"You bitch—!!" the third son roared, his voice cracking with fury as he grabbed what remained of his arm—what little was left of it—most of it already reduced to drifting ash that slipped through his fingers like sothing that had never truly existed. His scream carried both rage and disbelief, a refusal to accept what had just been taken from him.
For cultivators of their level, the loss of a limb was never a trivial matter. Regeneration was possible, yes—but never equal. That arm had not rely been flesh and bone; it had been years upon years of training, refinent, muscle mory etched into its very fibers, real strengthening forged through battle and pain. It had grown alongside his power, adapted to his techniques, beco an extension of his will.
Replacing it… was not the sa.
Even if he were to regrow the limb through rare resources or forbidden thods, the new arm would lack that history, that depth. It would be weaker, unstable, empty—like the limbs of ordinary mortals, devoid of true foundation.
But the third son's rage did not last.
Even his scream faded abruptly, cut short the mont his gaze shifted and locked onto Helene's figure, floating in the void in complete stillness.
"…Is she dead?"
"It seems activating Final Throne of Ash was the final straw." one of his brothers approached slowly, his movents cautious, his face pale beneath the weight of what he had just witnessed.
Final Throne of Ash…
The mont it had been unleashed, sothing deep within their very beings had scread—a primal warning, a certainty that death was within reach, that a single misstep would have erased them just as it had erased so much around them.
"Father will be furious with us." another son stepped forward, his voice tight. "He wanted to torture her for at least a few millennia… not let her end like this."
"We didn't kill her—she technically killed herself!" another arrived, speaking quickly, as if already preparing an excuse, already bracing for what would co next.
"I'll see what I can do with Father," the third son said, his tone laced with irritation, but beneath it… unease. "Even if he punishes us, it won't be severe. At least she didn't escape this ti, and—hm?"
His voice faltered.
He stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as he stared more closely at Helene's unmoving form.
"…By the way… why hasn't the final farewell appeared yet? Isn't she a Monarch?"
"…?"
The others imdiately turned toward her as well, their attention sharpening, their senses extending outward as they began examining her condition with far greater focus.
"Strange…" one muttered. "Her heart has stopped. Her life vein has already dried out completely… yet her soul domain is still resisting collapse."
"Does that an she's dead or not?!" another snapped, frustration creeping into his voice.
"I'd say… half and half?"
"Has anyone ever heard of sothing like this before?"
"…This situation reminds of them," the fifth son spoke slowly, frowning deeply, "but Helene never walked their path. She shouldn't… be capable of this." His gaze darkened. "What exactly is happening?"
Bang
"And they dare say heavenly laws cannot distinguish between anyone!" the third son suddenly barked, his expression twisting as realization struck him. "Focus—focus on the outer layer of her soul domain!"
"Hmm?"
The remaining four followed his instruction, narrowing their senses and directing them with precision—
And then their expressions changed.
"What… is that power?"
"I've never seen anything like this…"
"I can feel the aura of the Ashification Law from that layer… is this a technique? So kind of formation?"
"The Ashification aura here… it's even stronger than Final Throne of Ash…"
"It's not a technique." the third son said quietly, though his voice carried a strange edge—envy, disbelief, sothing darker. "It's the Ashification Law itself."
Silence fell.
"The law… refuses to let her die peacefully," he continued, his eyes fixed on her. "So it forced her into this state… suspended between life and death."
"Sothing like this can actually happen?" one of the brothers whispered, unable to hide the shock in his voice.
"I've never heard of anything like this in recorded history… a heavenly law directly intervening to preserve soone's life?"
"We know heavenly laws possess awareness… but not to this degree… right?" another said, uncertainty creeping into his tone.
"No…" a different brother muttered, his expression turning tense. "Their interference should not reach this level. If this is true… then everything we know about heavenly laws is incomplete." He paused, then turned sharply toward the eldest among them. "We need to inform Father. Imdiately."
"Of course." the third son nodded, though his gaze lingered on Helene. "This… this secret might be enough to calm his anger over her death."
Then, as if rembering sothing, he looked around, scanning the surroundings.
"…Where are brothers Eleven and Thirteen?" he asked slowly. "They've taken far too long to return."
"Final Throne of Ash was no joke," one of the others said with a hollow laugh. "Maybe they're still running for their lives… haha…"
Craaack
The laughter died instantly.
Space itself tore open with a violent fracture, a jagged rift spreading outward as if reality had been forced apart. From within that darkness, a figure stepped through calmly, his hands clasped behind his back as though entering a quiet room rather than a battlefield.
"Oh, you won't have to worry about your Eleventh and Thirteenth brothers anymore."
"Senrish?"
The third son's expression hardened instantly, hostility flaring in his eyes.
