Beast Saint Moth and Immortal Saint Kiaria hovered face to face in the ash-colored sky of the illusory Arshland. The air between them seethed with poison dust, spreading outward in thick, swirling veils that ate into the ruins below with soft, corrosive hisses.
Far away, outside the range of the dust, the Wolf-Deer Saint beast teleported Diala and Princess Lainsa to safety once more. They reappeared near a cluster of half-collapsed stone houses–a ruined village at the edge of the desolate plain.
High above that wrecked world, the moth screamed.
The sound was shrill and layered, like glass shattering inside metal pipes. Below, the lesser Quicksand Moth Worms responded immediately. The ground convulsed as their bodies writhed into formation, lining up in neat, terrible battalions. Their pale bodies formed disciplined rings, waiting for the Saint Moth's next command.
Kiaria's hand swept toward his spatial ring.
A heartbeat later, the sword appeared.
The moment Sky Crystal–Shadow Severer Sword left the ring, the Dragon Emperors' hearts clenched. The cauldron's emerald gem flickered in response.
"This sword–meteor!" Dragon emperors thought.
The sword was no longer the first form that had split into Celestial Martial Spirit and blade, no longer the early Celestial Sword or Sword of Light.
This was fusion–Celestial Sword and Sword of Light merged, amplified, and tempered through the Patron's essence.
Sky Crystal–Shadow Severer Sword.
Monochrome misty-white light flowed along its dual edges. The crossguard took the form of a wolf's head snarling toward the blade, sharp muzzle extended; in its eye sockets, cold blue light flickered like conscious pupils. From the wolf's open mouth all the way down the fuller, ancient inscriptions glowed faintly–lines of a language long dead, yet still resonant.
At the pommel, an Eternal Night Crystal anchored the weapon. Within that darkness, tiny constellations shimmered, each star-prick revealing the sword's unfathomable weight and celestial affinity.
Even held loosely in Kiaria's hand, the sword felt as heavy as a fallen meteor.
The moth's compound eyes narrowed. Its four serrated mandibles clicked together, poison drooling in thin threads.
"Huh… kid," the Beast Saint rasped, voice distorted but clear. "Pretty toy. Hand it over, and this saint might let you walk away with all your limbs."
Kiaria slid his fingers along the flat of the blade, feeling the quiet hum respond to his touch. A crooked smile tugged at his lips.
"Hahaha… you?" he answered lazily. "You can try. If you kneel, beg properly, I'll just take your wings and legs. If you're still alive after that… maybe I'll let you watch me polish it."
The moth's wings beat once, sending another cloud of dust spiraling. "Arrogant brat. Didn't your parents teach you respect for your elders? On their behalf, I'll beat it into you."
"Oh, an ugly worm lecturing about seniority," Kiaria replied. "Drop the wrinkled nonsense. Come. Eat my sword's wrath."
The Saint Moth's four wings snapped outward.
Poison dust exploded into motion, forming four whirling tornadoes that twisted together into a devouring spiral. The storm lunged at Kiaria, dragging air, debris, and light itself inward.
Kiaria did not flee.
He let the pull seize him.
Star-Feather Technique lightened his body; the Zhar Do Globe layered an unseen shield over his skin. He darted into the heart of the tornado, his Shadow Ghost form blending into the swirling dust.
To the moth's perception, the boy vanished.
The Saint Moth chittered with dark delight. "Fine powder suits you better, little Patron."
The swirling storm tightened–
–and Kiaria shot out from the blind side.
He flashed past the edge of the tornado, his form emerging from dust like a shadow unhooking from a wall. His foot drove forward, heel hardened with spiritual strength.
His kick connected squarely with the Saint Moth's cheek.
The impact echoed like stone struck by thunder. The enormous body lurched sideways, spiraling helplessly into its own dust storm. Tornado-force winds seized the creature, spun it, and then hurled it toward the ground. It smashed into the barren plain, carving a deep furrow and scattering lesser worms like thrown arrows of flesh.
The Beast Saint screeched, rage boiling over humiliation.
"You dare… kick ME?! I underestimated you, insect. You'll regret it."
