Ariella
Middle floor
Dungeon, Thornhill
Vankar Island,
Northern Isles Region
Kingdom of Ashtarium
November 16th 2019
Moments ago,
It happened in a blink. The wave of chaos broke over us as the copies of the Cambion surged forward—shadows of that monstrous power, but no less lethal. Two of them set upon Neil and me, their armored forms streaking through the air like reapers come to claim us.
I forced my breath steady, drawing the string of my bow, feeling the familiar hum of mana thrum through the black-gold frame. The veins of sealed light pulsed beneath my fingers as I loosened the string of the bow. My arrows split mid-flight, becoming a volley of mana-tipped projectiles. The shots struck true, smashing into the leading knight's helm and breastplate—but its advance didn't slow. It came on, relentless, like it hadn't even noticed.
Neil raised his wand, his expression taut with focus. Earth mana gathered at his feet, the ground trembling as he shouted his spell.
[Stoneguard Pillars!]
Spikes of earth burst upward, slamming into the path of the second knight. The creature collided with the formation, stone shards exploding around it as it staggered, momentarily halted.
"Ella, move!" Neil yelled as the first copy closed the last of the distance, its black axe raised, the edge glowing with the same vile energy as its master's.
I didn't think—I acted. I twisted, using Rapid Step to shift aside, the axe's swing missing by inches, the wind of its passage burning across my cheek. I planted my heel, drawing and losing another arrow in the same motion. This one was different—Piercing Crimson Wisp, an advanced technique of the Bow art. The arrow shimmered, its tip a concentrated spike of mana that tore into the knight's side, slipping between armor plates.
It howled—a hollow, grating sound—but still it came. My heart pounded, every instinct screaming as I backpedaled, firing again and again, each arrow weaving through gaps, chipping away at the creature's integrity. At least trying to.
Neil was at my side now, his wand glowing bright as he layered earth shields between us and the second knight, buying us precious moments. His face was pale, sweat beading at his brow, but his eyes were steady.
"We hold!" he said, voice fierce, surprising even me.
The first knight raised its axe for a killing blow, but I was ready. I drew deep on my mana reserves, the veins of my bow flaring crimson-gold as I whispered the invocation of my family's Mana art:
[Crimson Bloom: Serpent's Fang Shot]
The arrow I loosed blazed with radiant light, a spiral of coiled crimson energy wrapping the shaft like a serpent preparing to strike. It hit dead center—right in the hollow where the knight's heart might have been—detonating in a burst of crimson serpents of mana. The writhing energy tore through the shadowy substance of the knight's core, searing and fragmenting it. Cracks spiderwebbed through its armor, black steel fracturing under the onslaught. But still it came—staggering, relentless, the hunger in its hollow gaze undiminished.
Beside me, Neil's earth barriers shattered with a deafening crack as the second knight crashed through, stone shards flying like shrapnel. But I didn't falter. My breath steadied, my focus sharpened. I drew again, my mana core flaring as I poured more energy into the bow. The black-gold frame thrummed with power, resonating with me, as if answering my call.
When Lil had entrusted me with this bow, I'd felt it—not just the weight of the weapon, but the bond that formed in that instant. A resonance, like a pact sealed by shared purpose. And in that flash of connection, the bow's secrets had poured into me. I understood then—this wasn't just a Legendary grade enchanted weapon. This was a bow worthy of the Ashtarmel lineage, powerful enough to bear the weight of the Mana arts I carried in my blood.
A crimson glow built along the bowstring, coalescing into a focused, deadly light. I unleashed it—a torrent of crimson mana, arrows fired in rapid succession, streaking toward the first knight like a rain of blood and fire.
Meanwhile, Neil was fighting with everything he had. His Grimoire was open now, its pages flickering with ethereal script, enhancing the potency of his spells. His wand wove complex patterns, and despite his Adept realm limits, he forced the magic higher.
[Flame Combustion Sphere]
Two tier-four fire spells fused in the air above the second knight, falling like a meteor wreathed in infernal light. The sphere slammed down, the force of the impact consuming the knight in a roar of flame, heat washing over us in waves.
The first knight closed the distance. It swept its axe, the massive blade knocking aside my arrows one after another, its movements precise, methodical. It was adapting. I realized then that ranged attacks alone wouldn't be enough.
