When Ash and Morgana reappeared, they found themselves high above the Nosferatu domain.
This time, none of the usual chaos was present.
Instead, every single Nosferatu was kneeling, heads bowed to the ground.
The whole realm was silent.
Millions of pale figures — of every age — knelt in flawless rows across Not a soul stirred. Not one dared to raise their head.
Above them, the sky had darkened further — not with clouds, but with the sheer density of presence.
Hundreds of thousands of Infinite Weavers floated in disciplined formation, arranged in concentric rings that stretched for miles.
Their blue robes shimmered, faces hidden behind featureless masks of woven threads.
At the very front hovered the Three Hundred Elders — the elite of the clan, each one radiating Mid-to-Late Hyperversal power. Their auras alone pressed down on the domain like an invisible ocean, forcing even the kneeling Nosferatu deeper into submission.
