The Seventh Surya

[Behemoth.]

The Devil of the Moon-3
___________

Sol sat cross-legged in her small room, her silhouette illuminated by the gentle glow of the aspar lamp hanging overhead. Its soft, blue-green light danced across the roughly hewn wooden walls, creating shifting shadows that seemed alive with quiet movement. The faint hum of the lamp added to the stillness of the night, blending with the occasional creak of the house settling. Sol closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, her breath soft but steady, matching the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest as she sank into the disciplined focus of cultivation.

Her palms rested lightly on her knees, fingers relaxed but poised, as if she were holding onto something unseen. With each breath, she inhaled the faint strands of numen that filled the air, guiding them through her body according to the complex pathways of the Solgaleo Sutra. This new technique was different—its flow heavier and far more intricate than the Great Wolf Sutra she'd grown up with. At first, it had felt almost unnatural, the unfamiliar patterns like a new language she was forced to learn. But now, there was something magnetic about it.

The numen carried a subtle warmth, each thread pulsing faintly with a light she couldn't see but could feel deep within. It resonated with her, like the glow of the sun on her skin during the day—a distant, ancient melody that seemed to sing to her alone. There was something more, something almost alive about it. This wasn't just a superior technique; it felt personal, as if the sun itself whispered secrets into the depths of her soul.

Her brows furrowed as the energy stuttered, slipping away from her control. Sol's breathing hitched, the flow faltering as her thoughts intruded, scattering her concentration like leaves caught in the wind. She wiped the sweat from her brow with the back of her hand, her skin damp and clammy. The room felt suddenly stifling, the still air heavy against her skin. She opened her eyes with a frustrated sigh, the familiar weight of her surroundings pressing in on her.

Cultivating at night, she mused, was proving harder than expected. The Solgaleo Sutra thrived under the light of the sun, drawing strength from its radiance. The moons' glow lacked the power she needed, their light muted and cool. She sighed, unfolding her legs and letting them dangle off the side of her bed.

Her gaze drifted to the single window that overlooked the village. Beyond the rough wooden frame lay a world cloaked in darkness, the three moons hanging above like sentinels. The largest glowed faintly blue, its light mixing with the distant orange fires that still flickered in some parts of the village, remnants of the recent chaos.

Sol rested her chin on her hand, her thoughts wandering again, this time to her family. Her mother had grounded her for sneaking out to visit Luna, her punishment swift and uncompromising. Sol had wriggled free for a single day to enjoy Resin Day with her friends, but her brief reprieve had been short-lived. Now, her confinement resumed, and with it came a gnawing sense of restlessness.

Her friends had noticed too. Amoux and Reina had pestered her endlessly, whining about her sudden absence. She could still hear their playful complaints echoing in her mind. Tarak, her steadfast companion, had been more understanding. Despite not being required to attend classes, he showed up every day just to see her.

She smiled faintly, her fingers tracing idle patterns on the windowsill. Tarak's devotion warmed her heart. He'd always taken her advice seriously, treating her words as law. It was endearing in a way she didn't often admit, even to herself. His declaration about promises still lingered in her mind, a reminder of how deeply he valued her. Though part of that was because his sister told him promises should be valued. If he treated her words as law his sisters were the divine mandate of creation itself. She shook her head with a smile.

The thought of her little sister also brought a small smile to her lips. Their bond was another source of light in her life, a glimmer that cut through the weighty shadows of her home. Despite everything, despite the ever-present heaviness that seemed to cling to this house, she found solace in these small moments of connection.

Sol's gaze turned skyward, her amethyst eyes reflecting the brilliance of the stars scattered across the dark canvas of the heavens. She reached out, her slender fingers stretching toward the infinite expanse, as if she could pluck a star from the sky and hold its light in her hand.

"Like stars in the night sky," she whispered, her voice soft and dreamy. Her lips curled into a faint smile, her heart swelling with the simple, childlike wonder of the moment. She turned walking back to her head her eyes closing in slumber with warm memories playing through her mind. But peaceful sleep never lasts.

The stillness of the night shattered without warning.

Sol awoke with a jolt, her heart racing as the world around her trembled. A deafening crash echoed through the air, and her small room lit up with an unnatural orange glow. Her breath caught in her throat as she scrambled upright, disoriented and stunned. She ran to the window, yanking it open to see a scene of chaos unfolding outside. Fiery streaks tore through the sky, meteors crashing into the earth with resounding booms. Villagers screamed as flame spirits, their flickering forms made of molten cores and fire, spread destruction in their wake. The once-familiar world of her village was now a hellscape of orange and black.

A sudden flare of heat snapped her attention back to her immediate surroundings. A lick of flame surged toward her window, and she stumbled backward with a sharp scream. Her house was on fire! Smoke began to seep into the room, curling in tendrils that stung her eyes and throat.

Panic gripped her as she coughed violently, stumbling toward the door. She wrenched it open, the thick, acrid smoke rushing to meet her. Sol instinctively coated her body in numen, the energy forming a protective layer as she staggered down the stairs.

"Mom!" she yelled, her voice hoarse as she squinted through the haze.

From the corner of the room, her mother emerged, framed by the flickering orange glow of the encroaching flames. Terra stood firm, her father's old spear gripped tightly in one hand, and a numen-coated string in the other. Her expression was sharp and unyielding, a warrior's determination burning in her eyes as she faced down one of the flame spirits that had breached their home.

The creature lunged at her, its molten form crackling as it lashed out. Terra moved with precision, weaving around its fiery strikes. The string in her hand glowed faintly as she lashed it forward, wrapping it around the spirit's sulfuric heart. With a sharp pull, she dragged the core toward herself and drove the spear through it with a practiced, brutal efficiency. The heart shattered, the fragments falling to the floor and burning holes into the wooden planks.

"Air wave, girl!" Terra shouted without looking back, her voice cutting through the chaos.

Sol reacted immediately, inhaling deeply before exhaling a concentrated blast of numen-infused air. The flames licked and flickered but receded under the force, retreating as she and her mother worked in tandem. Together, they moved swiftly, quelling the fires room by room.

By the time the flames were subdued, their home was in ruins, but it stood. A portion of the wall had collapsed, leaving the house exposed to the outside, but much of their belongings remained intact. It was a victory, though a small and bitter one.

Terra turned to Sol, her expression unreadable, but before she could say anything, Sol darted toward the door.

"Sol!" Terra called after her, but Sol barely heard her. Her focus was on the village outside. She stepped into the night, and the sight that met her stole her breath.

The world was ablaze. The orange glow of firelight painted everything in hues of destruction, the blackened remains of trees and buildings casting stark silhouettes against the burning sky. Villagers ran frantically, some fighting the flame spirits with whatever weapons they could muster, others dragging injured loved ones to safety. The screams of the wounded mingled with the crackling roar of the fires, a cacophony of despair.

Sol sucked in a sharp breath through her teeth, fear gripping her. But not for herself. Her mind raced, thoughts immediately snapping to Luna. What was her little sister doing? Was she safe? Sol's chest tightened as she imagined Luna trapped, terrified, unable to flee.

Without hesitation, she bolted forward, weaving through the chaos. A fiery tree collapsed ahead of her, and she skidded to a halt, dodging to the side just as another gout of flame erupted from a spirit nearby. Her body moved on instinct, her numen-clad form weaving and darting through the village like a dancer through the flames.

As she rounded a corner, a hand shot out and grabbed her arm. She was yanked to a stop, and she whirled around to see her mother, her face set in a mask of anger and fear.

"What are you doing, Sol?" Terra demanded, her voice sharp.

"Let me go!" Sol yelled, struggling against her grip.

"No!" Terra's voice was firm, her fingers tightening around Sol's arm.

"Why?" Sol's voice cracked, her emotions boiling over. "You never cared before! You don't see me as anything but the remnants of Dad, right? You blame him being himself on me, don't you? Like I wasn't good enough, and that's why he left to go court some other woman. That's all I really am to you, isn't it? An echo of his mistakes. A grim reminder. Just like you were to your father!"

Her words came out in a torrent, each one laced with raw pain. "Yeah, I heard. You don't see me as family, so let me go save my family!" she screamed, pulling against Terra with all her strength.

Her mother recoiled as if struck, her face paling. For a moment, her mouth opened, but no words came out. Finally, she tried, her voice faltering. "Sol, I—"

But before she could finish, her head snapped to the side, her attention drawn to a burning fire not far away. Her grip loosened, and Sol didn't hesitate. She wrenched free and ran, her feet pounding against the dirt as she disappeared into the chaos.

Her heart pounded in her chest, not from fear but from determination. She had to find Luna. She had to find her family. Nothing else mattered.

____________

The village burned, chaos twisting through every corner as fire spirits danced with destructive glee. Terra's lungs burned as she inhaled smoke, her body aching from exhaustion. She had only just managed to deal with the flame spirit that had invaded their home, its sulfuric heart shattered beneath the weight of her husband's old spear. The fragments of its fiery core had singed through the wooden floor, leaving charred scars in its wake.

Her hands shook slightly, still gripping the weapon tightly as she stumbled forward. But then she saw Sol—a flash of golden-blonde hair against the orange haze. Her daughter was running headlong into the chaos, her small frame weaving through the flaming wreckage. Terra's heart clenched in fear, the primal terror of a mother overtaking all else. She surged forward, her boots crunching against the scorched earth, her voice sharp and cutting through the roar of the inferno.

"Sol!" Terra shouted, her voice hoarse from the smoke clogging her throat. She pushed through the smoldering debris, her hand darting out to grab Sol's arm just as the girl darted past. Her grip was firm, unyielding, fueled by desperation.

"What are you doing, Sol?" Terra demanded, her voice trembling with both anger and worry. The flickering firelight illuminated the strain in her face, her features hardened by the weight of fear.

Sol spun around, yanking at her mother's hold, her black eyes blazing with fury and pain. "Let me go!" she screamed, her voice raw and desperate. She tugged and clawed at Terra's fingers, but the woman held fast, her grip a lifeline she refused to release.

"No!" Terra snapped, her tone biting, though her chest ached with the conflict brewing inside her. "You're staying here where it's safe!"

"Why?" Sol's voice cracked, thick with tears and the weight of years of bottled emotion. "You never cared before!" she shouted, her small fists pounding weakly against Terra's arm. "You don't see me as anything but the remnants of Dad, right?"

Terra froze, her grip faltering for the briefest moment as the words hit her like a physical blow.

"You blame him being himself on me, don't you?" Sol continued, her voice rising with every word, each syllable like a dagger twisting deeper. "Like because I wasn't good enough, he left to go court some other woman! That's all I really am to you—an echo of his mistakes and yours!"

Terra's breath hitched, her fingers trembling as she fought to keep her composure.

"Just like you were to your father!" Sol's scream cut through the night, her voice raw and filled with pain. "Yeah, I heard! You don't see me as family, so let me go save my family!"

The firelight reflected off the tears streaming down Sol's soot-streaked cheeks, her small body trembling with a mixture of rage and sorrow. Terra's face twisted, shame and regret battling with pride and a mother's fierce protectiveness.

The words she wanted to say stuck in her throat, choking her as Sol's accusations echoed in her mind. How could she respond to that? How could she undo years of distance, of harsh words and cold silences? But even so her pride warred with her shame and so did her anger. But she was a mother. Her love for her daughter overcame all. She just didn't want the girl to live as she did. In a way maybe that is why she always pushed her to be better. Like Caela once was. To do something with herself. But that twisted with her misplaced anger. Terra was broken but she had always considered her daughter her family. And comparing her to how that man had treater her hurt. In the deepest way one could imagine.

"Sol, I—" Terra's voice cracked, her words faltering under the weight of her emotions. Her grip loosened slightly, the spear in her other hand dipping as her strength wavered.

Terra's head snapped toward the flames roaring not far from where she stood. A presence loomed heavy and oppressive, drawing her gaze to the heart of the inferno. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw him—a figure standing amidst the fire, his form framed by the flickering light of destruction.

The boy had brown skin, though the flames cast it in a haunting orange-red glow. His eyes, crimson with slit pupils, gleamed like molten rubies, reflecting the fire in a way that made them look more like windows into hell than the eyes of a child. His hair, dark at its roots but flaring to pale white at the edges, rose wildly in the updraft of the fire. It moved as though alive, a crown of untamed flame. His expression was eerily blank, but his wide eyes burned with an intensity that was almost primal—a promise of violence and certainty.

The flames licked hungrily at his flesh, wrapping around his limbs, but they could not burn him. They clung to him like an obedient servant, emphasizing his horns, which rose from his head like a demonic crown. His tail flicked lazily through the fire behind him, slicing the air with a faint, deliberate rhythm, as if mocking the chaos around him. The boy didn't need to move or speak; his very presence screamed danger. Every fiber of Terra's being told her this was not just a child but a predator—a beast who had inherited its name too well.

It was Tarak.

Her knees almost buckled as she locked eyes with him. His gaze was unwavering, unblinking. There was no rage or gloating, only a calm, terrible inevitability. Those crimson eyes promised death. If she continued to cling to Sol, she would die. There was no hesitation in his stare, no mercy in his posture. The message was clear.

A memory surfaced unbidden, her husband's voice echoing in her mind with a clarity that made the moment even more surreal.

"Sometimes you just know you're outmatched," Juraf had said, his tone lighter than the weight of his words. They had been sitting in her small home years ago, his spear leaning against the wall as he cleaned it with practiced ease. His smile was warm, but his eyes carried the wisdom of someone who had seen things most wouldn't understand. "Like a bunny staring at a wolf. It's not just strength—it's something deeper. A fundamental gap in life level. Your body will know when it's facing something it can't handle. You'll feel it, deep down in your blood. Hell, even in your soul."

She had laughed nervously back then, not fully grasping the gravity of his words. "And what do you do when that happens?"

Juraf had leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "That's when you run."

Now, staring into Tarak's unblinking, hellish eyes, she understood exactly what he'd meant. Her blood turned cold, her heart pounding as if trying to escape her chest. Her instincts screamed at her to flee, to abandon all reason and run as fast and as far as possible. The oppressive weight of Tarak's presence was suffocating, far heavier than the heat of the fire she'd been shielding herself from with numen.

And then, as if granting her reprieve, the boy began to fade. His form receded into the flames, his eyes still locked on hers until the very last moment, like a shadow dissolving into the fire. The crimson glow of his gaze lingered for an agonizing second longer before it, too, disappeared.

Terra's fingers loosened further, and she felt Sol peel away from her grasp. Her daughter ran, her golden-blonde hair catching the flicker of the flames as she disappeared into the distance. Terra wanted to call out to her, to stop her, but her voice caught in her throat, silenced by the oppressive terror still gripping her.

A breath she hadn't realized she was holding escaped her lips in a shaky exhale. Her back was drenched in cold sweat despite the numen she'd used to protect herself from the heat. Her legs felt weak, as though they might give out at any moment. Slowly, she straightened, her eyes darting back toward the flames where Tarak had stood.

She couldn't see him anymore, but the memory of his gaze burned into her mind like a brand. Her chest ached with a mix of fear and guilt as she turned her gaze toward Sol, her daughter's small figure growing smaller in the distance.

"Please," she whispered, her voice trembling, "please be safe."

Even if she hadn't been a good mother, even if her choices had been flawed and her love tangled with bitterness, she hoped Sol would be safe. She hoped, deep down, that this one small hope would redeem her failings.

Right?

________________________

Tarak faded back into the flame, his form dissolving into the flickering shadows. Once he was sure the woman couldn't see him, his nose wrinkled slightly in annoyance. She had been a thorn in his side for a while now, always keeping Sol away from him, always acting as a barrier. He'd snuck into her house a few times, quietly observing her while his mind wrestled with his instincts. Part of him—no, most of him—wanted to simply end the inconvenience. His body urged him to devour her, to strip away the problem entirely.

But Tarak held back.

His sister would be mad, and Sol… Sol might be sad. The thought of either of them being upset filled him with a strange sensation he didn't entirely understand. It was uncomfortable, like a rock lodged in his chest, heavy and immovable. He didn't like it. And there was another reason, one that gnawed at him in the quiet moments—an echo of that same strange feeling he'd experienced last time he'd eaten one of the wolf people. It had been fine at first. Bu then after that when people glared at him and made eyes at him or ran from him.

It had hurt.

Tarak struggled. He struggled a lot. His body told him to do one thing, and his sense and others told him to do another. But his sister had told him that struggle was what defined life. Struggle meant he was alive. And Tarak liked being alive. He figured that meant this inner conflict was normal, something everyone went through. His sister was really smart, so she was probably right.

But tonight was different. Tonight, he wouldn't need to struggle as much.

His crimson eyes snapped toward Sol's form as she sprinted through the chaos of the burning village. Her movements were frantic, weaving around falling embers and collapsing beams. Tarak didn't hesitate. His legs moved effortlessly, carrying him through the devastation with an eerie calmness. The fire seemed to part for him, the flames licking at his skin but leaving no marks, no burns. Within moments, he had caught up with her.

"Tarak!" Sol exclaimed, gasping as she saw him appear beside her. Her black eyes, wide with relief, locked onto his.

He nodded, his expression as impassive as ever. "You are going to find your family, right?"

Sol nodded quickly, a light igniting in her soot-streaked face. It was a light Tarak liked. He didn't know why, but seeing it made his chest feel strange again. Not heavy, but… lighter. Warmer.

"Can you help me, partner?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly but carrying a small, hopeful smile.

Tarak's eyes widened ever so slightly, a rare shift in his usually stoic demeanor. His hearts began to thrum faster, pounding against his ribs like a war drum. The unfamiliar sensation spread through him, an emotion he couldn't name and didn't know how to process. Was Sol doing this to him? Should he stop it? Should he kill her?

The thought flashed through his mind, sharp and instinctual, but he dismissed it just as quickly. He didn't want to.

"I will clear the way," he said simply, his tone flat and resolute.

Sol's smile grew wider, her trust in him clear as she nodded. Tarak turned his gaze forward, his crimson eyes scanning the chaos ahead. The village was a maelstrom of destruction, fire spirits prowling through the streets with malevolent intent. Their molten forms twisted and flickered, shifting between vague human shapes and towering pillars of flame. They burned everything they touched, their sulfuric cores radiating an oppressive heat that scorched the earth beneath them.

But Tarak didn't flinch. His emotions, chaotic and storm-like beneath the surface, channeled into his instincts. He didn't understand what he felt, but he knew how to act. These creatures, like the vampyrs before them, were enemies. They hurt the wolf people. Killing them would make him admired—proof that he was strong.

And it would satisfy him. He would not need to think. He would just do as his body commnanded with no strange feelings.

This was what he was good at. Killing.

Tarak launched himself forward with an almost predatory grace, his powerful legs cracking the scorched ground beneath him as he dove headlong into the flaming form of a spirit. The creature's mass was strangely dense, like molten stone given life, but it offered little resistance as his claws and teeth tore through it. He shattered its sulfuric core with a savage bite, the taste bitter and acrid, but his body thrummed with warmth as he swallowed it down.

The flames danced around him, the air alive with heat and the acrid scent of sulfur. Two more fire spirits noticed him, their flickering forms surging forward in unison. Tarak didn't pause. His fist lashed out with terrifying speed, the raw force of his punch sending a wave of air that extinguished the first spirit like a snuffed candle. The second stumbled as its form dimmed, and with two swift grabs, Tarak crushed its core in his hand and tossed both fragments into his mouth. He chewed with an almost mechanical precision, each bite sending another rush of power through his veins.

He was moving now, his body a blur of darkened flesh and flashing claws as he cut through the chaos of the village. Behind him, he could hear Sol's footsteps, her breaths coming in short, panicked gasps as she struggled to keep up. Tarak barely noticed. His focus was absolute, his instincts driving him forward like a relentless force of nature.

A sudden burst of flame to his left drew his attention as another spirit materialized from a burning pile of debris. It lunged at him, its molten arms reaching out with a terrifying speed that caught him off guard.

"Tarak!" Sol's voice rang out, sharp with alarm.

Before he could fully react, several more spirits erupted from nearby flames, their forms converging on him in an almost coordinated assault. They wrapped around him, their burning limbs coiling in what felt like a smothering, searing group hug. Tarak snarled, his teeth bared as his body tensed against the oppressive heat.

With a violent jerk of his head, one of his sharp, curling horns pierced straight through a spirit's core, the impact sending a fiery shockwave through its form before it dissipated into embers. Spinning sharply, Tarak used the momentum to throw the others into the air. His tail, suddenly sprouting vicious spikes along its length, snapped upward in a lethal arc. The serrated edges let out a visible air blade that sliced cleanly through the spirits mid-air, their cores shattering into molten fragments that rained down like falling stars.

The remnants barely hit the ground before Tarak crouched and leapt, snatching the cores mid-fall and devouring them whole. His chest heaved, his body thrumming with an almost primal satisfaction as the energy from the cores flowed through him. He let out a breath, smoke curling from his nostrils like steam from a forge.

"That was so cool! It looked like some kind of sword move!" Sol's voice bubbled with excitement as she ran up to him. Without thinking, her hands reached out to pat his shoulder, only to jerk back almost immediately.

"Ah!" she gasped, her palms reddened from the heat radiating off his body.

Tarak flinched, his hands instinctively stretching toward her before pulling back, unwilling to cause her any more pain. A memory from his sister's teachings surfaced in his mind, and without hesitation, he dropped to the ground and began rolling, his larger form shifting awkwardly on the scorched earth.

"What are you doing?" Sol asked, her voice bright with laughter as she tilted her head, her black eyes crinkling into crescent moons.

"Stop, drop, and roll," Tarak replied matter-of-factly, his deep voice muffled slightly as he twisted to douse the heat. "My sister said to do this if I catch fire. I don't want to burn you. You can't handle the heat like I can so I need to do this."

Sol's laughter grew louder, a melodic sound that contrasted sharply with the chaos surrounding them. "It's fine, you see?" She coated her hands in a thin layer of numen, the faint light shimmering faintly as she reached down to help him up. "I'm actually really tough, you know." Her grin was infectious, that familiar light shining in her soot-smudged face.

Tarak's nostrils flared as he exhaled another puff of smoke, causing her to giggle.

"Whoa, dragon boy!" she teased, her voice playful as she tapped his arm.

"I think it's just the heat," he replied, his tone flat but not unkind.

They continued forward, the village a blazing labyrinth of chaos. Tarak moved with relentless efficiency, his tail whipping through the air like a bladed weapon as he cut down a dozen more spirits. Each strike was calculated and brutal, his claws ripping through their molten forms with ease. He hurled clumps of hardened earth at distant spirits, the makeshift projectiles shattering their cores with terrifying precision.

The heat and destruction seemed to fuel him, his movements growing sharper, more fluid, with each spirit he consumed. The shattered cores left behind a residual warmth in his body that made his muscles hum with renewed strength, the energy driving him forward. He could fel his instincts riling inside his flesh as the hunting.

Sol followed close behind, her dark eyes wide as she watched him work. The spirits, which had seemed so terrifying only moments ago, now looked insignificant in the face of his overwhelming strength. Together, they carved a path through the burning village, their goal clear in both their minds.

Luna's house loomed in the distance, the flickering orange light casting eerie shadows on its collapsing frame. Tarak's gaze narrowed, and his pace quickened.

He smelt his sister. And he smelt blood.
__________

 

[Behemoth.]

The Devil of The moon Finale
_______________


Luna's wide, terrified eyes darted around the small home as the walls crackled and popped. Everything was burning. The oppressive heat pressed against her skin, sweat pouring down her face, mingling with the tears she didn't even notice she was shedding. The once-familiar warmth of their house had turned into an inferno of chaos and terror. She crouched near the corner of the room, trembling, clutching at her knees as the flames encroached closer.

"Krrk! BOOM!"

A heavy beam splintered and collapsed with a deafening roar, spraying embers into the air. From the gap it left, a flame spirit surged into the room. Its flickering, half-formed body of fire and molten rock twisted and shimmered in the suffocating air, its formless face turning toward them with malevolent intent.

"Luna, stay back!" Caela's voice rang sharp and commanding, cutting through Luna's paralyzing fear.

Her mother leapt into action, moving with a speed and precision Luna had never seen before. In her hand was a bone dagger, its edge coated in numen, glowing faintly against the firelight. Caela dodged the flame spirit's first strike, its blazing arm slamming into the ground where she had stood a second earlier. She twisted mid-air, her dagger slicing downward in a fluid arc that sent a shockwave through the creature's body, dispersing part of its flames into a shower of sparks.

The spirit retaliated, sending a gout of searing fire toward her. Caela's body twisted in ways Luna didn't think possible, flipping over the flames as they roared beneath her. The dagger gleamed in her hand, slashing forward with a burst of numen that carved into the spirit's chest. But the spirit recovered quickly, its fiery form surging forward like a vengeful wave.

Caela landed, but her body faltered for a moment as her hand clutched at the black veins snaking across her chest. Pain twisted her features, and the spirit took the opening. Its blazing arm struck her side, sending her skidding across the floor with a grunt of pain. Still, she held her ground, rolling onto her knees and lunging forward. With a desperate cry, she drove the bone dagger into the spirit's molten core. The spirit screeched, its body twisting violently before it collapsed into a pile of smoldering ash.

"Mommy!" Luna screamed, rushing forward. Her tiny arms scooped her mother up, shaking as she cradled her. Tears streamed down her face, hot against her already burning cheeks. The air was thick with smoke, and every breath seared her lungs. Her silver hair curled and frayed at the edges from the heat, and the firelight reflected in her wide, panicked black eyes.

Caela weakly wiped the tears from Luna's face, forcing a smile despite the pain etched across her features. "I know," she whispered, her voice soft but firm. "I won't fail you. Let's go outside. Don't worry, your mother will be with you."

Luna sniffled, nodding, her grip on her mother tightening. She had been hiding in her room for days, paralyzed by fear and memories she couldn't bear to face. But now, with her mother by her side, she felt a small flicker of hope. If her mother was with her, everything would be fine.

A voice broke through the chaos, cold and mocking. "Hmm, maybe I didn't need to come after all."

Luna froze, her heart seizing in her chest. That voice—it was a nightmare made flesh. She turned slowly, her body trembling uncontrollably as her eyes locked onto the figure standing in the doorway.

There he was, Hathor. The man who had haunted her nightmares for six long years. He stood tall and gaunt, his shadow flickering and dancing against the raging flames. His milky white eye bulged grotesquely, unfocused yet somehow piercing. The firelight illuminated his crooked grin, twisted with sickening joy as he regarded them. He looked like a specter born from the very flames that consumed their home, a reprobate shadow reveling in the chaos.

Luna's throat tightened, her scream caught somewhere between her soul and her lips. She couldn't move. Her body refused to respond, shutting down entirely in the presence of the man who embodied all her fears.

"I had thought, considering your mental… condition," Hathor began, his voice oozing with mockery, "you would sit here and burn with your impotent mother. It seems I underestimated you, Caela. Well, no matter." He stepped forward, the flames parting before him as if bowing to his will. "I'll just let her burn here for the masses and claim you died as well. Then I'll whisk you off to my home. A pleasant opportunity, wouldn't you agree?"

"Hathor, are you insane?!" Caela spat, forcing herself onto her feet despite the blood trickling down her side. Her voice was filled with a mixture of anger and desperation. "You swore you'd never touch me again!"

Hathor's grotesque grin widened, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. "When did I swear such a thing? Is your daughter yourself?" He tilted his head mockingly, his milky eye glinting with perverse delight.

Caela clutched her dagger tightly, her entire body trembling from both pain and rage. Her numen flared faintly around her, a desperate light against the encroaching darkness.

Her mother froze a the words, her trembling eyes snapping to Luna's prone form. A deep shame clouded Luna's mind as she caught the sorrow in her mother's gaze. That sorrow, so gentle and laden with regret, pierced through the overwhelming terror gripping her heart. But even as her mother's lips parted as if to speak, no words came—only a soft pulse of numen radiated from her, sweeping outward in a quiet but deliberate motion. Luna knew what it meant. Her mother always used this technique when she wanted to see clearly, as she was born technically blind.

When the numen revealed what her mother sought, a shadow fell over her face. The sorrow deepened, curling into something darker. Her mother's lips trembled before her words came, edged with bitterness and pain.

"So, it's you, then," Caela murmured, her voice heavy and raw. "You're the reason. I should have known. I just didn't think…" Her voice cracked, and for a moment, it seemed like she wouldn't finish. Then, with a simmering rage, she spat, "I didn't think you were that disgusting. That low."

Her mother gripped the bone dagger tighter, her knuckles whitening as she took a step forward. Hathor didn't flinch. He only laughed—a deep, guttural sound that seemed to echo in the burning room.

"What are you going to do, Caela?" Hathor sneered, his milky eye glinting grotesquely in the light of the flames. "Are you going to fight me? You think you can kill me?"

