The violent, oppressive atmosphere of the reddish-black dimension was a suffocating weight that constantly pressed against my skin. The air was incredibly thick, completely saturated with the metallic tang of displaced ozone, the heavy scent of burning shadows, and the terrifying, dense residue of the apocalyptic magics being continuously unleashed all around me. I did not have a single fraction of a millisecond to catch my breath or fully process the sheer, overwhelming scale of the catastrophic violence occurring just a few yards away. My entire existence, my complete and absolute focus, was entirely dedicated to the singular, excruciatingly difficult task of pure, unadulterated survival.
After dodging for a while, my muscles began to scream in silent, burning protest. The physical toll of continuously, flawlessly removing my body from the exact spatial coordinates of lethal strikes was immense. The twenty massive Wolves of Destruction were a relentless, coordinated ocean of violet-black ruin. They lunged, they snapped, they swiped their massive, smoke-forged claws with a terrifying, synchronized ferocity that left absolutely no room for error. I swayed my torso backward, allowing the snapping jaws of a massive wolf to close on the empty air mere millimeters from my face. I instantly dropped into a rapid, sliding crouch, completely evading a sweeping, horizontal slash from Zarha's dark, runic dagger that threatened to flawlessly sever my neck. I violently kicked off the invisible floor, launching my physical form into a rapid, twisting aerial flip to avoid a sudden, high-speed barrage of heavy metal chains that whipped through the space my legs had occupied just a microsecond prior. The white-masked assassin was a relentless, teleporting phantom, continuously materializing in my absolute blind spots with terrifying, lethal precision. I did not strike back. I simply kept moving, a phantom flowing continuously through an impossible, high-speed maze of dark blades and apocalyptic jaws.
Yet, even amidst the hyper-focused, incredibly demanding loop of my own continuous evasion, my heightened senses remained acutely aware of the wider battlefield. The deafening, overlapping shockwaves of the other clashes served as a constant, brutal rhythm to my movements. And then, a sudden, massive disruption in the localized flow of kinetic energy violently drew my peripheral vision to the left.
I saw Celdrich got tossed into the ground by Zaltraf.
The physical displacement was catastrophic. It was not a simple throw; it was a devastating, high-speed launch driven by the sheer, overwhelming physical might of the Demonking. The air itself violently shrieked as Celdrich's body was forcefully hurled backward through the dim, crimson-tinged mist. He flew through the void like a discarded ragdoll, entirely stripped of his previous momentum, hurtling helplessly toward the unyielding, invisible surface of the dimension's floor. The impact was deafening. A massive, resonant boom echoed across the endless nothingness as his back violently slammed into the solid air. The sheer kinetic force of the collision generated a highly visible, localized shockwave that instantly blew away the surrounding reddish-black fog and caused a massive, jagged network of deep, glowing spiderweb fractures to rapidly violently spread out for dozens of yards from the exact epicenter of the crash.
As his head snapped back against the unyielding surface from the sheer whiplash of the devastating impact, his glasses broke. The sudden, violent transfer of force was simply too much for the fragile frames to withstand. The lenses shattered completely, exploding into dozens of tiny, glittering, highly reflective shards of glass that briefly caught the dim, chaotic light of the ongoing battles before raining down silently onto the cracked, invisible floor around his head.
For a terrifyingly long, heavy microsecond, he lay completely motionless amidst the jagged crater he had just violently created. The relentless, heavy thuds of his previous assault against the Demonking's impenetrable dark barrier had been completely silenced, replaced only by the ambient, roaring thunder of Euphyne and Tokine's continuous clashes further away.
But the stillness did not last.
He stood up. The motion was not entirely fluid at first; it was heavy, deliberate, and undeniably strained. He planted his boots firmly onto the fractured surface, his muscles visibly tensing as he forcefully pushed himself back into an upright position. The faint, ethereal shimmer of his internal spirit briefly danced across his skin, but his overall posture had completely shifted. The rapid, highly calculated, relentlessly persistent energy he had displayed while continuously attacking the barrier was entirely gone. It was replaced by a sudden, terrifyingly profound stillness. He did not immediately reach for his black katana, which rested loosely in his grip, nor did he immediately flip the pages of his open dagger grimoire. He simply stood there, his head slightly bowed, his chest rising and falling with slow, deeply measured breaths.
