Zehra’s blade, a thing of frosted aura and sharpened perfection, cleaved one of the reanimated creatures in two. Her nose and mouth were covered in a thin layer of ice, preventing the poisonous mist from entering her body. The domain of water and aura that Akero had summoned shielded her from the once-allies, now twisted by the sentient smoke and poison that filled the area.

  They had been caught off guard the moment the malevolent presence within the rift had seized them, separating them from the rest of their group. Stranded in the heart of a ruin, Zehra, Akero, and three other cultivators were beset on all sides by desecrated bones, animated by the same mist that permeated the air.

  It had been too late for the Highlord to draw them all into the protection of his dominion. As Zehra immediately realized what was happening, she quickly took a healing pill, her weapon at the ready. Her frozen blade style, unique to her clan, was a rare blessing—a sign, some believed, that Clan Acacia was destined for greatness.

  But Zehra grimly thought that none of that would matter if she died here, left to corrode and become another husk for the creatures around them. She summoned ice blades, her projection techniques shattering harmlessly against the aura-imbued forms of the dead.

  Akero fared better. His fluid saber style tore through the creatures, breaking them into pieces while his aura suppressed any attempts they made to rise again. The smoky cloud surrounding them turned liquid, swirling ominously on the outer edges of his dominion, seeking a way in. Moving to her side, his weapon ready, Akero suddenly struck, sending an aura-infused attack into the distance where something exploded.

  The poison-laden smoke in the air dissipated with a screech, and the animated corpses crumbled into dust. Zehra glanced around, her eyes narrowing.

  “What kind of malevolent rift is this?” she hissed, tearing her gaze away from the fallen cultivators who had once been their comrades. Their families would be notified and rewarded, for it was no small feat to raise lords in service of the clan. Despite knowing the risks of the cultivation path, the shock of losing them still stung.

  Akero moved cautiously to the side of their fallen comrades, removing the void rings from their fingers and storing them within his robes. These would be handed over to their families, a small boon for the next generation, as the spoils of lords were unseen treasures for those below their rank. “This is the nature of rifts as you advance, Lady Zehra,” Akero said. “What were once mindless beasts become sentient, worthy adversaries.”

  “Is it the same within Highlord rifts?” she asked, curious as to why she had never heard of such things.

  “Indeed,” he replied, “but it’s something we seldom speak of. Even we do not fully understand the nature of these rifts. Perhaps those above our realms know, but if they do, they do not see fit to teach their lessers.”

  Zehra pondered his words in silence as they began moving in a general direction. Suddenly, Akero froze, raising a hand to stop her. Zehra's blade was out in an instant, her aura spread as far as she could manage. The Highlord’s speed saved her from being skewered as a spear shot out of nowhere, imbued with the same corrosive poison that had once filled the air. Her eyes widened in alarm as Akero caught the weapon with his aura-covered arm, only for it to wrench itself free and return to its owner.

  “Behind me, Zehra!” Akero barked as they both turned to face the figure in the distance. It grasped the spear and leered at them through tiny, glowing purple orbs set in a skeletal face. Clad in rusted armor and overflowing with aura, Zehra could have easily mistaken it for a Highlord.

  The creature pointed a bony finger at them, and Akero sprang into action, his speed astonishing as his sword clashed with the spear. They traded blows with raw speed and strength, Akero bombarding the space around them with his aura as he sought to strike down the creature. Zehra, nearly paralyzed with shock, forced herself out of her stupor, rage fueling her as she charged forward to join the fight.

  She was a mid-realm lord, a rank she had earned through blood, sweat, and cultivation, and she had a patriarch to impress. With one decisive swing, her frost aura solidified the creature, holding it in place as her blade bit deep into its rusted armor, which cracked under the force. Yet, the creature stopped her blade from cutting through completely, its frost-covered bony arm resisting as it fought Akero with its aura alone.

  Sensing the danger, Zehra summoned more frost blades, slamming them into the creature as she wrenched her weapon free, dread rising in her chest as both frost and blade tore through their surroundings. The creature laughed—a hoarse, mocking sound.