Without hesitation, I shifted. I slung the bow across my back, hand already drawing the short sword Lil had given me. The weight felt right—balanced, familiar. My stance lowered, feet steady on the fractured stone. I adjusted my breathing, my focus shifting from Bow Art to Sword Art, my body and blade ready to meet the knight in close quarters.
"Come on, then," I whispered, the crimson glow of my mana wreathing the blade. "Let's end this." The knight lunged, its axe sweeping in a brutal horizontal arc, the black steel whistling through the air. I stepped in, not back—toward the storm. My blade flashed up, the short sword's edge meeting the axe in a clash that rang out like a bell of war. The shock of the blow rattled through my arm, but I held firm, my stance steady, breath anchored.
Heavenly Crimson Flash Sword Style.
The name echoed in my mind, old words passed down through Ashtarmel bloodlines. This was no art of brute force—it was a style that relied on lightning fast reaction speed and reflexes , of being able to strike where it mattered and nowhere else. I pivoted, my feet gliding over the fractured ground as I moved inside the knight's guard. My mana surged, crimson light trailing my blade as I unleashed an attack technique of the sword art:
[Crimson Flash: Veil Cutter]
My blade darted—too fast for the eye to follow—striking like a crimson streak. The edge found the gap at the inner joint of the knight's elbow, where armor and shadow met. The steel gave way beneath the precision of the cut, the black flame of its core hissing as the blade bit deep. The knight's arm recoiled, its weapon faltering for a heartbeat. But I didn't stop. The Heavenly Crimson Flash Sword Style didn't allow for hesitation. The flow was everything—break it, and you were lost.
The knight retaliated, its axe reversing with vicious, brutal speed, carving the air toward me. But I had already moved, my body twisting low, fluid as water slipping past stone. I felt the rush of air as the blade missed, and in that moment, my short sword traced a second arc, its edge alive with gathered mana.
The core of the Crimson Flash sword style was not brute strength—it was acceleration. Every motion, every strike was designed to amplify combat aura, each cut feeding into the next, layering velocity and force. The style channeled that accelerating aura into kinetic energy, transforming precision into devastating speed.
It wasn't about overwhelming power. It was about knowing where to strike, and making each blow count. And thanks to my Ashtarmel bloodline's enhanced perception—eyes that could track the subtlest shift in movement, the faintest opening—I had no problem with that front.
The knight reeled, its black flame core flaring violently, fury and desperation mingling in its hollow eyes. But I pressed the assault, my blade ready to unleash the next form. My combat aura burned brighter with every breath, the air around me shimmering with the heat of my will. I pushed beyond the natural limits of my core, pouring out more mana than I should have been able to—because the Sacred grade blade resonated with me, drawing strength from my very bloodline. I felt my cells ignite, the power within them stirring awake, the ancient might of Ashtarmel lineage answering my call.
[Crimson Flash — Lightning Mirage]
I blurred forward, my speed fracturing the air itself, and in my wake, illusory afterimages fanned out, encircling the knight. Each flickering form moved as one, blades descending in perfect harmony, a storm of slashes from all sides. The knight reacted fast, its axe a whirl of black steel, repelling every phantom strike with brutal precision.
But that was the point. I had already slipped free, my true form gliding out of range, repositioning as the knight wasted its strength on shadows.
My fingers found Noct Aeturnum. The bow felt alive in my grip, as if it, too, knew this was the moment to strike. I drew, and motes of crimson and golden light gathered at my fingertips, coalescing into an arrow that pulsed like a heartbeat, raw power made manifest.
And then the bow changed.
For a heartbeat, Noct Aeturnum transformed—its black-gold frame flared into radiant gold, wreathed in solar fire, as if it had been touched by the dawn itself. The brilliance of it stole my breath, a glimpse of something vast and ancient, beyond even what I'd imagined. But just as quickly, it shifted back—the eternal night returned, the bow once more black-gold, silent and cold beneath my grip.
I exhaled, steadying my aim.
[Crescent Eclipse Shot]
The technique the bow had given me—the one that felt carved into my soul the moment Lil placed it in my hands. I loosed the arrow, and it tore through the air like a falling star, the light of it half-swallowed by shadow, half-burning with searing brilliance.
It struck the knight dead center in the chest. There was a beat of silence—then an eruption. Black-crimson darkness burst outward from the point of impact, the shadow-stuff of the knight's core pouring from the wound like blood from a mortal heart. The knight staggered, its flame core guttering, the edges of its form fraying, the cracks on the armor spreading as the Cambion broke apart.
