Devouring the essence of a Grand Magus expert was no simple feat. The process demanded far more ti than anticipated. Consuming their core energy was one thing—but refining it, distilling every strand of power into sothing usable within Ery’s own system, was an entirely different challenge.
At the very least, Ery felt one imdiate benefit. An invigorating rush of energy coursed through his veins as his spirit pool brimd once more. Strength returned to his limbs, and his senses sharpened with renewed clarity.
Only then did he lift his gaze, shifting his focus across the battlefield, where the chaos of combat still raged.
With his essence stabilized, Ery no longer struggled to pierce through the temporal distortion that blanketed the battlefield. His body surged forward as he arrived at Morgana’s side within seconds.
Waiting there was Tolaro. The dark elf expression twisted in mild irritation as Ery landed, annoyed at yet another interruption. But his displeasure wasn’t solely directed at Ery.
Not only had Ery defeated Kronos, but the other battles were over as well. Livi and Vayarel approached—wounded, but alive. The skeletal beasts had been obliterated, but at great cost. The last of Ery’s godly beasts had perished to secure that victory.
Now, five figures hovered across from Tolaro, encircling him: Morgana, Livi, Vayarel, and both Erys. They ford a fractured but unwavering wall, bloodied and bruised, yet unbowed.
Talaro, however, showed no fear.
Instead, he smiled. His amused chuckle rising like a slow boil. "Hahaha... And how many of you can still fight?" He sneered, his voice thick with mockery.
And indeed, his words carried weight.
Vayarel and Morgana were both exhausted and wounded—any further fighting could cost them their lives. Livi, despite suffering only a minor injury, had little power to face a three-cosmos expert. As for Dark Ery, his true clone body was on the brink of destruction.
Yet despite it all, the five stood united, determined to fight until the end.
Seeing their defiance, Talaro’s smirk grew wider.
"Don’t worry, I still have sothing for you all to play with... Now that you’ve destroyed the skeletal beast, I can finally let them out."
The air trembled as he channeled a spell. Swirling glyphs of void carved themselves into the air, and multiple spatial rifts tore open behind him.
What stepped out made Ery’s stomach churn.
Eight figures erged—humanoid in shape but grotesque in detail. A man with half his face missing. An elven woman whose spine jutted out unnaturally. Even a massive giant race, lumbering and eyeless. Their skin was deathly pale, stretched taut over rotting muscle and exposed bone. Glowing blue light radiated from their hollow eyes and veins.
These weren’t ordinary undead, as each of them exuded faint cosmic energy.
Ery’s breath caught in his throat as realization struck.
These were not conjured creatures. These were corpses—the dead who had once fought for their freedom in this realm. The very ones whose mories had echoed through the ancient ruins. Here they were, raised from their resting places to serve as puppets.
"You... you monster!" Ery spat, his voice trembling with disgust and rage. It was beyond desecration—it was cruelty carved into the bones of the dead.
Talaro chuckled, amused by the horror on Ery’s face. "I would have taken all of them," he said, "but so were just too damaged. These were the... better specins."
"Sick bastard!!"
"Hahaha... Why?! You’ve read their moirs, haven’t you? How they wished to get you out of this place... By bringing them, I rely fulfilled their wishes..."
Ery could no longer find the words to respond. Instead, he tightened his grip on his sword and prepared to fight.
"Good... Don’t worry. I’ll grant the sa privilege to all of you!"
As soon as Talaro’s words rang through the air, eight undead figures burst forward in pairs—rushing toward the defenders like hounds unleashed. Each twisted, pallid corpse seed to instinctively sense its target, splitting off to confront Morgana, Vayarel, Livi, and the dark Ery, leaving the light Ery alone to face the dark elf himself.
Though irritated by this turn of events, Ery didn’t let the frustration cloud his mind. He took a deep breath, focused, and cast out his divine sense. Imdiately, he began scanning the battlefield, observing the undead. The grotesque creatures moved with jerky, unnatural steps, but their auras still radiated the latent power of what they once were—Grand Magus realm experts.
Thankfully, they no longer retained the full might or mastery of their past lives. Their minds were fragnts, echoes of the once-great souls now lost. They fought with basic spells and crude combat techniques, just enough to be dangerous. Yet, their cosmic-forged bodies made them formidable, especially against Ery’s weary companions—most of whom were already battered from earlier clashes.
It quickly beca clear which among them were at the greatest risk. Livi, who was the weakest among the group. And the dark Ery, already in a crumbling clone body, was monts away from collapse. These two stood at the brink.
Before Ery could finish his assessnt, space warped around him. Talaro appeared like a phantom from the void, his chilling sabers slashing down without warning.
"Don’t ignore !" the dark elf spat, his eyes flashing with fury.
Ery reacted just in ti, raising his Elysian form shields to et the blow. The clash erupted in a burst of frost and sparks, the sheer impact blasting shockwaves through the air.
A new chaotic duel erupted.
Talaro’s spatial mastery was both swift and erratic—phasing in and out, blinking from one position to another with seemingly no pattern. But Ery’s mastery of temporal law allowed him to match the rhythm. Every sudden phase was countered with a shift in ti’s flow—faster, slower, pausing just enough to redirect or intercept the strikes. At monts when his defense faltered, the Elysian roots sprang from the ground like instinctive guardians, blocking or wrapping around the sabers to deflect their path.
But still, Talaro’s strength was imnse—overwhelming. When Ery was forced to retreat under a barrage of relentless slashes, he unleashed the power of his soul. A radiant glow burst from within him [Spectral Gaze] manifesting the vibrant, level 5 pagoda, shimring with the hues of all eight elents.
The ntal shockwave that followed was enough to montarily stagger Talaro, slowing his assault—but not breaking it. The two remained locked, a blur of power and intent, neither able to gain full advantage.
Elsewhere, the battlefield cried out.
A scream tore through the air.
Dark Ery had been impaled—one of the undead had pierced him through from behind. But even as his blood spilled, his twin claws gripped the second undead by the skull and ripped it apart.
It was a suicidal assault—but a calculated one.
The mont the second undead fell, the dark Ery’s clone body could no longer hold together. It began to crumble, breaking apart into spirals of dark mist and blood.
But the soul refused to yield.
With sheer force of will, the soul of dark Ery surged upward, a streak of shadow across the sky. It darted toward Vayarel.
The wounded grand magus did not resist. His eyes flickered once in silent consent, and then his body arched in a burst of light as the soul possession began.
Vayarel’s fra convulsed, his body trembling as the essence of the dark Ery filled him. Morgana and Livi stood back-to-back, defending fiercely against the surrounding undead, buying ti for the possession to complete.
And then—he rose.
The dark Ery, reborn in Vayarel’s body. His presence was overwhelming. Eyes burning with power, Khaos rippling through his veins, he raised both arms.
"Let’s finish them all."
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