Her mother's lips curled into a grim smile, her body tense and ready. "I tore out your eye once. You think I can't hurt you again?"

Hathor's grin widened, cruel and dismissive. "That was then. And that was because I wasn't trying to kill you, woman. You were useful to me once. But now?" He tilted his head mockingly, the flames flickering in his crimson eye. "I don't need you anymore. You're just a broken tool. Simple as that."

Her mother didn't dignify his words with a response. She moved, lunging forward with deadly intent, her dagger coated in numen aimed at his throat. The air whistled with the ferocity of her attack. For a moment, Luna dared to hope. But Hathor's spear swung upward in a smooth arc, intercepting her blow with effortless precision. The impact sent her mother flying across the room, her body crashing through a wall with a deafening crack.

Blood spattered from Caela's lips as her body crumpled to the floor, bent unnaturally. Her weak constitution and injuries betrayed her. Luna's scream ripped from her throat, a sound born of pure rage and terror. She would fight.

"AHHHHH!"

She sprinted toward him, her fists trembling, her vision blurred by tears. Hathor didn't even bother turning to face her until she was within reach. With an almost lazy motion, he swung the butt of his spear into her cheek. The world exploded in pain. Luna felt her cheekbone shatter, a sickening crunch reverberating through her skull as she was sent flying into the opposite wall. Her body hit the wooden surface with a thud, crumpling to the floor in a daze.

The heat closed in, flames licking at her skin. Before she could even scream, a burning beam from the collapsing ceiling fell onto her. She felt the molten wood sear into the left side of her face, the unbearable heat melting her flesh as she flailed helplessly. She tried to summon numen, to protect herself, but her body was too broken, her mind too clouded with pain.

"Aughhh!" The sound tore from her throat as tears streamed down her unmarred cheek.

Hathor's voice cut through the agony like a cruel knife. "Ah, you're truly useless," he muttered, his tone tinged with irritation. "Can't even protect yourself with numen from something so simple? Well, whatever. Damaged or not, I'll take you regardless."

His gaunt hand reached through the flames, seizing her arm with an iron grip. Luna's screams intensified as he dragged her from the wreckage of her home, her small frame writhing and kicking. Her voice broke as she screamed for her mother, the name a desperate plea that echoed in the inferno.

"Mommy! Mommy, please!"

Her hand reached toward the flames, but there was no answer. Only pain, only despair. The air was thick with smoke and heat, the sound of crackling fire and splintering wood filling her ears as she was pulled further away.

The house burnt brightly behind her in a deafening roar of flame and ash, sealing away her hope. She felt the rough ground scrape against her skin as Hathor dragged her, his grip unrelenting. Tears blurred her vision as her sobs choked her throat.

It was over. No one could save her. It was done.

And then there was a flash.

Gold. Silver. Amethyst.

A figure descended like a blazing star, its radiance cutting through the inferno. And for one fleeting moment, as Luna's vision swam with pain and tears, she thought she had seen the sun.

_________________

Tanya shot forward, her body a blur of motion as she propelled herself on all fours, her claws digging into the charred earth for leverage. Her wings unfurled and flapped powerfully, lifting her into a low, predatory flight as she aimed directly for Hathor's skull. Her claws gleamed, ready to cleave through his neck in one swift motion.

Hathor's milky eye widened in shock, but his reflexes were razor-sharp. He hurled Luna aside like a discarded rag and brought his spear up just in time. The clash rang out sharply as the butt of his spear deflected Tanya's strike, her claws skittering off the weapon's reinforced shaft. She twisted midair with animalistic grace, landing on her feet in a crouch, her wings spread wide for balance.

"You must be the sister of that thing," Hathor spat, a sinister grin spreading across his face. "No matter. In the end, neither of you needs to exist. I wonder…" His pale scarred eye gleamed with malice as he leveled his spear at her. "How will he react to seeing the charred corpse of his beloved sibling?"

Tanya didn't respond with words, only narrowing her amethyst eyes. The tip of Hathor's spear began to glow ominously, and she instinctively ducked. A beam of searing light and heat tore through the air where her head had been a fraction of a second earlier, She felt the heat buffer the edges of her golden hair. Hathor pivoted smoothly, the spear following her movements as it emitted a barrage of beams, each one scorching through the chaos around them.

Tanya twisted and weaved through the onslaught, her wings hardening instinctively to deflect the beams when dodging wasn't an option. Sparks and flashes of light danced around her as the beams struck her reinforced feathers, ricocheting harmlessly into the charred ground. She rolled under one shot, flipping to avoid another, and stomped hard into the earth. The force of her stomp sent up a cloud of dust and clods of dirt, obscuring her position.

The beams began firing blindly into the haze, scorching jagged lines into the ground as Hathor laughed, his voice dripping with condescension. "Running already, little beast? You're no different than your brother. All ferocity, no power."

Tanya's eyes flicked to a nearby boulder, half her size, and without hesitation, she grabbed it. Her muscles tensed as she hurled the massive stone toward Hathor, its trajectory cutting cleanly through the swirling dust cloud.

"There you are!" Hathor roared triumphantly, thrusting his spear forward. The weapon pierced the stone, shattering it into a rain of jagged shards. But Tanya was already in motion, darting through the chaos to his left side.

She closed in silently, her wings like silver-grey blades slicing through the air. As he focused on the fragments of the stone, her wings struck his ankles. The blow cut into his numen-coated skin, not deep enough to disable but enough to draw a shout of pain from his lips.

"You little—!" Hathor snarled, spinning his spear downward. Tanya anticipated the strike, flipping backward in a blur of motion. Her legs snapped up mid-spin, wrapping around his extended arm like a vice. Her claws gleamed as they slashed toward his face, her barbed tongue darting between her teeth with feral intensity.

But her assault met resistance. A translucent barrier flared to life around Hathor, the shimmering wall holding her back momentarily. Tanya's wings surged forward, hammering into the barrier with relentless force. Cracks spiderwebbed through it before shattering completely, the force sending a sharp shockwave outward.

Hathor waved his free arm, and a burst of flame numen lashed out at her. The fiery energy slammed into her torso, sending her flying backward. She twisted midair, landing on all fours, smoke rising from the patches he had burned on her skin. It was hot but it wasn't really an injury. He had yet to harm her in any real capacity. Though he could. She could sense it from what he had done just then. In the end, he was in the second layer after all.

Hathor touched his cheek where her claws had managed to leave a faint line, and his crimson eyes due to the reflection of fire-light burned with a fury. "You insolent little beast!" His voice trembled with rage. "You think a shallow scratch is enough to save you?"

He spun his spear in a wide arc, the motion carving glowing trails into the air. Above him, seven radiant disks began to form, spinning in place. Each disk blazed with a fiery intensity, their colors matching the hues of the suns in the heavens above during the day. Their edges crackled with lethal energy, spinning faster and faster until they blurred.

Tanya felt her hearts thrum with both anticipation and dread as the disks hummed with overwhelming power. The heat they emitted scorched the ground beneath them, turning patches of soil into molten glass.

Hathor sneered, raising his spear toward her. "Solgaleo Sutra: Disks of the Seven Suns!" His voice boomed over the roar of the flames. "Be shredded into nothing, you false divinity!"

Tanya sneered, her sharpened fangs catching the flickering orange light of the surrounding flames. The elder's words grated against her instincts, sparking a fury that boiled beneath her skin. She had never claimed to be divine—it was these people who had painted her as such. If they wished to see her as a deity, she'd exploit it, but she would never claim to be something she wasn't. Her wings flared behind her, their silver-grey edges gleaming like forged steel as her claws flexed, ready for the onslaught.

The glowing discs above Hathor spun faster, their colors shifting in mesmerizing patterns. Without warning, the green one darted toward her, cutting through the air like a slicing blade. Tanya dove low, the disc screaming past her head. Before she could regain her stance, a red disc followed, its heat searing the air. She flipped backward, narrowly avoiding it, but her momentary relief was short-lived as the yellow disc surged toward her.

Her wings shot up, hardening instinctively, and deflected the yellow disc with a deafening clang. The force of the impact, however, was beyond her expectations. Still mid-flip, her feet hadn't yet touched the ground, and the blow sent her spiraling through the air. Dust and ash swirled around her as she skidded across the charred earth, her body grinding to a halt with a cloud of debris.

Gritting her teeth, she pushed herself up, but her vision blurred momentarily as a speck of dust got into her eye not irritating it but clouding her vision. A sharp whine cut through the air—a purple disc screaming toward her. Tanya's instincts roared, but it was too late. The blade-like construct slammed into her chest, spinning viciously as she felt her flesh tear for the first time since encountering the Snavine. Pain lanced through her body, white-hot and unrelenting. The disc dispersed after carving a deep, seared wound across her chest, leaving her breathless as she clutched at the injury and fell to her knees.

"How absurd," Hathor muttered, his voice tinged with both incredulity and disdain. He twirled his spear lazily, as if assessing her. "All of that power for a simple flesh wound, and your ability to persist despite that wound as well. I saw this with your sibling—your durability is obscene. A ninth-shackle cultivator of the first layer would have been cleaved in two by that strike, even with numen reinforcement."

Tanya growled low in her throat, her amethyst eyes burning with defiance. She wasn't done—not even close. From the corner of her vision, she caught a green flash. She leapt into the air, her wings propelling her upward with powerful beats, but the disc clipped her leg mid-flight. Pain exploded as another wound tore through her flesh, the edges of the gash glowing faintly from the residual heat. She flinched as the pain throbbed, her momentum faltering slightly.

An orange disc shot upward, targeting her midair. Tanya's wings hardened again, this time with more force behind them, and she slashed out at the projectile. The disc deflected sharply, ricocheting back toward Hathor with an angry hum. The elder's eyes widened as he hastily swatted it away with his spear, the clash of energy ringing out across the battlefield.

That was her moment. With a flap of her wings, Tanya shot forward, her body a silver streak against the inferno. Hathor snarled, his hand snapping upward as the remaining five discs converged on her. The first two screamed toward her flanks, but her hardened wings deflected them, sparks flying with each impact. The other three came head-on, spinning wildly with deadly precision.

Tanya's fists lashed out like twin ballistae. Her first punch shattered one disc, the energy burning into her knuckles and forearm as she pushed through the searing pain. She didn't stop. Her second strike crushed another, leaving a smoldering wound along her palm. The third disc came faster than she expected, grazing her arm as her third punch shattered it into flickering motes of light. Her arms burned, her flesh torn and bleeding, but her momentum carried her forward, unstoppable.

Hathor's sneer faltered as Tanya's leg swung in a devastating arc. Her kick connected with his side, the impact sending a sickening crack through the air as one of his ribs gave way beneath her strength.

"KKHHPPFF!" Hathor spat, blood spraying from his mouth as he flew sideways. His body crashed into the ground with a thud, gouging a trench in the charred earth as debris rained down around him.

However, Tanya wouldn't allow him a moment of reprieve. Her wings snapped open, propelling her forward in a burst of silver and grey. Before Hathor could steady himself, she spun her entire body into a vicious roundhouse kick. The blow landed squarely against his spine, the force bending him mid-air like a drawn bow. The crack of impact echoed across the field, drowning out the roaring flames consuming the village.

She didn't stop. Her wings flapped powerfully, accelerating her above him as his body reached the apex of its ascent. Her hands clenched together, knuckles whitening, as she brought them down in a devastating hammer blow aimed at his stomach.

"ENOUGH!" Hathor roared, his voice shaking the air like a thunderclap.

With a burst of desperate power, he conjured a massive gout of solar flame. The firestorm surged upward, its blinding light illuminating the night like a false dawn. Tanya's instincts screamed at her to evade, but her momentum was too great. The inferno washed over her, searing her flesh. The heat clawed at her cheeks, her skin blistering and peeling. Pain exploded in her eyes as the fire burned into her sockets, sending violent shocks through her entire body. For a terrifying moment, her consciousness wavered, the world dimming at the edges.

But Tanya wasn't done. She fought through the agony, forcing her body to press forward. Her hammer blow connected, slamming into Hathor's stomach with the force of a boulder dropped from the heavens. The elder was sent plummeting toward the earth, his descent a fiery streak across the sky. The ground trembled as he crashed into it, sending debris and fire scattering in all directions.

Tanya, however, wasn't spared. The recoil of her strike and the lingering flames sent her hurtling down as well. She crashed into the earth not far from Hathor, skidding across the scorched ground and tumbling through ruined crops. She clutched at her face, her claws trembling as her seared flesh screamed in protest. Her chest rose and fell in ragged gasps, her vision nothing but darkness. The burns had blinded her, and the damage threatened to pull her under.

For a few agonizing moments, she lay still, her body trembling. Her regeneration fought valiantly, the wounds on her chest fading rapidly, but the burns across her body took longer. Her eyes, smaller and faster to heal, began to restore themselves first. As the darkness receded and blurred shapes became clearer, Tanya's breath hitched. She struggled to push herself upright, nausea roiling in her gut from the lingering heat and smoke.

She didn't get far before a blazing fireball, no—a miniature sun—hurtled toward her. The confluence of numen burned hotter than anything she had faced, mimicking the terrifying energy of fusion. It was nowhere near the true force of a star, but it was enough. Tanya's wings snapped shut around her body, hardening to shield her as best as they could. The firestorm slammed into her, heat pouring through the gaps and blistering her exposed skin.

She was sent flying, her body tumbling through the air like a broken doll. The force hurled her over a hundred meters, her form tearing through the earth and decimating the rural fields. Crops were uprooted, and the soil smoldered as she finally came to a halt, her body crumpled and smoking.

Tanya groaned, her head tilting to the side. Her amethyst eyes narrowed in fury as she caught sight of Hathor through the haze. The elder was standing, his form hunched and sagging. Blood dripped from his mouth, and his once-pristine robes were torn and singed. He leaned heavily on his spear, clearly struggling to stay upright, but his exhaustion didn't diminish the hatred burning in his gaze.

"What an absurd body," Hathor spat, his voice thick with anger and disbelief. He straightened slightly, pointing his spear toward her. Energy gathered at its tip, the air crackling as he prepared to unleash another devastating attack. "You should be dead several times over by now. Just what the hell are you made of? And those wings of yours…"

Tanya smirked faintly, despite the pain wracking her body. Her arms trembled as she forced herself upright, blood dripping from her fingertips onto the scorched ground. Most of her skin was blistered and raw, her wounds reopening with every movement, but her body was stirring. She could feel it—the strange sensation she'd come to know during her time in the flux. It was a shifting sensation. Her body was healing itself while adapting in the process.

But she knew better than to expect it to matter. This wasn't something like weight. In the flux, she had already been exhausted from a previous day's training and had that vest Midea had made on. If she was fresh she likely would have been able to crawl out admittedly with a great deal of struggle but it wouldn't have taken nearly as long. Her body could adapt but it wasn't the hyper-adaptation of some figures in fiction in her first life. She could not rely on it in battle. This was raw, destructive power. Her body lacked the ability to spontaneously change to counter it or so it seemed. She exhaled sharply, her breath hissing through clenched teeth as her muscles flexed. Her body would be a little more resistant to flame after this at least, she mused darkly. Maybe it would build up eventually.

At least, she thought wryly, she would make him pay for every ounce of her suffering.

"Seven sins! Seven desires! Seven virtues! Seven suns! Solgaleo, oh lion whose teeth tear the stars! Oh beast of alchemy who uses heat to purify form! To forge sin, virtue, and desire into transcendence that hangs over all, blinding as the most brilliant of stars! I invoke you in cries to your seven aspects, to your seven claws! Purify all before me! Turn all into a star to devour and transform into what I see fit! Solgaleo Sutra: Sun of Purification!" the man roared his voice a tempest that rippled through the battlefield.

The invocation hung in the air like a decree from the heavens, and the environment trembled in response. Golden radiance erupted from the elder's form, an inferno of power that coalesced into a miniature star, blazing with the intensity of a sun born of wrath and sanctity. The air grew heavy with searing heat, suffocating and oppressive as if the heavens themselves had been drawn into this clash. Each flicker of the star's surface was a tempest of pure energy, promising annihilation to all in its path.

Tanya faintly wondered what the point of all that pompous chanting was, but there wasn't time to dwell on it. A star—a giant, condensed sun—was flying at her face, intent on obliteration.

Gritting her teeth, she forced her blistered, barely healing body to move. Pain surged through her, every muscle and sinew screaming, but survival demanded action. She flared her wings wide, their charred feathers trembling under the strain. Tanya's sharp mind worked furiously, grasping at something she had seen before. Shockwaves.

She had seen the villagers use them in combat, crude bursts of force applied through sheer physical might and numen. Back in the battle with Garran and Midea, and she'd witnessed Hati, and even some students of the academy, utilizing similar techniques, all relying on basic numen reinforcement and slight manipulation of the metaphysical energy. As most of them, were still confined to the first layer, unable to project energy far beyond their bodies. The elder she faced now was leagues beyond them, a force of mastery. Yet those techniques at their core, relied on one fundamental thing: raw strength. And she had plenty of that.

Drawing her arms back as far as they could go, she spread her wings wide, feeling the air ripple against her battered form. The star bore down on her, its heat scorching her skin even at a distance, its blinding brilliance threatening to drown her vision. But Tanya's focus was razor-sharp.

With a guttural roar, she launched all her limbs forward—arms, wings, and even the coiled strength of her body—channeling every ounce of power she possessed into one overwhelming strike. The world responded with a deafening boom that shook the ground beneath her feet. Air rippled violently, folding and shattering into visible waves of compressed force. A conical shockwave surged outward, a tangible beam of destruction that carved through the battlefield like the divine blade of a sky god striking down an insolent sun.

The shockwave clashed with the elder's attack, the conical beam of pure force meeting the faux star in a collision that shattered the air. The impact wasn't merely loud; it was a world-shaking crescendo, a symphony of violence. The ground beneath them cracked, fissures spreading like veins in fractured stone, and the surrounding trees were uprooted, flung back by the sheer magnitude of the energy unleashed. Dust and debris filled the air, a tempest born of their clash. For a fleeting moment, the battlefield was a war of opposing forces—light and heat against raw, unyielding strength.

Then, with a final, blinding crescendo, the faux star erupted in a catastrophic explosion. Golden flames and radiant energy expanded outward, consuming everything in their wake. Tanya's shockwave had stalled it long enough for her to avoid the brunt of the devastation, but the force still hurled her backward. Her body was a blur, crashing into the scorched earth and skidding across the ground as the heat licked at her skin, leaving fresh burns despite her best efforts.

She came to a stop, coughing from the dust and ash that filled the air. The heat clung to her like an invisible predator, gnawing at her skin. Her arms throbbed with pain, the muscles at the base of her wings—the supracoracoideus muscles, if she remembered correctly—screaming in protest. Well, she snickered that was unlikely. She had what eight limbs? She likely had muscles no creature on earth possessed. She lay on the ground for a moment, staring at her trembling limbs, waiting for some sign that she'd pushed herself too far. Her skin was blistered, her muscles likely torn, but there were no catastrophic injuries from her pushing herself so far. It seemed her body was more durable than it was strong luckily for her.

Even in pain, Tanya couldn't help but analyze. This body would adapt. The muscles would heal. They would become stronger. The fight, brutal as it was, was also a lesson—a step toward growth. But for now, exhaustion weighed on her like a shroud. Her chest heaved as she struggled to catch her breath, every movement a reminder of how much the battle had taken out of her.

The world around her began to settle, the roar of the explosion fading into an eerie quiet. Tanya turned her head, her eyes heavy with fatigue but still sharp. Her arms were scorched, her body battered, but she was alive. She had survived. And for a fleeting moment, it seemed as though the battle was finally ov—

Hathor's form slammed into Tanya with a force that cracked the earth beneath her. Four globules of numen surged from him like oppressive weights, pinning her wings into the dirt, their pressure grinding her down as if the planet itself sought to crush her. His spear, a wicked, gleaming weapon coated in a blazing aura of numen, scythed down toward the left side of her chest with lethal intent. The hum of energy around the spear screamed like a banshee, cutting through the chaos of the battlefield.

"Now it's over!" Hathor roared, his voice dripping with malicious triumph. Tanya's sharp gaze flickered to his form. Blood streamed from where her earlier attack had torn flesh from his body, the raw wounds standing out against his numen-reinforced frame. He had defended well, too well, and now he sought to end her.

The spear pressed down with unrelenting force. She felt her flesh begin to part, her body's incredible resilience finally giving way. Pain lanced through her as her arms snapped upward, catching the spear just beneath its blade. She pushed with all her might, attempting to hold it at bay or snap it in two, but Hathor roared in defiance, flooding the weapon with numen. Its shaft shimmered with reinforced energy, unyielding to her efforts. The spear's advance slowed to a crawl, yet it continued, inching closer to her heart as Hathor poured every ounce of his energy into the assault.

"Your skin is too damn thick," Hathor spat, his grin sharp and wicked. "Once more, you should be dead. But I bet your insides aren't as tough as your outsides."

His words were venom, laced with the confidence of a predator savoring its kill. He leaned forward, his numen flaring brighter, the heat of it palpable as it seared the air around them. Tanya's eyes narrowed against the pain, her vision swimming as the spear's blade finally pierced through her skin and struck her ribs with a metallic clang. Hathor sneered, attempting to twist the spear to find a gap between the bones, but her ribs weren't structured like those of his kind. If she could see inside her own body, she'd witness the lattice-like crystalline structure of her bones, their complex geometry designed for unparalleled durability.

"What the hell are you made of?" Hathor growled, his frustration boiling over as he struggled to push the weapon deeper. He roared in anger, his muscles bulging with effort. The spear finally began to grind through her ribs, the numen-enhanced blade cutting with agonizing slowness. Just as long as it took to get through her skin and even slightly longer. Because her bones were more compact more cells being crammed into a smaller space. Albeit she wouldn't know that. The effort left him snarling, his face twisted in rage.

"This is ridiculous!" he bellowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield. The ground beneath them trembled, cracked and scarred by the intensity of their struggle.

Tanya's breath came in ragged gasps, her chest heaving as the spear continued its relentless journey. When it reached her heart, a searing burst of agony ripped through her. Her eyes flashed white, the pain so blinding it momentarily eclipsed all thought. Hathor grinned madly, sensing victory as his numen flared anew.

"Fuck it," he snarled, leaning closer, his face inches from hers. "Even if you're that tough all around, let's see how you like being immolated from the inside out. I know you still feel pain!"

With that, he unleashed his fire. The spear became a conduit for his numen, channeling a torrent of flames directly into her heart. Tanya's chest began to glow, a malevolent red radiance seeping through her flesh as the heat built to unbearable levels. Her heart, mighty as it was, began to falter, its outer layers burning away under the relentless assault. The damage was catastrophic, but the pain—the pain was a torment beyond words. It was as if her very essence was being incinerated, consumed by an inferno that sought to hollow her out from within.

"HUURRKK!" Tanya choked, blood spraying from her mouth as she convulsed against the ground. Her blood splattered across Hathor's face, painting his triumphant grin in crimson. He laughed, a grotesque sound that echoed with eerie glee.

"Let's see you heal from this," he hissed, leaning closer, his laughter ringing in her ears.

Her hands pressed into the spear, trembling with the effort of trying to pull the weapon from her chest. Blood seeped around her fingers, and the pain was almost blinding. Then, as her grip faltered momentarily, she noticed something. Her gaze flicked upward, catching a fleeting movement in the periphery. Her hands snapped back to the weapon, gripping it tightly, but this time not to remove it. Instead, she began to feign weakness, her breaths coming in ragged gasps as she sagged under the elder's oppressive weight. The man's attention narrowed entirely on her, his sneer deepening as he pressed harder into his attack, unaware of the danger behind him.

Suddenly, a mass of white, black, and red streaked through the battlefield like a comet, crashing into the elder with the force of a collapsing mountain. The impact tore the spear from Tanya's chest, the weapon ripping free with a sickening squelch as the elder let out a startled scream. He was sent hurtling through the air, his body tumbling over Tanya's prone form before slamming into the scorched earth several meters away.

For the first time, Tanya saw her sibling enraged. Truly enraged. She had seen anoyance and caution on her younger sibling before but nothing like this, now he was a storm incarnate a calamity made manifest. Tarak stood over her like a vengeful beast, his body trembling with barely contained wrath. Veins bulged along his neck and temples, pulsating with the intensity of his fury, and his eyes burned with an otherworldly fire, their pupils narrowed into dangerous slits. His fangs, sharp as forged steel, clashed together in his open maw with a metallic ring, sounding like blades scraping against each other.

Tanya's chest heaved as she pressed a shaky hand to her wound, feeling the blood pour out in thick rivulets. A wad of involuntary blood spilled from her mouth as she coughed, staining her lips and chin. The hole in her chest gaped grotesquely, struggling to close, and she could feel her strength waning. One of her hearts had been destroyed; there was no doubt about that. The loss left her staggered, but the knowledge that she had two more hearts kept her conscious. The sheer pain and devastation she had endured, however, made her head swim. Passing out was a tempting prospect. Instead, she forced herself to turn her head and watch the battle unfolding before her.

Tarak was a whirlwind of teeth, claws, horns, and spikes, his form bristling with primal fury. His brown-skinned body shimmered with an ethereal sheen under the light of the fires. Black ridges and barbs jutted from his shoulders and back, gleaming like obsidian, while his tail—a massive, segmented black-white weapon with serrated spines erupting along it's length—lashed behind him with violent intent. His horns curved forward like the crescents of a moon, each edged with razor-sharp ridges that caught the dim light. He was the living embodiment of a predator, a creature designed for destruction.

The elder, wary and almost visibly shaken, scrambled to his feet. He thrust his spear forward in a desperate counterattack, aiming for Tarak's chest. But Tarak was faster, ducking low and whipping his tail around in a deadly arc. The elder barely managed to erect a numen barrier in time, deflecting the tail strike that would have bisected him. Even so, the force of the impact hurled him backward, his boots digging furrows into the dirt as he skidded to a halt.

With a growl, the elder launched a flurry of spear swipes, each one releasing crescent-shaped blades of sun-attributed numen that tore through the air with blinding speed. The golden arcs streaked toward Tarak, their radiance illuminating the battlefield in brief flashes. But Tarak didn't flinch. He walked forward through the onslaught, his Tyrannius flesh absorbing the attacks with an almost dismissive resolve. The numen blades left shallow cuts that oozed dark blood, but they barely slowed him. His pace was relentless, his burning eyes locked onto the elder with predatory focus.

Tarak's charge ended with brutal efficiency. He drove his frontal horns into the elder's arm, the force shattering the man's barrier and sending numen sparks scattering like fireflies. The horn pierced flesh and bone with a sickening crunch, while Tarak's fangs clamped down on the same arm with terrifying ferocity. The sound of his teeth sinking into the elder's flesh was a wet, visceral squelch that sent shivers through the air.

"Get the fuck off of me, you rabid animal!" the elder screamed, his voice a mixture of rage and panic.

But Tarak would not listen. His rage was unrelenting as he gripped the elder in his fangs, shaking him violently like a predator savaging its prey. The sickening sound of flesh tearing and bones creaking echoed across the battlefield as Tarak whipped his head side to side, thrashing the man like a dog with a toy. Then, with a guttural snarl, he hurled Hathor into the distance with a force that sent him crashing through shattered trees, leaving a trail of destruction in his wake.

Hathor barely managed to recover, staggering to his feet only to be met with the descending fist of Tarak. The blow landed with the weight of a mountain, slamming the elder into the earth. The ground erupted in an explosion of dirt and debris, a shockwave rippling outward that rattled Tanya where she lay. Dust hung in the air like a shroud, and for a moment, it seemed Tarak might finally have ended it.

Amid the chaos, a figure rushed toward Tanya, their golden hair catching the light like a fleeting sunbeam. The sight was almost surreal against the backdrop of carnage. It took Tanya a moment to recognize the newcomer—Sol. The golden-haired wolf child, whose determined face mirrored shades of her own defiance, skidded to her side, eyes wide with horror.

"Surya! Are you okay? Do you need my help? Have you seen my sister?" Sol's voice cracked as she shouted, her hands trembling as they cradled Tanya's battered form.

Tanya groaned, her body protesting every movement as she tried to sit up. Her vision swam, but her mind remained sharp. Sol's frantic words echoed in her ears, and her gaze followed the girl's line of sight. There, near the smoldering remnants of the battlefield, lay Luna—burned, unconscious, and motionless. Her small form looked even more broken than before, her body twisted unnaturally. She had likely been damaged from the effects of the battle. Tanya's chest tightened at the sight.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she forced herself to move. Her hands dug into the earth as she began plucking grass and shoving it into her mouth. Sol stared at her in shock, unable to comprehend the action. The bitter taste of crushed vegetation flooded Tanya's senses, but she didn't care. Throughout the battle, she had been unconsciously gaining minimal energy from the plants she had inadvertently killed. It wasn't enough to shift the tide of the fight however. But eating these plants now would soothe her current pain and allow her to talk to the girl even if it wouldn't really accelerate her healing.

