The Main Prayer Hall.
Lady Agnes sealed her eyelids, her palms pressed together in an attitude of supreme reverence, and from her parted lips poured a liturgy that predated the establishment of the Lindao Republic by untold millennia. The syllables were ponderous, vibrating with a guttural resonance that seemed to manipulate the atmospheric density of the chamber, pulling at the very ether. Adam Becker—the persona currently inhabited by Xan Li Fang—stood stoically beside her. Although the semantic nuances of the archaic dialect eluded him, his intuitive faculties, sharpened to a razor's edge by the chaotic tribulation of his dantians and the assimilated wisdom of six lifetimes, dissected the metaphysical truth instantaneously. He scrutinized the towering effigy of Saint Andro. "Vacuous," he concluded, his eyes narrowing beneath the shadow of his pitch-black hat. "There is no relic enshrined within; there is no residue of a Divinity. It is merely a sculpted monolith of inert geology." To a being who had caressed the stars and harmonized the forces of chaos, prostrating himself before a hollow idol was not merely a chore; it was an existential insult.
Consequently, he elected to participate in the ritual—with deliberate, calculated sacrilege. "...Anduiq.... ahsu..." Adam muttered the incantation in a fractured, bastardized whisper, intentionally twisting the phonetics into nonsensical gibberish. It was a mockery of the sacred rite, a performance of disdain. Lady Agnes ceased her chanting. A heavy, suffocating silence inundated the hall. She turned her head slowly to regard Adam, initially emitting a soft, incredulous chuckle, shaking her head as if amused by the clumsy error of a novice. But then, she elevated her gaze. FREEZE. The ambient temperature within the sanctum plummeted precipitously.
Lady Agnes's eyes, typically sharp and illuminated by intellect, were instantly obscured by a milky, sinister opacity, and the musculature of her visage twitched with unnatural spasms. "You..." Her voice had shed the melodic timbre of Lady Agnes; it was a distorted, grinding cacophony, a sonic nightmare where two distinct vocalizations spoke in unison—one female, the other ancient, masculine, and dripping with malice. "Who are you to treat a Divinity such as myself with such insolence?" The atmospheric pressure in the room detonated; it was not the benevolent aura of a Saint, but the suffocating, necrotic malice of a possessing entity. Lady Agnes had been usurped.
Adam didn't flinch. He locked gazes with the entity, his expression one of profound boredom and arrogance. "Hahaha..." Adam laughed, a low, rumbling baritone. "You are unworthy of my obeisance." He retreated a step, his black robes swirling around him like liquid shadow. "I do not offer supplication to the deceased. I do not worship phantoms. And I most certainly do not bow to Parasitic Evil Gods concealing themselves within the vessels of women." The entity occupying Agnes screeched in apoplectic fury. "THEN PERISH FOR ME!" BOOM. The body of Lady Agnes moved with a velocity that defied physiological limits; her hands raised, coalescing dark energy into razor-sharp talons at her fingertips as she lunged directly for Adam's jugular.
She was fast, but Adam was preternaturally prepared. Just as the corrupted claws were mere inches from his countenance, Adam's lips moved, articulating not a defensive technique, but a Word of Power from an epoch erased from history. "Sahuvibu Akanure!" FLASH. A blinding, absolute white luminescence erupted from Adam's somatic form. It did not merely saturate the chamber; it ruptured the physical boundaries of the temple, erupting into the nocturnal firmament and bathing the entirety of Oktavira in a brilliance that turned the obsidian night into a blinding, temporary zenith.
The Great Silence.
For exactly three seconds, the temporal flow of the city was arrested. The sentinels upon the ramparts, the merchants navigating the thoroughfares, the nobility ensconced in their beds—every sentient mind experienced a sudden, inexplicable hiatus in consciousness, a mass hypnotic fugue that blanketed the populace in oblivion.
Inside the Temple.
The luminescence receded. Lady Agnes stood in the epicenter of the Prayer Hall. She blinked, the milky haze vanishing as her irises regained their clarity and normalcy. She swayed slightly, clutching her cranium as a wave of vertigo assailed her. "Ugh... my head..." She surveyed the empty hall, disorientation clouding her features. She glanced at the altar, then down at her ceremonial vestments. "What was I engaged in...?" she muttered, massaging her temples. "Ah, correct. I must have been prolonging my prayers into the deep night." She yawned, the memories of the stranger, the forest rescue, the demonic possession, and the blinding cataclysm completely excised from her neural pathways. "I am scheduled to depart for the Capital at dawn," she murmured to herself, turning away from the statue. "I should retire to my quarters." She exited the hall, her mind tranquil and devoid of any intruders. Behind her, the hall remained silent. The man who called himself Adam Becker was gone; he had vanished into the ether, leaving not a single vestige to suggest he had ever existed.
