with gray hair and wolf ears, not from age but as a natural trait, framing a scarred face that looked like it had been ripped in half and patched together with the remnants of a sick grin. Most people would feel a twinge of fear just from looking at him, but Juraf only felt disgust. The man's presence was practically a caricature, a walking, scowling embodiment of every thug stereotype. And to top it off, the guy was only a fourth-shackle cultivator—an absolute bitch, really, in the grand scheme of things.

"Over here, brat," the man rasped with a laugh that grated like sandpaper. "Kehehe. Hope you got us some good shit tonight."

"Even your laugh sounds evil…" Juraf muttered under his breath.

"What was that?" the man snapped, suspicion narrowing his already beady eyes.

"Nothing," Juraf shot back quickly, forcing a smirk as he followed the thug inside.

The interior was as dark and twisted as the building's exterior suggested. Strange, crude tools of torture lined the walls, glinting in the dim light like grim souvenirs. Women in barely-there dresses draped themselves over the gang members, their laughter strained and hollow as they performed dances and acts that spoke of desperation rather than joy. His gaze swept over the scene, catching glimpses of faces and forms, some lost in a haze of intoxication, others simply numb. In one corner, a trio of hulking fat men had backed a boy into a corner, a child no older than ten. They were sweaty wet and grinning their flesh like warped cadvers as they finger reached for the child. The kid's terrified scream echoed briefly, his small figure trembling, until one of the men silenced him with a fist before they continued. Juraf turned his gaze, with a slight grimace. But that's just how things were.

Elsewhere, a group of rough-looking men sat smoking something pungent, its sickly-sweet lilac haze swirling around them. Their skin had started to warp, odd, purplish lumps protruding from beneath the surface like tumors or cysts—the side effects of cultivating with whatever poison they were inhaling. It was a mockery of true cultivation, a self-destructive spiral that was all too common here. He shook his head, steeling himself against the suffocating miasma of corruption.

They led him deeper into the building, passing rooms lined with dingy cots and tables covered in half-empty bottles and crusted plates. The air was thick with the stench of unwashed bodies and stale liquor, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of blood. Shadows flickered along the walls, dancing with the guttering light from cracked lanterns, casting twisted shapes that seemed to mock him as he moved. Each step forward was another step into the heart of Shadeside's darkness.

Finally, they reached the central hall. The space was wider here, though no less decrepit, with low-hanging beams draped in tattered banners. At the center of it all sat a man whose very presence seemed to weigh down the room—the leader of Odinblood.

_____________

In that place where the light barely flickered against the thick shadows that clung to every corner. That man sat alone, seated at the room's center, was the man they called "Longlegs." The name, while absurd, was fitting for someone as unnervingly stretched and spindly as he was. His limbs were elongated, almost insect-like, his tail a grotesque extension that curled on the floor beside him. Everything about him seemed unnaturally thin and stretched, as though some twisted god had taken a normal man and pulled at his edges until he became this warped, skeletal figure. His face was long, his ears even longer, casting an eerie shadow over his sunken cheeks and narrow, calculating eyes.

Worst of all, despite his grotesque appearance, Longlegs was strong. Stronger than anyone else Juraf had personally crossed paths with in this cesspool of a village. An eighth-shackle cultivator, an achievement rare enough that people of such power were often drawn into the military or to being hunters, far beyond the reach of ordinary village life. But here he was, lord of the Shadeside slums. It was this uncharacteristic strength that kept him in power, unchallenged in the underbelly of Wolvenblade.

"Sir Longlegs." Juraf bowed his head deeply, suppressing the laughter that tugged at his lips over the ridiculousness of the name. He'd seen what happened to a guy who dared chuckle at it once. That poor bastard had ended up as an object lesson in obedience, and the memory of it was enough to erase any hint of humor in Juraf's mind. Keeping his head down, he said, "I brought some food you requested from Sunside. As always, I hope it meets your standards, so we can keep our… partnership going."

Longlegs didn't respond, only waved his unnaturally long, bony fingers toward a figure at his side—a boy a few years older than Juraf with slicked-back blond hair and a smirk that practically dripped arrogance. This was Allo, a man who was scum through and through. Arrogant, malicious, and a complete sycophant. Allo delighted in playing the part of a big shot here in Shadeside, taking every opportunity to flaunt his power over those weaker than him, yet he groveled like a worm before Longlegs. He was a weak to the strong and strong to the weak. Just another who loved to whore out power. Paying for a night in exchange for a lifetime of shame and suffering just to feel it, to fuck it one time. How pathetic, Juraf couldn't even stomach the guy; he wasn't just an ass, he was a sniveling, power-hungry pedo who enjoyed tormenting anyone he felt was beneath him.

"This ain't enough, Juraffy," Allo sneered, his lips curling into a smirk that made Juraf want to smash his face into the dirt. He took delight in watching Juraf bow and grovel, milking every ounce of power the situation granted him. "And that spear—hand it over."

Before Juraf could respond, Allo ripped the weapon from his grasp, tossing it behind him with a nonchalance that only irritated Juraf more. Then, leaning in close, Allo hissed, "Food and little trinkets from Sunside? That's all you bring us? This shit's a joke. Hell, the fact that you even have the balls to show up here with this pitiful offering is practically asking for an execution, Juraf. I think we should suck out your fucking bone marrow. Or maybe throw you to the pigs; I hear they looovvveee little boys like you." He grinned, reveling in his own crude taunts. "Granted, you're getting a bit old for that, aren't ya?"

Juraf felt his fists clench involuntarily at the words. These scum were nasty to the core, twisted beyond redemption. Shadeside was full of trash like them, like he himself. But even here, these guys managed to stand out, he was scum but he wasn't that bad. And just when he thought Allo's words couldn't get any worse, he saw the man's face light up with a new, sinister idea.

"But your sister, though," Allo said, his voice dripping with a twisted glee. "Now she's a pretty little thing, huh? I know we promised not to whore her out before, but you haven't exactly been delivering as expected, have you? Maybe it's time we reconsider. I'm thinking she's high-quality stock. Hell, I'd be happy to take her first time myself. Get her broken in nice and proper." His grin was feral, eyes alight with malicious delight.

Rage flared hot and blinding in Juraf's mind, a fury so intense it threatened to consume him entirely. But he fought it down, kept his voice steady. "The deal was that I bring you supplies from Sunside, and in return, you stay away from my sister and our home. I haven't violated that arrangement. If you have my sister here… let her go. A high-class prostitute is still just that, no more than a tool, especially to someone like you."

The words came out cool, carefully controlled, but he knew he was playing with fire. Allo's face twisted with pleasure at his defiance, like he was savoring every word.

"Oh, is that so?" Allo's voice dropped to a sneering drawl as he leaned closer, his face a mask of smug satisfaction. "Look at you, groveling to keep her untouched. What's the matter, Juraffy? Are you trying to say you don't want me to take her first time? Maybe you're hoping to keep it for yourself? You dirty bastard, trying to deny me—"

Longlegs held up his fingers, and Allo's words cut off instantly, his mouth snapping shut as if someone had thrown a switch. For all his bravado, Allo's obedience was swift and unquestioning in the presence of Longlegs. Juraf's stomach churned with a mix of anger and contempt; Allo might talk tough, but he was a coward through and through.

Longlegs' voice came, soft and breathy, like a whisper that slithered through the air, oily and cold. "I make the rules, Juraf. This is Shadeside; it's my domain. My will decides who stays untouched and who becomes useful. Your sister has grown up nicely, and I think she'll be a fine addition to my side. It's why I have her. But perhaps… perhaps I might allow you a place here as well. Your cultivation isn't bad for your age. Maybe one day, you could even replace Allo."

"What, boss?" Allo whipped his head around, eyes wide with shock and indignation. But one cold look from Longlegs shut him up immediately. Even a spineless lapdog like him knew better than to cross his master.

But before the tension could thicken, Juraf exploded into mocking laughter, his voice a harsh cackle that filled the room. "Aehahhaha! GYHAHAHAHA!!! Oh, you long-legged, spindle-limbed, snavine-looking fuck! You tell me where my sister is, or I swear, I'll rip the skin off your skinny-ass scalp and use it as a damn condom while I fuck every one of your mothers!" He leveled a crazed look at Allo, grinning like a madman. "Oh, except you, Allo. Your mother's already rotting in the ground, isn't she? You cried like a pathetic little bitch when she died. Should I dig up her corpse, take her for a spin? Or is that something you'd already thought of? Maybe you two were keeping busy while your old cripple of a dad couldn't perform, huh?" He chuckled out like he had lost all of his sanity.

Because he had, there was no way in the seven suns he was letting these people turn his sister into a common whore like that woman. Like his mother, he had gone to great lengths to separate her from that life. To take care of her always. That was his responsibility as her big brother. Even though he was scum he was scum that was an elder sibling.

Allo's face twisted with rage, his forehead bulging as veins popped out like vines crawling beneath his skin. The taunts had hit home, riling him up to the point of boiling over. Letting out a wild, guttural scream, Allo charged, his body igniting with a thin layer of numen that pulsed with a low, red glow. He lunged with his fist raised, his intention clear in his bloodshot eyes—he wanted to make Juraf pay with pain.

But Juraf was ready. In a flash, he ducked under the blow, bending at an angle that left Allo's strike sailing harmlessly above his head. With a swift, practiced motion, he twisted his body, popping up back-to-back with his assailant before Allo even realized his punch had missed. Then, in a move as natural as breathing, Juraf hooked his arm back, catching Allo's elbow and yanking it with enough force to redirect the bigger man's momentum. Allo's body was whipped around like a rag doll, his own weight and strength used against him as he was thrown straight toward Longlegs.

But the gang leader merely flicked his long, bony fingers, swatting Allo aside as if he were no more than a bothersome fly. Allo crashed into a nearby table, shattering it into splinters. Pieces of wood flew in all directions, the men around them recoiling from the impact. Blood trickled from Allo's forehead as he struggled to sit up, his face a mixture of shock and fury.

"So, this is what it has come to, Juraf?" Longlegs' voice was calm, almost amused, as he watched the chaos unfold around him. There was a twisted satisfaction in his tone, a subtle acknowledgment of the struggle yet complete disdain for the one daring to revolt.

Juraf's face contorted with fury, his eyes blazing with a primal light. "I'll fucking kill you all!" he roared, his voice echoing through the dark, decrepit hall.

At his cry, the room exploded into motion. Men surged forward from every direction, a sea of twisted, brutish figures, all rushing to subdue the boy who had dared to defy their master. Juraf grinned, eyes narrowing as he braced himself for the onslaught.

Juraf's gaze was alight with wild, unbridled fury as he twisted and struck with ruthless precision, each move fueled by a deep-rooted anger that had lain dormant until tonight. One of the gang members lunged at him, aiming to tackle him around the waist, but Juraf reacted in an instant, slamming his knee upward to connect with the man's nose in a sickening crunch. Blood exploded from his face, and before he could even register the pain, Juraf seized his arm, swinging him with brutal force, using his body like a bludgeon to crash into another thug attempting to flank him. The two men collapsed in a tangled heap, groaning in agony.

He barely had a second to catch his breath before a bat came swinging towards his skull. The weapon connected with a glancing blow, but Juraf rolled with it, dissipating some of the impact. He hit the ground hard but sprang up with feline grace, retaliating with a fierce backward kick aimed directly at his assailant's groin. His foot made contact with brutal accuracy, and he felt the man's testicles rupture under the force. The gang member's scream tore through the air, followed by a retch as he crumpled, pale and unconscious, to the ground.

Before he could recover, another thug swung a blade towards his extended leg, hoping to sever it. Juraf twisted in mid-air, his body moving with a deadly grace honed by years of survival on the streets. He brought his other leg crashing down onto the attacker's face, shattering the man's nose and knocking him back before he could complete his strike. Blood spattered across the dusty floorboards as the man staggered, clutching his mangled face in horror and pain.

Juraf hit the ground, rolling to dodge the oncoming assault as more men came at him from every angle, blades glinting with murderous intent. He felt the rush of air as they slashed down towards his prone body, narrowly missing him as he twisted away. Planting his hands on the ground, he spun his legs in a rapid circle, transforming into a human whirlwind that sent his attackers reeling backward. They staggered, struggling to regain their footing, and Juraf wasted no time. He sprang up, grabbing one of the blades embedded in the floor and going on the offensive, a dark gleam of determination in his eyes.

One of the men raised his own sword, positioning it to block an expected strike at his kidney. But Juraf's attack was a feint; with a swift flick of his wrist, he changed the angle, slicing halfway through the man's thigh. A scream tore from his mouth as Juraf used the moment of pain to his advantage, jamming his fingers into the man's eyes. The thug stumbled, clutching at his face in agony, and with brutal efficiency, Juraf brought his blade down, cleaving his head cleanly in two. The body collapsed in a heap, blood pooling beneath it, and Juraf stepped over it with a cold, unfeeling detachment.

Without pause, he charged forward, weaving between the gang members as if they were nothing more than obstacles. His blade sliced through flesh and bone with relentless precision, limbs flying as blood sprayed into the air like a macabre fountain. He moved in close to one man with a particularly long reach, jamming his blade between the thug's ribs and piercing his lung. The man's eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening in a silent scream as his body went limp. Juraf grabbed him by the shoulders, using the dying man's body as a shield, blocking the flurry of blows coming from other attackers. From behind his human barricade, he struck out with his blade, slashing at their faces and throats in quick, lethal motions.

Eventually, he had to let the corpse go. It slumped to the ground, and at that moment, a blade slashed across his back. Pain seared through him, hot and sharp, but he ground his teeth, letting the agony fuel his rage. He turned, grabbing the wrist of the man who had cut him and twisting it with brutal force. The man tried to release his weapon, but Juraf held his grip firm, forcing the blade into the thug's own gut. The man gasped, his eyes going wide with terror as he felt the cold steel penetrate his flesh. Juraf twisted the blade viciously before drawing it out, watching with satisfaction as the man crumpled, lifeless.

With a surge of adrenaline, he jumped into the air, somersaulting over a massive wolf-man who stood at least seven feet tall. Placing both palms on the flat side of his blade, he used his momentum to drive the weapon down through the thug's trapezius muscle, carving a deep, gory gash through his shoulder and torso. The wolf-man let out a guttural howl, blood pouring from the wound as he collapsed to his knees. But before Juraf could land, another blade nicked his leg, slicing through muscle and sending a hot burst of pain up his thigh.

He staggered but recovered quickly, using the injury to his advantage. He swung his leg in a powerful kick that caught his attacker's chin, sending him reeling back. Before the man could recover, Juraf grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back and slashing his throat in one brutal motion. Blood sprayed across the floor as the man fell, clutching at the gaping wound, his life draining away with each ragged breath.

Just then, another blade came flying toward his face. He barely managed to dodge, the sharp edge grazing his neck and leaving a thin line of blood. With a feral snarl, he sliced off the offender's arm, catching the severed limb and wielding it like a club. The macabre weapon swung in a brutal arc, smashing into the faces of three nearby attackers with sickening thuds. Teeth and blood flew as they crumpled to the ground, their faces a mangled mess of flesh and bone.

One man tried to make a break for it, turning tail and running, but a prostitute threw herself between them, her arms spread wide as if to shield him. "No, please don—"

Juraf's blade sliced through her without hesitation, cleaving her from shoulder to hip. Her body split with a wet, sickening sound, her final plea cut off as blood sprayed across the wooden floor. The man she'd tried to protect didn't even look back, already bolting for the door in a blind panic.

He jumped on the man's back before putting the blade to his neck and cutting so he wouldn't die but so he'd bleed out slowly. He hated people like him the most. He was running low on numen but he still had a secret weapon he was saving. Because that long bastard hadn't moved this entire time after seeing his men die in droves.

Juraf's heart thundered in his chest after the kill, his body a map of bruises, blood, and torn flesh, but he stood defiantly before Longlegs, the man who was all that stood between him and his sister's safety. The adrenaline pumping through his veins drowned out his pain, forcing him to his feet as he spat blood, a manic grin splitting his lips.

Longlegs sneered as he surveyed the carnage around them. Nearly all his men were dead or had fled, leaving the room a blood-stained testament to the battle that had taken place. The irony was clear in his cold, mocking eyes. "Killing an innocent girl like that. For someone trying to be a hero, it's not very nice, is it?"

Juraf's laughter was harsh, rasping through his bloody lips. He straightened, though every movement screamed in agony, his ribs bruised to the bone, his body nearly at its limit. But giving up wasn't an option. Not now. If he gave up then he had lived for nothing. In the end, he was nothing if not something to someone, and the only someone he had was Kiyanna. She was the only someone he cared about.

"I'm scum, Longlegs; we all are," Juraf rasped. "But you crossed the line when you fucked with my sister. She's the only clean soul in this filthy, Fenrir-damned side of the village. I'm not doing this because I'm some fucking hero. I'm doing this because I'm her big brother. You messed with the wrong person, you bastard. I am Juraf—a calamity that'll pierce through the godsdamn sky! You? You're just an inconsequential piece of shit in my way."

A flicker of fury passed over Longlegs' face. "Nice obituary, Juraf."

And in a flash, Longlegs moved, faster than Juraf's eye could track. The gang leader's hand shot forward, slamming into Juraf's chest with a force that shattered the air around them. The blow launched him backward, his body hurtling through wall after wall, splinters and jagged wood digging into his flesh like claws. Blood splattered in thick arcs as he crashed into a barren room, vision blurring, black dots swimming before his eyes. He struggled to breathe as his ribs felt like they'd been crushed inward, his lungs wheezing for air.

Longlegs' spindly fingers gripped his mouth, twisting his face like a fish on a hook, dragging him through the wreckage. The pain was excruciating as Juraf was flung once more across the room, slamming into a wall with a sickening crack. The impact sent splinters embedding into his back, their sharp, relentless sting mixing with the haze of his battered mind.

"G-get up…" he mumbled to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper, as he forced his muscles to respond. But the world spun in a violent whirl, black and white spears clashing and shattering within his mind's eye, almost as if they were guiding him, showing him a path he couldn't quite grasp. His head pounded, but his instincts flared, urging him to move. He managed to move his head just as Longlegs' hand smashed down on the ground, splintering the wood his head occupied a moment ago.

Taking advantage of the position with a guttural snarl, Juraf coiled his body, wrapping his legs and arms around Longlegs' extended limb. Summoning what strength he had left, he twisted violently, feeling the sickening pop of the man's elbow dislocating beneath his grip. Longlegs let out a guttural roar, throwing Juraf off with a vicious toss that sent him crashing into yet another wall.

"AHHH! Fuck!" Longlegs cradled his dislocated arm for a brief moment before snapping it back into place with a grotesque crunch. His eyes narrowed with renewed fury, and he lunged forward, fists glowing with numen as he unleashed a devastating combination.

Juraf barely managed to block one of the strikes, his bruised arms shaking under the force. But Longlegs was relentless, his next attack coming even faster. Juraf swung a wild punch, only for Longlegs to sidestep smoothly, bringing both arms back as if drawing a massive bow.

"Gungnir!" Longlegs roared, releasing the pent-up energy with brutal precision. Both fists shot forward, charged with numen, hitting Juraf with the force of a sledgehammer. Juraf's vision went white as the impact knocked the air from his lungs, his body buckling under the raw, unrestrained power. Blood and bile spewed from his mouth as he was launched into the air, spinning helplessly like a ragdoll amidst the dust and debris.

But Longlegs wasn't finished.

He sprang up after Juraf, gripping his legs in mid-air, his long fingers wrapping around Juraf's ankles like chains. With a powerful twist, he spun them both in the air, channeling numen through his body in a flowing ring around them, creating an almost ritualistic aura.

"Draupnir!" The throw was merciless, sending Juraf hurtling across the room. His body crashed through wooden beams and stone walls, each impact shattering the structure around him. Pain tore through him in waves, his skin split and torn, bones threatening to snap from the relentless assault.

Even then, there was no mercy.

"Mimisbrunnr!" Longlegs' fingers extended, elongated by a coat of numen, each one as sharp as a blade. He lunged, aiming straight for Juraf's eyes. Juraf barely managed to roll to the side, the deadly fingers grazing his forehead instead, leaving a deep, stinging gash across his brow. Blood trickled down into his eyes, blurring his vision further, but the pain snapped him back into clarity, grounding him amidst the overwhelming agony.

He stumbled back, gasping, but Longlegs closed in, faster than he could react. Juraf raised an arm in a feeble defense, only for Longlegs to drive an elbow into his temple, numen flaring around the blow like a shockwave.

"Huginn!" he shouted at the time of the attack.

The impact hit him like a thunderclap, his skull rattling as stars exploded across his vision. His body was sent reeling backward, crashing into the ground with bone-jarring force.

The room seemed to spin as Juraf forced himself to his knees, his body on the edge of collapse. Longlegs was already advancing, his face twisted with a mixture of anger and amusement. He clearly relished every moment of his opponent's suffering.

But Juraf wasn't done. Not yet.

Spitting blood, he looked up at the gang leader, a bloody grin cutting across his face. "That… all you got, you stretched-out fuck? I'm not… done… until I rip that ugly fucking head off your neck."

"Muninn!" He twisted again sending the opposite elbow into his other temple. And juraf felt like he was dead. There was nothing he could do. He hadn't even been able to use that thing. Juraf's body felt as if it were floating, drifting away from reality, slipping into an all-encompassing darkness. His mind staggered, a part of him desperately wanting to let go, to sink into the void and be swallowed by the weight of his defeat. To be swallowed whole and forget about the filth he had lived his whole life encumbered by. He was battered, his skull felt split in two, and every nerve in his body screamed. What could a sixth-shackle like him do against an eighth? The idea was laughable—a fight of legends, a myth whispered by drunks in the back alleys. And here he was, crushed beneath it, barely breathing, his spirit splintered.

But just as he started to fall into that darkness, something stirred—a glimmer in the void. Out of the blackness, he saw it: a spear, stretching infinitely forward. Its blade gleamed, piercing the very fabric of reality, tearing through the darkness with an unyielding, timeless light. This was no ordinary weapon; it was the embodiment of a path a great road. The spear extended infinitely, but on its narrow edge walked figures, their backs turned to him. Muscular backs, scarred and weathered, carrying burdens like invisible weights, trudged forward on this endless road of domination. And they were great, every single one held a gravitas and momentum that was unreplicable. They were the backs of the mighty, the backs of those that took the world by storm. Who used the first weapon to rebel against the world that surrounded them.

These were not heroes nor villains, not paragons of virtue nor creatures of darkness. They were something simpler, yet infinitely more complex—fighters. Fighters through and through, warriors who battled against the world itself, who took up the spear to pierce the sky, to rebel against their very existence, to carve a path in a world that had offered them nothing but scorn. They were unbreakable, resolute, the embodiment of defiance itself. Each of their backs told a story, a testament to battles won and lost, to the lives they'd left in their wake. Those who battled against all things those who followed the way of the spear.

And then, amidst the marching figures, one of the backs turned. This one was far ahead of the horizon and it was hard to see their face but once it cleared Juraf's eyes widened. After all, it was only natural as he saw it was his own face staring back at him, smirking, filled with defiance. His own voice echoed along the infinite length of the spear-road, filled with laughter, with that reckless, undying hunger to fight against all odds.

"GYAHAHAHA!!!"

The sound of his laughter rang like thunder in his ears, and his vision snapped back into clarity. His eyes flew open, breath flooding his lungs as though he were alive for the first time. Everything around him sharpened—the crumbling walls, the dust settling in the air, the blood staining the ground beneath him. And within him, something had taken shape, something he'd been trying to grasp all this time. A clarity, a power, something that he had been building day by day, just waiting to be awakened. It was as if his soul itself had been reforged, molded in the fires of his unyielding will.

Spear Intent.

It surged through his veins, an electric pulse that revitalized every part of him, ignoring his bruised ribs, the torn skin, the blood-streaked face. He rolled to the side, dodging another crushing blow from Longlegs' fist, feeling the air tremble as it slammed into the ground where he had been moments before. Instinct took over, his hand closing around a broken beam lying amid the rubble, the wood familiar in his grip yet transformed, as though it held the weight of that endless road.

Juraf twirled the beam in his hand, feeling the raw intensity coursing from his fingertips into the fractured wood. Spear Intent flowed through it, seeping into every splinter and grain, transforming it from a broken beam into an extension of his spirit, his very being. This was no longer just a piece of debris; it was a weapon, one that burned with the newfound intensity of his intent.

He staggered to his feet, rolling his shoulders, feeling the exhaustion but ignoring it as he leveled his gaze at Longlegs. His smirk returned, that manic grin that spoke of defiance, of the countless fights he'd survived, of every brutal lesson learned in the streets.

"You wanted a fight, Longlegs?" His voice came out steady, mocking, every bit of it carrying the raw edge of his intent. "Well, here's one you won't fucking forget."

Longlegs' eyes narrowed, his lip curling in disdain. But there was something else there now—a flicker of unease, a sliver of recognition that he wasn't just dealing with the same beaten-down kid he'd thrown around moments ago. The air grew tense, charged with an almost tangible energy as Juraf took a stance, the broken beam poised like a spear, his body low and balanced. It felt like he was standing on that infinite road once more, the figures marching forward with him, each step adding to the strength flowing into his makeshift spear.

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Juraf shot forward, determination sharpening his gaze, and twirled his makeshift spear, feeling the weight and intent of his weapon coursing through him. Longlegs struck out, his fist blurring in a deadly arc, but Juraf was ready. With a flick of the wooden shaft, he intercepted the blow, the impact resonating up his arms but holding firm. He twisted his spear and, seizing the opportunity, drove it straight into Longlegs' shoulder.

"RAGGGHHH!!" Longlegs bellowed, blood spurting as he staggered back. He swung for Juraf's head, the fury of his blow crackling through the air, but Juraf deflected it with a deft twist of his spear. Using the man's own momentum against him, he sliced into Longlegs' exposed side, quickly slipping behind him.

Enraged, Longlegs attempted a backward kick. Juraf acted on instinct, raising his spear and driving it right through the man's foot, the splintered wood piercing flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The man let out a guttural snarl, stumbling, but Juraf didn't let up. With a feral grin, he aimed for Longlegs' throat, the intent in his strike sharper than any blade, but the man twisted just enough to evade the fatal blow, resulting in his wolf ear being severed instead.

Blood sprayed as Longlegs recoiled, his face contorted in pain and rage. Juraf seized the moment, looping his weapon around the man's neck and choking him, pulling back with all his remaining strength. His spear intent pulsed, seeping into the jagged splinter, slicing into Longlegs' neck like the bite of a wolf. The man wriggled like a Pipla caught in a trap, flailing as he tried to break free, but Juraf held fast, tightening his grip, pouring every ounce of his will into the chokehold.

The man's face turned from red to purple, veins bulging as his struggling grew weaker, his breaths rasping. But then, with one final, desperate surge, Longlegs twisted violently, ramming an elbow into Juraf's shattered ribs. A spike of pain exploded through him, and he lost his grip. In a flash, Longlegs turned, slamming his forehead into Juraf's face, sending him sprawling to the ground in a daze. Before he could regain his bearings, a brutal kick sent him flying across the floor, where he crashed in a heap of broken wood and dust.

"Fucking Fenrir, kid," Longlegs spat, cracking his neck as he loomed over Juraf's fallen form. "This'll be pleasant—my first time killing a genius." He sneered, taking slow, deliberate steps toward him, savoring each moment as he closed in. But just then, a crash sounded through the broken doors, followed by a sharp, desperate shout.

"He's right over there!"

Juraf's eyes shot open, and he saw her—Kiyanna—standing there, her voice cutting through the chaos, directing attention to him. Behind her was a young boy in a white shawl, his face covered, darting in behind Longlegs. With swift, decisive motion, the boy stabbed a dagger straight through Longlegs' back. Blood dribbled down the man's lips as he twisted, roaring in pain, and with a wild swipe of his arm, he knocked the boy away, sending him sprawling to the side. But that was enough.

Juraf felt a rush of gratitude, a wave of fierce pride swelling in his chest. Thank you, Kiyanna. It was her who had saved him. Not that he'd ever say it aloud—he was Juraf, after all, a self-centered genius, a piece of scum who wouldn't admit his vulnerability. But he was her big brother. And for her, he had to move forward, no matter the pain, no matter the cost.

He staggered to his feet, barely able to see through the blood and sweat stinging his eyes. His entire body was screaming in agony, ribs cracked, skin bruised, but he didn't care. The spirit of that endless road, the path of the spear, blazed within him, filling his battered form with a relentless fury. Gripping his makeshift spear, he gathered what little numen he had left, feeling his spear intent surge with newfound intensity. He took a stance, his mind focusing on that single moment, that single vision from earlier—the spear that had pierced the heavens, that symbol of rebellion, of dominance over a hostile world. He had decided to do all he could to mimic even but a fraction of that power. It created a move of artistic conception fully born of intent rather than just numen. Numen was just an amplifier not the core.

Summoning every ounce of strength, he thrust forward, his voice erupting in a primal roar that seemed to shake the very walls around them.

"INSURGENT SPEAR!"

In that moment, the broken splinter in his hands became more than wood—it became a weapon of pure, unyielding force, a vessel for his spear intent. An ethereal image of the vision he had seen filled the room, towering above them both, a colossal spear piercing skyward. His weapon, infused with every bit of his will, shot forward, its power tearing through the air like a comet.

Longlegs didn't even have a chance to react. The makeshift spear drove straight through his torso, ripping through flesh, bone, and numen, leaving a gaping, bloody void where his midsection had been. His body split in two, the upper and lower halves collapsing to the floor in a rain of blood that painted the wreckage in shades of crimson.

Juraf dropped to his knees, his vision swimming as the adrenaline began to ebb. His hands shook, his body racked with exhaustion, but he looked up just in time to see Kiyanna running toward him, tears streaming down her face. She knelt beside him, pulling him into her arms, her sobs breaking the silence that followed the brutal clash.

He could feel her tears, warm against his bloodied face, washing away some of the grime, and he managed a weak, crooked grin, reaching up to brush her hair from her tear-streaked cheeks.

Kiyanna's sobs shook her frame as she clutched Juraf tightly, her voice barely a whisper through the tears. "Why d–didn't you tell me? I wo–would have never yelled at you... hic–hic!" Her hold tightened, and he flinched as her embrace hit his bruised ribs, though he forced a smile.

"What are you talking about? I'm your big brother, after all, and I handled it. Don't cry; I'm not dead yet." He reached up, gently brushing her tears away with a shaky hand. "Besides, you know what they say—good people die early, but calamities last a thousand years. I'm only fifteen." His eyes gleamed with a flicker of humor, even as his body protested each movement.

As his gaze wandered, he turned his attention to the boy who had been masked earlier. Now, his face was exposed, revealing a slightly timid expression, cheeks flushed as he stole glances at Kiyanna, clearly flustered by her presence. He had tawny brown hair, a thin, delicate face, and striking green eyes that darted around, absorbing the wreckage of the room.

"You did all this… only at the sixth shackle?" The boy's voice was awed. "The fact that we're the same age, and you can do this—wow!"

Juraf narrowed his eyes, blinking in disbelief. Another sixth-shackle? That couldn't be right. In the entire village, Juraf's strength at his age was considered rare, nearly unheard of. And then, something clicked as he noted the finer cut of the boy's clothes, the expensive stitching and soft, untarnished fabric. And that hair, those eyes…

"FUCK! What the hell is a Lupus doing on Shade—urrk!" He doubled over, coughing up more blood, while Kiyanna's hands flew to his back, panic etched across her face.

The boy scratched the back of his neck, sheepishly averting his eyes. "Oh… you could tell. My name is Remulus Lupus. I just… I came to get aw–explore. And I wanted to see—uhh, I mean… I saw a girl being carried away, so I tried to help." His gaze drifted shyly to Kiyanna again, and then he squared his shoulders, as if remembering his purpose. "But now that I've seen you, I want to ask you for a favor."

Juraf raised an eyebrow, both wary and intrigued. A prince, asking a favor of me? "And that would be?" he asked cautiously. He might not have the luxury to say no.

Remulus took a deep breath, his words stumbling out in a hurried rush, "Could you teach me the spear? Of course, I'll make sure you get treated, and I'll even secure you a place in the army with me. I can get you a house, medical treatment, and plenty of other things for you and your sister!"

Juraf's eyebrows rose in genuine surprise. A future for Kiyanna… a chance to join the army? He felt a laugh bubble up, unable to contain it despite the pain radiating from his battered body. "A house, treatment, and a place in the army? Yes, please! Hell, if you asked me to do something strange for a piece of change, I wouldn't have rejected you with those conditions!"

Kiyanna's blush deepened, and her hand came down on his chest, gentle but firm enough to make him cough a bit of blood. "JURAF!" Her voice was a mix of indignation and relief, though she couldn't keep a small smile from creeping onto her face.

"Ugh damn—can't you at least let your brother talk freely on his deathbed?" he grumbled, coughing through a lopsided grin.

"What happened to lasting a thousand years?" she quipped, though her tone softened as she helped him to his feet, supporting his right side with care.

Remulus quickly moved to Juraf's left, and together, they lifted him, each bracing his weight under the starlit sky. Moonlight bathed the three of them in a silver glow, casting long shadows as they slowly made their way from the ruins of that nightmarish scene, each step crunching softly on the dirt-strewn ground. Juraf's head grew heavy, vision blurring as exhaustion finally overtook him. The village sounds began to fade, the flickering lights of Shadeside retreating into the distance as they passed through the broken streets.

And in those final moments before unconsciousness claimed him, he saw it once more—a spear, shining brilliantly against a boundless sky. He had fought well. And now, with a faint smile on his face, he let himself drift into the darkness, secure in the knowledge that he had done everything he could.

 

[Behemoth.]

Lots of profanity and violence for this one

 

[Behemoth.]

Juraf the world Swallowing Spear No.2
D1 crashout
_____________________________

The moons hung overhead, their silver radiance drenching the landscape with an ethereal light, as if they, too, were desperate to guide Kiyanna and the Lupus princely boy in their arduous journey. The faintest mist clung to the ground, stirred only by the scraping of their feet against the dirt, mixing with the faint, sickening rhythm of her brother's labored breaths. Blood dripped steadily from Juraf's wounds, staining the ground in a morbid trail of ruby droplets that seeped into the cracked, dry soil, a silent testament to the brutality that had brought them here.

The rural outskirts sprawled around them, a quiet, somber contrast to the chaos of the slums. Sparse fields stretched outward, their once-green crops now withered and scorched from neglect, interspersed with crude homes made of uneven wood and patched thatch roofs. The air was thick with the scent of soil and ash, the kind of stale earthiness that clung to those who lived far from the village's heart. Occasional sounds broke the silence—distant croaks of night-creatures and the faint rustling of brittle stalks in the cool breeze—but otherwise, it was a deadened world they trudged through.

Kiyanna glanced down at her brother, his body slumped between them, partially dragging on the ground. The moons' light gleamed faintly on his bloodied face, highlighting the bruises and cuts that marred his features, and her heart twisted painfully. He had killed so many for her. Fought through what must have been hell. All to find her. All to save her. And what had she done in return? All she ever gave him were criticisms, questions meant to jab at his pride— Why do that? Stop being that way. Why are you like this? She couldn't even remember the last time she had said, thank you. Or I love you.

Tears pricked at her eyes as the weight of it bore down on her chest, sharp and unrelenting. She had always tried to be the mature one, to shoulder the responsibilities that their absent parents had left behind. She prided herself on being the voice of reason, the one who thought things through. She had wanted to raise herself to not put a burden on her brother. But it frustrated her when he took things so loosely. He never took anything seriously it was like he was breathing in clouds instead of air like everyone else. So she criticized him in her frustration. But the truth was, it had made her blind. Blind to how much Juraf had carried for them both. He'd joked about the army, about the seven suns, about fucking heaven itself, but behind it all, he had borne their struggles alone. He had fought not just for himself but for her, too. No it was always for her. That's the type of person her big brother was.

A shaky breath escaped her as her gaze flicked to the boy helping her on the other side—Remulus Lupus, the princely pretty boy who had appeared out of nowhere and saved her when she needed it most. She didn't understand him, didn't know why he had risked himself or why he had stuck around to help her brother. But for that, she was grateful. More grateful than he could ever know, even if he was… weird. There was something odd about him she couldn't quite place, but in this moment, none of it mattered.

"We've got to get him to a healer," she said, her voice trembling as she struggled to keep her composure.

Remulus glanced at her briefly, then down at Juraf's pale, battered form. "We're about to pass through the rural area. Once we reach Sunside, we can go to the priestesses," he said quietly, his voice steady, a stark contrast to her growing panic.

She nodded without another word, focusing instead on keeping her footing as they pressed onward. The slums' jagged outskirts faded into the sprawling emptiness of the rural zone. The commons watched them go, their hollow, sunken eyes glinting like scavengers' as they lingered in the shadows, waiting for an opportunity. Kiyanna shivered but kept walking, the weight of her brother pulling at her arms, each step a grueling trial. Her legs burned, her breath came in short gasps, but she refused to stop. Not now. Not while her brother was like this.

But her strength finally gave out. With a grunt, she stumbled, collapsing under the weight of her burden. Juraf's body slid slightly, hitting the ground with a soft thud.

"Kiyanna!" Remulus called, concern lacing his voice as he quickly steadied Juraf.

She didn't answer. She didn't have the energy. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself back up, her legs shaking as she repositioned herself under her brother's weight. She would not fail him. She would not let him down. One step, then another. Her determination fueled her as the impacts of their feet fell into a rhythmic, almost hypnotic cadence, driving them forward through the night.

The sparse rural homes eventually came into view—small, scattered shacks and huts with crooked fences and flickering lanterns. Most were dark, their occupants long since resigned to the misery of their existence. Yet one house stood out. A faint light glowed from its window, casting warm golden rays onto the dirt path before them.

A head poked out from the doorway, and for a moment, Kiyanna thought she was seeing some sort of fairy. The woman was ethereal—long, waist-length silver hair that shimmered under the moons, milky white skin so flawless it seemed unreal, and large doe-like eyes of pale, pupil-less blue. Her delicate neck arched with a natural grace, her crimson lips vivid against her porcelain complexion, while lashes so long they cast faint shadows over her cheeks completed the vision of otherworldly beauty.

Kiyanna stared, momentarily dumbstruck by the sight, before snapping her head toward Remulus, who looked equally stunned. His expression was almost comical, his lips slightly parted as he gawked, but the sight made her scowl.

"Focus!" she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip, jolting him from his daze.

Remulus blinked rapidly, his face flushing slightly as he quickly straightened, nodding in apology. Kiyanna let out a sigh of exasperation and turned back to the woman, trying to push aside her irritation.

"Wait!" the woman called, her voice high and melodic, like a lark's song carried on a breeze. She stepped forward, rummaging through her belongings for a moment before producing a small badge. The item glinted faintly in the moonlight.

"A priestess in training?" Remulus muttered under his breath, his curiosity evident.

"Yes," the woman replied, her voice calm and kind as she studied them. Her otherworldly eyes focused on Juraf, their pale blue depths unyielding despite their strange lack of pupils. "I can help you. My name is Caela. I can tell your friend is injured there."

Kiyanna felt a surge of hope and gratitude bloom in her chest, though part of her still questioned this woman—her presence, her aura, something about her felt… off. But none of that mattered right now.

"Thank you so much," Kiyanna said, her voice cracking slightly as the weight of relief settled over her.

The home they entered was modest, its exterior betraying its simplicity with cracked wooden beams and a faint smell of earth that hung in the air. The inside was no less unassuming—the front room wasn't very large, and its furnishings were sparse. A couch, stitched together from various beastskins, sat near the center of the room, its patchwork design giving it a rugged charm. The stitching was uneven, as though whoever had crafted it cared more for utility than aesthetics. Around the room were scattered trinkets—small wooden carvings of animals, a few polished stones, and tiny metallic charms hanging from nails driven into the walls. The faint scent of herbs and ointments lingered, stronger near the jars stacked haphazardly on shelves lining one wall. Their contents gleamed in the dim light, some oils catching the flicker of a single lamp hanging from the ceiling.

Caela's movements were graceful, yet there was something slightly off about them. She led them through the room with a measured pace, her steps precise but unseeing. As Kiyanna watched, it became clear that Caela's eyes didn't track where she walked; instead, they stared ahead, unfocused, their pale blue depths giving away her blindness. Yet, despite this, she navigated the space as if she had done so a thousand times before. Her fingers brushed the walls, and her steps subtly adjusted with each touch, guiding her unerringly.

"This way," she said softly, her voice lilting yet firm.

Kiyanna and Remulus followed her into a smaller room that housed a simple bed. Its frame was made of sturdy but unpolished wood, its surface covered in a thin mattress that sagged slightly in the middle. The bedding was minimal, a rough woolen blanket folded at the foot. A worn stool sat beside it, its legs uneven and scuffed. On the walls were a few faint scratches, the remnants of repair work that hadn't quite restored the room to its former state. Everything about the space spoke of practicality, of someone who lived without luxury but made do with what they had.

