Your eyes widen ever so slightly—Baizhi's cool, bold invitation hits hard out of nowhere. The way she holds your gaze, unflinching despite the hunger you're letting bleed through, stirs something primal. 'Fuck, if you talk to me like that, in such a cold yet inviting manner, I'll only want you more.'
But before the words can leave your lips—before you can close the last inch between you and test just how far that composure goes—a violent surge rips through the frequencies around you. The air thickens, dark and oppressive, like a storm of corrupted resonance crashing down. Your Tacet Mark on your right hand flares gold in warning; instinct takes over before thought.
You spin, hand snapping to the training sword at your waist—simple, unadorned, but solid in your grip. The blade comes up in a perfect intercept just as a flashing figure lunges from the shadows near the cliff's base.
The Crownless.
It's unlike any Tacet Discord you've dispatched so far. Tall, humanoid in cruel parody of a knight, its form a twisted amalgamation of armor-like plates fused from devoured frequencies—white, metallic sheen rippling with golden streaks and purple-black energy. On its face a perpetual grin, and it's blank yellow eyes glowing with furious violet light that flickers almost mockingly, amused. A lance of warped energy extends from one arm like an extension of its rage; the other hand flexes into a fist with barely contained barbarism. The creature embodies suppressed human savagery—war without honor, victory without mercy—a harbinger born from humanity's fear of battle and war.
Its strike comes down like a guillotine—immense strength behind the blow, the air screaming as it descends. Your sword meets it dead-on. Metal clashes against the lance of corrupted frequency in a shower of sparks and resonant shockwaves. The impact jars through your arms, but you hold—feet planted, body coiled like a spring.
The Crownless pushes, testing, its purple-flared "eyes" narrowing in what almost looks like delight at finding resistance. It leans in, trying to overpower you through sheer force.
You don't yield.
With a sharp exhale, you step forward—muscle memory guiding every motion—and shove. Golden resonance surges through your blade, amplifying the push. The Crownless staggers back several meters, feet carving furrows in the earth before it catches itself in a crouch, lance raised again.
Chixia reacts first—pistols drawn in a blur, fusion rounds already charging. "Whoa— Tian Yang! That thing's no joke—it's the Crownless! An overlord-class TD, and super aggressive!"
Yangyang draws her sword in a fluid arc, wind swirling around the blade. "It's drawn to strong resonance… yours must have pulled it here. Be careful—its strikes are overwhelming, we will have to push for a retreat!"
Baizhi steps forward calmly, though her seafoam-green eyes narrow with analytical focus. You'tan—the white, ethereal Remnant Creature companion—materializes behind her, glowing softly. "Identity confirmed. Crownless: Whisperin-class TD, Harbinger of war. High resistance to Havoc-attribute damage. You three. prioritize interruption—counter its charged attacks. I'll provide support and prepare for an emergency retreat."
The Crownless rises slowly, lance spinning in a lazy, taunting circle. That purple fury in its "gaze" locks on you—amused, hungry, as if recognizing a worthy challenge. It lunges again, faster this time—spear thrusting in rapid, brutal stabs meant to skewer and overwhelm.
Your training sword hums in your grip, body moving on pure instinct. You parry the first thrust, sidestep the second, then drive forward with a counter-shove that forces it back once more.
The girls fan out instinctively—Chixia laying down suppressive fire to chip at its armored plates, Yangyang sending cutting Aero gusts to disrupt its footing, Baizhi channeling healing frequencies through You'tan to keep everyone steady.
"The skylark's song is about to sound. Let the winds roar!" Yangyang rushes at the crownless and unleashes her resonance liberation, Wind Spirals, manifesting a mighty cyclone, forcing the monster in it's steps as it's forced to bear fierce cuts and barrages of her wind.
Meanwhile from the back Chixia unleashes her own resonance liberation, Blazing Flames.
"I'll save the day! Flame on!"
Chixia fires a burst of supercharged fusion bullets, launching at the crownless like supersonic fireballs. The crownless, already forced on the defensive by Yangyang's attack, was forced to bear the direct impact of her attack on its body, the cyclone haunting it also lighting on fire.