I drew in a deep breath, my chest rising and falling with the rush of relief. The copied being was gone, its form scattered into nothing by my strike. I stepped down from the ice wall where I'd taken my final shot, heart still pounding. Ben and Neil arrived at my side, both looking intact. Ben's silver form gleamed faintly, the last remnants of his transformation fading; he had handled the other two copies with brutal efficiency, his Warrior realm strength leaving little challenge.
Before we could speak, a surge rippled through the ambient energy of the floor—an overwhelming pulse that stole our breath and turned our heads toward the heart of the amphitheater.
A flash of golden-orange brilliance engulfed the arena, filling it with light like the dying sun at the end of the world. We felt it—I felt it—that strange, powerful force Lil had unleashed. Energy that was at once alien and familiar: purification and devastation bound together in one terrible harmony.
Through the settling debris, we saw Jen. She moved like a phantom, blade drawn back—and drove it forward into—
"Looks like it's over..." Neil began, his voice hopeful.
But the world changed.
In an instant, reality itself seemed to lurch, like a tapestry torn and stitched back together wrong. The air rippled, warped, as if the floor beneath us had shifted sideways in ways it shouldn't. And it all came with a single word:
"Switch."
I blinked—and Neil was no longer beside me.
Where he had stood now towered the Cambion's black-flame form, its red eyes burning with malice. Neil was gone. Before my mind could process it, the Cambion's axe cleaved toward me, a streak of black death.
Ben moved faster than thought, his massive arm shoving me out of the way. The axe carved through the space I'd occupied, the edge grazing Ben's side, blood spraying from the wound even as he shielded me.
Desperate, I whipped my gaze to Jen—only to see the nightmare realized. There Neil stood—between Jen and the Cambion—Jen's blade driven clean through his chest, the frost of her attack blooming inside him, freezing his core from within.
"No… no… NOOO!" I screamed, struggling against Ben's grip as he held me tight despite his wound.
"How?" Lil's voice rang out, raw, disbelieving. "Its ability should have been nullified!"
Aeternum's light coalesced beside us, its tone grave. "I was mistaken. It's not causality bypassing—it's Overriding. Anything it declares becomes truth. When you used Everlasting Sunset, the light purified the dissonant mana clinging to its armor. But look at it—its energy is greatly diminished. Without its armor, there is a price to using such power."
"None of that matters!" Lil shouted, rage and grief fused in her voice. She rushed to Jen's side, helping her draw the blade free from Neil's chest. His body slumped, but Lil caught him, cradling him as she lowered him gently to the ground.
"Come on, Neil… come on." Her voice broke as she channeled her mana, her ability pouring vitality into him, desperately willing him to hold on. "Heal, damn it… heal!"
Aeternum's light pulsed softly, sorrowfully. "His mana core has shattered. Jen's ability destroyed his vitality forcefield. His injuries… they're too severe to heal."
"No…" Lil gasped. "No—I won't allow that!" She pushed harder, flooding him with her own lifeforce, but Neil's broken body rejected it. The ice had already spread too far, devouring what little strength he had left, feeding on the vitality Lil tried to give.
Ben carried me to them. My senses, sharpened by panic and grief, saw what was left of Neil's inner world. Aeternum was right. His vitality network was ruined, his cells frozen beyond recovery, the frost claiming him from the inside out.
I turned to Jen. She stood frozen, her face a mask of shock so deep it barely seemed human, as if she couldn't comprehend what had just happened—what she had done.
Ben and I knelt beside Neil as the last of his warmth faded, his body encased in ice.
"Damn it!" Lil roared, the sound tearing through the broken air. And as I stared down at Neil, my own memories rose unbidden—memories of the burning royal hall, my father dying in fire at my uncle's hands, my brothers' lifeless bodies, the empty space where my mother should have been.
"You led them to their death. This is the consequence of their faith in you." The Cambions' voice was low, merciless. "In the end, he was always meant to die—just like that town will."
"Shut up," Lil growled, her voice low and deadly. She rose to her feet, eyes blazing with a fury that seemed to set the very air alight. Her katana flared with searing orange light, the brilliance of it reflecting off the fractured stone beneath us. The heat of her battle aura rippled outward, a storm barely contained.