Caela gestured toward the bed. "I'll heal him here. You two can rest in the other room," she said, her voice still calm but with an unmistakable edge of authority. "Don't disturb me while I work; otherwise, you'll have no one to blame but yourselves."

Her tone was jarring, her words firm and blunt despite the gentleness in her voice. Kiyanna's eyes flicked to the woman's pale, unseeing gaze, wondering how someone so delicate-looking could wield such an air of command. She noticed, too, how Caela's fingers lingered on the medallion hanging around her neck, a small charm she hadn't noticed before.

"Wait, one room?" Remulus blurted nervously, his voice breaking the brief silence. His words hung in the air for a moment before Caela turned her head sharply in his direction, her movements precise despite her blindness.

"Yes. One room," she replied with an almost dismissive air. "Make do and sleep next to one another." There was no room for argument in her tone, as though the matter was entirely beneath further discussion.

Kiyanna felt a blush crawl up her cheeks as she looked over at Remulus. The boy's face had turned a deep shade of crimson, his shoulders stiff as if he were physically restraining himself from reacting further. He was practically trembling, his nervous energy radiating off him in waves. His gaze darted anywhere but at her, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

"I—I don't—" he stammered, the words tripping over themselves in his mouth, his composure crumbling as his discomfort grew.

Kiyanna rolled her eyes, more amused than annoyed by his awkwardness. With a sigh, she grabbed his hand, her fingers wrapping around his clammy palm. "Don't bother my brother's recovery, hmm?" she said, her voice softer but carrying a note of teasing finality.

She felt his hand tremble beneath her touch, his nervousness almost palpable. The corners of her lips twitched upward into a small, involuntary smile as she led him out of the room and back toward the front. Despite the tension of the situation, there was something oddly endearing about the way Remulus was handling—or rather, failing to handle—this moment. His nervousness was almost infectious, breaking through the weight of her worry for her brother, if only for a fleeting second.

In the silence that followed, the house seemed to exhale around them. The distant chirping of night insects filtered through the cracks in the walls, blending with the soft rustle of the wind outside. Somewhere in the distance, a lone wolf howled, its mournful cry a reminder of the wilderness surrounding them. The faint aroma of herbs lingered, mixing with the earthy scent of wood and the metallic tang of Juraf's blood still clinging to the air.

As they settled into the small space of the front room, Kiyanna glanced once more toward the closed door where her brother lay. A quiet determination filled her as she silently vowed that this would not be the end. Not for him. Not for them.

_______________

Terra woke to the cacophony of crashing, yelling, and the grating bellow of her father's voice. The walls of her cramped, dilapidated room seemed to reverberate with his impotent rage, each word hitting like a hammer against her skull. She pressed herself to the wall, her body taut with tension. She wasn't afraid of him—not exactly. Fear wasn't the right word. She hated him with a venom that burned her throat and churned in her stomach. But hate didn't erase pain, and it certainly didn't stop the bruises. Walking out there now would only mean one thing: pain. Pain he would relish delivering.

Her father's voice roared again, slurred and garbled by drink. She focused her ears, her instincts honing in on the words as they filtered through the walls.

"WHERE THE FUCK IS THAT BRAT?! DID HE RUN AWAY OR SOME SHIT?! ALLO!" he bellowed, his words laced with fury and frustration. The sound of something heavy being thrown against the wall followed, a loud thud rattling the house.

Terra's lip curled into a sneer. Allo. His favorite. The one who mirrored his cruelty and reveled in their shared depravity. Her father didn't love him—no, love was too human for that relationship. What they shared was more like camaraderie, a twisted bond between two miserable souls cut from the same rotted cloth. Allo was her father's reflection, his legacy, the only person who indulged his delusions of grandeur and made him feel like a man in a world that had long since discarded him.

But Allo had been gone for days now, absent from their home for longer than usual. Normally, he'd slink back smelling of sweat and Shadeside filth, his smug grin dripping with secrets. But not this time. This time, his absence stretched, and Terra hoped it was permanent. Perhaps he'd met a savage end, skewered alive by the very beasts he pretended to emulate. Perhaps one of the many whores he bedded had cursed him with some vile disease that ate away at his insides. She hoped for his suffering. She hoped for his pain. And, most of all, she hoped for his end.

Because hoping was all she could do.

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Hatred alone wasn't enough to change her reality, and she knew it. She was powerless. And yet, that didn't stop her from wishing, from praying to the hollow gods of this cursed world that her brother's absence meant something final.

The noise outside her room died down, replaced by the heavy, labored breathing of her father as his tantrum wore him out. She imagined him slumping into his chair, muttering curses under his breath, too lazy and self-pitying to even search for his precious son himself. Effort was a foreign concept to the man. Why bother looking when he could rage at the walls and pretend the world owed him answers?

The silence stretched, heavy and oppressive. Terra waited, her body coiled, listening for any sign that he might stir again. When none came, she slipped from her cot, her bare feet touching the cold, warped floorboards. She knew where to step, which planks would betray her with creaks and groans and which ones would hold her weight silently. This was an art she had mastered long ago, born of necessity and survival.

At the door, she turned the handle slowly, pushing it open with deliberate care. The hinges protested faintly, but she had learned how to mitigate the noise—trial and error had taught her the right angle, the right amount of force. She traced her fingers over a red stain on the wood, one of many that marked the lessons she had learned in silence. This particular stain was hers, a relic of her father's wrath.

She slipped out into the hallway, the air thick with the stench of sweat and stale alcohol. Her father's snores echoed faintly from the far room, mingling with the faint creak of the house as it settled in the night. She eased the front door open, the early morning air hitting her like a balm. Cool, fresh, untainted by the suffocating despair of the house. She pulled the door shut behind her and ran.

Her feet pounded against the dirt streets, the uneven ground kicking up dust as she pushed herself forward. She didn't know where she was going—she never really did—but anywhere was better than that house. The further she got, the lighter her chest felt, the air filling her lungs with a freedom she only ever tasted out here. For a brief moment, her world expanded beyond the confines of those rotten walls, beyond her father's rage and her brother's malice.

"WHERE THE FUCK IS HE?!" Her father's voice echoed in her mind, but out here, it was distant, powerless. She focused on the rhythm of her steps, the way her body moved with purpose, with an urgency born not of fear but of need. She needed this. She needed to run, to feel the cool wind of the dawn against her face, to remind herself that she wasn't entirely caged.

The streets grew quieter as she ran, the sounds of the slums fading into the background. Shadows danced around her, cast by the suns hanging overhead. Their light fell in pale, zealous streams, illuminating the path ahead. The air smelled of damp earth and the faint metallic tang of distant forges.

She ran until her legs burned, until the tightness in her chest forced her to slow. Only then did she notice the trail of blood in the dirt, the dark stains catching the sunlight like spilled rubies. Her breath hitched, and she hesitated, staring at the evidence of violence that marked the ground.

Was it his? Allo's?

She shook her head, forcing herself to move. She couldn't think about that now. Not here. Not yet. Her destination was close, and she needed to see it. Her steps quickened again, her heart pounding not from exertion but from something deeper, something she didn't want to name.

And then she reached it. The place she always went to when she escaped. The place where she could breathe.

She stood on the edge of a clearing, a small patch of overgrown grass and wildflowers that had somehow survived amidst the decay of the slums. The flowers glowed faintly in the sunlight, their delicate petals catching the multi-colored beams like tiny lanterns. She dropped to her knees, her hands brushing the soft blades of grass, the cool earth grounding her in a way nothing else could.

Here, she could watch them. The lives she wished she had. Beyond the clearing, the lights of Sunside twinkled, the homes of the privileged casting a warm glow against the dark sky. She could see figures moving in the distance—families, friends, people living lives that didn't revolve around survival and pain.

She watched them, her breath slowing, her body sinking into the grass as the night wrapped around her. Here, she could imagine what it would be like to be one of them. To be brave. To be free.

But she wasn't. She continued, this was not her destination quite yet. She was still in the rural side after all.

She ran through the rural side, the aspar lighting her way in the early dawn. The golden tubular creatures twisted and danced in the soft morning light, their small sensory organs shimmering like delicate lanterns. They floated aimlessly above the dirt paths, casting faint glows that mingled with the growing warmth of the seven suns as they began their ascent. Their light illuminated the world with a gentle, ethereal haze, painting the edges of every blade of grass and each weathered stone with a golden sheen.

Above her, the sky came alive as a flock of Filum flew in a twisting, synchronized formation. These magnificent four-winged birds, their pitch-black feathers glistening, cut through the morning air with an effortless grace. As they flew past the light of the suns, their wings became living prisms, scattering brilliant bursts of color that rippled across the heavens. Terra paused for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. The light refracted onto her golden hair, igniting it into a shimmering cascade, a trait she had inherited from her mother—a memory that stung more than it warmed.

Her mother's voice rose unbidden in her mind, the echoes of words she tried so hard to forget.

"This is our destiny, Terra," the woman's voice whispered, soft yet heavy, the weight of resignation dripping from every word. "This is the life we have to live to survive. Just listen to your father, honey. I can't help you."

Her hands curled into fists as the memory surged forward, relentless.

---

She had been younger then, her face still round with the softness of childhood, though her eyes had already begun to harden. Her mother sat across the room, her once-pristine hair now dulled and lifeless, strands falling over a face etched with weariness. Her figure, once proud and strong, had grown frail under the weight of years spent bending to the will of others. Terra remembered the way her mother's hands trembled, not from fear but from the sheer exhaustion of trying to hold on to something—anything—that might have offered hope.

"Why?" Terra had asked, her small voice trembling with anger and confusion. "Why do you just let him hurt us? Why do you let him win?"

Her mother's gaze had been distant, her pale eyes fixed on a spot somewhere beyond Terra's shoulder, as though the answer lay hidden in the empty air behind her. When she finally looked at her daughter, the light in her eyes had already been snuffed out, replaced by something hollow.

"Because that's what it means to survive," she had said, her tone flat, almost robotic. "You don't fight the storm, Terra. You endure it. Fighting only brings more pain."

"But you're wrong!" Terra had shouted, the words tearing from her throat, raw and desperate. "You don't just endure! You fight back! You have to fight back!"

Her mother's lips had curled into a ghost of a smile, so faint it could hardly be called that. It was a smile of someone who had given up long before the words had even left her daughter's mouth.

"Bravery is for people who have a chance, Terra," she had said quietly. "Not for us. Not for people like you and me."

---

Terra shook her head violently, wrenching herself from the memory. The image of her mother—broken, resigned—clung to her mind like a shadow, but she shoved it down, burying it beneath the resolve that had carried her out of that house so many times before. She pushed forward, her feet moving faster, the earth beneath her kicking up soft clouds of dust.

The rural area around her was coming to life. Villagers walked along the dirt paths, their faces alight with the warmth of morning. Families gathered around tables outside their modest homes, sharing laughter over steaming bowls of stew and freshly baked bread. Children darted between them, their giggles carried on the breeze. Farmers tended to their plots, their hands deftly working the soil, their smiles unbothered by the sweat beading on their foreheads.

Everywhere she looked, there was a vibrancy she could never touch. The people here weren't unaware of the struggles others faced—they knew the pain, the hunger, the fear. But they chose to laugh anyway, to live anyway. Or maybe, she thought bitterly, they simply didn't care. Maybe their lives were so far removed from hers that the two worlds couldn't possibly connect.

The sight of their contentment felt like a knife twisting in her gut. She exhaled shakily, turning her focus to her destination, letting her legs carry her up the winding path to the temple.

The temple was a simple yet elegant structure, its white wood gotten from a rare and sacred tree gleamed faintly in the early light. Intricate carvings adorned the walls, depicting the stories of Fenrir, the seven suns, and the dark beast Tarak. They were legends she knew well, their images etched into her mind from years of quiet observation. She stepped through the wood and stone archway into the courtyard, her eyes drawn to the simple blue-green wooden amphitheater at its center. It was there she saw her—the head priestess, Baya.

Baya sat on a raised platform, her white robes catching the sunlight in a way that made her seem almost otherworldly. Her staff, topped with a crystal that shimmered like liquid light, rested easily in her hand. Her robes were adorned with intricate embroidery, the symbols of Fenrir and Tarak interwoven like the threads of fate itself. Despite her advanced age, Baya radiated vitality, her flushed cheeks and sharp gaze a testament to her indomitable spirit. And her jolly one as well. The woman had a really loud and annoying laugh.

The amphitheater was filled with young girls, their eager faces turned toward Baya as she addressed them. Her voice carried over the crowd, warm and lively, weaving encouragement into every word. Terra stayed at the edges, watching the girls train, their postures straight, their movements sharp with purpose. They were everything she had dreamed of being—proud, confident, free.

"Today," Baya announced, her voice almost brimming with excitement, "a new girl will be joining you all in learning. She is an orphan of the ongoing war with the Gu. Born blind and with a weak constitution, she has overcome every obstacle placed before her. She stands here with us today as the embodiment of what determination and desperation can achieve. Bagyagyagya, meet your new classmate, Caela!"

As if conjured by magic, a girl stepped onto the stage, previously hidden from view by some technique Terra couldn't understand. She was breathtaking—silver hair cascading like liquid light, her delicate frame exuding an ethereal fragility. Her pale blue eyes, devoid of pupils, seemed to see beyond sight, as if creation itself had bent to her will, determined to shield her from harm and propel her dreams forward.

Terra froze, a storm of emotions roiling in her chest. The girl had endured circumstances as dire as her own—maybe worse—and yet, here she stood, radiant and unbroken. It was as though the suns had chosen her, Fenrir himself had bent the world to ensure her success. It was unfair.

Terra turned away, her movements calm and measured despite the tumult within. The amphitheater and its golden promise faded behind her as she walked back toward the village. The words of her mother rang in her ears once more, each syllable cutting deeper than the last.

This is our destiny. This is the life we have to live to survive.

Her steps quickened, her jaw clenched. She didn't belong there. She didn't belong anywhere. Dreams were for people like Caela, people blessed by fate.

Not for her. Never for her.

She had made the best choice she could. There was nothing else she could do—right?

___________

As Terra walked away, the bustle of the village felt like an oppressive force pressing in on her from all sides. The lively chattering of neighbors and the clattering of tools being used for trade and craft filled the air, mixing with the sharp, distant laughter of children playing games that she could barely remember from her own fleeting moments of childhood. The sun, which had once been her beacon of freedom, now seemed harsh and overbearing, casting long shadows that mirrored the weight in her chest.

She passed through the narrow, winding streets of Shadeside, where buildings leaned precariously against one another, their walls cracked and patched with uneven planks. Each home seemed to weep decay, the roofs drooping under the weight of years without repair. She moved with a slow, detached rhythm, her golden hair catching the fading light and glinting like a cruel mockery of beauty in this pit of despair.

Men loitered on the corners, their gazes following her like predators sizing up prey. One of them, a wiry man with greasy hair and a sneer that exposed crooked teeth, stepped into her path, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tattered coat.

"Hey, sweetheart," he drawled, his voice slithering through the air like oil. "Where ya headed in such a hurry? Got a place you need to be, or are you just lookin' for some company?"

Terra's eyes remained fixed on the ground, her face expressionless. She didn't slow, didn't acknowledge him beyond sidestepping to continue her path. He clicked his tongue, the sound sharp and irritated.

"Too good to even look at me, huh? What's a little thing like you doing out here alone anyway?" His tone shifted, growing harsher, more taunting. "You think you're better than us or something? We can fix that, you know."

Another man, larger and broader, leaned against a nearby wall, his arms crossed as he watched with a lazy smirk. "C'mon, Rigg, she's not even gonna talk to you. Waste of time. Looks like she's got nothin' to offer but that pretty hair. Probably dead inside, anyway."

The smaller man spat on the ground, his sneer deepening as Terra continued walking without so much as a flinch. "Fuckin' bitch," he muttered under his breath before turning away, leaving her to the next set of eyes that would undoubtedly follow her every move.

More voices called out as she passed, some playful, others cruel. A drunkard stumbled out of a shadowed alley, reeking of cheap liquor, and reached out a hand, his fingers brushing against the fabric of her sleeve. "Hey, girl, don't be shy now," he slurred. "I'll show ya a good time."

She kept walking, her expression never shifting, her steps never faltering. Each word, each leer, each mocking laugh washed over her like the wind—felt but never acknowledged. Even the boldest of them, emboldened by the anonymity of the crowd, didn't dare to follow her for long. In Shadeside, there were unspoken rules even among the depraved, and broad daylight offered some semblance of protection for a girl like her.

---

The light of the day faded as she finally reached the familiar rotting structure she called home. Her steps slowed as she approached the door, the edges of the wood splintered and frayed from years of neglect. The stench of mildew and rot clung to the air around it, a scent that was as much a part of her life as the bruises that painted her skin. She opened the door with a practiced silence, her movements careful, mechanical.

The room inside was dim, lit only by the faint, flickering glow of an old lantern hanging from a rusted hook on the wall. The floorboards creaked underfoot, their warped edges threatening to catch and trip her. Shadows stretched long and jagged across the walls, dancing in the unsteady light, making the space feel smaller, more suffocating.

She didn't have time to brace herself before a hand slammed her face into the wall with a force that rattled her skull. The impact sent a jarring shock through her body, her teeth clacking painfully together as her cheek scraped against the rough wood.

"This bitch… you were laughing at me, weren't you!" Allo's voice was a snarl, raw and guttural, dripping with rage.

She turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him through the corner of her eye. His face was a grotesque mask of fury, swollen and streaked with dried blood. Splinters stuck out of his skin like jagged thorns, and hastily patched bandages did little to hide the wounds that covered him. He looked like a man who had been dragged through hell and back—and he was eager to take it out on her.

Before she could even respond, his fist connected with her ribs, driving the air from her lungs in a sharp gasp. The pain radiated through her torso, a deep, throbbing ache that made her vision blur for a moment. Another blow came, this time to her stomach, and she doubled over, clutching at the wall for support as bile rose in her throat.

"Fucking piece of shit!" he screamed, punctuating his words with a backhanded slap that sent her sprawling to the ground. Her head hit the floor with a sickening thud, the world spinning around her as the taste of blood filled her mouth.

As Allo towered over her, his shadow stretching long and menacing across the floor, she looked up at him through bruised, swollen eyes. But she didn't see a person. She didn't even see an animal. All she saw was a rotting corpse, something decayed and festering, barely held together by the remnants of what had once been human. His rage, his violence, his very existence was a disease, spreading rot to everything he touched.

Her stomach churned with revulsion as he kicked her again, his boot connecting with her side and sending a wave of nausea crashing over her. Unable to hold it back, she vomited, the acidic bile splattering across his legs and the floor around her. The sight and smell made him recoil, his face twisting in disgust.

"Fucking disgusting!" he shouted, stepping back and shaking his leg as if to rid himself of her filth.

She lay there in her own vomit, her body trembling from the pain and the effort it took to breathe. Her limbs felt heavy, her mind hazy, but somewhere deep inside her, a flicker of defiance burned. Even as she lay broken on the floor, even as his shouts echoed in her ears, she refused to give him the satisfaction of a cry or a plea for mercy.

This was her place. This was her destiny, just as her mother had said. And yet, as she closed her eyes and let the darkness take her, she couldn't help but feel a deep, visceral hatred—not just for him, but for herself, for her inability to break free.

Destiny was destiny. And the weak should just focus on surviving. Living was for the lucky. She was never lucky. Not like her, not like Caela.

The room was like a small, suffocating prison, its walls closing in like the jaws of some unseen beast. The faint, sickly glow of the lantern swayed with each of Allo's movements, casting twisted shadows that seemed to writhe and mock Terra in her helplessness. Her face pressed against the splintered floorboards, a mixture of blood, vomit, and sweat smeared across her skin. The acrid stench of it filled her nose, mingling with the damp rot of the house, choking her senses.

"So this is why Mother killed herself…" she muttered, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet it carried the weight of years of anguish and bitterness.

The words hung in the air like a thunderclap, freezing the room in an eerie stillness. Allo, mid-step, stopped as if struck by an invisible force. His body went rigid, the fury etched across his face replaced for a fleeting moment by something unreadable. Confusion? Pain? Shame? It was impossible to tell, and Terra didn't care to decipher it.

But then, without warning, he lunged.

It wasn't his usual cruelty, laced with mockery and taunts; this was something raw, primal. His hands grabbed her by the hair, wrenching her head back before slamming it down with bone-jarring force against the wooden floor. The impact sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through her skull, stars bursting in her vision as the world around her blurred.

Again.
And again.
And again.

Each blow reverberated through her entire body, the sound of her head colliding with the floor mixing with the wet squelch of blood and bile. Her own numen flared weakly, a faint, flickering defense that did little more than soften the edges of her torment. She could feel it slipping away with each strike, her reserves draining as her body struggled to endure the onslaught.

Her mind became a haze, a disjointed mess of pain and resignation. This is it, she thought. Destiny. No matter how much she hated it, no matter how much she had hoped, she could not escape it. She was born into this, chained to this life, constantly walking on a tightrope one day doomed to fall it just happened her time was up now. There was no amount of defiance could change that it was how things were how they were supposed to be. People like her—weak, powerless—did not get the chance to change anything. The world didn't grant mercy to those like her. To people like Caela.

Somewhere in the white fog overtaking her vision, she saw her mother's face. That worn, defeated expression, eyes hollow with the weight of a life that had offered nothing but pain. The memory hit her like a knife to the chest, the words her mother had spoken echoing in her mind.

"Just listen to your father, honey. I can't help you."

Those words weren't a plea. They were an apology. Her mother had given up long before the end, and now Terra understood. This was why. This unending cycle of misery and degradation. It was too much for anyone to bear. The image of her mother's face began to fade, dissolving into the white void that now consumed her mind. She hated her mother then, she still did now. But perhaps she wasn't wrong. She didn't even know anymore.

Her eyelids fluttered, heavy with exhaustion and the creeping embrace of unconsciousness. She felt her body slacken, her resistance fading entirely. Her cheek rested against the floor, the blood pooling beneath her warm and sticky. The sounds around her became distant, muffled, like she was underwater. Her brother's ragged breaths, the creak of the house, the far-off laughter of the village—they all blended into an indistinct hum.

Maybe this is better, she thought as the white consumed her. Maybe this is peace. Peace and power. For the only power I can reclaim may be in death.

But then—

CRASH!

The sound of splintering wood shattered the fog, dragging her back to the present like a slap to the face. Her brother's grip loosened, and she barely registered his startled stumble as he turned toward the source of the noise. Her blurred vision caught a figure in the doorway, silhouetted against the dim light outside, their presence crackling with an energy that electrified the air.

A voice cut through the haze, raw and filled with a mixture of venomous rage and mirth? The baritone voice echoed in her ears like the roar of a storm.

"ALLO! I'm here for your ass! I'm going to fucking kill you!"

She did not know the voice, one that carried with it a feral, untamed fury that promised destruction. Her heart thudded weakly in her chest, a flicker of something stirring within her—hope? No, not quite. But something else. Something darker. Something more malevolent and ugly. More inquitous then Tarak more vile then Shadeside and yet she reveled in it. Maybe just maybe this person would see it through

The crack of wood meeting bone reverberated through the stifling room, and Terra felt the oppressive weight of her brother lifted from her bruised and battered body. Her lungs screamed for air as she gasped, coughing through the blood and bile that slicked her face. Dots of black and white danced in her vision, gradually giving way to the blurry outlines of her surroundings. Bit by bit, the scene before her sharpened, and what she saw made her breath hitch.

There, standing tall amidst the wreckage of the decrepit room, was a boy around her age. His olive skin gleamed faintly in the dim light of the single lantern, its flickering flame casting jagged shadows across his striking features. His eyes, as black as the endless night sky, held a glint of something fierce and untamed. His hair, matching the shade of his eyes, framed his face in disheveled strands that gave him an air of rebellious charm. His nose was proud and strong, and his high cheekbones added a regal sharpness to his face. His eyebrows, thick and angled like blades, gave his expression an intensity that seemed both dangerous and captivating.

And that grin. That wicked, confident grin that spread across his face, revealing a slight dimple on his cheek. Perhaps it was the haze clouding her mind, but at that moment, he looked like the most beautiful person she had ever seen. He stood in stark contrast to her own reflection—her gaunt, hollowed face and matted golden hair stained with blood and filth. He was light where she was shadow, strength where she was weakness.

He was not unscathed, though. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his torso and arms, clean and expertly done, their crispness emphasizing the careful hands that had tended to his wounds. Over these bandages, he wore armor fashioned from carapace and wood, each piece polished and fitted with precision. This was no scavenged protection from Shadeside; it was crafted with care, a testament to his place as a soldier in the army.

Terra's gaze flickered to the figure behind him—a boy a little shorter, with soft brown hair, rounded ears, and green eyes that darted nervously between Allo and the scene unfolding before them. His demeanor was calmer, more restrained, but his presence radiated an air of quiet authority. There was something in his stance, the way his hand hovered near the hilt of his weapon, that marked him as someone accustomed to holding power.

The boy—she knew not his yet before he spoke, though she did have a few theories considering how her brother was reacting—turned slightly to glance at her before shifting his attention back to Allo. His voice, low and sardonic, sliced through the tension like a blade.

"Beating your women to death in vomit and blood now, Allo?" he drawled, his grin widening with mockery. "That's a whole new low, even for you. Well no that's a lie you evil fuck."

The venom in his words was palpable, the mockery curling around every syllable like a whip. He didn't even seem to see Allo as a threat, more like a pest he had finally decided to crush.

The shorter boy behind him spoke up, his voice steady and firm despite the quiet volume. "Yes, that's against the law, and it's grounds for expulsion from the village… or imprisonment in the depths of Shadeside jail."

Terra saw Allo stiffen at the words, his bravado faltering as he recognized the authority in the shorter boy's tone. Allo's face twisted into an ugly snarl, equal parts fear and anger, as he sputtered, "YOU! Fuck, Juraf! How did you know where I live?! How does an orphan fuck like you join the army?! And that's not my woman—that useless bitch is my sister!"

The words landed like a blow, heavy and repugnant, the venom in his voice unmistakable. Terra watched as Juraf's grin evaporated the moment Allo mentioned her. The playful malice in his expression was replaced with something cold, something terrifying. His jaw clenched, and his dark eyes turned glacial, the air around him seeming to freeze with the sudden shift in his demeanor.

Juraf's voice, stripped of its earlier bravado, dropped into a frigid monotone that made the hairs on the back of Terra's neck stand on end. "This is proper grounds for arrest, right?"

The boy behind him nodded grimly, his expression tight with disapproval. "Yes, without question."

Juraf's body moved then, every step deliberate, his frame coiled with the promise of violence. He strode toward Allo with a menacing intent that filled the room, the lantern light flickering erratically as though it, too, feared the wrath descending on the wretch who had dared call Terra his sister.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the tension suffocating as the distance between Juraf and Allo closed. The once-mocking grin was gone, replaced by a look of utter contempt and borderline hatred, as though Allo were nothing more than dirt beneath his boots.

Terra's vision blurred again, not from pain but from the raw intensity of the moment. Juraf, the boy who seemed so larger-than-life, was walking toward the creature who had tormented her with the calm finality of an executioner.

_________

"Wait, wait, wait! We can talk about this! You can't do this to me, please! I'll do anything—I'm sorry—" Allo's pleading was cut off in an instant. Juraf's hand lashed out, faster than Terra could comprehend, and clamped around Allo's jaw with a force that seemed to shake the very air.

There was a sickening crack, a sound so visceral that it reverberated through Terra's bones, followed by the grotesque sight of Allo's jaw collapsing into a shapeless ruin. Blood and saliva poured freely as the mangled flesh, no longer supported by bone, sagged grotesquely. Fragments of shattered teeth fell to the floor like macabre pearls, clinking softly against the blood-slicked wood.

"HHMMMGGHHHAARRRR!!!" Allo's cry was guttural, primal, the sound of a man reduced to a beast by sheer, unrelenting agony.

The air hung thick with the stench of blood, bile, and fear, pressing down on everything like a suffocating weight. Terra's gaze remained locked on the scene unfolding before her, unable to tear herself away. Her battered body screamed at her to move but she remained frozen, transfixed by the sight of her brother's brutal comeuppance.

Juraf tilted his head, his grin widening as though relishing the sound. "Oh man, he was talking back and inciting a violent response. I had no choice! You'll vouch for me, right, Remmy?" His tone carried an exaggerated regret that made his mockery all the more cutting.

"Uh, sure. Yes, no, of course," the other boy, Remmy, responded hastily, his unease palpable as he tried to keep up with Juraf's deranged logic.

Allo's trembling hand swung out in a desperate attempt to strike back, his movements sluggish and wild from pain and fear. Juraf caught the flailing arm mid-swing with a grip like iron. Without hesitation, he twisted sharply, the wet, nauseating pop of dislocated joints accompanied by a sharp snap as the elbow shattered. The limb hung uselessly, the jagged end of a bone piercing through the skin like a white flag of surrender. Blood cascaded from the wound in sickening spurts, pooling on the floor in dark, spreading stains.

Juraf studied the exposed bone with mild curiosity before gripping it tightly. In one swift, brutal motion, he tore the fragment free from Allo's arm, ignoring the ear-splitting scream that followed.

"Ahhh, poor guy." Juraf's voice was tinged with mock sympathy as he turned the jagged shard in his hand, inspecting it like an artist admiring a new tool. "Let's put this to good use, huh?"

Before Allo could even comprehend what was happening, Juraf drove the splintered bone into his thigh with brutal force, the improvised weapon tearing through muscle and flesh until it embedded itself in the calf beneath. Allo's leg was pinned grotesquely to the floor, forcing him into a kneeling position as his blood poured out in rivulets, soaking the wood beneath him.

"Oh no, he tried resisting arrest. What a shame I had to do that to him. What a shame indeed," Juraf said, his tone dripping with feigned disappointment.

"HRMMMM guh guh!" Allo's cries had devolved into incomprehensible noises as tears mixed with the blood streaking down his face. He slammed his head against the floor in a desperate bid to escape the pain, but Juraf calmly intercepted the motion, placing his arm in the way. Each impact of Allo's head against Juraf's forearm sent fresh jolts of agony through the battered man's body.

"See that, Remmy? He attacked me. We call that inhibiting the rightful due process of the law, don't we?" Juraf's voice took on a cheerful lilt, his grin widening as he turned his attention back to Allo. "Seems we'll need more violence, huh?"

Allo's head shook frantically, his tears falling in streams, his throat working to produce frantic, incoherent pleas. But Juraf's grin turned cold, his eyes narrowing with a predatory gleam.

"I do wonder how many little girls did the same," he mused, his voice icy and deliberate. "How many times did your own sister beg you to stop Did you listen, Allo? Ever? Even once?"

Terra's chest tightened at the cold fury in Juraf's words, and her eyes darted to the jagged edge of his spear as he slowly raised it. Allo's cries grew more frantic, his broken body writhing in place as the point of the weapon hovered dangerously close to his groin.

"Ah, sorry," Juraf said conversationally, a grin splitting his face once more. "The spear isn't the best cutting tool. And the edge is a bit rough. Guess I'll have to saw that little pedo pecker of yours off. Can't have people attacking the army without consequences, now can we?"

The room filled with the sickening scrape of the serrated spearhead dragging across flesh. Allo's screams reached a crescendo, a horrifying, unearthly sound that seemed to shake the very walls. His body convulsed wildly, his cries growing hoarse and ragged as blood spurted from the mess Juraf was making.

Juraf's grin widened as he sawed methodically, his voice bright and cheerful. "Ah, there we go. That's coming off nicely. Look at that, Remmy. Isn't it just perfect?"

He reached down to pick up the mangled remnants of Allo's severed genitals, holding them up triumphantly. Blood dripped from the jagged edges as he turned to Remulus, who looked pale and visibly disturbed.

"Ha! Remmy, look at this little pedo pecker! Really fucked up, huh?" Juraf said, laughing like he'd just told a great joke.

Remulus didn't respond, his lips pressed into a thin line as he avoided looking directly at the bloodied mess in Juraf's hand. Juraf, seemingly unfazed by his companion's silence, turned his attention back to Allo.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Each word was punctuated with a heavy slap to Allo's bruised, bloodied cheek, jolting him back to consciousness. Allo groaned weakly, his body barely responsive.

"Oh, you're awake now? Good." Juraf's voice was mocking, his grin returning as he crouched down to meet Allo's tear-filled eyes. "Now we can really enjoy this."

The madness in his voice was unmistakable, and Terra, despite the agony wracking her body, couldn't help but think—he's absolutely wonderful.

As the dim, flickering light of the single oil lamp cast grotesque shadows across the walls, stretching the horror of the scene to monstrous proportions. Terra's mind swam in a haze of pain and grim satisfaction, her battered body slumped against the wall as her brother's muffled screams filled the cramped space. Juraf crouched over Allo like a predator playing with its food, his grin feral and sharp.

Allo gagged and choked, his body convulsing violently as Juraf crammed the mangled remains of his own severed genitals into his mouth. Blood bubbled at the corners of his lips as Juraf shoved his hand deeper, forcing the mutilated flesh down his throat. Allo's eyes bulged in terror, his muffled gurgles the only sound he could muster.

"Really don't like brute force when it's you on the other end, huh? Hehehahaha!" Juraf jeered, his voice a mockery of amusement as he pointed at the writhing figure beneath him. His laughter echoed through the room, casual and unbothered, as if he were telling a joke at a tavern rather than brutalizing a man in his own home.

Juraf leaned back slightly, letting out a long, exaggerated sigh as his gaze settled on Allo's face. The hatred and fear in Allo's eyes seemed to spark something in him, his grin widening into something more sinister.

"I don't like those eyes of yours, lil' Allo." Without hesitation, he jammed his thumb into one of Allo's eye sockets. The wet, sickening squelch of the orb rupturing filled the room as Juraf pressed harder, pulping the eye between his fingers. Blood and vitreous fluid oozed down Allo's face as he let out an ear-piercing scream, his body jerking in agony.

Even Remulus, who had maintained a veneer of composure throughout, recoiled at the brutality, his face paling as he took an instinctive step back. Terra, however, felt nothing but grim gratification. Ah, I'd been wanting to do that for so long. Thank you, she thought, her lips curling into the faintest hint of a smile despite the pain wracking her body.

The door burst open with a sudden crash, slamming against the wall with enough force to make the already flimsy structure shudder. Terra's head snapped toward the sound, her heart lurching in her chest. Standing in the doorway was her father, his burly frame silhouetted against the dim light of the street outside. A battered wooden mug hung loosely from one hand, the other still on the doorframe. His face was flushed red, whether from drink or anger it was hard to tell, but his wide, bloodshot eyes quickly sobered as they took in the scene before him.

His gaze darted from Allo's mutilated, kneeling form to the two young soldiers standing in his home. Juraf's armor was spattered with blood, the dark crimson streaks glinting dully in the lamplight. Remulus stood slightly behind him, his expression a mixture of unease and grim resolve. Terra lay crumpled in the corner, her body smeared with her own blood and vomit. Her father's face twisted in disbelief and growing rage as his eyes finally settled on Allo's sobbing, broken form.

"...What is this?" His voice was hoarse, the shock evident in his tone.

Remulus, the more measured of the two soldiers, stepped forward, clearing his throat. "Your son is wanted for some very serious crimes… and vehemently resisted arrest." His voice was steady but lacked the conviction of Juraf's confidence.

Her father's expression darkened, his grip tightening around the mug until his knuckles turned white. "You can't do this to me! To us! I was a veteran, you know! I worked long and hard for this village before I was cast off to this corner to rot and fucking die! And now you have the audacity to march into my home and torture my son? Fuck you!" He didn't even spare a glance for Terra, as if she were invisible, her battered form not worth his notice.

She didn't mind. Their relationship as father and daughter had been severed long ago, frayed by years of neglect and cruelty. Instead, she turned her attention to Juraf, who stood with an almost bored expression, his spear still loosely gripped in one hand.

Juraf tilted his head, his grin returning as he regarded the older man. "I wonder if you've been telling your stories so long you actually believe that shit. I've heard about you, Pritin. Allo's dad, the 'former soldier.'" His voice dripped with mocking disdain. "You go to the tavern and tell anyone who'll listen about your glory days—the monsters you slayed, the women you fucked, all your heroic tales, huh? You wonder why a mighty veteran like yourself would end up living like this. Right, Remmy?"

Remulus, clearly reluctant but understanding his role, pulled a roll of worn papyrus from his armor and began to read. "Pritin, dishonorably discharged for abandoning your soldiers and fleeing during battle. Reports from surviving soldiers state that you… used one of your men as a meat shield."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Pritin's face twisted with a mix of rage and desperation, his chest heaving as he struggled to find a retort. Juraf simply watched, his grin widening as he stepped closer to the trembling man.

"Seems like you're not the hero you've been pretending to be, huh? Just another piece of shit who thought he could get away with it. Well, guess what? You fuck with us your time's up too old man." Juraf's voice was cold now, his mocking tone replaced with something far more dangerous.

But then Juraf's smile returned, a mask of calm menace as he turned back to Allo. His tone was deceptively light, carrying a weight that made even Terra flinch despite herself. "That's the kind of trash you're descended from. Wouldn't be a problem if you didn't take after him, but oh, you do. You fucking do. He just wanted to survive, but people like him, people like you, should've died the second after you were born."

The words slashed through the air like a blade, slicing into whatever delusions of strength Allo or his father might have clung to. Pritin's face flushed a deep crimson, his veins bulging grotesquely across his forehead and neck. His hands clenched into fists, trembling not with fear but with an impotent rage he was powerless to unleash.

"Wanna fight, you old fuck?" Juraf taunted, a wild light dancing in his dark eyes. His grin widened, baring teeth that seemed sharper in the flickering lamplight, and his stance shifted, casual yet predatory.

"GRAAAHHH!!" Pritin roared, his body lunging forward with the clumsy force of a man who relied on raw anger rather than skill. His right arm swung in a wide haymaker, the blow so telegraphed it might as well have been shouted before it landed. Juraf didn't even flinch. With a fluid motion, he sidestepped the strike and lashed out with a sharp kick to Pritin's injured leg.

The sickening crack of bone meeting bone filled the room as Pritin crumpled to the ground, howling in pain. His face smashed against the dirt-streaked floor, but Juraf wasn't finished. He grabbed a fistful of the man's graying hair, yanking him upward despite his writhing protests. Blood streamed from Pritin's nose and mouth as he clawed weakly at Juraf's hands, but it was useless. He was dragged mercilessly toward the fireplace, the heat of the flames licking at the air around them.

That very same place where he had burnt her books. "I told you not to fuck with me today. But you just had to push it. You enabling bastard." Juraf's voice was cold now, stripped of its earlier mockery. Without waiting for a reply, he slammed Pritin's face into the corner of the stone hearth. The crack of bone meeting unyielding rock echoed through the room, followed by Pritin's muffled screams as Juraf ground his face against the edge. Blood smeared the stone as his jaw was forced unnaturally open, the sound of cartilage snapping loud and sharp.

"Bite it," Juraf ordered, his voice a low growl. When Pritin resisted, Juraf twisted one of his arms behind his back, applying enough pressure to dislocate the shoulder with a nauseating pop. The old man let out a guttural scream, his body spasming as Juraf slammed his face into the stone again, forcing his teeth to clamp down on the corner.

"Perfect. Hold that for me." Juraf's voice had an almost jovial quality now, his dark amusement a chilling contrast to the brutality of his actions. With deliberate slowness, he lifted one foot high above his head, his balance unnervingly steady.

The first stomp landed with a sickening crunch. Teeth shattered like porcelain, fragments embedding themselves into Pritin's gums and throat. Blood sprayed out in thick spurts, pooling beneath his head as he choked on the jagged shards lodged in his mouth. Juraf didn't pause. The second stomp was even harder, driving the broken fragments deeper into the back of Pritin's throat and crushing the corner of his jaw entirely. The third stomp silenced any resistance, leaving behind a grotesque mess of blood, shattered bone, and pulp where Pritin's mouth had once been.

Juraf stepped back, his breathing steady, as he observed his handiwork. "Still alive," he muttered, almost to himself, before glancing at Remulus, who stood frozen with a horrified expression.

"Only reason he wasn't up for execution was because they thought he'd be worse off this way. His cultivation already had no way of advancing. He's a cripple, Remmy. Get him to a healer, and he'll survive. But Allo"—Juraf gestured toward the whimpering, mutilated man still pinned to the floor—"he's not walking away from this. He's going to die here."

Remulus hesitated, his eyes darting between the bloodied remains of Pritin and the pitiful sight of Allo. "This… this is too much. Juraf, we can't—"

"You're too soft, Remmy." Juraf cut him off, his tone one of exasperated disappointment. "We'll need to rectify that, especially considering your little crush." His lips curled into a smirk as he shook his head. "Grow a spine, kid. You're in the army now. There's no room for weakness."

"My what?" Remulus shouted, his voice cracking with surprise and fear, his wide eyes locking onto Juraf.

Juraf rolled his eyes, waving a dismissive hand. "You think I'm blind, you princely chucklefuck? Whatever. We'll talk about that later," he muttered, shaking his head before turning back to Allo. The battered man was now a mere shell of his former self, his one remaining eye dull and lifeless. He didn't scream anymore; he didn't even flinch. It was as if he had accepted his fate, resigned to whatever horrors Juraf had in store for him.

