Sera’s crimson touch path was a thing of pure brute force, coupled with a deft awareness of blood and skill. Against most opponents, it was as close to a death sentence as one could ever get. It was why blood cultivators were often eliminated on sight, unless they belonged to a true and respectable faction. Their techniques manipulated the lifeblood of their enemies, bending and twisting it to suit their needs. Unless the cultivator had complete mastery over their bodily functions, something few lords and below could boast, they were doomed.

  The foe she faced, however, was not like any other enemy. This one was not of flesh and blood but of pure, living metal. The decayed skin had sloughed off the moment she had tried seizing it with her concept. She watched with wide eyes as a metallic creature with glowing blue eyes faced her, its hands morphing into blades that rivaled slaughter for sharpness. All across the sealed space, which was large enough to contain every cultivator fighting, techniques flew through the air.

  She could sense Tunde somewhere nearby—his concept felt like a yawning, bottomless pit, brimming with unreleased energy as it clashed with the power of a Highlord. She couldn’t look. She couldn’t take her attention away from the creature that hunted her with pure malevolence, its joints clicking as it moved with oiled, seamless attacks. It used no projection technique, relying solely on its imbued body that deflected her blood attacks like they were nothing.

  She was frustrated. Every move, every feint, was analyzed by the creature. And yet, Sera could feel excitement bubbling within her chest. She had just advanced to the peak of the Lord Realm. This was the challenge she needed to push herself to the next stage of advancement. Its sharp claws raked close to her face as Sera deflected the strike, sparks shooting from the point of contact with her blade. Gathering her aura, she sent an aura blade attack at the creature.

  It dodged, flipping through the air with Sera right behind it, her hair billowing in the wind. Its eyes glowed brighter as instincts forced her to roll aside. A beam of pure lightning Ethra shot from its eyes, crashing into a shop and completely immolating it in a fiery explosion. Her robes flapping as she floated in the air, Sera gathered her projection technique again. Blood swirled next to her before taking the shape of blades, burning bright with her Ethra.

  Sera had noticed Tunde using a foreign power she had been too embarrassed to inquire about—something akin to a flame that burned bright, even brighter than when she infused her attacks with as much aura as possible. "Essence flames," she had heard him say softly, whenever he seemed to be speaking into the air, an act she now knew to be him conversing with the invisible elder.

  The creature was on her, its arms moving in a deadly blur. She matched it blow for blow, keeping pace with its mechanical movements. Her concept of flesh empowered her, imbuing her body with never-ending strength, allowing her to match its speed. She dodged another swipe of its claws, imbuing her blade with aura before slicing upwards, severing its limb in one fluid stroke. She kicked backward, putting as much distance between her and the creature’s main body as possible.

  The creature didn’t seem fazed. Sera wondered if it was even capable of such an emotion. Its liquid metal stump flailed like tentacles, searching for its lost limb. It opened its mouth again, lightning gathering in a blink. Sera cocooned herself in her aura—her dominion over blood was utterly useless in this situation, something she realized as she layered aura after aura atop one another and waited for the worst.

  The beam of scorching lightning shot toward her, crashing into her shield of aura. It wobbled dangerously, her aura evaporating as quickly as she replaced it. Sera gritted her teeth and weathered it. When the assault finished, the creature seemed to wobble on its feet, drained of Ethra. Etchings on its form flickered in and out of existence, and the severed limb nearby melted into a pool of silvery metal, drained of power.

  Sera shot forward, her blade swinging down when her instincts screamed at her. She tucked midair into a roll, putting as much distance as she could between herself and the creature, which suddenly released a shriek so loud it made her bones quiver. Gritting her teeth at the disorienting attack, she prepared to defend herself when the creature was suddenly slammed from above, driven through the building they had been fighting on by a figure Sera recognized immediately.

  The large, hefty, and muscular figure had a calm silver aura around him. With a flick of his hand, he forcibly tore the head off the creature’s body, essence flames bursting to life in his hand and melting the skull. Sera bowed as she had been taught by Tunde over and over.