Swallowing hard, Tanya turned her bloodstained face toward Sol. "Luna is over there," she said, her voice rasping with the strain of injury. "Take her to the village. She needs healers." Her words were clipped, each one forced out through gritted teeth. "I'll be fine. I will recover. The most important thing you can do right now is find Midea and tell him where we are. Okay?"

Sol's dark eyes darted between Tanya and Luna, her face pale with fear. She clutched her hands over her mouth, staring at the battered girl by the fire. "Are you sure you'll be okay?" she asked, her voice trembling. "You have a hole in your chest! I'll get you both out, alright?"

Tanya shook her head firmly, her resolve unyielding despite the blood that trickled from her lips. She pushed herself to her feet, her legs shaking under the effort. Her wound had begun to close, the incredible resilience of her body fighting against the damage, but every breath was a struggle.

Her eyes turned to the fight in the distance. Tarak stood tall, his form a terrifying silhouette against the flickering fires. Hathor had managed to land a burning strike along Tarak's side, the numen-infused flames licking at his side and leaving blistered flesh in their wake. But even as Tanya watched, her brother rose from the dirt, his wounds already knitting together with impossible speed. His rage burned brighter than any fire.

"We need to kill this man," Tanya said, her voice cold and steady. Her amethyst gaze locked onto Sol, her tone brooking no argument. "This man who hurt your sister. We'll be fine. You go, okay?"

The quiet authority in her voice seemed to cut through Sol's panic. The girl nodded hesitantly, her face pale but resolute.She rushed off toward her sister, but Hathor's sharp eyes caught her. A beam of sunlit numen tore through the air, aimed to strike Sol down. Before it could reach her, Tarak's serrated tail lashed out in a violent arc, generating a whirling air blade that intercepted the beam with a thunderous crack. The resulting shockwave forced Hathor to dodge, snarling in frustration as Sol disappeared into the distance with the unconscious Luna in her arms.

Tanya forced her battered body to move. Every muscle protested as her wings unfurled, the effort sending tremors through her injured frame. With a single powerful flap, she ascended into the air, her glare fixed on Hathor with the intensity of a falling star. Both Tarak and Hathor snapped their eyes up to her in shock.

"How?!" Hathor roared, his voice a mixture of disbelief and fury.

But Tarak was already moving, seizing the opportunity. His body blurred as he accelerated, slamming into the ground at full speed. His fist slamming into the ground before coming up in a massive uppercut towards the elder. The impact sent a torrent of rocks and debris skyward, a cloud of chaos enveloping the battlefield and obscuring Hathor's vision.

"This shit again!" Hathor bellowed, his rage palpable. He expelled a surge of numen, the golden energy radiating outward in a shockwave to clear the area. But Tanya had anticipated this. She caught one of the larger rocks midair, her clawed hands gripping it tightly. With a sharp twist of her body, she hurled the stone toward Hathor with unerring precision. It struck him across the skull, drawing a line of blood down his temple. He snarled, raising his spear to block the other incoming projectiles she had begun to throw, but the distraction was enough.

Tarak surged upward from the dust cloud like a leviathan erupting from the depths. His powerful jaws snapped around Hathor's leg, his blade-like fangs sinking deep into flesh and bone. With a guttural roar, Tarak swung the elder down with bone-crushing force, slamming him into the ground. The earth splintered under the impact, cracks radiating outward like a spider's web.

Tanya didn't hesitate. She folded her wings, dropping from the sky like a meteor. Using the momentum of her descent, she seized both her ankles and drove her knees into Hathor's chest. The collision was cataclysmic, the resulting crater swallowing the three combatants in a plume of dust and debris. Tanya felt the satisfying crack of ribs beneath her, a visceral confirmation of the damage she'd inflicted.

Hathor swung his spear wildly to ward her off, but Tanya deflected the strike with a sharp sweep of her wing, the metallic sound of impact ringing out. Tarak was already there, his serrated tail wrapping around Hathor's neck like a noose. The elder struggled, his numen flaring to prevent immediate decapitation, but the effort left him vulnerable. Tanya tensed, her claws gleaming in the fractured light, and struck. Her hand pierced through his stomach and erupted out his back with ease, a geyser of blood following the motion.

Hathor roared in pain, grabbing Tarak and hurling him away with a desperate surge of strength. His booted foot connected with Tanya's midsection, sending her skidding backward, but the siblings were unrelenting. They moved like predators, feral and unyielding, their motions a seamless dance of fury and precision. They had begun to rage.

Flashes of silver, gold, and amethyst streaked through the air as Tanya descended from above, her attacks relentless as the legendary king of avians. From below, Tarak's black, white, and crimson form surged forward, a behemoth of claws, horns, and teeth. Hathor's defenses faltered under their combined onslaught, his numen reserves dwindling as he struggled to keep up. Tanya pushed through the searing pain of her injuries, refusing to stop. If she paused even for a second, she knew her body might collapse.

Tarak struck low, his powerful legs sweeping under Hathor and sending him sprawling. Tanya seized the opportunity, descending behind him with terrifying speed. She grabbed Hathor by the neck, her claws digging into his flesh, and swung him around like a ragdoll before slamming him back into the ground. The impact was met with Tarak's waiting fist, a brutal strike that blasted Hathor skyward.

Tanya followed in an instant, her wings propelling her upward. She slashed downward with all of her wings, their razor edges cutting through the elder's spear as he raised it in desperation. The weapon shattered, wooden fragments falling like rain as her attack carved four deep grooves into his chest. Hathor screamed, his broken body plummeting into a massive crater below.

Tanya landed lightly beside Tarak, her chest heaving as she surveyed their handiwork. Blood dripped from her claws, her body trembling with exhaustion and pain. Tarak turned to her, his crimson eyes filled with fierce pride and an unspoken question. She sighed, reaching out a hand to rub his head. He leaned into the gesture, a small, fleeting smile gracing her lips before her expression hardened again.

Together, they turned their attention to Hathor, who lay battered and broken at the center of the crater. Hunger gnawed at Tanya, more desperate and insistent than ever, a primal need that resonated through every fiber of her being. Tarak's tail lashed behind him, his form coiled and ready to strike. They moved forward in unison, their predatory intent clear. This was their victory, and they would claim it in blood and bone. They stalked toward their prey, ready to slaughter and split the man who dared to stand against them.

But then, a wave of immense pressure descended from above, heavy and suffocating like a tidal wave crashing over them. Tanya's head snapped up as the force knocked her and Tarak backward, sending them skidding across the fractured ground. The very air trembled with power as the tallest man in the village, Chief Remus, descended from the sky. His landing was a shockwave, the sheer magnitude of his cultivation forcing the siblings to steady themselves as dust swirled around them.

Before they could react, another burst of energy—a mix of shadow and flame—split the air. Midea appeared, materializing in a vortex of purple and dark numen, Sol cradled in his arms. The atmosphere crackled with tension, the clash of opposing energies palpable as the two figures loomed over the battlefield.

Remus's gaze swept the scene, taking in the broken field, the shattered remnants of the battle, and the elder's near-lifeless body crumpled in the crater. His eyes widened in disapproval and disbelief.

"What is the meaning of this?" Remus's voice was quiet, but it carried an undercurrent of anger that made Tanya's stomach twist.

Midea's response was sharp, laced with fury. "Yes, what is the meaning of this?" His flames coiled tighter around him, casting an ominous glow. "I came to this village, granting new wards, force, and even techniques—all in exchange for a place to stay and the protection of the children. And yet, look at them! Look at Surya!" Darkness and flame erupted from him in waves, his purple numen radiating raw power and righteous indignation.

"Twice this has happened!" Remus thundered, his own numen surging outward like a storm. "And this time, it is an elder of our village. What explanation do you have for this destruction?"

Nearby, Tanya heard Tarak growl low in his throat, a dangerous sound that rumbled like distant thunder. She placed a hand on his shoulder, her touch calming him as she stepped forward. Her gaze shifted to Sol, who stood trembling, tears welling in her eyes.

"Stop!" Sol's voice cracked as she ran between the opposing forces. Her golden hair whipped in the wind as she spread her arms wide. "This is my Luna's house! Chief Remus, you saw how injured she was. She had bruises on her hand from how hard she was being dragged. It was the elder. He was doing something to her! Tarak and Surya were only trying to help!"

"Luna's mother, Caela's home?" Remus's expression darkened as he glanced back at the elder lying battered in the crater. A grimace twisted his features, but his voice remained measured. "Explain yourself."

The elder's voice rasped weakly as he crawled out of the crater, his body trembling with effort. "Chieftain, they're slandering me!" he protested, his tone pitiful. "The girl attacked me for harming her brother, though I only acted because my son was in danger. Then the brother came to reinforce her. That girl is their friend; this is all just some little scheme they cooked up to harm me… an elder!"

Midea's flames flared in response, casting long shadows across the ruined battlefield. "Silence, scum!" he snarled, his voice icy. "I wonder what I'll find when I search Luna's body for traces of your numen."

The elder's weak laugh echoed unnervingly. "Ahaha! I was only trying to save the girl from the fire. I admit I touched her, but what else can you really prove, Satyr?"

Before the tension could boil over, Tanya stepped forward, her voice cutting through the mounting storm. "Isn't there a court?" she asked, her tone sharp but calm. "We will take this issue there, with Luna and Sol as witnesses." Her words were deliberate, each one chosen to douse the flames of conflict before they consumed everyone.

Tarak looked at her in surprise, his growl subsiding as he turned his gaze toward her. Remus sighed, his shoulders sagging as the weight of the situation pressed down on him.

"Yes," the chieftain said, exhaustion lacing his voice. "That seems like a proper solution. We will meet in three days. Ensure your witness survives until then. Poor child, Luna. It doesn't look like she'll live much longer." He strode to the broken elder, hauling him up with rough hands before taking him away.

Tanya's head snapped toward Midea, her crimson eyes questioning. Midea only shook his head solemnly, his expression grave. Tanya moved forward but she felt hands hold her back. She turned to look over to Tarak.

"You need to rest, sister," Tarak said gently, his voice low but firm as he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder.

"Not just yet, Tarak," Tanya replied, her tone resolute as she peeled his hands away. Her eyes burning with determination as she walked past him, her battered body pushing through the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm her.

She strode up to Midea, her steps unwavering despite the weakness in her limbs. "Take me to Luna," she demanded, her voice steady but urgent.

Midea regarded her for a moment, then nodded, his dark flames flickering briefly around him as he gestured for her to follow. Together, they moved through the slowly recovering village, where signs of recent chaos lingered in every corner. Villagers worked tirelessly to clear debris, mend homes, and tend to the wounded. The air was thick with the scent of ash and the faint tang of blood, but there was also the faint, persistent aroma of herbs from the healers working nearby. Children with wide, frightened eyes clung to their parents, and the occasional moan of pain from the injured added to the somber atmosphere.

Midea led her to a building nestled near the heart of the village. It was modest yet sturdy, its walls adorned with symbols of healing and protection. Inside, priestesses—the village's revered healers—moved with quiet urgency, their hands glowing faintly with numen as they attended to the injured. The faint hum of healing incantations filled the air, a soothing yet melancholic melody.

Midea guided Tanya to a dimly lit room where a woman with black hair and piercing blue eyes sat by Luna's bedside. Lain, one of the more powerful priestesses and Hati's rival, she held a damp cloth to Luna's forehead, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. The young girl lay motionless, her once vibrant face marred by severe burns. Her breathing was shallow, her fragile body almost swallowed by the cot beneath her.

"The girl isn't fighting," Lain said grimly, not looking up from her work. "She has too many contusions and internal injuries. The numen from the flame spirit is worsening her burns. It's rare, but her body must be heavily moon-attributed. She's not well-suited to yang energies."

Tanya shook her head in worry also musing about the woman's words. Considering this was a cultivation world she supposed it was only natural to hear about the concepts of yin and yang but it was still a bit surprising. She looked at Luna whose face was half burned a mere shadow of her former self. Apparently there was nothing they could do for her. But she knew someone who likely could.

"YOU! You need to stop and rest!" Lain's voice cut sharply through Tanya's thoughts. The healer's blue eyes bore into her with a mix of frustration and concern and sheer shock at her current state. "I'll call in another to tend to you now!"

Tanya shook her head. "We don't have time," she muttered, her exhaustion evident in her tone. She turned to Midea, her tired eyes meeting his dark, calculating gaze. "Knock her out or do something. We need to act."

Lain's face froze in shock as Midea moved without hesitation. With a swift, precise motion, he chopped the side of her neck. Her body stiffened momentarily before slumping forward, caught in his arms.

"You need to talk," Midea said flatly, as though making an observation rather than asking a question.

Tanya asked exhausted but clear. "You can save her, can you not?" she asked, her eyes searching his.

Midea sighed, his sharp features softening ever so slightly. "Perhaps," he admitted, his tone guarded.

Tanya's expression hardened. "Then what exactly are you waiting for?" she said sharply, her voice cutting through the tension.

Midea's gaze lingered on her for a long moment before he exhaled heavily. "I can only do this once," he said, his voice carrying an unusual weight. "And it comes with consequences. For her and for me."

Tanya leaned forward despite the exhaustion pulling at her. "We need her for the trial, Midea. We need her to make our case. And she's just a kid." Her voice cracked slightly, but she pressed on. "No consequences can be worse than death. Nothing is worse than death, despite what people may tell you. All those people are alive." Her words hung in the air, final and unyielding.

Midea's dark red eyes studied her intently, as if searching for something. Finally, he sighed again, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "You're certain about this?" he asked, though it was more a formality than genuine hesitation.

Tanya nodded, too tired to argue further. Midea closed his eyes briefly, murmuring something under his breath—a quiet prayer to forces beyond. Perhaps to Satan himself, though Tanya couldn't bring herself to care. She watched him intently, every ounce of her remaining strength focused on Luna's fragile form, hoping against hope that Midea's intervention would be enough.

"If we get off this planet, you better put in a good word for me with your mother and Lord Lilith," Midea muttered, his voice tinged with weariness and resolve. He sighed deeply, his crimson eyes darkening as he brought a clawed hand to his chest. With deliberate precision, he began to cut open the skin over his heart. Purple blood seeped out, thick and luminous, its eerie glow casting fleeting shadows across the dimly lit room.

Tanya watched silently, her breath catching as she realized the gravity of his actions. Each movement was precise, controlled—a ritual born of knowledge far beyond her own understanding. The faint scent of sulfur and iron filled the air, mingling with the ever-present aroma of herbs from the healers' work outside. Midea's expression remained stoic, but the faint lines of pain etched into his face betrayed the toll this was taking on him.

"Luna is her name, right?" Midea said, his voice low but steady as he glanced at the frail girl lying on the cot. "With a yin-attributed physique, it's fitting. What a great name for a devil of the moon."

 

[Behemoth.]

Trial-1
________


Tanya pressed a trembling hand against her chest, feeling the slowly closing hole where Hathor's spear had pierced through. The wound still throbbed with dull, persistent pain, but her body—true to its nature—was already working tirelessly to repair itself. Her amethyst eyes flicked toward Midea, who stood nearby, his expression focused and severe. He drew a thin line of blood from his chest, dark purple droplets welling up and clinging to his clawed fingers. With deliberate precision, he traced arcane symbols in the air, each one glowing faintly before hanging suspended in space. The symbols shimmered like molten metal, shifting and twisting into intricate patterns as they arranged themselves around Luna's unconscious form.

Tanya watched the ritual unfold, her mind racing with questions and theories. The air felt heavier now, thick with an almost palpable energy that made her skin prickle. Each rune Midea conjured seemed to hum faintly, resonating with the very fabric of reality. The flames from nearby lamps flickered erratically, casting long, distorted shadows across the room. Outside, the faint murmurs of villagers tending to the aftermath of the battle could still be heard, mingling with the occasional crackle of burning debris.

"A devil of the moon?" Tanya murmured quietly, repeating the words Midea had uttered moments earlier. She placed a hand on her chin, her sharp gaze narrowing thoughtfully. "What exactly are you doing there?" she asked, her voice calm but clear, cutting through the tense atmosphere.

Midea turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes flashing with mild irritation at being interrupted. Still, he didn't stop his work, his hands moving with practiced ease as more runes formed in the air. "I am using my bloodline to make her into my kin," he explained curtly, the annoyance in his tone barely concealed. "I think it's something of a waste, honestly. But I'm no genius in the healing arts, and this is the only way I can give her a chance at survival." He let out a weary sigh, his voice carrying both resignation and determination.

Tanya's eyes gleamed with curiosity. "So you're giving her your bloodline, then?" she asked, tilting her head slightly as she tried to piece together the significance of what he was doing.

Midea's hands paused for a fraction of a second before continuing their intricate dance. "More than that," he said, his voice quieter now, almost reflective. "I'm making her a demon."

The runes in the air began to shift, their shapes folding in on themselves in ways that defied normal perception. They twisted and spiraled into geometric fractals, some of which seemed to exist in spaces beyond three-dimensional reality. Tanya could feel a faint pull from them, as if the symbols were tugging at something deep within her own being. It was her curiosity gnawing at her. A desire for knowledge. She tried to suss out the purpose of the complex wards before shaking her head.she lacked a knowledge base. she turned her attention back to the conversation at hand.

"Giving her a bloodline and changing her into a demon…" Tanya murmured, her brows furrowing. "That's fundamentally different, isn't it?" Her tone was more thoughtful than accusatory, but the weight of her words hung in the air.

Midea didn't answer immediately. Instead, he continued his work, the runes now forming a complex circle around Luna's prone body. The symbols pulsed rhythmically, each pulse sending out ripples of energy that seemed to weave themselves into the fabric of the room. The temperature dropped slightly, the air becoming colder with each passing moment.

Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying a mix of disdain and grudging respect. "This girl is lucky. Subpar talent, yet she's about to gain the body of a demon and the innate bloodline of the Scelus. She would likely have only gained a bloodline through the bone or heart-drawing methods if she ever managed to escape this backwater village and broaden her horizons. Luck truly does come to the undeserving," he muttered bitterly.

Tanya ignored his rant, zeroing in on the information that piqued her interest. "What exactly is the difference between your bloodline and becoming a demon?" she asked, her voice steady, her gaze unwavering.

"Hmmm?" Midea's voice carried a tone of mild surprise at her question, his fingers never ceasing their delicate work. Runes continued to spin around Luna's prone form, glowing faintly in the dim light of the room. The symbols pulsed rhythmically, each beat sending a soft hum through the air as if resonating with some ancient force. Shadows flickered across the walls, dancing in tandem with the shifting shapes suspended in the air.

"Ahh, I suppose you wouldn't know, now would you?" He spoke as though to himself before refocusing on her. "Bloodlines are… unique, I suppose, would be the best way to describe them. Unique to one's race, that is. The demon race originates from hell. Because of that, regardless of which circle we hail from, every demon shares a certain affinity with darkness, the abyss, and flame." He moved his fingers in a precise pattern, more runes materializing in a spiral, their shapes forming geometric sequences that folded into fractal patterns beyond normal perception. "Some demons possess far stronger affinities than others, like myself, but no demon lacks these traits."

Tanya's gaze flicked to the symbols forming in the air, her amethyst eyes narrowing as she took in the intricate patterns. The runes weren't just symbols—they radiated a primal, ancient essence, one that sent faint shivers down her spine. They seemed to exist partially outside the confines of the room, distorting the space around them in subtle but disconcerting ways.

"We also possess the ability to evolve at each layer," Midea added offhandedly, his tone betraying a hint of pride despite his obvious exhaustion. Sweat beaded on his brow, though whether from exertion or the intensity of the numen art he was performing was unclear. His voice remained steady, however, as he continued, "These traits are innate to the demon race. None of them qualify as a bloodline."

Midea's eyes flicked to her briefly, a glint of something unreadable passing through them. "Simply put," he began, his tone shifting into something more instructive. "They grant abilities, traits, sometimes even memories, passed down through generations. But they don't change what you are at your core. A human with a dragon bloodline is still human. A wolf with a phoenix bloodline remains a wolf. They gain power, yes, but their essence remains unchanged."

Tanya's mind worked quickly, processing the information. So, in essence, innate abilities were traits shared by all members of a race, while a bloodline was something unique—an inherited power that set certain individuals apart. A demon couldn't possess a 'demon bloodline' unless it was acquired unnaturally, through external means. Yet bloodlines could still arise naturally among demons, passed down within specific families. It was like certain human families being taller on average, except amplified to an absurd degree. Bloodlines, it seemed, were the defining factor that elevated individuals beyond the norm.

Midea's hands never stopped moving, drawing more runes into the air, their glow intensifying as the shapes began to fold inward, forming complex three-dimensional structures. Strange, unearthly whispers filled the room, the sounds faint yet persistent, as if the runes themselves carried some forgotten will.

"If you were to take the blood of an ordinary demon," Midea continued, his tone sharper now, as if annoyed by the very thought, "and use the heart or bone drawing method to extract its essence, you could integrate that blood essence into one of this Canid clan and grant them a demon bloodline. But it would only be a fraction of what true demons possess."

Tanya's head tilted slightly as she considered his words. So even though bloodlines could grant incredible power, they were inherently inferior when acquired through these methods. It was a fascinating distinction—true demons possessed innate abilities far beyond what a simple bloodline could replicate. But another term he mentioned caught her attention, and curiosity bloomed in her mind.

"The heart and bone drawing method," she said, her voice calm but insistent, tilting her head slightly. "You've mentioned it a few times now. What is it exactly?"

Midea finally glanced up from his work, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. For a moment, annoyance flickered across his features, but it quickly gave way to something more contemplative. He seemed to weigh whether it was worth answering her before sighing and giving in.

"It is a method," he said slowly, "to forcibly acquire a bloodline from another living being. Technically, it is classified as a dark numen art, though it's used so commonly across the realms that no one cares anymore. It often results in the death of the creature being harvested, as the process involves crushing and compressing their heart or drawing out bone marrow to extract the essence."

Tanya frowned, the explanation conjuring grim images in her mind. The idea of crushing someone's heart or extracting their marrow to steal their lineage was barbaric, even by the standards of this world.

Midea noticed her reaction and sneered slightly. "Not all lifeforms have hearts or bone marrow, of course," he added, his tone dismissive. "There are other methods for those beings—methods I don't particularly care to elaborate on. It's a crude practice, as I said. The bloodlines acquired through such means are crippled—mere shadows of the original. They can grant power, yes, but never to the same degree as a naturally inherited bloodline or the inherent ability of a race."

He shook his head in disdain, the disgust in his expression palpable. "It's a shortcut, nothing more. And shortcuts like that always come with a price."

Tanya remained silent, her mind racing as she absorbed the information. The concept of bloodline theft was fascinating in a morbid way, but it also highlighted something important—this world valued strength, power, and heritage above all else. To those who lacked talent or fortune, stealing the bloodline of another might seem like the only path to greatness, no matter how flawed the result.

Her gaze drifted back to Luna's still form, surrounded by the spinning runes and bathed in the soft glow of Midea's numen-infused blood. The air around her felt heavier now, thick with the weight of ancient power and the faint scent of sulfur. Each rune pulsed with a rhythm that seemed to echo in Tanya's chest, a steady beat that grew more insistent with every passing second.

"This way right here is much more viable and complete," Midea said, his voice carrying a faint hint of pride as the final symbols hovered in the air, pulsing rhythmically. The runes cast a soft, shifting glow across the dim room, their light reflecting in Midea's crimson eyes as he directed them with precision. The atmosphere was heavy, thick with numen-infused energy, and the faint scent of iron from his blood lingered in the air.

Tanya's gaze remained fixed on the formation spinning around Luna's form, each rune folding into strange shapes that seemed to bend reality itself. Despite the tension in the room, she kept her voice calm, controlled. "Why didn't you tell me this?" she questioned, her amethyst eyes narrowing slightly as she regarded him.

Midea barely spared her a glance, his focus never wavering from the intricate work before him. "Was it important?" he quirked a brow, his tone dismissive. The runes continued to spiral inward, drawing closer to Luna's comatose form, their glow intensifying.

Tanya crossed her arms, her fingers absently brushing the edges of the still-closing hole in her chest. The pain had dulled somewhat, but the sensation of her healing flesh left a strange discomfort in its wake. Her body was resilient—beyond resilient—but the thought of what she was about to suggest made even her hesitate.

"I can bear losing a heart," she said quietly, more to herself than to Midea. Her voice steadied as she continued, surprising even herself with the next words. "It should regrow. My body can pump blood effectively regardless. You could have used this method to grant Luna a Tyrannius bloodline, no? Our survivability and regenerative abilities seem to outstrip demons. It would have been better in this case, right?"

Midea paused, his fingers halting mid-air as he turned to look at her with incredulity. For a moment, silence hung between them, broken only by the faint hum of the runes. Then, with an almost disbelieving laugh, he shook his head. "You're serious?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement. "You were really about to offer up one of your hearts for this wolf child?"

Tanya didn't answer immediately. Instead, she found herself staring at Luna's fragile form, the layers of runes gradually enveloping her in a protective cocoon. The fact that she had even considered such a thing felt surreal. Tanya wasn't kind. She wasn't a hero. She didn't go around saving innocents unless it ultimately served her own interests. And yet, here she was, offering something as vital as one of her hearts for this child's survival.

Her fingers tightened slightly against her arm. What the hell is wrong with me? she thought bitterly. The dissonance was jarring—her mind telling her this was madness, while her body latched onto the thought and refused to let go. It wasn't just instinct anymore; it was something deeper, something she didn't fully understand. She had thought she had a handle on her Tyrannius instincts, but perhaps she needed to rethink that. Maybe even consider meditating to sort through the tangled mess of emotions coursing through her.

Midea's laughter pulled her out of her thoughts. "First off," he said, smirking slightly, "I had no idea you had that many hearts. And even if I did, I wouldn't rip out your heart to save some random wolf child I don't know." He waved his hand dismissively, guiding another set of runes into place. "Secondly, how the heart drawing sutra would even work on your body is beyond me. The process involves pumping numen into the creature's body and creating wards to compress the heart blood, life essence, and fragments of the outer soul. That's what creates a replica of the creature's unique traits. The bone drawing sutra is much the same. But your body?" He paused, giving her a pointed look. "Your body is a void. A sinkhole. Numen moving from the outside in can damage you like anyone else, but numen pumped directly into your body just… vanishes."

He gestured sharply, his expression growing more serious. "And thirdly—this is important—compatibility with the body matters just as much as the art used. There are different versions of these arts tailored to specific races—demons, dragons, kovri, and so on. Some are even more specialized for certain bloodlines. Part of the art involves adapting it through one's numen to ensure proper integration. Coloring their blood with your essence through the heart drawing sutra. But adaptability and compatibility still matter, one must have a body befitting that bloodline and specific techniques to integrate it on top of that inherent talent. And nothing is really known about the physiology of a Tyrannius. No sutra exists for your kind. The girl would pop like screaming souls on Satan Day."

Tanya arched a brow at the odd phrase. Screaming souls on Satan Day? She decided not to ask. Instead, her focus remained on his explanation. It made sense, in a way. Even if she could offer her heart, there was no guarantee it would work. Her body's unique nature wasn't just an advantage—it was a mystery, one that even someone as knowledgeable as Midea couldn't fully grasp.

Meanwhile, Midea's formation neared completion. The runes wrapped themselves around Luna in layer after layer, each one shimmering briefly before settling into place. By the time the ninth layer formed, the air around the child shimmered with a faint, otherworldly glow. The oppressive weight of numen filled the room, pressing against Tanya's senses like a tangible force.

Midea exhaled slowly, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. "There," he said, his voice quieter now, tinged with exhaustion. "It's done. If she survives this, she'll have the body of a demon and the bloodline of the Scelus. Her chances are slim, but… better than they were. Just a few more wards here to enhanceher chances."

Tanya nodded slowly, her gaze lingering on the cocooned form of Luna, now fully encased in Midea's intricate wards. The layers of symbols glowed faintly, shifting in complex, mesmerizing patterns, each movement casting fleeting shadows across the dimly lit room. The air was thick with the scent of iron, blood, and something older—something primal, as if ancient forces had stirred to witness this transformation.

Her thoughts churned as she considered Midea's earlier explanations. In simpler terms, it seemed the heart and bone drawing sutras were general but adaptable, crude in execution yet capable of remarkable variation depending on the target species and even specific bloodlines. However, there was an inherent limitation. A second stage in the process tailored the recipient's body to properly integrate the bloodline, and it was precisely this stage that rendered the sutras unusable on her. Well that and the first. Her Tyrannius physiology, with its void-like nature and its rejection of external numen, would simply negate the process entirely.

