Ifa gave a sigh of relief as his core unfurled to its full strength. His light touch on Mei sent the Highlady flying in the opposite direction of the two masters battling in the distance. He spared the sect leader a glance, nodding as he observed him holding his own against the Ape King, who paid for his distraction at Ifa’s power with a deep cut across his chest. Veyra would hold out, and Tunde was more than a competent match for the Highlord General. In fact, Ifa pitied the general.

  It was one thing to face a lord, knowing that as a Highlord, you could snap him—or, in Tunde and Rui’s case, them—in two with a slight imbuement. Maybe Rui. Tunde and Zhu, however, were rapidly becoming monstrous cultivators, ones who had no business remaining in the realm of lords. They had broken past those shackles long ago.

  Zhu’s case was a bit more complicated—as it often was with true beasts. Their advancements were still not categorically understood, perhaps known only to the Ethralite himself. Tunde, on the other hand, bore the agonizing burden of remaining in the realm of lords, despite the heavens repeatedly and forcefully signalling the necessity for him to ascend to the realm of Highlord.

  The irony wasn’t lost on Ifa. Had Tunde remained at Black Rock, he would unequivocally be the strongest cultivator in the wide expanse by a considerable margin. Only the likes of Shimmersteel or other settlements deluding themselves into thinking they weren’t part of the borderlands could even imagine themselves as rivals—and only by relying on their masters.

  But Ifa knew better than anyone how stagnancy would, over time, rob even the most gifted cultivators of their talents and strengths. For someone like Tunde to progress, he needed to continually face danger, tempering not just his body but his mind as well. Tunde needed to see the gulf between himself and other cultivators and to learn precisely when to strike and seize advantage.

  Gripping his soulbound spear tighter as it hummed with anticipation, Ifa murmured, “Yes, yes, I know, dear one. Perhaps the nice lady will speak more easily, hmm?” With a burst of speed, he appeared beside Mei, calmly watching her wipe blood from her lips as she glared at him with hateful eyes.

  “I should have known you were the true emissary—a vassal master of the clan,” she growled.

  Ifa shrugged, activating several carefully shrouded arrays in their surroundings. He felt the energy stretch back to the very entrance of the rift itself.

  “I could try convincing you that Tunde is the actual emissary, but I doubt you’d listen,” Ifa said with a calm smile. “Which works well enough for me, you see—I have a few questions of my own.” He ran Ethra along his spear as he spoke.

  He watched with amusement as her eyes flicked toward the weapon before returning to him. “Oh, this?” Ifa said, gesturing at the spear. “Ignore it. It would be shameful to strike down a Highlady with this. Merely for show—can’t lose face now, can I?” He chuckled lightly.

  She responded by cloaking their surroundings in shadows, attempting to blindside him. Ifa tsked, slamming the butt of his spear against the air. A ripple of power spread outward, lighting up arcane words hidden in the air. Mei coughed as the shadows dissipated, a wide-eyed look crossing her face.

  “Curious. You’re still alive,” Ifa said, his tone laced with what sounded like genuine surprise. “I must confess, I failed to control the output of Ethra into the array around us. I suppose you’re tougher than you look—physically, I’d assume?” he continued.

  A silent part of him reflected on how much he relished such moments—an opportunity to demonstrate his superiority whenever possible, which didn’t happen often. Still, a faint sense of foreboding crept over him as the array began fulfilling its purpose, searching for the lines of power he had sensed for a while now.

  Mei staggered with a chuckle. “And to think I prepared specifically for this event,” she croaked.

  “Oh, really?” Ifa asked, raising an eyebrow. “Do be quick—I need to help the sect leader, you see. Can’t have that mongrel ape kill him off.” His smile froze as he watched Mei bite down on a red pill.

  “What was that?” he asked sharply, feeling the spiritual tremor ripple through the air. He cursed himself for allowing the situation to escalate this far. The array sent back information, and his eyes widened as he watched Ethra and aura siphon through the air into Mei’s form.

  Fascination and horror rooted Ifa in place. Snapping his fingers, his dominion took shape—a starry realm of circular formations. Even then, the Highlady’s transformation continued unabated. This was no natural advancement, and Ifa found himself wondering if he should have stopped it earlier. He could have unleashed his full might to erase her from existence. Yet, a perverse curiosity held him back—he wanted to see what this bitter woman would become.

  “All the dead—traitors or not—you’ve taken from them. You’ve been taking from them... and more,” he said, formations of defense blazing to life around him as he fed them Ethra and essence flames.

  “How long have you been planning this, committing such atrocities, Mei?” Ifa asked, his voice devoid of its earlier mirth. He watched as her already pale form grew even paler, her eyes covered by a milky white film. Her hair turned pure white, and a ring of grey flames floated ominously behind her.