  “Venerable Highlord,” she greeted the man, who had a thin-wrapped substance he smoked hanging from his lips.

  “Blood girl,” Bajun replied, and Sera stiffened slightly. “Nasty pieces of work, technocrats,” Bajun said as he floated back up, his eyes on the battle raging around them. Sera turned as well, prepared to join when Bajun spoke again.

  “No,” he ordered, and she froze. Turning to face the floating Highlord, whose gaze didn’t leave the battle, Bajun continued, “That is not a battle you want to get involved in.”

  “Tunde—”

  “—is already a Highlord at this point,” he interrupted. “You know that well enough. You, on the other hand, don’t even seem able to use essence flames,” he pointed out, and she gritted her teeth in impotent rage. He floated past her before pausing to glance back at her.

  “Between you and Tunde, you hold the risk of becoming an Asura more than he does. What you do in situations like these determines just how drenched your road of advancement will be. Think on that,” he said before shooting toward the battle.

  Sera stood there, in the ruins where she had fought the construct, sword in hand, watching the rapidly retreating form of the Highlord in silence.

  ************************

  Tunde twirled his naginata, going at the artificer again for what seemed like the sixth time. His Ethra sight predicted and anticipated every strike from the artificer, whom he now realized was a Highlord. The female sprouted metallic blades from her back, resembling the extra limbs of a spider, each coated with blade and lightning Ethra. She unleashed projection techniques while slashing, raining down lethal attacks powerful enough to harm him.

  It was bad enough that he was fighting in front of Ujin and couldn’t use his relic to end the battle once and for all. Tunde was left wondering how the female still had an endless supply of Ethra.

  "Their cores are... tampered with," Ifa said, as if reading his thoughts—not for the first time. Tunde dodged a lightning serpent that crackled with blade Ethra.

  Ujin crashed fully into it, his imbued body of strength affinity weathering the attacks as he tried to close the distance between himself and the artificer. The female kept him at arm’s length, as if she knew well enough that the Highlord posed a greater threat to her than Tunde—or at least, she thought so. Tunde intended to correct that misconception.

  Gathering void forge, he created spears and shot them at her, restraining himself since the beginning of the fight. He had only been using his crude naginata techniques and his boundless Asura fighting style. The spears flew in deadly silence. The artificer saw them and created a shield of lightning to stop them.

  The spears broke through the shield with as much force as Tunde's Ethra, dissolving the surrounding Ethra. In the blink of an eye, Tunde closed the distance, pushing his body to the limit as he imbued *Joran’s Wrath* on the naginata. Its blade glowed a dark grey before descending on the Highlord, who snarled. One of her metallic limbs, wreathed in lightning, acted like a snake. It coiled around him, sending jolts of raw lightning through his body. Tunde gritted his teeth as his naginata connected with one of the limbs before the spasming reached his hand.

  The blade sheared through the metal tentacle, and the artificer screamed in pain, as if feeling it physically. This disrupted the barrage of attacks she was sending toward Ujin. The Highlord took advantage of the opening, slamming into her and sending her crashing into the ground below. Tunde fell as well, his body spasming from the shock as the attack threatened to burn his Ethra lines to cinders.

  "I’ll help you absorb the worst of it," Ifa said grimly within his mind, and Tunde felt the pain lessen significantly.

  Panting as he got to his feet, he watched Ujin battle the artificer. She kept throwing construct after construct into the air, each creating formations that barely deflected the Highlord’s punches before shattering or attacking with precise, yet futile, techniques. Tunde tore the silver limb off his body and prepared to move again when he felt another Highlord’s presence at his side.

  "Venerable Highlord," he greeted, already aware of the identity of the Highlord.

  "You bring strange foes with you, Tunde," Bajun said, drawing a large hammer from his void ring. He glanced at Tunde before shooting toward the direction of the fight.

