The creatures that owned these tongues resembled geckos, though no gecko could ever grow to such colossal proportions. Their tongues were nearly as thick as Tasa's ankles, and their massive bodies—from head to tail—measured over two meters in length; their torsos were not slender and agile like those of geckos. Their skin lacked scales; instead, they were entirely covered in a rough, basalt-like shell, from which dark red flames flickered through the cracks.
Even from a distance, a wave of heat washed over him.
The walls grew closer, and the scent of the Abyss grew stronger—strikingly so, yet with a subtle shift. Having experienced the pure essence of the Abyss, Tasha could sense the difference; that strange, musty quality evoked odd associations, like cured meat that had been stored so long it had gone rancid.
Lizard-like creatures clung to the walls in groups of three or five, resembling a patch of lava that hadn't yet fully solidified. As Tasha approached, they raised their heads and opened their mouths—mouths devoid of teeth, containing only shockingly large, terrifyingly red cavities. Judging by the proportions of their massive heads, these creatures resembled giant salamanders more than anything else, and Tasha had absolutely no desire to know what it would feel like to be bitten by them.
She fell hundreds of meters without struggling, even allowing a third tongue to wrap around her ankle. She fell and fell, passing from above these fat lizards to below them. After reaching a certain point, the tongue's pull shifted from dragging her downward to lifting her upward, with a springy elasticity reminiscent of the rope used in bungee jumping. Tasha remained motionless until she was less than a hundred meters from the wall. She could see tiny flickers of flame on the faces of the tongues' owners, and they could see her clearly—if they had eyes.
At that moment, Tasha arched her body and leaped upward.
She caught her breath during the descent, shaking off the exhaustion of moments before. The energy she had stored was enough for Tasa to flap her wings once more; as she curled her body, her upside-down form flipped over, and the silver dagger she had sheathed earlier to save someone was drawn again.
It was incredibly easy, like a scythe cutting through grass.
The creatures, imbued with the essence of the Abyss, were easily subdued by the silver blade; a single stroke severed three of their tongue-whips. Tashua seized the moment to fly away from the wall, her heavy demonic wings beating the air, lifting her upward bit by bit.
The giant salamanders raised their heads.
They all seemed to be mute; not even those whose tongues had just been severed let out a cry of pain. These creatures did not roar in defiance like monsters in the movies; they simply opened their mouths in unison, their crimson mouths all turned toward Tasa, as if a cluster of clams had risen from the riverbed, shells wide open.
Flames spewed forth from this sea of gaping mouths.
Tasa possessed high fire resistance, and these flames were no stronger than a dragon's breath. But before the flames actually touched Tasha, the air in front of her was heated, and a searing wave of heat slammed into her body. She had just spread her wings to take flight; her pair of demonic wings, like fully unfurled sails, were struck by this surging heat and suddenly sent her tumbling backward.
To be precise, Tash felt as though she had been struck head-on by a heavy truck; her body, which had just begun to ascend, traced a right angle in midair and was instantly hurled away.
She struggled desperately to steady herself in mid-air, an effort as arduous as a leaf trying to remain stable in a hurricane. Tasha tumbled through the air, spinning like a whiplash-struck top—not horizontally, but upside down. The sensation was utterly bizarre: in this heatwave, she felt as light as a feather, yet whenever she tried to move, her wings felt as though they were bearing a thousand-pound burden.
The deeper Tash fell, the denser the magic around her became, and her body grew heavier and heavier, pulled by an ever-increasing invisible force.
In the midst of this predicament, she suddenly recalled the fleeting doubt that had crossed her mind earlier.
Ever since they had escaped the fluid guardians and entered the mage's tower, their exploration party had remained unscathed. From the tower's base to its summit, and even during the early stages of crossing the suspension bridge, everyone had remained safe and sound—with the sole exception of the skeletal sentinel who had been struck down by an unknown force the moment the magical array activated.
The fact that they had reached this point unscathed was, of course, because the mage had disarmed every trap in their path. From small mechanisms and spell-casting golems to vast arrays of magical runes, everything along the way had been dismantled. Tashan could picture that legendary mage clearing every obstacle in his path. If that were the case, why did the skeletal sentinel trigger an active trap?
Was it intentional? An oversight? Or simply laziness? Any of these explanations could be stretched to fit, but each left a lingering sense of unease. By comparison, another theory—though equally unsupported by evidence—makes more sense than the previous three.
The trap that attacked the Skeleton Sentinel might not have been triggered at all when the Pioneer passed by.
The Pioneer, Leander, is a human legendary mage. The fundamental difference between him and the Skeleton Guard lies not in size or strength, but in the fact that the former is alive, while the latter is dead.
Every member of the party is alive; the only undead creature they brought along was the Skeleton Guard, and it was the only one to suffer a fatal attack. Tasa dares to speculate that certain magical traps near the drawbridge only react to undead creatures.