My gaze snapped to the Cambion. My Internal Sense swept over it, and I felt it—the truth of Aeternum's words. Its energy had dulled, its oppressive force weakened, its reserves burning low from the cost of its ability. And then I saw it: something deep within its chest. A runic inscription, faint but pulsing—a code, a seal, or perhaps the source of its power.
If I had seen it, I knew Lil would have too. And sure enough, her gaze locked on the mark, the fire in her eyes sharpening to purpose. She moved—fast, precise. Her blade carved through the air, the orange light blazing along its edge like the final light of a setting sun.
The Cambion reacted, desperation igniting what strength it had left. It leapt, arm lashing out, the limb stretching unnaturally as it funneled the last of its power into a single, killing blow. Its fist tore toward Lil, black flame coiling along its path, its intent clear: end her, here and now.
I didn't hesitate. I drew my bow, breath steadying, heart quieting as my blood resonated with Noct Aeturnum. My Internal Sense locked onto the Cambion, tracking every flicker of its movement. I reached for the technique I'd used against its copy—but this time, I pushed deeper, letting the bow guide me, letting the bond between us sharpen my aim beyond sight, beyond space.
The Cambion's arm smashed through the upper portion of Lil's katana, splintering steel and sending shards of light scattering. Its fist came within a breath of her heart—
And I loosed the arrow.
The golden shot didn't travel through space. It ignored space. It moved along an unseen path, weaving through the folds of reality. The arrow found the Cambion's arm, distorting the space it occupied, the limb bending and warping unnaturally. A heartbeat later—the arrow detonated, golden energy erupting in a blast that tore the arm apart, leaving the Cambion exposed.
Lil seized the opening. With a cry that echoed through the broken amphitheater, she drove her blade forward, the orange light burning bright, piercing straight through the runic code etched into the Cambion's chest. The katana sank deep, cutting through flame, shadow, and the core of its unholy power.
And at last—the Cambion faltered.
-
District Fractisus
Pandemonium City,
Yorkside Region,
Kingdom of Ashtarium
October 29th 6410
"Lil!" Ariella's voice broke through the haze of horror, her cry raw with fear as she watched the blood drip from Lilith's mouth, staining her own trembling hands.
The poison user, Zohan Amadi, withdrew his arm from Lilith's chest with a wet, sickening sound, disdain etched deep into his features. His gaze swept over her, his lip curling in disgust. This girl—barely sixteen—had single-handedly reduced his entire operation to rubble. Mercenaries of Manaborn caliber, Ascendant elites—resources that should have been more than enough for this simple job. Gone. All of it. Because of her.
He couldn't fathom it. He didn't know how she'd survived his initial strike when he'd first taken Ariella. She should have been dead back then. But now, with his poison coursing through her from direct contact, whatever trick she'd used before would be meaningless. No one could endure that level of venomous energy. No one.
"It's okay," Lilith said quietly, her voice steady despite the blood she wiped from her lips.
Zohan blinked, genuine surprise flickering in his eyes. Lilith stood upright, her chest wound already closing. Heat radiated from the sealing flesh, cauterizing the damage, knitting muscle and bone as if the injury had been a mere scratch. The sickly green hue of his poison crackled uselessly against her skin, unable to penetrate the revitalized defenses of her body.
She didn't even seem bothered by it. The poison, meant to destroy her vitality forcefield, was failing.
Lilith slowly turned to face him, her expression hard, her eyes burning with cold fury. She tasted the blood in her mouth, spat it onto the floor, and narrowed her gaze at the man who had dared to touch what was hers. She didn't know who had sent him. She didn't care. All that mattered was the storm of anger boiling in her gut, the savage hunger that had never left her, never truly been tamed.
If I want to end this, Lilith thought, I'll need that part of me.
He wasn't like the Ascendants she'd torn through moments ago. No—this one was on another level, perhaps even comparable to Sanders. The thought made her pulse quicken. Sanders—the benchmark she'd never surpassed, the shadow she'd always chased in this new, so-called civilized world. To defeat this poison user, she would have to break through the bottle she'd been trapped in for so long.
Her hands clenched, the dark markings along her arms flaring to life.
