Mirror Dream Tree V.4.151. Merin Escape

The elder wipes the sar of crystalline blood from his jaw.

His eyes, monts ago indifferent, now carry a gleam—interest sharpened into sothing predatory.

“You strike harder than you look,” he murmurs, crystalline veins pulsing beneath his skin.

rin answers with silence.

Silence—and killing intent.

His Dao materialises fully behind him: the Devouring Maw, vast enough to swallow mountains, its abyssal teeth dripping with law energies—space, emotion, the five elents, and the boundless resentful hunger of demons.

Above them, the sky warps.

Below, the world holds its breath.

Then—

They move.

Not with the reckless speed of lesser cultivators, but with precision honed over centuries.

A step.

A blink.

A ripple in space—

—and they clash.

The elder’s hand forms a blade of crystalline light and swings downward. The strike doesn’t cut space—it decides where space will break. The result is absolute.

rin intercepts with a palm coated in devouring law.

The collision ripples reality. Sand beneath them vaporises. The air screams.

Neither retreats.

The elder moves first, stepping sideways into a fracture in the world. He erges behind rin, palm raised.

“Crystal Seal.”

Ten crystalline formations appear in a circle around rin—locking ti, space, qi, soul, and motion.

rin doesn’t flinch.

He lets the seal form.

Then he smiles.

The Devouring Maw burns with bloody brilliance—

—and the seal cracks.

Not shattered by power, but consud at its foundational runic level.

The elder’s brows lift a fraction.

“…devouring at the law-structure level.”

rin answers with Thousand Eyes—a hundred beams of fire and ice, weaving into a lattice of destructive patterns.

The elder shields with overlapping crystal wings. Explosions ripple outward—glass shrapnel, frozen fla.

Still equal.

The elder grows more serious.

His Dao appears—an enormous crystalline dragon, body made of fractal plates, each scale reflecting a different law of creation.

It opens its mouth, releasing a roar that distorts reality.

rin responds.

The Devouring Maw roars back, vibration law woven into sound—shaking mountains, cracking sky, splintering the elder’s dragon into fragnts.

But those fragnts don’t disappear.

They multiply.

From one dragon cos three.

rin clicks his tongue.

A test, then.

No—an escalation.

He ets them with bare hands first—shattering one dragon’s fangs, tearing another’s wing at the joint. The third bites his shoulder and crushes bone—but rin rotates space around his body and appears behind it, slamming a punch through its spine.

The battlefield is chaos now—devouring winds and crystalline storms ripping apart the world around them.

But neither retreats.

Neither gives an inch.

The elder lifts a hand.

His voice carries—not loud, but absolute.

“Crystalline Authority: Judgnt Bloom.”

The sky fractures into a field of crystal flowers—billions of them—each one humming with law intent.

They fall.

Not like petals.

Like executioners.

rin’s eyes narrow.

He raises his hand, forming a devouring vortex the size of a city.

The flowers strike the vortex—

—and vanish, consud instantly.

But the elder doesn’t stop.

He raises another hand.

“Second Bloom.”

The flowers reappear.

Then—

“Third Bloom.”

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The flowers glow.

rin’s vortex swells—devouring faster, deeper, hungrier—until every petal is gone.

Silence again.

But this ti, rin breathes heavier.

And the elder notices.

“A devourer cannot sustain infinite consumption,” he says softly. “Not without cost.”

rin’s lips curl.

“It’s worth the cost.”

Both Dao avatars swell—dragon and maw colliding in the sky, bite-for-bite, claw-for-fang, law-for-law.

Their clash isn’t just physical—it’s conceptual.

The elder’s Dao crystallises existence, forcing order.

rin’s Dao consus existence, returning it to raw potential.

Opposites.

Perfect counters.

At first, balance holds.

rin lands strikes that tear crystalline plates from the elder’s body.

The elder counters with cuts that slice into rin’s spine, ribs, arms—leaving wounds that resist healing.

Their bodies beco maps of destruction.