These traps designed for undead failed to activate when the Archmage passed by earlier, allowing them to remain intact, lying in wait for the arrival of undead creatures.
Just as the traps targeting demonic creatures had been activated only for Tasa.
The fiery salamanders below were coming straight for Tasa, and the oppressive weight in the air seemed to target her as well—or rather, the part of her body connected to the Abyssal Demon. Everyone else appeared unharmed, yet Tasa grew increasingly restless. When the drawbridge snapped, she saw the wild mage Rudolf fall and immediately fly back, as light as a bird. Tashan, a person with real wings, was as clumsy as a penguin; her demonic wings had become almost useless, as if they couldn't catch the wind—though judging by the way she's been tumbling through the air so far, that clearly isn't true.
The Forerunner, Leander, had no demonic bloodline, so Tassa had to rely on herself for all the traps and mechanisms designed to deal with demons.
The heat wave subsided slightly, and Tassa finally stabilized her body, escaping her fate as a spinning top and at least managing to stay upside down. She was spinning so fast she couldn't tell which way was up or down, barely managing to stop her descent as she struggled to fly in the opposite direction of the pull. Once those glowing giant salamanders vanished from view, darkness engulfed her once more. Even with her eyes wide open, she could see nothing, making her wonder if she had gone blind.
Why on earth had those things blown her over here?
It seemed a bit paranoid to speculate about a group of creatures whose tongues she could easily sever. If they were wild creatures, Tasa would gladly believe she'd escaped their firebreathing attacks through sheer strength and a bit of luck. But this wasn't a natural environment; every magical creature here was a pawn of the Tower Master. To have unrelated elements in the wild coordinate a combined attack wasn't exactly…
Tasha heard the sound of flapping wings.
Not a single flutter, but a swarm of them—rising from nothing, drawing closer from afar. A strange image suddenly flashed through Tasha's mind: a hunter opening a cage, releasing a flock of trained hawks, and nodding toward the wild geese falling in the distance.
A gust of wind swept toward her. Tashada dodged as best she could, but in the darkness, threats closed in from all sides. What were they? She didn't know, but they had at least a pair of wings and a pair of razor-sharp claws.
Numerous claws struck Tashada simultaneously. She could dodge one or two, but not all of them. Tasha attempted to counterattack with the feather blades on her wings. Her sharp wings certainly struck something, but the result was far from ideal—it felt like hitting a rock with an egg, shattering upon contact.
The Demon Wings actually developed a small tear from the impact. Considering this was a semi-magical creation, it was the first time Tasha had realized that this thing could be cut open just like an ordinary blade. The wound felt as if scorched by flame, showing no sign of healing. The claws clamped down on her wing, threatening to tear the gash wider.
A cold sweat broke out on her brow, and she hastily folded her wings. Once her wings were folded, her body began to plummet, and her agility was severely compromised. The ever-present claws were even harder to dodge. Tasha couldn't evade them, and countless wounds instantly appeared across her body. The sharp claws tore through her armor and skin, bringing a searing pain; every wound on her body burned, as if she'd been sliced by a red-hot branding iron. In fact, if she were to actually touch a branding iron with her bare hands, she'd only feel warmth.
It was silver.
This is what it feels like to be cut by a demon-bane silver blade—no, it's even worse. Weapons specifically designed to counter the Abyss seared the demonic essence within Tashan, causing waves of stinging pain; a true demon would likely be too overwhelmed by the agony to react. Strangest of all, these creatures with silver claws actually radiated the aura of the Abyss.
Tasha parried with her blade; had there been light, onlookers would surely have seen the glint of steel weaving a net. The enemies directly in front of her scattered, but attacks rained down from all directions in midair—blocking just one side was useless. These shapeless fowl hovered around her, circling above her head and beneath her feet. Their claws, striking and retreating in an instant, made their trajectories impossible to track, and even the shallowest wounds, piling up layer upon layer, would eventually form vast, gaping wounds. The air currents churned into chaos, the flapping of wings creating a cacophony of noise. There was not a single glimmer of light nearby, and the encirclement grew ever tighter, as if the lid of a juicer were about to slam shut.
Tasha froze, motionless as a stone, plummeting straight downward.
The enemies in the darkness did not spare her; they followed her down, their claws striking out at her once more, like a flock of vultures tossing their prey through the air. Their movements were still swift, their touches still tentative—yet the prey beneath their claws lay utterly still, as if dead.
Finally, their actions grew bolder.
A pair of claws clamped down on Tasha's shoulder, holding fast—unlike before, when they had taken turns approaching and retreating at the slightest touch. After a second or two of contact, it released, leaving a deep, bloody gash. Believing the prey had lost all ability to resist, the next pair of claws struck steadily at Tasha's head, their hooks sinking deep.