The moth launched back into the air. Its vast wings folded inward, wrapping around its body like a cocoon of churning ash. From the shadowed hollow between its mandibles, a seed of light formed–a small, dense orb pulsing like poison condensed into a single thistle-shaped sphere.
Volatile dust flowed back into the orb as it grew; its color shifted from pale gray to an eerie lavender, shot through with corrosive energy.
The Saint Moth spat it out.
The orb flew, leaving a trail of sizzling air. It cut toward Kiaria faster than sound.
It struck his chest.
…And passed through.
No impact. No explosion.
Just a ripple, like a stone thrown through water.
The moth's compound eyes widened. "An afterimage–?"
Kiaria's voice sounded behind it.
"Too slow."
In a blur, he'd already circled to the moth's flank. His left palm smacked across the same cheek he'd kicked earlier. The Beast Saint spun, disoriented. Before it stopped, Kiaria vanished again, reappearing on the other side.
Another slap.
A third.
A fourth.
Each strike landed at the identical spot, rattling brain and nerves. The moth's color slowly changed–pale whites and greens turning lavender at the edges as internal poison and agitation mixed. The beast shrieked, spewing a piercing whistle.
Beast Worm Shriller.
The shriek wasn't for Kiaria. It plunged through the ruined land, a command blast that ordered the lower realm worms to mass their poison.
Kiaria paused in midair, sword resting easily on his shoulder as he watched.
"Fine. Show me how far an illusory Arshland can go."
The plain responded.
From every direction, lower and mid-tier worms crawled inward. Their toxic cores ignited in a shared pattern, each releasing a coordinated stream of poison and crystalline dust that rose and spun into the sky. Patterns overlapped, energies amplified.
A massive orb formed in the air–pure poison, mixed with corrosive crystal essence. It grew until it dwarfed even the Saint Moth itself, humming with enough power to melt a city into sludge.
The orb surged toward Kiaria, a collapsing star of venom.
Zhar Do Globe could block it, but Kiaria didn't move.
A jade-colored cauldron burst forth from the scar on his forehead–Coiled Twin Dragon Cauldron. In an instant, it enlarged, lid opening as twin dragon engravings awoke along its surface.
A deep suction force erupted.
The poison orb broke its forward rush and was dragged sideways into the cauldron's mouth. The cauldron swallowed everything–poison, crystal, the toxic wind around it. Its lid slammed shut with a deep clang.
Inside, the contents churned, sealed away.
Kiaria exhaled. "You've played your cards. Time to end this."
He lifted Sky Crystal–Shadow Severer Sword, raising the blade horizontally near his face. The light along its edge grew sharper, thinner, almost soundless.
His body flickered.
When he spoke, his voice arrived late.
"Holy Radiance Form–One: Shadow-Severing Silent Light."
From the moth's perspective, nothing happened.
"Ha… ha… words only? No attack?" the Beast Saint scoffed, its wings slapping out more dust.
Then the itch began.
It started in its core–just a faint burning, like a sting in the center of its heart. The moth twitched. The burning spread, not across the body, but inward, along a line the moth could not see.
The sword's light had cut its shadow, not its flesh.
The Shadow-Severing Silent Light burned the evil essence inside that heart–here in the illusion, and at the same time, at its corresponding point in the real Arshland.
"Good skill…" the moth growled through clenched mandibles, sweat-like poison dripping. "But not enough."
Kiaria smirked, eyes sharpening.
"Holy Radiance Form–Two: Sky Crystal Silver Seal."
The misty-white flame that had begun to burn in the moth's heart abruptly crystallized. The flickering evil essence turned to a gleaming, silvery crystal inside its chest. The heart, once beating, froze mid-pulse.
For a heartbeat the Saint Moth hung in the air, wings still extended.
Then everything stopped.
The gigantic body fell like a dead weight, smashing into the ground with enough force to crack stone. The impact crushed many of the surrounding worms. Those that survived hissed in panic and fled, diving back into the deep soil to escape.
On the real Arshland, deep in the true desert, a Beast Saint Moth convulsed and vomited corrupted essence, suffering a heavy internal wound. The influence of the Purifier of Shadows sliced its evil half away, brutally and without mercy.
The illusion's moth corpse lay still.