[Primal Harmonics: Umbral Synthesis — Apex Harmonization]
Her aura erupted, black with veins of deep violet and silver, crackling like a storm given form. Power radiated from her in waves, distorting the air, making the floor beneath her feet fracture and splinter. Her eyes locked onto the poison user with predatory focus, the savage part of her no longer caged but standing at the forefront.
This wasn't just a fight. This was the moment Lilith would either break her limits—or die trying.
Zohan felt it—a tingle down his spine, sharp as ice and far more alarming than any pain. It wasn't just instinct; it was the primal warning of a predator sensing its own end. In over two centuries of life, since the day he'd first awakened his power through the inheritance his family had clawed from the tombs of the old world, Zohan had never once felt a pressure like this. A pressure of death—immediate, certain, inescapable.
He'd faced death before, of course. Countless times. In the depths of Dungeons, where feral magic beasts roamed and high-tier Ascendants hunted the unworthy. He'd fought, bled, and clawed his way through those trials. And each time, he had survived. He had grown stronger, tempered by battle until he forged himself into a Master realm expert. Now, he stood on the cusp of becoming a Grandmaster—one step closer to immortality. All he needed was the right resources, the wealth to push him through that final threshold.
This job was supposed to be his key. The job that would buy his future, secure his place among the Immortals.
And instead, he'd found a nightmare wearing the skin of a girl.
A fatal miscalculation. He had underestimated her from the start—written her off as a Non-Ascendant, a trivial obstacle at best. But now, staring into the storm of energy that radiated from Lilith, Zohan realized his error.
And it was too late.
Snarling low, Zohan gathered his power. He wreathed himself in a mantle of venomous mana, the sickly green aura crackling around him like a corrosive flame. His combat aura flared to life, thick and suffocating, its venomous intent palpable in the air. He stripped off his jacket, casting it aside, revealing the body beneath—his skin darkened and shimmered with a deep, unnatural green, veins pulsing as his poison concentration surged.
Zohan wasn't just a body cultivator. He was a Poison Sovereign in the making. His art was his flesh, his blood, his very bones—each cell steeped in cultivated venom honed over centuries. The poison that flowed through him could tear apart the cellular structure of any living thing, disintegrating tissue, rupturing organs, unraveling the very essence of life.
He bared his teeth, his eyes narrowing into slits.
This wasn't about the job anymore. This was survival.
And Lilith… Lilith was death incarnate. The storm of energy around her flared brighter, and in an instant, she lunged—no technique, no calculated form, just raw, savage violence born of instinct and honed by survival. Her movements were a blur of speed and brutality. She closed the distance between them in the blink of an eye, fists slamming forward with bone-shattering force.
Zohan barely managed to cross his arms in defense as Lilith struck. The impact was like being hit by a falling star—his bones creaked, the reinforced muscle and poison-hardened flesh absorbing the blow, but the sheer force still sent him skidding back across the blood-slick floor.
Lilith was already on him again. She swung low, sweeping his legs out from under him, and as he fell, she drove a knee into his ribs. The building shook from the force, cracks spidering along the walls. Zohan snarled, venom bubbling at the corners of his mouth, as he lashed out with a poison-clad palm aimed at her throat.
Lilith twisted, barely avoiding the strike, and caught him under the arm, hurling him upward with monstrous strength. Their bodies crashed through the ceiling, splinters and debris raining down as they burst out onto the rooftop, the night air thick with smoke and the stench of blood and burning wood. The city lights flickered beyond, the chaos of battle hidden from its unaware citizens.
Zohan landed hard, rolling to his feet, his breath ragged but his eyes alight with fury and desperation. The sickly green aura around him darkened, intensifying as he prepared his counterattack. This wasn't just poison—it was the culmination of two centuries of cultivation, the apex of his venomous mastery.
[Poison Sovereign Art: Venomous Maw — Ninefold Corrosion]
Zohan slammed both hands to the ground. From his palms, streams of dark green venomous energy erupted, forming jagged, fanged shapes of toxin-imbued force that surged toward Lilith like snapping serpents. The venom wasn't mere liquid—it was corrosive energy, designed to invade, bind, and dissolve the target's internal structure on contact. Each "maw" sought Lilith's life force, aiming to latch on and tear apart her cells at the most basic level, dissolving her from the inside out. Lilith crouched, her predatory grin never fading as she readied herself to meet this storm of poison head-on. The rooftop beneath them groaned, the stage set for a clash of destruction.