After several seconds, the crownless roars with a burst of havoc energy, dispersing the fiery cyclone. It stands right there, several cuts and burn marks across it's body, yet they were all superficial. No real damage. But such a result was expected against the Crownless.
The dark resonance in the air thickens further—Jinzhou's barriers visible in the distance seem to flicker in response. Killing intent pouring out from the monster.
You follow up on the momentum. Closing the distance in seconds before striking at the monster. It intercepts your strike, but you deliver a sharp, powerful kick to the side of it's leg, causing the monster to buckle. You follow up with a powerful downward swing, forcing the TD to dodge but once again, your feet connects with the side of its torso, creating spiderweb cracks on that part of it's armor and flinging it away. It flips in the air and lands on its knees.
You don't stop pressing. Closing the distance again and delivering strike after strike, blow after blow, cornering it with sword slashes and kicks. The few times it successfully strikes at you, you masterfully dodge or block its strikes. Sometimes snap parrying it's charged attacks, with your sword in your left hand in a reverse grip, and driving it in upward arcs, jolting the monster's strikes away, almost dislodging it's arm from its socket. Yangyang and Chixia also lend you a hand, following up with their own barrages of strikes, while Baizhi heals any minor injuries or fatigue from the back.
The Crownless looms, its armored form cracked and leaking violet-black frequency wisps from the barrage you just unleashed. Your training sword sings through the air—each swing faster, heavier, more precise than the last. The first strike carves a glowing gash across its chest plate; the second shatters a shoulder pauldron into glittering shards; the third drives through it's free arm, forcing the towering Harbinger to stagger back with a guttural, distorted screech that echoes like grinding metal and distant thunder.
Finally, with an explosive right hook, you force the crownless away, sending it skidding back for meters before finally stopping. A smile forms on your face, this battle almost over, your victory looming in the air—
"Everyone, it's time! Fall back and retreat!" Baizhi commands. You all worked hard to push the crownless into a corner, not allowing it much freedom or leverage. Now is a rare opportunity to quickly run away.
But Baizhi's words and Yangyang and Chixia's slow retreat confuses you. After all, victory seems certain. Wounds spiderweb across the crownless's body—deep fissures glowing with unstable purple light.
'Why are we retreating? We have almost won this.' The crownless was on its last legs... At least that's what you thought.
The crownless's face tilts up, those blazing yellow eyes flickering as though registering defeat. But suddenly—
The Crownless laughs. The sound was horrible, as if dissonance of destruction. It sends chills down everyone's spines. The monster's grin seemingly widens, readying itself again. It crouches low—lance planted in the ground, like a hunter preparing to strike. It's body burst with havoc energy, pulsing with opportunity.
Your eyes widen at a sudden premonition, your hairs standing on end.
Then it moves.
A sudden, violent arc of destructive energy erupts from the swing of it's lance. You try and intercept the arc, but the moment it collides with your blade, the energy strains your hands and creates minute cracks on your blade, and instantly, a shockwave blasts outward—pure, concussive force that slams into you like a mountain of wind and static. Your boots skid across the dirt, carving twin furrows as you're hurled back several meters. You catch yourself mid-slide, sword planted for balance, golden Tacet Mark flaring angrily on your right hand.
Black feathers—sharp, oily, edged like obsidian—burst from the Crownless's back in a violent eruption. Massive wings unfurl with a sound like tearing canvas, scattering dark motes into the air. In the same instant, its left arm twists and reforms; all it's previous injuries healing at a visible rate. The lance in it's right hand reforms, corrupted Havoc energy coalesces into a grotesque, oversized lance—longer than you are tall, black as void, its tip writhing with purple flames that devour light itself.
The creature straightens, wings beating once—twice—lifting it into the air with terrifying grace for something so brutal. Its head turns slowly… not toward you.
Toward Yangyang.
She stands frozen for a split second—sword half-raised, wind already gathering around her blade—eyes wide with realization.
"Yangyang! MOVE!" Your scream rips through the clearing, raw and commanding.
Too late.
The Crownless rockets forward at blinding speed—wings folded, lance extended like a black comet. Chixia's pistols fire another barage; Baizhi's You'tan hurls shards of ice—but neither is enough.
