Ronnel couldn't quite grasp what was happening but continued watching as Ging's entire body shimmered, enveloped in a dense, black aura of Nen before vanishing almost instantaneously.
For a moment, Ging seemed to falter, his steps heavy under some unseen pressure, his movements staggered. Yet, before he could recover, the skeletal demons seized the opportunity, swarming him relentlessly.
"Damn it! I only increased his gravity fivefold! How did I burn through so much Nen?!"
Overlord cursed under his breath, his face—if it could still be called a face—twisting with frustration. He wasn't a fool. He'd calculated carefully, raising Ging's gravity just enough to hinder him slightly. The cost was supposed to be minimal, at most half his reserve of Nen.
But reality had far exceeded his expectations.
Even under the strain of enhanced gravity, Ging was effortlessly tearing through the skeletal demons. Each one shattered like brittle glass under his attacks, leaving Overlord feeling cornered and, worse, regretful.
Yet, regret couldn't undo the damage. Nen once spent was irretrievable.
"Hmph! No matter," Overlord sneered, cold blue flames flickering within his hollow eye sockets. "Once I have the Sonata of Darkness in my grasp, I'll reclaim all I've lost... and more!"
His words carried a venomous conviction. "Restrictions and oaths? Pathetic. Whether you die or are captured, the result is the same—you belong to me! Your tricks and escape tools are useless here. Countless others have tried before you, only to fail. My partner ensures that."
As Overlord spoke, a low growl echoed from the shadows. Behind the throne, two enormous, lantern-like eyes glinted ominously, half-hidden by the mountainous pile of bones.
Ronnel's gaze flicked briefly toward the source of the sound, noting the eerie glow behind the throne. The darkness obscured the figure, but it was clear this was one of Overlord's trump cards.
"Ging's running on borrowed time," Ronnel mused, watching as Ging dispatched the last of the skeletal creatures. "Once his limit hits, he'll collapse. That'll leave me to deal with Overlord and whatever backup plan he's hiding."
The corner of Ronnel's mouth twitched into a brief smirk before fading. "That's fine. After all, the real protagonist always shows up at the end."
By now, the battlefield had grown eerily quiet.
Ging leaned against a broken bone staff, his breathing uneven as the last of the skeletal demons crumbled into dust. The ground was littered with bone fragments, and only a handful of undead stragglers remained.
Ging glanced at the carnage, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Not bad," he muttered. "The constraints kicked in faster than I expected, but I still got the job done."
He sank to one knee, his strength rapidly waning. The Nen he'd spent left him teetering on the brink of collapse. Yet, even in his weakened state, Ging's expression remained calm.
"I knew the cost going in," he murmured. "A puppet body with self-imposed restrictions... The backlash was inevitable. Worst case, I lose these eyes. Not much of a price, really."
Ging turned to Ronnel, who was descending from the bone mountain. "Ronnel, you've got this, right?"
Ronnel smirked. "If it's just these leftovers, no problem."
Ging chuckled, recognizing the underlying challenge in Ronnel's tone. He, too, had sensed Overlord's hidden ace.
"Good. Then the rest is up to you."
With those words, Ging raised his trembling hand and slashed it across his face.
A soft, wet sound echoed as Ging's eyeballs fell into his palm, two spheres—one black, one white—glinting faintly in the dim light.
"Not sure if the restrictions will affect these, but better safe than sorry," Ging muttered. "If they're intact later, take them back to me."
Handing the eyeballs to Ronnel, Ging's puppet body suddenly went rigid. A surge of Nen erupted from within him, more potent and malevolent than even the Sonata of Darkness's aura.
Ronnel could only watch as Ging's body began to disintegrate. The Nen burned through the puppet, reducing it to ashes. Even the eyes in Ronnel's hands dissolved, vanishing without a trace.
...
Meanwhile, on a Small Path in the Republic of Padokea...
"Urgh!"
Ging coughed violently, dark, blood-tinged spittle splattering onto the ground. Black veins pulsed around his hollow eye sockets, where lines of dried blood trailed down his face like tears.
"A puppet's backlash, huh?" he muttered between labored breaths. "Even I underestimated how far Nen can reach... Damn."
Gritting his teeth, Ging pressed a hand to his chest, forcing his aura to stabilize his faltering body.
His self-assessment was grim. Aside from still being alive and in one piece, everything else was catastrophic. His muscles ached, his Nen was drained to dangerous levels, and the puppet's destruction left him teetering on the edge of collapse.
If not for his immense skill and resilience, he might not have made it.
"Looks like I'll have to rely on Ronnel for now..." Ging whispered, his lips curling into a weak grin.
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