The rooftop trembled beneath the clash of forces. The Venomous Maw — Ninefold Corrosion surged toward Lilith, the toxin-serpents snapping through the air, their jaws dripping with corrosive energy so potent that even the stone beneath their path hissed and bubbled, dissolving into steaming ruin. The fangs of energy sought to latch onto her, to rip into her skin and pump the deadly venom straight into her core.
But Lilith didn't retreat.
She charged straight into the storm, a blur of black and violet fury. The moment the first venom-maw closed on her, her aura flared—deep violet with hints of silver, the raw essence of Primal Harmonics crackling like a thunderstorm incarnate. The corrosive energy slammed into that aura and was devoured. The venomous force unraveled on contact, absorbed and nullified, its power consumed by the hungry storm that cloaked Lilith's body.
Zohan's eyes widened in disbelief. His masterpiece poison art—reduced to nothing. The tendrils of energy that should have torn her apart were instead drawn inward, leaving her stronger, faster, hungrier.
"Impossible—!" he spat, stepping back, the rooftop beneath him fracturing as his poison aura expanded in desperation.
Lilith didn't give him time to think. She was on him in an instant, her movements a savage whirlwind of fists, elbows, and knees. There was no rhythm, no technique, only the brutal, merciless violence of a predator unleashed. Her fists crashed into his ribs, cracked bone; her elbow smashed against his jaw, sending blood and venom flying; a knee drove into his gut, forcing the breath from his lungs.
Zohan reeled, forced to retreat under the onslaught, his poisoned flesh barely holding together under the battering. But his mind raced—he couldn't fall here, not to this creature that shouldn't exist.
With a guttural snarl, Zohan crossed his hands in front of him, his aura thickening into a swirling storm of sickly green light.
[Venom Sovereign Battle Art: Sovereign's Fang — Tyrant Bloom]
His body convulsed as the poison within him surged to its peak, his veins glowing like molten emerald. In an instant, dozens of thorned tendrils erupted from his back and arms, each one tipped with a wicked barb dripping with concentrated venom. They lashed out like a storm of spears, each strike laced with layered toxins—paralyzing agents, cellular disrupters, necrotic poison meant to rot flesh on contact.
Zohan's battle art wasn't just about brute force. It was a symphony of death, a complex web of strikes designed to overwhelm the opponent's defenses, tear apart their body, and dissolve their strength piece by piece.
Lilith twisted, ducked, and weaved through the deadly thicket, her violet aura flickering and devouring the venom where it touched, but even she could feel the pressure now. The sheer complexity of Zohan's technique pressed on her, each strike faster, sharper, deadlier than the last.
The rooftop became their arena of carnage—splintered beams, shattered stone, blood and venom painting the night in streaks of red and green. Zohan's poison storm reached its apex. The Sovereign's Fang — Tyrant Bloom wasn't just an attack; it was the culmination of centuries of honed poison mastery fused with lethal martial skill. The barbed tendrils receded, but the venom within him surged, flooding his muscles, fortifying his flesh. His skin gleamed like burnished jade, his movements faster, heavier, more precise. Poison saturated every strike, every motion, turning his body into a weapon designed for disintegration.
He closed the distance in a heartbeat, fists and feet slamming into Lilith with brutal, calculated force. Each blow landed like a hammer, strength magnified by his art—every strike layered with toxins that sought to penetrate her defenses and eat away at her vitality from within. His foot lashed out, catching Lilith in the ribs with a bone-cracking kick that sent her skidding across the rooftop, leaving a trail of blood in her wake.
Lilith sprang up, eyes blazing, but Zohan was already there—pressing his advantage. His strikes came in a blur: sweeping kicks, crushing elbows, poison-laced palms aimed for vital points. His martial discipline, once hidden beneath his reliance on poison arts, now shone through. He was faster, sharper, and his technique was terrifying in its precision. Every strike served a dual purpose: break bone, spread venom.
Lilith fought back with savage fury, fists swinging with raw, predatory strength. But Zohan's form was tight, his blocks flawless, his counters deadly. Her savage style—so effective against the Ascendants—now struggled against his controlled, refined assault. Her aura devoured what venom it could, but the layers of toxins overwhelmed even her Primal Harmonics, slipping through the cracks, sinking into her veins.