Terra watched, her broken form trembling with pain, but she couldn't deny the flicker of pleasure that sparked within her. The sight of her tormentor reduced to nothing, stripped of all his bluster and power—it was intoxicating. Her lips curled into what could only barely be called a smile, given the state of her swollen, bruised face.

Juraf turned slightly, catching the faint shift in her expression. His own lips twisted into a dark grin as he crouched next to Allo, his voice dropping to a cold, taunting lilt. "Spear intent is useful for a lot of things. But you know what its foremost trait is? The one thing you and spear intent actually share, Allo? It's all about putting holes in things that didn't have them before, against their will. Piercing forward, violating that which won't bend to your desires. Funny how that works, huh?"

He stood abruptly, hefting his spear with ease, the weapon glinting menacingly in the dim light. Allo's body twitched involuntarily, his mangled arm hanging uselessly at his side, as Juraf grabbed him by the collar and yanked him upward with almost casual strength. The sound of bone snapping as Juraf dislodged the makeshift spike pinning Allo to the floor was sickening. Allo whimpered pathetically, blood bubbling from his lips.

"Let's get you upright," Juraf said with false cheer. In one swift motion, he drove his spear upward, the jagged blade entering Allo from below and piercing clean through his chest. The force of the thrust planted the spear firmly into the floor, leaving Allo skewered and suspended like a grotesque trophy. Blood erupted from his mouth in a wet gurgle, his remaining eye rolling wildly before dulling again.

"Hey, hey, don't worry," Juraf said, patting Allo's cheek mockingly. "I avoided all the essential organs. We're not done yet, buddy."

The next hour was a symphony of agony. Juraf stood before Allo, sending out precise flicks of numen imbued with spear intent. Each flick drilled small, jagged holes into non-lethal areas—through his shoulders, thighs, and abdomen, leaving crimson trails that spilled freely onto the floor. The blood pooled beneath them, a deep, viscous red so thick that it rippled when Juraf stepped in it. Cultivators bled more than normal men, their enhanced vitality allowing them to survive far more punishment.

Terra couldn't look away, even as her own battered body ached with every breath. The sound of flesh being punctured, the wet splatter of blood against the already soaked floor, and the occasional grunt or groan from Allo as his body convulsed in pain—all of it felt surreal. The scene around her seemed both horrifying and cathartic, her mind grappling with the dichotomy of her disgust and her grim satisfaction.

By the time Allo finally stilled, his body limp and lifeless, the floor was a sea of blood. Juraf stepped back, wiping a hand across his forehead, leaving a smear of blood in its wake. His spear dripped with gore, the jagged edges gleaming darkly. "Guess that's it," he said, almost casually, as if he had just finished a routine chore.

The other boy, Remulus, was pale, his green eyes wide with shock. "Was there any reason to be so… savage?" he asked hesitantly. "You could have just killed him outright. And what you did to his father, too."

Juraf turned to him, his expression darkening briefly before breaking into a grin. "That man enabled Allo to become what he was. Didn't give a shit about his daughter, either. Honestly, I did plan on just killing Allo," he admitted, shrugging. "But doing that kind of shit to your own sister? That's sick. I had to show him who's sicker. Had to dominate him, make him understand what it's like to be completely powerless. You know… balance the scales and all that karmic shit."

____

Despite her battered and bruised body, drenched in blood, vomit, and misery, Juraf didn't falter as he looked at her. There was no disgust in his gaze—not even a flicker of hesitation. His black, marble-like eyes held no judgment, only a clarity that struck her to the core. Terra had learned to read people well; her circumstances had forced her to develop that skill as a survival mechanism. Yet, for the first time, she found herself facing someone whose emotions she couldn't categorize, someone who saw her as something other than trash or an obstacle.

Gently, as though she were the most delicate thing in the world, he scooped her up into a princess carry. The stench of vomit and the sticky sensation of her blood smeared across his armor and skin didn't deter him. His movements were careful and steady, ensuring not to jostle her injured frame. Despite the weight of her humiliation, Terra found herself clinging weakly to him, her fingers brushing against the strange textures of his carapace-and-wood armor.

The room around them was a grim tableau. Blood pooled beneath the bodies of her father and brother, staining the rough wooden planks of the floor. The air reeked of iron, sweat, and bile. Splinters from the shattered door littered the ground, glinting faintly in the light filtering through the cracks in the walls. The oppressive silence that had descended was broken only by the faint creak of Juraf's boots as he adjusted his hold on her.

He glanced back at Remulus, who stood awkwardly in the corner, his expression torn between admiration and unease. "Anyone who does this to the girl in the family deserves a trillion times worse than what I did to them, Remulus," Juraf said, his tone serious and unwavering. His voice, deep and resolute, filled the room with an undeniable weight. "A man should have an abyss in his eyes, fire in his veins, a monster in his heart, and an oasis in his soul. Remember that."

His words resonated in the stillness, hanging heavy in the air. He then looked down at Terra, his hardened features softening as his grin returned, tinged with an easy confidence that felt oddly comforting. "Sorry for, you know, killing your brother and all. And for messing up your pops. You can hate me for it later, but we gotta save you first. He really did a number on you, huh?"

The grin that had seemed so cruel and mocking earlier now held something warmer, something that spoke of an unshakable strength she had never seen before. It pulled at her in ways she couldn't articulate, her chest tightening as she stared into his face.

Her eyes widened as his words sank in. She couldn't hate him—how could she? She had dreamed of this moment for years, fantasized about someone tearing her tormentors apart and whisking her away. It wasn't supposed to be real, but here he was. She coughed, blood spilling over her cracked lips, and tried to force words from her broken throat. Her voice scraped like a dull blade against rough stone, but she pushed through the agony to say what she needed to say.

"All those ties with them… they cut me too deep. I hated them. I hated here. Would you believe me… if I told you that all my life, I couldn't breathe?" The words came out in halting gasps, her bloodied hand rising weakly to touch his face. She wanted to feel if he was real, if this moment wasn't just another cruel dream.

Juraf froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly as her trembling fingers brushed his jaw. His expression shifted, his ever-present grin giving way to something quieter, something raw. His lips curved into a soft smile, this one devoid of mockery or savagery. It carried a tinge of melancholy, as though her words had reached a place deep within him that he rarely allowed others to see.

"I know exactly how that feels," he murmured, his voice low and steady. "I believe you. Trust me, I do."

The room seemed to exhale around them, the oppressive weight of the violence and pain lifting just slightly. The golden light of the Aspar outside filtered through the cracks in the walls, casting faint, flickering patterns on the bloodied floorboards. Terra's breath hitched as she let her eyes drift shut, the warmth of Juraf's presence enveloping her like a shield against the harshness of the world.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, she didn't feel entirely alone.

___________

Caela stood silently in the cool embrace of the night, her silver locks swaying gently as the wind caressed her face. The golden aspar, those luminous, tubular creatures, floated delicately through the air, casting a soft, otherworldly glow across the landscape. Their light mingled with the radiant beams of the triple moons hanging in the sky, creating a serene tableau of silver and gold. Her hair, catching the moons' light, shimmered like a celestial halo, as though she were a spirit touched by divinity. Yet her pale blue eyes, devoid of pupils, betrayed the truth of her existence—she could not see the beauty around her as others did.

But she saw something else, something far more intricate. Caela didn't see the world in colors or shapes. Instead, she saw the flow of numen, the threads of energy that wove themselves into the fabric of existence. Where others needed concentration or deliberate effort to sense numen, Caela's vision revealed its constant, fluid movements. Every ripple, every shift of energy in the air, danced vividly in her mind's eye. This unique sight allowed her to distinguish people not by their faces, which were a mystery to her, but by the patterns of their energy—individual signatures as distinct as fingerprints.

Tonight, she could sense the familiar ripple of someone's presence behind her. She turned gracefully, her silver hair catching the light as she faced the figure she had already identified.

"Elder Hathor," she greeted, her tone neutral and unamused. "How do you do this evening?"

The elder stepped forward, his form illuminated by the soft light of the aspar. His expression held what might have seemed like benevolence to an outsider, but to Caela, his numen betrayed him. Its tendrils writhed with an oily sheen, dark and predatory. His words followed suit, dripping with feigned kindness.

"Just wondering if you've reconsidered my offer," he said, his voice smooth, almost sweet. "I am granting you love, but more importantly, peace and power. Someone with your upbringing should understand how precious that is, no?"

Caela tilted her head slightly, her expression unmoved, though her fingers clenched briefly at her side. The Aspar swirled lazily around them, their golden glow reflecting off a nearby trail of pipla—slithering creatures with translucent bodies that glimmered faintly as they wove through the underbrush.

"Elder," she said with a calmness that bordered on dismissive, "I believe I've told you the night before. And the night before that. And even the night before that. I have no wish to be your woman. Everything I have is something I clawed for. That struggle defines me, and I have no intention of falling into your arms to ease it. I am proud, Elder Hathor. Not to mention"—her voice held a sharper edge now—"you already have several wives and children. Perhaps you should worry about them instead of courting a teenager."

The silence that followed was heavy, the elder's mask of benevolence slipping for a brief moment. His numen flared briefly, dark tendrils lashing angrily before settling back into a deceptive calm. His voice, however, carried a sinister undercurrent.

"...Are you mocking me?" he asked, the syrupy sweetness gone, replaced by something colder.

"Not mocking," she replied, her tone still devoid of emotion. "Simply stating the truth, oh great elder. If you can point out the lie in my words, please do so."

The elder took a step closer, his numen shifting and coiling around him like a living shadow. "I wonder," he said, his voice low and dark, "if this sudden pride of yours is because of that boy you healed not long ago. Have you taken a liking to his looks, hmm?"

Caela almost scoffed but managed to suppress it. She couldn't even see the idiot. The absurdity of his words was only matched by their shamelessness. "And how, exactly, did you know that, Elder?" she asked, her voice now carrying a sharp edge. "Were you watching me?"

"So what if I was?" he replied, his tone taunting now. "Is it not my responsibility to watch for threats and evils? And I do wonder… what might happen if I painted a blind woman from nowhere with no background in a negative light? What would the villagers and priestesses say, hmm?" His mockery was palpable, his smile venomous.

Caela's pale blue eyes turned toward him, unseeing but piercing in their intensity nonetheless. Her voice dropped into a tone of icy disdain. "Then do so," she said simply. "Do whatever you wish. I am not your toy. I am not your woman. Oh, respected elder."

Without waiting for a response, she turned on her heel, her silver hair catching the light once more as she walked away. Each step was measured, deliberate, her back straight despite the fury coiling inside her. She felt his gaze burning into her as she reached her home. His numen hovered like a stormcloud behind her, but she didn't falter. Not once.

She slammed the door shut with finality, her breaths heavy and her hands trembling slightly. She could still sense him standing outside, watching, but she refused to acknowledge him further. In the stillness of her home, she took a deep breath and straightened her posture. She wasn't afraid of him—no, she had clawed her way through far worse to get here.

She would not let anyone, not even an elder, strip her of the pride she had earned. That was her peace and that was her power.
______________

 

[Behemoth.]

Started this fic in late October. Feel free to ask questions lol. Surya's durability is uniform I know that may be confusing. And she has a father.

 

[Behemoth.]

Should I delete the others and wait for people to respond? Perhaps this is too much all at once.

 

[Gigler]

Hello, nice fic, a little unusual.
Love the way you portrait the Medina. Great take on Tanya. Would love to see more.
But what are those Coming treadmarks? If those are future chapters you are planning to add by redacting posts, I would advise against it, I think we would not be notified about the change - ergo not know to read it.

 

[Ungodly]

Neat story, looking forward to more.

 

[Behemoth.]

Hello, nice fic, a little unusual.
Love the way you portrait the Medina. Great take on Tanya. Would love to see more.
But what are those Coming treadmarks? If those are future chapters you are planning to add by redacting posts, I would advise against it, I think we would not be notified about the change - ergo not know to read it.

Click to shrink...

Woop yeah those are chapters I will release.

 

[drake_azathoth]

Love the fic so far. I really like the original setting and the way that Surya is sort of a set-up for Tanya, kind of not really her anymore but still has enough of her to want to go after Being X. Midea is a fun character to see from his PoV, and the villagers are interesting characters with a good mix of sympathetic and cute and annoying and all spectrums of what you'd expect to see in a village.

 

[Behemoth.]

Love the fic so far. I really like the original setting and the way that Surya is sort of a set-up for Tanya, kind of not really her anymore but still has enough of her to want to go after Being X. Midea is a fun character to see from his PoV, and the villagers are interesting characters with a good mix of sympathetic and cute and annoying and all spectrums of what you'd expect to see in a village.

Click to shrink...

Thanks for the support I hope I can make the characters keep feeling real. At least most of them lmao. Midea is one of my favorites personally. He's fun to write.

 

[Behemoth.]

New chapters up

 

[Behemoth.]

He let out an audible groan, his head sinking deeper into the exceedingly comfortable pillow beneath him. The universe, however, seemed determined not to let him enjoy his slumber. The light filtering into the room grew brighter and brighter, stabbing at his closed eyes. A persistent rustling sound, like leaves brushing against each other in the wind, reached his ears, making them twitch with irritation. Slowly, begrudgingly, he cracked one eye open.

Above him was a face, framed by golden blonde hair that glowed softly in the waning light of the seven suns. Her doe-brown eyes were bright, warm, and filled with mischief. A button-shaped nose and a smooth, angular jaw lent her a regal air, though the smile stretched across her face was far too cheeky for any noble. Her tail flicked idly behind her, visible just past her hip, the motion as rhythmic and unhurried as her demeanor.

His head, he realized, was resting comfortably in her lap. The sunlight filtering in through the wooden slats of the house fell in golden rays across her face, illuminating her features like some kind of saint. Her eyes crinkled slightly as her smile widened.

"Morning, sleepyhead," Terra teased, her tone gentle but tinged with humor. "You've been resting for a while. I could've sworn you were dead."

Juraf groaned again, shifting slightly in her lap. "I've told you this a million times: good people die early, but calamities last a thousand years!" he responded with a grin, his voice a little gravelly from sleep.

She let out a soft laugh and reached out to stroke his ears with a light touch. The sensation was warm, soothing, and entirely too comfortable. "Then I hope you become much worse than you are now, Juraf. Much, much worse," she said, her voice tinged with mock solemnity.

He narrowed his eyes at her, pretending to consider her words for a moment, before shaking his head with a huff. "What time is it?" he asked, sitting up slowly and stretching, though he lingered for just a second too long, as though reluctant to leave her lap.

Terra brushed off her blouse with her hands as she adjusted herself, then leaned forward slightly to begin kneading his neck. Her fingers were surprisingly deft, finding knots he hadn't even realized were there. "It's the evening," she replied casually, as though this were the most natural thing in the world. "That brat Garran is running around the village looking for his master. Didn't you take a liking to him?" She chuckled, the sound soft and lilting, like the faint song of birds outside the house.

Juraf tilted his head, thinking for a moment. "I mean, he's Remus's brat, which I don't like," he began, scratching his chin. "But he's also Remulus's nephew. And the kid does have a knack for the spear, better than most of the talentless wretches I have in my unit." His tone was laced with his usual snark, though there was a faint undertone of genuine respect. "As for teaching him, though…" He trailed off, his voice growing thoughtful. "I'm not sure."

Terra raised an eyebrow, her fingers pausing in their work for just a moment. "Why not?" she prompted, curiosity piqued.

Juraf shrugged, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "It's better to learn by falling off a cliff," he said, his voice taking on an amused lilt. "You either fly, root yourself on the precipice, or you fall. It's a good way to get a sense of a person."

"And which one is best?" she asked, genuinely intrigued, her hands moving to brush an errant lock of golden hair from her face.

Juraf grinned at her, his teeth catching the light for just a moment. "The one like me, of course!" he declared, his voice filled with easy confidence. "Those who root themselves on the precipice and keep growing until they cover everything the world has to offer beyond that cliff. Even birds tire, you know. There's a limit to how high they can fly. But there are trees that can break the boundary." He gestured with his hands, as though sketching the image in the air.

Terra snorted softly, rolling her eyes. "You sound like you've been smoking flower fumes," she quipped, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Call it a foggy brain from a midday slumber," he shot back with a laugh, rising to his feet and stretching, his broad shoulders cracking audibly. The light streaming in through the wooden slats cast shadows across the room, highlighting the rough-hewn furniture and the faintly glowing runes carved into the walls for protection.

"I have to get going," Juraf said, ruffling his hair and straightening his armor. "I'm an important person with important things to do."

Terra placed her hands on her hips, her tail swishing playfully behind her. "Yes, sir, Lieutenant General, sir," she said with a mock salute, her voice dripping with sarcasm and amusement.

Juraf shook his head, chuckling. "I'll see you later, then."

Terra watched him as he walked toward the door, the wooden planks creaking softly under his weight. "Don't stay out too late," she called after him, her voice softer now, almost fond.

"It's not even your house, Terra," he said with a laugh, turning his head to glance back at her.

"It is in all but name," she replied breezily, her grin widening. "Plus, I can make sure Remulus doesn't do anything too drastic if he comes over to visit Kiyanna."

Juraf paused for just a second, his shoulders tensing almost imperceptibly. But he recovered quickly, letting out a dry chuckle. "You're right. Stay over all you like." With a wave of his hand, he stepped out into the fading light, the sounds of the village beginning to rise around him. Behind him, Terra stood in the doorway, watching him go, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips.

It had been a few years since he killed Allo and crippled her father. The old man had, unsurprisingly, died not long after—some combination of age, drink, and festering wounds dragging him to an unremarkable end. Terra hadn't gone to the funeral. She hadn't even pretended to care. Juraf didn't blame her. Hell, he didn't care either. The old man had been garbage through and through, a stain on a life that had already been smeared with misery. Good riddance.

When they moved to Sunside they took her with, it wasn't exactly an act of heroism on his part. He didn't owe her anything, not really. But the thought of leaving her behind in Shadeside—a pretty young girl with no money or connections, scraping by in the gutters—didn't sit well with him. As shitty as her life had been, it could always get worse. He wasn't about to let her sink even further.

So, he had done what he did best: bargained and bullied his way into securing her a small plot of land. Remulus had folded surprisingly quickly, granting him the space in exchange for shutting Juraf up for a few months. And for time with kiyanna no doubt. Terra had moved in, but, in truth, she was rarely there. She spent more time at his place than her own. Not that he minded, well most of the time. Her presence was oddly grounding, and though he'd never admit it, he liked having someone around who could keep pace with his sharper edges.

He wasn't dense. Not by a long shot. He was fully aware of Terra's feelings for him. The way her eyes lingered just a second too long when he laughed. The way she always had some excuse to stick around—cooking, cleaning, or "just passing by." It wasn't subtle. But he had his reasons for not taking that step, reasons he didn't feel like unpacking right now. The weight of it made him groan audibly, shoving the thoughts of romance aside as his heavy footsteps thudded against the dirt road.

The vibrations seemed to shake the ground beneath him, a testament to his size. Years of rigorous training, proper nutrition, and the cultivation of his body had undone the effects of the bad diet he'd grown up with. Now, he towered over most in the village, standing well over seven feet tall, a mountain of sinew and power. Yet, even with his imposing frame, he was still shorter than that asshat Remus.

He didn't like the current village head. It wasn't just the man's immense stature or the way he carried himself with an air of almost smug charisma as if he was a genuine hero of legend. No, it was deeper than that. Remus rubbed him the wrong way—probably because he was too close to Remulus. Brothers who were both once competitors for chieftain and all, while they didn't hate one another there was tension on both sides. Juraf could admit that his friendship with Remulus colored his view of the man, but there was something about Remus that set his teeth on edge. The way he moved, the way he spoke, even the way he smiled—it all felt calculated. He spat onto the dirt beside him at the thought.

Remus wasn't his only problem, though. Being next in line for the position of general wasn't just a badge of honor. It came with its own set of annoyances, namely people like Remus flexing their power to see how far they could push him. He hated the game of politics, hated the posturing and the endless cycle of veiled threats and fake smiles. But he played along, mostly for Remulus's sake and Kiyanna's. He had taken a liking to the kid. Not to mention he needed this for her.

Today, unfortunately, wasn't going to be any different. He wasn't lying to Terra when he said he had work to do. The council of elders had called a meeting, and like the dutiful soldier he pretended to be, he was on his way to attend.

The village stretched out before him as he walked. Sunside was always alive with activity, its streets teeming with color and motion. Children ran to and fro, their laughter ringing through the air as they played games only they understood. A young man knelt before his blushing lover, holding her hand as he stammered out words of affection. A family bartered at a stall, the mother haggling fiercely with the merchant while her children tugged at her skirts, begging for sweets. In another corner, a boy swung a wooden sword, teaching his younger siblings how to fight.

The world here felt vibrant, full of life and energy. It was almost too bright for someone like him, someone who had grown up in the shadows of Shadeside. Even after years of living in Sunside, there were moments when it felt surreal. Like he was a visitor, peering into a life that didn't quite belong to him.

The ceremonial hall loomed ahead, its imposing structure standing as a testament to the village's history and culture. Red streamers hung from the high ceiling, swaying gently with the breeze. The walls were adorned with primal decorative objects, artifacts that told the story of their people. Each one glowed faintly, as if imbued with the vitality of the ancestors who had crafted them. The air inside was heavy with the scent of incense, a mix of spices and earthy undertones that clung to his senses.

At the center of the hall sat Remus, perched on a throne of beast skulls. The macabre display was meant to exude authority, though Juraf thought it just looked pretentious. Granted he himself was rather pretentious and it was kinda badass. Surrounding him were the elders, each seated in ornate chairs. Baya, the head priestess, with her knowing eyes and sharp tongue. Skollf, the elder with a face like weathered leather, who always seemed half-asleep but missed nothing. Randalk, the current general, his burly frame a stark contrast to his measured demeanor. And then there was Hathor—the bastard. Juraf's lips twitched into a faint sneer at the sight of him.

Near Remus, seated on a slightly smaller throne, was Remulus. The sight of him eased some of the tension in Juraf's shoulders. If nothing else, Remulus's presence meant he wouldn't have to face the circus of this meeting alone.

Juraf strode into the hall, his steps echoing against the polished stone floor. He inclined his head in acknowledgment

"Lieutenant General," Remus greeted him, his voice smooth but tinged with authority. The faintest glimmer of irritation flickered in his eyes at Juraf's shallow bow. Good.

"Chieftain." Juraf placed his two clawed hands firmly on his shoulders and inclined his waist, his movements deliberate. It was a calculated gesture, steeped in just enough respect to acknowledge the hierarchy but falling far short of subservience.

"Bow deeper, boy," Hathor sneered from his seat, his voice dripping with disdain. "You are before the lord of the village."

Juraf's jaw tightened slightly, but before he could respond, another voice cut through the tension.

"He is the lieutenant general, and you are speaking out of turn. Silence, elder," Remulus said sharply, his tone cold and authoritative, a rare edge in his typically measured demeanor.

Remus, seated on his ornate throne of beast skulls, raised a hand, halting the brewing spat before it could escalate. His expression was neutral, almost placid, but Juraf's sharp eyes caught the fleeting irritation that flickered in his gaze. Years in the slums had honed his ability to read people like open books, and Remus's brief lapse amused him. He let a small, knowing smirk creep onto his face, directing it at Hathor just enough to needle the elder further. The effect was immediate; Hathor's brows furrowed deeply, his displeasure almost palpable.

"Lieutenant General Juraf," Remus began, his tone smooth and diplomatic, "we have been impressed by your feats of strength, your rapid progress, and your ongoing contributions to the village and my brother." He paused, his gaze steady and unreadable. "So, we ask you to undertake a mission."

Juraf's expression didn't change, but inwardly, he braced himself. He shifted his weight subtly as Remus waved his hand, signaling for others to enter. A group of scouts stepped forward, their uniforms dusted with the dirt and grime of the wilds, and among them stood a singular figure—a woman who immediately commanded attention, even without trying.

It was Caela.

She moved with quiet poise, her priestess garb flowing around her slight yet curvy frame. Her waist-length silver hair shimmered faintly in the light of the ceremonial hall, catching the vibrant reds and golds of the streamers overhead. Her pupil-less pale blue eyes, though blind to the physical world, seemed to pierce through everything, staring into a realm unseen by others. She was as brilliant as always.

Juraf's gaze followed her as she approached a greenboard that one of the warriors set up behind her. She was one of the only women allowed to regularly leave the village and even scout which was usually a military operation because her innate ability was just that useful. With a graceful but firm grip, she picked up a piece of chalk, her movements steady and purposeful. Despite her blindness, there was a precision in the way she drew—a rough but effective depiction of a cave, flanked by jagged formations and overshadowed by a monstrous beast. Streams of energy-like light radiated from the cave, flowing outward as if the structure itself was alive with power. Though crude in detail, the image carried an undeniable weight, its implications clear even to the most skeptical observer.

Her voice was calm and measured as she began to speak. "On our scouting trip, I was able to see a significant concentration of numen—numen of the prosperous variety." Her words were met with murmurs from the elders, their interest piqued.

Caela continued, undeterred. "Numen in the wild manifests differently depending on the daos it is imbued with. All cultivators must filter numen that does not align with their path, separating what resonates from what is merely base energy. However, treasures are unique." She turned her head, her blind gaze directed toward Juraf. "Treasures possess the dao of 'treasure' itself—a meaning that elevates their existence beyond their inherent properties. They are tools, catalysts for growth, and embodiments of potential. I call this 'prosperous numen.'"

She pointed to the drawing on the board, her finger hovering over the streams of light. "In that cave, I saw more prosperous numen than I have ever encountered in my life. If I am correct, it could rival any trove discovered by our ancestors."

Juraf crossed his arms, his gaze sharpening as she spoke. He didn't interrupt but listened carefully, weighing her words.

"But," Caela continued, her tone shifting, "the beast that guards it is strong. Very strong. I cannot, in good conscience, recommend a deployment without significant preparation. This mission is fraught with danger."

Her words hung in the air, heavy with caution. Juraf noticed how her hands clenched slightly at her sides, betraying a trace of unease. It wasn't fear, he thought. No, it was something deeper—an instinct honed by experience, one that warned her of the risks they might be too eager to ignore.

"Enough," Remus interjected, cutting her off with a sharpness that made Juraf's brows twitch in annoyance. He could see that Caela felt it too, though she kept her face composed.

"You've heard her," Remus said, his tone firm. "Our village stands at a critical juncture. We need to advance, and we cannot do so without more resources. Treasures like the ones she describes could change everything. They could create more elders, bolster our strength, and enable several cultivators to break into the second layer, mitigating the dangers of tribulation."

He paused, letting his words settle before continuing. "Or perhaps these treasures may free us from the shackles placed upon us, allowing us to expand beyond these walls. If this cache of prosperous numen is truly as great as Caela claims, we cannot afford to hesitate."

The ceremonial hall seemed to echo with unspoken tension. Juraf's eyes flicked to Caela, who stood silently, her lips pressed into a thin line. She had done her part, offered her warning. Whether they heeded it or not was no longer up to her.

Juraf shifted his stance, rolling his shoulders as he prepared to respond. The weight of the room bore down on him, but his smirk only grew sharper.

"So, if I am correct," Juraf began, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "you wish for me to take a troop into the forest during the mounting tensions on the precipice of war with the Gu. To fight a powerful beast that will likely leave many of us injured—assuming we even survive—and then make my way back to the village with your treasures in tow. Me, the lieutenant general, one of the few second-layer cultivators the village has." He punctuated his statement with a dry laugh, crossing his arms and tilting his head slightly as if awaiting a punchline.

"Watch your tone, Juraf!" Randall snapped, his voice sharp and his already prominent forehead veins bulging. The man had always been prone to outbursts, and this time was no exception.

Juraf turned his sharp gaze on the elder, a lazy smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "This cave and beast are near Gu territory, no? If these scouts found it, they were likely searching the borders to see if the Gu had made any moves. To find this treasure trove means the creature is likely in the vicinity. And if the beast is formidable, as Caela claims, the ruckus from our fight could very well attract Gu soldiers or worse—retaliation." His voice was smooth, laced with subtle venom, but his smirk betrayed his enjoyment of the verbal sparring.

Remus leaned forward slightly on his throne, his fingers steepled under his chin. "Our village has been under immense pressure, Juraf. We need hope—a light to guide us out of this long, dark war. You, more than anyone, should understand this." His words were carefully chosen, measured in tone, but there was no denying the weight behind them.

Juraf let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head as if in disbelief. "Oh, of course. But let me remind you, we're not so far gone that we cannot win without taking foolish risks. You're sending one of the strongest fighters in the village on a mission with high chances of death, all for something ephemeral. Let me educate you—beasts who guard treasures don't just wander off. They stay because they have a food stock or something equally important. It's not going to just up and leave because we ask it nicely."

His voice held a biting edge now, and his smirk grew sharper as he locked eyes with Remus. The older chieftain's face remained impassive, but Juraf didn't miss the quick flicker of frustration in his eyes. Beside Remus, Remulus's gaze darted back and forth between them, his sharp mind already anticipating where this confrontation might lead.

"Hope," Remus said, his voice rising slightly, charged with charisma, "is something that must be grasped at the greatest of risks. Do not tell me the great Juraf is afraid of a mere beast. The hero who mastered spear intent—the first in our village to do so in over a hundred years—and at such a young age as well."

The goad was elementary, transparent in its intent, but Juraf felt the hook lodge firmly in his pride nonetheless. He cursed his roots—he was just a kid from the slums, after all. A smirk broke out across his face, this one more feral.

"Fear?" he echoed, his tone thick with mockery. "The only thing I fear is catching something from Hathor's wives, who keep wandering about my house. You should really do something about that, respected elder." He punctuated the insult with a casual laugh, watching with relish as Hathor's face turned a deep shade of red. The elder's nostrils flared, his lips parting in what was sure to be a tirade, but before he could get a word out, Juraf glanced toward Caela.

She wasn't amused. Her expression was neutral, but there was a visible grimace at the edge of her lips, and her body language was tense. Juraf just smiled back at her, offering a shrug as if to say, What can you do?

"Alright, that's enough." Remulus's voice cut through the growing tension like a blade, cooling the room with its calm authority. "The lieutenant general has taken the mission, and I will be going alongside him." His tone left no room for argument.

Juraf turned his gaze toward Remulus, his brow arching in surprise. The elder brother of the chieftain volunteering to join such a mission was unexpected. Around them, murmurs of approval and concern rippled through the gathered elders.

"Boy, you are a Lupus. You have no need to risk yourself in this way," Baya said, her voice a mix of chiding and approval. The elder priestess leaned forward in her chair, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief as she added, "But then again, I'm proud. It's not the type of thing your old man would ever do. Bagyagyagya!" Her loud, boisterous laughter filled the ceremonial hall, drowning out the grumbles of dissent from some of the other elders.

Her words seemed to effectively shut down further opposition, leaving the room with an air of reluctant acceptance. Juraf rolled his shoulders and offered a shallow bow to Remus, even less deep than the first, before turning on his heel.

"Well then," he said over his shoulder, his voice tinged with sarcasm, "I will prepare for the mission the day after. Don't worry—I'll bring back your precious hope, even if I have to wring it from that beast's neck."

With that, he strode out of the hall, his boots echoing against the stone floor, leaving a room full of elders stewing in his wake.

_____________

Caela's sandals pressed against the packed dirt road, a quiet rhythm beneath the ambient sounds of the village at night. The day had faded fully into the embrace of evening, and the hum of life had shifted. She could hear it all—the soft murmur of distant voices, the creak of wooden carts being pulled home, the occasional bark of a stray dog in the far corners of the village. Yet her focus was on the aspar.

The peculiar tubular organisms drifted lazily through the cool air, their bioluminescent glow casting a faint golden sheen over her pale skin. Despite her lack of traditional sight, she could see them clearly—every flicker of their light, every subtle movement of their sensory tendrils. It wasn't sight as others knew it, but her perception of numen allowed her to grasp the essence of the world around her. The aspar were simple structures, their energy signature untainted by the complexities of intent or thought, which made them easy for her to "see." In fact their biolumiscence was in part due to numen. They were the only breings likely which she could see in the fashion others could.

She reached out, her slender fingers brushing just beneath one as it floated above her palm, the soft hum of its numen vibrating faintly through her fingertips. A small smile ghosted her lips despite herself. The aspar had a strange way of soothing her. With a deep breath, she let it drift away, its golden glow joining the many others lighting the path ahead.

Her earlier irritation lingered, though slightly muted. She had warned them—warned him—not to venture into that place, but of course, no one ever truly listened. And that fool of a man, that stubborn, insufferable idiot, had responded to provocation as he always did: with reckless abandon. She could already picture the chaos his decision would bring. Exhaling sharply, she shook her head, trying to push the thought from her mind.

Her home came into view, a modest dwelling tucked between the towering blue-green trees that marked this part of the village. The wooden structure was simple but well-kept, its walls adorned with symbols of her station as a priestess. The soft glow of the aspar reflected off the smooth surface of the door, and she could feel the familiar pulse of the numen wards she had set around the house.

Her annoyance flared anew when she sensed the presence of another. His signature was unmistakable—a deep, dark pool of numen that seemed both comforting and insatiably ambitious, like an abyss that yearned for more than it could ever consume. She pushed open the door, her fingers trailing over the rough wood, and found him leaning casually against the wall, his ever-present smirk likely playing on his lips. She had never seen it but she just knew he always had it on.

"Why are you here," she began, her voice edged with irritation, "after what you pulled today?"

Juraf turned to her, his black numen glittering with amusement in the low light. His tall frame seemed to fill the small space, and the air around him practically buzzed with the vitality and chaos that always seemed to follow him. He was dressed in his usual gear, she could see the left over energy of creatures he had slain in the wild. Though his armor had been cast aside, leaving only a loose shirt that clung to his broad shoulders. He was entirely too relaxed for someone she wanted to throw out.

"I'm going on an expedition tomorrow," he said, his tone light, teasing, "and I need someone of your knowledge and some of your oh-so-precious oils and the like, Priestess Caela. Won't you help a soldier out?"

"Why should I help someone so eager to court death?" she shot back, her irritation giving her words a sharp edge.

Juraf chuckled, a deep, rich sound that filled the small room. "What is it with you girls today and all this talk about death? Hmmm, well, you're not wrong. But I'm not here just for that."

He leaned forward slightly, his grin widening, and she could feel the weight of his presence as if it had grown in intensity. She crossed her arms and glared at him—or rather, turned her unseeing eyes in his direction with the full force of her disapproval.

Ever since that fateful day years ago, Juraf had made a habit of showing up unannounced. Whenever he was injured, whenever he needed something—or whenever he was simply bored—he would find his way to her doorstep. Over time, it had become an odd routine. He'd stop by, crack a few jokes, sometimes bring her something to smell, and then leave before overstaying his welcome.

Perhaps it was because she couldn't see in the traditional sense, but he had an odd habit of bringing her new soaps or flowers, encouraging her to explore their scents. It was the only thing about him that ever made her pause. That thoughtfulness didn't align with the rough, cocky image he so carefully maintained.

She supposed it was how she had come to know him beyond his reputation in the village. And his reputation was extensive. She had heard the stories—the fights, the women, the trouble he seemed to stir up wherever he went. Yet, for all his bluster, there was something unshakable about him. A consistency she both hated and, in quieter moments, admired. In a way it reminded her of herself.

"State your reason and then get out, Juraf," she said, her annoyance thickening her tone. Her fingers itched to shoo him out the door, but she held her ground, waiting for whatever nonsense he would spout next.

Juraf stepped closer, and she felt the warmth of his presence wash over her. "If I told you it was because I enjoy our little chats, would you believe me?"

"No," she deadpanned, her lips twitching slightly despite herself.

He laughed again, that same infuriating laugh, and she resisted the urge to hurl a nearby cushion at him. She could sense the smile on his face even without seeing it, and it only added fuel to the fire of her annoyance. Yet, somewhere beneath her frustration, there was the faintest hint of something else. Something softer.

But she refused to acknowledge it. Not tonight.

She saw his numen signature shift and move toward her, distinct in its presence. It was dark, but not in a way that felt threatening or oppressive. To her, it was an abyss—a deep, endless void, but one that paradoxically offered warmth and comfort. It reminded her of the darkness of the womb, where everything was safe, where life began, where nothing was yet required of you. It was a space to rest, to simply be. Yet within that abyss, there was a constant, insatiable hunger—a yearning for something more, something beyond itself. That was Juraf in every way: an endless chasm that could hold you, but one that reached for everything it touched. And now, he was reaching for her once more.

She felt his hand brush past her head, his fingers grazing her temple and tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. His movements were light, almost absentminded, but the touch sent a ripple of awareness through her.

"What are you doing, Juraf?" she asked, her voice low but heavy, the tension creeping into her tone unbidden.

"Just hold on a second," he said, a chuckle bubbling up from his chest, warm and disarming. "Stop being so jumpy."

The rough pads of his fingers brushed against her cheek, lingering there for a moment. Then, she felt it—his numen slipping into her skin, threading through her as if it were a soft current of water seeping into dry soil. At first, she stiffened, instinctively bracing against the sensation. But the energy wasn't invasive. It wasn't harsh or demanding. It was gentle, deliberate, and strangely soothing. For a moment, she could only stand still, feeling as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of them.

And then she saw it.

It wasn't sight in the conventional sense, but a perception entirely her own. The numen, vibrating in a carefully controlled frequency, began to outline her surroundings. The vibrations moved like ripples on a pond, creating a picture through sensation and resonance rather than light. The edges of things became clearer, more defined. The details came together in a way she had never experienced before.

"Let me teach you," he said softly, his voice losing its usual teasing edge. "It's not complex."

He reached for her hand, his palm warm against hers, and brought it up to his face. The flow of his numen intertwined with hers, seamless and fluid. She felt it, and more than that—she saw it. Under the haze of a myriad of colors, their combined essence created something entirely new. It wasn't just a sensation; it was an experience, a moment suspended in time.

The vibrations began to tickle her palm, brushing over her skin in soft, rhythmic waves. It was like feeling the gentle push of wind against your face or the cool ripple of water lapping at your feet. The sensation wasn't just external—it resonated deep within her, as though her very soul was being painted with these invisible strokes.

He guided her hand upward, and her fingertips grazed the curve of his cheek. The vibrations outlined the contours of his face—his strong jawline, the slight roughness of stubble, the arch of his brow. She felt the firmness of his nose beneath her fingers, the soft skin of his lips as her touch lingered there. Every line and curve was illuminated by the numen, vivid and alive. It was the first face she had ever truly seen.

"So…" His voice broke the stillness, tinged with a hint of humor. "How do I look? It ain't bad, is it?"

She didn't answer. Instead, without thought or hesitation, she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Her movements were quick, almost desperate, as she buried her face against his chest. She breathed in deeply, the scent of him grounding her, as sobs began to wrack her body. They were silent, meteoric things, shuddering through her frame like distant thunder. But she was Caela—she refused to cry openly, even now. Tears streaked her cheeks anyway, hot and unrelenting, betraying her resolve.

"Man," he said after a moment, his voice light but tinged with something softer. "Am I that ugly? You didn't have to burst into tears, you know."

She pulled back slightly, just enough to clear her throat and push down the lump rising there. "Ahem—how did you manage this?" she asked, her voice regaining some of its usual sharpness, though it wavered slightly.

"Well," he began, his tone immediately shifting back to its usual cocky inflection, "it's kinda like hearing. We hear through vibrations, right? Like when something makes a sound—say you punch something—it creates a specific kind of force. Our ears pick up those vibrations in the air and turn them into information. I just… replaced the force with numen. The energy travels through objects in a specific way, and that creates an outline you can sense. Pretty simple if you think about it."

He grinned then, wide and self-assured. And for the first time, she could see it—the grin that practically radiated confidence, the faint dimples at the corners of his mouth, the glint in his dark eyes that spoke of mischief and pride.

"I am, after all, a genius," he added, the grin widening.

Her brow furrowed as she processed what he had said. It was a complex technique, but not inherently powerful or useful in combat. The sheer effort and precision it must have required to develop it spoke volumes. He had done this for her. There was no other explanation.

"Why?" she asked quietly, the word carrying far more weight than she intended.

He paused, the grin faltering for just a moment. His gaze softened, though that familiar spark of amusement never left his eyes.

"Well, you kno—"

"No, I mean why did you do this?" Caela interrupted, her voice low but firm, her tone demanding clarity. "Juraf, what exactly are you trying to do? I know about you—not just from our time together but from what everyone else says. The warrior who's destined to become general. A shameless womanizer. Rambunctious Juraf." Her voice dipped, laced with a sharp edge, though it trembled slightly at the weight of her words. "But you never go all the way with anyone, do you? That's different for you, right? Except…" Her eyes, unseeing yet pointed, seemed to fix on him, her head tilting ever so slightly. "Except you treat certain girls differently. At least, that's the rumor."