Kiaria floated above it, breathing hard. He flicked his wrist and summoned the Coiled Twin Dragon Cauldron before him, intending to inspect the trapped poison and crystals.
The interior was empty.
He narrowed his eyes, then sighed. "…So, illusions are illusions after all."
With the battle done, he wanted to regroup with the others and leave the chamber before more surprises emerged. He closed his eyes, ready to use spiritual communication to link with his beast.
Silence.
Nothing answered.
Kiaria's brows drew together. He tried again. No response–not from the Wolf-Deer Saint, not from Diala's fox, not even from the Princess's falcon.
His breathing hitched, just once.
He closed his eyes and activated his sixth sense–insight.
When he opened them again, his pupils were gone, replaced by a faint white glow. The golden strands of will that he usually saw connecting people and beasts seemed blurred here; the Illusory Arshland distorted them. But the faint rhythm of heartbeats–very distant, very weak–still vibrated at the edge of his senses.
"There."
He vanished, Star-Feather Technique propelling him forward like a falling star.
He reappeared at the entrance of a ruin village–a place of tilted houses, collapsed walls, and silent, broken wells. The air here felt heavier, as if it had absorbed too many last breaths.
Kiaria extended his senses.
No visible life.
But something was wrong with the silence.
He moved cautiously through the village, passing houses crusted with dust, doorways clogged by rubble, and narrow alleys wrapped in shadow. In every house he checked, pale strands of spider web clung thickly to beams and corners.
Yet his insight saw no life behind them.
In one half-collapsed house that must once have belonged to a wealthy family–judging by the remnants of ornate plates now covered in thick dust–Kiaria paused.
Something small dropped from above.
A spider no bigger than his thumb landed on his forearm, its tiny fangs trying to pierce his skin.
They failed.
Kiaria's Immortal Dragon Body realm made his skin stronger than tempered iron. The spider bounced off and fell onto the floorboards. The sudden spike of life presence drew his eyes downward.
He crouched.
A spider… alive… in a place his insight could not fully see.
His eyes narrowed. "No… this pattern… Faceless Soul Devourer."
Cold air ran along his spine.
He picked the tiny spider up between his fingers and searched for its golden will-thread.
Nothing.
No visible connection.
He followed the thickening lines of web outside, choosing the direction where they grew denser. A slow dread crept into his chest as he walked toward the largest ruin in the village–a once-grand building now choked by webs.
He shifted into his Shadow Ghost form, body and robe dimming into monochrome.
The interior of the structure was pitch black. The webs here were thick as cords, layered like veils of cloth. He could not see farther than a few steps.
Kiaria pressed his hands together, palms cupping a small gap. He blew gently into them.
When he opened his hands, dozens of tiny misty-white orbs drifted out and floated through the air like glowing dandelion fluff. They spread through the dark hall, landing on webs, broken beams, and hunched shapes.
Light awakened the room.
At the far corner, the orbs illuminated three figures standing motionless.
Diala. Princess Lainsa. Their beasts.
Heads bowed, bodies stiff. Their breathing was shallow but present. No visible webs bound them. No signs of physical injury.
Kiaria's heart clenched.
He looked up, searching for his mount.
The Wolf-Deer Saint hung from the ceiling, half-wrapped in thick white web, its heads drooping. Faint, but alive.
As the orbs drifted higher, they brushed the leftmost shadow of the ruined roof.
Something there glinted.
Kiaria looked–and nearly lost his footing.
A huge spider clung to the remains of the ceiling, its body as big as a carriage. Its abdomen was swollen, glossy black. Eight long legs hooked deeply into the stone overhead, each joint edged with coarse hair. From its fangs dripped viscous, black-green venom that sizzled when it fell.
On the front of its abdomen, where a normal spider's marking would be, a warped human-like face bulged in the flesh–eyes gouged into hollows, mouth stretched in a grotesque grin.
Ghost-Faced Faceless Spider.
The moment the light touched it, the face twisted downward toward Kiaria, empty eye pits somehow locking onto his.
A pressure crashed down on his mind.
His vision trembled. Breath caught. His heart hammered against his ribs as a raw, ancient fear surged. Thumb-sized spiders like the one he'd found were nothing; this was their king in miniature–Supernatural Realm, wicked, and specialized in devouring souls and wearing faces.