  “Amusing,” it rasped as Akero grabbed her, delivering a kick to the creature with such force that Zehra felt her entire frame shake.

  The creature laughed again, slamming its spear into the ground as purple energy blossomed. Akero’s eyes widened in shock as something inscribed itself into the ground with poisonous ethereal power. Summoning his dominion once more, they could only watch as a larger dominion manifested, enveloping the entire area. Zehra turned to Akero, her voice trembling despite her efforts to remain calm.

  “What is that thing?”

  For the first time in a long while, the Highlord was speechless.

  *******************************

  Tunde’s naginata clashed with the creature’s weapon, the force of the armored being’s strike blasting him backward despite his body being reinforced with imbuement techniques. He slammed into the ground but quickly rolled to his feet, narrowly avoiding the blade that crashed into the spot where he had landed, splitting the worn stones with a thunderous crack. The creature laughed with glee, advancing on him as it twirled the naginata in its hands. Its form, ever-shifting between smoke and solid armor, dissolved into poisonous gas, forcing Tunde to use his Ethra sight to track its movements.

  Dodging out of the blade’s path, Tunde desperately sought a weakness in the creature’s attacks but found none. His naginata moved in a blur, barely managing to parry the creature’s relentless strikes as its aura and Ethra sought to engulf him. The weight of the creature’s power, that of a peak Lord realm, pressed down on him, forcing Tunde to activate his void realm technique to reduce the pressure as he continued to fight.

  “Impressive,” it chuckled, as a clawed arm forged from smoke and poisonous Ethra took shape within the boundaries of Tunde’s void realm, much to his alarm. “You possess the beginnings of a powerful realm,” it continued, swinging its naginata in an arc as the poison aura shaped itself into a claw around the weapon, aiming to tear as well as stab.

  Tunde flipped backward, gathering void Ethra to forge spears, which he then hurled at the peak Lord creature. Despite its creaky appearance, its martial skills defied understanding. Ethra sight struggled to keep up, and Ifa, his sentient companion, seemed oddly quiet, as if trying to analyze the creature. “Any help would be greatly appreciated,” Tunde whispered furiously.

  “This fighting style… it’s unlike anything I’ve ever encountered,” Ifa replied hesitantly. Tunde held back his frustration, knowing it wasn’t helping.

  “All martial styles and paths are derived from another. They are simply broader or more refined forms, no matter how unique the weapon or technique,” Ifa continued. “This is a martial skill from another realm entirely. It’ll take time for Ethra sight to break it down. And, I don’t need to remind you—you’re facing a truly competent cultivator.”

  Tunde parried another strike that came dangerously close, the tangy scent of poison thick in the air around him. The creature’s mere presence was enough to stave off the worst effects of his dominion technique, forcing Tunde to intensify the force aspect of his realm. His blows began to carry more weight, and the creature found itself on the defensive, facing a relentless barrage from Tunde, who channeled the path of the boundless asura through his weapon. Each strike was delivered with lethal intent, his aura boiling around him, his core churning out more Ethra.

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  His aura billowed like a smoky veil, taking the shape of a snarling wolf that pounced at the creature. But the creature’s gauntleted arm suddenly flared to life, slamming into the maw of the aura-forged wolf—Tunde’s purest representation of self. As he devoured the poisonous aura, he coughed up black phlegm, the creature’s potent concept burning through him faster than he could refine it.

  The creature chuckled again. “I was right after all,” it rumbled, raising its naginata high to cleave him in two. Tunde forced his arms, imbued with all his strength, to lift his weapon in a desperate parry. Ethra sight revealed only one path for the creature’s weapon to descend upon him, and as Tunde witnessed the raw might of the technique, he trembled, uncertain if he could stop it despite pouring everything into his defense.