Juraf's grin faltered, but he didn't respond. She continued, her voice growing quieter but no less resolute. "Some say… you're in lo—" She paused, the word catching in her throat before she replaced it. "You already have someone. So again, I'm asking you: what are you trying to do here?"

Her words hung in the air, heavy with expectation. She looked like a blade poised to strike, though her hands trembled faintly at her sides. Her emotions swirled—anger, frustration, confusion—all vying for dominance.

Juraf finally looked away, his usual confidence dimmed. His brows furrowed as he kicked at a stray pebble near his feet, his voice quieter when he finally spoke. "You're not wrong," he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically subdued. "But… I don't know." He paused, dragging a hand through his pitch-black hair before looking back up at her. His expression was a mixture of vulnerability and something deeper, more raw. "It's different, but it's the same. Even so, I'm here with you, aren't I?"

He reached into his pouch, pulling out a cluster of flowers—small, luminous blossoms that emitted a soft, almost ethereal glow. He held them out toward her, his numen swirling around them like a gentle breeze. The vibrations shimmered faintly, carrying waves of detail that made the flowers appear alive in her perception.

"Here," he said, his voice softer now, laced with a rare sincerity. "They're just flowers, I guess. But I figured you might like them."

Caela hesitated, her lips parting as her fingers brushed the blossoms. The numen outlining their form gave her a new kind of vision, one that allowed her to "see" them in a way no one else could. She could perceive the delicate arch of their petals, the intricate veins weaving through their leaves, the way their faint bioluminescence seemed to pulse in rhythm with her own breath as well as their innate numen.

"They're beautiful," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

Juraf grinned, though it was softer than his usual cocky expression. "I'm glad you think so."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The night wrapped around them like a velvet shroud, the distant hum of the village fading into the quiet rustle of the fields. The light from the three moons bathed them in silvery hues, their glow catching in the dew-laden flowers scattered across the field. Caela turned slightly, her face illuminated by the lunar light, her expression unreadable.

"You, Caela…" Juraf began, his voice hesitant, as though testing the weight of his words. "You're like the sky. Wide, endless, and all-encompassing. A manifestation of a dream."

Her breath hitched slightly, but she didn't respond, letting him continue.

"But the thing about dreams," he said, his voice dropping to a murmur, "and the sky, for all their greatness… they're fragile, aren't they? The sky is just a thin layer of air, stretched over endless nothing. Dreams are ephemeral, fleeting." He chuckled softly, though there was a tinge of sadness in it. "But man can't live without them. We can't live without the sky or without those little fragments of emotion that come at us when we slumber. Something so intangible, so immaterial—it's the foundation of who we are. Funny, right?"

She turned her head toward him, her pale blue, pupil-less eyes gazing into the abyss of his own. "Juraf…"

He shook his head, cutting her off gently. "I guess I just want my sky," he said with a faint, bittersweet smile. "I'm not thinking. I'm not thinking at all."

Caela stared at him for a long moment, her heart heavy with unspoken words. Finally, she turned away, her bare feet brushing through the grass as she began walking toward the open field. The flowers swayed gently around her, their bioluminescent glow painting the scene with a surreal vibrancy.

"Have you ever heard the story of the Black Toad?" she asked suddenly, her voice carrying through the stillness.

Juraf blinked, caught off guard. "The what?"

"The Black Toad," she repeated, her tone soft but steady. She reached the center of the field, spinning slightly as her vibrations spread through the ground, allowing her to "see" the flowers in every direction. The night seemed alive with motion—the soft rustle of petals, the distant chirping of nocturnal creatures, the hum of energy that thrummed beneath her feet.

She stopped, turning back to him with an expression that was both serene and inscrutable. "It's a story about beauty, greed, and regret," she said quietly.

Juraf tilted his head, intrigued despite himself. "Sounds uplifting," he quipped, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

She smiled faintly, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Come with me," she said, extending a hand toward him.

He hesitated, his gaze lingering on her outstretched hand before stepping forward to take it. Together, they stood in the center of the field, surrounded by a sea of glowing blossoms. The moons cast their silvery light over them, illuminating the faint sheen of tears on her face.

And for a moment, the world felt still, as if holding its breath.

"There was once a black toad who loved beauty," Caela began, her voice soft but clear, each word a ripple that seemed to echo in the stillness of the night. The glow of the bioluminescent flowers bathed her in a surreal light, their delicate swaying movements mirroring the cadence of her tale. She stood amidst the psychedelic blossoms, her silvery hair catching the light of the three moons above. To Juraf, she looked like a figure drawn from the very stories she told—ethereal and untouchable, yet grounded in a quiet strength.

"He wanted all the beauty in the world. It was because he grew up with nothing. In his home swamp, he was the only black toad. While all his siblings and parents were colorful and cheery, he was plain, and he was dark. He was never well-liked." Her tone grew quieter, almost mournful, as her gaze wandered, though she could not see in the traditional sense. "He came to think of beauty as the only measure of value. And since he couldn't dress himself up, he decided he would make the world not beautiful."

The flowers around her trembled slightly, catching the faint vibrations of her numen as she continued. "He thought, if he could swallow the beauty of the world, it would make him the most beautiful of all. And if that didn't work, at least no one would be able to see him for what he was. No one would call him ugly or useless ever again."

Juraf shifted slightly where he stood, his gaze fixed on her as she turned her head toward the field, her soft vibrations spreading outward like ripples in a pond, outlining every petal, every stalk.

"And so, the black toad marched onwards. He stole the beauty of his parents and siblings and swallowed it. But nothing changed. He stole the beauty of the aspar and the great trees, but still, nothing changed. He stole the beauty of the mountains, the forests, the sea, and the wind. Of Wolvenkind, of all the life in this world—he devoured it all. But nothing changed."

Juraf's eyes narrowed slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in thought. He watched her, not interrupting though. His eyes haze as if in thought.

"The only thing that changed," Caela said, her voice dropping lower, "was his stomach. It swelled and swelled, but he still felt just as empty as before. So, he decided to finish. He devoured the beauty of the suns and the sky, of all the earth beneath his feet, until there was nothing left. That toad swallowed the world."

Her breath caught as if the story weighed on her chest. "And at the end, when he looked around at the barren world he'd created—a world without beauty—he felt regret. And then… he burst. He had grown too full, and he burst, scattering all the beauty he had stolen back to where it belonged."

She turned her face toward Juraf, the faint outline of his numen flickering in her vision. The boy she had first seen through the vibrations of his energy, the one she had grown to know even without sight, stood there, framed by the luminous field, his expression unreadable.

"Is that a warning, Caela?" he asked, his voice softer than usual but tinged with something sadder if she could call it that. But there was an edge to his tone, something primal that made her stomach twist in ways she couldn't name. Ways that made her heart clench.

Her lips parted as though to speak, but she faltered. "It is not a warning," she finally said, her voice almost shaky, nearly betraying the storm of emotions swirling within her. "It is…" She sighed, biting back the words she wanted to say. She turned her head away, her mouth snapping shut as though she'd been burned.

Juraf's sharp gaze didn't miss the subtle flinch. "Caela," he said, his voice steady but questioning. He took a step closer, his numen brushing against hers like a gentle tide. "You don't have to worry about me. I ain't a frog, after all." He grinned faintly, though it didn't fully reach his eyes. "Not that ugly, anyway."

His attempt at humor made her exhale softly, though it didn't ease the tension between them. He continued, his voice growing more contemplative. "And who's to say being greedy is wrong? I've been greedy my whole life, and look at me now." He gestured at the field around them, the glow of the flowers reflecting in his dark eyes. "In the end, who's to say the black toad wasn't satisfied? Who's to say he felt regret? No one ever heard from him, after all."

She turned to him sharply, but he held her gaze, the abyss of his eyes unfathomable. "Maybe that moment, right before he burst, was the most brilliant moment of his life. Maybe that was enough."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken things. The flowers around them seemed to sway in time with the beat of her heart, their luminescence pulsing gently as if alive. The cool night air brushed against her skin, carrying the faint hum of distant aspar trees and the distant cries of nocturnal creatures.

Juraf shook his head, breaking the stillness. "I won't burst, and I won't die," he said, his voice low but resolute. "No matter how greedy I become, no matter what I take… you can count on that, Caela. If nothing else, you can count on that."

She studied him, her pale, pupil-less eyes unable to see the full picture but perceiving enough. His numen swirled with a controlled chaos, an abyss yearning forever more. Oh, she should have known from the start. For a moment, it flickered, hazy and uncertain, but then it solidified once more as if even his doubts refused to take root.

Under the light of the three moons, with the field of luminous flowers as their stage, Caela looked at the boy she had first seen through the vibrations of her world. And in that moment, she knew.

She was through.

_________________

The branches trembled faintly as shadows darted across them with remarkable speed, moving with practiced stealth. Juraf and his troop were traversing the towering spiral trees of Gu territory, their every step calculated to blend into the natural rhythm of the forest. The air was thick with the faint hum of distant nocturnal life, but beneath it lay an undercurrent of tension—one wrong move, and the entire mission could unravel.

They leapt from branch to branch, their footfalls soft against the twisting blue-green wood. The leaves overhead glowed faintly with bioluminescence, a characteristic of the trees in this part of the world, casting a gentle light that illuminated their path just enough to guide them. Each soldier was outfitted with a pair of shadow cores, dark orbs humming faintly with numen energy, strapped to their belts. The cores cloaked their presence, diffusing their auras and dampening their sound. Juraf noted the faint flicker of the cores with every leap, a reminder that their power was finite. This mission was well-funded—a rarity—and perhaps the presence of Remulus himself was the reason for that.

As they moved, Juraf turned his sharp gaze to Remulus, who was perched on a nearby branch. His companion's eyes were focused intently on a worn map, the faint glow of numen illuminating its surface. Juraf raised his hand, fingers twisting through a series of silent signs that asked a simple but critical question: How far?

Remulus glanced up, his fingers responding just as silently, a quick sequence of signs. Close. But detour necessary. Possible outpost ahead.

Juraf nodded curtly, shifting his position to lead the group away from the marked danger. The troop moved fluidly, adjusting their trajectory without a word, weaving through the canopy with an elegance born of relentless training. The surrounding forest felt alive in a way that was both mesmerizing and unsettling. The trees, massive and spiraling, seemed to hum faintly, their glowing leaves swaying to a rhythm only they understood. Small, skittering creatures darted through the foliage, their bright eyes glinting like scattered stars.

But peace was an illusion in Gu territory.

Juraf's hand shot up abruptly, the universal signal to stop. His troops froze, blending into the shadows as if they had disappeared entirely. He pressed a palm to his shadow core, feeding it a pulse of numen. The others followed suit, amplifying the cloaking effect at the cost of draining the cores and himself more rapidly. It was a necessary trade-off.

Below them, a lone figure walked along the forest floor, its movements deliberate but unhurried. Juraf's sharp eyes locked onto it, his body tensing instinctively. It was a Gu—a member of the gnarly race that inhabited these lands.

Each Gu was tall, standing well over eight feet, their lanky forms exaggerated by their thin, sinewy frames. Their purple skin seemed to pulsate faintly, dark veins sprawling like rivers of corruption beneath the surface. Juraf's lip curled faintly at the sight of its exoskeleton-clad arms, each ending in four sharp, ant-like claws that looked built for dismemberment. The Gu's mandibles clicked faintly as it moved, and its lack of a nose added an unsettling alienness to its face. They were known to breathe through their skin, giving them an unnerving stillness even in motion.

The creature wore a crude brown skirt, a stark contrast to its otherwise grotesque appearance. It was likely a scout, Juraf reasoned, judging by its solitary nature. The Gu were cruel and lascivious by reputation, their culture built on conquest, poison, and domination. They were masters of venom in all its forms, their presence a blight that spread through any land they touched.

Juraf raised his hand again, signaling his soldiers to hold position. They remained perfectly still, blending into the foliage above as the Gu passed beneath them. For a moment, it seemed the danger would simply walk away. Juraf exhaled slowly, silently, ready to signal his troops to resume their path.

But then, the Gu's head snapped upward with unnatural speed.

Juraf's breath caught as the creature's black, pupil-less eyes locked onto the canopy where they hid. Its mandibles clicked, the sound sharp and deliberate, and a faint hiss escaped its throat. Juraf's soldiers tensed around him, their grips tightening on their weapons. One of them shifted slightly, the faintest creak of wood betraying the movement.

The Gu's gaze sharpened, its thin chest expanding as it took in a long, deliberate breath. Juraf's mind raced, his body coiling like a spring. If it detected them, there would be no easy way out. This Gu was no issue however they were in their territory and the noise of even a small fight could bring reinforcements within minutes. Then they would likely all die.

But just as quickly as the tension had mounted, the Gu turned its head away. It stepped closer to one of the glowing bushes at the base of the tree, plucking a handful of berries with its sharp claws. It inspected the fruit briefly, then turned and began walking again, its mandibles clicking faintly in what almost sounded like a contented hum.

Juraf didn't exhale until the Gu had disappeared entirely from view, its thin form swallowed by the forest's shadows. Around him, his soldiers relaxed incrementally, though their vigilance remained sharp.

He motioned for them to continue, his hand moving with decisive authority. They resumed their journey, weaving through the trees as the faint echoes of the Gu's presence faded into the distance. But the encounter left a shadow over the group, a reminder of how precarious their mission truly was.

Juraf's thoughts churned as he led them forward, the glow of the trees around him casting fragmented patterns of light and shadow. He was no stranger to danger, but something about the Gu always left him unsettled. He shook his head.

The relief among the troop was palpable, unspoken but evident in the way their shoulders relaxed and their grips loosened on their weapons. Juraf allowed himself a small breath of reprieve, but his focus remained sharp. They had narrowly avoided one danger, but the path ahead was far from safe. After a few silent hand gestures, the group continued their advance, weaving through the glowing blue-green trees with practiced efficiency. The eerie glow of the leaves cast shifting shadows on their faces, a flickering reminder of the perilous territory they navigated.

Their journey was uneventful for a time, the oppressive silence broken only by the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional hum of nocturnal creatures. The tension never truly left, an ever-present weight on their shoulders. Juraf's eyes scanned the terrain ceaselessly, noting the subtle shifts in the foliage and the faint changes in the forest's bioluminescence. The trees seemed to grow denser as they approached their destination, their spiraling trunks twisting unnaturally, as though resisting the encroachment of intruders.

Finally, they reached the cave. It was nestled within the base of a rocky hill, partially obscured by an overgrowth of vines and moss. The entrance yawned wide, a dark void that seemed to exhale a faint, unsettling chill. Water trickled down the stone, forming small pools around the mouth of the cave, their surfaces reflecting the pale glow of the forest. Juraf motioned for his troop to halt, his hand a silent command that was obeyed instantly.

He gestured to one of his scouts, a wolvenkind man with brown skin and dark, alert wolf ears that twitched at every faint sound. The scout nodded, stepping forward without hesitation. Through the Great Wolf Sutra, he was trained in a unique art that transformed scent into direct information—a skill invaluable in a mission such as this. Juraf watched as the man crept forward, his movements almost ghostly in their precision. He hovered around the cave entrance, moving nearer and then retreating, his nostrils flaring as he absorbed the sensory data.

The scout's face tightened as he worked, his brows furrowing deeper with every moment. Juraf, observing from his perch in the trees, felt a familiar weight settle in his chest. Fucking suns. It's always something, he thought grimly, already bracing himself for bad news.

The scout finally returned, leaping silently into the tree alongside Juraf and Remulus, who had come over from his own position. The scout knelt, pulling out a sketchpad and a piece of chalk. His hand moved swiftly, outlining the details of the creature they would likely face. As the image took shape, Juraf's stomach tightened, his expression darkening with every stroke.

The sketch revealed a creature with a wolvenkind-like jaw and neck, but there were no lips or cheeks to cover its teeth. The exposed fangs jutted menacingly from its gaping maw, their sharp edges glinting faintly in the dim light. The creature lacked an upper head entirely—no eyes, no discernible features beyond the jagged jaw. Instead, two massive bone-like plates crowned its neck, covered in a strange, webbed flesh that looked as though it pulsed faintly with life. The fleshy webbing was interspersed with tangled vines and patches of leaves, an unnatural fusion of plant and beast.

Its body was equally grotesque. Bare, sinewy flesh stretched taut over a serpentine frame, dotted with clusters of leaves that seemed to grow from its very form. Bony plates ran down its spine, jagged and uneven, forming a natural armor that gleamed with a faint, sickly sheen. It had four gaunt arms, unnervingly long and jointed at odd angles, each tipped with claw-like appendages. Its lower half was serpentine, a long, sinuous body that coiled and twisted like a naga's, adorned with more bony spines running the length of its form. All of this was interspersed with vines and other plant-like material. The creature was somewhat superficially similar to a Snavine but eerily different.

Juraf's gaze sharpened as he took in the details, his lips pressing into a thin line. What the fuck even is this thing? he thought, his frustration growing. It didn't match any species he was familiar with—no bestiary had ever described something so twisted, so wrong. He turned his attention to Remulus, who was studying the sketch intently.

Remulus made a few hand symbols, silently asking the scout for an estimation of the creature's size. The scout hesitated for a moment before drawing a simple comparison on the corner of the page. He sketched a small, human-like figure next to the creature, and the scale was staggering. The beast was massive, its serpentine body alone dwarfing the height of even the tallest warriors.

Juraf felt his jaw tighten, his hand gripping the haft of his spear reflexively. The sketch made it look as though a berry had been placed beside a sunmelon—a ridiculous, almost laughable disparity in size.

"Well, shit," Juraf muttered under his breath, his voice low enough that only Remulus could hear. The sentiment was shared, unspoken but heavy in the air between them. This wasn't just a beast; it was a nightmare made flesh, and it was their job to deal with it.

Juraf tilted his head upward, gazing at the sky as if it could offer guidance. The inky canvas was already darkening, with the faint glow of the triple moons beginning to bleed through the canopy of twisted branches overhead. The faint hum of nocturnal creatures replaced the earlier stillness, and the air carried a damp chill that hinted at the approaching night. Time was running out. They were deep in enemy territory, and the longer they lingered, the greater the risk. The shades would be prowling soon, and any encounter with Gu patrols could spell disaster for their small force.

His gaze returned to the rocky hill before them. It wasn't imposing enough to be called a mountain, but it jutted out from the earth like the humped back of some slumbering beast. The cave entrance was hidden beneath a shroud of creeping vines and thick moss, blending seamlessly with the surrounding greenery. Trickles of water cascaded down the rocks, carving small rivulets into the dirt below and creating a faint gurgling sound. Despite its deceptively tranquil appearance, the area exuded a foreboding energy, as if the hill itself was aware of their presence and resented the intrusion.

Juraf pressed a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples as he considered their options. They couldn't afford to wait for days, hoping the beast might leave the cave unattended. The Gu could stumble upon them at any moment, and the risk of being caught in a pincer between the Gu and the beast was too great. Sneaking into the cave while the creature slept was possible, but the odds of success were slim, and a misstep would doom them all.

He sighed, leaning against a tree, its spiraled trunk rough against his palm. He ran through ideas, discarding most of them as quickly as they came. Smearing someone in beast blood to lure the creature away? Effective, but cruel—it would be a death sentence for whoever took on the role of bait. His soldiers weren't pawns to be thrown away. Using the oil he had brought? Some creatures were drawn to specific scents, but it was a gamble at best. And trying to pit the Gu against the beast? Far too risky. The Gu were unpredictable and sadistic; any plan relying on them was courting disaster.

His mind drifted to the night before. He thought of Caela and the simple elegance of vibrations. Her face flashed in his mind, and a grin tugged at his lips as clarity struck him. The answer was sound—vibrations. The creature lacked eyes, and those large, webbed bone plates on its head were likely its primary sensory organs. They would be hypersensitive to sound, and using that against it was the key.

Using numen to project basic shockwaves wasn't complex, nor was it a high-level technique. It was part of a foundational martial art, one even children learned early in their training. With a coordinated effort, his team could create a cacophony of dull, numen-imbued shockwaves that would echo through the cave. The cacophony of noise would disorient the beast and push it into a frenzy, forcing it to leave the cave in search of the source. Better still, the noise would mask their movements, allowing them to slip inside unnoticed.

He motioned for Remulus, explaining the plan in hushed tones. His friend nodded, his expression grim but resolute, and set off to relay the orders to the rest of the team. Juraf watched as his soldiers gathered, their faces etched with determination. They were a small force, only eleven aside from himself, but he trusted their discipline and skill. Each of them carried shadow cores—valuable items that enhanced their stealth capabilities at the cost of exhausting their numen reserves more quickly. It was a calculated risk, one they would have to manage carefully.

Juraf tilted his head toward the cave, signaling the final preparations. The group spread out, moving to their designated positions with the quiet efficiency of seasoned warriors. The rocky hill loomed before them, its surface dotted with patches of shrubbery and clusters of resilient, twisted plants that clung to the stone like parasites. The terrain was uneven, with jagged outcroppings that provided natural cover but also hindered movement. The faint sound of water trickling down the rocks mixed with the rustling of the leaves, masking the subtle shifts of the soldiers as they got into place.

The moons cast their pale light over the landscape, giving the scene an almost ethereal quality. Shadows danced among the rocks, and the forest beyond seemed to press in around them, as if conspiring to smother their presence. Juraf's gaze lingered on the cave entrance, a dark void that promised both danger and opportunity. He took a deep breath, his grip tightening on his spear as he nodded to his team.

He and Remulus veered to the right, moving with practiced stealth, while others in the group took the left and another contingent ascended to the top of the hill. Each squad pressed their palms against the rocky surface, feeling the coarse texture of the stone beneath their hands. It was cool to the touch, damp from the moisture that seeped through the earth. Slowly, they began releasing numen waves into the rock, sending the energy rippling through the stone in uneven pulses. The vibrations spread like whispers through the hill, snaking their way toward the hollow space at its heart: the cave.

At first, there was only the sound of their controlled breathing and the faint hum of their numen. The silence hung heavily, the weight of anticipation coiling in their stomachs. Then it came: a faint thrashing noise, almost imperceptible at first. The sound grew louder, sharper, accompanied by a rhythmic clicking. The clicking deepened, taking on a sinister cadence that echoed through the surrounding trees like a drumbeat from the depths of the earth.

Juraf's heart began to race as the thrashing intensified, the vibrations shaking loose small stones that tumbled down the hill's surface. Suddenly, there was movement. The beast burst from the cave with preternatural speed, its enormous body a blur of serpentine muscle, leaves, and bone. It slithered and twisted with an eerie fluidity, its leaf-like flesh glinting faintly under the moonlight. The creature's bony plates caught the light, creating an otherworldly gleam as it coiled and writhed, its elongated form stretching over twenty-five meters in length.

Juraf's eyes tracked it carefully, noting the way its webbed bone plates flexed and trembled as it twisted in place, desperately searching for the source of the cacophony. The creature lacked eyes, relying entirely on its auditory senses. It was disoriented, its sensitive plates overwhelmed by the numen-enhanced vibrations that echoed through the rocky terrain. It let out a guttural, clicking growl, its serpentine body shifting restlessly. For a moment, it twisted in all directions, clearly unable to pinpoint the origin of the noise.

Finally, with a frustrated thrash of its tail, the creature shot off into the distance, seeking the phantom sound that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. The ground trembled as it disappeared into the shadows of the forest, its enormous form quickly swallowed by the night.

Juraf allowed himself a small exhale of relief as he gestured to the others. Without wasting a second, the team moved. They slid into the cave in practiced formation, the remaining soldiers outside continuing the cacophony to mask their presence. The moment Juraf stepped inside, the air shifted. It was cooler, damp, and carried the faint tang of mineral-rich water. The walls of the cave shimmered faintly, reflecting the light of bioluminescent fungi that clung to the stone like constellations in the night sky.

Water dripped steadily from the jagged ceiling, forming small pools on the uneven floor. The ground was covered in peculiar flowers, their grotesque shapes immediately catching Juraf's attention. The blooms were twisted and sharp, reminiscent of the beast's head with their bony ridges and leafy fronds. Their colors were muted but unnatural, the petals shifting subtly in the dim light as if alive.

At the back of the cave, a pond glowed with an ethereal light, its surface rippling faintly. The water seemed to pulse, emanating a soft, golden radiance that bathed the chamber in a surreal glow. Within the pond grew several spiritual plants: golden lilies whose cores shone like captured moonlight. The lilies were not yet fully matured; their delicate petals quivered as if sensing the absence of their guardian. Juraf's breath hitched. These were treasures worth their weight in blood.

The walls of the cave held other treasures as well. Scrolls, remarkably well-preserved despite the damp conditions, rested on natural stone shelves. Their intricate bindings hinted at forgotten knowledge—perhaps numen arts or ancient techniques. Among the treasures were skeletons, their origins a mystery. Some were humanoid, others entirely alien, their bones twisted into forms Juraf couldn't even begin to identify. A glint of metal caught his eye: raw ore embedded in the walls, veins of a rich, dark silver that seemed to hum faintly with numen. His lips curled into a grin. They had struck gold—or perhaps something even more valuable.

But what truly drew his attention was a small, flawless box resting near the pond. Its surface was smooth, polished to perfection, and it emanated a faint aura of significance. The very sight of it sent a thrill through him. He turned to his soldiers, his grin widening as he saw their awestruck faces. The weight of the mission, the risk, the danger—all of it seemed worth it now. They had hit the jackpot.

One of his men, Drux, let out a boisterous laugh, the sound echoing loudly in the confined space. Juraf's grin faltered as the flowers around them suddenly stiffened. Their twisted shapes bristled, their petals curling inward and their stems vibrating with unnatural energy. The air turned heavy, charged with something dark and foreboding.

Juraf's eyes widened in alarm. "Shit," he hissed under his breath.

Then, in an instant, the atmosphere in the cave shifted, and everything went wrong.

"MOVE!" Juraf roared, his voice cutting through the chaos like a blade.

Without hesitation, he leapt to the side, his instincts screaming at him to evade. From the depths of the earthy floor, the creature emerged with terrifying speed, its enormous claw tearing through the air. The strike was deadly precise, catching Drux mid-laugh and splitting him into three gruesome pieces before his numen barrier could even flare. Blood splattered across the glowing pond and flowers, staining the surreal beauty of the cave with visceral reality.

Juraf landed heavily, rolling to avoid another claw strike as his mind raced. Were there two of them? The thought was dismissed just as quickly. No, this beast was tied to the flowers—they weren't mere decoration. They were extensions of its body, conduits allowing it to move between the ground and the hollow sphere it had emerged from. That sphere—a grotesque amalgamation of flesh, vines, and bone—shimmered faintly with numen, amplifying every sound around it. He could see it faintly underground, It's hollow nature reminded him of some instruments. That thing was the only way it could have gotten back here so fast, a true curiosity. Echoes bounced off the walls, distorting and amplifying the voices of the soldiers. Juraf's blood ran cold as he realized the truth. This thing had powers in the Dao of Sound.

Before he could shout another warning, the chaos escalated. One of his men screamed, but the sound was cut short as his voice was stolen, trapped in the air like a wisp of smoke. The soldier's body trembled violently before expanding grotesquely, as if his very essence had been weaponized. Then, in an explosion of gore, he was gone. Another soldier met the same fate mere seconds later, their silenced cries reverberating in Juraf's ears like phantom echoes.

"Shit!" Juraf cursed, the weight of the situation crashing down. He thrust his numen through his body, wrapping himself in a dense shield of energy. He barked a quick command, and the remaining soldiers followed suit, their forms flickering as their numen barriers ignited. The protective layers shimmered faintly, a desperate bulwark against the creature's deadly abilities.

The beast roared. "CCRREAAAA!!" The high-pitched sound pierced the air, targeted and calculated. It wasn't just noise—it was a weapon. Juraf's enhanced hearing, a trait of his lineage, worked against him as the sharp resonance clawed at his eardrums. He winced, but his reinforced defenses held, preventing his ears from rupturing.

He gritted his teeth and surged forward, leading the charge. This had to end fast. The longer they let it dictate the battle, the higher the casualties. The beast lashed out with a claw, aiming to skewer him. Juraf spun his spear, meeting the attack with the haft. The impact was like a thunderclap, the force rippling through his arms and sending him stumbling back. He regained his footing in time to see a blast of sound, visible as shimmering waves coated in numen, racing toward him.

With a powerful leap, he flipped over the attack, twisting in midair to gain momentum. His spear glowed with a fierce green light, infused with his intent. He thrust the weapon behind him to propel himself toward the creature's head like a javelin thrown by the gods.

"CUT!" Juraf roared, the sound merging with his numen as he unleashed his strike. A blade of green energy tore through the air, slicing toward the beast's head. But it was fast—too fast. Its serpentine body twisted unnaturally, evading the attack by mere inches. Before Juraf could react, one of its spines shot toward him like a bolt of lightning. It was almost instantaneous, teleporting into the air directly in front of his face.

He barely managed to bring his spear up in defense. The spine collided with his weapon, the force sending shockwaves through his arms, but the spine wasn't done. It pushed through his guard, piercing his shoulder and flinging him backward like a ragdoll. He hit the ground hard, rolling to absorb the impact before coming to a stop. Blood seeped through the gash in his armor, the metallic scent mixing with the earthy tang of the cave.

"Fuck!" Juraf hissed, yanking the spine out of his shoulder with a grimace. His muscles screamed in protest, but he forced himself to his feet. The pain was sharp, biting, but it wouldn't impede him—not yet. He studied the wound briefly, wondering if the attack carried more than physical force. Did the beast use his own roar as a vector? The complexity of the creature's abilities both infuriated and intrigued him.

Despite the situation, Juraf grinned, his teeth bared in a wolfish snarl. "Let's see between the two of us just who is the better fighter. I have no intentions of falling here. I have yet to eat until I burst, after all."

The beast roared again, its plates vibrating as it prepared its next assault. Juraf spun his spear in his hands, the numen surrounding him growing denser. The cavern trembled, the air heavy with the promise of bloodshed. He tightened his grip, his eyes locked on the creature. His grin widened.

"Bring it."

Remulus and the remaining seven soldiers shifted into a loose encirclement, each man synchronizing their movements with practiced precision. Remulus took the lead, barking orders through hand signals and brief, clipped phrases that were barely audible over the beast's guttural roars. They worked in tandem, kiting the creature with precise strikes, forcing it to lash out in one direction while another soldier targeted its unprotected side.

The lack of eyes didn't make the beast defenseless; its bone-plated head rotated unnaturally, the fleshy webbing vibrating as if sensing every motion around it. Even so, the soldiers pressed the advantage. When the creature lunged for one, another darted in, stabbing at its serpentine body. Every strike was a carefully calculated dance to whittle it down piece by piece.

"Hold formation!" Remulus's voice cut through the chaos, his tone commanding yet calm. From his belt, he drew a spool of shimmering thread, its texture resembling silk spun by some monstrous arachnid. The line glowed faintly with numen as he began weaving it through the environment, setting the trap.

But the creature wasn't mindless. The flowers trembled as if sensing something then the beast stilled momentarily, its plates clicking ominously, before feinting an attack on one soldier and pivoting toward another. One of the men lunged at its flank, striking with a blade coated in shimmering numen. The blow landed, biting into the beast's flesh—but it came at a cost. The creature absorbed the strike and swung its arm with horrifying speed, catching the soldier mid-stride.

"Damn it, no!" Remulus snarled as the soldier's defensive technique flared, creating a crackling barrier of green energy. But it wasn't enough. The creature's sheer physical strength crushed through the defense like brittle glass, its elongated fingers curling around the man's torso with an audible crunch.

The formation faltered, the remaining soldiers breaking ranks to rush toward their captured comrade. Chaos threatened to consume the fight.

Juraf, watching from the edge of the skirmish, didn't hesitate. His eyes locked onto the beast's massive arm as he rolled his shoulders, a grin stretching across his face despite the searing pain in his earlier wound. His fingers tightened around the haft of his spear, green numen roaring to life along its length.

He leaned back, every muscle in his body coiling like a drawn bow. His voice rang out, clear and sharp over the din of battle. "Original move: Flight of Fenrir."

The spear erupted with energy, the green light taking the ghostly shape of a massive wolf. As Juraf heaved the weapon forward with all his strength, the wolf's form seemed to howl, its spectral fangs bared as it hurtled through the air.

The spear struck true, smashing into the creature's extended wrist with a deafening impact. The spectral wolf's jaws bit down, imposing Juraf's intent upon the weapon. Green energy erupted outward, ripping into the beast's sinew and muscle, tearing a large chunk of flesh free. The spear embedded itself in the creature's arm, quivering as energy radiated from the wound.

The beast let out an ear-splitting roar—"CREAAAA!!!"—its vibration rattling the walls of the cavern. The force of the pain made it release the soldier in its grip, who collapsed to the ground gasping for air.

Juraf snarled, his voice cutting through the creature's cry. "Let go of my fucking subordinate, you faceless bitch!"

Remulus seized the opening with precision. His hand shot forward, a strand of shimmering twine coiling tightly around the beast's neck. He pulled sharply, forcing the creature's upper body downward, exposing its flank. Juraf wasted no time. He launched himself upward with explosive force, narrowly dodging a massive swing from the beast's elongated claws. The air hissed as several spines followed, but Juraf twisted mid-flight, weaving through them with practiced mastery.

He used the beast's own forearm as a springboard, propelling himself higher before tucking into a spin and delivering a devastating dropkick infused with numen. The impact crashed into the creature's stomach, forcing a guttural roar from its throat. Using the momentum, Juraf twisted, grabbing the haft of his spear embedded in its wounded arm and yanking it free with a spray of thick, sap-like blood. The weapon hummed with pent-up energy as he landed gracefully on the ground.

---

"Keep it busy!" Remulus barked, his voice cutting through the chaos.

One of Juraf's subordinates, a burly soldier wielding a massive bone hammer, charged forward. With a deafening battle cry, he swung upward, slamming the hammer into the beast's jaw. The creature's head snapped to the side, its serpentine body recoiling into the cavern wall. Rocks crumbled from the ceiling as the impact reverberated through the space.

Remulus saw his chance. In a swift, fluid motion, he tightened the glowing twine and dragged the beast forward. Another soldier, positioned strategically, thrust a spear into the creature's exposed chest, the weapon piercing through its flesh with a wet crunch. The beast roared, its plates clicking in a rapid, discordant rhythm.

Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. The clicking intensified, rising to a cacophony that vibrated through the cavern. The air grew heavy, oppressive, as if the sound itself carried weight. Juraf's head snapped toward the creature, his eyes narrowing. "Shit—brace yourselves!"

The beast unleashed its attack. Several of its bone spines shot outward in all directions, slicing through the air like arrows. Juraf's men scrambled to avoid the barrage. Some weren't fast enough—two soldiers were grazed, their armor punctured but the wounds thankfully shallow. Juraf himself spun his spear in a tight circle, creating an energy-infused shield. The spines ricocheted off with sharp, metallic pings, leaving faint scorch marks on the weapon.

But the creature wasn't done. Its tail lashed out with frightening speed, the serrated edges glinting with numen. Juraf flipped backward just in time, the tip of the tail narrowly missing him. "Too slow," he muttered, but the beast wasn't outmaneuvered yet. Spines erupted from its tail, forcing him to duck mid-air, twisting his body with impossible agility.


Before he could fully recover, the beast shifted. Its entire body coiled like a spring, and with a sudden burst of power, it swung itself around. The motion was too fast—Juraf felt the backhand before he could block, the sheer force slamming him into the cavern wall. His spear clashed against the beast's arm mid-impact, managing to score a shallow cut, but the blow still sent shockwaves through his body.

"Huurk!" Juraf coughed, blood spraying from his lips. His ribs ached, even with numen reinforcing them. Fuck, that's going to hurt tomorrow.

Still, retreat wasn't an option. Planting his feet against the wall, he channeled numen into his legs. The energy coursed through him, amplifying his strength as he launched himself back into the fray. The beast's claws came up, ready to swat him from the air, but Juraf was already spinning. His body turned into a whirling sawblade, numen-infused edges slashing through one of the creature's fingers. The severed appendage dropped with a dull thud, the beast shrieking in pain.

Juraf landed on the opposite wall, crouching for just a second before leaping again. This time, he moved with the speed and precision of a roc diving for prey, zigzagging unpredictably. Each pass left a new cut on the beast's body—some shallow, others deep. Sap-like blood splattered the cavern floor, the creature growing more frenzied with each strike.

Amid the chaos, Remulus worked tirelessly, anchoring the glowing twine in key positions. His movements were deliberate, his focus unshakable as he tied off points to limit the creature's movements. "Almost there," he muttered, his eyes darting toward Juraf.

But then the creature stopped. The clicking sound from its plates turned into a sharp, high-pitched whistle. The air seemed to warp, vibrations rippling outward in visible waves. Juraf was mid-leap when it hit him. The force wasn't physical, but it might as well have been. His momentum halted abruptly, his body freezing mid-air as if pinned by an invisible hand.

"Suns fuck it!" Juraf snarled, struggling against the unseen pressure. His muscles strained, numen flaring around him in erratic bursts, but the beast's claw was already coming down.

The impact was crushing. Juraf's body slammed into the earth, the cavern floor cracking beneath him. His vision blurred, a kaleidoscope of colorful lights flickering at the edges of his sight. He felt the weight of the creature pressing down, his ribs creaking under the strain.

Before the beast could finish the job, a shout echoed through the cavern. "Over here, you bastard!"

Xonis, one of Juraf's soldiers, charged forward. His blade glowed with numen as he slashed at the creature's flank, drawing its attention. The beast recoiled, momentarily distracted, allowing another soldier to drag Juraf out of its reach.

Juraf coughed, spitting blood onto the ground as he propped himself up on his elbows. A wry grin spread across his face as he looked at the beast, its expression almost smug. Then it happened.

"CREAHH CREAHH CREAHH!!" The beast's strange, guttural laugh echoed through the cavern, its throaty sound filled with eerie mockery. The air around it trembled as if the beast's humor was a force in itself.

Juraf's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his spear. The weight of the moment was heavy, but his rage burned brighter. "Fucking plant bitch," he muttered under his breath. "Happy for a little win like that? We'll see how long you're laughing."

"Sir, are you—" one of his subordinates started, concern lacing his voice as Xonis returned, looking grim but ready.

"Move, we—hahh!" Juraf spat, his voice strained but sharp. "We're killing that fucking thing with extreme prejudice." He straightened slightly, ignoring the searing pain that flared across his ribs. His fingers twitched around the haft of his spear, the blood on his palms sticky and warm, but his grip remained firm. Giving up had never been an option.

Touching his torso beneath the battered armor, he flinched at the pain radiating through his ribs and shoulders, but he forced the discomfort to the back of his mind. Doable. It always had to be. Juraf gritted his teeth, replaying the battle in his mind. The flowers—they weren't just decorative. They were a part of the beast's body, a tether. They had to go.

"Xonis," Juraf barked, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere like a blade. "Start a fire and burn the flowers to fucking ash."

Xonis hesitated, glancing at the writhing creature and then at Juraf, confusion flickering across his face. But he saw the pointed look in his leader's eyes and nodded. Without a word, he rushed off to follow the order.

Juraf remained behind, his focus narrowing as he gripped his spear tighter. His knuckles whitened under the pressure, the faint trembling of his hands betraying the exhaustion he refused to acknowledge. The pain was there, but pain was a companion, something he had danced with his entire life. He could endure it. He always did.

"Only when pushed to the limit," he muttered to himself, his voice low, as if reciting a creed. "Only when standing on the precipice does the will to survive rise. You overcome, or you fall. And I've never been one to fucking fall."

____________

Crouching low, Juraf pumped numen into his legs, channeling every ounce of energy into his muscles. He felt them tighten and expand, veins bulging as power coursed through him. The ground beneath him trembled in response to the sheer force radiating from his body. His tail twitched instinctively, keeping him balanced even in his unusual stance.

With his spear in hand, he spread his arms wide, twisting his torso to angle the weapon. One hand gripped the spear's butt tightly, while the other lined up the tip with deadly precision. White smoke curled from his lips as he exhaled, his breath steaming in the cool cavern air. His mind sharpened, every thought narrowing to a singular focus: the kill.

"Rush the world," Juraf whispered, and then he was gone.

To the others, it was as if he had vanished, the only evidence of his departure the shattered earth beneath his feet. The ground where he had stood was obliterated, shards of stone vaporizing from the explosive force of his leap.

The beast barely had time to react. Its fleshy plates twitched, trying to anticipate his approach, but it was too slow. Juraf reappeared mid-air, his body a blur of motion. As he closed in, he heaved his spear forward, adding an extra burst of power from his numen. The spear became a streak of green light, its intent sharp and unforgiving as it pierced into the creature's torso.

The impact was catastrophic. The beast let out a deafening screech, its body writhing as the spear drove deep into its flesh. But Juraf didn't stop there. His muscles screamed in protest as he twisted his weapon, applying his spear intent in a sharp upward motion. The blade of energy sliced through the creature's body, carving a massive, gaping wound that oozed thick, sap-like blood.

The beast retaliated, its massive claw swinging toward him with deadly precision. Juraf saw it coming but knew he couldn't avoid it entirely. He braced himself, numen flaring around his body just as the claw connected. The force of the blow sent him hurtling backward, his arm popping out of its socket with a sickening snap.