Still equal.

Still unbroken.

Until—

The elder speaks three quiet words:

“Crystal—Supre—Pulse.”

A pulse ripples outward.

No light.

No sound.

No energy signature.

But rin’s knees buckle.

His Dao trembles.

Sothing inside him—sothing deeply woven into the laws of the demiplane—shifts against him.

rin’s eyes sharpen.

“Supre authority…”

The elder’s smile is thin.

“Yes. This world belongs to my race.”

The elder’s next strike cos too fast.

A crystallised fist impacts rin’s chest—piercing through bone and flesh, shattering ribs.

rin flies backwards, tumbling through space. Before he recovers, the elder is already there.

A second blow—this ti to the spirit sea.

rin coughs blood—not ordinary blood, but demonic essence, leaking power.

The Devouring Maw strains—its edges flickering.

rin grits his teeth, eyes burning crimson.

He unleashes everything—emotion, law flaring, space folding, devouring surging—

—but the elder is no longer matching him.

He is overwhelming him.

Blow after blow lands—each one guided by a Supre-tier understanding of martial law.

rin defends.

Devours.

Counters.

Survives.

But the cracks in his Dao grow.

The maw trembles.

Law lines distort.

Fragnts break away like crumbling teeth.

The elder presses a hand against rin’s sternum.

Crystals grow beneath his skin like invasive roots.

“Human,” the elder says quietly, “you are strong.”

He pushes.

rin’s entire body folds around the strike.

“But strength without lineage is nothing.”

He strikes again.

rin coughs mist instead of blood—his body no longer rely injured, but coming undone.

He exhales once.

A decision.

Enough hiding.

Demon energy erupts.

His hair lengthens and bleaches to molten silver, his pupils tighten into predatory slits, and fangs push past his lips. His palms distort into obsidian claws, and crimson runes spread over his skin like blooming madness.

Power—raw, ancient, unmistakable.

Not human.

Never human.

The elder staggers back, voice cracking.

“...A demon.”

rin chuckles—low, cold, cruel.

“Now you finally understand. Good.

Get ready to die.”

The elder’s crystal blade halts mid-swing.

His eyes tremble.

“You… are not human.”

Behind rin, a demonic aura rises like a storm swallowing the heavens—thick enough to twist laws and silence the world. His presence feels older than history, hungrier than death.

A being forged by instinct, wrath, and devouring intent.

A true demon.

rin tilts his head, expression clean and eerily composed despite the ragged mist trailing from his lips.

“I warned you,” he murmurs, tone almost bored.

“You mistook restraint… for weakness.”

The elder doesn’t retreat by choice—his instincts drag him backwards, spine rigid with primal fear.

“You shouldn’t exist,” he breathes. “Demons are forbidden—corruption to all worlds.”

rin smiles—a curved blade disguised as kindness.

“Then allow corruption to teach you.”

He moves.

No flash of space law.

No technique na.

Just movent—clean, decisive, unstoppable.

A claw tears across the elder’s torso. Crystal armour forms, but too late—the blow pierces flesh and Dao, leaving cracks glowing with corrosive demonic energy.

The elder gasps—

“How—”

Another blow.

Deeper.

Faster.

Every strike doesn’t just injure—it consus.

Crystal dissolves, law lines unravel, and the elder’s aura collapses layer by layer.

“You believed lineage made you superior,” rin says while casually stepping through the elder’s panicked counters.

“Who gave you the right to decide my fate?”

His knee crashes into the elder’s ribs. The sound is sharp—like ice breaking.

Blood sprays—glinting like ground gemstones.

“Now fate is rewritten.”

His voice softens to a whisper right beside the elder’s ear—almost affectionate.

“Into your death.”

Desperation erupts.

Crystal Judgnt Cataclysm.

The void fractures into blinding white—a rain of crystal blades descending like divine punishnt.

rin still doesn’t dodge.

His Dao descends—the Devouring Maw.

It opens.

And the world seems to lean toward it.