And then, his voice cut through the deafening chaos of the dimension. It was not a shout, nor was it a scream of rage. It was a cold, incredibly clear, heavily controlled statement of absolute fact that somehow carried over the roaring din of the battlefield.
He said, "I guess I'll have to actually be serious."
The sheer, chilling weight of those words caused the temperature in his immediate vicinity to noticeably plummet. He slowly raised his free hand toward his face. His fingers brushed against his temples, carefully navigating the shattered, jagged remnants of the frames still clinging to his ears. With a single, fluid motion, he took off his glasses. He casually tossed the broken, useless wire frames to the side, letting them fall completely forgotten onto the violently cracked floor.
As he raised his head to look directly at the towering, heavily shielded form of the Demonking standing several yards away, his eyes glowed red. The change was instantaneous and incredibly striking. The standard hue of his irises had completely vanished, entirely replaced by a vibrant, intensely burning, piercing crimson light. The red glow was not merely reflective; it actively radiated outward, two twin beacons of pure, highly concentrated, predatory focus that aggressively cut through the dim, oppressive gloom of the Masked Man's theater. The light cast long, terrifying shadows across his own face, completely illuminating the cold, unyielding determination etched into his features.
He locked his glowing red gaze directly onto Zaltraf, completely ignoring the swirling chaos of the dimension surrounding them. He did not blink. His voice rang out again, carrying an incredibly heavy, profoundly personal weight that entirely transcended the immediate, violent context of the battle.
He said, "I promised my little sister that I'll become the strongest. You won't stop me."
The words hung heavily in the air, an absolute, unbreakable vow echoing endlessly across the infinite void. It was a singular statement of ultimate purpose, a verbal anchor tying his current, hyper-accelerated reality to a deeply held, unwavering conviction. He did not elaborate. He did not explain. He simply delivered the promise with the terrifying, absolute certainty of a man who would willingly tear the very fabric of the universe apart before allowing himself to fail.
Immediately following the declaration, his physical stance completely changed. He did not drop into a complex martial arts guard, nor did he rapidly flip through the glowing pages of his floating grimoire to draft a complex, reality-altering command. Instead, he simply raised his right arm. He locked his elbow perfectly straight, fully extending the limb, and he suddenly pointed his finger at Zaltraf.
His index finger was aimed squarely at the direct, geographical center of the Demonking's massive, impenetrable dark barrier. The gesture was incredibly basic, completely devoid of any grand, sweeping somatic components or complex magical channeling poses. He stared down the length of his extended arm, his glowing red eyes perfectly aligned with his pointed digit, and he spoke three simple words.
He said, "Base spell: Scorching Fireball."
At the very tip of his extended index finger, a tiny, almost microscopic spark of thermal energy flickered into existence. It was a meager, highly unremarkable manifestation of basic magic. A small, swirling sphere of standard orange and yellow flame, no larger than a common marble, passively floating in the dim air. It radiated almost no heat, its dim light completely eclipsed by the massive, blinding explosions continuously occurring between Euphyne and Tokine. It was the absolute, fundamental baseline of offensive casting, a spell so entirely rudimentary it bordered on insulting in the context of this apocalyptic, high-tier confrontation.
Upon seeing the tiny, flickering marble of standard flame floating innocuously at the tip of Celdrich's finger, the Demonking reacted. Zaltraf laughed at him for using a base spell.
The laughter was an incredibly deep, highly resonant, booming sound that violently vibrated the invisible floor beneath my rapidly moving boots. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated mockery, a dismissive, arrogant roar from a being who had just watched his opponent deliver a dramatic, highly charged personal vow, only to follow it up with the most basic, underwhelming magical manifestation conceptually possible. The dark, heavily concentrated mana swirling within Zaltraf's absolute barrier seemed to pulse in time with his booming amusement, entirely secure in its perfect, impenetrable, highly tested defense. He stood completely relaxed behind his shield, his posture radiating a terrifying, absolute confidence, completely dismissing the tiny spark of flame as a pathetic, desperate joke.