  His realm cracked above, drawing both their attentions as a figure dropped through the air—a fist covered in bright yellow and blue Ethra slammed into the creature, sending it crashing into the crumbling buildings to the side. Tunde looked up to see Highlord Ujin, whose robes were torn in places. The Highlord offered him a bright white pill.

  “Purification pill, tier 5. Bite a bit and—” Ujin began, but Tunde took the pill and swallowed it whole, prompting Ujin to stare at him with wide eyes.

  Immediately, Tunde felt the pill’s power unleash like a storm within him, clashing with the poison his core was in the process of devouring. Normally, such raw power would wreak havoc within the core of a Lord, too much for their bodies to sustain. But to Tunde, it was like a brief rain on parched earth—his core greedily absorbed it, using the opportunity to cleanse the poison before refining it into Ethra for his body.

  The black veins receded as Tunde stood straight, spitting out black phlegm and blood before cracking his neck. “My thanks,” he whispered, twirling his naginata as Ujin blinked at him.

  “Lord realm, right?” the Highlord asked. Tunde nodded humbly, and Ujin nodded back, muttering to himself in disbelief, “Lord realm…”

  Tunde took a deep breath, leveling his naginata as he waited for the creature to emerge from the rubble. It did so with a laugh that rumbled like thunder. “Impressive, you survived too!” it said, addressing Ujin, whose aura flowed around him with a soft yet steady presence, a stark contrast to Tunde’s wild, brimming energy.

  “I wondered how long it would take for this tiny realm of mine to find some realm to latch onto. Tell me, before I end your lives, what plane or world do you come from?” it asked. Tunde remained silent, deferring to Ujin to respond.

  “You’re nothing but an echo of this realm—an abomination of reality bent on creating some existence for itself,” the Highlord replied. The creature stilled for a moment, then burst into hysterical laughter, its armor rattling as it gripped its large naginata in one hand, the weapon coming alive with glowing purple inscriptions.

  “Oh, the absurdity!” it exclaimed, as if shocked. “That I would be called an abomination!” it thundered, its aura flaring up, a malevolent force that pressed down on Tunde and Ujin, causing them both to wince. This was no ordinary lord’s aura, Tunde realized. It felt far too powerful, almost approaching the peak of Highlord strength.

  “Such control of authority!” Ifa marveled, while Tunde wondered whose side it was on as the creature twirled its naginata. “You are right to call me an echo, for I am simply what remains of my true strength, had it not been for those bastards!” it snarled, the blade of its naginata burning a bright purple as the inscriptions glowed even more intensely.

  “But give thanks to whatever false higher being you serve, for you shall become a footstone in my ascension!” it roared, charging at them. Tunde moved left as the Highlord went right, both of them needing no words as they faced the creature. Its aura became a grasping hand, intent on holding them down. Tunde’s void realm dispelled it, reducing the projection technique to mere corrosive aura, which he deftly avoided as he launched himself at the creature with his naginata swinging.

  Ujin attacked from the other side, his Ethra and aura blazing as his punch sent shockwaves past the creature just as Tunde’s naginata aimed for its head. The creature stopped Tunde’s weapon, glancing at him with purple pinpricks of light beneath its helmet, even as both Tunde and Ujin’s realms pressed down on it.

  Void-forged spears formed in an instant as Tunde released his naginata, Joran’s Wrath blazing to life in his fist. Layered with aura, the power surged as he slammed into the creature just as Ujin delivered a heavy kick to its midsection, sending the creature flying backward.

  It crashed into the ground with raw force, its rusted armor shaking from the power of Tunde’s technique, the creature’s form cracking like glass. Breathing heavily, Tunde carefully picked up his weapon, blade pointed at the prone figure on the ground. The creature spoke softly.

  “Adamath,” it croaked, causing both Tunde and Ujin to freeze. “That explains it,” it continued, chuckling but making no move to rise. As they approached, Tunde watched as its armor dissolved into dust, its aura gathering formlessly into a ball. The purple pinpricks of light that served as its eyes shone through towards them.