Her vitality began to falter. She could feel it—the slowing of her blood, the burn in her muscles, the fire in her lungs. With each breath she drew on that inner force, trying to rejuvenate, to restore, to heal. And it worked—but only barely. The poison drained her faster than she could recover. The edge of exhaustion nipped at her consciousness.
And then… the world blurred. For a heartbeat, the rooftop, the poison, Zohan—they all faded into shadow.
In the fog of her mind, flashes of memory surfaced—unbidden, haunting. In a room that was unfamiliar, Lilith fell on the mat, her small body breathing hard as she sweated. Standing above her, appraising her, the face of her teacher hidden from view, but the emotions that came with the memory told her that it was her father.
"Balance strength with will and clarity. The predator within you will destroy, but with will and clarity, one can rise."
She saw herself—young, fists clenched, striking at the air, at dummies, at the figure's shadow as he corrected her stance, taught her to breathe, to channel. A single hand on her head, warm, steady, a promise of protection.
The memory fragmented, slipping like sand between her fingers, as the present came crashing back—the taste of blood in her mouth, the venom burning in her veins, and Zohan's shadow looming before her, ready to strike again.
But now… something deeper stirred within Lilith.
That hand… that voice… that balance.
Her bloodlust wasn't enough. But if she could merge it with clarity… with pure willpower, perhaps she could turn this nightmare around.
Zohan's strikes came like a relentless storm. His fists, hardened by centuries of brutal body cultivation, hammered into Lilith with terrifying precision. Each blow wasn't just meant to break bones—it carried layered venom, designed to fracture, rot, and unravel the flesh from within. The rooftop became a blur of lethal motion—green venom sprayed like acid rain with every clash, mixing with the dark crimson of Lilith's blood as she fought to keep pace.
Her orange eyes blazed like embers in the night, and within that fire, memories long buried began to rise—fragments of a past stolen from her, of lessons once etched into her bones.
Her muscles trembled under the onslaught, exhaustion gnawing at her limbs, her body battered and bruised by Zohan's unyielding assault. But Lilith was far from finished.
She remained in her Apex Harmonic Predation state—a monstrous fusion of will and instinct. Though it burned through her vitality at an alarming rate, consuming the very foundation of her life, that sacrifice fed the storm within her. Lifeforce energy surged, forcing strength back into her limbs, knitting flesh and bone with unnatural speed. Wounds sealed almost as soon as they opened, the poison's damage dulled by the raw force of her regeneration.
And then, without conscious thought, her body shifted. The haze of rage began to crystallize into clarity. Her feet adjusted, her weight settled, her hands rose—every movement precise, deliberate. The stance of a warrior not of the wild, but of legacy.
She moved into the opening form of the battle art born of her bloodline—an art passed through generations of the Kain family, an art she had forgotten but that now returned as if summoned by her blood's cry for survival.
Dancing Twilight.
The storm would not end. But now, Lilith would meet it not as prey fighting to endure—but as the predator who danced between light and dark, life and death. Lilith's breathing steadied, the storm within her no longer wild and aimless, but focused—sharp as a blade honed to a perfect edge. Zohan struck again, his venomous fists seeking to end her, but now she moved differently. Fluid. Precise. The rooftop became their stage, and Dancing Twilight began.
The first form of this dance was the twilight waltz, a form that focused on close combat dominance. She closed the distance with sudden, terrifying grace. Her body flowed between Zohan's strikes, weaving like a shadow given form. Her fists and feet became extensions of that dance—each strike seamless, each movement building on the last. Her blows landed in a relentless rhythm, enchanted by the residual force of her Primal Harmonics.
Her strikes phased at the last instant, slipping through Zohan's hardened guard to strike his vitals—ribs cracked, his breath hitched as she bypassed his outer defenses. Like the waltz, she moved with purpose, close and unrelenting, each step leading into the next without pause.
Zohan, reeling, tried to counter—but Lilith was already ahead of him. She assumed the second form, Eclipse Requiem. Her body shifted, her aura darkened, and her strikes became sharper, fewer—but deadlier. She read his movements, the rhythm of his poisoned strikes, and moved in perfect sync to intercept.
When his fist came at her heart, she turned it aside with a flick of her wrist, slamming an elbow into his temple. When his venom-laced claw slashed for her throat, she leaned away by a hair, responding with a palm strike that sent venom bursting uselessly into the night air. She absorbed the intent of his attacks and turned them back on him, her counters striking at the heart of his techniques—breaking his momentum, shattering his composure.