"Where did you get the nerve to show yourself before us… here?"
This man… was one of the Big Six. A ruler among rulers. One of the sovereign figures governing the millennial empires of the Mid Sector 101.
Then his brows tightened further, suspicion rising.
"And what exactly do you an… that we won't have to worry about our brothers anymore?"
Craack
Another violent fracture ripped through space, jagged edges spreading outward as reality itself seed to crack under pressure, and a second Guardian of the Big Six stepped out calmly from within the rift, as though erging from a doorway rather than a battlefield.
"It ans they've been transferred to a more suitable place…" he said, his voice low, almost amused, "hell."
"What did you say?!" one of the Cursed Behemoth's sons roared, his composure shattering instantly as his aura surged outward in a violent wave, distorting the surrounding space. "There's no way crippled weaklings like you could harm our brothers—not in such a short ti!"
Craack
A third tear opened, smaller but no less sharp, and another figure stepped through, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeve as if mildly inconvenienced.
"Hmm… though it's an insult, you're not entirely wrong," he replied evenly, "we didn't have to do much. Final Throne of Ash did most of the work." He tilted his head slightly. "They simply failed to escape in ti… fortunate for us. We only helped ease their pain at the end."
"….."
Silence fell for a fraction of a second—heavy, suffocating—before it shattered under the weight of rising fury.
The rage in the five brothers' eyes beca unmistakable. Their expressions twisted, veins tightening beneath the skin, as hostility and killing intent began to condense into raw spiritual pressure. It gathered around them like a storm, thick and oppressive, bending the very space in anticipation of violence.
"How strange…" the third son muttered, sothing unsettling flickering in his gaze. He raised his hand sharply, stopping his brothers mid-motion before they could lash out. "The three of you killed our brothers—who were, by your own admission, already weakened—then you choose to show yourselves before us willingly?"
His eyes narrowed, voice dropping into sothing colder.
"Did you suddenly grow so false courage after preying on them… or is this so kind of death wish?"
He took a slow step forward.
"Or perhaps…"
His aura sharpened, cutting through space like a blade.
"…you wish to join the other three on their deathbeds?"
Among the Big Six, three had been gravely wounded in scattered confrontations—limbs severed, internal organs shattered. They were supposed to be barely alive, clinging to existence sowhere in hiding, unseen for decades.
One against one, the Big Six had never managed to inflict aningful damage upon the first row scions of Darvion. If anything, the outco had always been humiliating—defeat after defeat, retreat after retreat. More than once, they had co dangerously close to death.
If not for the overwhelming soul borrowings they had obtained—granted by the hand of an unknown seven-star Royal Soul—they would never have dared stand before them again. Not alone… not even within the protection of their own armies.
And yet now—
Three had appeared.
Three… against five.
Absurd.
Reckless.
Wrong.
Craack Craack Craack
Space shattered again—three more fractures opening simultaneously, their edges vibrating with raw force. From within them, three additional figures stepped forward, their presence stabilizing the fractures as though space itself recognized them.
One of them laughed loudly, the sound echoing unnaturally in the vacuum.
"Haha… who exactly are you calling the ones on their deathbeds?"
"…?!"
The third son's expression froze, then shifted into pure, unfiltered shock.
"How…?"
These were the remaining mbers of the Big Six.
The ones who were supposed to be half-dead.
The ones who should not have been able to stand… let alone fight.
"What can we say," one of the three spoke, a faint smile curling at the edge of his lips, "it turns out we have a very good partner."
The third son's brows tightened further, suspicion flashing in his eyes.
They were not referring to Hedrick. That fool had nothing but brute strength and reckless impulses—hardly the mind behind sothing like this.
No…
There was only one possibility.
Lord Human… Robin.
"And who exactly convinced you," the third son said slowly, his voice now edged with sothing dangerous, "that six of you could stand against five of us?"
He raised his intact left arm.
A Miserable World Array manifested above it instantly, its structure forming with terrifying speed, layers of compressed energy folding into one another, ready to be unleashed at a mont's notice.
"Careful," one of the six said, raising both hands in a placating gesture, though there was no real submission in his posture. His gaze shifted slightly as he pointed in a specific direction.
"We're not here for a fight… unless you insist."
His finger remained steady.
"We want her. That's all."
"…?"
The third son followed the direction of his gesture, his eyes landing on Helene's unmoving form—still suspended in that unnatural state between life and death.
For a mont… he said nothing.
Then he turned back toward them, a cold, furious smile slowly spreading across his face.
"You want to take the corpse…"
His aura flared violently, the surrounding space trembling under its weight.
"…from under our noses?"
The smile sharpened, becoming sothing closer to a snarl.
"Have you lost your goddamn minds?"
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