Suddenly, a golden light explodes around Yangyang's body.
Your resonance—still fresh, still raw from the claiming less than half an hour ago—answers her peril instinctively. The golden blue sigil below her navel ignites beneath her clothes, flaring through fabric in radiant lines. A shimmering shield of pure golden frequency snaps into place just as the lance strikes.
The impact is deafening.
Lance meets shield in a blinding clash—golden cracks spiderwebbing across the barrier instantly. The Crownless doesn't stop. It drives forward with savage glee, then pivots—free arm blurring—and slams a brutal fist into the already fracturing shield.
The barrier shatters like glass.
The punch connects with Yangyang's side—right below her ribs. The force lifts her off her feet, body folding around the blow. She's hurled backward like a ragdoll, crashing into a nearby boulder with bone-jarring impact. Rock explodes outward in a cloud of dust and debris; the boulder cracks down the middle. Yangyang slumps to the ground amid the rubble, long black hair spilling across her face, white feather streaks stained with dirt.
Blood trickles from the corner of her mouth, then from her nose—dark crimson against pale skin. Her sword clatters uselessly beside her. Her eyes flutter once… then close. Unconscious.
The golden sigil on her belly dims—flickering weakly, unable to fully anchor itself so soon after being imprinted. It wasn't strong enough. Not yet.
Chixia's scream tears through the air—"YANGYANG!!"—high and panicked, all her usual cheer shattered. She sprints toward the rubble, pistols forgotten, red hair whipping behind her.
Baizhi is already moving—booted feet silent and swift, You'tan pulsing urgently at her side. "No—stay with me—" Her voice cracks for the first time, composure fracturing as she drops to her knees beside Yangyang, hands glowing with healing frequencies, pouring everything she has into saving her friend.
The Crownless lands heavily a few meters away, wings half-spread, lance planted in the earth. Its head tilts back—yellow eyes blazing brighter—and a low, grating sound rolls from its core.
Laughter. Again.
Mocking and triumphant. The sound of war reveling in pain.
Your body locks.
Eyes widen.
Tremors ripple through every muscle—fists clenching so hard your knuckles bleach white. Rage pours into your veins like molten gold, burning away everything else. Your Tacet Mark ignites—brighter than ever before—golden light bleeding from your right hand, crawling up your arm in pulsing veins, illuminating your face in harsh, furious glow.
"How dare you hurt my woman!!"
The bellow explodes from your throat—deep, primal, shaking the air itself. Resonance surges around you in a violent halo; the ground cracks beneath your feet. You launch forward—faster than before, faster than even superhuman limits should allow—training sword trailing golden afterimages as you charge straight at the Crownless.
Power builds in your core—raw, bottomless, drawn from depths you didn't even know you had.
The creature straightens—wings flaring wide, lance rising once more—eager for the fight it just provoked.
Chixia and Baizhi freeze for a heartbeat, heads snapping toward you—faces streaked with fear, shock, and something like awe—as the air around you warps with the sheer force of your awakening fury.
The Crownless meets your charge head-on, lance thrusting forward to impale you mid-leap.
It surges forward with a deafening roar, black wings beating furiously, its massive Havoc lance thrusting straight for your heart like a spear of midnight. You meet it head-on—your training sword flashing gold as it collides with the corrupted weapon in a cataclysmic clash.
The impact is deafening.
A shockwave erupts outward, splintering nearby boulders, sending ground and debris flying, and flattening grass in a perfect circle. The Crownless—to its utter, disbelieving astonishment—is hurled backward like a discarded toy. It slams into a towering rock formation with earth-shaking force; stone shatters, dust and debris billow upward in a choking cloud. For the first time since its emergence, the Harbinger hesitates—violet eyes flickering in stunned confusion.
Then rage replaces shock.
It explodes back into the air with a guttural bellow, wings snapping wide, lance spinning in vicious arcs as it dives at you again. But you are no longer fighting with raw fury. Your anger has sharpened—cold, precise, surgical. It no longer erupts like a volcano; it cuts like a blade honed on grief and possession, and battle experience from memories you can not recall.