  She chuckled, her voice ringing with a dozen others. Ifa realized what had happened. “You made a deal with the revenants?” he asked, disgust dripping from every word.

  “Please!” she laughed mockingly. “Those filthy abominations are nothing compared to the power I now wield!” she exclaimed.

  “I am the perfection the elders of the Phantoms have pursued for decades. The incomplete yet deadly edge. And you... will be my first prey,” she declared, pointing a talon-like black nail at him.

  Ifa took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before exhaling. “It’s too early for such troubles,” he muttered. Mei launched herself at him, wielding not a weapon but deadly rings of finely fused aura and Ethra.

  As her strikes met his spear, Ifa locked eyes with her and said coldly, “Then you must be a sorry excuse for a weapon.” With that, he released his attack.

  A lance of golden-grey energy slammed into Mei, drawing a shriek of pain as she was hurled backward. Ifa narrowly dodged the projection attacks she had gathered around him—vicious strikes aimed not just at his core but at his very spirit. Nasty pieces of work, really.

  Twirling his spear, he advanced again, burning with power as he faced down the abomination she had become. Her attacks, devastating for a Highlord and even for an early-ranked Master—such as she had somehow become—were potent. But to him, who could dissect Ethra affinities and techniques with precision, they were merely challenges. Her blows were heavy and powerful, strong enough to split the skull of a Highlord or shatter imbued ribs with a single strike. And that was just the physical damage.

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  “You’ve become a soul-attacking cultivator. Impressive,” Ifa remarked. She growled in response, snarling, “I will feast on your—urk!” Her words were cut short as the butt of his spear smashed into her jaw. She reeled from the strike, barely managing to create distance before Ifa pressed the attack again.

  He began gathering a rune of pure destruction, watching as even the space within his dominion greyed out, leached by the overwhelming power of the technique. Mei released a cry as vibration Ethra rippled through him, attempting to tear him apart from within. It was a good thing his body was sturdy—her attack slammed against his bones as if wielding a hammer, causing aches but failing to deter the inevitable.

  The rune technique was already summoned, and once called, it had to be used. She realized this too late. Tendrils as black as midnight stretched forth in the form of grotesque, elongated arms. Their twisted flesh and spirit-destroying touch reflected the foul path of cultivation she had taken.

  It was futile. Useless. She could no more reach him than an adept could hope to challenge a Highlord. And she must have realized it too late. Both their attacks collided in a silent pulse, drawing all sound away before exploding outward. Ifa’s dominion shattered like glass, winking out and returning them to the rift realm proper.

  Blinking away the aftereffects of their clash, Ifa kept his spear spinning to divert any incoming techniques or attacks. Then he saw her running, fleeing toward the rift’s entrance.

  Alarm seized him as he realized just how vulnerable the people of Ashhaven would be to her wrath. And yet, his priorities crystallized in that moment. For Ashhaven to stand any chance against her and her unknown plans, the sect leader was paramount. Ifa shelved his worry for Ashhaven aside. The people would either hold out in whatever way they could—or perish. It was beyond his power to save them now.

  Tunde, on the other hand, was crushing the Highlord General with such brutal efficiency that Ifa couldn’t help but feel impressed. The new technique, Empty Silence, was a ruthless thing of terrible power. The evidence lay in the now-skinless Highlord Fen, whose raw sinew and exposed flesh painted a grotesque picture. However, Ifa’s initial admiration turned to alarm as Fen began gathering power, reversing the flow of Ethra within his body in a desperate bid to self-detonate.

  Ifa acted swiftly, gathering his aura and enclosing the Highlord in containment chains imbued with intricate arrays. He fortified them with Master-ranked essence flames to anchor the chains firmly in reality. “Can’t have that, can we?” he muttered aloud as the explosion roiled within the bubble. Compressing it further, he hurled it violently into the distance.

  The Highlord’s explosion detonated far away, safely removed from the fighting. Ifa would have preferred to unleash such a maneuver against the Ape King, but the battle between the two Masters was too tightly knit. Both combatants had resorted to exchanging physical blows rather than authority-imbued techniques, their clash a brutal display of strength and endurance.

  *************************************************************

  As Ifa’s first blow demanded all of the Highlady’s concentration to withstand, sending her flying far away, Tunde turned his attention to the Highlord in front of him, his naginata in hand. Rui, recovered but her face clouded with anger, drew her scythe as well—its dark grey blade now coated with the crimson blood of the assassins she had killed.

  The Highlord’s anger was a palpable force, roiling with unrestrained rage as his aura lashed out around him. “You are a fool, child,” he said, watching as Rui brought her scythe up to bear.

  “And you are a traitor,” she replied, blitzing forward before Tunde could stop her. Cursing silently, he joined the fast-paced battle, watching as the Highlord unleashed his full strength. He batted away the scythe’s swipe, though it cut the skin of his palm open—his Highlord body healing just as quickly.