The flapping of wings around her grew distant from the one above her head; they truly knew how to coordinate. That single claw, once it landed, would crush her skull, and before it did—while the claws were already partially embedded—the enemy with the silver claws would not retreat.
Tasha, who had been holding back for so long, reached back and grabbed the claw above her head.
As she clung to it, she wrenched the claw from her face. Her silver blade traced a small arc, striking the claw—not to sever it, but to secure it, much like using a climbing carabiner. Tasha, who moments ago had seemed completely helpless, leaped into the air and darted onto the enemy's back.
The creature she was clinging to thrashed wildly in agony; the more it struggled, the deeper Tasa's blade sank, and the more erratic its flight path became, making it harder for its kind to catch up. Tasha clung tightly to the creature, waiting for the dizziness caused by the excruciating pain to subside—blood gushed from her left eye socket. Her silver claw had sunk in nearly half a knuckle earlier; gritting her teeth, Tasha dug out the ruined eyeball. As the burning sensation from the silver claw continued to seep inward, she knew she had to sacrifice her tail to survive. One eye, in exchange for a chance to turn the tide.
Tasha began to climb upward. In the darkness, the formless creature gradually revealed its true appearance under her touch. From two thick silver claws to thighs, then to a back covered in long feathers, and finally the torso… The body was covered in feathers, yet possessed a waist, shoulders, and neck similar to those of a human. As Tasha's hand moved higher, she encountered a texture different from the feathers.
Hair.
Tasha suddenly realized what this was.
Eagle-like talons and a feather-covered humanoid torso, coupled with a human-like face—this was a "Deathbringer."
Among the Abyssal Worms, some develop into little demons, and these little demons, in turn, take countless evolutionary paths. Some of them did not develop tough, thick hides but grew feathers instead; rather than becoming more hideous, they grew to resemble creatures of the Material Plane—and by the Material Plane's standards, they became increasingly beautiful. Demonic insects evolve into imps, imps evolve into Deathbringer Birds, and if they are fortunate enough to continue growing, succubi or seductresses would be the end of their evolution.
The "giant salamander" on the wall is likely a fire salamander.
It follows the most common evolutionary path for fire demons: before becoming a fire demon, it was a poisonfire dragon, and before that, a fire salamander. They can run across lava, hunt with chameleon-like tongues, and spew flames that create heat waves—so much so that they were once mistaken for a subspecies of dragon. Whether it's the Flame Salamander or the Death-Herald, they are all high-tier monsters that are just one step away from advancing to mid-tier demons. Though they lack self-awareness, they are by no means weak.
That "Lord of Evil Spirits" commands the monsters of the Abyss.
The lower half of this Death-Herald differs from the records; where eagle talons should be, there are artificial silver claws instead. Tasha felt a hard material between those claws and the bird's body—much like the hilt of her silver blade—acting as a barrier between the silver claws, which possess demon-bane properties, and the Abyssal creature within. There were also jagged scars on its throat; likely, this was why the famously noisy Death-Heralds remained silent when struck by a silver blade.
Creating magical servants from Abyssal monsters, and using these modified servants—endowed with demon-bane properties—to combat the demons invading the tower: what a remarkable design and display of initiative.
Tasha's blade struck above the junction.
The Silver Claw could withstand a direct clash with the Silver Blade—indeed, it was even more potent than the latter—and this was precisely why Tasa chose to do so. Above the seam of the Silver Claw, the Deathbird's thigh remained that of a monster; in this section, the Silver Blade sank into the flesh like a dinner knife cutting through butter.
The shank's diameter was barely thicker than a wrist, and as Tasa gripped it and swung, the sensation felt like waving a great banner. The Deathbird, having lost half its body, charged wildly in all directions, while Tasa's legs clamped tightly around its much larger frame. Her dragon claws wedged into its body like spiked boots driven into ice-rock. Amid the jostling, she even managed to roll over, using her claws and her knife-wielding left hand to brace herself, while her right hand—gripping the severed Silver Claw—slashed at the pursuing Deathbird.
The silver claw struck down from above. The Deathbird charging toward her flapped once, then plummeted downward amid the frantic flapping of its wings.
The wounded bird Tasa had seized wasn't the fastest; a flock of Deathbirds closed in once more, their flapping wings creating an ear-splitting din, though their attacks came only from the front.
Her winged form lay flat against the back of the Deathbringer, positioned in the prime spot between its wings. Her torso, head, and limbs were completely concealed behind the bird's silhouette. With no natural cover in midair, Tasa had created her own. Whether an attacker aimed for her back or the top of her head, their claws would struggle to bypass the Deathbringer—a bird a full size larger than her.