You sidestep the first thrust with effortless grace. Your sword whips upward—crack—the lance splinters along its length, a hairline fracture glowing purple. Another swing carves a deep gash across its armored chest; violet ichor sprays. The Crownless twists mid-air, trying to flank you—swooping low, then high, then behind in a dizzying barrage of stabs, sweeps, and claw strikes.
Every move is predictable.
You see the next ten attacks before they even begin—the twitch of its wing, the shift in its lance grip, the subtle flare of its core before a feint. Your body responds faster than thought: parry, counter, sidestep, strike. Each blow lands heavier than the last. Cracks spiderweb across its lance until the weapon begins to warp and bend. New wounds open across its torso, arms, legs—deep, weeping fissures that leak corrupted energy like blood.
The fight shifts.
What was once a duel becomes a brutal, one-sided beatdown.
The Crownless flails, desperate—wings beating to gain distance, lance thrusting in wild, panicked arcs. You close the gap every time. Your strikes outpace its defenses; your force eclipses its strength. You could end it now—drive your blade through its core and be done. But no.
Not yet.
This thing touched Yangyang. Hurt her. Made her bleed. That sweet, innocent girl—so kind, so caring, so utterly devoted to you—now lies broken because of it. For that alone, it will suffer.
You drag the punishment out.
Three more excruciating minutes.
You shatter its guard with overhead cleaves that force it to its knees. You rip open its shoulder plating with a rising slash that sends black feathers scattering like ash. You hammer its ribs until something inside cracks audibly. Every time it tries to rise, you punish it—sword biting deeper, golden resonance flaring brighter with each strike. The Crownless's roars turn to pained shrieks; its movements grow sluggish, erratic.
Finally—desperate—it turns to flee. Wings flare one last time, launching it skyward in a frantic retreat.
You don't allow it.
Your hand snaps out—fingers closing around the base of one obsidian wing. With a savage yank, you tear it free. The sound is wet and tearing; the Crownless's scream pierces the air like shattering glass. Black ichor sprays in an arc. It plummets, crashing to one knee.
You step forward.
A single, brutal kick shatters its remaining foot—bones (or whatever twisted equivalent it possesses) crunching under your heel. It collapses fully now, lance clattering uselessly beside it.
You raise your sword.
One final swing—cleaving, not cutting, the blade far too blunt against the Crownless's armor—yet your resonance makes it irrelevant. Golden light trails the arc. The sword passes through the Crownless from shoulder to hip in a single, merciless stroke.
The Harbinger splits open.
Violet energy erupts in a violent geyser before the two halves collapse inward, dissolving into fading frequency fragments that scatter on the wind like dying embers. The dark resonance in the air thins, then dissipates entirely.
Silence falls.
You stand amid the settling dust—chest heaving, sword dripping violet ichor, Tacet Mark still blazing golden along your right hand like molten sunlight. Your eyes are hard, unyielding, the rage slowly cooling with long breaths.
Behind you, three pairs of eyes watch.
Chixia stands frozen, dual pistols hanging limp at her sides, mouth open in stunned silence. Her usual cheer is gone—replaced by wide-eyed shock, awe… and the faintest tremor of fear.
Baizhi kneels beside Yangyang—You'tan hovering anxiously—her seafoam-green eyes locked on you. Her composed mask has cracked; one gloved hand still glows with healing light over Yangyang's bruised side, but her gaze is fixed on the man who just dismantled an Overlord-class Tacet Discord, and the Crownless at that, like it was nothing. There is awe there. Respect. And a quiet, unmistakable thread of apprehension.
Yangyang—conscious now, propped against the cracked boulder—stares up at you through tear-streaked lashes. Blood still stains her lips and chin; her breathing is shallow, pained. But her black eyes shine with something deeper than gratitude.
Devotion. Worship. Joy. And a touch of fear—not of you, but of what you might become if pushed further.
She whispers your name—"Tian Yang…"—voice trembling, soft, gentle.
The three of them watch you in the aftermath: one breathless with exhilaration and unease, one analyzing every detail with fractured calm, one gazing at you like you are both savior and storm.
The path to Jinzhou lies open once more...