But Celdrich did not look embarrassed. He did not look frustrated. As the deep, mocking laughter of the Demonking continuously echoed across the infinite void, Celdrich smiled.
It was a calm, chilling, incredibly serene expression that entirely contradicted the violent, highly destructive nature of our surroundings. The smile completely reached his glowing red eyes, carrying an aura of absolute, terrifying knowing. He maintained his perfectly extended arm, keeping his index finger firmly pointed directly at the laughing Demonking. He did not raise his voice. He simply spoke two words, delivering them with the quiet, absolute authority of a man casually flipping a switch.
He said, "10th mana fold."
The reaction was not instantaneous; it was a microscopic fraction of a second of absolute, terrifying silence, as if the entire dimension had suddenly sucked in a massive breath. And then, the tiny, marble-sized spark of flame violently detonated.
Suddenly, the dark dimension became bright as light itself.
It was not merely an explosion; it was the absolute, total erasure of shadows. The dim, oppressive, reddish-black mist that had constantly defined the visual boundaries of the Masked Man's theater was instantly, violently incinerated. An overwhelming, utterly blinding sphere of pure, absolute white-hot radiance erupted from the tip of Celdrich's finger, expanding outward at an impossibly catastrophic speed. The sheer, terrifying volume of thermal kinetic energy instantly swallowed the entire localized area, turning the infinite void into a singular, retina-burning canvas of pure, unadulterated brightness.
The temperature spiked to apocalyptic levels. The air itself did not just burn; it turned into super-heated plasma. A massive, deafening roar of absolute combustion completely drowned out all other sounds in the dimension, silencing Euphyne's heavy impacts, Tokine's kinetic strikes, and the snarling of the twenty wolves. The sheer, overwhelming force of the shockwave violently blasted outward, pushing the massive, smoke-forged beasts heavily backward and causing Zarha's rapid, high-speed teleportation to aggressively falter as the very fabric of space violently rippled under the impossible pressure. I had to instantly raise my left arm, physically shielding my highly sensitive eyes from the absolute, searing brilliance of the flash, my body bracing heavily against the violent, outward gale of super-heated wind.
Directly in the path of the devastating, blinding beam of folded energy, the Demonking's laughter abruptly ceased.
And Zaltraf got sent into the ground.
The impenetrable, perfectly smooth dark barrier, which had effortlessly, casually absorbed thousands of high-speed, highly concentrated strikes without a single hairline fracture, was suddenly subjected to an overwhelming, apocalyptic wall of pure, absolute, folded kinetic force. The barrier did not shatter, but it was violently, aggressively physically displaced. The sheer, catastrophic momentum of the blinding blast slammed directly into the dark sphere, instantly entirely overwhelming Zaltraf's physical stance. The Demonking was violently lifted entirely off his feet, his entire form enclosed within his heavily stressed barrier, and brutally, aggressively driven downward. He smashed into the invisible, violently cracking floor of the dimension with the force of a falling meteor, creating a massive, secondary crater that instantly deepened the immense destruction Celdrich had caused moments before.
The absolute, blinding white light held for a terrifyingly long, sustained moment, aggressively scorching the very conceptual boundaries of the realm, before finally, slowly beginning to violently dissipate. The super-heated plasma faded back into violently churning, highly agitated crimson mist, revealing the deeply scarred, heavily smoking aftermath of the catastrophic strike.
From the center of the massive, freshly formed crater, movement slowly emerged. Zaltraf stood up.