  Steadying himself, Ifa spoke. "This would be the best time to leave the fight," he suggested as Tunde frowned. "Yes, yes, I know what I said about defeating the filthy defiler," Ifa added, using a term Tunde wasn’t familiar with.

  "But the artificer came after you, and from the looks of things, it’s a low-ranking one—not even up to Borus’s level, I believe. Probably an artifice adept. Of which faction within the cult, I can only assume the Sculptors and not the Harmonizers. Then again, both factions are as similar as the other, and—"

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  "Ifa," Tunde interrupted, cutting short the spirit who seemed to take a deep breath.

  "Right, right, forgive me. What I’m implying is that this artificer might be the first of many, a scouting force. And believe me, it won’t take long for the rest of the cults, especially the Heralds, to investigate this matter," Ifa warned, and Tunde nodded.

  "Too much trouble than it’s worth," he said softly.

  "Precisely. Clan Acacia being curious is one thing; the cults are another matter entirely," Ifa said grimly.

  "Zhu?" Tunde suddenly asked.

  "Well, cultivating, training. You need to get away from Shimmersteel now," Ifa urged again.

  Tunde spared one last glance at the battle between the artificer and the Highlords before shooting away. A blur of red aura caught up to him as Sera looked him over.

  "Leaving a fight?" she asked, as if not believing it.

  "We need to get out of Shimmersteel before more trouble comes for me," he said. Sera seemed relieved.

  "Finally," she muttered as the two of them reached the end of the barrier, where Tunde paused.

  "How did Bajun get through the barrier?" he asked suddenly. Sera paused to think.

  "He must have been close by before the battle started," she suggested.

  Tunde nodded. "They knew about the artificer long before we did. I was merely bait, meaning they knew the artificer was after me," Tunde hissed.

  "We really need to get out of Shimmersteel," Sera repeated, echoing Ifa’s thoughts as Tunde spoke.

  "Ifa, the barrier," he said.

  The spirit seemed to swell within him. "Our bloodline is blessed with Ethra sight, the second language of reality, the first being runes, the coveted and tightly held secrets of the arcanists," Ifa began as Tunde listened impatiently.

  Now was not the time for a lesson, but Ifa seemed determined to give one. "This is merely a bastardized version of those runes—half-understood words of power gathered into what they assumed was a masterpiece," he continued.

  "And you know this how?" Tunde asked.

  "I told you, I learned from the arcanists. The rest is history. Now let me concentrate," Ifa said, shushing him.

  Tunde knew there was more to the story, but he would get it out of the artificer later, when he had time. He felt a tingling in his head as his Ethra sight blazed to life. Tunde saw tiny white writings floating in his gaze.

  "Ignore them. Pick the blue glowing ones," Ifa ordered, his tone serious.

  Unsure of what was being asked of him, Tunde complied, selecting the blue etchings. They glowed brighter.

  "Now run your concept through it," Ifa ordered.

  Tunde's ears popped as he did so, the etchings turning from blue to grey before lighting up in flames. The entire barrier shattered when they all connected in what looked like an array formation.

  A breath of fresh air poured into the area as Tunde took a deep breath. He and Sera pushed on toward the White Crane. All around the city, cultivators of Clan Acacia rushed toward the destroyed barrier. Tunde and Sera somehow made their way past them unnoticed, no doubt because everyone’s focus was on the Highlords' battle. As they reached the eerily silent pleasure district, all the buildings had been locked tight—all except the White Crane house, where Tunde paused, holding Sera back.

  She froze, silently drawing her blade as she glanced at him curiously. Tunde pointed around, at all the silent and darkened buildings, save for the White Crane, where a dim light came from the otherwise quiet tavern. Sera’s eyes widened as she nodded. Tunde, gripping his naginata tightly, prepared for the worst as he moved slowly into the building.

  As he passed through the doors, a ripple ran through him. Pain wracked his body unlike anything he had ever felt before. Ifa screamed in his mind.

  "Walkers!" the spirit shouted in alarm.