Her eyes flicked down to her chest, where the gaping hole from earlier had mostly closed. Only a faint scar remained, its edges faintly tinged with silver as her skin regenerated further. The scar tissue was also disappearing as if her body despised imperfection. If she gave it a hour there would be no mark the battle had ever even happened on her form. But despite her remarkable healing, the ordeal had left her feeling drained, hunger gnawing at the edges of her awareness. She frowned slightly. It's a shame, she mused. If that girl could gain these kinds of benefits, she might have had a better shot at survival. Even with the drawbacks. But Midea's earlier words tugged at her curiosity once more.

"The outer soul?" she asked, her tone thoughtful, her amethyst eyes narrowing slightly as she tilted her head. "I thought the soul was a cohesive whole, like you mentioned before?"

"Hmmm," Midea murmured, sparing her a glance as he worked, his blackened fingers tracing the final symbols into place. "Ah, you remembered that. Yes, the soul is a cohesive whole, but… it has layers, so to speak. Think of it like this: the soul is a single entity, but different aspects of it serve different functions. The Vitra is one such aspect—it's the part of the soul that intertwines with the body, akin to meridians. It's what allows us to interact with numen through our physical forms."

Tanya's eyes narrowed in concentration, absorbing the information. Vitra—soul channels fused with flesh. Makes sense, she thought.

Midea continued, his tone now more instructive. "Then there's the Spectra, a fusion of the soul and the mind. It's how we visualize numen, sense it, and comprehend our own cultivation. For high-level cultivators, when they lose their bodies, the Spectra actualizes into what you'd call a spectral form. You've seen them before, haven't you? Shades, spirits, spectral beings—they're manifestations of the Spectra, intangible to ordinary physical force."

Tanya nodded faintly, recalling the shades she had encountered. They had been ghostly, ethereal figures immune to most mundane attacks, but they hadn't been intangible to her. Of course, she thought wryly. My body can touch ghosts directly. Because that definitely tracks with being a part of a race of absolute units who are too angry to die.

"And finally," Midea said, pausing briefly as he adjusted a rune that flared brightly before dimming, "there's the Atman. That's… well, no one really understands it. The Atman is the fundamental core of a being, untouchable except by those beyond the ninth layer. It's said to be the essence of existence itself, the core by which we interact with creation through cultivation. Destroying the Atman means true death—no reincarnation, no lingering spirit. It's why you, your brother, and your mother are so dangerous."

He turned to her fully now, his crimson eyes gleaming with a seriousness that Tanya hadn't often seen from him. "You can destroy the Atman, just like that."

Tanya's expression remained impassive, though inwardly, she processed the weight of his words. The Atman—an untouchable essence, beyond even high-level cultivators—was something she could annihilate with ease. It explained why her mother was so feared. They didn't just kill; they erased. There was no coming back from their wrath.

Midea's pitch-black skin, which had once gleamed with an almost metallic luster, now looked dull and worn. He was clearly exhausted, though he made no complaint. Tanya's sharp eyes didn't miss the slight tremble in his hands as he finished the last set of symbols. Whatever this ritual had cost him, it wasn't insignificant. Considering he could only perform this particular transformation once in his entire existence, it was clearly special to him. Despite her usual wariness around him, she felt a flicker of gratitude. Even if he was doing this for his own benefit, he had still gone to great lengths to save Luna.

"Thank you," she said quietly, the words feeling foreign on her tongue. She wasn't one to express gratitude easily, but in this case, it felt warranted.

Midea waved her off with a tired smirk. "Save your thanks. I didn't do this for free. Besides, it's not done yet."

"How long will the… transformation take?" Tanya asked, her tone calm but tinged with urgency. "Will it be in time for the supposed trial?"

Midea slumped against the wall, exhaling deeply as he closed his eyes for a moment. "She'll be past the first stages by then," he said, his voice quieter now, weariness creeping into his words. "For her to fully acclimate to being a demon? That will take much longer. But she should be awake in time for the trial."

He opened one eye, regarding her with a tired but calculating expression. "However, I can't say what she'll look like by then. The transformation is unpredictable. Her appearance, her abilities—they'll change. From now on, she's as much my child as she is her parents'. She's my responsibility now, just like the two of you."

Tanya raised a brow at his casual declaration. Responsibility? She wasn't sure how to feel about that, but there was something oddly comforting about the way he said it. Despite his abrasive nature, Midea had proven himself reliable. In this world, aside from Tarak, he might be the only person she could truly trust—for now, at least.

Then she did a double take.

Tanya snapped her head toward Midea in shock, her sharp amethyst eyes narrowing as she processed his words. A child? She supposed she should have known. He had emphasized how significant this act was, but she hadn't fully grasped its weight until now. Midea, for all his airs of superiority and smug condescension, never gave off the impression of someone who wanted or had children. He carried himself with the detached arrogance of someone who valued power above all else, not a man interested in parental responsibility. Yet here he was, claiming Luna as his child through this strange, ancient ritual—and it was all at her request. A flicker of guilt gnawed at her, sour and unfamiliar.

Her expression twisted into a grimace. She might actually owe the demon quite a bit.

"You can pay me back in power and souls, little monster," Midea said with a sly grin, his voice laced with a teasing lilt that was uniquely his. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, clearly enjoying her reaction.

Tanya's grimace deepened. The demon had read her like an open book, and she didn't like it one bit. She let out a quiet breath, pushing away the gnawing sense of obligation. Fine. I'll pay him back eventually. But on my terms.

Suddenly, a radiant silver light burst from the cocoon, illuminating the room in a pale, ethereal glow. Tanya and Midea snapped to attention, their exhaustion momentarily forgotten as they fixed their gazes on the cocoon. The light was brilliant, cold and serene, resembling the full moon on a clear winter's night. It bathed the entire room in its luminous sheen, casting long, shifting shadows on the stone walls.

The light faded as quickly as it had come, leaving behind an eerie stillness in the air. But its presence hadn't vanished entirely. Where the light had once been, a simple yet intricate symbol now glowed faintly on the surface of the cocoon—a ward in the shape of a crescent moon, delicate and pristine, as if etched by celestial hands.

Tanya's sharp gaze lingered on the symbol. It looked… familiar. Her mind quickly connected the dots, and her eyes flicked toward Luna's neck. The pendant. The symbol was strikingly similar to the pendant the girl always wore around her neck, the one she had clutched so tightly even in her unconscious state.

"Is this normal for someone with a yin-attributed physique?" Tanya asked, her voice calm but edged with curiosity.

Midea frowned, his expression thoughtful as he examined the symbol. He shook his head slightly, crimson eyes narrowing in contemplation. "This is my first time performing this ritual, obviously, but from the records I've studied—no. This is not normal. People with certain physiques do tend to awaken with affinities corresponding to their nature, but I've never heard of anything like this."

His tone carried a note of genuine surprise, which was rare for him. Tanya exhaled sharply, her wings shifting slightly in a restless motion. It's always something, she thought, a hint of irritation creeping into her mind. Whether this was related to the pendant or simply a sign that Luna had more innate potential than Midea had initially believed didn't matter—not right now, at least. What mattered was whether this would affect the transformation process and delay her recovery in time for the trial.

Tanya glanced at Midea, trying to gauge his thoughts, but his face betrayed nothing beyond mild concern. He likely didn't know either. That uncertainty only added to her growing unease. She tilted her head back, running her hands through her tangled hair and feathers in a gesture of weary frustration. The trial. That looming event was the real reason she had suggested this whole ordeal in the first place.

Her thoughts drifted, analyzing the structure of the trial system in this world. Despite being in a completely different reality, the structure wasn't entirely unfamiliar. Funnily enough, it wasn't too different from the legal systems back on Earth. Evidence and witnesses were important, yes, but they weren't the deciding factors. The real power lay in the court of public opinion and the influence of those in power—specifically, the elders and prominent figures of the village. Their opinions would carry the most weight in determining the outcome.

She didn't know much about the elders, but she had some reason to feel confident. She had saved quite a few people during her time here, and thanks to Midea's efforts, she had inadvertently gained something of a legendary reputation among the villagers. She was also on good terms with Hati, who in turn was close with Garran, the current general. That relationship could prove useful.

And then there was the matter of Midea's deal with Chief Remus. While it was clear that the two weren't exactly on the best of terms, there was still a mutual understanding between them—a fragile alliance, perhaps, but one that might work in her favor. Furthermore, from her observations, Remus didn't seem particularly fond of Hathor. That could be another point in her favor.

Still, it wasn't a guaranteed victory. Hathor's status as an elder gave him significant influence, and there was always the possibility that he could sway the court in his favor. She couldn't afford to be complacent. She needed every advantage she could muster, every piece of leverage to ensure that the scales tipped in her favor.

Tanya exhaled heavily, exhaustion weighing on her as if every fiber of her being had turned to lead. Her mind felt hazy, dulled by the lingering pain of her wounds and the sheer mental toll of the past few hours. She tilted her head slightly, only for her ears to pick up the growing sound of hurried footsteps and frantic murmurs from beyond the dimly lit room.

"Oh no, Caela!"

"I heard she kept to herself… trapped in some delusional state since the death of the last general."

"She was too weak to do anything… her mind's been broken by trauma, right?"

"Can she even survive after this?"

"She was brilliant once. One of the most brilliant of us for a time."

Tanya's sharp hearing caught every word as the priestesses' voices melded with the clamor of approaching footsteps. Alongside them was a low, familiar growl that rumbled like distant thunder. Her brow furrowed slightly. She glanced toward Midea, who offered only a tired wave, his dark fingers flicking in silent acknowledgment, before leaning heavily against the wall. His normally sharp and sardonic expression had dulled, replaced by sheer weariness.

Without another word, Tanya stepped out into the hall.

The sight that met her was grim. Her brother, Tarak, stood at the forefront, his small yet powerful frame carrying a horribly burned and broken woman in his arms. Caela's once-proud form was reduced to something grotesque, a ruin of charred flesh and exposed bone. Her body was covered in large, fluid-filled blisters, her skin peeling away in places where the fire had licked too long. A deep, jagged scar marred her chest, blackened veins radiating outward like dark tendrils of corruption. Poison. Tanya recognized it instantly. The taint writhed beneath her skin as though alive, creeping toward her heart in a desperate bid to consume what little life remained.

The priestesses swarmed around Tarak, their faces pale with a mixture of horror and urgency. Sol darted ahead, her small hands trembling as she tried to guide them toward an empty cot. Despite the horrendous state of her body, Caela's eyes were astonishingly clear—sharp, lucid, and defiant against the odds. It was as though her spirit refused to yield, even as her flesh betrayed her.

Tarak turned his head slightly, his crimson eyes meeting Tanya's. There was no need for words; the faint nod he gave was enough to convey his acknowledgment. He moved with measured care, the weight of the woman in his arms seemingly insignificant despite her grievous state. As he set her down gently on the cot, Sol clung to the mother's hand, whispering soft, frantic pleas under her breath, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation.

The air was thick with the scent of burnt flesh and herbs, mingling in a nauseating blend that clung to the back of Tanya's throat. She grimaced inwardly, forcing herself to maintain a composed expression as she approached the cot. Her gaze flicked over Caela's ruined form, noting every injury with a clinical detachment born of necessity. The missing ear, the patches of exposed bone, the blistered skin—each injury painted a vivid picture of the horrors the woman had endured.

A pang shot through Tanya's chest, unexpected and unwelcome. She didn't care about Caela—she didn't know her, had no attachment to her. Yet the thought of Luna, that small, hopeful child who had already lost so much, stirred something in her. Luna might very well lose her mother, the one anchor she had left in this chaotic world. Worse, the girl would have to face the man who had shattered her life in court, her transformation into a literal demon adding another layer of trauma to an already broken existence.

And then there was Midea's comment. His claim that Luna was now as much his responsibility as her parents'. Tanya snorted quietly at the thought, a dark, wry chuckle escaping her lips despite the grim atmosphere. Gaining a new father out of this ordeal was a cruel irony, one she suspected Luna would come to realize soon enough.

How troublesome, Tanya thought, shaking her head slightly. She glanced toward Tarak, who stood silently by the cot, his expression unreadable but his presence steady and grounding. Whatever came next, they would face it together. This trial, this fight, this world—they would endure it all.

How troublesome indeed.

__________

 

[Behemoth.]

Trial-2
_______

Tarak stood silently, his crimson eyes fixed on Sol as she fretted over the badly burned woman he had pulled from the wreckage. The acrid scent of charred wood and scorched flesh still hung heavy in the air, mixing unpleasantly with the faint tang of herbs wafting through the building. Around them, priestesses in white robes moved hurriedly, tending to the wounded and muttering soft prayers under their breath. Despite the noise and motion, Tarak's focus remained unbroken.

He hadn't thought much when he first caught the scent of burning meat. His stomach had growled faintly—an instinctive reaction, nothing more. Their hard-earned meal had been stolen away, and he'd felt the gnawing hunger keenly. Still, he would have let Surya take the larger share of the kill. She was his big sister, and she had fought harder than anyone during the battle. That was only fair.

Yet instead of food, he had found something unexpected when he dug through the collapsed house—a woman, half-dead, clinging to the last shreds of life. Well she was still viable food to him but he knew better than to randomly take bites of people now. He'd stared at her for a moment, assessing her condition, before Sol had rushed over, her face pale and tense. She hadn't worn her usual expression of warmth and light; instead, there had been something different—something heavy in her eyes that Tarak didn't fully understand at first.

It wasn't fear.

It was blame.

The emotion hung thick in the air between them, cold and bitter. Tarak recognized it from not so long ago, when some of the villagers had looked at him the same way after he was first born. They didn't fear him; they resented him. Surya had taught him that much. Blame was a close cousin to hatred—different, but just as sharp.

Yet Sol had overcome that feeling, brushing it aside as though it were nothing, and instead worried about the woman lying broken in the rubble. Tarak knew why. She didn't help the woman necessarily because she wanted to—she helped her because she was important to Sol's family, and Sol's family the girl Luna had been hurt in this battle. That made this woman worth saving in Sol's eyes. And Sol was important to him, so that meant the woman was important too. It was simple logic.

Without hesitation, Tarak had picked up the woman, careful not to jostle her too much. She weighed little to him, her frail, burnt form barely registering in his arms. Sol had guided him here, to this building filled with priestesses and injured villagers, the scent of blood and herbs mingling in the cool air. The village itself still bore the scars of the attack—the charred remains of buildings, the rubble littering the streets—but signs of recovery were beginning to show. People moved with purpose, repairing what they could, their faces lined with exhaustion but determined.

Tarak's nose twitched as he caught a familiar scent, and he turned slightly, his sharp eyes landing on Surya as she entered the hall. She looked better—much better—than she had before. The gaping hole in her chest had mostly closed, leaving only faint traces of the brutal wound. Her amethyst eyes gleamed with their usual sharpness, though fatigue lingered in her posture. Tarak gave her a brief nod of acknowledgment before turning back to Sol.

"I have to go with Surya. Ok." His voice was calm, matter-of-fact, as if stating an unimportant detail rather than announcing his departure.

Sol turned toward him, her large ears twitching slightly as tears still clung to the corners of her eyes. "Ok, but… when will you be back?" she asked, her voice wavering slightly despite her effort to sound steady.

Tarak blinked at her, confusion flickering across his normally stoic face. "I have never left," he said simply.

Sol tilted her head, her ears twitching again in bemusement. "What do you mean by that?" she asked, puzzled.

Tarak's expression remained utterly serious as he explained, "I am with you even when I am not here physically. I only leave you when I no longer care about you."

Sol stared at him, her eyes wide for a moment before she snorted, laughter bubbling up unexpectedly. "Who taught you to say stuff like that? I'll give them a good beating," she said between quiet giggles, a hint of her usual brightness returning.

Tarak tilted his head slightly, considering her question. "Is this not how you talk to girls?" he asked, his voice as dry and serious as ever. "Midea said this is how you should talk to them."

At that, Sol let out another peal of laughter, this one louder and more genuine. The sound echoed softly through the hall, drawing a few curious glances from nearby priestesses. Tarak found himself pausing, his sharp senses registering every nuance of her laughter—the rise and fall of her voice, the way it seemed to lighten the air around them, the faint warmth it stirred in his chest.

He realized then, with a quiet certainty, that he really liked that sound.

He really liked that sound a lot.

____________

Tanya walked alongside her brother, the air thick with the faint scent of soot, blood, and charred wood lingering in the aftermath of the recent battle. The village, though still bustling with activity, had grown quieter as night settled over the landscape. Dim lanterns flickered weakly from a few surviving posts, casting a soft glow that painted long, wavering shadows across the cobbled streets. Tarak gripped her hand tightly, his smaller but surprisingly strong fingers clinging to hers as his eyes darted over her form, scanning her for any lingering wounds. His gaze was sharp, far too sharp for someone his age, yet there was an unmistakable note of worry in his expression that softened his otherwise serious demeanor.

Tanya let out a quiet sigh, shaking her head gently before reaching out to pat one of his horns with her free hand. The texture was cool and smooth beneath her fingers, a slight curve leading to a sharpened point. "I'm fine," she said softly, offering him a reassuring smile. Children needed comfort, after all, and despite Tarak's outward stoicism, he was still a child. He might have been born into strength, but that didn't mean he didn't need someone to ease his worries now and then.

Not that there was much for him to worry about. Tanya wasn't in any real danger—not from the wounds she had sustained, at least. Her body, as far as she could tell, was more of a miniature juggernaut than anything. So long as she got some food and a bit of rest, she'd be back at full strength in no time. Still, the thought crossed her mind briefly—what if her body was a ticking time bomb? What if all these traits she had observed so far were just the surface of something far more unstable? She shoved the thought aside quickly. No point in fretting over something she couldn't control, not right now.

Though, speaking of things she couldn't control… her stomach let out a low, disgruntled growl, the sound barely audible but enough to make her frown slightly. She was starving. Her mind wandered briefly to Midea's home, where they had intended to return. If she remembered correctly, he didn't have any stored food—at least, nothing substantial. In fact, the entire village struggled with storing food properly. They knew how to ferment and brew alcohol, which was something, but they lacked basic preservation techniques like making jerky or drying meat. Apparently, they relied on something called preservation wards, but those were difficult to produce, and there weren't many of them to go around.

Sure, everyone had some stored food, but most of it consisted of carcasses from prey hunted only a few days prior. Even so, she had to give credit where it was due—meat here took far longer to spoil than it did back on Earth, even in such wild and unregulated conditions. She suspected it had something to do with the metaphysical energy that permeated the entire planet, affecting both the flora and fauna in subtle but significant ways. It was fascinating, really, though not immediately helpful to her current predicament. Right now, all she wanted was something edible, preferably without too much hassle.

As she walked, lost in thought, she felt Tarak come to an abrupt stop beside her. The sudden motion pulled her out of her musings, and she turned her head, following his gaze. There, standing a few paces ahead, was Hati. Her vibrant red hair shimmered faintly in the dim light, catching the last fading embers that drifted lazily through the air. Her amber eyes shimmered in the flickering light of the dying embers scattered across the village path, casting a faint warmth on the cool ground. They gleamed with a faint wetness, a barely restrained emotion flickering behind them. Tanya's gaze slid downward, quickly noting the large burn injury on Hati's arm. Blood trickled slowly from the wound, dark rivulets trailing down her tan skin and staining the fabric of her ripped and cracked armor.

Tanya's eyes narrowed slightly as a sudden, unexpected wave of protectiveness surged through her. She didn't know why, but seeing Hati wounded like that stirred something primal within her, a fierce need to protect that she couldn't quite shake. It was irrational, perhaps, but undeniable. She glanced over at her brother and saw a similar flicker of emotion in his eyes. Tarak, ever stoic, was trying to mask it, but Tanya could tell—he felt the same. They were both reacting to something deeper, something instinctual. She sighed inwardly, knowing she really needed to get a handle on these instincts before they overwhelmed her entirely.

Before she could say anything, Hati rushed forward, her movements swift despite the clear pain she must have been in. Without hesitation, she threw her arms around them, pulling Tanya and Tarak flush against her chest in a firm, almost desperate embrace. Tanya felt the warmth of Hati's body through her cracked armor, the faint tremble in her limbs as she held them close. The scent of burnt leather and singed flesh clung to Hati's form, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood. Yet beneath all that was something familiar—something comforting. The steady, rhythmic beat of Hati's heart, strong despite everything, echoed faintly in Tanya's ears as they stood there, enveloped in the warmth of the woman's embrace.

"I'm so glad you both are okay!" Hati said, her voice filled with genuine relief, carrying the warmth and tone of a mother scolding and doting all at once. Her amber eyes shimmered in the flickering light of the dying embers scattered across the village path. Despite the grin on her face, Tanya noticed the slight tension in her posture, the way her fingers trembled ever so slightly as they gripped their shoulders.

"Hati, you're hurt. Let go and go to the place with the women in the robes," Tarak said in his usual deadpan tone, though Tanya, standing close enough, could catch the subtle shift in his voice—an unfamiliar note of concern. It was faint, but it was there. He wasn't good at expressing emotions, but for those who knew him, the difference was unmistakable.

Hati's smile widened at his words. She let out a soft laugh, the sound light and musical despite the fatigue evident in her amber gaze. "Hehe! You mean the priestesses? Oh, Tarak, I'll have to teach you the proper words one of these days." She flexed her burnt arm in a show of bravado, wincing as a sharp jolt of pain lanced through her muscles. Still, she kept up her grin. "I'll be just fine. A girl with aspirations to devour the moon must be able to bear a few scars. Besides," she added with a playful smirk, "they'll look good, don't you think?"

Tanya snorted softly at her antics, but inwardly, she made a mental note to ask the priestesses for some kind of balm or salve in the morning. Not just to help Hati's recovery but also to solidify her own rapport with the woman. Connections like this would be crucial for the upcoming trial, and fostering goodwill could only serve to strengthen her position.

As her thoughts drifted, Hati leaned forward, cupping Tanya's face gently between her calloused hands. Her touch was surprisingly tender, and Tanya found herself momentarily frozen by the gesture. Hati brushed a few stray strands of Tanya's golden hair out of her face, her fingers lingering for a moment before she pressed her forehead against Tanya's.

"You look tired," Hati murmured, her voice soft and caring. "Let's go eat, hmm?"

Tanya blinked, a strange sensation rippling through her body. It wasn't the familiar tug of her adaptation process, nor was it the dull ache of lingering exhaustion. It was something else entirely—an unfamiliar warmth that made her feel strangely unsteady. Before she could fully process it, her knees wobbled slightly, and Tarak was there in an instant, steadying her with a worried look in his crimson eyes.

"Yes, let's," Tanya said quietly, her voice lacking its usual sharpness. She allowed herself to lean on Tarak for a moment longer to properly steady herself.

The three of them made their way back toward Hati's home. The village around them was still in a state of disrepair, with the aftermath of the fire spirits' rampage evident in the scorched buildings and the lingering smell of smoke in the air. Villagers moved about, some carrying buckets of water while others tried to salvage what they could from the wreckage. Despite the destruction, there was a palpable sense of relief in the air. They had survived, and now they could begin to rebuild.

As they walked, Hati began to recount her exploits during the battle, her voice animated despite the fatigue evident in her every step. "So there I was, facing down this massive fire spirit with nothing but a rope and half a spear. The damn thing was snarling and spitting embers everywhere, but I wasn't about to back down. I wrapped the rope around its neck, did a little flip—" she made a flipping motion with her hand, grinning all the while, "—and brought it crashing down into the dirt!"

Tanya found herself smiling despite herself. Hati's enthusiasm was infectious, and even though she knew the woman was likely exaggerating for effect, it was hard not to be entertained by her storytelling.

"Oh, and get this," Hati continued, her amber eyes gleaming with excitement. "A bunch of those fire spirits decided to do some sort of creepy little dance and combined into this supermassive one. I didn't even hesitate—just ran up to it and punched it right in its stupid, flaming face!"

At that, Tanya couldn't suppress a chuckle. The sound was quiet, barely more than a breath, but it was enough to catch Hati's attention. The red-haired woman spun around, eyes wide with mock astonishment.

"Is that a laugh I hear?" Hati exclaimed, her voice filled with playful glee. Before Tanya could react, Hati lunged forward and grabbed her cheeks, pulling them gently but firmly. "Oh, I knew you had it in you! Come on, laugh a little more for me!"

"Luhh mehh guhh," Tanya mumbled through squished cheeks, another chuckle bubbling up despite herself. She should have been annoyed—really, she should have—but for some reason, she just wasn't. Hati's energy, her laugh, and her genuine care were disarming in a way Tanya hadn't expected.

"Not until you promise to keep laughing more often!" Hati teased, her own laughter ringing out as she finally let Tanya go.

Tanya rubbed her cheeks, shooting Hati a half-hearted glare that lacked any real heat. "You're insufferable," she muttered, though the faint smile on her lips betrayed her true feelings.

By the time they reached Hati's home, the sun had fully set, and the village was bathed in the soft glow of the moon. The air was cool, carrying with it the faint scent of charred wood and distant wildflowers. The home itself was modest but sturdy, built from the same old blue-green wood and stone with a sloping roof that looked like it could withstand even the harshest storms.

As they stepped inside, they were met by a tall, imposing woman with crimson hair much like Hati's. Her features were sharp and stern, her eyes a deep amber that gleamed with a mixture of worry and relief as they landed on Hati.

"Mother," Hati said, her voice softening as she stepped forward. Before Tanya could fully process what was happening, the older woman closed the distance between them and enveloped Hati in a tight embrace. Despite her stern appearance, there were tears glistening at the corners of her eyes.

"You're safe," the woman whispered, her voice trembling slightly. She pulled back just enough to cup Hati's face in her hands, much like Hati had done to Tanya earlier. "Thank the Suns you're safe."

"This stupid girl!" Hati's mother scolded after the moment pulling back with a mean face although her voice was sharp yet laced with undeniable love. Her amber eyes gleamed fiercely, as though daring her daughter to argue. "I let you become a soldier, but you must take care of yourself. I've already lost too many to war. We lost your father to war. I don't want to lose another of my family. Understand me?" Though her words were harsh, they were drenched in deep, protective affection, each syllable carrying the weight of someone who had seen far too many losses.

"Yes, Ma," Hati muttered sheepishly, her voice small as she hugged her mother tightly. Despite her embarrassment, there was a hint of softness in her tone. It was clear that, for all her bravado, Hati valued moments like these—being enveloped in familial care. The two stayed locked in an embrace for a few moments before finally pulling apart.

"Now go apply some balm to those wounds. Scram!" her mother barked, though her tone had softened considerably. She punctuated her command with a playful slap to Hati's rear, eliciting a startled yelp from the girl, who darted up the stairs with a grin, rubbing the spot where she'd been smacked.

As Hati disappeared upstairs, her mother turned her attention to Tanya and Tarak. Her expression shifted, concern etched into her features as she took in their exhausted appearances. "Now look at you two," she said, shaking her head with a mix of worry and exasperation. "You both look entirely too drained after tonight's chaos. I'm sorry I couldn't do more to help, even though I'm supposed to be an adult and all. But there's one thing I can do—feed some children!" Her tone brightened at the end, her amber eyes sparkling with determination.

She stepped forward, clearly intending to lift them both into her arms. However, she stumbled slightly, catching herself before reinforcing her legs with numen. A hearty laugh escaped her lips. "Well, well, it seems you two might eat more than I expected."

Tanya couldn't help but snort internally at the sight. Despite her weariness, she allowed the woman to scoop her up. Tarak, in typical fashion, remained stoic but didn't resist either after seeing her accept it, letting himself be carried without complaint. Hati's mother deposited them at a sturdy wooden table, its surface worn but clean, with faint carvings of runes etched into its edges—likely remnants of old preservation wards.

As they settled in, she busied herself in the kitchen. From a small pantry tucked into the corner, she retrieved a slab of meat that had been preserved using a rudimentary ward formation. With practiced ease, she placed it on a cutting board and began chopping it into sizable chunks, the rhythmic thud of the knife echoing through the cozy room. The faint scent of seasoned meat filled the air, making Tanya's stomach growl audibly. She glanced away in mild embarrassment, but the older woman merely chuckled, amused by the sound.

A simple fire flared to life beneath a sturdy clay pot as Hati's mother added the chopped meat, searing it briefly before tossing in a handful of herbs and spices. The rich, savory aroma intensified, blending with the earthy scent of the herbs. Steam rose from the pot as she poured in water and stirred, creating a thick, hearty stew.

Moments later, she ladled generous portions of the stew into two wooden bowls, each one brimming with tender meat and fragrant broth. She set the bowls in front of them with a satisfied smile. "If you ever want more meat, just ask," she said kindly, her voice carrying a sense of home that made the room feel just a little cozier despite the lingering chill of the night.

