Chapter 205: The Struggle
The violet energy skull clamped its jaws onto the wraith's shoulder, refusing to
let go like a rabid hound. The wraith unleashed a series of soul-piercing
shrieks, its distorted form thrashing violently in the air. It fought
desperately to shake off the wretched thing, but the energy suppression from a
Tier 6 powerhouse rendered its every struggle pathetic and futile.
Crunch.
A sharp, crystalline snap echoed through the shaft. Half of the wraith's torso
was torn away, dissolving into wisps of black smoke that evaporated into the
stagnant air. The energy skull finally released its grip, letting out a
satisfied, spectral belch before shattering into a cloud of violet sparks.
The wraith staggered back, its mangled form flickering and swaying. Yet, it did
not flee. It didn't even cast a glance at the dark tunnels behind it that
offered a path to escape. Its entire existence was focused on one thing: the
tattered rag doll lying in the dirt.
A pale, slender hand reached down and plucked the doll from the grime.
It was Skele-Lust. She stood before the spirit, the orb of light floating above
her head casting a long, elegant shadow against the mine wall. she held the doll
up, idly brushing the dust from its surface.
It was an ancient, wretched thing. The fabric was yellowed and stiff with age,
the stuffing leaking out from burst seams. One button eye was missing, and the
other hung by a single, loose thread. The crude, uneven stitching marked it as
something clearly handmade with more love than skill.
Lust tilted her head, her human-guised eyes reflecting a hint of amusement. "Is
this the prize?"
The wraith froze. Its hollow sockets stared death at the doll in Lust's hand. A
heartbeat later, it exploded.
"GIVE IT... BACK!!"
With a scream that could have shattered glass, the wraith's form surged back to
wholeness. It transformed into a streak of black lightning, lunging at Lust with
maddened ferocity. Its speed was terrifying—fast enough that an ordinary human
would have seen nothing but a blur before their death.
But in Lust's eyes, it was no different from a tortoise crawling through mud.
She sidestepped with effortless grace. The wraith slammed into the stone wall
behind her with a dull thud, dislodging a cascade of gravel and dust.
"Give it back!"
It bounced off the wall, lunging again. Lust flickered to the side. The wraith
struck air.
"GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK! GIVE IT BACK!"
Driven by madness, the spirit launched attack after attack. Lust moved like a
dancer, swaying left and right, toying with the creature as if it were a clumsy
pup. The wraith couldn't even graze the hem of her dress.
"How interesting," Lust mused, a faint curve touching her lips.
She stopped moving, standing perfectly still. Seeing the opening, the wraith
mobilized every drop of its Mana and concentrated resentment. It knew it was no
match for the being before it, but it didn't care. Its singular, obsessive goal
was that doll.
The wraith unhinged its jaw. Every stray thread of Mana in the mine, every
lingering echo of the dead, was forcibly drained and pulled into its maw. A core
of pure black energy formed, expanding rapidly. The surrounding air was
displaced, creating a localized vacuum. Even space itself began to ripple under
the strain.
This was the final strike of a Tier 4 Wraith—a suicide move fueled by burning
its own soul core.
A beam of concentrated darkness erupted from its mouth, aimed directly at Lust.
Faced with an attack capable of leveling a small fortress, Lust merely raised
her right hand, fingers splayed. A small sphere, also composed of dark energy
but no larger than a fist, condensed in her palm.
The two energies collided.
There was no earth-shattering explosion. The wraith's flood of darkness, upon
touching Lust's sphere, was drawn in like water into a bottomless drain,
vanishing without a trace. However, the opposing forces still produced a violent
aftershock. The ceiling above, unable to withstand the pressure, began to buckle
and collapse.
Crack-crack-crack—
Fissures raced across the stone like a spiderweb. The mine was coming down. Lust
looked up at the falling debris and sighed.
"Honestly, you really have no respect for public infrastructure."
She raised her hand and snapped her fingers.
Snap.
Everything stopped. The falling boulders hung suspended in mid-air. The
spreading cracks froze in place. Even the dust motes dancing in the air went
still. Time hadn't stopped; rather, Lust had used her Authority to forcibly
anchor every atom of matter in this space.
Then, she swept her hand in a reverse arc.
The falling stones flew upward, slotting back into the ceiling with surgical
precision. The cracks vanished. The tremors died. The mine was restored to its
previous state as if the battle had never occurred.
The wraith was stunned. Its ultimate effort, its very lifeblood, had been
neutralized like a child's tantrum. But it did not quit. It lunged at Lust
again, abandoning all technique and magic. It simply opened its mouth, aiming to
sink its spectral teeth into her face. Even if it couldn't kill her, even if it
could only take a single bite of flesh, it would have its doll back.
The wraith's teeth clamped down on Lust's face—or tried to.
A faint, translucent violet barrier shimmered into existence. The wraith's teeth
ground against the film of light, unable to leave even a microscopic scratch.
Lust's expression remained unchanged. She didn't even blink. She simply watched
the maddened spirit with the detachment of someone observing a moth fluttering
into a candle.
"Have you finished your scene?" Lust asked softly.
She pressed a single finger against the wraith's forehead and gave a gentle
push.
BOOM!
A concussive blast of force erupted from her fingertip. The wraith was launched
backward, smashing into the far wall of the cavern. The impact carved a massive
crater into the rock. The spirit remained pinned there, embedded in the stone,
motionless for a long time.
Lust, still clutching the doll, walked toward it. Her footsteps echoed
hollowly—tap, tap, tap—each one falling like a hammer blow against the
wraith's fading consciousness. The spirit struggled, trying to pull itself
from the wall. Its body was a tattered mess; that last push had nearly shattered
its soul core.
Yet, it stood. Shaky. Unstable. Like a drunkard clinging to a bar.
"Give... it... to me..." its voice was a whisper, barely audible. But the
obsession behind it hadn't dimmed a fraction.
Lust stopped in front of it, looking down at the broken thing.
"You know," she said suddenly, "I had intended to simply purify you. A Tier 4
Wraith wandering this close to civilization is a liability the Empire can't
afford."
She paused, lifting the doll.
"But your obsession with this object... it makes me curious. Why would a wraith
cling to a filthy rag doll with such intensity? Intense enough to stay and fight
even as your very soul begins to unravel."
☆☆☆
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