  All around the room, purple etchings blazed to life. Tunde had walked right into a formation that seemed to eat into both him and his concept with ruthless precision. His eyes watered and stung; it felt like a hundred insects were biting into him all at once. He crashed to his knees, with Sera at his side, gripping him tightly. Her face was as white as a sheet as she stared ahead.

  "ENOUGH!" Ifa roared as he manifested from Tunde. A wave of what looked like essence flames tore out of him, ripping apart the etchings. Tunde panted, dropping his naginata, his hands shaking.

  "Impressive," a voice said from the front as the entire room rippled. Tunde was met with a sight he couldn’t have imagined, even in his deepest nightmares.

  "A Seeker, alive and well? The cult will pay big money for you," the figure said. Tunde’s gaze focused on a dark, cloaked figure sitting casually in a chair, legs crossed on the table.

  The scene around them was one of pure bloodshed and gore—so much that Tunde felt bile rise in his throat. Bodies were pinned to the walls and tables, held aloft by knives, their blood pooling on the ground below. Words Tunde couldn’t translate were written in the blood, scrawled across the walls. Just trying to read them made his head throb with pain.

  The room continued to ripple as Tunde switched on Ethra sight, pushing himself to his feet. The movement seemed to lessen the rippling. Grabbing his naginata, he moved alongside Sera, eyes fixed on the man who now pulled back the hood of his black robe. Tunde took in a deep breath.

  They shared the same skin color, but that was where the similarities ended. While Tunde had black hair, the man sported pure white hair, with red tattoos all over his skin and the darkest eyes Tunde had ever seen—inky black, with no irises. The man grinned, flashing a pearly white smile as he pointed a dagger at Tunde.

  "This is bad for business, you know. We were sure we had eradicated your kind ages ago. How did one little pup go unnoticed under our very gaze?" the figure said as he got to his feet.

  Tunde flinched, realizing he had unconsciously stepped back. Eyes wide at his own reaction, he heard the figure laugh. He remembered the robe now, from when he was little—a telltale sign of terror whenever it appeared.

  Flashbacks hit him as Tunde felt the cold of the Crystalreach blizzard on his skin once more. He could taste the death and decay in the air, mixed with the sickly sweet scent of the same presence that had haunted his childhood. The illusion users, Mist Walkers, Scions of Lysandria—the bane of his people.

  And one was here, right now, staring him down.

  "You couldn’t stay down, could you?" the man continued, leisurely moving toward Tunde. "No, you had to announce yourself. Tell me, did you think no one would remember what you are? What you could potentially possess?"

  "And what is it that I possess?" Tunde asked softly but firmly.

  The figure cocked his head, stopping. "You don’t know, do you?" He laughed before throwing the dagger at Tunde.

  Sera shot to the left as Tunde ducked to the right, but he felt a stabbing pain in his shoulder. His eyes widened. He had dodged the weapon—the dagger—so why was it biting deep into his flesh?

  "Illusions!" Ifa screamed in his mind.

  The spirit was panicking. For the first time, Tunde heard unadulterated fear in Ifa’s voice.

  "They use illusions well—our bane. Ethra sight! Let the sight guide you!" Ifa urged.

  Tunde rolled, tearing the dagger out of his shoulder. He looked at the Mist Walker, watching as the man dodged an aura blade from Sera. The figure’s form turned to actual mist as another attack passed through him, before he reappeared behind Sera, dagger raised.

  Tunde threw his naginata without a second thought, the weapon shooting past Sera and into the figure, who turned to mist again. The weapon embedded itself into the wall. Ethra sight had Tunde bringing his arms up to guard as the figure suddenly appeared at his side, a kick blasting him into the wall with enough force that Tunde could have sworn the Mistwalker had a strong affinity as well.

  He slammed into the wall but recovered quickly.

  "Impressive, show me more!" the figure said, laughing as he engaged Tunde in hand-to-hand combat. Ethra sight struggled to differentiate illusions from real blows as Tunde realized the Mistwalker now held a blade that cut into him. Death by a dozen cuts—that was evidently the Mistwalker's strategy as Tunde fought back.