"CRAHHH!!" The beast roared, a sound of both agony and defiance. Its serpentine body coiled tightly, thrashing wildly as it tried to stabilize itself.

Juraf hit the ground hard, rolling to a stop against the cavern wall. He gritted his teeth, his vision swimming as pain radiated from his dislocated arm. His breath came in ragged gasps, but his lips twisted into a grin that was all grit and defiance.

Without hesitation, he grabbed his shoulder, the motion sending sharp, searing pain shooting through his body, as though shards of glass were digging deeper into the wound. The moment his hand clasped the joint, he yanked it back into place with a sickening pop, letting out a sharp hiss of pain that quickly transformed into a sigh of relief. The pain didn't subside, but it dulled enough for him to focus.

His sharp eyes turned back to the creature, its sap-like blood dripping onto the cavern floor. The substance was thick and coagulant, but the gaping wound he had carved was still weakening it, its movements slower, its vitality dimmed. Yet the fight in its gaze—those strange plates twitching in agitation—hadn't diminished.

"Stop crying!" Juraf bellowed, his voice carrying over the chaos. His grin grew wider, his teeth bared in a wolfish display. "This is what we do! This is how we live! There's nothing but fighting for beasts like us! Get used to it!"

____________

He slammed the butt of his spear into the ground, his numen flaring outward like a shockwave. Tendrils of green energy coalesced around him, forming into spear-like projections that hovered in the air, sharp and deadly. Each construct shimmered faintly, imbued with his potent spear intent.

With a single motion of his hand, the spears shot forward, cutting through the air with a whistling roar. Each projectile left a ripple in its wake, the cavern air trembling under the sheer force of his attack. But the beast, even weakened, moved with a horrifying grace. It snaked between the projectiles, its massive, serpentine form darting from the ground to the walls, then to the ceiling. The speed at which it moved seemed almost unnatural, belying its massive size.

Juraf's eyes narrowed as the creature lunged, its gaping maw descending upon him with terrifying speed. Most would retreat, but Juraf was not most. Instead of backing away, he surged forward. Always forward. Ever forward into the jaws of annihilation.

Planting his foot on the beast's lower jaw, he vaulted upward, twisting mid-air as his spear plunged upward into the roof of its mouth. The creature screamed, a guttural, piercing sound that shook the very stones around them. Sap-like blood sprayed as Juraf twisted his spear viciously, embedding it further into the flesh.

The creature writhed, its entire body twisting violently as its plates and flowers began to glow. A sudden wave of heat and light washed through the cavern, and Juraf smirked through gritted teeth. Xonis had set the fire. The flames roared to life, spreading rapidly through the cavern as they consumed the tethered flowers, choking the beast's influence.

The flames seemed to drive the creature mad. It flailed wildly, losing the eerie precision that had made it such a formidable foe. Juraf took the opportunity, slamming his spear repeatedly into the creature's flesh, each strike drawing another scream. But the beast, even in its desperation, had strength left. With a violent thrash of its tail, it threw Juraf off, sending him hurtling into the flames.

Juraf hit the ground hard, coughing as embers swirled around him. The heat seared his skin, but he rolled to his feet with practiced ease, his grip on his spear unwavering. Around him, his subordinates pressed the attack.

Xonis roared, slamming the beast's massive head into the ground with a force that made the cavern tremble. Another soldier, undeterred by the beast's flailing limbs, darted in and drove a blade into its armpit, forcing the creature to recoil. The man with the massive bone hammer leaped forward, bringing it down on the creature's back with a sickening crunch that shattered one of its bony plates. The beast screamed, its voice raw and guttural, but Remulus silenced it. The Lupus prince moved swiftly, his numen-charged twine flashing through the air to wrap around the creature's mouth. With a sharp pull, the threads sliced through its teeth, silencing it momentarily.

But the creature's thrashing came with devastating consequences. Its massive tail lashed out uncontrollably, striking the treasures scattered around the cavern. Delicate spiritual plants were crushed, and some of the glowing flowers were obliterated. Juraf's keen eyes caught the destruction, his jaw tightening in frustration.

"Damn it!" he growled through clenched teeth, sucking air in sharply. The treasures were valuable, their loss significant, but he couldn't let the distraction cost them the fight. Gripping his spear tightly, he turned his focus back to the beast.

"It's done, Juraf!" Remulus shouted, his voice ringing out over the crackle of lingering flames and the guttural roars of the dying beast. Juraf glanced at him, the words slicing through the haze of battle. Around them, the creature thrashed against the bindings that snared it, threads of numen-infused twine anchoring its monstrous form to the cavern walls and floor. The beast's body was a mass of exposed muscle, sap-like blood oozing from deep wounds, yet its rage refused to die. The air was thick with tension, the very walls vibrating with the creature's sheer will to survive.

Juraf smiled, a sharp, feral grin cutting across his face as he readied his spear. The ache in his body and the sharp throb of his ribs faded to nothing in the face of what was coming. His world narrowed. The cavern, the flames, even the shouts of his comrades receded into the background. All that remained was the path.

It appeared beneath his feet, a golden, luminous road stretching infinitely ahead, bordered by a phantom gallery of warriors. Their spectral forms stood as silent witnesses to the battle, their weapons gleaming faintly in the numinous glow. Juraf stared at them for a moment, their histories and lessons etched into their stances, their weapons, their gazes. But he dismissed them, brushing them aside like leaves in the wind.

This was not their fight. This was his.

He was not here to walk in their footsteps or follow their fates. No, Juraf would carve his own destiny, establish his place on the endless path of warriors. His golden road widened, shimmering with potential as he moved forward, spear in hand.

"Juraf, hurry!" Remulus's voice cut through again, sharper now, tinged with urgency. "It's breaking free!"

_____________

Juraf looked up, the beast's monstrous strength snapping twine like thread. Its movements grew more frantic, plates clicking, vines writhing as it pushed against its bindings. His grin didn't falter. If anything, it grew wider. His voice rose, resonating with a new, unshakable confidence.

"You know, it's a common notion that all things have a set destiny, that they possess a fixed fate. Every river flows back to the sea, every stream returns to its source." He raised his spear, the aura around him intensifying, green and gold numen swirling like a tempest. "But I decide where my river flows. And if I meet another river—another flow—I won't join it. I will destroy it. I will carve my path through it and keep running. Today, I will be a river that overruns the ocean. Today, I will test my path against yours!"

His voice boomed, reverberating through the cavern, as his numen surged to unprecedented heights. The aura around him condensed, transforming into something tangible, something alive. The golden path beneath his feet began to glow brighter, stretching toward the beast.

The creature's thrashing halted. Its head tilted as if sensing the change in the air. It tried to move, but its body froze mid-writhe, unable to escape the confines of the golden road. The path locked it in place, a battle of wills manifesting in physical form. Juraf's spear intent surged, evolving with a clarity that struck like lightning. This was the second level—a realm of mastery that imprinted his will upon the world itself.

The cavern felt heavy, oppressive under the weight of his intent. The air shimmered, vibrating as his will overpowered the beast's. For a moment, the only sound was the rasp of Juraf's breath and the crackling of flames.

"Your will is far too weak!" he roared, his voice cutting through the suffocating silence.

He lunged, spear in hand, the golden path lighting his way. The creature roared in defiance, its numen spilling out in a desperate attempt to push back. Vibrations and shockwaves rippled through the cavern as the beast's power clashed with his, but it was overwhelmed. Juraf's spear struck true, piercing its chest with a force that shook the very earth. The golden path flared, and a hundred wounds opened across the creature's body, each strike an extension of Juraf's will. Again and again, his spear carved through the beast, relentless, unyielding.

With a final, shuddering roar, the creature collapsed, its massive body falling limp, the light in its numen fading. Juraf stumbled back, his chest heaving, and fell to the ground with a thud.

His laughter broke the silence, raw and unrestrained, echoing through the cavern. Remulus appeared beside him, offering a hand. Juraf clasped it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. His ribs protested the motion, but he ignored the pain, his grin never fading.

"We did it," Remulus said, his voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. Juraf nodded, glancing around the cavern.

The spoils lay scattered amidst the wreckage. The seven golden lilies were partially destroyed, their luminous glow dimmed, but three remained intact, their petals shimmering like molten gold. The scrolls lining the walls had suffered some damage, their edges singed, but most were legible. Metal glinted among the debris—strange alloys that promised untold value.

Juraf's eyes fell on the flawless box near the center of the cavern. He strode over, brushing aside ash and dirt, and picked it up. The box was unscathed, its surface smooth and unmarred. He opened it, revealing two necklaces nestled inside.

One was silver, shaped like a crescent moon, its surface embedded with flecks of sapphire that sparkled faintly. The other was golden-red, depicting a stylized sun, its surface imbued with a faint, fiery glow. The designs were intricate, almost mesmerizing, and he couldn't help but notice the way their shapes seemed to complement each other.

Curious, he pressed them together, expecting them to merge into one. But as the two pendants neared, an unseen force pushed them apart. No matter how hard he pressed, they refused to touch.

"Hmm," he muttered, turning the box over in his hands. The phenomenon intrigued him, but he decided it could wait. He tucked the necklaces away, deeming them his share of the spoils.

As his subordinates extinguished the flames and gathered the remaining treasures, Juraf turned to the creature's massive corpse. Despite his injuries, despite the beast's monstrous ferocity, he inclined his head in respect.

"You were a good fight," he murmured, his voice low. He grinned faintly. "Even scum like me has standards and you met em."

_______________

Remulus held the spiritual loti in his hands, the soft golden glow of their petals illuminating his face as he and the rest of the troop hurried through the dense forest, leaving Gu territory behind. The group moved as quickly as their battered bodies could manage, the tension of enemy territory still weighing on them despite the relative calm. The forest, bathed in the faint light of the three moons, seemed to hum with a natural vitality, its towering trees stretching endlessly into the sky. The bioluminescent aspar drifted lazily in the air, their soft glows providing a surreal contrast to the dark undergrowth.

Turning his head slightly, Remulus glanced at Juraf, who was a few strides ahead of him. Juraf's figure was unmistakable, his pitch-black eyes and dark hair reminiscent of the night sky itself, streaked with faint traces of silver that caught the light. The aura surrounding him was as commanding as ever, even in his injured state. Remulus felt a flicker of admiration stir in his chest. Juraf had a way of overcoming struggle, as though it were ingrained in his very being. No matter how dire the odds, no matter how wounded or outmatched, he would press forward, carving through adversity like a blade through flesh.

In a way, Juraf reminded him of his brother, Remus. But where Remus' charisma and leadership were carefully cultivated—crafted like the hilt of an elegant sword—Juraf's magnetism seemed effortless, a force of nature. He wasn't the light people flocked to for warmth or guidance; he was a sinkhole, drawing people in with a gravity that felt almost inevitable. They followed him not because he shone, but because his sheer presence made it impossible not to.

The thought brought a wry smirk to Remulus' lips, which quickly turned into a quiet snicker. He didn't need to look to know Juraf had caught it; the slight twitch of his leader's head told him everything. A single sharp look from Juraf was enough to send Remulus straight back to focus, his eyes darting toward the path ahead. The group was fortunate; no Gu forces intercepted them. Likely, the battle had drawn their attention too late. Aside from a brief skirmish with a shade, which had been dispatched with relative ease, the return journey had been uneventful.

Still, the toll of the mission was evident. They had lost two soldiers, their bodies left behind in enemy territory. Three others bore heavy injuries, their movements sluggish despite the numen reinforcements they relied on. It could have been worse, much worse. Remulus shuddered to think what might have happened had they engaged the beast without strategy—half their number, if not more, would have fallen. But as it stood, most of their people were alive, and that was a victory in itself.

As the village gates came into view, a faint sense of relief washed over him. The wooden palisades, reinforced with glowing runes of protection, loomed large against the night sky. The familiar sounds of home—the distant chatter of villagers, the clinking of tools, and the faint hum of numen from the wards—welcomed them back. Outside the gates, a small crowd had gathered. Among them were several elders, their faces lined with age and authority. And at the forefront stood Remus, his elder brother, the chieftain of the village and the so-called beloved one. The glow of the spiritual loti in Remulus' hands seemed to pale in comparison to the commanding presence of his brother.

Remulus straightened, taking a step forward and bowing slightly, as was customary for the Lupus line when addressing the chieftain. "Chieftain," he said, his voice steady. Remus inclined his head in acknowledgment, his golden eyes scanning the group with a practiced air of authority. His gaze lingered on Juraf, who had plopped unceremoniously onto the ground, tending to his wounds with a complete lack of decorum.

Juraf sat cross-legged, blowing on the gash in his arm as if it were nothing more than a scrape from sparring practice. Blood had seeped through his tattered armor, and his exposed skin was marked with scratches and bruises. His nonchalance bordered on insolence. The murmurs among the elders were immediate, their disapproval audible even over the rustling of the forest behind them.

"What is he doing?" one elder muttered, his voice dripping with disdain.

Remulus couldn't help but stifle a laugh as he watched the scene. Juraf, even now, seemed utterly unfazed by the disapproving glares, his demeanor as shamelessly confident as ever. He didn't bow to anyone—not to chieftains, not to elders, not even to the gods themselves, if they were watching. It was a trait that frustrated many, but it was also what made him so damn unforgettable. That being said he'd usually be more reasonable then this but he was likely too tired to give a fuck.

As the murmurs continued, Juraf glanced up, locking eyes with one of the more vocal elders. With a grin that was equal parts defiance and charm, he let out a low chuckle, clearly enjoying the outrage he was causing. Remulus sighed, already bracing for the inevitable lecture from Kiyanna when she learned he hadn't done more to rein Juraf in.

Baya's laughter erupted, loud and boisterous, cutting through the murmurs of discontent. "Bagyagyagya!! Give the boy a break, you fools! He just came back from fighting a great beast. These are our honored warriors. Tradition isn't so important, especially when it seems that it was a victory," he said, his sharp gaze flicking to the boxes in Juraf's and his subordinates' hands.

"Yes, Elder Baya," Juraf responded with a grin, though his tone darkened as he continued. "We recovered quite a few treasures, including four spiritual herbs of top quality, scrolls on runework, and some precious metals for the smiths. Some of the scrolls even seem to contain a numen art or two that can expand the village's repertoire. I also took a treasure for myself under my authority as lieutenant general." His grin faltered, his voice turning somber. "Unfortunately, it came at the cost of two of my men."

The crowd shifted uncomfortably, the weight of those words settling over them. Remus stepped forward, Hathor falling in beside him like a shadow. "That is unfortunate," Hathor said, his tone sharp. "But it's certainly no reason for disrespect. However, I will defer to the words of the respected head priestess, Elder Baya."

"Yeah, yeah," Juraf waved off the tension with a casual air. "About the mission—while I, of course, landed the final blow on the beast, I wouldn't have been able to do it without my subordinates. And especially Remulus. It was his quick thinking and those strange weapons of his that laid the foundation for our victory."

At that, the elders broke into murmurs, their attention shifting to Remulus. His ears twitched, and he turned to Juraf in shock, only to be met with a smirk. The smirk deepened when he noticed Remus' expression freeze ever so slightly, his face unreadable but clearly affected.

"Enough!" Hathor barked, his voice cutting through the chatter. "Juraf, for your disrespect, I think it's only fair you relinquish the token you claimed. It's more than enough that you're sitting there, not showing proper decorum. If it weren't for your contributions, the punishment would be far more severe." His glare was venomous, his posture rigid with hostility.

Remulus frowned. He had never fully understood why Hathor seemed to despise Juraf with such intensity. The man wasn't particularly friendly to anyone, but when it came to Juraf, his loathing bordered on feral. Sensing the confrontation about to boil over, he opened his mouth to intervene—but Juraf beat him to it.

"Right, how about this?" Juraf said casually, his smirk widening. "If you can put these two necklaces together, I'll hand them over without another word."

Remulus blinked in surprise. Juraf wasn't the type to part with his treasures so easily. The room quieted as Juraf reached into his bag and pulled out the box. He revealed two pendants: one a silver crescent moon inlaid with hints of sapphire, the other a golden sun streaked with deep crimson hues. The craftsmanship was exquisite, and the pieces clearly looked as though they were meant to fit together.

He tossed the pendants to Hathor, who caught them with a mix of suspicion and disdain. The elder inspected the pieces, his brows furrowing. "They're clearly meant to interlock," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. With a deep inhale, he wrapped numen around his hands, the energy glowing in thick, coiled rings. Slowly, he began to push the pieces together.

The air in the room grew heavy as Hathor poured more and more energy into the task. Dust swirled from the floor, and faint vibrations rippled outward, stirring the fabrics of nearby garments. The veins on his forehead bulged with effort, but no matter how much force he exerted, the pendants refused to connect.

Juraf rubbed his nose in disinterest, watching the scene unfold. "I see you can't do it, then, Elder. It's okay. The years catch up to everyone eventually," he said with barely concealed amusement.

"I DON'T BELIEVE THERE IS ANYTHING YOU CAN DO THAT I CANNOT!" Hathor roared, his face red with fury, his numen flaring dangerously.

"Did I ever say I could push them together? Wordplay, Elder," Juraf replied, his grin sharper now. "But there is something I can do that you cannot."

The air shifted, becoming dense and electric. The faint sound of spears clashing echoed in the room, as though the weapons themselves cried out. At the edges of perception, an illusory golden path began to manifest, stretching outward from Juraf.

"This is—!" Baya exclaimed, his voice filled with shock.

"The next grade of spear intent," Juraf confirmed, his tone almost cocky. "The battle was rather beneficial to me. To my knowledge, I'm the only one who's ever achieved this here, no? A national treasure, am I not?" He laughed as he strode forward, plucking the pendants from Hathor's stunned hands.

Hathor's lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes dark and icy. He seemed on the verge of speaking, but the words died in his throat. Remus, however, stepped forward, his commanding presence filling the room. "Leave it be. Enough is enough. We are all of the same people," he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument.

Juraf chuckled under his breath, his voice low but audible enough. "Of course you'd say that now of all times."

"What was that?" Remus' golden eyes narrowed, daring Juraf to repeat himself.

Juraf's smirk widened, a challenge flickering in his gaze. Before either could escalate further, Remulus stepped between them.

"All right!" he announced, his voice cutting through the tension. "We're heading to my house for drinks to celebrate a mission well done. Xonis will brief you on the rest." He grabbed Juraf's arm and began dragging him toward the exit. The rest of the uninjured soldiers followed suit, leaving a betrayed-looking Xonis to face the elders alone.

As the group made their way toward Remulus' house, Juraf glanced at him with a mix of suspicion and amusement. "You've got drinks at your place now, Remmy?" His voice carried a note of irritation, but it was clear he understood the reason for the detour.

"Not that I know of," Remulus replied, the corner of his mouth twitching into a faint smile, "but we'll figure something out somehow."

When they arrived, the house stood in quiet elegance under the dim light of the moons. The black stone base glinted faintly, an imposing but oddly comforting foundation. Warm golden light spilled from the windows, giving the structure an inviting glow. Rich wooden accents softened the austerity of the stone, and the symbol of the sun etched prominently on the door radiated a quiet pride.

Inside, the air carried a tantalizing aroma that made even the injured among them perk up. Juraf's nose twitched, his curiosity piqued as he sniffed the air. "I smell good eats!" one of the soldiers called out behind him, their tone laced with enthusiasm.

Remulus frowned in confusion, pushing the door open. "Who the hell is cooking in my house?" he muttered. The group filed in behind him, their boots thudding lightly against the smooth stone floor as they entered.

The hearth was already lit, casting flickering warmth over the cozy interior. The room's design was both practical and welcoming, with shelves lined with books, trinkets, and neatly folded fabrics. The polished wooden furniture gleamed under the golden light, while thick, colorful rugs softened the stone floor. It was a stark but harmonious blend of strength and homeliness.

Standing in the open kitchen area were Terra and Kiyanna, both in aprons. Terra's doe-brown eyes sparkled as she moved gracefully between the counter and the stove, her woven gold hair pinned back to keep it out of her face. The apron clung to her curvier, more mature figure, accentuating her natural allure without feeling forced. Beside her was Kiyanna, her shorter, fox-like frame brimming with a quiet intensity as she complained about Terra's instructions. Her tan skin glowed faintly in the firelight, her narrow, slightly tilted eyes filled with an annoyed but endearing focus. The slight crook in her nose and her expressive, thick eyebrows gave every pout and glare a charm all their own. Though she was slimmer, her lithe muscles gave her an air of strength that didn't detract from her womanly grace.

Remulus caught himself staring, his gaze lingering on Kiyanna, but a sharp slap to the back of his head made him hiss in pain. He turned to see Juraf glaring at him, his lips curled in a dangerous but amused smirk.

"Remmy, chill with the staring. I'm still alive, you bastard," Juraf quipped, his tone casual but carrying a hint of menace.

"It seems you're back already," Terra said gently, walking over to Juraf. She deftly began unfastening his battered armor, removing it with practiced ease. She carried it to the side and set it down neatly, as though it were her own home, leaving Juraf with an exasperated expression. Meanwhile, Kiyanna spared him not a single glance, her attention focused entirely on the simmering pots in front of her.

The soldiers erupted in whistles and cheers, their spirits lifted by the sight of the two women. "This is the boss's wife!" one soldier called out, grinning widely.

"Definitely! Just look at how pretty she is! A match made by the suns," another chimed in.

"I heard they were born on the same day of the same month of the same year!" another added eagerly.

"I heard he saved her from a turbeast in the wild!"

"I heard they already have kids!" one particularly bold soldier joked, his voice carrying over the others.

The gossip spread like wildfire among the men, who laughed and nudged one another like a pack of excited pups. Terra's smile widened with each comment, her gaze flickering to Juraf, who was rubbing his temples in growing irritation. The soldiers' excitement only seemed to embolden her, while Juraf's exasperated sigh practically echoed through the room.

Remulus couldn't help but snicker quietly as he leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold. The warmth of the firelight, the aroma of freshly cooked food, and the banter between comrades created a vibrancy that made the house feel truly alive. For just a moment, the tension and exhaustion of their mission seemed to melt away, replaced by the small comforts of home.

"Whose idea was this?" Remulus asked as he led the group into the dining room. The room was spacious but warm, with a polished wooden table that stretched long enough to seat everyone comfortably. The black stone walls reflected the flickering firelight from sconces set around the room, their glow casting a cozy ambiance over the gathering.

Kiyanna answered first, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow at him. "It was all Terra's thing. She decided to make food here and wait for your safe return. She was pretty confident you'd be back, and," she added with a huff of annoyance that carried a touch of affection, "she also complained about my housekeeping skills. Not my fault I was raised by that great big lummox over there." She tilted her head in Juraf's direction, her lips forming a teasing pout.

The room erupted into laughter at Juraf's expense. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing the bridge of his nose, his wolf ears twitching in feigned irritation. "You're welcome for the upbringing, by the way," he muttered, eliciting even more laughter.

Meanwhile, Terra moved gracefully through the room, her apron swishing with each step. She carried plates laden with food and mugs of mead, setting them down with practiced ease. The aroma of roasted meat, fresh bread, and spiced stews filled the air, making mouths water. The soldiers cheered as Terra handed out portions, but it was impossible not to notice that Juraf's plate always seemed to have the largest helpings.

"Terra, I can serve myself, you know," Juraf grumbled, his tone a mix of protest and resignation.

Before Remulus could say anything more, Kiyanna appeared at Remulus' side. Without a word, her arms wrapped around his neck from behind, and she leaned close, her soft cheek brushing against his. Then came the sharp nip at his wolf ear—a quick bite that sent a jolt of sensation shooting down his spine.

"I'm glad you came back safe, Remmy," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin. Before he could respond, she released him, her short hair brushing his face as she darted away, a mischievous grin on her lips.

Remulus stood frozen for a moment, dazed by her fragrance, before turning to see the rest of the soldiers watching him. The men erupted into whoops and jeers, their voices filled with teasing glee.

"Boss, that's a lucky man right there!"

"She's already staking her claim!"

"You sure you're the hero, Remulus? Feels like the damsel came to rescue you!"

Several soldiers pounded the table in amusement, their voices blending into a chorus of bawdy encouragement. Juraf's wolf ears flattened against his head, and the veins on his forehead bulged ominously as he scowled at the spectacle.

As the day faded into night, the mood grew even more lively. The men broke into a card game, coins and trinkets piling up in the center of the table. The room was filled with laughter, the slap of cards hitting the table, and the occasional curse from someone who had clearly overplayed their hand. Mead flowed freely, and the atmosphere became one of easy camaraderie.

Xonis, the last soldier to join the gathering, walked in with a sigh and plopped down at the table. "Boss," he said, leaning back in his chair, his gaze lingering on Terra as she moved about the room, "that is a good woman. How I wish for someone to come back home to, who'd do all of this just to make me happy. You better make that woman yours, Juraf. Treat her right. Make her feel good all the time. Give her a home."

The words hung in the air for a moment before they were punctuated by the sharp thwack of Juraf's hand smacking the back of Xonis' head. The soldier yelped as his face hit the table, his groan drowned out by the laughter of the others.

"Who the hell are you talking to, bastard?" Juraf barked, his voice gruff, though the faintest hint of color rose to his cheeks. He glanced toward Terra, who was tidying up after the drunken men, and added in a quieter tone, "…Well, you're not wrong."

Terra turned at his words, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment, a question unspoken in her gaze. Juraf grunted, shaking his head, and stood unsteadily. "Alright, that's enough of that. Don't clean up for them anymore—they're not babies. Let's go."

Grabbing her hand without waiting for a reply, he led her out of the room. She followed, her cheeks pink as her fingers curled into his. The door swung shut behind them, leaving the remaining soldiers to their own devices.

Remulus exhaled deeply, the warmth of the room lingering even as it quieted. Finally, a moment to himself and Kiyanna, he thought as he turned back toward her with a hopeful smile.

Only to find the dining room littered with burly, drunken men passed out across chairs, sprawled on the table, and even snoring on the floor. The chaos of snores and murmured dreams filled the once-lively room.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples as Kiyanna smirked at him from across the room. Her eyes sparkled with amusement, and he couldn't help but laugh, despite himself.

_________

As Juraf held her hand, Terra felt a quiet satisfaction bubble within her. She glanced at their intertwined fingers, the roughness of his warrior's hand juxtaposed against her softer grip. Her lips curved into a faint smile, a rare moment of peace stealing over her. The evening air was cool, tinged with the faint scent of blooming aspar and the earthy undertone of the village streets. It complemented the warmth lingering from the earlier gathering, the laughter of soldiers and the light teasing still echoing faintly in her ears.

She knew she'd done a good job with the cooking. It wasn't something she had expected to enjoy, but she had spent hours researching recipes, perfecting the art with meticulous care. She thought the domesticity might unnerve her, that it would dredge up memories of her parents—a mother who had once loved the role, and a father who had crushed that love beneath his heel. Yet, it hadn't. Instead, it felt like planting a seed in fresh soil, and watching it bloom in a way she hadn't anticipated. Seeing him eat her food, seeing the faint flicker of satisfaction he tried to hide, made it all worthwhile.

Terra's gaze trailed to his broad back, strong and unyielding, a living symbol of everything he had survived and overcome. Her fingers brushed the calloused texture of his hand, and her chest tightened. Love. Or perhaps it wasn't love. She wasn't sure—how could she be, when she had never truly experienced it? Not even in the familial, platonic sense. Whatever it was, she knew she wanted to be entwined with him, to live in his skin, to be so close that no force in the world could separate them. It was an intensity she hadn't thought herself capable of, and yet it felt so natural. The Terra of her past might have found it suffocating, but now, it was just the truth of who she was.

They walked through the village streets, her thoughts swirling with emotions she struggled to name. The ever-present sounds of the night echoed softly around them—distant laughter, the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze, and the occasional creak of wooden doors being closed. Above them, the moons hung high in the obsidian sky, their silvery light glinting faintly in Juraf's hair, dark as an abyss. The way his figure absorbed the moonlight made him seem untouchable, and yet, he was right there, pulling her along by the hand.

When they reached his door, he pushed it open with a sigh and stepped inside. Before Terra could say anything, he collapsed—straight to the floor.

"Juraf!" she exclaimed, startled, but her voice broke into a laugh as she realized what had happened. He hadn't just stumbled; the man had quite literally dropped himself onto the ground like a sack of grain, forehead lightly tapping the floor.

For a moment, she stood there, hands on her hips, looking down at him with exasperation. Then, unable to help herself, she knelt and began the arduous task of hauling him to his bed. He was heavy, all muscle and stubbornness, but Terra was nothing if not determined. She managed to drag him over and lay him down, his weight sinking into the mattress.

Terra sighed and brushed a stray strand of golden hair from her face, glancing down at him. He looked utterly at peace in his unconscious state, a rare vulnerability softening the edges of his rugged features. She peeled off her outer layers until she was down to her nightgown, the simple fabric brushing against her skin as she climbed into bed beside him.

She settled close, her fingers moving almost of their own accord to stroke his hair. It was soft, surprisingly so, and her touch traced the lines of his wounds and the bruises already forming from the battle. Her eyes drank in his face, memorizing every detail—the sharp line of his jaw, the slight twitch of his brow even in sleep, and the faint scar that cut across his cheek.

His eyes creaked open, dark and bleary, catching her in the act. For a moment, neither spoke, and then his lips twitched into a tired, lopsided grin.

"Terra, you really are a good woman," he said, his voice thick with exhaustion.

She laughed softly, a musical sound in the quiet room. "What did you think of me before? That I was Tarak? Or maybe the monster under your bed?"

His grin widened faintly, but there was a flicker of something else in his gaze—an honesty that made her heart ache. "Why ask? Wasn't it obvious?" he replied.

Terra blinked, her amusement faltering. She couldn't tell if it was a quip or a genuine statement, and as she searched his abyssal eyes for the answer, she found nothing but infinite darkness.

"No, it never is," she murmured. "You do that thing, you know. The abyss in the eyes and the oasis in the soul. It's like a puzzle I can't solve. You seem to know everything about everyone else, but no one can ever tell what's going on inside your head."

He looked away, his brow furrowing in thought. "An oasis, huh?" he mused aloud, his voice quieter now. "No… It's just a murky swamp. One fitting for a black toad to jump around in."

Terra's chest tightened at his words, but she said nothing, her fingers still tracing his hair. The moons outside cast their gentle light into the room, illuminating his face, and for a moment, the world seemed to still. There was nothing but the sound of his breathing and the weight of unsaid things hanging in the air.

 

[Behemoth.]

Juraf the World Swallowing Spear Finale
_______________


Juraf watched from a shaded perch, his spear resting casually against his broad shoulder as the midday suns filtered through the trees above. The training field was alive with movement—younger soldiers practicing drills in the distance, the rhythmic clash of wood against wood providing a steady undercurrent to the scene. The earthy aroma of the dirt beneath their feet mingled with the faint metallic tang of sweat in the warm air. This was his domain, and he took pride in molding the next generation into warriors who could endure the hardships to come.

"Alright, now left, then right. After that, slash, spin, and sweep. But against an enemy with a spear?" Juraf's grin widened as he demonstrated, his movements fluid and precise, each strike and pivot a masterclass in control. The dummy before him bore the brunt of his demonstration, its battered wooden frame groaning under the assault. "Twist your hips and finish off by severing them diagonally while they're stunned from the last blow. Got it?"

His protégé, young Garran, nodded eagerly. The boy's brown hair clung to his forehead with sweat as he gripped his training spear tightly. The twelve-year-old mimicked Juraf's movements, his determination palpable. He struck left, then right, before repositioning for a wide slash. The dummy trembled under the force of the blow, but as he transitioned into the sweep, he lost his footing. With an audible yelp, Garran crashed face-first into the dirt, sending up a small cloud of dust.

Groaning, the boy pushed himself onto his hands and knees, brushing dirt from his face as his ears burned with embarrassment. Juraf strode over, his tall frame casting a shadow over the boy.

"No pain, no gain, or something like that, kiddo," Juraf said, a grin tugging at his lips. He crouched and gave Garran a hearty pat on the back, dislodging more dirt from his hair. "If you want to attain spear intent, this is the least you can do. I'm counting on you to protect my little girl one day, after all."

The boy looked up at him with wide, determined eyes. "You'll be around forever, Master Juraf! You'll attain immortality, I know it. Sol will be fine, but you can definitely count on me!" Garran pounded his small fist against his chest in a bold display of confidence. "When I'm chieftain, I'll make her birthday a village holiday!"

Juraf burst into laughter, the sound booming across the field like a thunderclap. Without warning, he clapped the boy on the back with such force that Garran toppled forward, his face once again meeting the dirt.

"That's the spirit, little sapling," Juraf said, his grin wide and unapologetic. "You'll grow up just fine." Then, as if imparting sacred knowledge, his tone shifted to one of solemn authority. "Remember this: A man should…"

"A man should have an abyss in his eyes so no one can see through his thoughts," Garran recited with fervor, as if the words were etched into his soul. "Fire in his veins for a passion ready to take on the world. A monster in his heart for the instinct to fight for those he loves and destroy those he hates. To keep his edge and instinct. And an oasis in his soul for peace and clarity that can temper one's fire and instinct."

The boy's voice carried the weight of someone much older, each word measured and deliberate. Juraf's grin softened into something closer to pride as he nodded.

"Good," Juraf said, his voice steady, carrying a trace of warmth. He stood, towering over the boy, and gestured toward the dummy. "Now I expect you to have that particular combo down by the end of the week. I mean it. Otherwise, you'll be running the obstacle course of death seven times over. No excuses."

"Sir, yes, sir! General Juraf, sir!" Garran sprang to his feet, his hand snapping to his forehead in a crooked but enthusiastic salute.

Juraf smirked, giving the boy one last clap on the shoulder. "That's more like it," he said before turning and walking toward the edge of the training field.

The field opened into a wide expanse that overlooked the village below. The towering spiral trees, their bark shimmering faintly in the golden light of the most high seven stars, framed the path as Juraf's boots crunched against the dirt. His sharp eyes caught a familiar figure leaning casually against one of the trees, bathed in dappled sunlight. Naturally, it could only be Remulus.

The Lupus prince pushed off from the tree, falling into step beside Juraf. The two moved in comfortable silence for a moment, their strides in sync as they wandered the well-worn path leading toward the village. The sounds of life buzzed faintly in the distance—the laughter of children playing, the rhythmic clink of a blacksmith's hammer, the rustling of the breeze through the trees above.

"I hope my own son gets the same treatment from you, General," Remulus said, his voice carrying an undertone of amusement. His emerald eyes flicked to Juraf, who didn't break his stride.

"Little Peter? Naturally," Juraf replied without missing a beat, his tone deadpan. "Even though his amazing bloodline is tainted with your genes."

Remulus let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as the two continued down the path, the world around them alive with quiet vitality.

The suns dipped below the horizon, casting long, fading shadows across the village as the day yielded to the encroaching night. The streets glowed faintly under the bioluminescent aspar drifting lazily through the cool air, their soft light mingling with the dim golden hue of lanterns being lit one by one. The sounds of the bustling village began to quiet as the people retreated to their homes, their silhouettes framed briefly in doorways before vanishing behind wooden walls. Above, the moons rose in unison, their silvery light painting the world in a tranquil glow.

Juraf and Remulus walked side by side, their boots crunching against the dirt paths as they moved through the village. The fading sunlight played across Juraf's sharp features, accentuating the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Remulus glanced at him, his golden eyes narrowed slightly as he measured his words.

"You do realize I'm the prince of this village, right?" Remulus said, his voice laced with mock indignation. "Between the two of us, just who has the better bloodline?"

Juraf snorted, his smirk widening as he tilted his head lazily toward his companion. "When you can last more than five minutes in a fight with me, then you can talk about your bloodline being any good. Until then, Remmy, you're just a young pup yapping at a great wolf." He paused, his grin turning sharp. "And if you're as fast in the bedroom as you are in a fight, I truly feel sorry for my little sister."

Remulus froze mid-step, his emerald eyes wide with a mix of shock and indignation. Then, the tension broke as laughter erupted from his chest, rich and unrestrained. "Oh, dude, fuck you! Hehaha!" he said, shaking his head in disbelief.

The two men continued walking as the stars began to twinkle above, the warmth of their banter softening the cool embrace of the night. The village around them grew quieter, the hum of distant conversations replaced by the rhythmic chirping of nocturnal insects.

After a moment of companionable silence, Remulus glanced at Juraf, his tone shifting to something more tentative. "Soooo… about kids. How's that going with Terra and all? And well, you know…"

Juraf's expression softened at the mention of his daughter, though a shadow of weariness flickered in his dark eyes. "Sol is beautiful and precious," he said simply, his voice carrying a rare gentleness. "The most divine existence to ever grace this world with her presence."

Remulus raised an eyebrow, waiting. "And?" he pressed, his curiosity unabated.

Juraf sighed heavily, the sound weighted with the kind of exhaustion that went deeper than the physical. He didn't respond, his silence speaking volumes as they made their way to a familiar bar nestled at the edge of the village. The establishment was modest but inviting, its warm glow spilling out through the open doorway, accompanied by the faint murmur of conversation and the clinking of mugs.

Inside, the woman behind the counter greeted them with a perpetual grin, her eyes closed as though she were laughing at some unspoken joke. Without a word, she placed two mugs of frothy beer on the counter, her movements quick and practiced. "On the house, for our esteemed General Juraf and Prince Remulus," she said cheerfully, her voice carrying the slightest hint of mischief.

"Thanks, Serel," Remulus said, his lips quirking into a polite smile as he accepted his mug.

Juraf merely grunted his thanks, his focus already on the amber liquid in his hand. They left the bar shortly after, their footsteps carrying them away from the bustling heart of the village and into the quiet rural fields beyond. The sounds of insects grew louder here, filling the cool air with a steady rhythm that was both grounding and surreal. The aspar drifted between them, their bioluminescent bodies glowing like tiny stars against the backdrop of towering fields swaying in the gentle breeze.

It was here, under the watchful gaze of the moons and surrounded by the vastness of the rural expanse, that Juraf finally spoke. "I have not yet married Terra," he began, his voice low and deliberate. "Even though I know she wishes to get married."

Remulus slowed his pace, turning to look at his companion. "And Caela?"

Juraf's dark eyes flickered with something unreadable as he raised the mug to his lips, taking a long sip before answering. "Caela is pregnant with my child as well. The baby will be born soon, only two months and a few days apart from my Sol." He paused, the weight of his words settling between them. "I have not married her because I do not know how to explain to either her or Terra."

Remulus stopped in his tracks, his emerald eyes wide with disbelief. "And she's still going on missions?"

"And she's still going on missions," Juraf confirmed, the faintest edge of frustration coloring his tone.

Remulus ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. "Just who is it that you love between the two of them?"

Juraf's lips twisted into a hollow laugh as he looked skyward, his sharp features illuminated by the silvery light of the moons. "That's just the thing, isn't it?" he said, his voice tinged with self-mockery. "There isn't anyone quite as greedy as I am. I, Juraf, a spear that could swallow the world." He lifted his mug, saluting the heavens with a bitter grin before taking another drink.

"You say you are greedy," Remulus said carefully, his brow furrowing in thought, "but one man marrying multiple women is not something especially uncommon in our village. Is that not a solution to your predicament?"

Juraf lowered his mug, his expression darkening as he turned to face his companion. "I wish it were that simple, Remmy. But neither of them are that type of woman." His voice softened, a rare vulnerability slipping through the cracks of his usual bravado. "Pride and power, that is who they are. They love strongly and are possessive over that love. And it is only natural for them to be so. They are extraordinary, among the greatest people I have ever met in my life. I will not force them into the type of relationship they do not wish to be in."

The two men stood in silence, the weight of Juraf's words lingering in the air. Around them, the world seemed to hold its breath, the soft glow of the aspar and the gentle rustling of the fields the only sounds breaking the stillness. Above, the moons continued their slow ascent, their light casting long shadows across the earth as the night deepened.

Remulus nodded slowly, his green eyes reflecting the quiet resolve etched into Juraf's features. Without another word, they resumed walking, their figures disappearing into the vast expanse of the rural fields, where the shadows of the world swallowed them whole.

The light of the moons spilled across the rolling fields, painting the grass in silvery hues and casting long, shifting shadows as the wind whispered through the aspar, their bioluminescent tendrils glowing faintly. The hum of nocturnal insects provided a steady rhythm to the night, an ever-present reminder of the life that thrived even in these quiet, reflective moments. Juraf and Remulus walked side by side and though their strides were casual, the weight of their conversation carried a gravity that pressed against the stillness of the world around them.

"So instead," Remulus began, his green eyes sharp despite the calmness of his tone, "you will hide it and prevent consummating your relationship with Terra and even Caela as well? I heard you never even asked Terra out. That you've never called her your girlfriend or anything of that nature. You haven't done the same with Caela either, right?"

Juraf smirked, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. Instead, they held the weight of a man who'd spent too much time in the company of his own demons. "You'd be right," he admitted. "I haven't. Because at the end of the day, I'm scum. A boy raised in the slums will act like someone from the slums." His voice carried a note of self-deprecation, sharp and cutting.