  “Your fruitless venture into this domain of mine will be your undoing, you and those who came with you,” it said as Tunde’s Ethra sight revealed the creature’s true power—a Highlord. He had been right all along; it had fought shrouded until Ujin’s arrival. “A shame though, that only four of your number remain. I would have loved to see what your realm offers,” it chuckled.

  Four? That couldn’t be right—ten cultivators had entered the realm. What had happened to the rest? Tunde glanced at the Highlord, whose face had darkened. “What did you do to them?” Ujin asked, his tone lethal.

  “No weakling survives this realm. You both are testaments to that,” it answered as it began to dissipate. “Beyond these walls lies my abode. Come find me if you want to save your heiress,” it chuckled before vanishing.

  Tunde turned fully to Ujin, who had gone rigid, his face nearly white with shock. “Zehra,” he whispered. “We have no time to waste,” Tunde said, staring at the ruins ahead of them.

  “No, we don’t,” Ujin replied, marching forward.

  “Whatever faction that creature belonged to, this is just a taste of what you’ll face in the near future,” Ifa said. “The path of the void devourer has placed a burden I did not foresee nor wish for you to face so soon.”

  “And what is that?” Tunde asked.

  “To watch the pathways, the path walker, protector of Adamath. Where the creator makes pathways, the devourer defends them,” Ifa explained.

  Tunde glanced back, toward the distance where he had left Sera, the cultivator struggling against the corrosive poison within her body. “There is nothing you can do for her right now,” Ifa said softly as Tunde gritted his teeth.

  “Move, Lord,” Ujin called, drawing Tunde’s attention as the Highlord pushed onward. “Your friend might be one of the four left alive,” he added, taking to the air in a burst of aura.

  Tunde realized the implications, even as he doubted the possibility. If Ujin was right, then one more person was still alive, but with another Highlord in their midst, Tunde doubted the last individual was the heiress of Acacia.

  *********************************

  Sera, a cultivator of the Crimson Touch, hovered on the edge between life and death as she cycled her Ethra in meditation, barely holding back the worst of the poison. She bit down on another pill she had kept tucked under her tongue, the sting of a tier 4 purification pill making her body shudder.

  All she could do was breathe, each breath following the cultivation method of the Crimson Touch, though it often hitched painfully. The black veins on her body receded and returned with every breath, the battle to keep the poison from reaching her core locked in a stalemate. Sera refused to relent, the poisonous aura attacking her mind and body, but she hadn’t survived years in the wastelands as a ruthless member of a tribe just to die to poison.

  No, if she were to die, it would be in combat, with Slaughter in hand, to someone worthy—perhaps even Tunde. Sera hadn’t forgotten her oath to him, to stand by his side and be his blade, but to do that, she had to hone herself first. No useful blade was ever left behind.

  This profound truth resonated within her as she took a shuddering, painful breath, feeling the swirl of poison within her body as she began to forcefully expel it through her pores. Little by little, the poison seeped out as black, beady droplets, leaving the surrounding area of her skin blackened and dead-looking. But with her affinity for blood and flesh, she was meant to survive situations like this.

  Eyes tightly shut, she pushed on, teeth gritted as she gripped the hilt of Slaughter. The blade’s comforting touch urged her to push harder, even as she bit down on another pill, her already blistered tongue stinging further. She was Sera of the Crimson Touch. She had defied death over and over, and she would do it again—if not for any other reason than to feel her blade parting flesh once more.

  Yes, she was born for bloodshed and battle, and, hegemons willing, she would feel it again. Her aura flared as Sera gathered what remained of the poison into her fingertips. Without hesitation, she stretched them out and cut them off. Blinding pain shot through her as she stifled a scream of agony, letting her flesh affinity slowly heal her as she bit down on another pill, this time a healing one. She felt a sense of pride in the methodical way she had arranged the pills beneath her tongue.

  Breathing heavily, she stared at her reformed fingers, clenching them as she tested the new digits. Sera got to her feet, Slaughter drawn and ready. A discarded blade would only stay that way until there was an enemy to sharpen its edges on.