Tanya eyed the bowl ravenously, the scent alone enough to stir her animalistic tendencies. Without hesitation, she picked up a wooden spoon and began to eat, shoveling the stew into her mouth as though it were the first meal she'd had in days. The rich broth warmed her from the inside, and the tender chunks of meat practically melted on her tongue. Each bite seemed to infuse her weary body with a renewed vitality, her natural regeneration speeding up as the energy was absorbed via her innate ability.

As she ate, she noticed something peculiar—her bowl was filling up faster than she could empty it. Her brows furrowed in mild confusion before her eyes flicked to the side, catching Tarak in the act of transferring more meat from his own bowl into hers. He worked quickly and silently, stacking the meat into her bowl with meticulous precision.

"You need to eat to get back your strength," he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact, as though it were the most logical thing in the world.

Tanya opened her mouth to protest but found herself hesitating. She glanced at Tarak, noting the quiet determination in his crimson eyes. He wasn't doing this out of pity—he genuinely wanted to help her recover. She allowed herself a small, rare genuine smile in response.

"Don't worry about that, little one. Take all you need!" Hati's mother laughed heartily, her voice ringing through the room like a bell. She reached over and split the remaining meat between the two bowls, ensuring both children had plenty to eat. Tarak, ever the quiet protector, continued slipping more meat into Tanya's bowl whenever he could.

Despite feeling a twinge of guilt at accepting so much of the food, Tanya couldn't bring herself to stop. The warmth spreading through her body was too comforting, too necessary after the night's ordeal. Every spoonful fueled her regeneration further, replenishing the energy she had expended. Even though most of the food's energy seemed to vanish into the strange void that was her body, what little remained was enough to help her body finish the process faster than normal. She was sure that nothing would mar her frame after the meal.

As she continued eating, she glanced at Tarak again. His usually stoic face had softened slightly, his eyes shining with quiet happiness at seeing her regain her strength. Tanya found herself smiling again—something that felt increasingly natural around him, despite how strange it was for her. She supposed it was fine with him. It wasn't like she had another option anyway. She had no plans on dying so this was and would be her brother for all time. She would trust him as such. Well, she already had but that was beside the point.

She kept eating, savoring both the food and the rare sense of peace that had settled over the room.

"MOM! You didn't save any food for me!" Hati's voice rang through the house as she came bounding down the stairs, her footsteps hurried and her expression indignant. The balm on her burnt arm glistened faintly under the dim lighting, though it didn't seem to bother her nearly as much as the sight of empty bowls on the table.

Her mother crossed her arms, raising a brow as she shot a sharp glance in Hati's direction. "Are you a growing child? You're grown as hell already. Get married and get out!" she shouted back, her tone half-serious, half-teasing.

Undeterred, Hati grinned and sidled up to her mother, snuggling against her side with exaggerated affection. "C'mon, I know you don't mean that," she cooed, poking her mother's side playfully. "Where's the food for your favorite daughter, huh?"

Her mother huffed, pretending to ignore her, though a faint smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "Hmph! Do you even need more food? Your butt is looking thrice the size of your head these days," she shot back, her voice dripping with playful exaggeration.

Hati's eyes widened in outrage, and even Tanya, who had been quietly devouring her meal, coughed mid-bite, some of the food momentarily lodging in her throat. She pounded her chest lightly, struggling to regain her composure. "Mom, that's a gross exaggeration!" Hati shouted, her face flushed with embarrassment.

"And that's why that other girl has his eye," her mother continued, unfazed by Hati's reaction. She snorted, clearly enjoying herself. "Who'd want such a big eater? I bet you could eat the general out of house and home."

Hati pouted dramatically, crossing her arms in mock indignation. "Hmph! Whatever," she muttered. "My Surya and Tarak will feed me instead." With a haughty air, she wandered over to the table, opening her mouth wide as if expecting to be fed like a baby bird.

Tarak, ever the enigma, didn't hesitate. He calmly picked up a piece of meat from his bowl, his expression as stoic as always, and Hati's eyes lit up in anticipation. But just as she opened her mouth wider in expectation, he dropped the piece into Tanya's bowl instead, not even sparing Hati a second glance.

"I can't compete with anyone in my own home, huh?" Hati sighed, slumping exaggeratedly to the floor as if utterly defeated. She lay there, arms sprawled out dramatically, her amber eyes glinting with playful irritation.

Tanya, watching the entire scene with growing amusement, picked up a piece of meat from her bowl and shoved it into Hati's mouth before she could voice another complaint. Hati's eyes widened momentarily in surprise before softening in delight as she chewed. The playful glow in her eyes returned as she gave Tanya a grateful grin.

The rest of the night unfolded in a lively blur of chatter, laughter, and stories. Hati's mother shared tales from Hati's youth, many of which left the fiery redhead blushing furiously in embarrassment. Tanya couldn't help but chuckle softly at some of the more ridiculous stories, especially the one about how Hati had once attempted to ride a wild boar into the village square, only to be thrown off into a mud pit. Even Tarak's usually impassive expression softened, his lips quirking into a faint smile at the recounting of Hati's misadventures.

Despite the exhaustion clinging to Tanya's bones, she found herself enjoying the warmth of the family around her. The fire crackled softly in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the wooden walls and filling the room with a soothing warmth. The scent of herbs and cooked meat lingered in the air, mingling with the faint, earthy aroma of the balm Hati had applied to her arm. Outside, the distant chirping of nocturnal insects created a gentle backdrop to the lively conversations within.

Eventually, the night began to wind down. Hati's mother gathered the empty bowls, humming softly as she cleaned up the remnants of their meal. Hati yawned loudly, stretching her arms over her head before wrapping one around Tanya's shoulders with an affectionate grin.

"C'mon," Hati said, tugging Tanya gently toward the stairs. "You're sleeping with me tonight."

Tanya raised a brow but didn't resist. Tarak followed silently, his small but sturdy frame moving with quiet grace as he kept pace beside them. Together, they made their way upstairs, the floorboards creaking slightly beneath their steps. The upstairs room was simple but cozy, with a large, well-worn bed covered in thick furs and blankets. The faint scent of lavender lingered in the air, likely from the dried sprigs hanging near the window.

Hati flopped onto the bed with a content sigh, patting the space beside her. "Come on, don't be shy. It's warmer this way."

Tanya rolled her eyes but climbed into the bed nonetheless, settling into the center of the bed. Tarak took his place on her left without a word, his presence a silent but steady comfort. As they lay down, Hati's arm draped lazily over Tanya's midsection, and Tarak's tail slithered around her waist, coiling protectively.

Despite the weight of the two of them resting on her wings, Tanya didn't feel any discomfort. It seemed her body's absurd durability extended even to things like this, preventing cramps or blood flow issues. She glanced at her sibling, noting how quickly he drifted into slumber. Hati even snored softly, a faint, rhythmic sound that filled the quiet room. Tarak, ever the vigilant one, lay still, his breathing slow and even, but his tail remained wrapped securely around her, a silent promise of protection.

For a while, Tanya simply lay there, her mind refusing to rest despite the exhaustion weighing her down. Thoughts of the upcoming trial swirled in her head, each potential move and countermove playing out in her mind's eye like a complex game of chess. There was so much to prepare for, so much to consider. And yet, despite the weight of it all, a strange sense of peace settled over her.

For now, she would rest.

______________

Midea pushed himself up from the cold wood wall where he had essentially collapsed, his limbs aching with fatigue. His usually vibrant black skin, usually possessing a brilliant luster born from his vitality, now appeared dull and worn. The aftermath of the Valefor Ninefold Metamorphosis technique weighed heavily on him, both physically and mentally. He let out a long, slow breath, steadying himself as he processed the enormity of what he had done.

He now had a child.

The realization struck him again, harder this time. The ritual he had performed wasn't some simple numen art, nor was it something casually passed down. The Valefor Ninefold Metamorphosis technique was among the most guarded legacies of the the House of Valefor, a sacred art reserved for only the most significant members of the family. It wasn't meant for just anyone. No, this technique was designed to elevate those with immense potential—those from lesser races who could be molded into powerful allies, loyal retainers, or even kin, bound by blood and the weight of shared power. It was a way for Scelus elites to expand their influence, to create family where there was none and secure powerful ties for the future.

Typically, the technique was used by masters on their most promising disciples, a mark of ultimate favor and trust. To offer it was to give more than blood—it was to forge an unbreakable bond, a declaration that the recipient was now as much family as any blood-born child. Among the Scelus, this ritual was often seen as more significant than having biological children. After all, you could sire many children, but the Valefor Ninefold Metamorphosis could only be used once. Ever. It was a singular, irreversible sacrifice of one's heart blood essence, and for many, it represented the pinnacle of trust and legacy.

And Midea had just spent it on a random wolf child he barely knew.

He ran a six-clawed hand over his pounding head, feeling the weight of his decision settling in his bones. It wasn't regret—Midea wasn't the type to dwell on what-ifs. He made his choices deliberately, calculated every risk, and moved forward without looking back. But still, he couldn't deny the enormity of what he had done. By the customs of his people, he was now bound to treat Luna as his own daughter. Honor demanded it, and while Midea might have been many things, he was not without pride in his lineage and the traditions that came with it.

What a waste, he thought briefly, though the thought lacked true conviction. He knew why he had done it, why he had taken such a drastic step. It wasn't out of sentimentality or pity for the girl. No, Midea had bet everything on his future, on the potential rewards that lay ahead if he played his cards right.

He flexed his claws, watching as faint remnants of his own numen flickered around them before dissipating into the air. The girl mattered to Surya. Mattered enough that the Tyrannius had been willing to offer something as vital as one of her hearts—a gesture that had genuinely shocked him. If he hadn't saved Luna when Surya suspected he had the means to do so, it would have soured their relationship irreparably. And that wouldn't do. Not when he had so much riding on gaining their trust.

He glanced toward the closed door of the room where Luna was still undergoing the middle stages of her transformation. The air in the room still crackled faintly with residual energy from the ritual, the scent of iron and demon blood lingering stubbornly. He couldn't afford to lose the goodwill he had carefully begun to cultivate. If he played this right, Surya and Tarak would come to see him not just as an ally but as someone vital to their lives—someone they relied on, trusted, maybe even respected.

And why shouldn't they? Midea had no intention of betraying them. Quite the opposite. He needed them as much as they needed him, if not more. They were his ticket back to hell—not just as another son of a noble house albeit a very talented and handsome one but as someone with real power, real leverage. A literal hero of hell.

His crimson eyes gleamed faintly in the dim light as he leaned against the table, resting for a moment. If he succeeded in securing their trust, if he could truly endear himself to them, he would return to hell not as a mere Scelus but as someone with the ear of Lervea herself—the Tyrannius who could crush universes with her bare hands. His father might laugh at him now, might sneer at his current predicament, but would he still laugh when Midea whispered dark truths into Lervea's ear about his misdeeds? He imagined her giant foot crushing the old goat into paste.

A slow, predatory grin spread across Midea's face at the thought. His father had always been a looming shadow over his life, a figure of authority and derision. And even more then that. But power shifted easily in hell, and Midea had no intention of remaining at the bottom forever. With Surya and her brother by his side, he could rise. He could force the House of Valefor to recognize his worth, to acknowledge the power he had cultivated. And to free her to bring her back. And if they didn't…

Well, there are other ways to secure respect.

His grin faded slightly as weariness crept back in. The ritual had drained him more than he cared to admit. He could still feel the ache in his chest where he had drawn out his heart blood essence, the very core of his being. It would take time to recover fully, time he didn't have in abundance. The trial loomed ahead, and with it, the delicate game of politics and public opinion he would need to navigate alongside Surya.

But for now, he had made significant progress. Last night's events had already started to shift things in his favor. He had seen it in Surya's eyes—the flicker of something approaching gratitude. That alone was a victory. She wasn't the type to trust easily, but he had taken the first step in earning her favor. And once he had that, once he was truly embedded in their lives, there would be no going back.

Midea straightened, exhaling slowly as he steeled himself. The path ahead was treacherous, but he had always thrived in the shadows, weaving through danger with cunning and charm. He had made his move, placed his bet, and now all he could do was see it through.

Besides, he thought with a faint smirk, it wasn't such a bad thing to have a child. Even if she was a random wolf girl he barely knew, she was his now, in every way that mattered. And in hell, bloodlines meant everything.

Midea turned his head slowly, casting yet another glance at the cocoon where Luna lay encased in layers of wards and numen and blood crafted symbols. His crimson eyes narrowed thoughtfully before he let out a quiet sigh. He supposed no one had entered the room while he had rested; otherwise, the defensive alarms of the village would have been set off by the sight and the rumors would have spread like wildfire. It was luck. Still, it didn't sit well with him to leave it unguarded for too long.

Without hesitation, he extended a hand, drawing from the faint reserve of numen left in his weary body. Pure purple numen flowed outward, shimmering faintly in the dim light of the room as he etched protective wards into the very air around the cocoon. The symbols glowed faintly, radiating a soft, steady pulse that seemed to harmonize with the energy still lingering from the ritual. It was draining work, especially without proper objects or artifacts to help channel and strengthen the process, but he didn't dare cut corners.

Once he was satisfied, Midea took a step back, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. His mind drifted briefly to Lain—the woman he had knocked unconscious during the chaos of last night at the request of Surya. Strangely enough, she had left without a word. He frowned, his instincts whispering faint warnings at the edges of his mind. There had been something… off about her. He wasn't one to ignore such feelings, no matter how subtle they might be. Just in case, he decided he would send out shadows later to track her movements. Better to be cautious than regretful.

With one final glance at the cocoon, Midea turned on his heel and exited the room. His footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor as he made his way down the narrow corridor. A few priestesses, who had clearly not expected his sudden appearance, yelped in surprise and hurriedly stepped aside, casting wary glances at the dark-skinned demon striding through their midst. He ignored their reactions, his mind already shifting to other matters as he reached the building's entrance.

Stepping outside, Midea was momentarily inundated by the glaring brilliance of the seven suns hanging in the sky. He raised a hand to shield his eyes, the intense light casting long shadows across the village below. Despite the devastation wrought by the previous night's events, life had already begun to stir anew.

The village was a hive of activity. Men and women worked side by side, lifting beams and stones as they rebuilt homes reduced to rubble by the fire spirits. The scent of ash still lingered heavily in the air, mingling with the fresher, earthier scents of newly turned soil and cut wood. Here and there, he spotted villagers clutching each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces as they mourned the dead. Others embraced with teary-eyed relief, reunited with loved ones after the long, harrowing night. The cries of sorrow mingled with quiet murmurs of hope, creating a somber yet resilient atmosphere.

As Midea scanned the scene, his eyes caught sight of a man kneeling before a woman, a simple band of that strange glassy laser wood in his trembling hand. The woman gasped softly, tears welling in her eyes before she threw her arms around him and shouted a joyous, "Yes!" The surrounding villagers, despite their exhaustion and grief, erupted into cheers, their faces momentarily brightened by the display of love and hope.

Midea allowed a faint smirk to tug at the corners of his lips. People needed hope in times like these, he mused. It was a simple thing, really—something so fundamentally ingrained in sapient beings. No matter the race, no matter the world, the drive to find hope in the darkest moments remained constant. Perhaps it was because, at the most base level, all souls were structured fundamentally the same. Sapient beings might differ in countless ways, but there were always certain common threads woven through their existence.

Of course, not everything was the same. Nothing truly was. The differences between races, between individuals, were vast and undeniable. Yet, in moments like this, the similarities became glaringly obvious. Midea folded his arms, lost in thought. Perhaps… perhaps I can take advantage of this.

His mind shifted toward the center of the village, where a group of craftsmen worked under the watchful eye of Bardo, the village's chief smith. He remembered visiting the man previously and yelling at him about not allowing Surya to instruct his people. Midea's expression darkened slightly as he remembered the scene. Bardo's lack of mental acuity and his fatuous sexism had in a way cost the village dearly. As if the world hadn't seen enough powerful women who could reduce entire realms to ash with a single thought. The smith's narrow-mindedness had hindered progress—progress that could have saved lives.

The wards Midea had provided to Bardo had not been integrated into as many weapons as they should have been. While a few had been completed and distributed, most remained unfinished, gathering dust in the smithy. Many of his workers hadn't even mastered the basic rune-work. Had Bardo and his team been quicker, had they taken the task more seriously, things might have gone considerably better for the village during the battle.

Midea's crimson eyes gleamed at the oppourtunity. He could speed things along—force the man to work faster, perhaps—but that would only breed resentment. No, he needed to be more subtle. Influence was best wielded like a finely honed blade, not a bludgeon. He would find a way to push Bardo without making himself an enemy. After all, the village's survival depended on it. If he succeeded then the village would see his help in garnering them better weapons in a desperate time of need. That would be amazing for him and the children.

Midea's hooves thudded steadily against the packed dirt path as he made his way toward the smithy at the thought, each step kicking up faint clouds of dust in his wake. Midea's sharp crimson eyes caught glimpses of people as they went about their tasks—some stopped to stare, others offered hurried words of gratitude as he passed.

He acknowledged them with a faint nod, though his mind remained elsewhere. It was natural, after all. His actions the night before had not gone unnoticed. Even beyond his confrontation with Remus, he had been instrumental in slaying a significant number of flame spirits, his unique ability rendering the fiery entities unstable and causing them to collapse. Many had witnessed his power firsthand, and as a result, his standing in the village had grown. That growing rapport might prove invaluable in the upcoming trial—a fact that Midea was keenly aware of.

As he neared the smithy, the familiar sounds of wood clashing and shouting filled the air. Yet something about the voices caught his attention, making his ears twitch slightly.

"Ohhhhhh! So that's how it works?"

"This is really useful. Thanks!"

"She really is extraordinary!"

"A genuine sun child!"

Midea's brow furrowed as he quickened his pace, curiosity piqued by the excited exclamations coming from within the wooden building. He ducked slightly as he entered the low doorway, his horns brushing against the frame, and was greeted by the sight of a crowd of men gathered in a semi-circle around someone. The air inside was warm, tinged with the scent of sawdust and resin, mingling with the sharper tang of heated tools and numen residue. Light streamed in from a large open window, casting long rays across the rough-hewn floor and illuminating the dust motes that danced lazily in the air.

At the center of the gathered group stood Surya, her golden hair gleaming in the sunlight like a living flame. She was holding a brush and a small pick-like tool in her hands, carefully painting and carving intricate runes onto wooden molds spread across a broad table. Her expression was one of calm focus, amethyst eyes gleaming with an intensity that seemed far too mature for someone so young. The men around her watched in awe as she worked, their voices a mix of astonishment and admiration.

"I can't use numen like you all can—yet," Surya said evenly, her voice clear and authoritative despite its youthful tone. She didn't so much as glance up from her work as she continued, "But my mental stamina is better. Drawing the runes drains mental energy, not numen. The shapes are complex, but repetition helps. I've made these molds for you to produce them faster. They will have no effect unless you make them however for obvious reasons."

She paused briefly, using the pick to etch a final rune into one of the molds before holding it up for the men to see. The rune gleamed faintly in the sunlight, its sharp angles and curves forming a pattern that seemed almost alive with latent energy.

"Just place the appropriate materials here," she instructed, tapping a specific spot on the mold, " trace what i have drawn and carved and imbue your numen with intent. Voilà. The mold will do the rest. Eventually, after enough repetitions, you'll gain a better handle on forming the shapes yourselves. These molds are only useful a few times—accumulated numen and residue will degrade them—but I've made over a hundred. That should be enough for now."

The room erupted in a chorus of impressed murmurs and excited chatter as the men examined the molds more closely. Even Bardo, the gruff and skeptical smith, stood off to the side with a begrudgingly impressed expression. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his thick brows furrowed in thought as he watched Surya with a mixture of respect and reluctant acceptance.

Midea's gaze shifted back to Surya, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as she finally looked up and met his gaze. Her amethyst eyes were steady, unblinking, and unnervingly sharp. For a split second, he felt a faint shiver run down his spine—a reaction he hadn't experienced in a long time. It wasn't fear, exactly. It was… recognition. She was different.

He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, considering her words and the scene before him. He hadn't thought of creating molds to simplify the rune-making process, primarily because it would have drained his own mental stamina too quickly. More importantly, his training as a genius of House Valefor had always emphasized rigorous discipline and precision in warding, avoiding shortcuts wherever possible. Even when he had dumbed things down for the Canid clan, it had never occurred to him to take this particular approach. Yet here was Surya, barely a few weeks old, devising solutions he hadn't considered.

Her mind astounded him. But it wasn't just her intellect that caught his attention—it was something deeper. The words she had spoken yesterday about death still lingered in his mind, unsettling in their clarity and weight. They weren't the words of a child, not even one as unique as her. There was something… off about her, something he couldn't quite place. It wasn't a topic he wanted to broach—not yet, at least.

Instead, he kept his expression neutral, offering her a brief nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention to Bardo. "Looks like you've got some help after all," he said, his tone light but laced with subtle meaning.

Bardo grunted in response, his gaze flicking between Midea and Surya before he muttered something under his breath and turned back to his work. The men around them continued to examine the molds, their excitement palpable as they discussed the potential uses and applications.

However, at Midea's brief nod of acknowledgment, a few of the other men finally noticed his presence. Their reactions were immediate—wide smiles, loud shouts, and heavy claps on his shoulder with hands still slick from working with animal fat. The strong, earthy scent of tanned hides and saw dust clung to the air, mingling with the faint metallic tang of blood used as material for the runes. Their voices rose in jovial camaraderie, words of praise and thanks spilling over one another as they lauded his efforts in the battle against the flame spirits.

Midea grimaced slightly, his upper lip twitching in irritation as he tried to avoid further smudges of grease and fat on his darkened skin. He was a demon of high birth, not a butcher, yet these villagers seemed intent on treating him like one of their own. His crimson eyes flicked toward Surya, who watched the entire scene unfold with an amused twinkle in her amethyst gaze. She didn't bother to hide her smirk, clearly enjoying his discomfort. With a subtle wave of her hand, she parted the crowd like water, stepping through them effortlessly before falling into step beside him as they exited the smithy.

The village beyond was still bustling with activity, though the mood had shifted slightly. The earlier air of somber recovery had given way to something lighter, more hopeful. People worked side by side, rebuilding homes, tending to the wounded, and preparing for whatever challenges lay ahead. Children ran through the streets, their laughter cutting through the stillness like a welcome breeze after a storm. Well no rather there was a literal storm, a meteor storm. Overhead, the seven suns hung low in the sky, their seven colored rays casting long, dappled shadows across the worn paths.

"It's a good idea," Midea said at last, breaking the silence between them. His tone was measured, but there was a grudging note of respect beneath it. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, noting the way her gaze remained steady, unyielding. "I suppose great minds think alike."

Surya inclined her head slightly, acknowledging his words without arrogance. "Yes, it will help significantly with public opinion," she agreed, her voice calm and precise. Her steps were deliberate, as though each movement carried purpose. "That's not all. I've spent some time convincing those I saved to spread my reputation in a positive manner. You should do the same."

Midea arched a brow at her, intrigued by her calculated approach. "I heard of your battle last night," she continued, her tone light but probing, her gaze flicking toward him briefly before returning to the path ahead. The wind caught a few loose strands of her golden hair, sending them fluttering across her face before she brushed them aside with an absent hand. "It was… impressive."

Midea didn't respond immediately. Instead, he allowed her words to hang in the air, considering her carefully. She wasn't wrong—his efforts the previous night had earned him a fair amount of goodwill among the villagers. But he hadn't gone out of his way to cultivate that reputation. He had fought because it was necessary, not because he sought recognition. Yet Surya's words carried an undeniable truth. Reputation mattered, especially with the trial looming ever closer. If he played his cards right, the goodwill he had earned could be leveraged to tip the scales in their favor. It was an unexpected gain.

"I'm assuming you have other plans?" he asked, his voice low, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her.

A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips, sly and self-assured. "Just a few," she said lightly, her tone carrying a hint of amusement. Her gaze remained forward, focused on the path ahead, but there was a gleam of something more in her eyes—something sharp, calculating, and relentless. "I do need you to do something for me while I go study."

His brows rose at that, curiosity mingling with suspicion. "And what is that, exactly?" he asked, his tone dry but wary. He wasn't in the habit of taking orders, especially from children, no matter how extraordinary they might be. Even if they were Lervea's

"To capture a shade, of course," she said simply, as though it were the most mundane request in the world.

___________________

Tanya wandered through the village, her steps light but purposeful as she made her way toward the center of knowledge. The sky above was tinged with a pale multicolored hue, the seven suns casting warm light across the cobbled paths and wooden buildings. Despite the lingering air of recovery after the recent attack, the village buzzed with activity. The wolfmen's forms moved about, their tails swishing and ears twitching as they rebuilt what had been damaged. Children played near a well, they splashed water on one another imitating the actions of soldiersduring the meteor storm, and vendors shouted about fresh meat and herbs brought in from the morning hunt despite the recent calamity.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings, noting the lingering signs of the battle—the charred remains of homes, the faint scent of ash still clinging to the air, and the occasional solemn expression on the faces of villagers who had lost loved ones. The weight of the recent events hung over the village like a shroud, but there was also a sense of resilience in the air, a quiet determination to move forward.

Tanya's thoughts, however, were focused elsewhere. She had a plan, a strategy to strengthen her position before the impending trial. Positive public perception was key. She knew Hathor would attempt to use her brother's actions after his birth as a weapon against them, painting Tarak as a dangerous creature and by extension, her as a threat. The thought of that arrogant elder made her sneer. He would try to see them both executed—or at least exiled. But she wasn't going to let him win. No, if anyone was going to be cast out, it would be Hathor. Her fingers twitched slightly at the thought, a faint spark of irritation flaring before she forced herself to calm down.

Part of her plan involved doing things for the village, proving her worth not just through strength but through service. It was why she had made the molds for the smithy and it was why she was doing what she was now. She had heard whispers among the villagers, concerns about the increasing skirmishes with the goblins. Though it wasn't exactly a war, the tension was undeniable. The frequency of attacks had risen, and the village leaders were growing increasingly worried. Wolvenblade had always prided itself on its mastery of the forest, yet somehow, the goblins were pressing them for resources and outmaneuvering their patrols. That was strange—too strange to ignore.

Arriving at the center of knowledge, she pushed open the heavy wooden door, the scent of aged paper and polished wood washing over her. Shelves lined the walls, packed with scrolls, tomes, and brittle manuscripts. Dim light filtered in through narrow windows, casting soft shadows across the stone floor. A few villagers sat at wooden tables, their heads bent in quiet study. The atmosphere was serene, almost sacred—a stark contrast to the chaos of the outside world.

Tanya moved toward the far end of the room, where older, dust-covered books were stacked haphazardly on shelves that looked as though they hadn't been touched in years. She ran her fingers along the spines, brushing away a thin layer of dust before pulling out a thick volume bound in worn leather. Flipping it open, she found a detailed sketch of a goblin on one of the pages.

The goblin in the illustration had green-gray skin, six distinct ears that fanned out from either side of its head, and large black eyes—completely devoid of iris or sclera, just pure, unnerving blackness. Its mouth was filled with sharp teeth, its jaw slightly elongated, giving it a feral, predatory appearance. Despite their monstrous features, goblins were relatively small. According to the chart beside the sketch, the average goblin stood around 5'5"—significantly shorter than the average male wolfman, who was listed as 6'4".

Tanya narrowed her eyes as she read further. The text described goblins as a race known for their rapid proliferation and their reliance on old and primitive practices, one of which was something referred to as marring. She frowned, flipping through several other dusty tomes in search of more information on the term, but came up empty-handed. Whatever it was, it seemed to be a practice that either hadn't been widely recorded or was deliberately omitted from these texts. She set the thought aside for now.

Her fingers drummed lightly against the table as she continued to read. Even with their numerous shadow cores, which granted them an affinity with darkness and stealth, goblins were physically weaker than the average wolfman. They shouldn't have been able to consistently outmaneuver the soldiers of Wolvenblade on their own territory—not without external factors tipping the scales. Something wasn't adding up.

She leaned back in her chair, placing a hand on her chin as she pondered the situation. From what Hati had mentioned, the goblins hadn't outright defeated the clan in battle; they had outmaneuvered them, evading traps and ambushes with uncanny precision. Leading soldiers into traps of their own or clashes with creatures. Taking full advantage of the forest in hit and run strategems. But such a thing shouldn't have been possible unless the Canid clan was mind numbingly incompetent. Something must have changed.

There was only one significant change in the village's circumstances recently, something that might explain the goblins' sudden boldness: the increase in vampyr attacks.

Vampyrs were gathering around the village in unnervingly higher densities than before. These creatures were apex predators, instinctively drawn to anything that coursed with blood. They hunted with a voracious hunger, their senses keen and unrelenting, and now their presence felt like a thickening storm about to break. Tanya felt a spark ignite in her mind as she examined the maps she had gotten up to get spread before her, each one meticulously detailing territories outlined with the paths where various beasts and dangers roamed.