The Astral Hall.
Far removed from the terrestrial anchor of Oktavira, existing in a pocket dimension of swirling starlight and levitating monoliths, the atmosphere had descended into absolute, entropic chaos. The Elders of the Astral Hall, transcendent entities charged with monitoring the intricate tapestry of fate, were gripped by a panic that defied their ancient composure. "It is a Special Grade Magic Spell," one Elder gasped, his ocular organs distended with disbelief as he interpreted the violent energy fluctuations hemorrhaging across the Star Chart. "How is this within the realm of possibility? Impossible!" another bellowed, his voice shaking the void. "Who possesses the capacity to execute such a feat? The immutable Laws of the World should restrict the manifestation of such tyrannical power!"
The Temple of the Ancient Sun God.
Deep within the subterranean blazing sanctuary of the Sun God, the High Priests were trembling in unison. The golden totem fires, usually steady eternal flames, flickered violently, reacting with terrified sentience to the wave of white purification that had swept across the continent. "It is indeed Special Grade... perhaps an incantation of even greater magnitude," the Grand Bishop muttered, perspiration cascading down his visage as he sensed the residue of the magic. "Divine Kings, bound by the ancient Treaty of Realms, have not entered the Real World directly for countless eons." He slammed his fist onto the obsidian altar with force enough to crack the stone. "Who the fuck possesses the capability to do this?!"
The Aftermath: The Radius of Oblivion.
The spell utilized— Sahuvibu Akanure —was not merely a luminescent flashbang; it was a fundamental rewriting of localized reality. In an instant, ninety-nine percent of the sentient population within a two-hundred-kilometer radius of the Merry Andro Temple suffered a total spiritual reset, a phenomenon resulting in the excision of exactly twenty-four hours of memory. Merchants forgot their negotiated contracts; guards forgot their rotas; and Lady Agnes forgot the stranger who had saved her soul. To them, the day had simply vanished into the ether, replaced by a vague, narcotic sense of drowsiness. However, the world was not entirely blinded. There existed a select few—clandestine Agents of the Divine Kings and lurking monstrosities with souls robust enough to resist the purge—who retained fragmented, terrifying glimpses of the truth, aware now that a variable of apocalyptic potential had manifested in Oktavira.
The Edge of the Arnadu Forest.
While the world panicked in the high halls and the city slept in blissful ignorance, a solitary figure stood at the precipitate entrance of the dark, perilous forest. Adam Becker... or rather, the primordial entity currently wearing his skin... cast a final, lingering gaze back toward the city. His eyes were clear—terrifyingly, brutally clear. "I anticipated this outcome," Adam whispered, his voice carrying a weight that predated the stars. "It appears the epoch for metamorphosis has arrived." He looked down at his hands, a bitter, knowing smile curling his lips.
The Magic of Memory—the intricate, complex web of fabrications he had woven to convince himself he was a "Transmigrated Hero" named Xan Li Fang—had crumbled into dust the moment he cast the Special Grade spell. The power of Sahuvibu Akanure was absolute; it was a supreme incantation designed to banish all curses, exorcise all malevolent spirits, and cleanse the soul of all impurities. By casting it to salvage his vessel from the entity possessing Lady Agnes, he had inadvertently, yet inevitably, cleansed his own mind. The self-inflicted "course" of the false memories had been obliterated. He remembered everything. He knew, with agonising precision, exactly who he was.
He looked up at the nocturnal firmament, peering past the constellations to address a being that no mortal eye could perceive. "Father... I shall demonstrate my potency," he vowed, his aura flaring invisibly with a pressure that bent the surrounding grass. "Even restricted within a mortal shell, I possess the capacity to shield my people." He turned his gaze toward the dark, whispering trees of the Arnadu Forest, no longer running away but stepping boldly into his dominion. "Mother..." he whispered softly, his tone shifting from divine arrogance to a profound human tenderness. "Don't worry. I will always protect your clan... the Humans!" With the mask of the "Hero" shattered and his true identity as the Fifth Son of the Origin God fully awakened within a mortal vessel, Adam stepped into the shadows. He vanished into the darkness, leaving the world to tremble in his wake.