One might imagine that a battle between figures akin to gods in the eyes of ordinary humans would be a long and devastating clash.
Devastating? Yes.
Long?
Only if both sides were evenly matched.
In a fight where power was unequal from the very start, even a god could fall in an instant.
Of course, the force capable of erasing such a being in the blink of an eye had to be just as terrifying.
Had the battle between the mage and Michael been a one-on-one duel, Michael would have lost easily.
Battle experience. A vast arsenal of spells.
Michael had none of these—at least, not compared to that mage.
However, a one-on-one fight was never an option for Michael.
He was a Necromancer.
"I think this is far enough," Michael muttered, scanning his surroundings.
It was another ruined community, much like the rest of the city.
Through his senses, he picked up faint signs of life around.
The Association had likely done what they could here before moving on—for now.
But for Michael, this place was far enough.
Sitting atop a rooftop, he took a deep breath, calming himself.
"Cultivators are strong," he mused.
In spellcasting, at least, that mage had been far ahead of him.
But Michael didn't feel discouraged.
He had only been a supernatural for barely a week.
Now that he thought about it—he had co far. And fast. Just when he thought he was moving too slowly.
His gaze swept over the ruins around him.
"So many things have happened in just a few days."
A strange emotion stirred within him, but he pushed it aside.
He had gotten what he wanted. Now, it was ti to return to his community before soone else arrived first and they ran into trouble with his undead, or vice versa.
As for the result of his battle with the mage? That could wait.
As for taking a human life for the first ti?
Michael didn't even think about it.
Maybe it was because he had already killed too much in a short span—today and in the past few days.
Maybe he had grown numb to it.
Or maybe he was just coping.
Only Michael would know.
But just as he was about to leave, he felt movent from within the building beneath him.
"Hmm, four people? That's a lot. Lucky people."
Michael rely thought to himself, but just as he was about to move, he paused.
A faint wail seed to whisper to him.
Slowly, Michael lowered himself on the building below, his expressionless eyes flashing for a brief mont.
A second later, an eerie butterfly appeared beside him, fluttering around as a mist began to rise.
[Undead Phantom Morpho LV 2]
[{Illusory Mirage} (Basic Mastery) Proficiency: 6.7%]
Creates multiple shimring duplicates of itself to confuse enemies. At basic mastery, the illusions move erratically but fade upon contact, making it harder for foes to pinpoint the real creature.
Mist? No.
The power of illusion slowly enveloped the building beneath Michael.
In the apartnt building, the four n who had initially started with corpses to themselves prepared to move out.
As for how things ended up that way, they couldn't quite tell.
All they knew was that sothing within them had urged them to act, whispering that what they were doing was right—pleasurable, even.
It wasn't that they hadn't done it before, but never in a situation as serious as this—yet they felt an irresistible urge to unearth even deeper desires.
Even now, the urge to cause more chaos simred within them, but the pressing need to escape the city forced them to suppress their bloodlust.
If Michael knew about this, he would attribute it to the cracks.
As he had suspected, if the only thing the cracks did was release monsters, then in a certain way, it wasn't the worst possible outco.
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Unfortunately, from the 'ghosts' he had encountered, it was clear that sothing even stranger was happening in the city.
Being influenced by the chaotic energy in the air seed very plausible.
"When did the fog appear?"
One of the n cautiously opened the entrance door, only to be t with a thick, swirling mist that obscured almost everything beyond.
The others behind him also noticed the change, their expressions turning serious.
"Close the door," one of them stated as another moved toward a window to check outside.
'Huh? Was this window always open?' he briefly wondered but quickly dismissed the thought.
Just like the scene at the entrance, the outside was shrouded in fog.
"Is sothing weird happening again?" the man muttered worriedly, unaware of the glowing green eyes that had appeared behind him.
"Hmm? Wait. The fog is getting inside?"
He noticed the mist creeping in through the gaps and imdiately shut the window, but it made no difference—the fog only grew denser.
Just as he turned to speak, his body suddenly stiffened.
Confusion flashed across his face as he struggled to move. Then, he felt a cold hand wrap around his neck.
A mont later, his neck snapped.
As his vision darkened, the last thing he heard was a voice—deep and enigmatic, yet strangely youthful.
"Trash alive. You'll make an excellent undead."
Michael stared at the lifeless body in his grip, his expression unreadable.
Now that he had a mont to reflect, he finally thought about his actions.
Yet, even as he did, he felt nothing.
No guilt. No hesitation.
If anything…
He felt a little excited.
Such fragility… It gave him an intoxicating sense of power.
However, Michael didn't allow himself to get lost in the feeling.
"Old Man Liu and Teacher Brian were right. Killing a lot in a short span really sses you up."
He understood the gravity of it.
But understanding didn't an he could change what had happened—at least, not right now.It wasn't as if he was killing for the sake of it…
"Who are you?"
Michael heard a voice behind him and turned, letting the body in his grasp drop to the floor.
He had snuck into the building to uncover what was happening without revealing his identity—just in case he was wrong.
But he wasn't.
The mont he struck down his target, he was ready to face the remaining three.
Michael didn't answer the question.
He sighed and vanished from his spot.
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