His crown flared.
A misty-white halo pulsed gently around his temples–Purifier of Shadows reacting, stabilizing his seventh sense. The panic ebbed; Kiaria's heart steadied and the trembling in his eyes stopped.
The massive spider unfurled its legs and dropped from the ceiling. It landed with a heavy thud that shook dust from the rafters. Its eyes–small and innumerable–gleamed with cold hunger.
Diala and Princess moved.
Not because of the spider's jump, but because of its will.
Their heads slowly lifted. Their eyes were unfocused, pupils dilated and glassy. In their hands, blades and fan shifted into ready stances.
Kiaria called out, "Dia! Big Sister!" but no response came.
They stepped toward him, attack paths precise and increasingly sharp. There was no emotion in them. No anger. No fear. Just execution.
The spider's control was perfect.
Kiaria dodged the first combination with Star-Feather and Shadow Ghost. Sword slices cut whisper-thin lines through his afterimages. Fan gusts stirred his robe's edge by a hair's breadth.
He persisted, trying to wake them, but the more he called, the more mechanical their strikes became–four blows, a brief stutter, then four more, faster.
He noticed it then.
After every fourth strike, Diala's wrists trembled, just a fraction. Her blade hesitated as if something inside her fought back for a single breath.
"There."
Kiaria counted.
One–two–three–four.
He let them swing, barely slipping between them.
One–two–three–
On the third of the next set, he leaped straight up, soaring above them. He locked his gaze on the spider's grotesque face, forcing himself not to flinch.
His voice rang out, low and steady.
"Empty."
The word wasn't normal sound.
It carried the force of his seventh sense–the state of Emptiness he'd awakened under Ye Cain's guidance. For a heartbeat, all seven senses of everyone in the room–including the spider's–were stunned.
The ghostly face spasmed.
The control snapped.
Diala's blade halted mid-swing. Princess's fan dropped an inch. The Wolf-Deer Saint's binding trembled. The Nine-Tailed Fox blinked once, confused.
Kiaria didn't waste the opening.
He dove, Sky Crystal–Shadow Severer Sword flashing in a bright cross.
"Holy Radiance Form–Two: Sky Crystal Silver Seal."
The cross slash carved through the Ghost-Faced Faceless Spider's abdomen, its ghost face splitting in four. Misty-white light flooded into the wound, then crystallized. The spider's screech died in its throat.
Its body convulsed, then fell limp.
In the real Arshland, high in the mountain range, the Ghost Prison Hollow Face Spider–a massive King Realm arachnid–stiffened. It felt the thread connecting it to one of its offspring snap. Rage like volcanic fire surged through its monstrous veins.
It bent down and bit the corpse of its child, sinking its fangs into the neck. Through that wound, its demonic will and spatial venom leaked into the illusion channel anchored to the Dragon-Tooth Tiger Boat.
In the illusory realm, the dead spider's body twitched.
It rose.
Threads of black web knotted beneath it, patching its split abdomen with foul energy.
Kiaria sensed the shift–the weight of something far beyond a normal Supernatural Beast pressing at the edges of the illusion.
"No time."
He flashed through the web-choked hall.
In one breath, he cut free the Wolf-Deer Saint, scooped Diala and Princess under his arms, called their beasts with a pull of will, and tore open the relic's space with the treasure box.
Uskilen answered from within, opening the vessel's interior.
Kiaria shoved them all inside–weapons, beasts, and friends–and sealed the relic shut, entrusting them to the Immortal Spirit's care.
The building groaned overhead. Cracks spiderwebbed (ironically) along the remaining roof stones.
Behind him, the Ghost-Faced Faceless Spider–the puppet now partly wearing its father's wrath–finished standing.
Eight legs spread.
The ghost face twisted into something crueler, deeper.
The building collapsed around them.
Kiaria stood alone in the illusory Arshland, sword in hand, facing the resurrected beast with its King Realm will pressing through the veil.
His Shadow Ghost form flickered. The misty crown above his brow glowed faintly.
He exhaled once, slow.
"Fine," he said quietly. "Come, then. Let's see how much of a King can squeeze through one dead son."