The true Deathbringer Birds of the Abyss were not gentle creatures that looked after their companions. They traveled in flocks only because they were too weak as individuals; if any one of them suffered a serious injury or hindered the group's foraging, that unlucky creature would inevitably be torn to shreds. But normal Deathbringer Birds wouldn't be this quiet, wouldn't cooperate like this, and certainly wouldn't have silver claws.
A Abyssal monster's body, a set of silver claws capable of easily tearing it apart—if you add their tendency to fight among themselves, the magical servants, crafted with great effort, could all perish in a short time due to infighting. Therefore, constraints must exist; for instance, they would not attack their "own kind."
Things turned out exactly as Tasa had surmised.
Flocks of birds circled overhead, and the magical servants were likely thrown into confusion by the situation as well. The tide of the battle had completely turned; now Tasa no longer had to worry about being overwhelmed by attacks from all sides, and even frontal assaults had become much less frequent, as her enemies moved clumsily to avoid the unfortunate bird's flapping wings. As they retreated, Tasa showed no mercy. Relying on the fact that these doomed birds would not attack their own kind, she swung her silver claws with sweeping, wide motions. Each strike landed with precision, sending feathers flying in all directions.
"This setup," she thought, "isn't exactly brilliant."
If a genuine demon had found itself in this predicament, it would likely have had countless objections to this flippant assessment. It would have pointed out just how terrifying these spell-puppets made from death-foretelling birds actually were: the monsters, forged by that Archmage, possessed extremely high spell resistance; Abyssal spells couldn't even pluck a single feather from them, and in close combat, they would be utterly overwhelmed by the silver claws and the surrounding environment. These Deathbird golems could only be activated by demons and countered by anti-magic properties—yet those with demonic bloodlines, whether pure Abyssal demons or half-breeds with Abyssal heritage, were utterly unable to wield anti-magic weapons. The design was nearly foolproof; whoever had set up this trap had never imagined they'd one day encounter an oddball like Tasa.
The components of this body include demon, dragon, and various creatures from the Prime Plane. These elements aren't as obvious as Tasa's horns, wings, and claws, but they exist within her body, even if overshadowed by dominant bloodlines. The elements from weaker sources aren't entirely useless; they form the denominator, diluting the proportion of each dominant bloodline.
Dragon descendants can never fully suppress their lust for treasure; demonic bloodshed stirs the same darkness in the hearts of even the kindest races as it did in their ancestors; those with necromantic traits inevitably appear cold and aloof; and the affinity of the Children of Nature makes one irresistibly captivated by the natural world... A mixture of attributes exists within Tasa's body—too many varieties, too complex a composition. No single one can gain the upper hand; none can claim ownership of this body. The very essence of all life in Eryan has shaped Tasa's physical form, yet her soul belongs solely to herself.
No trump card designed to suppress any single attribute can fully subdue her.
The dungeon's magical reserves were rapidly depleting. Tash blinked; the pain and damp heat in her left eye had ceased. A second eye was growing in the empty socket, and then an image suddenly appeared in Tash's mind, tearing through the pitch-black darkness. The colors were only black, gray, and white, but from the silver claws approaching her to the feathers drifting down upon her head, every detail was rendered with exquisite clarity.
Is this what dark vision feels like?
Tasha's right eye possessed a pitch-black iris; despite its excellent vision, it could currently see nothing but darkness. The newly grown left eye had a fluorescent green pupil—it was hard to say whether it looked alluring or unsettling. Though its vision was inferior to the right eye, it clearly reflected this lightless realm.
The process of restructuring and upgrading the dungeon had been so arduous, and the results it yielded had surpassed Tasa's expectations. The so-called "system" was merely a tool Tasa had organized to aid her understanding—like a homemade spreadsheet—capable only of reporting what she perceived, not of true omniscience. Thus, at this moment, a hidden benefit of the upgrade was finally revealed to Tasa.
This random process of extracting elements to form a body—which relied on sheer luck—now offered room for readjustment after completion.
She had signed contracts with so many contractors, each with their own professions and mixed bloodlines. These diverse beings were linked to the dungeon; their existence served as a sort of backup gene pool. She didn't even know which race this eye's ability originated from; the ancestors with night vision had long since vanished, their origins impossible to trace, yet they had always coexisted with this land—and with Tash. The process of species evolution unfolded rapidly within Tash, bloody and swift. Amid the agony of breaking free from the cocoon, her newly born eyes possessed night vision adapted to the environment.
The wounds where the Silver Claws had made contact healed much more slowly, but every single one was indeed recovering. On the gaping, bone-exposed wounds, muscles regenerated, blood surged, and skin mended, pushing aside the flesh scorched by the Silver Claws; the dead skin peeled away like a snake shedding its skin. As she recovered bit by bit, Tash felt her body grow light again, as if countless weights pressing down on her were being lifted one by one.
Her repaired and reborn body was reshaping itself to adapt to its new environment.