Mr. Z brought his massive flesh-and-soul blade crashing down, lightning flashing in his eyes as he unleashed a spiritual impalement at Butis.
The illusory door Butis had just conjured shattered under the heavy blow, and two bolts of lightning drove into his mind like arrows, splitting his skull with agony.
Watching Mr. Z charge at him like a raging bull, that colossal, terrifying body bearing down on him, Butis's pupils blew wide. He thrust his right hand forward, as if grasping at some invisible veil draped over the empty air.
Instantly, the area around him twisted, vanished, hidden from sight.
Mr. Z wasn't fazed. He drew "Corrupted Shadow" around himself, forming a sticky, armor-like shell, then raised a hand, switching to the "Recorder" spirit he'd been shepherding — illusory pages flipping rapidly before his eyes, settling on one showing an ancient horn.
The next instant —
An ancient horn appeared in Mr. Z's hand — the very one Vincent had specifically had him record, meant for use against Butis.
"Woo—"
Mr. Z blew into the horn, though it made no sound at all. Everything within the underground space seemed to freeze into semi-transparent amber.
Without a sound, the "amber" cracked apart —
The area Butis had twisted and hidden away snapped back into reality. The illusory pages in Mr. Z's eyes flipped once more, settling on a page showing a blood-stained spear.
Sensing the terrifying presence radiating off the blood-colored spear now condensing in Mr. Z's grip, Butis's face changed drastically. His figure flickered rapidly, conjuring door after illusory door around him.
Some stood open, paired; some sank deep; some were covered in mystic patterns; some hollow at the center, through which an endless darkness could faintly be glimpsed...
An overwhelming number of these illusory doors surrounded him, dense, overlapping, nearly encasing Butis entirely.
Then his silhouette flickered rapidly behind door after door, moving so fast it seemed to split him into eight.
These "eight" Butises each did something different — one unleashed a lightning storm, one condensed a blazing white spear, one wrapped himself in full black armor and swung down a massive blade heavy enough to cleave through anything, and the last one reached into a spatial pocket and pulled out a three-tiered, silver-and-black jewelry box — the very Sequence 0 sealed item he'd stolen when he betrayed the Abraham family: the Box of Old Days.
Facing this barrage of attacks, the severed limbs covering Mr. Z's body all unfurled at once, rapidly weaving together into a massive "exoskeleton," encasing him entirely to take the hits head-on.
"BOOM!"
The blood-drenched Spear of Longinus launched forward from Mr. Z — but its target wasn't Butis hiding behind those doors at all. It was aimed straight at the Box of Old Days in his hands.
Mr. Z understood the math clearly: in a one-on-one fight, when it came to running, he was nowhere near a match for Butis — but when it came to raw destructive power, Butis couldn't match him either.
Under normal circumstances, neither of them stood a real chance of finishing off the other.
But circumstances weren't always normal. Butis's "exception" was the Box of Old Days in his hands. Mr. Z's "exception" was the corruption spread across his entire body.
The next instant, the Spear of Longinus tore through door after illusory door, plunging into the space where Butis stood, catching the Box of Old Days the second he'd cracked it open, slamming into it with brutal force.
This was, after all, a Sequence 0 sealed item born of Starry Sky corruption — even the devastating Spear of Longinus couldn't inflict the faintest scratch on it.
But the sheer impact was enough to knock the Box of Old Days clean out of Butis's grip, straight into the grasp of shadows Mr. Z had already claimed control of.
At the same moment, Mr. Z's body stretched and warped, dissolving into shadow, vanishing, only to reappear from the shadow directly behind Butis, swinging his flesh-and-soul blade with brutal force to drive him back, seizing the Box of Old Days for himself.
"Butis."
Mr. Z grinned wide, cracking open the first layer of the Box of Old Days.
"!!!"
Butis's heart seized. Without a moment's hesitation, he activated "Teleport," slipping into the Spirit World and fleeing.
Snap.
Mr. Z immediately shut the jewel-encrusted box tight. He knew exactly how dangerous this Sequence 0 sealed item was — better not to use it unless he absolutely had to.
Clutching the Box of Old Days, he walked back to the altar, gazing at Lanevus — his body already showing signs of mutation, infused with his Lord's power and presence — and broke into a wild, ecstatic grin:
"My Lord!"
"Your glory will shine once more across this land! Your devoted lamb awaits your descent."
He knelt before the cross, his massive, bloated body — its scattered limbs charred, severed, or dripping blood from Butis's earlier attacks — unfurling all at once, an eerie, horrifying sight.
Suddenly, Mr. Z sensed something. He whipped his head around, and found a figure had appeared nearby, seemingly out of nowhere.
The figure wore a hooded classical robe, black eyes hidden in shadow, a beautiful, delicate face utterly blank, expressionless.
Mr. Z reacted instantly, reaching for the Box of Old Days — but in the next instant, his movement froze solid. His body seemed to turn into a pencil sketch, rapidly erased by some invisible eraser, utterly incapable of resistance, his eyes filled with confusion and incomprehension.
Plop.
The Box of Old Days fell to the floor, rolling a short distance, and, from the momentum, popped open — straight to its third layer. Instantly, endless darkness spilled out from the crack, carrying with it an aura of madness, loss of control, and despair.
Fortunately, right then, a slender, pale white finger pressed down on the Box of Old Days, snapping it shut again, and picked it up off the ground.
That once blank, expressionless face now carried, somehow, the faintest trace of a smile.
She walked slowly toward the altar, gave a light wave of her hand, and in an instant, the altar, Lanevus, and the cross were all swallowed by darkness, vanishing without a trace — and with them, the True Creator's descent came to an abrupt, complete halt.
With that done, she looked down once more at the Box of Old Days in her hand, then tossed it carelessly over her shoulder, her form rapidly fading, vanishing on the spot.
The carelessly thrown Box of Old Days arced through the air, traveling seven or eight meters, landing in the hands of a woman — dressed in a black robe dotted with starlight — Melissa's teacher.
...
Red Rose Manor.
Clarisse's battle against the Sequence 3 Hunter hadn't touched the house hidden away within the mirror world at all.
Klein watched as the witches finished setting up the altar, then knelt around him in a circle, murmuring prayers, calling out to the Primordial Witch, begging for her descent.
Feeling the shift in the air around him, Klein knew that if he didn't do something soon, he really would end up becoming the Primordial Witch's vessel.
Several minutes earlier, he'd already quietly spoken Lord of Chaos's honorific, calling out for help. But even now, Lord of Chaos hadn't responded to him at all.
Thinking about it, that wasn't hard to understand, really.
He was the one who hadn't trusted Lord of Chaos in the first place, who'd refused to be honest and upfront with him — praying desperately the second he needed something, and not so much as a hello the rest of the time. A textbook case of biting the hand that fed him.
If their positions were reversed — if he, as "the Fool," ran into someone treating him this way — he doubted he'd keep swooping in to save them, again and again, either.
If I survive this, I'm telling him everything. This world's too dangerous. Being careful on your own means nothing without someone powerful backing you up.
Klein snuck a glance at the white-robed witch who'd taken over for Clarisse. She showed none of Clarisse's tension or gravity, lounging lazily on a sofa instead, eyes half-closed, drowsy.
Her curves, paired with the effortless allure witches seemed to radiate without even trying, sent Klein's thoughts spinning against his will — some primal part of him wanting nothing more than to transform into a beast and pounce.
To be continued…
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