  The figure turned to mist again, dodging another attack from Sera before appearing behind her, grabbing her neck, and slamming her into the ground, shattering the wooden floor into splinters and blood. Tunde roared in rage, his aura swelling as pure blind fury clouded his mind. He could hear Ifa’s voice in the back of his mind, but he paid no attention to it.

  He wanted the cultivator dead—now. The Mistwalker, this enemy of his people, had slain more of his kin than he could count. And for what? Power? To walk between realms? It made no sense. Adamath was steeped in bloodshed, but the blood of an entire bloodline and lineage? He would have his revenge.

  Ethra sight blurred as his attacks touched only mist, while the cultivator calmly, enjoyably, took him apart. His techniques meant nothing; his cultivation and fighting style evaporated into blind rage as Tunde imbued his body with pure intent to crush the cultivator.

  "Pitiful," the walker said, delivering a blow that cracked Tunde’s face and twisted him through the air before he crashed into a table.

  Through bloodied eyes, Tunde saw Sera’s unresponsive body on the floor. Was she dead? Would he follow her? So many unresolved issues—would he die here, cut short as well? Struggling to his feet, he heard the footsteps of the walker behind him before the man grabbed his head and raised him up, chuckling.

  "Perhaps I was mistaken, and I apologize," the Mistwalker began. "You see, when the Brotherhood increased the bounty on your head, and I saw what you looked like, what they called you—the Dark Wolf—I couldn’t believe it!" he exclaimed, choking Tunde.

  "A real-life Seeker, a bloodline of the accursed Alana. I was torn between contacting the cult or hunting you down myself. Well, I’m glad I didn’t make the cult look like a fool—you’re merely a bastard of the Seekers, nothing more. At least you’d be worth a few hundred thousand lumens," the figure said, laughing as Tunde gripped the walker’s hand.

  The man’s eyes flickered from Tunde’s bloodied face to his hand, gripping his with amusement.

  Tunde choked out words. "What? I know you’re dying, but do speak up," the Mistwalker taunted.

  "Your name," Tunde croaked.

  The man looked taken aback. "That’s of no consequence to you," he replied with a laugh.

  "Pity," Tunde said and touched the walker’s chest. A spear of pure midnight pierced through him.

  The walker blinked, as if unable to believe what he saw, stumbling backward and gripping the spear as blood pooled beneath his robes, pouring down in copious amounts. Tunde stumbled, steadying himself with a table as he gripped the end of the spear, spitting blood.

  "Sera," he said.

  The walker’s eyes widened as he turned, only for a serrated blade to tear through his shoulder, severing one of his arms. He tried to scream, but choked on his blood. Tunde cracked his neck, his injury healing as he felt the walker attempt to turn to mist, the room wobbling.

  Tunde unleashed his void realm, swallowing the walker’s Ethra and cutting him off as the room steadied. Sera, too, spat blood, wiping her face.

  Confusion, terror, and shock lined the walker’s face. "You must be wondering—how?" Tunde said. "Well, I don’t intend on telling you, nor wasting breath on you. You caught me off guard, and that’s the end of that—never again."

  He took a deep breath before nodding at Sera, who violently tore off the walker’s second hand with her bare hands, blood spattering her face.

  "I know what your kind looks like, what you can do, and I know better now," Tunde said, crouching in front of the walker, who was clearly on his last legs. "Underestimate me, and I bite back. The moon of Luwaye rises again. The Seekers howl. We create and devour—ours is the path of infinity," he recited as Ifa fed him every word.

  With his imbued hand, he pushed it through the walker’s stomach, ripping out his core. Ifa manifested next to him.

  "You will serve us well, servant of Lysandria," Ifa said softly.

  Tunde withdrew the spear, which transformed into an axe—his first axe, an exact likeness. He buried it in the walker’s head, the weapon splitting him into two separate parts. Tunde breathed heavily and knelt in the aftermath of his destruction.