Lilith shifted again, giving herself space, her aura stretching outward. From the edges of her limbs, energy constructs formed—phantom extensions of her fists and feet that lashed out at Zohan from impossible angles.
She moved in and out of his field of vision, striking from the periphery, forcing him to defend against shadows as much as against her. The poison master found himself swiping at illusions, his venomous claws meeting only air, while real strikes slipped through his guard to hammer at his ribs, his thighs, his collarbone. His precision faltered. His fear grew.
Zohan couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Moments ago, he had been in control—his strikes precise, his poison art overwhelming, his battle art dominating the field. He had unleashed the full weight of his cultivated might, centuries of mastery poured into each blow, each venom-laced strike. By all logic, she should have fallen. She should have been broken beneath his fists, dissolved from within by his poison, left a lifeless husk at his feet.
And yet—she still stood.
No, she did more than stand. She fought. Relentless. Unyielding. Her body, battered and bloodied, endured what should have killed even lower-level Ascendants. Every time he thought he'd struck her down, she rose again, faster, stronger, more precise. It was as if the pain fed her, as if the struggle forged her into something greater with every passing second.
Was she even human? Zohan thought, the question clawing at the edges of his mind.
He had once been a Manaborn human without power, before his rise through cultivation. He knew well the frailty of his kind, the limits of flesh and bone. Even Manaborn humans, gifted as they were, stood beneath the might of stronger races in raw potential. But Lilith… Lilith defied that truth. She wasn't like him. She wasn't like anyone he had ever faced.
In fact, as his gaze locked onto her, he felt it—her static power, the strength that existed in her without cultivation, without the layers of energy arts or techniques. It burned at a level no human should reach. No, more than that—her raw presence, her static might, was on par with a Master realm expert.
Ridiculous, Zohan's mind screamed. It can't be. It's impossible!
Panic laced his thoughts now, his confidence cracked. I can't lose to this… this aberration. But even as he thought it, he knew—the tide had turned. And he was the one drowning.
Zohan roared, forcing down the seed of fear blooming in his chest. His venomous aura erupted outward, the rooftop bathed in a sickly green glow. The poison storm thickened, coiling around him like a living creature, fangs bared. He charged, fists like hammers, his body a whirlwind of honed destruction.
Lilith met him head-on.
Their clash was thunder and storm, shadow and venom. Zohan's strikes came fast—deadly arcs of poison-empowered blows, each carrying the weight of centuries of mastery. Lilith answered with Dancing Twilight, her body weaving between offense and defense, her strikes a blur of precision and savagery.
Fist met fist. Palm met palm. Venom splattered, violet light flared. The rooftop cracked and cratered beneath their feet as they traded blow for blow, neither giving ground. Each strike echoed like a drumbeat of war across the night sky.
Zohan's poison claws grazed her shoulder—flesh seared, but Lilith twisted, her foot driving into his ribs, forcing the breath from his lungs. His knee slammed into her thigh, but she absorbed the pain, retaliating with an elbow to his jaw that snapped his head to the side.
Their auras clashed with each strike—green poison against violet storm, darkness and radiance battling for dominion.
Zohan gritted his teeth. Why won't she fall?! His poison tore at her cells, his strength battered her bones—but still, she endured, eyes burning brighter with every heartbeat.
Lilith's body screamed in pain, her vitality taxed to its limit. But deep inside, focus remained. The storm of battle slowed in her mind's eye. She saw the pattern of his movements, the flaws in his defense, the moment his venom surged too far outward, leaving his core open.
This was it.
Her aura condensed, gold-white light bleeding through the violet storm as Dawnbreaker Symphony awakened once more.
[Dancing Twilight: Dawnbreaker symphony-Breaking Dawn]
Lilith stepped in, fast as a sun's first light piercing night, her fist slamming into Zohan's core. The strike was a burst of radiant force, golden-violet light exploding from her knuckles. Zohan's poison barrier shattered with a sound like glass underfoot. The force of the blow lifted him from the ground, the venom storm around him scattering like ash on the wind.
For the first time, Zohan felt it—true defeat.
The rooftop groaned beneath them, cracks spidering outward from the impact point, the night silent but for the sound of his gasping breath.
Lilith stood, chest heaving, bloodied but unbroken. Her fist had finally made it's mark.