Remulus's brows furrowed, his green eyes narrowing as he considered his friend. "It's not as if that's the reason. Kiyanna turned out just fine, and that's because of you. You're a general now, Juraf. You're not some street rat anymore."

Juraf waved off the words with a casual flick of his hand, his smirk twisting into something more bitter. "You don't need to console me, Remmy. I'm not about to break down over this shit. It's just reality."

He paused, his gaze drifting to the distant horizon, where the soft glow of the village lamps mingled with the faint light of the stars. "About my sister, though… I wonder."

The change in tone drew Remulus's attention, and he listened intently as Juraf continued.

"In my experience, love works like a firelight or a torch," Juraf began, his voice quieter now, tinged with something raw and unguarded. "It's passed from one to another. From father to son, mother to daughter, mentor to mentee. One flame lights another, and it spreads, growing, living." He glanced at Remulus, his dark eyes unreadable under the moonlight. "But me? I was never lit."

Remulus said nothing, sensing that this was one of those moments where silence was the only appropriate response. Juraf's words came slowly, as if dredged up from the depths of a well he rarely visited.

"I raised my sister, Remmy. And sometimes, I wonder about her too. What kind of flame did I pass to her? Was it warmth… or just the cold flicker of an ember?" He let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "Is she capable of giving and receiving love? Or did I fail her there, too?"

He stopped walking, turning to face Remulus fully. His expression was solemn, his voice steady but heavy with unspoken emotion. "So I ask you this: love her, Remmy. Love her with all your heart. So she can love in turn. So her flame can burn bright. So her child can feel love from her as well."

Juraf's gaze dropped, his smirk returning but without its usual bite. "I'm just a piece of waterlogged wood, Remmy. Extinguishing any fire I'm near in a big cloud of smoke and fucking steam. But I'm too selfish to stop loving them even now." He exhaled, a sound that was more weary than anything else. "You're not like me. And that's a good thing."

Remulus's green eyes softened, and he nodded solemnly. "I understand," he said, his voice carrying the weight of his own experiences. "I have that kind of feeling sometimes too. My mother loved me, but for my father, I was nothing but an extra. Existing in the shadow of Remus. An afterthought."

Juraf's smirk turned into a genuine smile, his hand coming up to clap Remulus on the shoulder. "Well, Remmy, you are my brother then. And you are our family. Even if I'm scum, my sister isn't. Maybe you can love one another in the truest sense. Bring something special out from within each other to create a whole greater than the parts. I believe you can do that, brother of mine."

Remulus's lips curved into a faint smile, and he nodded again. "Indeed… brother of mine."

The two of them walked in silence for a moment, the sounds of the night filling the spaces between their words. The faint rustle of the aspar, the chirping of insects, and the distant call of a nocturnal bird created a symphony that felt both intimate and eternal.

After a while, Remulus broke the silence. "So, Juraf," he began, his tone curious but careful, "just what is it about them that makes even you so afraid to do that to them?"

Juraf's smirk returned, but this time, it carried a hint of vulnerability. "Well, aside from the fact that I love them, it's due to their own personalities. Caela is quite simple. She's hard on the outside but soft on the inside. She's endured a lot throughout her life, and because of that, she's built up a shell. But the insides of that shell…" He paused, his gaze drifting upward to the twin moons that seemed to glow with a quiet, steady light. "They're softer and more fragile than anything. I don't even want to risk cracking it."

The moons cast their light over Juraf's sharp features, accentuating the shadows and lines that marked him as a man who had lived a life filled with battles—both external and internal. He took a sip of his drink, the cool liquid offering a brief respite from the weight of his thoughts.

"And Terra?" he asked softly, his voice laced with both curiosity and concern.

Juraf's lips twitched, forming a faint, almost melancholic smile. He glanced at his drink, then back at the earth beneath his boots. "Terra is glass," he said simply, the words spoken with a quiet reverence that made them feel heavier than they were. "She is a spear or a blade."

Remulus tilted his head, his brows knitting in confusion. "What do you mean by that exactly?" he asked, leaning forward slightly. The pale light of the moons illuminated the sharp angles of his face, giving his green eyes an almost otherworldly gleam.

Juraf swirled the liquid in his mug, taking a long sip before answering. His voice was low and deliberate, carrying the weight of someone who had spent years pondering the words he was about to speak. "You know that rare stuff—metal they forge into blades and spear tips?" he began, his gaze distant, as though he were seeing something beyond the field in front of them. "When it's whole, it's incredible. It can save lives, protect what matters. It's loyal, sharp, and unyielding."

Remulus nodded, his brow furrowing. "And when it's not whole?"

Juraf's smile faltered, replaced by a grimace that pulled at the edges of his mouth. He stared into the distance, his expression caught somewhere between admiration and sorrow. "When it shatters," he said slowly, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "it's not useless, as you might think. No… it becomes dangerous. Broken metal is sharp—jagged. You can't pick it up without getting cut. It slices into everything it touches, even those trying to help."

The words hung in the air like an unspoken truth, the kind that gnawed at the edges of the soul. Remulus straightened, his fingers drumming lightly against the mug in his hand. He watched Juraf carefully, the meaning behind his metaphor sinking in like a stone dropped into still water.

"Terra's strong," Juraf continued, his voice tinged with both admiration and ponderance. "She's built herself into something unbreakable, or at least that's what she wants the world to think. But if she ever did break…" He trailed off, shaking his head as if the thought were too unbearable to finish.

"You think it would destroy her?" Remulus ventured cautiously.

Juraf chuckled, though the sound was hollow, devoid of humor. "Yea, Remmy. It would but not only her. It would destroy everything around her. She'd lash out, not because she wanted to, but because she wouldn't know how not to. That's what happens with people like her, people like us. When we hurt, we hurt everything."

Remulus looked down at his own mug, his expression unreadable. The words struck a chord deep within him, resonating with memories he'd buried long ago. "I think I understand," he said quietly, his tone pensive.

Juraf's gaze snapped to his friend, the sharpness of his dark eyes softened by an unspoken gratitude. The silence returned, though it was no longer heavy. It felt more like a pause, a shared moment of understanding that needed no words to bridge the gap between them.

The stillness was broken by Remulus after a time, his voice lighter but still tinged with concern. "You've got enough on your plate without this weighing on you. Especially with the war brewing the way it is. The Gu are getting bolder by the day."

Juraf snorted, a faint smirk playing at his lips. "You don't need to remind me of that. I know better than anyone. Every skirmish, every patrol—it's a reminder that they're testing us, pushing their boundaries. They're not going to stop until we force them to."

Remulus nodded, his green eyes narrowing as he stared into the horizon. "Then it's best you keep your head straight. Problems at home become problems of the heart, and those bleed into the battlefield. You know as well as I do—this village can't afford that right now."

Juraf tipped his mug back, draining the last of his drink before letting out a long, weary sigh. He set the mug down gently and leaned back, resting his weight on his elbows as he gazed up at the moons. Their pale light traced the sharp lines of his face, giving him an almost statuesque quality. "That's more true than you could ever know," he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Remulus watched him for a moment longer, then looked away, letting the quiet envelop them once more. The sounds of the night seemed louder now—the gentle rustle of the wind through the grass, the distant chirping of crickets, the faint hum of life that never truly ceased. Above them, the stars burned brightly, eternal witnesses to the burdens they carried.

Neither man spoke again as the weight of the moment settled around them. For now, the silence was enough.

___________

A small animal-fat candle flickered weakly on the desk, its dim, golden light casting elongated shadows across the room's worn stone walls. The faint scent of tallow mingled with the stale air, amplifying the oppressive atmosphere. Remus sat hunched over, his broad shoulders nearly brushing the edges of the high-backed wooden chair. His sharp golden eyes, usually so commanding, were dulled by fatigue as they roved over the seemingly endless stack of reports. The faint scrape of paper against calloused fingers echoed softly in the quiet room, broken only by the occasional sigh of frustration that escaped his lips.

The latest raid in Gu territory had provided a fleeting reprieve, tipping the scales just enough to stave off outright defeat. The spoils—precious resources and rare materials—had boosted the village's immediate prospects, but the victory felt hollow. At best, they had clawed their way back to an uneasy stalemate. The morale of the soldiers was another matter entirely, one that was not so easily replenished.

The Gu were unlike anything the wolvenkind soldiers were used to facing. Insectoid and utterly alien, they were merciless in battle, their tactics brutal and unrelenting. They fought with no regard for their own lives, drenching their bodies in lethal toxins and unleashing noxious clouds of poison that clung to the air like a death shroud. Their savagery was a blade that cut into the hearts of the wolvenkind, who, for all their strength and ferocity, carried a humanity the Gu utterly lacked. Fighting such enemies day after day was draining the soldiers' spirits, leaving them haunted by the pervasive dread that no amount of training could dispel.

Remus licked his thumb absentmindedly and flipped to the next report. This one was a tedious account of internal politics, penned in the flowing script of one of the village's elders. His sharp eyes scanned the document, noting the carefully veiled implications woven between the lines. It detailed the recent rise of Juraf—that annoying bastard—to the position of general. Juraf's ascension had not come without ripples. His charisma, skill, and undeniable strength had won him the loyalty of his soldiers and the grudging respect of many elders.

More importantly, Juraf had thrown his support behind Remus' younger brother, Remulus. Some elders, ever eager to further their own agendas, were beginning to entertain the notion of backing Remulus in a challenge to Remus' leadership. Their motives were obvious—they believed Remulus to be malleable, a figurehead through whom they could exert their influence. It was a foolish idea, but troubling nonetheless. Even if Remulus had no ambitions of his own—and Remus was certain he didn't—the mere suggestion of dissent was a spark waiting to ignite into something far more dangerous.

The thought of internal strife gnawed at him. The village could ill afford to be divided, not with the Gu looming ever closer, testing their defenses with increasing boldness. Still, the idea grated. It wasn't jealousy, not exactly, but the constant comparison to his younger brother, the whispers and insinuations, stirred something restless and raw within him. Their relationship, once so close, had grown strained under the weight of their roles. Remus missed the simplicity of their childhood, when the only battles were the ones fought with wooden swords in sunlit fields.

He sighed heavily and turned another page, his mind circling back to the pressures bearing down on him. Reports of the Gu's movements were interspersed with notes on the suspicious behavior of certain elders. One name stood out: Hathor. That elder's sudden shift was unexpected. Hathor had always been a staunch supporter of Remus' faction, and his loyalty had only seemed to deepen since Juraf had aligned himself with Remulus. Yet now, whispers of intrigue surrounded him. It was a curiosity, one that warranted careful investigation.

Setting the report aside, Remus pushed himself up from the chair. His joints creaked in protest as he stretched, his tall frame unfolding with a series of satisfying pops. Sitting hunched over for hours, cramped by the weight of responsibility, left him feeling more like an old man than the warrior-leader he was supposed to be. He rolled his shoulders and exhaled sharply, as though trying to expel the tension that had settled deep into his bones.

The air in the hall outside his study was cooler, carrying the faint scent of woodsmoke and the distant aroma of bread baking in the communal ovens. He passed a series of doors, each leading to the rooms where his wives slept. There were only two—a modest number by the standards of the Lupus clan. His footsteps softened instinctively as he approached their quarters, a small gesture of respect for the women who bore his burdens alongside him.

One of them had given him a son—his firstborn, Garran. The thought of the boy brought a rare smile to his lips, softening the sharp angles of his face. Garran was everything he could have hoped for: strong, intelligent, and brimming with the boundless energy of youth. His pride in the boy was a quiet, unshakable thing, a foundation that steadied him in moments of doubt.

He paused outside Garran's room, pushing the door open just enough to peer inside. The faint light from the hallway spilled in, illuminating the small figure sprawled across the bed. Garran slept deeply, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Even in sleep, his resemblance to Remus was striking. The boy had inherited the defining features of the Lupus clan—the sharp jawline, the proud tilt of his nose, and hair so dark it seemed to drink in the light.

For a moment, Remus simply stood there, watching his son with a quiet intensity. The sight of him brought a pang of both pride and unease. The boy was his mirror in so many ways, and that resemblance carried a weight of expectation that Garran couldn't yet understand. Remus' lips curved into a faint smile as he silently closed the door. Whatever battles lay ahead, Garran would face them in time. For now, the boy deserved his rest.

As Remus turned and walked back into the dimly lit hall, the weight of leadership settled back onto his shoulders. The shadows followed him, long and unyielding, as he made his way through the quiet halls. The village slept, but the world beyond its walls did not, and neither could he. Not yet.

The halls Remus passed through were a shrine to the legacy of his bloodline. Lining the stone walls were the carefully preserved achievements of his ancestors, each previous chieftain immortalized in polished wood carvings, intricate tapestries, and even a few rare glinting metal plaques. These relics told stories of triumph and sacrifice, of battles won and lives spent in service to the village. Between them hung banners dyed in deep blues and greens, the colors of the Lupus clan, embroidered with symbols of the moons and the great Fenrir of legend. The soft glow of ward-infused sconces illuminated this display of history, casting shadows that seemed to breathe and shift as he moved.

The grandeur of the hall spoke to the pride and strength of the Lupus clan, yet to Remus, it carried a weight he could not fully set down. Each relic was a reminder of the expectations resting on his shoulders, the lives looking to him for guidance, and the history he was tasked with upholding. His jaw tightened as he exited the grounds, nodding to the guards stationed at the gates of his residence. They bowed in respect, but he waved them off with a simple gesture, signaling peace and discretion. Tonight, he would walk alone.

The air outside was cool and crisp, carrying the earthy scent of the forest that surrounded the village. The pale light of the moons spilled over the cobbled streets, painting the village in shades of silver and shadow. Remus moved with a quiet purpose, each step muffled by a subtle expenditure of numen, making his journey silent as the night itself. The village slept, its rhythm slowed to the gentle hum of insects and the occasional bark of a distant guard dog.

He was heading to the home of Elder Hathor, a man who had always stood firm in support of his leadership but whose recent actions had become a source of suspicion. Remus had no intention of issuing a formal summons or confrontation—not yet. He preferred a subtler approach, one that often yielded truths hidden behind false smiles. Spying, or perhaps catching Hathor off guard, would be far more telling. A man's reactions when unguarded often revealed far more than words spoken in the controlled arena of counsel chambers.

The elder's home was modest compared to the grandeur of Remus' own, but it was far from simple. Stone walls reinforced with rune work spoke of wealth and influence, though the faint glow of some wards flickered inconsistently. Sloppy, Remus thought as he observed the protections. It was almost insulting how easy it was for someone of his caliber to slip past the sentries and circumvent the wards. His movements were fluid, his large frame moving with a grace that belied his size. He stuck to the shadows, slipping through the halls like a specter.

At times, he had to employ creative maneuvers to avoid detection, hiding in storage chests or clinging to the ceiling like some predatory beast as guards passed beneath him, oblivious to his presence. The thrill of evasion sparked a faint smirk on his lips. For all his frustration with Hathor, moments like these reminded him of the sharp instincts that had carried him through countless battles.

As he neared Hathor's chambers, the stillness of the home seemed to thrum with unease. Remus pressed himself against the wall, his sharp ears catching the sound of hushed voices within. He edged closer, his heart quickening. The door to the elder's chambers was slightly ajar, revealing a flickering candlelight that danced erratically against the stone walls.

Through the crack, Remus saw them—Hathor and another man, an ally whose face he could not yet place. The two moved with nervous energy, their conversation inaudible but tense. Then, to Remus' surprise, they slipped out of the window, their figures vanishing into the night.

Suspicious indeed, Remus thought, his golden eyes narrowing as he followed.

He moved after them with the skill of a predator, his steps silent and measured. They were wary, frequently glancing over their shoulders and pausing to scan the area. More than once, their heightened vigilance nearly exposed him, forcing him to retreat into the shadows or duck behind cover. Despite their caution, Remus remained unseen, his second-layer numen cloaking him like a second skin.

Their path wound through the village, past sleeping homes and quiet fields, until they reached the outer wall. There, Hathor exchanged a series of signals with the guards. The men nodded and stepped aside, allowing the elder and his ally to slip beyond the safety of the village boundaries.

Remus' brows furrowed. This was no ordinary meeting. His suspicions deepened as he continued to follow them, now outside the walls and into the wild forest.

The forest was alive with its own symphony of sounds—the rustling of leaves in the breeze, the distant calls of nocturnal creatures, and the faint chirping of aspar, the bioluminescent insects that flitted like embers through the trees. The moons bathed the woods in their ethereal glow, but even their light seemed muted here, swallowed by the dense canopy above.

At one point, their journey nearly ended in disaster. A vampyr, its pale, elongated form barely visible in the gloom, prowled near their path. Its hungry eyes gleamed like sickly stars, and for a moment, Remus thought it might sense his presence. He held his breath, his hand hovering over the hilt of his blade, but the creature turned away, disappearing into the shadows.

Finally, the two men reached their destination, a small clearing shrouded in shadow. Hathor and his ally paused, their body language shifting from tense to deferential. Remus crouched low, his body concealed among the thick foliage as he peered into the clearing.

And then he saw it.

A Gu emerged from the darkness, and even in the dim light, its presence was commanding. It was tall—even taller than most of its kind—standing nearly nine feet, with a sinewy frame that radiated a grotesque power. Its purple skin, veined with black like rivers of corruption, seemed to pulse faintly under the shadows of the trees. Its pupil-less black eyes glinted with an unsettling intelligence, and its mandibles clicked rhythmically, a sound that sent a chill down Remus' spine.

Unlike the crude attire of most Gu warriors, this one was draped in garments that bordered on opulence. Dark, iridescent fabric adorned its tall frame, its surface embroidered with jagged patterns that seemed to shimmer faintly in the moonlight. Its presence exuded authority, marking it as a figure of great importance among its kind.

Remus' heart pounded as he watched Hathor approach the creature. The elder's posture was deferential, almost submissive, as he began to speak. Though the words were too quiet to make out, the implications were clear. Hathor was not simply meeting with the enemy; he was conspiring with them.

The Gu leaned forward slightly, its mandibles clicking in what might have been amusement or disdain. Remus felt a surge of rage rise within him, his hand tightening around the hilt of his weapon. The urge to act—to strike them both down and end this betrayal—was nearly overwhelming. But he forced himself to remain still.

Information was power, and in this moment, knowledge was more valuable than bloodshed. He needed to know more, to uncover the full extent of this treachery before making his move. Narrowing his eyes, Remus pressed himself lower into the shadows, his golden gaze locked on the unfolding scene as the clearing hummed with quiet menace.

"Elder Gu En, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance this evening," Hathor said, his voice steady as he offered a slight bow.

To Remus' surprise, the Gu returned the gesture with an eerie grace, its purple-hued mandibles parting slightly in acknowledgment. The sight was strange, even unsettling. The Gu were not known for their manners, but this one—Elder Gu En—clearly operated on a level far removed from the savage hordes his kind typically embodied.

"Hathor," Gu En began, its voice smoother and more articulate than Remus had anticipated. The mandibles, which usually chittered and clicked incessantly, moved only minimally, their sound a faint undercurrent rather than a distraction. "I trust you have something interesting planned to summon me in such a manner. I would hope you value my time enough not to waste it."

Hathor straightened, clasping his hands behind his back. "Indeed, Elder Gu En. I come with a proposition, one that could offer mutual benefit. I understand that the Gu pursue the dao of poison and corruption above all else. It is the core of your people's strength and adaptability and the reason for your lust as well as strength in."

The elder's voice was careful, walking the line between acknowledgment and critique, but the Gu remained unperturbed. Its black, pupil-less eyes gleamed faintly under the moonlight, its expression—or what passed for one—cold and calculating.

Gu En tilted its head, its mandibles twitching in faint acknowledgment. The Gu's lustful nature, both literal and metaphorical, was no secret. It was an intrinsic part of their being, an unyielding hunger that drove their actions and amplified their connection to their dao. For them, lust was not just carnal but also symbolic—a relentless craving to consume, corrupt, and dominate.

"This war has been harsh on wolvenkind," Hathor continued, "but I know it has not spared the Gu either. Your resources are not infinite, nor are your numbers. I offer a trade that will grant both our peoples room to breathe, to regroup. A temporary reprieve, if you will."

Gu En tilted its head slightly, the faintest hum of curiosity rising from its throat. "A trade, you say? Go on."

Hathor's confidence grew at the Gu's apparent interest. "In your territory, there exists a grove of sundew herbs. These plants, while of little use to your people's dao of poison, hold significant medicinal value for ours. I propose that you replant the majority of the grove elsewhere but leave a portion behind for us to harvest. In return, we offer you something... unique. A woman of our kind. Her name is Caela."

Remus stiffened, a surge of anger rushing through him as Hathor spoke the name.

"She is prideful, strong-willed, and undeniably beautiful," Hathor continued, his voice dripping with calculated persuasion. "Her eyes are can see through numen and wards, and her strength is such that she would make an exceptional tool in the creation of your most potent poisons. A perfect specimen for your purposes, I dare say. Her unique ability and will makes her as such."

Gu En's mandibles clicked faintly, its alien gaze unwavering. "Do you have an image of this woman?"

Hathor reached into his robes and produced a small portrait, the edges worn as though it had been handled often. The elder extended it with an air of reverence, and the Gu took it, holding it up to the light of the moons.

After a long moment, Gu En gave a faint chitter that might have been approval. "Not bad. She will suffice. However, I am curious—if she is so talented, so valuable—why would you offer her up so willingly?"

Hathor's expression darkened, a sneer twisting his features. "Because she is a lustful beast who lays with scum and trash. Her pride blinds her to reason, and her choices have made her unworthy of our protection. She is nothing more than a burden to our people." His words were laced with venom, each one spat as though they left a foul taste in his mouth.

The Gu was unmoved, its focus returning to the details of the trade. Whatever contempt Hathor harbored, it held no interest to the creature. The following hours passed in tense negotiation, both parties hammering out the specifics of their arrangement. Gu En asked precise questions, and Hathor answered with a practiced ease that spoke of his resolve. Remus, hidden in the shadows, listened intently, his mind racing.

At times, he wondered if this was a trap—if they had somehow sensed his presence and were staging this exchange to draw him out. Yet the genuine focus and meticulous detail in their discussion dispelled his doubts. The Gu were not known for subtlety, and this level of deception seemed beyond them. No, they were earnest in their treachery, and the implications of their pact sent a chill down Remus' spine.

When the negotiations concluded, Hathor bowed once more, his movements precise and deliberate. Gu En responded with a low chitter before turning and stalking into the forest, its grotesque form disappearing into the shadows like a nightmare fading into the depths of sleep.

Remus remained motionless as Hathor and his ally began their journey back to the village, their steps hurried and their voices low. Only when they were well out of sight did he allow himself to exhale.

His heart pounded as he replayed the events in his mind. The trade Hathor proposed was monstrous, a betrayal of the highest order, yet its logic was undeniable. The war was bleeding the village dry, and the temporary reprieve offered by this arrangement could provide the time they so desperately needed.

But at what cost?

Remus closed his eyes, his jaw tightening. He had always known that leadership required sacrifice. Yet this—this was a choice that would stain his hands and his soul. Could he allow such an atrocity for the greater good? Could he justify it to himself, to his people? His thoughts churned, a storm of conflict and doubt.

In the end, the answer came not from his heart but from the cold, calculating part of his mind that knew the weight of command.

Sacrifice was a tool. Progress demanded it. The majority was what mattered most. And so, as the night deepened and the shadows grew, Remus remained hidden, his decision made but his spirit heavy. The world was rarely kind to those who bore the mantle of leadership, and tonight, it was unkind indeed.

___________

Terra walked through the village with a soft smile gracing her lips, her steps light and unhurried. The cobbled paths stretched before her, lined with simple wooden houses adorned with vibrant fabrics and small, glowing lanterns swaying in the gentle breeze. The air was alive with the hum of daily life—merchants haggling over prices, the laughter of children darting between stalls, and the mingling aromas of roasted meats and freshly harvested fruits. It was a symphony of ordinary beauty, and she relished every note of it.

It had been years since she had escaped the hellish home of her birth, a place she once thought she would never leave. Those years were a distant memory now, blurred and softened by the passage of time and the warmth of the life she had built since. Though her dreams of becoming a priestess had slipped through her fingers, she had carved out a fulfilling path elsewhere. She had mastered sewing, her hands weaving life into fabrics with skill and care. It wasn't the exalted role she had once envisioned, but it was enough—it gave her a purpose, and that was a treasure in itself.

Still, there was always a lingering whisper of yearning, a desire for something more. She couldn't deny the pang of envy that stirred when she watched Caela leave the village on missions, her unique senses making her indispensable. Terra had grown to admire Caela in so many ways, yet the ache of jealousy still reared its head.

But it was okay. It really was. She had Juraf. She had Kiyanna. She had Sol. She had a family. Her heart swelled at the thought of her beautiful, golden-haired daughter, the little miracle who had transformed her life into something she had scarcely dared to dream of. No matter her past, no matter who else existed or what they had, Terra was happy now. Truly happy.

Her gaze drifted skyward to the cluster of seven stars shining brightly in the deep azure of the evening sky. A wistful sigh escaped her lips as she wondered, not for the first time, when Juraf might finally propose.

"Terra!" A loud, exuberant voice broke her reverie.

She turned toward the source of the call, her smile brightening as she recognized the black-haired, dark-eyed woman striding toward her with the boundless energy of a storm. Kiyanna, with her tanned skin and confident stride, was so much like her brother that it was impossible not to see Juraf in her movements.

"Hey, Kiyanna," Terra greeted warmly. "How are you?"

"Oh, you know," Kiyanna said, rolling her eyes dramatically. "Just Remulus pissing me off as usual. He's been sleeping off a hangover from drinking with my idiot brother two days ago. Like we don't have a baby son to raise or anything!" Her voice was laced with mock indignation, her arms flailing for emphasis.

Terra pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh as a grim smile tugged at Kiyanna's lips.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Terra," Kiyanna said quickly, her brow furrowing in a look of sincere apology. "My brother's being stupid again. The fact that he still hasn't proposed to you after all this time is insane. You even have my adorable niece together! Please, just give me some time." She cracked her knuckles with an exaggerated seriousness. "I'll beat some proper sense into him where the world failed."

Terra's laugh bubbled out, light and melodic, as she linked arms with Kiyanna. "I'll be looking forward to it. Walk with me? Sol should see her auntie."

"Of course," Kiyanna said, her face lighting up with a mischievous grin. "I will absolutely be her favorite. Just wait and see! Whenever you and Juraf get into arguments, it'll be Auntie Kiyanna she runs to. Mark my words."

The two women strolled through the bustling streets, their laughter mingling with the lively sounds of the village. The wooden stalls lining the market square were draped in colorful cloths, showcasing an array of wares—freshly woven baskets, gleaming trinkets, and jars filled with vibrant spices. The clatter of wooden wheels on cobblestones and the rustle of fabric in the breeze blended with the occasional call of a merchant advertising their goods.

When they reached Terra's home, she couldn't help but smile at the sight. The modest but sturdy wooden house was nestled under the protective canopy of a sprawling elder tree, its branches dotted with tiny bioluminescent aspar drifting lazily through the air. The house radiated warmth, just like the life inside it.

Stepping inside, Terra's heart softened at the sight of Sol's crib. The finely carved wooden frame was adorned with decorations Juraf had painstakingly selected, sparing no expense. The soft blankets within were stitched with care, their intricate patterns a testament to Terra's craft. Juraf's presence in their lives was evident in every detail, from the sturdy structure of the crib to the overabundance of toys scattered across the room. He was a serious man in many ways, but when it came to Sol, he was nothing short of a doting fool.

"There's my adorable little niece!" Kiyanna exclaimed, darting toward the crib with uncontainable excitement.

She scooped Sol into her arms, the baby's dark eyes sparkling with delight as a cascade of golden hair framed her cherubic face. The little wolf ears atop her head twitched in response to Kiyanna's playful cooing. Sol's laughter filled the room, a sound so pure and joyful that it seemed to banish any lingering shadows from Terra's heart.

Kiyanna nuzzled her cheek against Sol's, her movements exaggerated and affectionate. "You're going to love your Auntie Kiyanna the most, aren't you?" she said, grinning as the baby giggled uncontrollably. "When you're older, you're going to come running to me, and I'll spoil you rotten. Just you wait."

Terra leaned against the doorway, watching the scene with a contented smile. Her heart felt full, almost to bursting, as she took in the warmth and light of her little family.

"Ahh, after Peter, I should try for a girl as well. But then again, I have Sol. I can't wait for them all to meet and grow up together, like we did," Kiyanna said with a laugh, her dark eyes shining with a mix of anticipation and nostalgia.

"Well, hopefully not like we did," Terra replied softly, gently taking Sol from Kiyanna's arms and placing her back into the beautifully adorned crib.

Kiyanna paused, her expression shifting as the weight of Terra's words settled over them. She nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on the child as her lips pressed into a determined line. "Fair enough. Hopefully, their lives will be better than ours." Her voice grew firm, conviction hardening her tone. "No—they will be better than ours. Let's make sure of that. As their parents."

Terra glanced at her hopefully one day sister-in-law, a warmth blooming in her chest. There was something comforting in Kiyanna's resolute words, a shared promise that their children would grow up unburdened by the shadows of their past.

Before Terra could respond, the door swung open with a sudden burst of energy. A familiar silhouette filled the frame, tall and broad, exuding an easy confidence that always made her heart race. A man stepped inside, the light catching on the bronzed hue of his skin and the subtle sheen of sweat on his collarbone. His simple black shirt, laced loosely at the collar, exposed the muscular cleft of his chest. His black hair, tied in a loose ponytail his wolf ears long and sleek, framed sharp, striking features that Terra never tired of looking at. The spear slung over his back seemed an extension of him, a testament to his prowess and authority.

And then there was his smile—lopsided, cocky, and entirely too disarming. It was the love of her life.

Juraf.

"Huh, I wasn't expecting you, Kiyanna," he said, his dark eyes quirked in curiosity as he glanced between the two women.

"Hey, you useless bas–" Kiyanna began, her voice rising with irritation, but Terra shot her a quick look. The unspoken plea in Terra's eyes stopped her mid-sentence, though not without a dramatic roll of Kiyanna's own.

Kiyanna exhaled sharply, exasperation flickering across her face. Terra winced inwardly, knowing exactly what that look meant. She knew she was too soft on Juraf. Always too forgiving, always willing to overlook things she probably shouldn't. She understood it logically, but logic and the heart rarely aligned. Her love for him ran too deep, overpowering every rational thought. It wasn't weakness—it was simply truth.

She caught the subtle shift in Juraf's expression as his eyes moved between them, something fleeting and unreadable before it disappeared behind his usual playful demeanor.

"Calling the general of the village a useless bastard is grounds for arrest, you know," Juraf said lightly, his grin widening as he crossed the room to wrap an arm around Terra's waist. His touch sent a familiar warmth coursing through her, and she leaned back into his chest instinctively, her body melting at the contact.

Kiyanna's dark eyes narrowed, worry and annoyance mingling in her gaze as she watched them. "I'll let it go for now, but Juraf, we seriously need to talk, okay?" she said, waving a hand as if to dismiss him. Her shoulder-length obsidian hair swayed with the movement, catching the faint light of the room.

Juraf tilted his head, his grin turning mischievous. "I can't even get a hug, huh?" He stepped away from Terra, his arms opening theatrically toward his sister.

"Maybe stop worrying about other women and start worrying about the mother of your child," Kiyanna shot back sharply, her voice cutting through the air like a whip. Without waiting for his response, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door, slamming it behind her with a force that left the room vibrating faintly.

Juraf sighed, his shoulders sagging as he turned back to Terra. His gaze softened, and for a moment, the weight he carried seemed to press down visibly on him. Terra panicked slightly under his scrutiny, feeling the urge to smooth things over. "I didn't tell her to be that mean or anything," she said quickly, her laugh tinged with nervousness.

His dark eyes fixed on her, their depth and intensity making her breath catch. "Terra," he said, his voice low and steady, "you of all people never have to apologize to me. When have I ever begrudged you for anything?"

Her chest tightened at the sincerity in his tone. He stepped past her to the crib, his movements slow and deliberate as he reached for their daughter. Despite the rough calluses on his hands—hands that had taken lives and carried the weight of war—they cradled Sol with a gentleness that seemed almost reverent.

"As a man, I only have apologies to give you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion which was unusual for him. He leaned down, pressing his forehead gently against Sol's. "And as a father, I only have apologies to give our daughter."

Terra's heart ached at his words, at the vulnerability he rarely allowed anyone to see. She moved closer, looping her arms around both of them as she pressed her forehead to his, nuzzling against him in a silent reassurance.

"There's nothing you could ever do, Juraf. Just where would I be without you?" she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I'm the one who should be saying those words."

Juraf didn't respond immediately, his gaze locked on Sol's tiny, peaceful face. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper, a quiet confession that sent a shiver through her.

"If only you knew."

____________

Caela's hand rested protectively over the subtle curve of her belly, her fingers tracing idle patterns against the fabric of her tunic. She was nearly due, though it was hard to tell just by looking at her. Her bump was modest, almost unnoticeable beneath the loose, flowing garments she had taken to wearing. For a time, the lack of prominence had worried her, but after thorough tests conducted by the other priestesses, she knew everything was fine. Her child was fine.

The realization brought some measure of peace, though it did little to quell the other storm raging inside her. It was better this way, she told herself. If no one noticed, no one would think to stop her. She could continue her missions, heading into the wilds with her keen senses, aiding their forces in the grueling war against the Gu. The ramping tides of bloodshed had forced her hand—every pair of capable eyes was needed, especially hers. If anyone discovered her condition, they might forbid her from leaving the village entirely. And she couldn't allow that.

The only person who knew the truth was the father of her child—the first and only man she had ever given herself to. Juraf. That hopeless scum of a man.

Caela's lips twitched into a faint, bitter smile at the thought of him. A few days prior, she had ventured into the village market, making her usual rounds. She didn't particularly enjoy going out—it was too loud, too crowded—but she had read that such outings were good for an unborn child, exposing them to the vibrancy of life. And so, despite her personal reservations, she made it a habit.

It was during that visit that she sensed a familiar presence. Kiyanna. Caela had been intending to say hello. After all, Kiyanna would be her child's aunt soon enough, whether the younger woman knew it or not. But as she approached, her steps slowed, and her ears caught fragments of a conversation between Kiyanna and the woman beside her.

They were talking about Juraf.

At first, she thought nothing of it. Juraf was well known in the village—he was the general, after all. Gossip about him was as common as the wind. But then, she heard something that stopped her in her tracks.

His daughter.

Caela froze, the words hitting her like a physical blow. A child? With that woman? She felt the blood drain from her face, her legs threatening to give out beneath her. Her breath came shallow and quick as her mind raced to process what she had heard.

Juraf had a child.

It wasn't as if she had never heard rumors of him gallivanting with other women before. He was Juraf, larger than life, and his charm was as maddening as it was undeniable. She had always dismissed those whispers as idle gossip, the embellishments of envious tongues. But this was different. This wasn't just a dalliance or a fleeting scandal. This was a daughter—a tangible, irrefutable connection to someone else.

Their relationship, if one could even call it that, had never been defined. They weren't lovers, not officially. They had no labels, no promises, no commitments. They had shared stolen moments, whispers in the dark, and one fateful night that had bound them together forever. She had always believed, foolishly perhaps, that he would eventually come to her. That his wandering heart would settle, and it would settle with her.

But now, she wasn't so sure.

She knew Juraf better than most, better than he probably knew himself. He was a man who blustered and postured, a man who wore his bravado like armor. But beneath that rough exterior, he felt more deeply than anyone she had ever known. His emotions ran like rivers—wild, fierce, and boundless. It was that depth that had drawn her to him, that had made her believe in him, even when logic and pride warned her against it.

And yet, that same pride was her undoing now.

She had thrown herself into mission after mission, knowing full well the risks. Juraf had tried to stop her, of course. He had argued, pleaded, even demanded that she rest and prioritize her safety. But in the end, what could he do? Force her? He wasn't that kind of man. And she had taken advantage of that, her pride refusing to let her appear weak or dependent. If he wouldn't commit to her, if he wouldn't claim her and their child as his, then she would show him that she didn't need him.

It was a lie, of course. She knew it. Every time she stepped beyond the village's protective walls, every time she faced the dangers of the wilds, she knew she was endangering herself and the life growing inside her. But she couldn't stop. To stop would be to admit defeat, to concede the vulnerability she was too stubborn to face.

She exhaled a long, shuddering breath, her hand tightening over her belly. "What a fool I am," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling with equal parts bitterness and sorrow. But even as the words left her lips, she knew they weren't entirely true. Because for all her pride and all her anger, she still loved him. Juraf, the hopeless scum of a man.

And that was the cruelest truth of all.

It hurt. For someone like her, it hurt in a way that felt all-consuming, gnawing at her sense of self. It wasn't the sharp sting of a fresh wound but the dull, persistent ache of betrayal—one she couldn't even entirely justify. She knew it wasn't as though she and Juraf had exchanged vows, declared love, or made promises. But it had still hurt. Truly and deeply, it had hurt to hear that he had a whole other child.

Another woman.

A woman his sister apparently expected him to marry. That implication had twisted in her chest like a serrated blade. She felt a cruel, petty satisfaction at the fact they had yet to wed, that Juraf had seemingly avoided broaching the topic altogether. It was pathetic of her to think so, and she knew it. It wasn't that woman's fault—she didn't even know. And yet, the bitterness lingered, souring her thoughts.

Her feelings for Juraf were a tangled mess of contradictions—twisted, angry, sorrowful, and unrelenting. For all the hurt he caused her, for all the unanswered questions and the distance he sometimes maintained though not often, she couldn't stop loving him. He had carved himself into the deepest recesses of her heart, and no amount of resentment could dislodge him. He had been there since that night all those years ago, and no matter how much she tried, he wouldn't leave.

Caela let out a breath, her hand resting briefly on her belly as if seeking reassurance. Today, she would bury those feelings. There were more important matters to attend to. The village needed her, her skills, her senses. Her child would need her too—strong, steady, unwavering. She forced herself to stand, pulling on her cloak with deliberate precision. The weight of her weapons rested familiarly at her side, though they were rarely needed. Her abilities often meant she could avoid conflict entirely, but she never left without them.

As she moved, something slipped from her desk, shattering against the floor. She froze, momentarily startled, before shaking her head. Normally, she was more careful, more deft. Pregnancy, she thought. It was making her clumsier than usual. She knelt to pick up the shards, her fingers brushing against the cold, jagged edges. For a moment, she considered fixing it, but then she left it where it lay. There wasn't time for sentimentality.

Steeling herself, she stepped out of her home, the brisk air of the village brushing against her skin. Her senses flared instinctively, sending out faint waves of numen vibrations. It was second nature, a subtle sweep of the world around her that painted a map in her mind. A few villagers noticed, their curious gazes following her as she passed, but she ignored them. Her steps carried her toward the training field on the outskirts of the village, where her group awaited.

The air buzzed with life as she walked. Merchants shouted about fresh produce and cured meats, the tantalizing scents wafting through the market stalls. Children darted between the legs of their elders, laughing and squealing with abandon. The rhythmic clang of blacksmiths at their forges blended with the hum of conversation and the occasional bark of a dog. It was a symphony of daily life, and yet it felt strangely distant to her today.

When she reached the training field, the noise quieted. The field was sparse, bordered by tall grass that swayed gently in the wind. Her group stood waiting, their figures familiar and steady though their were additions. She nodded to them in silent greeting, her gaze sharp and focused.

"Caela," the leader of the scouting group called out, his tone casual but carrying an edge of caution. "We'll be heading into Gu territory today. Word is the area's mostly unguarded, so it should be a quick in-and-out job. Nothing too serious, but still pretty dangerous. You fine with that?"

She met his eyes evenly, her voice calm and resolute. "Yes, sir. That will be fine."

As a priestess, Caela wasn't technically part of the military, so she didn't have to adhere to its strict hierarchies or even participate in missions like this. Yet, she chose to. Not out of obligation, but out of duty to Wolvenblade, a sense of purpose, and a desire to protect the village that had given her a place to belong. She shook the thought away as they prepared to venture deeper into Gu territory, her focus sharpening. Dwelling on her motivations wouldn't help her now.

Their group consisted of her and several soldiers—two more than the usual unit. She didn't recognize these additional men, unlike the others in the group she had worked with before. Still, she thought the adjustment was reasonable. More bodies meant better protection, even if it came at the cost of a slightly higher chance of being detected by the Gu. It wasn't an ideal trade-off, but in these times, nothing was.

They moved quickly and efficiently, leaping from the wide, spiral-like branches of the forest's massive trees. The thick canopy above filtered the sunlight into fragmented beams, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor below. Shadows danced in tandem with their movements, a testament to the skillful use of numen they pumped into their shadow cores to muffle the sounds of their approach. The forest was a symphony of rustling leaves and distant calls of unseen beasts, but their steps were silent.