Every blade, every rule-construct, every thread of crystallised authority is dragged inward—absorbed with screaming resonance.

The elder stares in frozen horror.

“No… no— that technique is—”

“Perfect,” rin finishes.

The maw snaps shut.

Silence.

Only the elder’s broken breathing remains.

rin reaches out, almost gently, and grips the elder’s face between clawed fingers.

“You wanted my life,” he says softly.

His tone grows silk-smooth—terrifyingly calm.

“So now—you will beco fuel.”

Demonic sigils blaze—and the elder’s flesh begins dissolving, converted into energy pouring into rin like a tide. The elder claws at his arm, but the gap between them has already beco a void.

“You—monster—!”

rin lazily licks crystalline blood from his thumb.

“Yes.”

Another pulse—half the elder’s Dao forcibly torn away.

The elder collapses to his knees, body flickering between matter and nothing.

rin lifts his hand for the final blow.

Claws ready to pierce the heart and end the lineage.

“You overreached,” he says softly.

“This is the consequence.”

His strike falls—

—but never lands.

A new aura erupts—older, sharper, sovereign.

A blade of fire and frost carves through space, intercepting rin’s arm with a detonation that fractures mountains and flash-freezes the very air.

rin is hurled back—slamming through floating stone before halting mid-air, claws sparking.

The Fireice Sword lands in the elder’s hand.

It sings.

Supre Dao ignites.

The elder straightens—rejuvenated by the sword’s acceptance.

“Demons,” he says, voice now steady with borrowed supremacy,

“deserve death.”

Flas cold as winter and frost hot as stars bloom along the blade.

He swings.

The strike isn’t fast.

It is absolute.

rin raises a defence—but the Supre Law ignores it.

Space splits.

Demonic runes crack.

And rin’s body bursts apart—scattering into blood mist, shadow fragnts, and a thin thread of laughter that fades into the void.

Below, Demon rin’s disciples—who had gathered to support Silan and ngui against Axel—freeze. Their faces pale. Their breaths hitch.

He was their master. Their pillar.

They don’t care that he’s a demon.

They never did.

They grew in a world isolated from the outside, knowing nothing of demon bloodlines, laws, or ancient grudges. To them, he is simply Master.

And now—he’s gone.

Or so it seems.

A shimr forms.

A crack in the inner void.

And rin appears again—standing motionless between worlds. His eyes remain closed, his form smooth and pale like flawless porcelain—no wounds, no breath—only pressure.

A silence heavy enough to suffocate.

The elder lifts the Fireice Sword again, ready to finish what he started.

Silan doesn't hesitate.

She grips the Icefire Sword.

It blooms—violent, ancient, sovereign—Supre might rippling through reality as she points its edge directly at Axel.

Her voice cuts through the battlefield:

“Old man—if you strike again, I will kill him.”

Axel stiffens.

The elder pauses.

A heartbeat of stillness.

Then—soft laughter.

A dry, ancient mockery.

“According to the laws of our race,” he says coldly, “a demon must be killed the mont it is discovered.”

The Icefire Sword trembles in Silan’s hand—

—and its glow fades.

Her expression twists in disbelief.

Why?

The answer doesn’t co from her own thoughts.

It cos from the blade.

A whisper—ancient and weary—echoes in her mind:

*“Among the four Supres who struck down my master…

One was Demon lineage.

He was trusted.

He betrayed him.”*

Silan’s grip tightens.

Her breath shakes.

Betrayal. History. Hatred older than any mory.

The elder raises the Fireice Sword high.

Space bends.

Reality screams.

The killing strike descends—

And rin’s eyes snap open.

A vast pupil manifests behind him—cold, formless, absolute.

A Heaven’s Eye.

It releases a beam—not light, not energy—but law.

The two powers collide.

Space ruptures. The world tears. Mountains crumble to dust.

And rin moves.

Not fleeing.

Not defeated.

But choosing.

He steps into the crack ford by the clash—into the void beyond the demi-world.

And disappears.

---

End.