The routes were written clearly, marked by seasoned scouts who had calculated the best chances of avoiding hostile encounters. These paths had served well for excursions in the past, but with the sudden surge in vampyr activity, the delicate balance of the ecosystem would inevitably shift. Tanya's brows furrowed as her mind unraveled the likely chain reactions of this change. Prey animals would scatter in terror, fleeing far from their usual grounds. Predators who relied on those prey would either starve or be forced to migrate into foreign territories, provoking battles with other apex creatures. Even the unique flora—those rare plants that depended on specific animal interactions for pollination or seed dispersal—would suffer from this disruption. Every living thing would be affected by the vampyrs' encroachment.

Her eyes flicked over the maps again, noting the routes marked for soldiers and trade as well. These paths, once stable and predictable, had likely become gauntlets of calamity. It was no wonder that reports of ambushes and disappearances had been on the rise. Vampyrs striking with randomly and in far greater numbers, coupled with the chaos of displaced beasts, turned every route into a deadly gamble. Her mind turned to the goblins, known for their cunning and skill in alchemy. They could very well be concocting brews or potions to lure beasts into areas frequented by soldiers. Such a tactic would amplify the dangers tenfold, turning even the safest routes into death traps. Hell the routes may not even exist anymore. The goblins saw the villages struggle and were naturally taking advantage of the chaos of the environment. Even further perpetuating their struggle by refusing to sell them shadow cores without significant concessions.

With a determined exhale, Tanya moved to gather her tools. She picked up a pen crafted from wood with a bone tip, its worn surface smooth from years of use. Dipping it into a small pot of ink—likely made from crushed fruit, charcoal, or some other natural substance—she began to write her observations in quick, precise strokes. Each word felt like it anchored the swirling chaos of thoughts in her mind onto the papyrus. She reached for another sheet, then another, methodically recording her deductions.

Her focus deepened as she leafed through the books piled high around her, searching for any relevant information on vampyr behavior, local fauna, and flora. She immersed herself in their patterns, habits, and habitats, piecing together a model in her mind of how the world would shift under this new threat. Every calculation, every hypothesis, she documented meticulously, her writing a blend of swift notes and detailed diagrams. The world outside might have been silent, but in her mind, it was alive with movement, teeming with creatures forced into unfamiliar grounds.

The stack of books grew ever larger as the night stretched on, moonlight filtering in through the cracks in the wooden shutters, casting a pale glow over her workspace. She worked tirelessly, her fingers stained with ink, her mind racing ahead of her hands. People entered and left the room throughout the night, some pausing to watch her with curious eyes. None dared disturb her—her intensity was palpable, an aura of singular purpose surrounding her.

At one point, her brother stopped by, standing silently behind her for what felt like hours. Tanya barely noticed his presence, lost in her thoughts, until he finally spoke. "I'll wait for you outside," he said, his voice low but steady. She didn't look up, merely nodded as he left, his footsteps fading into the distance.

As dawn began to grow closer, most of the onlookers had dispersed, leaving her in relative solitude. Tanya's mind continued to churn through possibilities, scenarios, and outcomes. Her analytical abilities were sharper than she had ever known in her previous life, yet this was beyond anything she had expected. She learned swiftly, absorbed information with ease, and applied knowledge faster still. It was as though her very being had been honed for this kind of mental warfare.

Finally, when she was satisfied with her work, she leaned back, her fingers laced as she was somewhat satisfied and her mind was alight with clarity. The last few sheets of her map lay before her, a sprawling depiction of the shifting world as she saw it. She glanced outside, noting the three moons shining brilliantly in the sky, their pale light waning as the night prepared to surrender to dawn.

The rhythmic clatter of hooves on wood echoed faintly, drawing her attention. Tanya turned, her gaze meeting the figure of the dark satyr standing in the doorway. His red eyes glowed faintly, a stark contrast against his jet-black skin, while his horns curved elegantly, giving him a larger-than-life aura. Despite his striking appearance, Tanya thought her brothers horns looked better. Still, the sight of him sparked a peculiar thought in her mind—she wished she had horns too. That would be pleasant.

"You've done it?" Tanya called out, her voice carrying through the quiet library with calm confidence.

"Naturally." Midea said calmly the moons shining across his ebony skin. "I am a genius from the noble House of Valefor, after all," he said with a smirk, his voice dripping with self-assured pride. He paused, his gaze drifting over the dozens of sheets spread across the floor, each one meticulously marked with notes, maps, and diagrams. "I'm curious—what is all of this?"

Tanya glanced up from where she knelt, adding the final touches to a particularly detailed map. The faint glow of the three moons outside illuminated the room, casting a silvery sheen over the papers. "Just more preparation," she said evenly. "I'll need your help with Garran, though, when it comes time to present this. The man respects you even if he doesn't like you."

Midea's smirk grew, clearly enjoying the idea of wielding influence over someone who held him in disdain. He knelt beside her, scanning her work with a critical eye. His sharp mind immediately picked out areas for improvement, and he began pointing them out with the precision of a seasoned strategist. "Here—if you shift this part of the route slightly, it avoids this cluster of vampyr sightings," he said, tracing a clawed finger along the map. "And here, you're wasting too much space. Streamline the notes."

Tanya frowned slightly but didn't argue. Instead, she leaned closer, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized his suggestions. "Fair. But if we streamline too much, it might lose clarity for those unfamiliar with the layout."

The two of them fell into a rhythm, debating every detail, adjusting routes, and refining notes until the pale light of dawn began to seep through the cracks in the wooden walls. Their discussion was relentless, a meeting of two sharp minds that left no flaw unchecked. When they finally stepped back to survey their finished work, both felt a rare sense of satisfaction.

Midea stretched, the joints in his arms popping audibly as he let out a low sigh. "Done. Not bad, little sun child. Though I'll still take credit for making it viable."

Tanya rolled her eyes but didn't rise to the bait. Instead, she reached for a nearby book, flipping through it idly as she spoke. "There's someone I should speak to as a backup plan," she murmured, half to herself. She closed the book with a soft thud, her gaze thoughtful.

Midea chuckled, a low, rumbling sound. "Always scheming. I like that." He straightened, shadows curling around his form as he prepared to depart. "Well, I'll leave you to your plotting. I have my own preparations to make. I'll be back before long."

With that, he vanished in a flicker of shadow and flame, leaving behind only a faint scent of burning air.

Tanya turned toward the door, her expression momentarily softening as she spotted Tarak sitting just outside the building. The early morning light bathed the village in a gentle glow, casting long shadows across the dirt paths. Tarak's tail swayed lazily above his head, weaving through the air in an almost hypnotic motion as he sat silently, guarding the entrance like a loyal sentinel.

A small smile tugged at Tanya's lips despite herself. She stepped forward, her wings shifting slightly as she approached her brother. "Sorry for making you wait, Tarak," she said, sitting down beside him. Her shoulder brushed against his as she settled in, the faint warmth of his presence calming her mind despite herself.

"No need to apologize. It's not like sleeping is something I need to do often anyway," Tarak replied, leaning against her in response. His voice was steady, his tone carrying the same calm certainty that always seemed to surround him.

Tanya chuckled softly, patting his horn affectionately. "I still need to see someone. After that, we can walk around with Sol. How does that sound?"

Tarak considered her words for a moment before nodding. "Do you want me to come with you?"

Tanya hesitated, genuinely pondering his offer. Tarak was a steady presence, a source of quiet strength, but given the delicate nature of her errand, it might be better to go alone. "Not this time, Tarak," she said at last, offering him a grateful smile. "But thank you for offering. And… thank you for saving me."

Tarak tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming with quiet curiosity. "Why thank me?" he asked, his tone devoid of arrogance—he was genuinely puzzled by her gratitude.

Tanya blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Hmmm?"

"Aren't we family? I thought that's just what family did for one another," he said simply, as if the answer were obvious.

Once again, Tanya felt something shift within her, something deeper than simple adaptation. It wasn't a physical change—it was emotional, just like what had happened with Hati. Family huh? That kind of thing wasn't in the cards for her in the past. But this would be her final life, no rather this was her first life. He was her first family. What an odd thought. Her gaze softened, and she leaned forward, gently knocking her forehead against the side of his horn under the growing light of dawn.

"You're not wrong," she said quietly. "You're not wrong at all."

She rose to her feet, brushing dust off her clothes as she stretched her wings slightly to shake them free of lingering debris. The moment of sentimentality left her feeling oddly unsettled, as though she were straying too far from the person she used to be. With a quiet sigh, she began walking toward the building frequented by priestesses near the core, her mind already shifting to the task ahead in an attempt to ward off a mild crisis.

The village was beginning to stir to life, the faint sounds of morning activity echoing through the air. Tanya weaved her way through the narrow paths, her sharp eyes scanning the surroundings until they landed on a familiar figure. Lain stood near the entrance of the building, her long hair swaying gently in the breeze.

"Hello, Lain. How are you?" Tanya greeted, her tone polite but carrying a hint of curiosity.

Lain turned, her expression lighting up slightly at the sight of Tanya. "I'm fine, Surya. Do you need something?"

Tanya suppressed a sigh of relief. It seemed Lain didn't recall being knocked out by the demon—or if she did, she chose not to mention it for some reason or another. "Well, I need to meet with Head Priestess Baya. Can you help me?"

Lain tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly in thought. For a moment, Tanya wondered if she would refuse, but then the woman smiled, a teasing lilt coloring her voice. "Usually, I'd say no. But you are the Seventh Surya, after all. The divine child… even if you are friends with Hati."

Tanya snorted inwardly girls would be girls she supposed. Lain led her inside, the air growing cooler as they entered the dimly lit halls. The scent of incense lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the earthy aroma of dried herbs and old wood. They made their way deeper into the building until they reached a room from which a loud, echoing laugh rang out endlessly.

"Bagyagyagyagya!"

Tanya's brows rose slightly at the sound, but she said nothing as Lain gestured for her to enter.

______________

 

[Behemoth.]

Trial- 3
_______

Tanya watched intently as Midea sat cross-legged in front of her and Tarak, his dark form a stark contrast against the vibrant jungle clearing that encircled them. Though they were technically outside the village walls, calling this a forest didn't feel right—jungle was the more accurate term, with its dense underbrush and towering blue-green trees whose spiral-shaped branches twisted skyward like coils reaching for the seven suns above.

The aspar—those luminescent, floating motes of light that often drifted through the air in this region—hovered lazily around them, though Tanya noticed there were fewer of them today. The usually abundant glow that painted the jungle floor in a soft, ethereal light seemed dimmer, as if something had shifted in the environment. She filed that observation away for later, her mind always seeking patterns, anomalies, anything that might give her insight into this strange world.

The trees around the clearing loomed tall and majestic, their bark gleaming faintly with a bluish hue under the dappled sunlight filtering through the canopy. Thick vines dangled from the upper branches, swaying gently in the warm breeze that carried the mingling scents of earth, foliage, and something faintly sweet—likely the sap of nearby seed plants. Tanya's sharp eyes caught sight of a trail of the small, insect-like pipla marching diligently across the grass, their tiny bodies gleaming like polished black stones in the shifting light. Not far above, a flock of one-eyed birds flitted through the air, their iridescent feathers catching the light in flashes of purple and black as they chirped in strange, haunting tones.

Tanya's gaze shifted back to Midea, her brow lifting slightly as her attention drifted toward his lower body. His legs weren't quite like those of a goat—no, they were more refined, with a sleek, muscular build covered in short, dark fur that shimmered faintly under the sunlight. Still, the resemblance was close enough that she couldn't help but wonder if it ever bothered him. She knew sitting in that position must have been difficult with his body structure. However, he sat perfectly still, his expression serene, his crimson eyes closed in deep meditation as he inhaled and exhaled with rhythmic precision. Like it didn't bother him at all. Truly a demon of pride.

His entire form seemed to radiate a quiet but palpable intensity, as though he were drawing in the very essence of the jungle around them. The air around him shimmered faintly, distorted by the subtle waves of numen he absorbed with each breath. Tanya had seen others cultivate before—priests, warriors, even villagers seeking to strengthen themselves—but Midea's method was different. There was a sense of mastery in the way he moved energy, a precision born from centuries of practice. That being said she could not actually sense the energy. She could only see the visual effect of his cultivation. Similar to being far away and seeing a the air distort due to heat but not actually being able to feel the heat. It was rather frustrating.

Tarak, sitting beside her, was less entranced. His small frame was slumped forward slightly, his head bobbing as he fought off sleep. Tanya didn't blame him—watching someone sit silently in meditation for an extended period wasn't exactly riveting, especially for a child like Tarak, who thrived on action and motion. She glanced at him, suppressing a smirk as his eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment before snapping open again, only for his head to droop once more.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Midea exhaled a long, slow breath, releasing a stream of turbid air. The shimmering vapor hung in the air for a moment, catching the light of the suns before dispersing into nothingness. Tanya's sharp eyes caught the subtle shift in the atmosphere as Midea completed his session, the lingering tension in the air dissipating like a drawn bowstring being released.

His crimson eyes opened slowly, gleaming with a faint inner light as they settled on her and Tarak. Despite the calm exterior he projected, Tanya could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow and the subtle rise and fall of his chest, evidence of the strain even someone like him felt during cultivation. Yet, as always, Midea carried himself with a regal composure, as though such effort was beneath notice.

"Well," he said at last, his voice low and smooth, carrying a weight that seemed to resonate through the clearing, "that took longer than expected."

Tanya didn't respond immediately. Instead, she studied him for a moment longer, noting the way the light played off his horns, the way his dark skin seemed to absorb the colors of the jungle around them. Despite her lingering questions about him, one thing was clear—Midea wasn't just some noble trying to survive outside his comfort zone. He was a force. She could respect that.

Beside her, Tarak blinked himself awake, his crimson eyes bleary but alert as he straightened up quickly as if he had never been near slumber. A small smile crossed her face mildly amused.

"So, did you sense anything? Learn anything?" Midea questioned, his voice low and smooth, carrying a hint of curiosity masked by his usual nonchalance after he opened his eyes.

Tanya didn't answer right away. Instead, she let the moment stretch, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Midea. His tone was casual, but she had come to learn that the satyr rarely asked simple questions without ulterior motives. Still, she answered honestly, tilting her head slightly as she spoke. "Your breathing patterns were unusual compared to others, yes, but if you're asking whether I sensed any sort of energy beyond the norm, the answer is no."

Her tone was clipped, precise, as always. Tanya had learned to be direct in her dealings with Midea—it was the only way to avoid getting drawn into his constant games of wit. She turned her head toward Tarak, who had remained unusually silent throughout Midea's cultivation. Her brother met her gaze, his slit crimson eyes gleaming faintly under the dappled sunlight before shifting toward Midea.

"I am incapable of sensing any numen outside of what my body passively ea—absorbs," Tarak said, his voice steady, though he faltered briefly on the word 'absorbs,' clearly catching himself before he could say something less refined.

Tanya snorted softly, unable to suppress a flicker of amusement. She had been teaching Tarak more complex vocabulary lately, trying to help him put his thoughts into clearer words. Though soldiers had once been her specialty, raising a literal infant—one who happened to possess the instincts and combat prowess of a predator—was an entirely different challenge. Still, the thought of allowing anyone else, any other creature, to shape the way her brother grew up didn't sit right with her. It didn't sit right with her mind, and it certainly didn't sit right with her body.

She felt a faint, protective surge rise within her as Tarak continued to stare impassively at Midea, his expression unreadable but sharp. He was learning quickly, far more quickly than she had anticipated. And though she knew she wasn't the best at handling children, especially one as unusual as Tarak, she was determined to be the one who guided him, because he was a great asset. And because she had no other choice either way. There were mostly benefits regardless.

"I see," Midea said after a moment, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly as he processed their responses. He tapped a clawed finger against his chin, the smirk tugging at his lips betraying the wheels turning in his mind. "Well, taking Lervea into account, perhaps it's simply not the time yet. Even so, it's best to learn some things about numen before you begin cultivation."

He paused, his smirk deepening as he held up a single finger. The motion was deliberate, almost theatrical, as though he were about to impart some grand secret of the universe. Tanya immediately felt a sense of foreboding settle in her gut. She had seen that expression before—too many times, in fact.

"In fact," Midea continued, his tone taking on a faintly mischievous edge, "there is a simple skill you can master now that will help you immensely in both cultivation and combat."

Tanya's eyes narrowed, her instincts flaring in silent warning. That smirk was never a good sign. The last time Midea had worn that expression, they had ended up in a chaotic flux, barely escaping with their lives. She wasn't about to be tricked again, not without understanding exactly what he had in mind.

She cast a quick glance at Tarak, noting the way her brother's body tensed ever so slightly, his tail flicking once in agitation. He wasn't easily ruffled, but even he seemed on edge. Tanya couldn't blame him. Midea's smirks had a way of putting everyone around him on high alert.

Groaning inwardly, Tanya braced herself, ready for whatever madness Midea was about to propose. She had no intention of being caught off guard this time. If the satyr thought he could pull another fast one on them, he was sorely mistaken.

Tanya crossed her arms, her amethyst eyes gleaming faintly under the shifting light of the clearing as she fixed Midea with an exasperated stare. The tension of the moment had stretched her patience thin, and the satyr's ever-present smirk only served to aggravate her further.

"If you have a plan, just tell us what it is. Stop hiding beneath your smiles and smirks," she said with a faint edge to her tone, her irritation bleeding through despite her otherwise composed demeanor.

Predictably, Midea's grin widened, a flash of sharp teeth gleaming in the filtered sunlight. He raised his hands in mock surrender, the exaggerated motion meant to amuse rather than placate. "In the end, you were the ones who said you'd listen to me," he said, his voice smooth, tinged with amusement. "This time, however, it's nothing so physically demanding."

Tanya narrowed her eyes, unconvinced, but didn't interrupt. Beside her, Tarak's tail flicked once in mild irritation, his crimson eyes locked on Midea with quiet wariness. He, too, remembered all too well how the satyr's last 'training exercise' had turned into a near disaster. Still, despite his outward stoicism, there was a flicker of curiosity in his gaze, a subtle shift in posture as he waited for Midea to continue.

"You've both heard me—and others—yell out the name of a move or chant during a fight, haven't you?" Midea asked, his tone turning slightly more serious as he folded his arms across his broad chest. The smirk didn't entirely leave his face, but there was a glint of genuine interest in his crimson eyes now, as though he were testing them, gauging their understanding.

Tanya's chest thrummed faintly as she considered his question, her mind already turning over what she knew—or rather, what she didn't know—about the practice. She glanced at Tarak, noting how his horns bobbed up and down in silent acknowledgment. He had noticed it too, then.

She had been wondering about this ever since the fight with Hathor a few days ago. At the time, she hadn't given it much thought, but upon closer reflection, it struck her as odd. In battle, some fighters would chant or call out the names of their moves, while others didn't. Healers, on the other hand, almost always chanted. In fact, in her short time here, she had never seen a healer perform their craft without doing so.

With that knowledge in mind, it became clear that chanting wasn't just some theatrical flair—it had a purpose, a tangible effect. The exact mechanics eluded her, but she could extrapolate a few possibilities. Most of the villagers were at what Midea referred to as the first layer, a foundational stage of cultivation. While she knew little about the second layer, or the so-called pathblazing realm, she had observed enough to know that those in the second layer used more esoteric techniques. She had seen as much during her fight with the elder. His chants, particularly when he summoned that enormous faux star, seemed to enhance his attacks, giving them more power and weight than they should have possessed.

Tanya's mind turned over the possibilities. Perhaps it had something to do with the dao that Midea had mentioned before. Those in the first layer had barely begun to touch on such abstract concepts, and their energy projection capabilities were limited at best. Yet they still chanted occasionally, suggesting that even at the most basic level, there was some benefit to the practice. Was it merely a way to focus intent, or did it involve something deeper, something tied to the very nature of cultivation itself?

"I'm assuming this chanting has something to do with the power of an attack or something of that nature?" Tanya asked at last, her brow arching slightly as she fixed Midea with a sharp, questioning look.

Her voice was steady, but there was a note of genuine curiosity beneath the surface, an eagerness to understand. Despite her exasperation with the satyr's antics, Tanya was no fool. She knew that any edge, no matter how small, could mean the difference between victory and defeat in the trials to come. And if chanting truly had the potential to enhance her abilities, she wasn't about to dismiss it without learning more.

Tarak, standing beside her, remained silent, his expression unreadable. Yet Tanya could tell he was listening closely, his sharp mind absorbing every word. He might not have voiced his thoughts, but she knew he shared her curiosity, his instincts urging him to uncover any advantage they could find.

Midea's smirk softened slightly, the gleam in his eyes shifting from amusement to something more calculating. He studied Tanya for a moment, as though weighing her words, before offering a faint nod of approval. "You're on the right track," he said, his tone almost... respectful, though the mischievous edge never entirely left his voice.

Then Midea's crimson eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of mild surprise crossing his face at Tanya's question. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully before speaking, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of intrigue. "Actually, it's exactly that, in fact," he admitted, his tone softening slightly as if impressed that she had grasped something fundamental so quickly. "You see, cultivation is often viewed as a process of defying heaven, of seizing what was never meant to be taken by mortals."

He paused, letting the idea hang in the air for a moment, his gaze drifting briefly to the sky above. The seven suns glimmered faintly behind the thick canopy of blue-green leaves, their overlapping rays casting dappled patterns across the jungle clearing. The air was warm and thick with the scent of fresh vegetation, she could smell a myriad of petrichor-like scents. A few buzzing insects flew overhead before being caught by the one eyed birds she had observed beforehand. Faintly the idea of hunting in mid-air flashed across her mind with a sense of excitement from her instincts before she pressed it down. She was in the middle of learning after all.

"But that's not entirely accurate," Midea continued, turning his attention back to them. "It wouldn't be wrong, per se, but it also wouldn't be right. Fundamentally, cultivation is…" He tilted his head slightly, as if searching for the proper phrasing. "I suppose begrudgingly allowed would be the right term to use."

Tanya's brow furrowed slightly, her sharp gaze fixed on Midea as she mulled over his words. She didn't interrupt, but inwardly, she couldn't help but feel a spark of interest. Begrudgingly allowed? That implied something deeper—something more complex than the simple narrative of defiance she had initially assumed.

Midea noticed her expression and smirked faintly before continuing. "I explained tribulations before, didn't I? How they operate under certain rules—how they can't simply crush you with overwhelming force and must reward you if you pass. It's not as if something so fundamental is merely just a tradition or custom. It's a law, an immutable principle governing the process of cultivation."

He leaned forward slightly, his voice lowering as though sharing a closely guarded secret. "In essence, cultivation is the process of claiming authority in an inherently unfair system. It's like a peasant—someone at the very bottom of the social order—rising through the ranks to become a king, even when everything is stacked against him."

Tanya's mind raced as she absorbed his words, her fingers tapping idly against her thigh in thought. The analogy struck a chord with her. It was a fitting description—cultivation wasn't just about power; it was about navigating a world designed to keep you in place and finding a way to rise above it. She was about to respond when Tarak, who had been listening intently, suddenly tilted his head and spoke up.

"What is a peasant and a king?" he asked, his tone curious but serious, as though genuinely perplexed by the unfamiliar terms.

Tanya turned to look at her brother, her thoughtful expression softening slightly. Despite his sharp instincts and rapidly developing intellect, Tarak was still an infant in many ways. His fully functional body and intense gaze often made her forget that there were still things he hadn't learned—things she took for granted as common knowledge.

Midea blinked, caught off guard by the question, before letting out a low chuckle. "Ah, we can go over that at a later time," he said with a wave of his hand, clearly amused by the interruption. "For now, let's focus on what's relevant."

Tarak gave a small nod, his expression unchanging, though Tanya could tell he was filing the question away for later. He always did that—quietly storing information for future consideration, a habit she had noticed and admired in him. She turned her attention back to Midea, who had straightened slightly, his expression growing more serious.

"In regard to what I was talking about earlier," Midea continued, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly in the dappled light, "creation and the soul interact in ways most people don't fully understand. That interaction is how one absorbs numen. It's also how one senses energy and, more importantly, how one begins to comprehend the dao."

At the mention of the Dao, Tanya felt a faint twinge of something stir within her—a mixture of curiosity and wariness. The concept of the dao had come up before, but Midea's explanations had always been vague, almost cryptic. She had a feeling that was about to change.

"The dao," Midea said slowly, as if savoring the weight of the word, "has no words, no language that can define it. It's vast, infinite, and beyond mortal comprehension in its purest form. But…" He held up a finger, his smirk returning. "There's a reason why cultivators write sutras and chants. Sutras are the condensed understanding of a dao put into words—or rather, the creator's general understanding of a dao."

Midea's crimson eyes gleamed with a knowing light as he leaned forward slightly, gesturing with his hands as he spoke, his tone informative yet carrying that ever-present smirk of superiority. "When one's mind and body repeat the words of a sutra with a certain intent while performing attacks listed in the sutra—or at least related to a specific dao—creation will respond. It senses the soul drawing closer to its way of things, so to speak, and thus imbues the attack with greater effect."

He flicked his hand in a casual motion, and a faint ripple of numen energy shimmered around him before dissipating into the air. "When you chant or recite a sutra during battle, you're not just making noise. You're invoking your understanding of the Dao, reinforcing your intent, and aligning yourself with its principles. It amplifies your power, makes your techniques sharper, more refined."

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, the faint flicker of light from the spiral-branched trees around them casting elongated shadows across the jungle clearing. The strange luminescence of the jungle in the surroundings alongside the suns seemed to make the trio glow. A breeze ruffled her feathers and hair as she heard the familiar sound of rustling branches and leaves. Ruffled her feathers huh? That saying did apply to her quite literally now. She snapped her attention back to the demon who seemed ready to speak once more.

Midea's expression turned contemplative, his voice lowering as though he were sharing a closely guarded secret. "Simply put, yes—chanting increases the power of an attack. But it's more than just raw strength. Certain rituals, artifacts, crafting processes, and even alchemy rely on this cornerstone of cultivation. The fundamental principle is the same—communication with creation, an alignment with the Dao."

Tanya's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as she considered his words, her fingers tapping lightly against her thigh. So the world itself would enhance your attack if it sensed you aligning yourself more closely with its laws? That was… interesting. Unlike cultivation, where one operated on the fringes of those laws, essentially forcing their way upward, chanting seemed to involve a temporary subsumption into the natural order—a way to momentarily walk in harmony with existence rather than defying it outright.

Her lips quirked slightly as a metaphor formed in her mind: A cultivator is like a petty thief whom creation can't outright kill but who works their way up to becoming a ruler. Chanting, on the other hand, was like the thief temporarily putting on the guise of nobility, convincing creation to grant them temporary favor. It wasn't defiance—it was more like manipulation, a trick played on existence itself.

Midea seemed to notice her expression and gave a knowing nod, his smirk widening. "Of course, this isn't the only way to gain such benefits. As I mentioned, someone had to create those sutras in the first place. Every sutra begins as someone's personal understanding of the Dao, refined and condensed into words. Technically, you can create your own, though that's easier said than done."

He snapped his fingers sharply, the sound cutting through the jungle's ambient noise. Tarak's ears twitched slightly in response, his slit-pupiled eyes flicking toward Midea with cautious curiosity. The Tyrnnius was swishing his thickly plated tail through the air in curiosity.

Midea continued, his tone light yet deliberate. "Speaking aloud often yields better results because sound itself holds power. Though you don't necessarily need to. The power is in communication or the concept of it. Communication—whether between beings or between man and heaven—is a form of resonance. Cultivation, in a sense, is an ongoing dialogue between heaven and man. Of course, that's a very loose interpretation, but it serves to illustrate the point. What matters the most is intent, complexity, and detail. Saying it through the mouth the first form of communication for beings like us combined with those factors leads to alignment with heaven. Remember that."

Tanya's gaze remained steady, but there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes. "Intent, complexity, and detail?" she asked, her voice thoughtful. "I remember you mentioning intent before, specifically in relation to the wards."

Midea inclined his head slightly, acknowledging her question. "Exactly. The soul is a very real thing, and it doesn't just passively exist—it interacts with creation on a fundamental level. When you act with clear intent—whether it's to attack, defend, or heal—and that intent is aligned with your understanding of a dao, creation can sense it. If you have the knowledge to describe your intent in detail, either through a sutra or mentally, and if your comprehension of the dao is deep enough, creation acknowledges your effort and assists you."

He paused for emphasis, his crimson eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light. "That's where complexity comes into play. The more complex and refined your understanding, the greater the effect. Of course, detail matters too—how well you can articulate your intent, either verbally or mentally, impacts the result. Speaking aloud helps because it forces you to clarify your intent and align it with your understanding aside from the conceptual impact of speaking itself, but once you've reached a certain level, you can do it purely in your head. Then again that's far beyond you and even me."