Caela's senses extended outward, faint vibrations of numen spreading like invisible ripples through the air. The dense, ancient forest seemed alive in more ways than one. The aspar floated in the shadows, their translucent forms casting eerie, faint glows in the periphery of her vision. Occasionally, her senses brushed against a beast hidden among the undergrowth or nestled high in the trees, but none of the numen signatures belonged to the Gu.

And that troubled her.

"There seem to be no traces of Gu in the general area," she finally said, her voice cutting through the silence of their advance. "Which is… strange."

"It shouldn't be a problem," one of the men in the back replied. His tone was steady, almost dismissive, as if trying to ease the tension. "This area is said to hold something valuable to them, so it's likely only high operatives or elites of the Gu come here. Perhaps they've hidden their traces or are using some advanced techniques to mask their presence."

"That makes sense," another soldier added, his voice carrying a note of reassurance. "If it's something special, we need to press forward, right, Captain?"

Caela glanced toward their captain, her brow furrowing slightly. The man hesitated, a soft grunt of reluctant acceptance escaping his lips. Normally, he would have taken her observations more seriously, possibly even considering retreat if the situation seemed too unpredictable. But today, he deferred to the men in the back—strangers whose authority seemed to extend beyond the usual chain of command.

The unease in her chest deepened, but she said nothing. Instead, she turned her focus back to the forest as they pushed forward. The world around her was a kaleidoscope of vibrant hues, the result of the potent ambient numen saturating the area. The trees themselves seemed to hum faintly with energy, their spiraling branches thick with moss and luminous fungi. The air carried a heady, almost electric quality, tingling against her skin with every step she took. The deeper they ventured, the more alive the forest felt, as though it were watching them, waiting.

Caela's thoughts swirled as she moved. The Gu were infamous for their cunning, their ability to twist even the most mundane environments into deadly traps. If they were truly hiding their presence here, it meant one of two things: either they were guarding something of immense value, or they were laying a trap. Neither prospect was comforting.

Her fingers brushed the hilt of her weapon as a precaution, though she doubted she'd need it. Her senses were her true strength, and she relied on them now more than ever. Still, a flicker of doubt crossed her mind. Something about this mission felt off—the added soldiers, the captain's uncharacteristic compliance, the unnerving silence of the forest.

She glanced back at the two unfamiliar men in their group. Their movements were precise, their eyes scanning the surroundings with sharp focus. They didn't carry themselves like ordinary soldiers. They radiated an air of authority, one that subtly shifted the group's dynamic without anyone explicitly acknowledging it.

Her grip on her weapon tightened. Who were they really, and why were they here?

The group continued onward, the forest growing denser and darker as the canopy above thickened, blotting out more of the light. The once-familiar sounds of the village and its outskirts were now a distant memory, replaced by the soft rustle of leaves and the occasional distant cry of a beast. Despite the oppressive quiet, Caela's senses picked up nothing—no Gu signatures, no sign of ambushes, nothing but the forest itself.

And yet, her unease refused to abate.

"This place feels… too quiet," she murmured, her voice low enough that only the captain could hear. He gave a slight nod but didn't respond, his expression tight with concentration.

As they pressed further into Gu territory, Caela couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into something far more dangerous than they'd anticipated. Her senses strained, reaching further and further, searching for any sign of the enemy. But the numen-rich forest seemed to swallow her efforts whole, offering nothing in return.

And for the first time in years, Caela felt a flicker of fear—not for herself, but for the child she carried and the uncertain future that awaited them all.

The further they pressed into the forest, the more the unease within Caela grew, coiling tightly in her chest like a serpent ready to strike. Her hand instinctively moved to her belly, a silent gesture of regret. She shouldn't have come. She should have listened to Juraf. The warnings he had given her, the concern in his voice—it all echoed now, louder than ever, in her mind. And yet, she couldn't turn back. Not now. Not with the mission underway. Her pride wouldn't allow it.

The oppressive weight of the forest seemed to deepen as they crossed a wide clearing. The towering spiral trees cast long shadows that danced in the filtered light, their moss-laden branches forming intricate patterns against the sky. As her senses extended outward, a flicker of something unusual caught her attention—a concentration of numen, twisted and compacted unnaturally. Her heart skipped a beat as she realized what it was.

A ward formation.

It was well-disguised, its intricate threads of numen buried beneath layers of ambient energy to mimic the natural fluctuations of the forest. To the untrained eye, it would seem harmless, part of the environment. But Caela's senses were not so easily fooled. She could see through the deception, her numen unraveling the structure in her mind. Her lips parted to warn the group, to steer them clear of the trap ahead.

But she never got the chance.

An explosion erupted behind her, shattering the fragile stillness of the clearing. The shockwave was immediate, a violent ripple of numen that tore through the air like a tidal wave. She barely had time to react, instinctively channeling her numen toward her belly, forming a protective barrier around the child within her. The force hit her like a hammer, hurling her forward into the very ward formation she had tried to warn them about.

The world spun as she hit the ground, the impact driving the breath from her lungs. Pain flared along her limbs as sharp fragments of debris tore at her skin, leaving stinging cuts that bled freely. The acrid scent of dust and numen-scorched air filled her nose, choking her as she struggled to regain her bearings.

Through the haze, she sent out a wave of numen, her senses clawing for clarity. The scene that unfolded before her was both surreal and damning.

Two of the men—the strangers who had joined their group—stood outside the ward formation, their stances relaxed, almost smug. Beside them loomed a figure that sent a chill down her spine: a towering Gu, far taller than any she had encountered before. Its purple, vein-covered skin glistened under the dim light, and its mandibles clicked rhythmically as if in a mocking cadence. Its black, pupil-less eyes glinted with malice, reflecting the scene like twin voids. Unlike the usual Gu foot soldiers, this one radiated authority, its presence oppressive and commanding. Its clothing was ornate, a testament to its rank—a general, perhaps, or something even higher.

Caela's senses spread further, revealing the grim truth. They were surrounded. Dozens of Gu emerged from the shadows, their movements swift and deliberate. Their forms were grotesque yet efficient, a perfect amalgamation of insectoid anatomy and lethal intent. Each one carried a venomous aura, their numen dense and sharp like a blade poised to strike. These weren't mere soldiers. These were elites—captains and lieutenants, their power undeniable. And among them, she could feel several figures whose numen rivaled even the strongest generals in Wolvenblade.

Her allies had already risen, drawing their weapons with practiced urgency. The captain barked orders, his voice steady despite the chaos. But Caela could see the truth. Their movements were desperate, their stances betraying the knowledge that this fight was hopeless. They were outmatched, their fates sealed the moment they entered this cursed place.

Her gaze flickered back to the two traitors. They were speaking to the Gu general, their voices low and conspiratorial. Though she couldn't hear their words, their betrayal was deafening. It hung in the air, suffocating and bitter.

Betrayal.

The word echoed in her mind, sharp and unrelenting. It should have ignited a fire of rage within her, a storm of indignation and fury. But instead, all she felt was regret. A deep, hollow ache settled in her chest, spreading like poison.

Her hand pressed against her belly once more, trembling slightly. She wasn't afraid for herself—she had made her peace with the dangers of her work long ago. But her child? Her daughter? She would never even have the chance to walk this earth, to see the world beyond the confines of Caela's body. The thought pierced her heart with a pain more profound than any wound the Gu could inflict.

Her allies fought valiantly, their numen flaring brilliantly against the encroaching darkness. Blades clashed, sparks flew, and the air vibrated with the raw power of their desperation. But the Gu were relentless, their movements coordinated and efficient. For every strike her comrades landed, the Gu retaliated with twice the force. The elites moved like predators, their mandibles clicking and limbs slicing through the air with terrifying precision.

Caela's senses flickered toward the formation itself. The ward's numen pulsed, a living thing that twisted and warped the battlefield. It wasn't just a trap—it was a weapon, designed to disorient and weaken its victims. Every attempt to draw on numen felt sluggish, as though the air itself resisted their efforts.

Her mind raced, searching for a way out, a plan, anything that could save them. But the odds were insurmountable. Even if they managed to break free of the formation, the Gu surrounding them were too powerful. And the traitors—they would ensure no one escaped to tell the tale.

Her gaze returned to the Gu general, whose black eyes seemed to meet hers across the battlefield. Its mandibles parted in what could only be described as a grotesque smile, a mockery of the desperation and despair that filled the air. It knew. It had already won.

And Caela knew it too.

The regret in her heart deepened, twisting into something colder, more final. Her thoughts drifted to her daughter, to the life she would never have. A life cut short before it could even begin. The weight of that loss bore down on her, a sorrow too profound for tears. And yet, even in the face of death, she found herself thinking of Juraf—his rough hands, his unreadable eyes, the way he had held her once, so long ago. She wondered if he would ever forgive himself for this, for not being here, for not saving her.

And she hated that, even now, she didn't blame him.

____________

Juraf stalked through the village, his thoughts weighed down by Caela. She had gone on yet another excursion today, despite everything. The frustration gnawed at him, but what could he do? He of all people had no right to command her, no right to demand she stay safe when his own actions were far from exemplary. A better man, a loyal or committed partner, might have insisted. But as he was now? All he could do was wait. She would return in the evening—she always did. And when she did, he'd finally have the conversation he'd been avoiding for far too long. Late as it was, it had to happen.

The sun bore down on him as he walked, glaring into his eyes. He tilted his head, squinting against the harsh light, glaring right back as if he could will the sun into submission. He was supposed to train Garran today, but he'd decided against it. The kid could take a day off. He'd craft some nonsense about how true mastery of the spear required solitude, self-reflection, and piercing forward alone without a teacher's guidance. A lesson about independence wrapped in poetic bullshit. Garran would eat it up.

His musings were interrupted as he entered the village square. A commotion had gathered, a dense crowd of soldiers and onlookers buzzing with tension. His brows furrowed, and unease prickled at the back of his neck. Something was wrong. Pushing past the bodies with increasing urgency, he forced his way to the center of the throng.

"What's going on?" he barked, his deep voice cutting through the noise like a blade.

At the center, two men sat slumped on the ground, their uniforms dirtied and bloodied. Scouting division. His heart sank like a stone. This wasn't just a disturbance—this was bad.

One of the men, his face pale and drenched in sweat, looked up with hollow eyes. "We were ambushed," he croaked, his voice hoarse and trembling. "A group of Gu—an entire force. Not just fodder, either. Elites. Too many of them. We barely made it out alive. The rest…" His voice broke, and he shook his head, anguish carved into his expression.

The other scout sat motionless, staring into the distance, his hands trembling. He didn't speak, but the silence was louder than any words.

Juraf's fists clenched at his sides, the familiar surge of anger boiling in his veins. The Gu—those venomous bastards. He barely registered the murmurs of the crowd or the rising tension around him. From the corner of his eye, he saw Remulus and Remus approaching, Remus's presence commanding as they made their way through the throng.

Remus reached the front just as Juraf turned to him, his face grim. "Did you hear the situation, chieftain?" Juraf's tone was tight, a mix of urgency and barely restrained rage.

"I did," Remus replied calmly, his face unreadable.

"Then you know we have to prepare a unit and go after them!" Juraf snapped, his voice rising as the surrounding soldiers began to murmur in agreement. "We can't just leave our people to die at the hands of those beasts."

A voice cut through the tension, sharp and cold. "We can't," Elder Hathor said, stepping forward from the shadows of the gathering. His presence was like ice water poured over a fire.

Juraf rounded on him, his fury igniting like dry tinder. "The fuck do you mean we can't?" he roared, his voice echoing through the square.

Hathor didn't flinch, his expression as composed as ever. "Elder Hathor is right," Remus said, his voice steady but firm. "In reality, even if we sent a unit, we would be marching straight into Gu territory, unprepared and blind. If they have elites—if they've set a trap—we'd be sending our men to their deaths for allies who have already passed."

Remulus turned to his brother, shock and disbelief writ large across his face. "You can't be serious," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "You're saying we just leave them? Just let them die out there?"

Remus met his gaze, unwavering. "I'm saying we don't throw more lives away senselessly. If the Gu truly have elites in that area, it's suicide. We can't afford that risk, not now, not with the war balanced so precariously."

Juraf's teeth ground together, his jaw tight with fury and frustration. He scanned the crowd, searching for someone aside from Remmy—anyone—who might back him. But the faces of the soldiers and villagers, even those who had murmured in agreement earlier, had gone grim. He understood why. They had families. They had children to protect. It wasn't cowardice—it was pragmatism. But understanding it didn't dull the fire roaring in his chest.

He had a family too. And he would save them.

"Then I'll go alone," he said, his voice sharp and unwavering. His words cut through the gathered throng like a blade, drawing startled gasps and murmurs. He pushed past the crowd, his strides long and purposeful, but a large hand clamped down on his arm, halting him mid-step.

"You're the general!" Remus's voice boomed, tinged with both command and desperation. "You cannot leave like this. I refuse to let you go!"

"If you go, you'll die!" Remulus shouted, his tone heavy with a mix of fear and anger, his green eyes blazing.

Juraf yanked his arm free with a force that sent Remus stumbling back. He turned to then to his old friend. The harsh light of the twin suns painted his bronze skin in gold and shadow, illuminating his fierce expression as if the very heavens demanded he be seen.

"I know," he said gently, his voice softer now, but no less resolute.

The weight of those two words hit Remulus like a blow. "Then I'll go with you!" he blurted, stepping forward, his face set with determination.

Juraf's gaze softened for a fleeting moment, his lips twitching into a faint, bittersweet smile. "I appreciate the thought, Remmy," he said, his tone quiet but firm. "But you have my sister to look after. If this is a trap—and it very well might be—then the Gu could be waiting for us to empty the village. Someone has to stay and protect it."

He placed a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder. "You've got Little Peter to think about too. You'll stay here. You'll protect them. That's your job. Mine is to make sure this doesn't all go to hell."

"Juraf—" Remulus started, his voice breaking.

"I won't die," Juraf interrupted, flashing his trademark grin. It didn't reach his eyes, but it was as confident as ever. "I'm entirely to greedy to die quite yet. You know I can't fall until I've gotten everything I wanted."

"Juraf!" Remus bellowed, his voice booming with the authority of a chieftain. "Did you not hear me? Someone stop him!"

But the soldiers, his soldiers, parted as Juraf strode forward. They knew him too well. They had seen that fire in his eyes before—the kind that burned so fiercely, no man could extinguish it. No command, no plea could sway him now.

Juraf laughed, the sound loud and hearty, echoing through the square like a battle cry. He turned back for one final look at his brother and friend, the suns casting his towering figure in a halo of golden light.

"I have yet to swallow the world," he shouted to the heavens, his voice ringing with the conviction of a man destined to defy fate itself. "And as such, I shall not fall!"

He turned on his heel, the spear on his back glinting in the sunlight, and began his march toward the forest's edge. Each step was deliberate, echoing with unshakable resolve.

"Take care of Sol and Terra, Remmy!" he called over his shoulder.

And then he was gone, the shadows of the forest swallowing him whole.

___________

Juraf bolted from the village, moving with a single-minded ferocity that left no room for hesitation. The wind howled as he broke through the dense forest, his form a blur of motion. He didn't bother with stealth or caution—time was too precious for such luxuries. Numen coursed through his veins and wrapped around his legs, amplifying his every step. The ground cracked beneath him, trees shook violently in his wake, and the air itself seemed to part in reverence as he pierced through the forest like an unstoppable green spear. His second-level spear intent wove itself into the numen, allowing him to "pierce" through friction and air resistance, his speed accelerating exponentially.

Explosions echoed behind him as sonic booms marked his path, each one louder and sharper than the last. The sound reverberated across the wilderness like the drumbeats of a vengeful war god. He didn't care who or what might hear him. Let the Gu know he was coming. Let them prepare. None of it would matter. They had taken what was his, and for that, they would die.

His sharp eyes scanned the forest ahead, numen flaring to augment his senses as he tracked the faint, nearly imperceptible traces left by the patrol. He knew the terrain intimately—every hidden ravine, every faint trail. His position as the general of Wolvenblade had granted him access to knowledge of patrol routes and enemy activity. He pieced the scattered details together, calculating the most likely location where they'd been ambushed.

Juraf pushed harder. The trees blurred into streaks of green and brown, the heavy atmosphere of the forest unable to impede his relentless charge. As he approached the coordinates where the formation had been reported, his numen intensified, forming a crackling aura around his body. The hidden warding formation became visible in his numen-enhanced sight—a twisting lattice of malevolent energy meant to trap and kill intruders. But Juraf didn't slow down.

He didn't even hesitate.

With a single, devastating thrust of his numen-infused will, he pierced through the wall of numen as if it were paper, the sheer force of his intent shattering the formation in an explosion of displaced energy. The air rippled with the aftershocks as Juraf burst into the clearing beyond.

The sight that greeted him sent a surge of cold fury through his veins.

Four soldiers lay dead, their bodies surrounded by the mangled corpses of Gu. Blood soaked the ground, and the air reeked of iron and poison. But his eyes quickly found what he sought—the captain of the group stood alive but barely, his stance unsteady, his body battered. And there, a few meters away, was Caela.

Relief flooded Juraf for a split second before his rage returned tenfold. She was alive—injured but alive. Her silver hair shimmered in the faint light filtering through the trees, though it was matted with blood. Her pupil-less blue eyes, dulled by exhaustion and pain, still burned with the will to survive. She clutched her weapon tightly, standing defiant despite the odds stacked against her.

The Gu turned to face him, their tall, insectoid forms snapping their attention toward the new arrival. Their chittering mandibles clicked ominously, and their dark, vein-covered carapaces glistened with numen. There was no hesitation in their actions. The remaining elites recognized him instantly for what he was—the greatest threat in the field—and converged on him as one.

Juraf's gaze swept across them, his expression cold and unyielding. His grip tightened on the spear slung across his back as he slowly drew it into his hands. The weapon gleamed with a predatory light, its edge honed not just by metal but by his indomitable will.

He didn't waste words.

He didn't ask for explanations.

These creatures had taken his people, endangered Caela and their unborn child, and stained this forest with their filth. There was no need for discourse. His actions would speak louder than any words ever could.

Numen flared around him, a tempest of green energy that roared like a living beast. The ground beneath his feet cracked and cratered as his power surged, resonating with the spear in his hands. The air grew heavier, charged with the electric tension of impending violence.

The Gu hissed and charged, their poison-laden claws glinting in the dim light, their forms moving with an unnatural, insectoid precision. They didn't care about their lives—only about claiming his.

Juraf stepped forward, his spear igniting with numen as his intent crystallized into a singular purpose.

Slaughter.

Juraf slammed into the first Gu like a green comet, his numen-coated feet slicing cleanly through its torso with a wet, visceral crunch. The corpse split apart midair, a spray of dark, pungent blood marking his entry. Two more Gu charged from his flanks, their grotesque mandibles clicking in unison. Juraf's spear whistled through the air in a perfect circular arc, green numen trailing like comet tails. As the field of energy expanded outward, it manifested into the celestial image of a moon eclipsing a sun.

"Eclipse." The single word left his lips as their torsos exploded into a sickening display of gore, viscera raining down like macabre confetti. One body spun in his direction, and he skewered it mid-fall, twisting his spear to rip apart bone and sinew before swinging the impaled corpse like a grotesque hammer. The pulverized body slammed into another Gu, their forms colliding with a sound akin to snapping tree trunks.

From the periphery, he caught the glint of daggers flying toward him. With effortless precision, he sliced through them mid-flight, each broken piece spinning away harmlessly. His numen pulsed outward in an invisible sphere, saturated with concentrated spear intent. The edges of the sphere seemed to shimmer and ripple like a mirage, but its effect was devastating—Gu that wandered too close recoiled, their thick hides shredding as if they'd collided with an invisible swarm of blades.

Juraf surged forward, locking eyes with the Gu who had thrown the daggers. The creature hissed in alarm, but before it could flee, Juraf's spear lanced through its abdomen with a sound like cracking leather. He lifted the impaled creature overhead, spinning it like a grotesque flag before slamming it into the ground with bone-crushing force. Poisonous projectiles hissed through the air from multiple directions, and Juraf ducked beneath one—a gout of acidic green mist—before pivoting to intercept the rest. His numen sphere intercepted most of them, the energy dissipating the poison into harmless vapor.

Still, the Gu came. The next wave wielded a mix of maces, flails, and serrated blades, their movements disjointed but ruthless. Juraf danced through them, his spear a divine instrument of death. He struck with unparalleled precision, thrusting through joints and necks, severing limbs and splitting torsos with surgical efficiency. Each strike was a note in a deadly symphony, the blood of his enemies painting the forest floor.

A particularly large Gu, wielding a jagged halberd, charged him with reckless abandon. Juraf spun on his heel, sidestepping the swing, and delivered a devastating roundhouse kick to its head. The force of the blow was immense, snapping its neck like a dry twig and sending the headless body crumpling to the dirt. Using the momentum, he transitioned into a sweeping strike, his spear carving through five more Gu in a single fluid motion. The cuts were so precise that for a moment, the creatures froze mid-motion, only for their bodies to collapse into meaty chunks seconds later.

Breathing heavily, Juraf felt the strain as his numen sphere began to falter, cracks forming in its protective aura. A projectile—some sort of condensed poison orb—slammed into his unarmored shoulder, searing flesh and muscle. He gritted his teeth, refusing to falter. With a roar, he flipped over another incoming spear, landing behind its thrower. The Gu turned, its grotesque face contorted in shock, but Juraf gave it no chance.

"Insurgent Spear!" he roared, his voice carrying with it the weight of his intent.

The spear in his hand became a vessel for his unyielding will. The air distorted as the image of a colossal spear manifested above him, piercing the heavens. The suns themselves seemed dim and fractured behind its radiance. Gu turned to flee, their chittering mandibles betraying their fear, but it was too late. The ground trembled as the spear crashed down, obliterating everything within its reach. Space and air warped under its power, and the elites caught in its path were eviscerated instantly, their bodies perforated and torn to ribbons. Purple blood painted the forest in wide arcs, the sickly stench of Gu viscera saturating the air.

Still, they came. A Gu lunged at him with wild abandon, and Juraf ducked beneath its swipe, rising with a sharp thrust that drove his spear straight through its chest. He ripped the weapon free, flipping it into a reverse grip as he turned into another attacker. The tip of his spear found its mark in the creature's throat, severing arteries and mandibles in one clean motion. Another Gu attempted to flank him, but Juraf spun again, the deadly arc of his spear slicing through three torsos in one sweep.

He stood amidst the carnage, blood dripping from his spear, his breathing ragged but steady. His dark eyes burned with unrelenting resolve. Though the Gu still surrounded him, their numbers dwindled, and none dared to rush him without hesitation. But hesitation would not save them.

Juraf's voice carried like thunder as he shouted, "Lunge!"

A surge of green numen erupted around him, so intense it seemed to warp the air. To the remaining Gu, it was as if he had vanished, only to reappear with his spear already piercing through the head of one charging toward Caela. Black ichor sprayed as the insectoid body crumpled lifelessly to the ground. His eyes met hers—tired, but still vibrant with hope. Even though her gaze could not discern his expression, her pupil-less blue eyes seemed to pierce into his very soul. He gave her the faintest of smiles before spinning on his heel.

The butt of his spear lashed out like a serpent, slapping the blade from another Gu's hands with a metallic clatter. Juraf's fist followed, punching straight through its skull with a sickening crunch, the force sending a spray of chitin and viscera outward. His movements were unrelenting, fluid yet brutal, like a predator amidst its prey.

He shifted his grip, roaring as numen burst from his body in a shockwave. Dozens of emerald projections materialized around him, spears of numen and intent shimmering with lethal energy. The air crackled as the golden paths of his intent stretched outward from each spear, locking onto each enemy as though guided by divine providence.

The Gu hesitated, some attempting to flee, others raising their weapons or numen shields in a desperate attempt to counter the incoming assault. It was futile.

"A spear," Juraf's voice growled low, rising to a shout as the spears quivered, "should always reach its opponent. I will pin you wretched insects to the earth in death as a child pins bugs to a collection board! Myriad Spears!"

The emerald projectiles surged forward as though fired from an unrelenting storm of arrows. They screamed along their golden paths, phasing effortlessly through all obstacles. Shields shattered, walls of numen split like fragile glass, and the Gu fell, impaled one after another. Chitin cracked and ichor poured freely, staining the ground in sickly purples and blacks as dozens of elites were felled in mere moments.

But the energy cost was immense. Juraf gritted his teeth as his reserves waned, his breathing turning heavy. Still, he pushed forward.

A Gu missing its arm from one of his earlier attacks lunged, shrieking as its blade pierced his abdomen, the serrated edge grinding through muscle and bone. Juraf's pained roar echoed across the battlefield, but he didn't falter. His elbow snapped back, shattering the Gu's spine with a sickening crunch, its body collapsing in a grotesque heap.

His injuries were mounting now. A deep gash on his thigh slowed his movement, his blood dripping to mingle with the ichor-soaked ground. Poison coursed through his veins, the telltale numbness spreading across his limbs. Still, Juraf fought, weaving between the remaining Gu, his spear moving like a living thing, precise and unyielding. With each thrust, a throat was pierced, each swing brought another death.

The sky above blurred as stars danced in his vision from blood loss and fatigue. A cluster of arrows thudded into his side, and he staggered but refused to fall. He wrenched one from his flesh, numen flaring around it as he transformed it into a deadly projectile, hurling it with enough force to split the skull of a distant archer.

Ahead, the tall Gu clad in opulent garb limped forward, its carapace cracked and leaking thick black fluid from the earlier Myriad Spears assault. Its mandibles clicked furiously as it began to speak, its guttural voice cutting through the chaos.

"This wasn't the agreement! What is this monster? Poison Beru!"

A suffocating field of purple numen erupted from the Gu, the energy coalescing into swarms of shimmering, insect-like constructs that buzzed with eerie precision. The air thickened with their movement as the creatures shot forward like guided projectiles, trailing streams of venomous light.

Juraf crouched, his fingers brushing the dirt as he gathered every ounce of strength remaining in his battered body. His vision blurred with black spots as his legs quivered beneath him, but his resolve was unbroken. Pain was secondary now, distant and irrelevant.

"Rush the world!" he roared, his voice splitting the air like a thunderclap.

He launched himself forward, a green blur tearing through the battlefield. Each step pounded into the earth, cracking the ground beneath him as he wove through the storm of venomous insects. The creatures screeched as they adjusted their trajectories, their movements unnervingly precise. Juraf ducked low, his body a whirlwind of motion. He flipped over one group, narrowly avoiding their needle-like appendages, only to roll sideways as another volley of poisonous beams sliced through the air, leaving smoldering gashes in the ground behind him.

The Gu leader shrieked in frustration as Juraf surged closer, his movements unpredictable and ferocious. But then the poison constructs converged, their assault tightening into a deadly net. He leapt high, his body twisting mid-air in a desperate bid to escape, but one beam struck true. It tore into his right arm, and a wave of agonizing pain flooded his senses. The flesh began to rot almost instantly, the Gu poison dissolving muscle and bone in seconds.

Juraf landed hard, staggering as his dominant arm hung useless, the remnants of what had once been his weapon hand dripping blackened flesh onto the dirt. His scream of pain was guttural, animalistic, but it morphed into a growl of defiance. He didn't stop. He couldn't stop. He surged forward, his left hand surging with numen and spear intent. The energy spiraled violently, condensing into a makeshift blade of raw willpower.

"Die!" he bellowed, his voice carrying the weight of his fury and desperation.

The Gu leader lashed out, its spiked limbs extending with a sickening crack, but Juraf ducked under the strike. He drove his hand forward, piercing through its chest. The numen-infused strike didn't just wound—it obliterated. The Gu's torso exploded into a mist of viscera, chunks of its chitinous body scattering in every direction. Its mandibles clicked spasmodically before it collapsed, lifeless.

Juraf barely had time to breathe before another Gu rushed him, this one wielding a serrated spear dripping with venom. He twisted away from the initial strike, the weapon skimming his ribs and leaving a trail of burning pain. Juraf roared, grabbing the spear shaft with his remaining hand and yanking the creature toward him. With a brutal knee to its midsection, he crushed its exoskeleton, the sickening crunch echoing in the clearing. He didn't hesitate—his makeshift blade sliced upward, decapitating the Gu in a single stroke.

More surged toward him. Arrows whistled through the air, several embedding themselves into his legs and shoulders. Blood poured freely from his wounds, staining the earth beneath him. His breaths came in ragged gasps, but still, he fought. His movements became wild, almost unhinged, as he swung his numen-infused hand like a scythe, carving through the insectoid bodies with a primal ferocity.

One Gu managed to stab a blade into his side, the weapon slipping past his ribs and puncturing deep. Juraf grunted, grabbing the creature's head and slamming it into the ground with enough force to splinter its skull. Another clawed at his back, ripping flesh and muscle, but he spun around, his numen slicing the Gu clean in half. His own blood mixed with theirs, creating a grotesque mosaic of death and defiance on the battlefield.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last Gu fell. Its body collapsed with a wet thud, ichor pooling around it. Juraf stood amidst the carnage, his body trembling under the strain. Arrows protruded from his frame, and blood poured from dozens of wounds. His vision blurred, but he remained upright, his gaze locking onto Caela. She was knocked out. And juraf went to lift the woman he loved off of the ground.

___________

Juraf's pace was relentless despite his tattered state. His feet crushed the undergrowth beneath them, each step agonizing yet defiant as he bore the unconscious form of Caela on his back. The forest seemed to stretch endlessly, its thick canopy above filtering the fading light of the day into streaks of gold and green. The shadows of the towering Aspar trees seemed to grow, their twisted branches reaching out like gnarled hands to grasp at him. The eerie hum of the forest, filled with distant howls and the faint rustling of unseen creatures, was punctuated by the ragged rasp of his breath.

Each step was a battle. His wounds, deep and unrelenting, sent sharp pangs through his body with every movement. Blood trickled down his arm, staining the pale cloak he had wrapped around Caela to protect her from the elements. The aspar floated around him like ghostly sentinels, their dim, greenish light illuminating his path. His focus, razor-sharp despite the haze of pain, kept him moving forward. His mind screamed for him to stop, to rest, but his heart burned with a singular purpose: to bring her back alive. He wouldn't let her die. Not her. Not their child.

But then, the shadows shifted.

The forest grew quieter. Even the distant hum of the insects seemed to pause. A cold, suffocating presence descended upon him, and his instincts screamed before his eyes confirmed the danger. Ahead, partially obscured by the twisting trees and dense underbrush, a form loomed. Two slit-pupil eyes appeared first, glowing faintly in the dimness, followed by another pair. Then another. Six predatory eyes glinted in the darkness, their focus locked entirely on Juraf. The massive turbeast stepped into view, its hulking frame casting a monstrous shadow across the forest floor.

It was colossal, its sleek, muscular body rippling with primal strength. Jagged spines protruded from its back, each one glistening as if dipped in venom. Its maw, filled with dagger-like teeth, dripped saliva that hissed faintly upon contact with the ground. The creature's claws dug deep furrows into the earth as it stepped closer, its growl reverberating like the roll of distant thunder. Every instinct in Juraf's body screamed to flee, but fleeing was never his nature.

He stopped in his tracks, his bloodied hand tightening around the hilt of his spear. His legs, trembling under the strain of his injuries, shifted to brace himself. His bloodshot eyes locked onto the beast, wild and unyielding. The spear across his back trembled faintly as if sharing in his determination.

"I don't have time for this," Juraf growled through gritted teeth, his voice more a snarl than a statement. His body was broken, his strength spent, yet his presence surged with an overwhelming force, like a cornered predator prepared to tear through anything in its way. The numen that remained in his veins flared, weak yet defiant, as his gaze bore into the creature's.

The turbeast hesitated. Its growl softened into an uncertain rumble. Those six eyes, predatory and devoid of emotion, flickered as they met the depths of Juraf's stare. What it saw was not prey. What it saw was a being drenched in the stench of blood and death, a man who defied the inevitable with every breath he took. His eyes burned with a ferocity that no predator could match—an abyss filled with unyielding resolve.

The turbeast lowered its head, stepping back into the shadows. Its massive frame melted into the forest as though conceding to a force it couldn't understand but instinctively feared.

________________

The village gate loomed ahead as the first lights of the evening fires began to dot the horizon. The sentries on duty caught sight of Juraf's approaching form, their expressions shifting from confusion to alarm as they noticed the state he was in. His figure was drenched in blood, his movements staggered yet purposeful. The shouts began, and the gates groaned open with urgency.

Juraf stumbled through, his knees threatening to buckle under the weight of Caela and his wounds. He gently laid her on the ground, his trembling hand brushing a stray lock of silver hair from her face. Her chest rose and fell faintly, and he felt relief wash over him despite his own body screaming in protest.

"Juraf…" Remulus's voice cracked as he pushed through the growing crowd, his green eyes wide with horror at the sight of his friend.

"What are you crying for, man?" Juraf rasped, attempting a grin, but it dissolved into a violent cough, blood speckling his lips.

"Someone get the healers!" a voice shouted, but the urgency of the crowd around him felt distant to Juraf. His focus was on Remulus, his bloodied hand gripping his friend's shoulder.

"Tell her… Tell her to name the kid Lunus if it's a boy… and Luna if it's a girl," he wheezed. "And tell Kiyanna… I love her. Tell her I hope she's able to love… that her useless brother didn't ruin her."

Remulus opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn't come. He watched helplessly as Juraf pushed himself to his feet, blood dripping from his wounds and leaving a trail in his wake. The soldiers, once hesitant, now fell into step behind him. Their general, their unstoppable force, was moving forward, and they followed in reverent silence.

---

The village itself seemed to hold its breath as Juraf trudged through its streets. Villagers emerged from their homes, drawn by the commotion. Mothers clutched their children close, and old men removed their bowed their head their ears downturned in solemn respect. No words were spoken, only the sound of Juraf's boots dragging against the dirt and the occasional drip of blood hitting the ground. His body trembled, his vision blurred, but his path was clear.

By the time he reached Terra's home, the crowd had grown massive. Soldiers and civilians alike gathered outside, watching in silence as he pushed open the door. Inside, the warm light of a single lantern flickered against the walls. Sol's small form lay in her crib, her gentle breathing a stark contrast to the chaos outside.

Juraf knelt beside her, his bloody hand trembling as he reached out to brush a finger across her forehead. His lips curled into a sad smile, his gaze softening for the first time since he'd left the battlefield.

The door burst open behind him, and Terra's horrified gasp filled the room. She rushed to his side, her hands gripping his shoulders as tears streamed down her face. "Juraf… no, no, no, no…"

Her arms wrapped around him as they sank to the floor together. His strength gave out entirely, his head resting against her shoulder as her sobs filled the space.

The world outside was bathed in the fading hues of twilight, the last golden rays of the sun painting the sky in a brilliant cascade of orange and pink. Yet, within the home, those colors felt distant, their warmth unable to penetrate the somber weight of the moment. Terra cradled Juraf's battered body, his bronze skin now pale, his once-vivid eyes dimming with the creeping shadow of death. Blood seeped from his wounds, staining her dress and pooling on the floorboards, the dark crimson a stark contrast to the life he once radiated.

"Terra," he rasped, his voice a threadbare whisper, each word an effort that seemed to cost him another fragment of his fleeting life. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did this. I'm sorry I never got to—" He coughed violently, blood splattering his lips and chin, cutting his sentence short.

"Please, stop talking," Terra begged, her voice trembling, breaking. Her hands, normally so steady, shook as they pressed against his wounds, futilely trying to stem the bleeding. "We can fix this, I promise! I promise, Juraf, just stay with me. Please."

A shadow of a smile touched his lips, though it was tinged with sorrow. "I'm sorry… I was never able to marry you, Terra. You fell in love with scum like me. I'm sorry I was never brave enough to tell you… I had another love. Another child." His words hit her like a blow, and she flinched, physically recoiling, her tear-streaked face frozen in shock. But before she could fully react, his trembling hand reached up, weakly cupping her cheek. His touch, so gentle despite his calloused, bloodied fingers, broke through her disbelief.

"But know," he croaked, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a flicker of the intensity they had once held, "I never once didn't love you. Not for a single moment."

Tears spilled freely from Terra's eyes, and she collapsed against him, her forehead pressing to his, her sobs wracking her body. "I'll forgive you, OK? I don't care, OK? Just stay alive!" she pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of her despair. "What am I supposed to do without you?! You can't leave us, Juraf!"

His gaze softened, and his lips quirked in a faint smile, tinged with a bittersweet regret. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice growing fainter. "I'm sorry you'll have to raise Sol alone. I'm sorry for the struggles you'll face. I'm sorry for not treating you better. I'm sorry… for making you angry. How sad is it," he mused weakly, a small, bitter laugh escaping his lips, "that in my final moments, I have nothing but regrets?"

Terra shook her head violently, refusing his words. "No! You'll have more moments! You'll live! You'll suffer and grow and be with us—be with me and Sol!" she screamed, her desperation spilling out, raw and unfiltered. Her voice cracked as she clung to him, her tears mixing with the blood on his chest.

Juraf's eyes fluttered, his breath coming in ragged gasps. "Terra… the necklaces," he murmured, his voice barely audible. "Give the one with the sun… to our daughter. And the one with the moon… to Remmy. He'll know what to do." His gaze grew distant, his words slowing. "If my life kept you apart, maybe… my end can bring you together."

"Juraf, no! Don't talk like this!" Terra sobbed, her hands gripping his shoulders as if her touch alone could anchor him to this world. Her cries were frantic, her voice rising. "Wait! Please—PLEASE!"

But Juraf's strength was fading. His head tilted back slightly, his dark eyes losing their sharp focus as he exhaled a final, weary sigh. "Terra…" he murmured, his voice softer than the whispering wind. "You really are… a good woman."

And then he was still. His body, once so full of life and vitality, fell limp in her arms as the last vestiges of his soul slipped away.

Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, its golden light giving way to the somber blue of twilight. The village seemed to pause, as if the world itself held its breath in mourning. Night descended, wrapping the land in a veil of shadow.

From within the small home, a sound rose—a sound that cut through the quiet like a blade. It was the anguished wail of a woman who had lost the love of her life. Terra's cries echoed out into the village, raw and unrestrained, filled with the weight of a broken heart.

The villagers who had gathered outside the home lowered their heads, unable to bear the intensity of her grief. The stars above twinkled coldly, indifferent to the pain below. The world felt heavier, darker, as Terra's sorrow seeped into the very air.

Into the heavens and into the earth.

___________

Caela wiped her swollen red eyes, staring down at the faint numen signature of her child. Her heart felt like it had been torn into pieces and crudely stitched back together, the seams barely holding. For the past month, tears had been her constant companion. She couldn't seem to stop. The sheer weight of grief and guilt sat on her chest, suffocating her with every breath.

She adjusted Luna's swaddle, her trembling hands brushing over the moon-shaped necklace that rested on the baby's small chest. It had been a gift from a very tired and broken Remulus. His voice, heavy with exhaustion and sorrow, still echoed in her ears. Kiyanna had fallen into a coma, he'd said, utterly consumed by grief over Juraf's death. Caela had felt the same pull, the temptation to simply give in to despair and let it consume her entirely. But she couldn't. Not now. Not with Luna here, relying on her every moment.

Juraf had gone to that cursed battlefield, risking everything to save her and Luna. And now he was gone. She'd already been to his funeral, her body trembling with sorrow, only to be slapped and beaten by Terra, the other woman he had loved in his life. Caela hadn't even been angry. How could she be? She had been the reason Juraf was dead every accusation rung true. And that truth carved deeper wounds than any blow Terra could deliver.

She wiped at her eyes again, forcing herself to focus on Luna. The baby shifted slightly in her swaddle, her tiny fingers curling as she let out a soft, contented sigh. Caela's lips twitched into a ghost of a smile, but the moment shattered as a voice slithered from behind her, cutting through the fragile peace like a blade.

"Hello, dearest Caela," the voice said, dripping with mockery and smugness. "To be honest, I had hoped you'd simply vanish after all this. But now, I see I may have been wrong. That piece of trash is gone, and you're still here. So, what do you say?"

The voice belonged to Elder Hathor. His presence, once merely an irritant, now filled her with cold dread. She turned sharply, her eyes igniting with the numen glow of suppressed rage and grief.

"Fuck off and die!" she roared, her voice raw and unrestrained. "I have no time for you! You are not a fraction of the man Juraf was, you geriatric bastard!"

Hathor's expression darkened, his smug smirk twisting into something cruel and venomous. His voice dropped, laced with malice. "At this point, I'm done courting you, girl. My patience has run thin, and my plans have failed. But that doesn't mean I'll walk away empty-handed. No, I'll take something from that bastard, even from beyond the grave. I hope his ghost is watching."

Before she could react, Hathor lunged at her, tackling her to the ground. The impact sent a sharp jolt of pain through her body, but Caela was no fragile victim. Her survival instincts kicked in, fueled by years of training and a mother's primal desperation. She thrashed beneath him, biting, clawing, and kicking with all her might. Her nails glowed faintly with numen as she raked them across his face, catching one of his eyes.

Hathor screamed in agony, reeling back as blood streamed from the deep gash. "You bitch!" he bellowed, clutching his ruined eye.