His physical form was still entirely encased within the dark, translucent wall of his absolute barrier. The surface of the heavy, protective shell was currently violently shimmering, desperately re-stabilizing its internal mana flow after actively absorbing the horrific, catastrophic brunt of the impact, but it remained fundamentally intact. He brushed the heavy, displaced red dust from the shoulders of his clothing, his ancient, terrifying eyes narrowing as he looked directly across the heavily scorched distance at Celdrich. The dismissive, highly arrogant amusement was entirely gone from his expression, replaced by a cold, sharp, highly focused, incredibly serious acknowledgment of the sheer, raw destructive output he had just miraculously survived.
He stood perfectly straight, his voice carrying clearly over the slowly dying ringing in the air. He said, "You're amazing human, but that wouldn't kill me."
It was a statement of raw, undeniable fact. The attack had been completely devastating, a catastrophic display of folded power, but the Demonking's absolute defense had ultimately held its ground, entirely preventing his physical erasure.
Standing on the opposite edge of the massive, smoking blast radius, completely bathed in the dim, returning reddish-black light, Celdrich smiled again. His red eyes continued to actively pierce the gloom, completely undeterred by the Demonking's survival. He did not look disappointed. He did not look frustrated. He merely nodded his head very slightly, his smile remaining perfectly, terrifyingly serene.
And he said that he knows.
There was no further hesitation. There was no extended pause to allow the heavy, thick dust to fully settle. The microscopic lull in the localized violence was instantly, violently shattered. They continued clashing. Celdrich instantly blurred back into high-speed motion, heavily launching himself forward across the heavily cracked, heavily scorched floor, his black katana and glowing dagger rapidly slicing through the violently churning air as he aggressively, relentlessly re-engaged the towering, heavily shielded Demonking in a furious, blinding blur of hyper-accelerated strikes and perfectly predicted, highly complex future-evasions.
With Celdrich and Zaltraf's apocalyptic duel violently resuming its deafening, catastrophic cadence, I was instantly, harshly forced to completely snap my own absolute focus directly back to my immediate, highly lethal reality. The blinding flash and the massive, super-heated shockwave had briefly, aggressively disrupted the enemy's flawless coordination, but the reprieve was heavily measured in mere fractions of a millisecond.
I violently twisted my hips to the left, rapidly dropping my right shoulder just in time to perfectly evade a sudden, highly aggressive, downward thrust from a heavy, dark dagger. The runic metal hissed dangerously past my ear, the coldness of the blade standing in incredibly sharp contrast to the highly lingering heat of the recent explosion.
I kept dodging Zarha.
I instantly rolled forward, completely clearing a massive, sweeping bite from a recovering Wolf of Destruction, rapidly popping back up to my feet only to immediately perform a high-speed, backward handspring to avoid a heavy, horizontal chain whip. The white-masked assassin materialized directly in front of me, his dual blades moving in a frantic, continuous blur of highly lethal, perfectly aimed strikes. I swayed, I ducked, I pivoted, continuously executing my flawless, highly intricate dance of absolute evasion through the impossibly tight, rapidly closing gaps in his relentless, high-speed assault.
But as I perfectly slipped completely past a rapid, lunging double-stab, my eyes briefly caught the expression heavily painted across his posture. He did not speak. His face remained completely, entirely hidden beneath the smooth, highly pristine surface of his slightly cracked white porcelain mask. Yet, the subtle, highly aggressive shift in his shoulders, the overly tight, heavily rigid grip on his dark dagger hilts, and the sheer, increasing frantic velocity of his continuous, high-speed teleportation conveyed his internal state with absolute, terrifying clarity.
And he looked annoyed.
My continuous, perfect, absolute refusal to be struck, combined with the catastrophic, highly disruptive, intensely distracting explosion that had just violently rocked the entire dimension, had finally, aggressively pierced his cold, highly silent, completely unflappable phantom persona. The highly calculated, perfectly executed rhythm of his silent assassinations was actively, continuously failing, completely replaced by a growing, highly visible, deeply frustrated urgency to violently end my continuous, incredibly slippery existence. The battle raged fiercely onward, the infinite, heavy void entirely filled with the continuous, deafening sounds of shattering air, blinding magical collisions, and the relentless, high-speed pursuit of absolute survival.