Tanya crossed her arms, her mind racing as she absorbed the explanation. So it's a combination of intent, knowledge, and articulation? That made sense. It wasn't enough to simply chant empty words; there had to be meaning behind them—an intent that creation could recognize and respond to. She filed the information away for later consideration, already contemplating how she might apply it in future battles.

"And by doing it partially mentally," Midea added, his tone growing slightly more serious, "you can shorten your effective chant to fewer words while still retaining a significant boost. But that only works if you've done the mental work beforehand. Without a clear and refined intent, even the most elaborate chant will amount to nothing more than noise."

He finished with a casual shrug, as though explaining something entirely obvious, but Tanya wasn't fooled. Beneath his nonchalant demeanor, she could sense the weight of experience in his words—the hard-earned knowledge of someone who had walked the path of cultivation for far longer than she had been alive.

Tanya glanced at Tarak, who remained silent but watchful. His expression was impassive, but she knew him well enough to recognize the subtle signs of interest—the slight tilt of his head, the way his ears twitched ever so slightly as he processed the information. He might not have been able to sense numen yet, but that didn't mean he wasn't paying attention.

"Well, that's all fascinating," Tanya said at last, her tone dry but not dismissive. "But I assume there's more to it than just chanting a few fancy words and hoping for the best?"

"Here, I will demonstrate. You both come at me, and I'll show you the difference," Midea said with a self-assured smile, his crimson eyes gleaming under the faint glow of the stars scattered across the night sky.

Tanya narrowed her eyes at the demon, suspicion flickering in her gaze. That wasn't the sole reason they were out here. They hadn't trekked to this clearing deep in the jungle just to spar with him. In the morning, she had spoken with the old priestess Baya in preparation for the trial. And this trip into the wilderness, with Midea as an ever-grinning guide, had a clear purpose—to confirm how her and Tarak's unique abilities affected shades. The event loomed on the horizon, and she needed every advantage she could muster. Yet, as usual, Midea seemed intent on doing things his way, always withholding just enough information to keep them guessing.

The shadows were the satyr's element, a fact that wasn't lost on Tanya. Given his origins as a literal demon of hell, it made perfect sense. Still, his penchant for secrecy grated on her nerves. He never revealed his plans outright, preferring instead to spring surprises when it suited him.

She glanced over at Tarak, who had risen to his feet. His expression was as impassive as ever, but Tanya knew her brother well enough to catch the faint glint of excitement in his slit-pupiled crimson eyes. He hadn't forgotten their first training session with Midea, and from the slight twitch in his tail, she could tell he was eager to get some payback. Typical Tarak—silent, steady, and determined. She sighed inwardly, resigning herself to the inevitable.

Standing, she brushed the dust from her clothing and stretched her wings slightly, shaking off the stiffness that had settled in her limbs. Midea, seeing that they were ready, rose fluidly from his meditative position and backed away a few meters, giving them space. The soft crunch of his hooves against the forest floor barely disturbed the quiet hum of the jungle around them. The clearing was bathed in the ethereal glow of aspar—bioluminescent flora that dotted the landscape, their delicate blue-green light casting faint shadows on the spiral-branched trees surrounding them.

Above, the stars shone bright, unimpeded by any artificial light, their radiance mirrored in the dew that clung to the grass beneath their feet. The world seemed to still a bit as her hearts beat faster. Her teeth sharpened instinctually. Combat. She was indeed built for it in the end it seemed.

Midea's horns gleamed faintly under the starlight as he turned to face them fully, his six-clawed hands hanging loosely at his sides. The smirk playing on his lips was one Tanya had seen too often—it was the smirk of someone who knew far more than they let on, someone who relished the idea of watching others struggle just to catch up. His crimson eyes gleamed with unmistakable pride, but beneath that pride, there was something else—an emotion she couldn't quite place. Was it expectation? Amusement? Or something more?

He raised a hand, curling his claws in a beckoning motion. "Come now," he said, his voice light but challenging. "Show me what you've got."

Tarak launched forward without hesitation, the force of his movement causing the earth beneath his feet to fracture in jagged lines. His crimson eyes locked onto Midea's form, calculating, unyielding. In a blur of motion, he closed the distance, his right fist hurtling toward the demon's chest with enough power to crater stone.

Midea, ever the composed predator, anticipated the attack. His sharp crimson eyes gleamed with amusement as he pivoted gracefully, letting the punch skim past his side. With a deft movement, he placed a six-clawed hand atop Tarak's overextended arm, using his superior leverage to drive it down toward the ground, throwing the younger Tyrannius off balance. But Tarak wasn't one to falter easily.

Without missing a beat, Tarak rolled with the motion, twisting his body mid-fall. In a seamless transition, he used the momentum to drive a heel toward Midea's head, the force of the kick slicing through the air with an audible whoosh. Midea's eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he caught the incoming strike with one hand, the impact reverberating up his arm. He shook his hand out briefly, acknowledging the strength behind the blow.

"Impressive," Midea muttered, a glint of satisfaction in his voice.

Before Tarak could react further, Midea's hoof came crashing toward the back of his head. The strike wasn't intended to injure—it was a calculated maneuver designed to disorient. The powerful blow sent Tarak upward, his body flipping in mid-air as Midea's next move came swift and unrelenting. Muscles rippled beneath the demon's dark skin as veins bulged along his forearms. With precision and force, he launched two consecutive knuckle strikes directly into Tarak's torso, each blow landing with a resounding thud.

Tarak's body shot backward like a comet, tearing through the air before crashing into the dirt several meters away. A cloud of dust rose from the impact, obscuring him momentarily. Yet, when the dust cleared, it was clear that despite the ferocity of Midea's strikes, Tarak was unharmed. He rose to his feet, his expression as stoic as ever, crimson eyes burning with a primality.

Tanya saw her opening.

Her wings flared wide, catching the faint light of the stars above. With a single powerful flap, she propelled herself forward, her form gliding just above the ground. The wind whistled around her as her wings began to harden, transforming into gleaming scythes with razor-sharp edges that reflected the dim light in deadly arcs. She angled herself low, aiming for Midea's midsection with the intention of striking before he could fully reset his stance.

Midea turned to face her, his smirk growing. He sent a hoof hurtling toward her face with deceptive speed, but Tanya had anticipated this. With a sharp twist of her body, she flapped her wings once, pulling herself upright and backward just in time to avoid the blow. The wind from his kick ruffled her golden hair as she immediately countered, driving herself forward once more, aiming a powerful scythe-like wing slash at his head.

But it was a feint.

Midea's true attack came a split second later. With a sudden stomp, he drove his hoof downward into the earth, using the force to propel himself upward and close the gap between them in an instant. His fist came crashing toward Tanya's face like a meteor descending from the heavens.

Tanya's eyes widened as she realized too late that she had been baited. The demon's fist connected squarely with her face, the force of the blow sending her hurtling downward. She hit the ground headfirst with a violent crack, her body skidding several meters away and into the earth before coming to a stop.

For a moment, silence reigned in the clearing, save for the faint rustle of leaves in the night breeze. As Tarak prepared.

Midea lowered his fist, exhaling slowly. His crimson eyes flicked between the two siblings, his expression one of calm satisfaction, as though this entire encounter had gone exactly as he had planned.

Midea's smirk returned as he watched them both. "Not bad," he said casually, his tone carrying that ever-present note of challenge. "But you'll have to do better than that if you want to land a hit."

Midea then launched himself toward Tanya with blistering speed, his form blurring as he closed the distance in an instant. Tanya barely had time to react before instinct kicked in, her wings snapping outward in a wide defensive arc. Their metallic sheen gleamed ominously under the dim light filtering through the dense canopy above, the hardened edges resembling twin crescent blades poised to carve through anything in their path.

With a fluid motion, Midea reared back mid-air, his muscles rippling with controlled precision. He thrust his palms forward, slamming them against the flat of her wings with enough force to send a shockwave rippling outward, rustling the leaves and bending the nearby grass. Tanya felt the reverberation in her bones, but what truly shocked her was what followed—two phantom blows struck her face in rapid succession, each landing with a brutal thud, despite her wings fully covering her front.

Her head snapped back from the impact, and she was driven even deeper into the ground, her feet sinking into the soft earth as small cracks spiderwebbed outward from the force of the strikes. Dirt and debris exploded around her, clouding the air in a gritty haze. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself upright as a slight dull ache radiated from her jaw.

Tanya sprang to her feet with a sharp flap of her wings, the motion clearing the dust around her in an instant. She caught sight of Tarak charging forward again, his crimson eyes locked onto the demon with unwavering intensity. His footfalls were heavy, each step digging into the earth and leaving small craters in his wake. However, this time, just before reaching Midea, he abruptly halted his advance and pivoted on his heel with flawless precision.

Tarak's entire body twisted into the motion, gathering all his built-up momentum into a single devastating tail whip. His tail lashed out with a fierce whoosh, slicing through the air like a living scythe. The sheer force of the motion generated a massive crescent-shaped wind blade that screamed toward Midea, tearing up the ground in its wake. The sound of it slicing through the air was deafening, like the roar of an unrelenting storm.

Midea's eyes narrowed, his expression momentarily losing its smugness as he assessed the incoming attack. But rather than attempting to block or counter, his body seemed to relax entirely. His muscles went loose, and he bent backward with an eerie grace, his form flowing like a blade of grass bending under a powerful gust. The wind scythe passed mere inches above his chest, continuing its path unabated. Behind him, over a hundred trees in the distance were sheared clean through, their upper halves toppling over with an earth-shaking crash.

Despite narrowly dodging the attack, Midea's stance remained calm, his breathing steady as though he hadn't just avoided what could have been a fatal blow.

Tarak wasn't done.

Using the continued momentum of his spin, he brought his fist around in a wide arc, aiming directly for Midea's solar plexus. The force behind the punch was immense, and the sheer pressure generated by the motion caused the air around them to distort visibly. A low, rumbling boom echoed through the clearing as Tarak's fist closed the final inches toward its target.

Midea's eyes widened slightly, a rare flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features. At the last possible moment, he shifted into a low horse stance, his feet digging into the ground for stability. Tarak's fist slammed into Midea's midsection with a bone-rattling crack, the impact generating a shockwave that rippled outward in all directions. Grass flattened beneath the force, and loose debris was hurled into the air.

For a moment, it seemed as though Tarak's attack had found its mark.

But then, Midea's body leaned back unnaturally, moving like a pendulum absorbing the force of the blow. Despite the sheer power behind Tarak's strike, Midea's torso yielded just enough to disperse the energy, minimizing the damage. Before Tarak could react, Midea retaliated with a vicious counterattack. His fist shot forward with twice the force of Tarak's blow, his arm a blur as it drove into the younger Tyrannius' chest.

The impact was explosive.

Tarak's body was launched backward with terrifying speed, crashing through several trees before disappearing into the distance. The sound of his impact echoed through the forest, followed by the distant groan of splintering wood and falling branches.

Tanya pushed herself off the ground, ignoring the dull ache that reverberated through her body. Her amethyst eyes locked onto Midea, who had already shifted into a loose, relaxed stance. The smirk playing on his lips only fueled her determination. Without hesitation, she surged forward, her wings tucked tight against her back to reduce wind resistance. As she closed the gap, she pivoted sharply, launching a powerful kick aimed at Midea's side.

Midea's eyes flickered, his arm snapping up to block. The angle of his guard was perfect, his forearm positioned to absorb the brunt of her strike. But Tanya wasn't done—far from it. The moment she saw his guard rise, she altered the trajectory of her kick mid-motion, her leg arcing upward in a smooth, deceptive curve. It was a question mark kick, a technique she had drilled relentlessly back on Earth. The sudden change in direction was meant to bypass an opponent's defense entirely, striking from an unexpected angle.

For a split second, surprise flickered across Midea's crimson eyes before his smirk widened. His palm twisted outward with unnatural speed, catching her ankle before her kick could land. His grip was firm, almost vice-like, and before she could react, she felt a sudden shift in force. It was as if the energy of her kick had been entirely redirected. Like a cycle of kinetic energy had been turned from going against the demon to going against herself. With a swift, fluid motion, Midea swung her upward, using her own momentum against her, and sent her hurtling into the sky.

Tanya's vision spun wildly as she soared through the air, the wind whipping against her face. She fought the disorientation, forcing herself to focus. Her wings flared out instinctively, stabilizing her mid-air just in time to catch sight of Midea below. He launched himself upward in a blur of motion, his hoof scything down toward her with deadly precision.

Her wings hardened, the metallic sheen returning as they shifted into a defensive position. The hoof struck with a resounding clang, the impact sending a jarring shockwave through her body. She gritted her teeth as the force drove her downward, her wings acting like a shield but doing little to cushion her fall. She hit the ground hard, a plume of dust and debris rising around her as she landed in a crouch. Luckily she wasn't afraid of them though. If it failed to rip her skin then it wouldn't do anything to her internals. That had been proven in the fight with Hathor. However, it was still a bit shocking. The sheer amount of force the demon could produce that is. Or perhaps it was because her humanoid body was less durable than her hardened wings.

Her eyes sharpened as she moved herself from a crouch to her feet, her pupils flitting about as she tracked Midea's movements. He didn't give her much time to recover. In a heartbeat, he vanished—or rather, moved so fast it appeared as though he had teleported. His form flickered, reappearing directly in front of her, well within her guard.

Tanya's senses screamed a warning as she saw him flick his leg in a subtle, precise motion—a technique she realized must have allowed him to accelerate so rapidly. Before she could react, he unleashed a flurry of strikes, his fists blurring as they closed in on her with terrifying speed.

Three punches, all at once.

It didn't make sense. He only had two arms, yet somehow, there were three distinct strikes aimed at her. Tanya reacted on instinct, raising her arm to block one of the incoming blows. Her forearm met his fist with a sharp crack, but to her shock, the punch phased through her block as though it were immaterial. The next thing she knew, a solid fist slammed into her gut from a wholly different direction driving the air from her lungs in a harsh gasp.

But Tanya was Tyrannius, and durability was her forte.

Ignoring the sharp impact in her abdomen, she acted without hesitation. Her hands shot out, wrapping around Midea's arm with an iron grip. She twisted her body sharply to the right, using the momentum of his attack against him. At the same time, her left hand darted toward his neck, her fingers curling around his throat in a firm hold.

Midea's eyes widened slightly in surprise, but Tanya wasn't done. She hooked one of her legs around his left thigh, anchoring herself in place, while her other leg slipped between his, disrupting his balance. With a sharp, forceful tug, she sent them both tumbling to the ground in a controlled grapple, her wings flaring out to maintain her leverage.

Tanya attempted to grapple with Midea, her arms wrapping tightly around his torso in an effort to gain control, but it became quickly apparent that the demon was far more experienced in close combat than she had anticipated. His movements were fluid, almost serpentine, his limbs snaking around hers with a combination of strength, speed, and unnerving precision. Every time she tried to shift her weight or adjust her hold, Midea countered effortlessly, his joints locking against hers in ways she hadn't expected. At first, it seemed as though his efforts to manipulate her joints were futile—her body, unlike most humanoids, didn't adhere strictly to the same biological mechanics. However, Midea adapted swiftly.

He moved with an almost preternatural understanding of anatomy, figuring out the intricacies of her form with alarming speed. Though Tanya's body was far more durable than any normal humanoid, in the end, she was still humanoid in structure. His limbs coiled around hers with the precision of a constrictor, leveraging every ounce of his strength and skill to dominate the grapple.

"Slippery bastard," Tanya growled through clenched teeth, frustration mounting as she struggled to break free.

Midea's smirk didn't falter, his crimson eyes gleaming with calculated amusement. His arms were like iron bands, unyielding and impossibly fast. Every time Tanya tried to shift the grapple into her favor, Midea's limbs adjusted with a fluidity that defied logic. His experience was evident in every movement—a lifetime spent mastering the art of combat in hell's brutal crucible.

She gritted her teeth, refusing to yield. Her wings flared out, metallic and sharp, intending to cut into him, but Midea anticipated the move. With a swift twist of his hips and a sharp tug on her arm, he flipped her over, slamming her onto her back with enough force to crack the earth beneath them. Before she could react, he had her pinned, one arm locked around her windpipe while his other hand pressed down on her shoulder, keeping her firmly in place.

Tanya glared up at him, her breath coming in short bursts, though not from lack of air—Midea's chokehold, while effective on most beings, was hardly more than mild pressure to her. Her neck was no weaker than the rest of her. Her body's innate resilience rendered such tactics almost useless, but the sensation of being pinned, of being outmaneuvered, inflamed her pride.

Midea's smirk widened as he increased the pressure around her neck, his eyes gleaming with challenge. "You're tough, I'll give you that," he said, his voice calm yet taunting. "But durability alone won't win you a fight. You're effectively a punching bag."

With a sharp cry of defiance, Tanya's wings burst outward, the sudden force and sharp edges forcing Midea to release her and retreat several paces back. He landed gracefully, barely disturbed by the counter, and clicked his tongue in mild irritation.

"Not bad," he admitted, his tone still carrying that infuriating smugness. "But let's see if you can keep up."

Before Tanya could charge at him again, a blur shot past her—Tarak.

Her brother launched himself at Midea like a meteor, his speed and strength combining into a devastating assault. He launched at the demon with his horns intending on impaling the satyr. But Midea ever the showoff flipped over the blow but Tarak wasn't finished. He reached out his arms impacting the ground in a burst of force sending himself backward and up to where the demon was spinning his tail whose spines extended into a brutal strike.

The demon anticipated the attack, ducking low as Tarak's tail whistled overhead, shearing through the air with enough force to create a visible wind pressure. He then reached out grabbing Tarak's tail and did what he did to her beforehand redirecting all the force into the earth. But Tarak's limb was prehensile. His tail wrapped around Mideas wrist as they both went careening to the ground and the demon put up a barrier around his arm to avoid injury from the spikes. They slammed into a dust cloud where upon getting up they stood apart on opposite sides after the could dissipated.

However, Tarak didn't give Midea any time to recover. He continued his assault, his fists and legs a blur of motion as he unleashed a relentless barrage of strikes. Each blow was precise, aimed at vital points, but Midea's movements remained infuriatingly fluid. He parried and diverted each attack with minimal effort, his body flowing like water around Tarak's strikes.

Tanya watched, momentarily stunned by the speed of their exchange. Tarak's attacks were relentless, each one powerful enough to shatter stone, yet Midea remained unscathed. The demon's experience showed in every movement, his stance shifting subtly with each attack, his hands deflecting Tarak's blows with calculated ease.

But Tarak wasn't merely attacking blindly. His crimson eyes gleamed with a sharp, predatory focus, analyzing Midea's movements with every strike. He threw out a feint, a quick jab toward Midea's face, and when the demon moved to block, Tarak twisted his body, bringing his leg around in a powerful roundhouse kick aimed at Midea's ribs.

The kick connected with a resounding thud, staggering Midea slightly.

Tanya's eyes widened in surprise—Tarak had managed to land a clean hit.

Midea's expression shifted briefly, a flicker of genuine surprise crossing his features before it was replaced by a cold, calculating calm. He took a step back, his stance changing abruptly. Tanya recognized the shift immediately—there was something different about his posture now. His left arm extended outward, palm facing down, while his right arm remained close to his body, palm facing upward. It was a stance she hadn't seen before, but the shift in atmosphere was palpable.

Tarak didn't hesitate. He charged forward once more, his fists flying as he aimed a flurry of blows at Midea. But no matter what punch, kick, or tail strike he threw, Midea diverted each one effortlessly. His movements were almost hypnotic, each attack sliding past him as though repelled by an unseen force.

"What the hell is that?" Tanya muttered under her breath, frustration boiling over as she watched Tarak's attacks being neutralized.

Midea's stance allowed him to control the flow of the battle completely. Every strike Tarak threw was met with a subtle redirection, the force of each attack dissipating harmlessly into the air. It was as if Midea had become an immovable object, an unbreakable wall that absorbed and diverted any force directed at him.

Tanya clenched her fists, her pride burning hotter with each passing second. She couldn't just stand by and watch. With a sharp intake of breath, she launched herself forward, her wings hardening into gleaming scythes as she aimed directly for Midea's blind spot.

But Midea wasn't caught off guard.

As Tarak threw another punch, Midea shifted his stance slightly, diverting the blow while simultaneously turning to meet Tanya's charge. With a swift, almost imperceptible movement, he redirected her momentum, sending her crashing into Tarak. The two siblings tumbled backward, skidding across the ground before coming to a stop several meters away.

"Now, to demonstrate as I said I would," Midea declared, his voice carrying a dark edge of excitement, a grin spreading wide across his face.

In a sudden burst of motion, purple flames wreathed his palm, flickering ominously like shadows given life. Without warning, he accelerated toward them, his form blurring slightly from the sheer speed. Tanya barely had time to react before the demon slammed his six-clawed hand forward. The resulting impact was immediate and violent—a large flame explosion that charred the earth beneath them, sending up a cloud of scorched dirt and ash.

Tanya felt the searing heat lick at her skin, but it didn't truly hurt. Her Tyrannius body shrugged off the damage, and within moments, she had recovered, springing back into action. A quick glance to her side showed Tarak recovering just as fast, his expression stoic but his eyes gleaming with determination. They pushed forward in unison, coordinating their attack instinctively. The earth trembled beneath their feet as they closed the distance toward Midea once more. They were determined to make the annoying goat eat the earth.

But the demon merely grinned wider, as though relishing the challenge.

"Hell's Embrace!" he laughed, his voice carrying a note of wild exhilaration.

Tanya's eyes widened as she saw the familiar purple flames surge outward from his form, more intense and concentrated than before. She immediately pivoted on her heel, trying to dodge, while Tarak dropped low, using his powerful legs to propel himself into a low-sweeping charge aimed at Midea's legs. Yet, it quickly became apparent that evasion was futile.

Even while holding back, Midea's speed was overwhelming. He moved with a level of precision and ferocity that far outpaced their best efforts. In the end, he was the strongest person they had met in this world as of yet. The chant had clearly empowered his technique beyond what they had seen before. The six-clawed flame palm met Tanya's midsection before she could fully reposition herself.

Boom!

She crashed into the ground, an explosion of soil and debris erupting around her as the force of the impact carved a small crater in the earth. The heat of the strike hadn't done all that much damage really there was a slight scorch mark on her, but her body's innate resilience ensured that the wound essentially disappeared relatively quickly. She pushed herself up, wiping the dirt from her face, eyes blazing with renewed focus.

Crssh!

The sharp sound of something breaking reached her ears. Tanya snapped her head toward the source just in time to see her brother hurtling through the air before colliding with the earth creating a small crater near the edge of the clearing. The force of the crash shattered the crate, sending splinters flying in all directions. Tarak landed hard on the ground with a low grunt, dust, and debris settling around him.

Tanya's heart clenched, a flicker of concern breaking through her usual calm. She shot toward him, her wings snapping out briefly to propel herself faster. Reaching his side, she crouched down, grabbing his arm and pulling him up gently.

"You okay?" she asked quickly, her voice carrying a rare note of urgency.

Tarak grunted in response, rocking upward until he was sitting. He attempted to rise, but a sharp intake of breath betrayed the pain he was feeling. Tanya's sharp eyes caught the way he clutched his stomach, and without hesitation, she moved his hand out of the way to examine the wound.

Her brows furrowed deeply. The burn mark across Tarak's torso was noticeably larger than the one she had sustained—at least twice the size, and though his body was already working to heal the damage, it was clear he had taken the brunt of the attack far worse than she had. Anger flared in her chest, hot and instinctive.

Snapping her head toward Midea, she fixed him with a glare, her golden eyes blazing with irritation.

"Why did you hit him so much harder than you hit me?" she demanded, her voice edging toward a yell. Gratitude for Midea's help in training them and other things aside, her brother came first. Her body agreed, a surge of protective instinct making her muscles tense as if preparing for another fight.

Midea approached at a leisurely pace, brushing dirt off his ink-black skin with an air of nonchalance. His crimson eyes gleamed thoughtfully as he stroked his chin, considering her words.

"I didn't," he said at last, his tone calm and matter-of-fact. "I used the same amount of power in each blow." He knelt slightly, scrutinizing Tarak's wound with a critical eye before continuing, "Hmm… from what I can see, it's mostly the heat that harmed him more. Interesting." He stood upright again, tilting his head slightly as if pondering something. "If I remember correctly, your brother might've been a bit tougher and stronger than you—physically, at least. Well, he was before. You're about the same now."

Tanya's brows furrowed further, the tension in her expression not easing as she digested his words.

"On the other hand," Midea added, "you were always faster and more agile than him. How curious. But since your durability is now the same why are you so much better at enduring heat? And how did you catch up? The only thing that could have changed is…" He trailed off, a knowing glint flashing in his eyes before he concluded, "Your fight with Hathor."

Tanya's fists clenched at her sides, but she forced herself to remain calm, though her irritation didn't entirely subside. She glanced back at Tarak, noting the way his wound was already knitting itself back together, albeit slower than she would've liked.

Tanya sighed, irritated by the demon's antics. She wasn't surprised that Midea had orchestrated the entire encounter with the intent of testing them. He must have harbored suspicions about their true abilities for a while now. Neither she nor Tarak—not that her brother would even know how to articulate such a thing—had been upfront about their peculiar power of adaptation. Not because they were deliberately hiding anything; it simply hadn't been relevant in conversation. But the demon was perceptive, far too much so for her liking. He must have noticed something unusual from the time she had been struck by the ring infestor and survived its parasitation, or perhaps from the way they had rapidly adjusted to the brutal training he had subjected them to.

It wasn't something possible for anyone with an ordinary body or even merely a strong body. Normal beings didn't shrug off crippling injuries or uncurable parasites, only to come back stronger and more resilient afterward.

Her gaze drifted over the scorched earth around them, the smell of charred grass and ash lingering heavily in the air, mixing with the earthy scent of soil torn up by their earlier scuffle. Tanya mulled over Midea's words carefully. She had caught up to Tarak in terms of sheer durability, he'd said—something she hadn't consciously realized before. And it made sense. After all, she had survived being immolated from the inside out during her fight with Hathor. The fire had seared her from within, and yet she'd endured it naturally, without external help. Her body had adapted to that level of flame resistance through sheer force of will and survival instinct. Every injury she sustained, every scrape, burn, or fracture—it all seemed to push her body to evolve, becoming slightly more durable and slightly stronger after each encounter.

Still, the question lingered in her mind—why had Tarak been naturally stronger and more durable than her in the first place? She folded her arms, her expression thoughtful. Sexual dimorphism could have been the answer, a leftover biological difference in strength between male and female members of their race. But somehow, that didn't sit right with her. Their bodies weren't bound by the same rules as ordinary humanoid species. If they could grow exponentially stronger through fighting, through putting themselves through strain and pain, and if both she and Tarak shared that same adaptive ability in equal measure, then there was no inherent reason for males to start out stronger than females.

In fact, even before her adaptations had kicked in more prominently, the difference in their physical stats wasn't that vast. Tarak had been a bit more durable, yes, and slightly stronger, but nothing overwhelming. And she had always been faster but only slightly so on the ground—in the air was a whole other discussion, where her flight gave her an edge that Tarak obviously couldn't match on foot. She frowned slightly, still turning the thought over in her mind as she glanced at her brother. His wound had completely vanished now, as if it had never existed. Her own injury had healed long before, leaving behind nothing but smooth, unmarred skin.

Midea's voice cut through her thoughts, pulling her attention back to the present.

"Adaptation, huh?" he mused aloud, his tone thoughtful but tinged with something resembling admiration. His crimson eyes gleamed with curiosity as he studied the two of them. "A rare and powerful ability, no doubt. Though I have to say, it's not as drastic as it might feel to you right now." He paused, the flames around his hands flickering out as he brushed the remaining dirt off his palms. "That was far from a full-power Hell's Embrace."

Tanya's brow twitched slightly at his words. Of course, the demon had been holding back. She hadn't needed him to say it aloud to know as much. If Midea had been serious, she doubted the clearing would still be standing. Even so, hearing him admit it so casually annoyed her more than it should have.

"You've grown more resistant to fire, even my hellflame," Midea continued, his voice taking on a more contemplative tone. "That's impressive. Hellflame isn't ordinary fire—it's infused with destructive intent, far more potent than anything Hathor used against you." He crossed his arms, tilting his head slightly as if weighing something in his mind. "But I did lower my power level to the first shackle of the second layer. While my flames are certainly stronger than Hathor's, I wasn't operating at a massively higher level during our little demonstration."

He paced a few steps, the smirk returning to his face as his hooves crunched softly against the charred ground. "That being said," he added, casting Tanya a sidelong glance, "with such a body, if you were to fight him again in a one-on-one, Surya…" He let the sentence hang in the air for a moment, savoring the tension before finishing with a grin, "You'd probably win."