Caela scrambled to her feet, chest heaving as she steadied herself. But Hathor was far from done. He pulled a knife from his belt, its blade glinting ominously in the dim light.

"You think this changes anything?" he snarled, his voice a mix of pain and fury. "I'll make sure you'll never touch another man again. You'll be nothing but a crippled, traumatized single mother with no friends, no allies, and no future. You'll rot here, Caela. Mark my words. And no one will ever believe a word you utter."

He lunged again, this time driving the knife into her chest. The blade didn't pierce deep enough to kill, but the pain was immediate and excruciating. Black veins began to spiderweb from the wound, the poison taking hold almost instantly.

Caela let out a choked gasp, her vision swimming as she staggered back. Her knees buckled, but she refused to fall. Gritting her teeth, she surged forward, numen surging to her claws as she struck out again. Her aim was true, her claws slicing deep into his chest. Hathor screamed again, this time a guttural, primal howl of pain as he stumbled back, completely blinded.

"Stay the fuck away from me and my daughter," Caela growled, her voice trembling with fury and resolve.

Hathor didn't reply. He clutched his bleeding face, muttering curses as he stumbled out of the room, leaving a trail of blood in his wake.

As the door slammed shut, Caela's legs gave out, and she collapsed to the floor. Her chest heaved with ragged breaths, her vision blurring as the poison continued its cruel work. She crawled, inch by agonizing inch, toward Luna's crib. Her hands, slick with her own blood, gripped the edge as she pulled herself up just enough to see her daughter's peaceful, sleeping face.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she whispered, "I'm here, Luna. I'm here." Her strength failed her, and she slumped to the floor, her body trembling as the world faded to black.

____________

Five years later, a little girl with silver hair and a moon necklace wandered into the rural outskirts of her small village. The necklace, a gift from a man she would never know, glinted faintly under the muted sunlight, its soft glow a stark contrast to the dreary surroundings. Her silver hair, unusual and almost ethereal, caught the light as she moved, a child of innocence in a world that felt far too heavy for her small frame.

Her mother, often bedridden by illness, had remained inside their modest home. Caela rarely had the strength to accompany Luna outdoors anymore, and though Luna was too young to fully understand, she knew her mother's pain ran deep—deeper than the sickness that kept her confined to their home. It was why Luna wandered alone today, her small footsteps kicking up clouds of dust as she ventured further than she ever had before.

The shacks in this part of the village were old and decayed, their wooden frames warped by time and neglect. Luna's childlike curiosity led her to explore the cracks and shadows between them, her small fingers brushing against weathered walls as her soft humming filled the empty air. She turned a corner, skipping lightly, when she froze mid-step.

A man stood there, shrouded in a dark, tattered cloak that barely concealed his looming presence. His face was partly obscured by the hood, but one detail stood out with chilling clarity: a single milky white eye gleamed from the shadow of his face, its blankness a stark and horrifying void. The other eye, sharp and burning with malice, locked onto her.

"I couldn't take her back then," the man said, his voice rough and gravelly, the words dripping with venom. His lips curled into a twisted grin, revealing teeth that were yellowed and uneven. "So instead I crippled her and I'll take hers and your daughter. You hear me, Juraf? I'm going to take it all. You can't stop me. No one can."

He laughed then, a sound that reverberated through the empty shacks and seemed to make the very air around him colder. It wasn't just a laugh; it was a promise, a declaration of something wicked and inevitable. The noise burrowed into Luna's ears, making her small hands fly up to cover them as she stumbled back a step.

At that moment, she could think of nothing scarier in the entire world than the man's smile.

 

[Behemoth.]

The Devil of the moon-1
___________

Midea breathed in deeply, the motion deliberate and measured, a rhythm attuned not to his lungs but to the vast, unfathomable abyss of his soul. The act of cultivation required focus—a suspension of his awareness from the material world into the boundless expanse of his inner soul or at least how he conceptualized it. It was here, within the hidden depths of his being, that the intricate dance of numen and intent unfolded. A space most misunderstood by mortals, who often conflated the mind with the soul. Midea knew better. The mind, for all its intricacies, was but a fleeting shadow cast by the eternal light of the soul. Yet, the two were not wholly separate; the mind could etch its presence upon the soul, shaping and scarring it in equal measure.

His thought form materialized, a construct of will and clarity, manifesting as an ethereal observer within this inner domain. The vastness of his soul stretched endlessly around him, a twilight expanse where the ground was neither solid nor void but a paradoxical fabric that held the weight of his metaphysical existence itself. Rising from this abyss were seventy-six towering pillars, monumental structures that pierced through the low-hanging mists of the first veil, striving upward toward the storm-wreathed heavens of the next. Each pillar was colossal, their surfaces carved with an artistry that seemed to breathe, every detail imbued with purpose and meaning.

Rivulets of glowing purple numen coursed along the pillars, defying gravity as they cascaded both downward and upward simultaneously. The rivers shimmered with an iridescent brilliance, their light pulsing in harmony with the rhythmic cadence of his cultivation. These rivers were not mere streams of energy but living veins, conduits connecting his soul's depths to the celestial firmament above. Their flows carried the essence of his being—raw potential tempered by discipline—upward toward transcendence. They also acted as the representation of his lineage.

Each pillar bore images etched with supernatural clarity, a pantheon of archdemons rendered in intricate bas-relief. These were not mere depictions; they were embodiments, avatars of the primal forces that defined the highest echelons of demonkind. At the core of this formation, central to all, was the image of a woman whose presence radiated dominion. Her wings stretched wide and dark as night, her hair cascading in an amethyst torrent, her eyes gleaming with an unearthly purple light that seemed to see through the veil of all worlds. Lilith. His lord. His Archdemon and sovereign. She was the axis upon which this inner world revolved, the fulcrum of his cultivation.

Surrounding Lilith in a balanced trifecta were three additional archdemons, their forms radiating equal majesty and terror. The first was a classical demon of infernal flame, its red skin glistening like molten magma, its horns curling upward like the spires of a cursed cathedral, its skeletal visage a reminder of the fire's relentless consumption. The second was a serpentine figure, its naga-like body coiled with sinuous elegance. Emerald scales reflected the numen streams in a kaleidoscope of shadowy hues, its humanoid upper body exuding a commanding physicality. This was the Archdemon of Shadow, a master of concealment and subterfuge. The third was the most grotesque—a being covered entirely in mouths, each gaping maw whispering secrets, chanting mantras, or screaming truths too terrible to comprehend. This was the Archdemon of the Abyss, an embodiment of chaotic hunger and infinite depth.

These four figures repeated their symphony of power across each of the seventy-six pillars, forming a lattice of interconnected might. Eight times they appeared on every column, their arrangement deliberate, their synergy absolute. It was a formation born of balance and domination, an acknowledgment of the vast hierarchy of demonkind that reached from the infernal depths to the starlit heavens.

Midea's thought form exhaled, and with that breath, the ambient numen of the external world responded. Motes of seven-colored light—scarlet, azure, emerald, gold, violet, silver, and obsidian—filtered through the barrier between the physical and the spiritual. They descended into the abyss, a cascading aurora drawn into the gravitational pull of his soul's maelstrom. The light flowed like rain caught by the rivers of his meridians, pooling in the bases of the pillars before being drawn upward in defiance of all logic.

The archdemon images drank deeply of the numen, each filtering the energy through their respective daos. The infernal flame incinerated impurities, leaving only pure, potent energy in its wake. The shadow coiled and compressed it, refining its density. The abyss devoured the remnants, drawing forth hidden potential from the chaos. And at the center, Lilith oversaw it all, her image channeling the refined streams into an unending flow that ascended toward the heavens.

Each cycle brought the energy higher, closer to the culmination of his efforts. The ambient light dimmed momentarily with every breath, evidence of the world yielding its power to his will. Yet, as the pillars absorbed more numen, their glow did not remain constant. Instead, it began to shift subtly, the rivulets of purple numen now tinged with a faint golden hue. It was a sign that his soul's vessel was reaching its limit, the pressure building with each passing moment.

Amid the steady rhythm of cultivation, a new image began to take form on the pillars. A ninth image, indistinct and shrouded, its features still incomplete, yet its presence undeniable. The carving etched itself onto the surface with agonizing slowness, as though reality itself hesitated to manifest what would come next. Each stroke of the image brought him closer to evolution, closer to the third layer where his soul and being would ascend beyond their current state.

Midea's thought form continued its steady breathing, the world around him trembling faintly with each exhalation. The air of his inner realm grew heavier, charged with an almost tangible anticipation. The ninth image beckoned him, a promise and a challenge rolled into one. He would break through, or he would falter and fall. There was no in-between.

The pillars pulsed, the rivers surged, and the image drew nearer to completion. When that occurred, he would break through into the third layer and thus evolve.

Midea's breath continued slow and measured, the rhythm of his cultivation a dance between focus and necessity. Each inhale drew the essence of the surrounding world into his body, and each exhale expelled impurities, refining not only his energy but his thoughts.

The rivulets of purple numen coursing along the towering pillars were not just energy—they were his bloodline, the essence of his heritage flowing freely through the structures. The pillars themselves were how his mind chose to conceptualize his meridians, each one a bridge between the foundation of his being and the heavens above. Seventy-six in total, they stood as testaments to his innate power and unparalleled talent. Few in the Scelus bloodline could claim such a number. Fewer still could have wielded it with the grace and precision Midea had cultivated. He was the most gifted demon his family had produced in over a million years—one of a rare few to rise so far, so fast.

Yet, for all his pride in his accomplishments, there was another. Her. Always her. The thought stirred something deeper in him, but he buried it swiftly. The path forward demanded clarity, and sentiment was a distraction he could not afford.

The first sky the pillars had pierced represented his first breakthrough—the Darkling Realm, more commonly referred to as the Accumulation Realm. It was here that he had laid the foundation of his power, gathering numen to fill his soul, his body, and his mind. His Scelus bloodline had given him an innate affinity with four daos, an advantage that had accelerated his progress through the first layer of cultivation. It had also shaped him, leading to his Dark Satyr evolution—a transformation that deepened his connection to his heritage but came with its own challenges.

Midea sighed, the sound barely audible in the vast silence of his soulscape, and refocused on his breathing. He followed the Devil Carving Sutra, an ancient and exacting technique that had been passed down through his family. Each breath was deliberate, drawing in ambient numen and refining it through the intricate lattice of his meridians. The images of archdemons carved into the pillars pulsed faintly, their power growing stronger with each cycle. he had carved them from the daos inherent to his bloodline to begin with. The ninth image was nearly complete, its lines faint but discernible growing clearer every day. When it was finished, he would ascend to the third layer—the Spirit Projection Realm.

Tribulation he pondered.

The thought lingered like a shadow at the edge of his mind, its presence both inevitable and daunting. Passing it was not in question. He was Scelus, after all, and failure was not an option. But the cost of success would be steep. He would be weakened for a time, vulnerable in a way that unsettled him deeply. And in this village, with its instability and myriad threats, weakness was a luxury he could ill afford.

There were Vampyrs on the horizon, their predatory presence a constant, looming danger. Then there was the goblin horde—a threat as unpredictable as it was imminent. And as if that weren't enough, there was the boy. Peter, son of Remulus. The child had asked him about the teleportation arrays hidden within the village, his curiosity tinged with something more—something Midea couldn't quite place. He had lied to the boy, of course. It was safer that way. But the entire situation left him uneasy.

And then there were that feeling he got looking at Remulus. The man's presence and arts had stirred an unsettling sense of familiarity within him. He had tried to dismiss it, but the feeling lingered, gnawing at the edges of his mind. There was simply too much happening all at once.

Midea's thought form exhaled one final time, the act carrying a weight of resignation and resolve. The soulscape around him dimmed, the towering pillars receding into the abyss as his awareness returned to the physical world. He opened his eyes, and the transition from the vastness of his inner soul to the confines of his small, dimly lit room was jarring.

The bed beneath him was crude, its rough fabric little more than an insult to the word "bedsheet." Beast pelts hung haphazardly on the walls, their musky scent barely masked by the cold night air that seeped through the cracks in the wooden structure. He exhaled, a puff of black smoke escaping his lips as he expelled the impurities left over from his cultivation session. The smoke coiled lazily in the air before dissipating, leaving behind a faint acrid smell that mingled with the earthy scent of the room.

He turned his gaze to the window, where three moons hung in the night sky, their pale light casting long, uneven shadows across the room. The sight should have been calming, but instead, it only deepened his unease. Everything seemed to be building toward a crescendo—the threats to the village, his impending tribulation, and the growing tensions that no amount of planning could fully prepare him for.

A pulse of numen rippled outward from him, invisible to all but the most attuned. He felt the familiar signatures of the house—steady and warm like embers banked for the night. Surya and Tarak were gone, their presences absent from the home. Likely off gallivanting with Hati or Garran, as they were wont to do. The new moon was still far off, and with it, the Vampyr threat. For now. But the goblins… They could be just as dire, if not worse.

Midea sighed, rubbing his temples with a tired hand. His thoughts turned briefly to prayer, a whispered invocation to Lord Satan for good fortune. It was a gesture born of habit more than faith, but he felt the faint flicker of something in response. Lord Satan had heard him.

And Lord Satan had answered.

Just not in the way Midea would have wanted.

Yells echoed through the village, sharp and panicked, slicing through the stillness of the night. Midea's eyes shot toward the window, catching the eerie orange glow creeping across the horizon, painting the thatched rooftops with the ominous hue of approaching disaster. The faint acrid scent of burning wood and resin reached his nose before his sluggish mind fully processed the scene. A dull roar filled the air, broken by the sound of shattering timber and the desperate cries of men rushing to combat the spreading chaos.

He stepped to the window, his body still weary from his cultivation session. The world outside was a frenzy of movement and destruction. From the heavens, rocks wreathed in fire descended like a vengeful rain, each impact shaking the ground with a muffled thud. The meteor storm they had prayed to their wolf god to avoid had struck regardless, the heavens heedless of their supplications. As the glowing rocks landed, their surfaces cracked and hissed, revealing their true nature.

The fiery globules shifted, reshaping themselves into vaguely humanoid forms—fire spirits born of flame and molten stone. They lumbered forward, their movements erratic but purposeful, striking at the wooden houses of the village with mindless persistence. Out of the village the flame spirits bagged at the walls trying to climb them sparks flying with every blow, the wood groaning under the assault. The numen infused into the structure shimmered faintly, struggling to hold back the onslaught. But wood, no matter how fortified, was vulnerable to fire. With only a single coat of resin applied, the walls were already beginning to blacken and curl under the relentless heat. Naturally, they wouldn't fall but the spirits would find it easier to enter and the walls would need to be repaired after this small calamity.

Midea stepped outside, the biting chill of the night mingling with the oppressive warmth of the fires. Men poured from their homes, some half-dressed, clutching crude weapons and buckets of water. A handful of warriors wielding numen-imbued blades shouted commands, trying to organize the chaos. The village's defenses, rudimentary at best, were barely holding. Flaming tendrils lashed out as the spirits clambered up the walls, their searing touch igniting anything they brushed against.

The fire spread quickly, licking hungrily at the wooden structures with a feral intensity. A thatched roof collapsed in the distance, its timbers crackling and groaning as flames consumed them. Midea's sharp eyes caught sight of a group of villagers struggling to douse the spreading inferno with buckets of water drawn from the communal well. It was a futile effort; the fire spirits were relentless, and the flames seemed almost alive, darting and curling as if resisting the villagers' attempts to quell them.

One man—a burly blacksmith with soot-streaked arms—charged at a fire spirit with a war hammer. The creature stumbled under the force of his strike, its molten core splintering and hissing. But as the man stepped back to survey his success, the fragments coalesced, reforming the spirit in seconds. The blacksmith roared in frustration, swinging again, even as the heat blistered his skin and the hammer's metal began to glow red-hot.

Nearby, a young boy scrambled to gather water from the well, his small hands trembling as he fought to carry a bucket nearly his own size. An older woman—his grandmother, perhaps—shouted at him to stay back, her voice desperate and cracking, but the boy ignored her, determined to help.

Midea's gaze swept over the scene, his sharp mind assessing the situation with cold precision. While the resin had slowed the spirits' progress, it couldn't withstand the relentless heat indefinitely. More troubling was the nature of fire itself—it spread, devoured, and destroyed indiscriminately. Even if the spirits were kept at bay, the flames would continue their rampage. It was the same troublesome spirits he had encountered bringing Surya and Tarak to the village. The fire had a dao imbued in it, he'd know fire was one of his daos.

The fire spirits continued to batter the walls, their molten limbs leaving charred indentations as they climbed higher. Some managed to crest the barricades, their bodies flaring brighter as they reached the dry, vulnerable interior of the village. Warriors intercepted them, slashing with numen-infused blades that hissed and smoked as they cut through the fiery constructs. For every spirit felled, another seemed to take its place, rising from the molten remains of the fallen.

He tilted his head back, his sharp features catching the glow of the fires as he muttered a prayer under his breath. "Lord Satan, why must you test me so? Have I not proven my worth time and time again?" His voice carried a note of wry exasperation, though the weight of sincerity was undeniable. "Tribulation after tribulation, trial after trial… Surely, even you must grow weary of this."

The hells offered no answer, save for another fiery projectile streaking across the sky before slamming into the earth just beyond the village walls. The impact shook the ground, and a fresh wave of heat washed over Midea's face. He closed his eyes briefly, gathering his composure.

Opening them again, he let out a long, resigned sigh. "Of course," he muttered to himself. "It wouldn't be tribulation if it were easy."

 

[Behemoth.]

Devil of The moon-2
________________

Tanya shook her head in irritation, her amethyst eyes narrowed in quiet disdain for her current predicament. She sat on the edge of a crude wooden bed, its scratchy linen sheets bunching beneath her as Hati worked with all the fervor of a woman possessed. A collection of clothing—none of which Tanya would have voluntarily touched, let alone worn—was strewn across the room in a chaotic explosion of fabric and color. Her hair, which had once been neatly brushed, now sprouted from her head in two voluminous pigtails that gave her the distinct appearance of a particularly irritated Anne of Green Gables. Tanya scowled.

The worst part? She was here entirely by choice—or rather, due to her one undeniable weakness. Rannhorn milk. The liquid ambrosia had been promised as payment for what Hati had enthusiastically called a "playdate," though Tanya was quickly discovering the woman's definition of play involved little more than forcing her into every abominable piece of clothing the village had ever produced. They say the first step to overcoming an addiction is acknowledging you have one. Tanya fully acknowledged hers but found it damnably hard to care in the face of freshly chilled milk.

"Ooohh! How about this one? Isn't it so pretty?" Hati exclaimed, brandishing a dress that could only be described as a war crime against fashion. Puffy and hideous, it boasted an eye-watering palette of colors that looked like they'd been finger-painted by an unhinged toddler.

"I made this last year," Hati added proudly, her short crimson hair bouncing with every giddy hop.

Tanya's eyes dragged across the horror in Hati's hands, her face blank but her thoughts screaming. Yeah, that tracked. She sighed, her gaze drifting longingly to the small, smudged window. Beyond its frame hung the three moons, their light painting the sky in soft silvers and blues. Somewhere out there, her brother was likely enjoying his freedom while she was held captive by this crimson-haired menace. Tarak had disappeared the moment Hati arrived, and while Tanya couldn't entirely blame him, it left her as the sole victim.

It was her responsibility, she supposed, as the elder sibling with decades more life experience to ingratiate herself with the villagers. That, and the milk. She coughed internally at the thought of her future self—a fifty-foot monstrosity stomping across the heavens. Considering her mother's height that was indeed plausible. Hopefully, she could get there faster with a childhood spent guzzling nutrients. Maybe then Hati wouldn't try to dress her up like some doll. Puberty could not come fast enough.

"Hup!" Hati exclaimed, slamming a cap onto Tanya's head. The thing was ridled with holes for wolf ears, though it seemed poorly designed for feathers. Tanya's silver-grey feathers poked out awkwardly from among her golden-blonde hair, and Hati began tugging at them with all the care of a butcher handling raw meat. Tanya raised a brow, biting back a sharp retort. If she were an ordinary child, she'd probably be bald by now.

"Are you done, Hati?" Tanya asked dryly, her voice laced with the resignation of someone who'd endured too much.

"Not until you put on this dress!" Hati declared, grinning in a way that sent a chill down Tanya's spine. The dress—a true violation of art—hung in her hands like a weapon of war as she advanced with unsettling determination.

Tanya stiffened, her sharp senses honing in on the woman's movements. It was in that moment she understood—truly understood—that combat was the only viable role for a woman like her in this village. If Hati thought she'd fold like a meek child, she had another thing coming. Tanya was a soldier for years and had survived man-eating Viernes trap obstacle courses. She wasn't about to be defeated by fabric.

Hati lunged, her hands grasping for Tanya like claws, but Tanya was faster. Years of military training surged through her muscles as she flipped backward, planting her feet squarely on Hati's back. The woman let out a startled yelp as Tanya used her as a springboard, launching herself to the opposite side of the room with acrobatic precision.

"Surya!" Hati gasped, spinning around, the dress flapping in her grip like a flag of impending doom. "Hold still, you little angel!"

Tanya smirked, her sharp teeth glinting as she crouched low, ready for the next attack. "You'll have to catch me first."

Hati lunged again, her arms outstretched, but Tanya ducked under her grasp, darting toward the window. The room was small, but Tanya's movements were sharp, precise. She twisted and dodged, her blonde pigtails whipping behind her as she vaulted over the bed and rolled beneath a swiping arm. Hati was quick, but Tanya was quicker, her small frame weaving through the room with a soldier's grace.

The dress flew past her head, Hati having thrown it in desperation, but Tanya caught the fabric mid-air, twirling it around herself mockingly before tossing it aside. "Nice try," she taunted, her amethyst eyes gleaming with amusement.

Hati huffed, her crimson hair sticking to her forehead as she pointed an accusing finger. "You're impossible!" She said picking up another dress.

"Just get naked and put on this dress, Surya!" Hati shouted, her voice cracking with mock exasperation as she lunged forward again, the offending garment held high like a banner of relentless determination.

Tanya's lips twitched in a suppressed laugh. "You should be put on a watchlist," she thought, weaving effortlessly around the lunge. Hati's momentum carried her forward, and with a loud thud, she collided face-first with the hard wooden floor. The force was enough to leave her with a bloody nose, the crimson staining her freckled face. Clearly, the woman hadn't bothered protecting herself with numen, for some reason or another.

They continued their little game for a while, Hati throwing even more of the insane fashion touting clothes with the precision of a drunk archer while Tanya ducked, dodged, and wove through the chaos like a seasoned combatant. The crude wooden room echoed with laughter, curses, and the occasional sound of fabric smacking against walls. Eventually, Hati slumped onto the bed in defeat, groaning theatrically as she rolled onto her back.

"Fine, then," she muttered, arms spread wide in surrender. "But no milk for you."

Tanya smirked, flicking a stray blonde hair from her face. "I'm fine with that—for today."

The room, lit by the gentle flicker of candlelight, settled into a rare moment of calm. Tanya stretched her arms above her head, feeling a bit light from the time despite her complaints abou the woman. But the quiet didn't last. The warm, golden glow of the candlelight was suddenly overshadowed by a much harsher, more vibrant orange.

Hati's wolf ears twitched, her body going rigid as distant yells pierced the stillness. Tanya's own ears caught the sound even faster, twitching instinctively toward the noise. Her sharp amethyst eyes darted to the window, and she quickly rose from the bed, her boots silent against the floor. As she approached the pane, the faint acrid scent of smoke reached her nose, stinging and earthy.

Sliding the wooden panel aside, Tanya peered out into the chaos. Flames danced across the village rooftops, their blue-green thatched coverings crackling under the relentless assault. Sparks swirled in the air like fireflies, carried by the erratic wind. Figures darted through the streets below—men shouting orders, women rushing to gather children, and soldiers scrambling to the walls. The molten glow of flame spirits began to take shape, their cores pulsing like miniature suns as they emerged from the falling embers. Vaguely humanoid in form, the spirits lumbered forward, their molten hands reaching for anything combustible.

The wooden walls of the village, despite their thin coat of resin, struggled to hold back the invaders. The spirits clawed and pounded at the barriers with mindless determination, breaking through the first layer and spreading fire as they climbed. The village's defenders—armed with spears, axes, and shields—fought valiantly, striking at the spirits before they could gain too much ground. Numen-infused weapons flared with faint light as they sliced through the spirits, but the damage was temporary. Fire spread regardless, devouring homes and threatening to overrun the village.

"Fucking Fenrir!" Hati cursed, spinning on her heel and darting to the closet. She threw it open, revealing a set of armor crafted from carapace and simple leather. It wasn't the finest gear, but it would do. Pulling on the armor with practiced speed, she grabbed her spear and turned toward Tanya, her amber eyes blazing with a mix of determination and fear.

"You don't do anything, Surya! This time, let the adults handle it," Hati said firmly, her tone carrying the weight of responsibility. She stepped closer, pointing her spear at Tanya for emphasis, then jabbed a finger to her nose. "My mom will be up soon. You go with her and evacuate to the square, all right?"

Tanya raised an eyebrow but said nothing, letting Hati vent her protective instincts.

"Stay safe," Hati added, softening just slightly. "I'll look for Tarak or tell Garran to send men to do so."

Tanya nodded obediently, watching as Hati rushed out of the room, her armored boots clanking against the floorboards. The door slammed behind her, leaving Tanya in silence. She exhaled slowly, shaking her head.

Naturally, she wouldn't listen. While she couldn't gauge the exact strength of the flame spirits with no numen or real sense of the energy, she was confident she was stronger than Hati. If the girl thought she could handle the situation, then the spirits couldn't be too formidable on their own. And besides, she had her own priorities. She needed to find Tarak—not because she feared for his safety, but because she feared for everyone else's.

Her brother had mellowed slightly in recent days, but his violent tendencies were far from gone. If the chaos of the battle whipped his instincts into a frenzy, who knew what kind of destruction he might unleash? Clicking her tongue at the thought, Tanya moved to the window.

With one smooth motion, she opened the panel wide and hopped out, her wings giving a faint flap to soften her landing. She hit the ground without a sound, her feet pressing lightly into the dirt. Straightening, she reached up and tugged at the twin pigtails atop her head, letting her blonde hair fall freely around her shoulders.

The air outside was heavy with heat and smoke, and the chaotic cacophony of battle filled her ears. Sparks danced on the wind like glowing insects, and the sky above was a kaleidoscope of oranges and blues, painted by the glow of the fires and the light of the three moons. Tanya clenched her fists, her sharp gaze sweeping across the burning village.

She undid the last of her hair ties, letting the strands cascade as she took a steadying breath. It was time to move.

Not far away, a small boy scrambled desperately across the ground, tears streaking his dirt-smudged face as he fled from one of the fire spirits. He clutched a stone in his hand, throwing it over his shoulder with all the strength his tiny body could muster. The rock sailed through the air but passed harmlessly through the creature's flickering form, landing with a dull thud far behind it. The boy stumbled and fell, crying out in fear as the spirit advanced, its glowing form casting dancing shadows over the scorched earth.

Tanya stepped forward onto the paved path, her gaze narrowing as she took in the scene. Hati must have missed the boy in her rush, she mused, though that was hardly surprising given the chaos. But now, with the boy's cries echoing in her ears, she could focus on the creature itself.

Under the cold light of the three moons and the calming glow of the nearby aspar, the fire spirit burned with an angry orange-red radiance in contrast. Its form flickered erratically, shifting between a humanoid shape and a towering pillar of flame. Wherever it stepped, the ground blackened and cracked, thin trails of smoke rising from the scorched earth. The air around it shimmered with heat, and its sulfurous heart pulsed faintly at its core, like a malevolent ember feeding the creature's fiery life.

Tanya's hearts thudded in her chest, her blood rushing with a familiar thrill. This was the same feeling she'd experienced when battling the vampyrs outside the village, the same primal drive she'd felt consuming the pipla in the flux. It was instinct—a deep, inescapable compulsion to kill, to devour, to conquer the strong.

But could she? The thought gave her pause. These creatures were made of fire, an element that could not easily be subdued with fists or feet, no matter how strong she was. She had no weapon, no tools—only her body and her wings. The boy's terrified screams cut through her hesitation, the sound sharp and raw, pulling her back into the moment. The spirit loomed closer to him, its fiery limbs reaching out.

Well, in the end… she could regenerate anyway, right?

Tanya leaned forward, her decision made. With a sharp breath, she spread her wings wide and propelled herself forward, the force of her leap cracking the earth beneath her feet. She was a blur of motion, her body cutting through the air like an arrow loosed from a bow. The principle was simple: you could wave your hand through fire without being burned, so long as you moved fast enough. She would do the same—with her whole body.

The world seemed to slow as she closed the distance. The fire spirit turned, its flickering form responding to her sudden movement, but it was far too slow. Her grin widened unconsciously, her sharp teeth gleaming as they elongated into fangs. The heat of the creature washed over her as she collided with its form. To her surprise, it had mass—its fiery body resisted her like molten rock, solid and unyielding. But she didn't stop.

Her fist plunged into its core, striking the sulfurous heart with a force that shattered it into glowing fragments. The fire spirit let out a high-pitched wail, its form collapsing in on itself like a dying star. Heat and light exploded outward, momentarily blinding her as the creature dissolved into a cloud of embers.

Tanya landed gracefully, shaking her head to clear her vision as the boy's cries fell silent behind her. She patted herself down, half-expecting burns or injuries, but felt nothing. Her skin was untouched, her body completely unscathed. Only her cap showed signs of damage, its edges singed and curling from the intense heat. She shrugged it off, letting it fall to the ground as she bent to examine the shattered remains of the sulfurous heart.

The fragments pulsed faintly, their heat radiating into the air like dying coals. Her mouth watered, and she found herself physically salivating. Her instincts roared, urging her forward, and she gave in without hesitation. Picking up the fragments, she shoved them into her mouth one by one, her sharp teeth crunching through the burning material as if it were nothing more than hardened bread. The molten heat didn't burn her. On the contrary, it seemed to spread warmth through her entire body, a comforting sensation that left her feeling stronger, sharper, more alive.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she knew she should hold back. She could feel her instincts influencing her thoughts, pushing her into this primal frenzy. But in that moment, she simply didn't care. The taste, the sensation—it was too intoxicating to resist.

Swallowing the last fragment, Tanya wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and stood, turning toward the boy. He was still on the ground, his face smudged with dirt and streaked with tears. His wide eyes stared up at her, filled with something between awe and disbelief.

Unbeknownst to her, the boy wasn't just seeing a girl. He was seeing a warrior—a beautiful figure with glowing amethyst eyes and shimmering silver wings, her golden hair catching the firelight in a radiant halo. She was a goddess in his eyes, a vision of strength and salvation.

The boy scrambled to his feet, his small body trembling as he moved toward her, arms outstretched for a hug. Tanya watched him, her sharp gaze softening slightly as she registered his intent. But as he got closer, her instincts flared. In one fluid motion, she sidestepped, spinning out of his reach with effortless grace.

"What is wrong with these people and trying to touch me," Tanya muttered under her breath, her voice laced with exasperation.

"You really are a sun angel!" the boy shouted, his eyes glowing with wonder as he opened his arms wide for another hug.

Before he could close the distance, Tanya swiftly palmed his head, her fingers pressing firmly against his skull to hold him at arm's length. The boy's legs scrambled fruitlessly as he tried to close the gap.

"Right," Tanya said dryly, looking at him with a raised brow. "I do indeed feel the influence of the sun. Spread that message and go evacuate, and I'll… uh, I'll bless you." She released him with a small shove, her tone adopting an air of importance as she improvised.

The boy's eyes lit up further, his awe multiplying. Not only had she saved him, but she had also apparently performed some divine act. If he already thought she was an angel, better to lean into it. At least it wasn't a wasted effort on her part, and it might make things smoother when Midea eventually presented her Shade-slaying plan to Remus. The villagers' cooperation would be crucial. Considering it was beneficial for the village in the first place.

She rubbed her nose thoughtfully as the boy nodded enthusiastically and took off running, shouting praises of the "sun angel" as he disappeared into the distance.

With a sigh, she turned her attention back to the chaos. The crackling of flames and the distant clang of weapons filled the air, underlined by the acrid scent of smoke and ash. Tanya exhaled sharply, her sharp ears twitching as they caught faint cries from nearby.

She wanted to not only raise her position with the plan and see her capabilities but she also wanted to eat. Her mind briefly lingered on her instincts—the ever-present urge to hunt, kill, and consume. It wasn't just hunger but something deeper, more insistent. The more she killed and consumed the more energy she got and a lot of that given energy just disappeared inside of her. She actually had some theories about what was happening. She had spoken about puberty earlier and she thought it may have been something similar. A transformative process of some kind perhaps. Something as simple as a growth spurt or something deeper. She didn't know but she wanted to do something about it. She knew her brother struggled with them more than she did. She wondered, was it a precursor to something greater? She didn't know, but it gnawed at her curiosity. Whatever the answer, it would come eventually.

Tanya shook the thought from her mind and turned to continue her search for Tarak. He wouldn't be harmed—she was sure of that. He was as strong as she was, if not stronger, and far too stubborn to let himself be overrun by these creatures. Still, she worried such were the consequences of being part of a race with an insane amount of pack protectiveness for their biological family. She shook her head at the thought and refocused.

Just as she was about to take off, a piercing yell cut through the chaos, coming from a burning home not far from her. She hesitated, debating for a moment whether to ignore it. Tarak could wait—he wasn't some mindless beast. He wouldn't go on a rampage out of nowhere.

The cries grew louder, more desperate. Tanya clicked her tongue, veering sharply to the left. Flames licked at the wooden frame of the small house, the blue-green thatches of its roof collapsing into ash and embers. A child stood outside, a little girl no older than eight, her tear-streaked face contorted with fear.

"My grandma is in there," the girl sobbed, her small hands clutching desperately at Tanya's dress. "Hic-ca-can you please help her!"

Tanya looked down at her, unsure how to respond to such naked desperation. Awkwardly, she reached out to ruffle the child's hair, forcing a smile she hoped looked heroic.

"Of course I can. I am an angel, after all."

The words tasted sour in her mouth, and she swore a piece of her soul withered at the lie. But duty called, and she couldn't back down now. After all when she saved the girls family it would all roll back on her positively.

She turned and punched the burning door, the wood splintering under the force of her blow. Flames roared as the door fell inward, and she stepped into the inferno, her wings unfurling slightly to shield herself from the falling embers.

The heat was intense, oppressive. The air shimmered with waves of heat, and the smoke mildly irritated her throat with every breath though the feeling soon after disappeared. The walls, once sturdy and proud, were charred and cracked, threatening to collapse at any moment. She moved quickly, her sharp eyes scanning through the haze for any sign of life.

Her ears twitched at a faint sound—a low groan coming from deeper within the house. She pushed through the flames, her bare feet leaving scorch marks in the ash-coated floor as she followed the noise.

In a smaller room near the back of the house, she found an older woman pinned beneath a fallen wooden beam. Her body glowed faintly with the protective shimmer of numen, but it was clear she wouldn't last much longer. The woman's eyes widened as she saw Tanya, her gaze a mixture of shock and relief and anger

The older woman's voice was a mix of anger and concern as she yelled, "Girl, what are you doing! Go! Get! You don't even have any cultivation to protect yourself!" Despite the sharp tone, Tanya could tell it came from a place of kindness and worry.

"I'll be fine," Tanya replied calmly, brushing off the woman's panic. She stepped over to the fallen beam pinning the woman down and, with a singular hand, lifted the charred and splintering wood as if it weighed no more than a sack of grain. Her other hand grasped the older woman firmly but gently, pulling her up and onto her feet.

The old woman let out a string of protests and yells as Tanya hoisted her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Ignoring the woman's indignation, Tanya sprinted out of the collapsing house, her feet moving with unerring precision across the uneven and ash-strewn floor. Embers rained down from the ceiling as the fire roared around them, the heat intensifying with every second.

The house groaned and shuddered behind her as Tanya emerged into the open air, just in time to hear the structure collapse with a deafening crash. She set the older woman down carefully, her amethyst eyes scanning the woman's soot-covered face.

The little girl ran forward with a wail, her small arms wrapping tightly around her grandmother. The two embraced, tears streaming down their faces as they clung to each other in relief and joy. Tanya allowed herself a small, almost imperceptible smile at the sight. See she could also do good deeds as long as it garnered mutual benefit.

"Thank you so much for saving me, girly!" the older woman said, looking up at Tanya with tearful gratitude.

"No problem. You should probably go, though," Tanya replied with a slight wave, already turning away.

A thought had struck her, sharp and urgent. Luna. Could she even leave her house? Her agoraphobia was a prison of its own, and Tanya knew that her mother was also sickly and couldn't search for help. Luna might very well sit frozen in fear, unable to save herself.

Tanya's feet carried her swiftly across the village, weaving through the chaos. Her sharp ears picked up the distant cries of villagers, the clash of weapons against the fiery forms of the spirits, and the roar of the spreading inferno. Her golden hair trailed behind her like a comet as she ran, her wings flicking instinctively to avoid embers in the air.

Her path brought her through the thick of the battle, and she made no effort to avoid the flame spirits. Each one burned with an angry, pulsing light, their forms flickering between man-like shapes and jagged pillars of molten rock. The air around them shimmered with heat, distorting the surroundings like a mirage. Their sulfuric hearts glowed menacingly at their centers, exuding an overwhelming aura of fire and destruction.

Tanya didn't hesitate. Her first strike came like a thunderbolt, her legs coiling like springs before she launched herself at a spirit. The impact of her fist against its molten chest sent shockwaves through its fiery form, shattering the sulfuric heart within. The creature dissolved into harmless flames as her body absorbed its essence, a strange warmth spreading through her veins.

She didn't stop. She moved from one spirit to the next, her speed turning her into a blur of motion. Soldiers and civilians alike stopped in their tracks, their mouths agape as they witnessed her divine movements. Her limbs were like golden whips, striking with precision and fury as each blow crushed the hearts of the flame spirits.

The creatures tried to retaliate, swiping at her with molten claws, but her reflexes were too fast. She danced between their strikes, her feet skimming the ground as she wove through their attacks with ease. Her wings unfurled briefly to propel her forward, adding to her already blinding speed.

Each time she struck down a spirit, she scooped up the shattered fragments of its sulfuric heart and popped them into her mouth without hesitation. The fiery essence burned with an intensity that should have been unbearable, but Tanya felt nothing but exhilaration. Her body seemed to hum with newfound energy, her instincts urging her to consume more.

The warmth spreading through her body intensified with each fragment she devoured. Her muscles felt lighter, stronger. Her senses sharpened, and her movements became even more fluid. She barely registered the startled gasps and murmurs of the villagers as she passed—she was too focused on her goal.

Her path led her out of the main village and into the rural fields beyond, where the air was thick with smoke and ash. The fields, once vibrant and green, were now scorched and blackened, the aspar trees casting eerie shadows against the orange glow of the fires. Tanya pushed herself harder, her wings twitching as she accelerated.

At last, she reached Luna's house. Her eyebrows rose at the sight. As expected. The home was already engulfed in flames, the blue-green thatches of its roof collapsing into embers. The fire roared hungrily, devouring everything in its path. Tanya slowed to a stop, her amethyst eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation.

"AAAGGGGHH!! UHHHH!!" Luna cried.

The little girl's screams echoed across the charred and burning field, piercing the oppressive roar of the flames that consumed the remnants of Luna's home. Her voice was raw, choked with pain and terror, as she struggled against the iron grip of the man dragging her by the arm.

"Stop crying. This was your fate. No one will find you," the man said coldly, his tone devoid of empathy. His milky eye stared unseeingly ahead, a twisted reflection of the apathy in his soul. The spear he held glinted ominously in the firelight, a weapon meant for destruction. He didn't falter, dragging the girl as if she were nothing more than a rag doll.

The girl's burned flesh glistened in the flickering light, her tears carving paths through the soot and ash on her unmarred cheek. She whimpered and screamed, the sound growing weaker with each step. Her tiny legs scrambled against the ground, kicking up dirt and embers as she tried to resist.

And then, like a predator sighting its prey, Tanya appeared.

Her eyes glowed with an unearthly light, twin beacons of amethyst fury that pierced the darkness. Her two rows of teeth were bared, jagged like the fangs of a beast, glinting as though they were forged of steel. But it was her expression that struck terror into those who might have seen her—a savage smile stretched wide across her face, a feral snarl that spoke of violence and bloodlust. It was a look untamed, primal, and devoid of reason, born not of calculation but of raw instinct.

Her wings flared behind her, their silver sheen hardening like blades of celestial iron. The light of the fires reflected off their edges, making them gleam with a deadly sharpness, as though they could carve through the very heavens. Her movements were a blur, her body a tempest of motion as she launched herself forward with unrelenting ferocity. It was sudden and unlike her but the night had whipped her instincts into a storm somewhat like what she had been afraid of for Tarak. So she blazed toward the man. Toward Hathor

And even if she did not know it had Midea seen her right then and there the only words to come from his mouth would be.

"The apple never does fall quite far from the tree."

___________