  Tunde’s naginata came down in a deadly arc of aura, clashing with Fen’s blade. If the Highlord had expected Tunde to retreat or rebound from the hit, he was genuinely surprised to see him hold his ground.

  “You... you’re no ordinary lord, are you?” Fen asked, as swirling orbs of ash and flames boiled to life atop his head.

  Zhu appeared, claws outstretched, his aura-imbued gauntlets crashing down with resounding force. Fen was saved by a defensive construct that sprang from his void ring—a human-sized metal puppet imbued with the Highlord’s Ethra. The puppet lunged at Zhu, who was all too happy to engage the construct.

  Rui was back in the fray, appearing next to the Highlord in a gust of ash and flames, swinging her scythe with intent to slice him in two. Fen twisted backward, hands outstretched as Tunde felt the Highlord’s aura seize him by the waist and slam him violently to the ground below.

  His imbued body smashed into the earth from on high, and Tunde’s vision wobbled. He spat blood, even as he watched the Highlord dismantle Rui’s techniques one by one—a sparrow made of flames screeched through the air, only to explode against the Highlord’s aura-covered palm. Forcing himself back into the air, Tunde burned brightly with Ethra as Joran’s palm exploded against the Highlord’s own aura-covered hand, the clash sending both combatants flying backward.

  Fen screamed in agony; the skin of his hand peeled away as void Ethra lingered. Tunde, however, rapidly healed his broken fingers. Forming his own projected Ethra palm, he fired it at the Highlord, who countered with his own. The techniques ripped apart on impact before Tunde was abruptly consumed in a dominion of ash and fire.

  He had prepared for this, knowing the Highlord would want to end the fight quickly. “You might be a strong lord; no doubt fed the best elixirs and items courtesy of your master—but I am a Highlord!” Fen growled, swinging his blade within the fiery domain.

  Tunde’s void space consumed everything, opening and swallowing the Highlord’s Ethra and aura alike. Even the Highlord’s blade vanished as Tunde’s naginata, imbued with Joran’s wrath, shattered the weapon. Panting slightly, Tunde stepped back as Fen gave them space. Zhu and Rui returned to Tunde’s side, Zhu gripping the crumpled form of the metal puppet in his hand.

  “Hardly a challenge,” Zhu said to Tunde, who chuckled slightly.

  “Help us stop her while we can,” Rui pleaded with Fen. But the Highlord only laughed, and Tunde realized he was gathering more Ethra.

  “You do not understand the gravity of the situation here. You think this is just about Ashhaven?” Fen roared, as a massive fist of ash and fire took shape above him. The projection technique grew in strength, the heat of the billowing flames forcing them backward.

  “Whatever plans you and the phantoms have, they won’t work!” Tunde growled.

  Fen laughed mockingly. “Spoken like a true dog of the Talahan clan. Let’s see you stop my Supreme Fist of Fire!” The Highlord roared, sending the fiery fist hurtling toward them.

  Tunde gathered his concept into his naginata. The weapon strained, clearly not built to withstand the force of power he poured into it. “Empty Silence!” he thundered, swinging the naginata with all the strength the technique required. The weapon shattered from the explosive force, leaving Tunde nearly drained.

  The wave of dark grey power tore through the Highlord’s technique, consuming it and wiping out the Highlord’s protective constructs as well. Tunde staggered, caught by Zhu.

  “You shouldn’t push yourself so far,” Zhu chided, his tone uncharacteristically serious. Tunde huffed a laugh, still not used to this new, concerned side of Zhu.

  “That attack—are you a Highlord in disguise?” Rui asked, clearly terrified as the technique cleared. Tunde reeled at the sight of what Empty Silence had done to the Highlord: his skin was gone, leaving raw flesh and sinew exposed. The Highlord trembled in agony, blood pouring from his exposed form.

  “For the glory of the Veiled Ones!” Fen roared, and Tunde’s eyes widened as his Ethra Sight revealed a familiar, horrifying sight—an Ethra core close to explosion. Grabbing Rui and Zhu, he dived down without a word, racing to put as much distance as possible between the glowing Highlord and themselves.

  “Can’t have that now, can we?” Ifa’s voice thundered as an aura bubble encased the Highlord just as he exploded. The bubble rippled with the force of the explosion, shielding them as Tunde breathed hard in relief.

  “That would have been terrible!” Rui exclaimed, aghast, as Ifa floated closer to them. Her eyes widened, and she stammered, “I greet the master.”

  Ifa simply nodded, turning his attention to Tunde and Zhu. “Stay behind me and be careful,” he instructed. Both nodded, following him toward the thundering distance where two masters clashed.

  “What of my mother?” Rui asked as they raced toward the blinding storm of Ethra and aura painting the skies of the rift grey and brown.

  “She escaped,” Ifa said simply, leaving them with that chilling thought.