"Was the only way to confirm that ability of ours slamming a burning palm into the stomach of an infant?" Tanya asked, her voice edged with lingering irritation. Her amethyst eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration rippling through her otherwise composed expression. "Was there no other feasible way to test your theory?"

Midea chuckled softly, the sound deep and rich, as though thoroughly enjoying her displeasure. He spread his hands in a mock gesture of helplessness, the purple flames that had once wreathed his fingers flickering out completely. Around them, the charred earth still smoldered faintly, the acrid scent of burned grass mingling with the fresh scent of nearby greenery untouched by the earlier chaos. "Both of you are entirely too durable, period, for normal fire to even hurt you," he said, his tone light and teasing. He turned slightly, his crimson eyes gleaming with playful intent. "Even those flame spirits from before probably couldn't burn you. Well, at least the weaker ones. You could stand inside them and take a nap."

Tanya's brow twitched slightly at his nonchalant attitude, but she said nothing. She knew better than to take his bait so easily. Midea smirked at her silence, clearly pleased with himself, before continuing, "There are disadvantages to having such thick flesh as well, of course. At the very least, we now know that what doesn't kill you quite literally makes you stronger. So really," he added with a teasing lilt, "I helped, actually."

"Wow, that's crazy," Tanya said, deadpan, crossing her arms over her chest. Her wings shifted slightly, gleaming faintly in the dim light as they folded neatly behind her back. "I do wonder what my mother would think about you beating us to make us stronger."

Midea coughed into his hand, clearly caught off guard by her words. His usual smug composure cracked for a moment as his eyes widened slightly in surprise. Then, recovering quickly, he straightened and gave an exaggerated bow, one hand pressed dramatically over his chest. "I, with all the honor of the great house of Valefor, sincerely offer my apologies to the spawn of the Heavenless Huntress," he said solemnly, though the mischievous glint in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

Tarak remained quiet throughout the exchange, his crimson slit-pupiled eyes flicking between Midea and Tanya. Though his expression remained impassive, Tanya could see the faint glimmer of vindication in his gaze—a subtle but unmistakable sign of his satisfaction at Midea's momentary discomfort. However, the look didn't last long. It quickly shifted to one of quiet curiosity, his brow furrowing slightly as he processed what he had seen during their earlier bout.

"What were those moves you used?" Tarak asked, his tone neutral but edged with genuine interest. He took a step forward, his posture calm yet attentive, as if ready to absorb whatever knowledge Midea was about to share.

"Ahh," Midea said with a pleased grin, clearly delighted by the question. He crossed his arms, his horns catching the faint glow of the twin suns overhead, casting long shadows across the ground. "Those were martial arts. I already told you that I'd be teaching the two of you, have I not?"

Tanya's mind flicked back to a conversation they had shared not long ago. He had indeed mentioned something about teaching them how to fight, though she hadn't given it much thought at the time. Now, in light of everything that had just transpired, it was clear that his intentions ran deeper than she had initially assumed. Testing their ability to adapt to extreme phenomena wasn't his only goal. He had also been gauging their natural combat instincts, observing how they responded under pressure. It was a method she was familiar with—after all, as a former drill instructor herself, she had employed similar tactics countless times. The purpose wasn't just to assess strength or skill; it was to identify weaknesses, to see where the real training needed to begin.

Her gaze shifted slightly, taking in the scene around her. The forest clearing remained eerily quiet, save for the distant rustling of leaves in the wind. Spiral branches curled toward the heavens as she spied a Snavine slithering on a branch not far away. She'd avoid it. Its spines actually did hurt quite a bit. She turned her attention back to the conversation.

Her wings flared wide behind her, catching the light of the seven suns as their radiance gleamed off the edges, casting sharp, shifting shadows across the charred and uneven ground. Tanya folded her arms, her golden eyes steady on Midea, the soft wind rustling through the clearing carrying the faint scent of scorched earth mixed with the fresh tang of the blue-green forest. "So what about the chanting thing you were talking about?" she asked, her tone sharp yet inquisitive.

Midea's smirk widened, the kind that always seemed to signal something unpleasant or at least vaguely annoying was about to follow. He leaned back slightly, his horns gleaming in the light as he gestured grandly with his six-clawed hands. "Ah, you see, these disciplines naturally converge." His voice carried an air of practiced patience, as though explaining something to children, though his eyes gleamed with mischievous intent. "Now, chanting is done in battle. While it can be done outside of combat, those instances are tied to rituals and things you won't even need to think about until the late second layer of cultivation."

Tanya's brow furrowed slightly at that. Late second layer? She sighed in exhaustion. Let alone the late second layer she couldn't even cultivate period. She remained silent, listening carefully as Midea continued, pacing slowly in front of them, each step purposeful, his hooves pressing into the soft dirt with a faint crunch. Around them, the spiral-branched trees swayed gently in the wind, their unusual blue-green hues creating an ethereal contrast against the burnt remnants of their earlier skirmish.

"Simply put, it's not something you'll have to worry about for now," Midea said, snapping his fingers as if dismissing the thought entirely. He glanced at them, his expression shifting into something more thoughtful. "And naturally, due to your inability to cultivate or sense numen and the Dao, you can't practice chanting in the way it's intended. You wouldn't be able to comprehend the essence behind a sutra. You'd just be regurgitating words without meaning."

Tanya raised a brow at the demon, already suspecting where this was heading. He wasn't one to give up on an idea just because it couldn't be implemented in the traditional way. There had to be a workaround, some method he was about to introduce. She guessed he wanted them to engage in combat or rigorous training while practicing something akin to chanting. Likely, the goal was to prepare their minds to process and articulate complex information quickly under the duress of life-and-death situations.

"But," Midea continued, his voice drawing out the word like a teacher about to unveil the key to a lesson, "you know what you can understand?"

The question hung in the air, and Tanya didn't answer immediately. Instead, she continued to study him with wary curiosity, waiting for the inevitable reveal. Tarak, standing beside her, tilted his head slightly, his crimson eyes narrowing in thought. His tail flicked once behind him, a subtle sign of his growing interest.

Midea grinned, clearly enjoying the anticipation he had built. "There's this great thing," he said, holding up a single clawed finger for emphasis, "called math. Numbers, equations, logic—something both of you can grasp, yes?"

Tanya blinked, surprised by the direction the conversation had taken. She glanced over at Tarak, who remained impassive as ever, though she could see the faint flicker of understanding beginning to dawn in his gaze. "Math?" she repeated, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, math," Midea confirmed with a satisfied nod. He crossed his arms, his expression smug. "First, we'll go through basic numbers so you actually know what you're counting. Then we'll move on to multiplication, exponents, and logarithms. Doing and understanding complex mathematical equations during strenuous physical activity will translate beautifully into chanting. You'll develop the mental agility needed to process complex information quickly, even while your body is under extreme strain."

Tanya's lips quirked upward slightly into a half-smirk. If nothing else, she was good at math. She had always been quick with numbers, even before her transformation. Now, with her enhanced mind and body—products of a race that could produce an entity as formidable as Lervea—she was confident that solving complex equations while fighting wouldn't be overly difficult. Still, that didn't mean she was particularly thrilled by the idea. The concept of shouting out mathematical equations while dodging punches and kicks didn't exactly appeal to her. But if it was necessary, she'd do it.

Her gaze shifted to Tarak. She could tell he was thinking the same thing. Despite his stoic exterior, she knew her brother well enough to recognize the spark of intelligence gleaming behind his eyes. He was just as capable as she was when it came to processing information quickly. The two of them were alike in many ways—sharp, adaptable, and unwilling to back down from a challenge.

Midea must have noticed the subtle exchange of glances because he clapped his hands together, drawing their attention back to him. "Now, before either of you start whining about how boring this sounds, keep in mind that this isn't just about numbers. It's about training your mind to work under pressure. Chanting isn't just about speaking words—it's about intent, precision, and speed. And learning to solve equations in the heat of combat will give you a massive advantage when the time comes to learn real sutras."

Tanya sighed inwardly, already imagining the grueling training sessions ahead. Still, she couldn't deny the logic behind his reasoning. Mental discipline was crucial, especially in battle. And if this training method could help them hone their focus and reaction time, it was worth enduring the annoyance of having to do math in the middle of a fight.

"After we go over the basics, you'll answer my questions aloud while trying to dodge my attacks," Midea said, his grin widening as a glint of mischief danced in his crimson eyes. His tone was far too cheerful for Tanya's liking, especially given the promise of imminent pain. "For every wrong answer, I'll speed up my attacks. If you get them right, my speed will stay the same as at the start."

He paused, the smirk on his face deepening into something far more sinister. "Well, let's begin."

Tanya's eyes narrowed as she felt the first stirrings of dread coil in her chest. Midea's expression could only be described as wickedly gleeful, and she had no doubt that he was going to enjoy this far more than he should. She glanced at Tarak, who had gone eerily still, his tail flicking once behind him—a subtle but telling sign of unease.

"Midea," she said slowly, her voice edged with suspicion, "are you sure this isn't just an excuse for you to beat us up again?"

Midea's grin widened even further, and he shrugged with an air of exaggerated innocence. "I'm a demon, Surya. What did you expect?"

______

After he taught them the basics—basics she already knew, which Tarak picked up on relatively easily—Tanya thought the resulting training would be easy. It wasn't.

"156.25³ × Log₂3!" Midea shot out, his voice sharp and clear, cutting through the crackling of purple fireballs that hovered ominously in the air before streaking toward them with alarming speed.

Tanya's eyes widened as she tried to process the equation, her mind scrambling to keep up with the rapid pace of both the numbers and the onslaught. She darted to the left, narrowly avoiding one fireball, only for another to curve around unexpectedly, slamming into her shoulder and sending a wave of searing heat through her skin.

"Damn it!" she hissed, flaring her wings to push herself backward and gain some breathing room. Her body was tough, far tougher than any ordinary being, but the heat still stung. Lervea's gift had ensured she could survive this kind of punishment, but that didn't make it pleasant.

Meanwhile, Tarak wasn't faring much better. He ducked low, narrowly avoiding three fireballs in rapid succession before leaping into the air to dodge a fourth. Despite his rapid firing off of equations, he made quite a few mistakes and as such, he wasn't completely fast enough to evade them all, and a particularly large fireball struck his side, sending him spinning through the air before he landed heavily on the ground. At least his flame resistance would grow a good deal she thought darkly.

"Logarithmic functions... then cubes... followed by multiplication…," Tanya muttered under her breath, her mind racing as she tried to keep track of the evolving pattern of Midea's questions. Each equation grew progressively more complex, transitioning from basic arithmetic to advanced algebraic expressions. "What kind of insane curriculum is this?"

"Too slow, Surya!" Midea taunted with a grin, his six clawed hands weaving intricate patterns as more fireballs formed around him, crackling with malevolent energy. "Next question—87 factorial divided by 9!"

Tanya barely had time to register the absurdity of the question before the fireballs surged toward her again, faster and more erratic than before. She flapped her wings hard, propelling herself into the air to dodge the incoming barrage. One fireball grazed her leg, the heat leaving a faint slight red mark on her otherwise flawless skin.

Tarak, on the other hand, had stopped trying to evade entirely. Instead, he charged straight through the onslaught, relying on his rapidly increasing flame resistance and sheer durability to tank the hits. His crimson eyes gleamed with determination as he pressed forward, attempting to close the distance between him and Midea.

"Just tanking the fire now, are we?" Midea chuckled, his voice tinged with amusement. With a casual flick of his wrist, he conjured a spinning ring of purple flames around himself, creating a barrier that flared outward whenever Tarak got too close.

Tanya's mind whirred, torn between helping her brother and focusing on the next equation. "Base-10 log of 10,000… easy, that's four!" she shouted, hoping that answering quickly would at least slow the pace of the fireballs.

"Correct! But not fast enough!" Midea called back, his smirk widening as he increased the speed of his attacks. Fireballs rained down like a meteor shower, forcing Tanya to weave and twist midair in a desperate attempt to stay ahead of the barrage. Her wings beat furiously, stirring up gusts of wind that scattered embers across the clearing.

Tarak finally managed to breach the ring of flames, his tail whipping around in a wide arc aimed directly at Midea's torso. But the demon was ready. He ducked low, letting the tail whip harmlessly over his head before retaliating with a rapid series of fire-enhanced punches. Each blow landed with enough force to send shockwaves rippling through the air, but Tarak endured it all, his body absorbing the punishment even as he gritted his teeth against the pain.

"Next one—square root of 2,401 times 12 factorial!" Midea shouted, his tone gleeful as he watched Tanya struggle to keep up with the relentless pace of both the math and the fight.

"Forty-nine… times—ugh, damn it, I don't have time for this!" Tanya spat, frustration mounting as she dodged yet another volley of fireballs. She could feel the heat licking at her skin, but her body's rapid adaptation prevented any lasting damage. Still, the sheer intensity of the exercise was wearing on her. Even with Lervea's gift, there was only so much mental strain she could endure while simultaneously avoiding a rain of fire and trying to solve increasingly ridiculous equations.

Tarak didn't even bother answering anymore. He focused entirely on brute-forcing his way through Midea's attacks, relying on sheer tenacity and his innate Tyrannius resilience. His eyes burned with a mix of stubborn inherent pride she had never seen before from him—he wasn't going to back down, no matter how impossible the task seemed.

After what felt like an eternity of dodging, blocking, and futilely attempting to keep up with the ever-escalating difficulty of Midea's questions, Tanya finally collapsed onto the ground, panting heavily. Tarak landed beside her moments later, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath.

Midea stood over them, arms crossed and a smug grin plastered across his face. "Well, that was fun! You both lasted longer than I expected, though I admit I was hoping for a few more correct answers."

Tanya glared up at him, too exhausted to offer a proper retort. "Next time… fewer fireballs, more… sanity," she managed to mutter between labored breaths.

"Oh, how tragic for you to fail so fast. Aren't you going to push yourself to the limit? Until your muscles tear and your bones break?" Midea teased, his voice laced with humor, though there was a knowing gleam in his crimson eyes.

Tanya slowly sat up, brushing the dirt from her face with the back of her hand. Her golden hair, now slightly singed at the tips, caught the faint light filtering through the trees. She fixed him with a flat, unimpressed stare. Despite the exhaustion clinging to her limbs, her voice carried its usual sharpness as she responded, "Not giving up, just training. Might as well build my body, since that'll serve me better against the threats we face now than practicing for some future where I might be able to cultivate—who knows how far off that will be."

Midea tilted his head, considering her words. The flickering purple flames around him began to dissipate into the air like embers carried on the wind. His smirk didn't waver, but the teasing edge softened slightly. "This does double as physical training, to be fair," he admitted with a casual shrug. "But I understand your point. Fine, we'll revisit this particular method later."

"You weren't bad," Midea said, his tone almost approving. "You're both getting better, in terms of reaction speed and mental acuity simultaneously. Keep this up, and you might even be able to handle real combat chanting someday."

Tanya let out a relieved sigh, grateful for the brief respite after eyeing the dissipating flames. She really was starting to hate fire actually. Her body, though bruised and battered, was already healing, the pain fading rapidly as her adaptive physiology kicked in.

Tanya leaned back slightly, stretching her arms as she mulled over her next steps. Her eyes drifted toward Tarak, who was quietly standing off to the side, his crimson gaze locked on the demon with an intensity she knew all too well. She was familiar with that look—it was the same look he always wore when he was dead set on something, an unwavering resolve masked beneath his otherwise stoic expression.

"This isn't over, though," Midea added, drawing her attention back to him. He dusted off his ink-black hands, his claws gleaming faintly in the dappled light. "You wanted to see if you could replicate that little shade-punching trick of yours, right? I still have one shade trapped in a ward as you asked of me previously. We don't know if my wards had anything to do with your success before—though they shouldn't have—but it's worth testing again. After all, you two don't exactly follow the rules, do you? So we need a fresh shade."

Tanya narrowed her eyes, her mind racing back to the incident with the shade. That moment had been strange, to say the least. Shades weren't supposed to be something physical beings could interact with directly, yet she had somehow managed to land a blow on one of them. Whether it had been a fluke, an anomaly, or something inherent to their Tyrannius nature, she needed to know. Understanding this odd ability could give them a serious edge in the trials and beyond. And she wanted to see if Tarak could replicate it. If he could that was essentially a guarantee.

Before she could respond, Tarak stepped forward, his movements deliberate. The ground beneath him cracked faintly as he planted his feet, his posture rigid but not tense. His crimson eyes gleamed with a fierce light, reflecting both determination and something deeper—something primal.

"I want to try a shadow core," Tarak said, his voice calm but firm, cutting through the air with an unexpected weight. "I want to get stronger. I want to e—fight you." He said looking at Midea

Tanya blinked, surprised by the shift in her brother's tone. He rarely expressed his desires so openly, let alone something as bold as this. For a moment, silence hung in the air she then turned to the demon.

Tanya laughed a bit inwardly, though her expression remained neutral as she caught the brief flicker of disturbance that crossed Midea's face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual composed demeanor. He cleared his throat, casting her brother a sidelong glance before turning away, and leading them deeper into the forest. Their feet pounded softly against the dirt path, the muffled rhythm blending into the ambient sounds of the wild.

The surrounding forest pulsed with vibrant life. Strange, luminescent flowers bloomed in clusters, their petals glowing faintly in shades of blue and violet as though drinking in the scattered rays of sunlight that managed to pierce the dense canopy above. Tendrils of vine-like plants coiled lazily around tree trunks, their surfaces shimmering with a dew-like substance that reflected the light in a dazzling spectrum.

Tanya's senses were keen, sharpened by both experience and instinct. The air was thick with the mingled scents of wild flora—some sweet, others sharp and earthy. As they walked, she caught a particularly sweet aroma, subtle but distinct. Her gaze shifted to the side, landing on a peculiar sight. A large, cup-shaped fungus, its vibrant orange surface surrounded by delicate, tendril-like feelers, sat nestled amidst the undergrowth. Its upper rim glistened with a viscous, honey-colored liquid that gleamed enticingly in the light.

Tarak noticed it too, his crimson eyes gleaming with interest as he began drifting toward the fungus, curiosity clearly piqued. Tanya's hand snapped out without hesitation, gripping his arm firmly. She tugged him back, her expression hardening slightly as she recognized the plant's distinct shape.

"Entecal," she muttered under her breath, her voice barely above a whisper.

Just as she spoke, an orange bird, small and delicate with iridescent feathers, flitted down from the canopy. It hovered briefly before landing at the edge of the fungus, its beak dipping eagerly into the golden liquid. No sooner had it begun to drink than one of the fungus' tendril-like feelers snapped forward, striking the bird with unerring precision. The unfortunate creature was knocked into the cup, where it dissolved almost instantly, the liquid frothing and bubbling around it like sugar melting in boiling water. Within seconds, there was nothing left.

Tarak glanced up at her, a question in his eyes, though his expression remained stoic. She could see the flicker of curiosity beneath his calm exterior, the unspoken wonder at why she had stopped him. After all, with his durability and resilience, it was unlikely that such acid could seriously harm him. But Tanya wasn't one to take unnecessary risks, especially not in a world as unpredictable as this one, where the flora and fauna were as likely to aid as they were to kill.

"Just because we can survive something doesn't mean we should test it for no reason," she said quietly, her tone firm but not unkind. "We don't know enough about this world yet."

Tarak gave a small nod, his attention shifting back to the path ahead. Though he said nothing, Tanya could sense his understanding. He wasn't reckless—curious, yes, but not reckless. He would heed her warning.

The sweet scent of the Entecal lingered in the air as they continued walking, mingling with the fresh, earthy aroma of the forest floor. A few meters ahead, Midea paused, casting a glance over his shoulder. He waited for them to catch up before speaking, his voice cutting smoothly through the quiet hum of the forest.

"I used a lesser version of your strategy to draw out a few shades," Midea said suddenly, his tone casual, though there was a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Naturally I couldn't go through with your full plan without the aid of the village. Which is why you want to test this no?"

She nodded, her expression calm but inwardly calculating. That whole thing—this test—would hopefully prove crucial in the upcoming trial. If things went according to plan. But they seldom did, at least not without complications.

Their steps grew slushy as they ventured further into a darker part of the jungle. The air thickened with moisture, and the ground beneath their feet turned soft, clinging to their boots and making each step a little heavier. Droplets of water clung to the broad, waxy leaves around them, occasionally falling in rhythmic plops as if the forest itself was breathing. The canopy overhead grew denser, blotting out most of the sunlight and casting long, twisting shadows across the undergrowth.

They came to a ward formation etched into the soil, its faint blue glow barely visible beneath the mud and tangled roots. Several shades wandered about the perimeter, their forms restless, as if searching for something they couldn't quite grasp. They were gaunt figures cloaked in layers of shadow and darkness, their shapes flickering and wavering like candle flames in the wind. Unlike the shade they had encountered before, these weren't being controlled or restrained by the ward—only attracted by it, drawn in like moths to a flame through the bait the demon had cleverly set.

Each shade moved in an erratic, almost predatory manner, floating inches above the ground like wraiths, their ethereal forms shifting as though ready to dissolve and reform at a moment's notice. They exuded a palpable sense of menace, an eerie silence accompanying their presence, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. These were creatures always poised to steal a soul—silent hunters waiting for an opportunity to strike.

Tarak tapped her shoulder lightly, his silent request for approval clear. Tanya met his gaze and gave a small nod, the barest motion but enough to convey her assent. Without hesitation, her brother surged forward, his movements swift and fluid, the earth cracking slightly beneath his feet as he propelled himself toward the shades.

As she had predicted, these shades were nothing special in direct combat without their unique intangible advantages. The moment Tarak closed the distance, the fight was over in mere seconds. His strikes came with the precision of someone far more experienced than his apparent youth suggested. Fists, elbows, and knees moved in seamless tandem as he struck the supposedly untouchable beings with ease.

A quick right jab dispersed the nearest shade's form into a wavering mist, while a spinning kick tore through the second, leaving it writhing before fading into nothingness. Tanya's eyes narrowed as she watched closely, noting the technique her brother employed. He wasn't just attacking wildly—he was deliberately using one of Midea's martial arts styles. His limbs snapped out like whips, generating greater force through the sudden acceleration and torsional power of his torso. The blows weren't just strong; they were precise, each one aimed at maximizing damage with minimal effort.

The remaining shades attempted to surround him, their flickering forms closing in like creeping shadows. Tarak didn't falter. He pivoted sharply, his tail whipping outward in a sweeping arc that disrupted the shades' cohesion, scattering them like mist caught in a sudden gust. Before they could regroup, he followed up with a series of rapid strikes, his hands moving in a blur as he shattered their forms one by one.

Dark tendrils lashed out from one of the shades in a last-ditch effort, but Tarak twisted his body at an impossible angle, narrowly avoiding the grasping shadow before slamming his fist down in a finishing blow. The final shade dissipated with a faint, echoing wail, its form unraveling into thin air.

"Truly extraordinary!" Midea exclaimed, his voice tinged with genuine surprise despite the fact that he had witnessed a similar feat before. His six-clawed hands clapped together slowly, a grin of approval spreading across his face as he watched the aftermath.

Tanya allowed herself a small, satisfied smile, though inwardly, she was already analyzing the fight, noting the techniques Tarak had used and considering how they might be improved. She shifted her gaze toward her brother, who now stood amidst the dissipating remnants of the shades. Without hesitation or concern, he reached down and scooped up several shadow cores—small, dark orbs left behind by the defeated shades.

Tarak popped the first core into his mouth, chewing it to shards with audible crunches before swallowing. He repeated the process with the remaining cores, his expression impassive, as though he were merely snacking on something mundane. Tanya watched in mild amusement, wondering briefly what it must taste like. Probably bitter or metallic, she mused, given the way the cores shimmered with an otherworldly sheen.

Still, her amusement didn't distract her from the importance of what had just happened. The test had been a success. Her brother's ability to physically interact with and destroy shades—creatures traditionally thought to be untouchable by most—had been confirmed once again. And though Midea had already suspected as much, seeing it in action was another matter entirely.

Indeed, so far, things were going according to plan.

Now to see what the next day would bring.

____________

 

[drake_azathoth]

I must admit I was hoping the twins would just eat Hathor, but the drama and intrigue are feeling like they are finally starting to pull all the little plot threads together. Math-based sutras are definitely right up Tanya's alley.

 

[Behemoth.]

I must admit I was hoping the twins would just eat Hathor, but the drama and intrigue are feeling like they are finally starting to pull all the little plot threads together. Math-based sutras are definitely right up Tanya's alley.

Click to shrink...

Glad to hear it. Yeah I have some Ideas I want to pull together in a way I hope ends up being cohesive. This is my first long fic. I'm an amateur but I hope it turns out well.

 

[drake_azathoth]

I admit I'm a bit curious as to why you ended up dropping a bunch of chapters all at once?

Usually even if people have a backlog, they wait a bit before deploying each chapter. Are you posting this on another site primarily and just updating this one when you remember to do it? I've seen people do that before.

 

[Behemoth.]

Yeah, I primarily post on SB and RR. But I hope to keep up here too.

 

[Behemoth.]

Just story stuff
__


Character appearances
___________

Surya: Around 4'11". Golden hair more so then mere blonde. Amethyst eyes with a black ring around her pupils. Silver grey feathers among her hair. Pale skin with a healthy flush. Two golden lines underneath her eyes. Barbed tongue. Two rows of teeth. Retractable claws. Her facial features are extremely cute. Four long and powerful silver grey wings capable of flight. Note her wings and feathers are harder than the rest of her body. Her wings can harden even further.

Tarak: Around 4'11". Deep black hair with silvery white edges. Vibrant crimson eyes with slit pupils. Four horns two of which go foward like say a bull. Two of which arc backwards from his skull. They are black and the tips are white. Brown skin. Two black lines underneath his eyes. Barbed tounge. Two rows of teeth. Retractable claws. Thickly plated black and white reptilian tail. Can erupt in spikes and is very long. His facial features are extremely cute. Him and Surya have several points of similarity in their features. Note his tail and horns and the few patches of scales on his body are harder than the rest of him.

Midea: 7 feet even. Pitch black skin. Red eyes. Handsome features. Six clawed hands. Goat like lower body. Horns. Typical devil tail. Most handsome demon of his lineage according to himself.

Hati: Around 6'3". Has a scar over her left brow. Slightly freckled. Red hair. Muscular physique while retaining her femininity. Amber eyes. Wide hips and flat chest according to Midea. Wolf ears and tail match hair color.

Garran: 7'2". Brown hair and green eyes. Lupus clan traits. Heroic physique like his former mentor. Wolf ears and tail match hair color.

Remus: Over 8 feet tall. Brown hair and green eyes Lupus clan traits. Likes robes. Wolf ears and tail match hair color.

Lervea: 16.3 meters tall. Silvery white hair with the edges being deep black. Azure eyes with slit pupils and a ring around them. Two huge golden wings and a abyssal black fish like tail. Her facial features exceed the traditional concept of beauty. You can find several points of similarity between her Surya and Tarak. Pale skin. Two rows of teeth. A Barbed tounge. Retractable claws. Two silver lines beneath her eyes which can open into an additional pair of eyes. Note her wings and tail are harder than the rest of her.


Lilith: twelve feet tall. Purple hair and eyes. Features beyond the concept of beauty. Has several black wings she often keeps hidden. Pale skin. Tattoo on her spine.

Sol: 4'10" golden blonde hair. Cute face. Inherited her father's dark eyes. Wolf ears and tail match hair color.

Luna: 4'9" silver hair. Cute face with similarities with Sol. Inherited her father's dark eyes. Wolf ears and tail match hair color.


_________

Surya weight- 268 pounds

Tarak weight- 297 pounds(long tail)

Luna weight-156 pounds(wolfmen are denser than humans)

Midea weight- 633 pounds(same deal)

Lervea weight- 2,773,895.7 metric tons(Don't ask her about her weight)

__________________

1. Tanya and Tarak cannot scar permanently from external forces.

2. Both siblings completely lack a microbiome

___________


Tyrannius cannot have children aside from sexual reproduction. That being said they also have the ability to have children with any race or species. However, the only limiter is that their partner must be of the opposite sex. Well no this is wrong. I suppose they just have to have the ability to you know do the opposite. it's possible for them to have children with a hermaphrodite.

Tyrannius males and females have no inherent differences in strength. The only significant difference is in form and naturally, the ability to have children.

Many Tyrannius youth are actually daredevils who put their body through hell in order to come out stronger. Tanya is actually very cautious.

I forgot to mention they can have kids with anything because they don't actually have DNA at least not in the traditional sense of the word. That fact combined with their adaptability and boom. That being said it's far from common. They can get pregnant/impregnate anything but the birth rate is beyond low.