Amazo and Ana trembled as the aura of the True Depravita of Primal Fury washed over them.
They had climbed heights that defied mortal comprehension, their cultivation powerful enough to eclipse suns. Yet, as that aura pressed against their souls, they felt as though they were children standing before a beast that could swallow them whole.
Every instinct scread at them to flee. Their knees shook; their hearts threatened to shatter under the sheer pressure of that primordial presence.
But then, through the darkness, a flash of crimson light passed before their eyes.
The fear that threatened to consu their hearts began to burn instead, transford into determination. Their battle wills reignited, fierce and sharp.
The True Depravita of Primal Fury paused briefly, her ruby eyes narrowing. For an instant, a flicker of surprise, even admiration, crossed her face.
Few could withstand the weight of her Predator Aura, one of her deadliest gifts. It crushed the weak before a battle even began. For two ArchDeities to still stand, to breathe, to raise their weapons in her presence... it was unexpected.
But they were not her focus.
Because the next second, the Enlightened One and the True
Depravita Ikmael lunged forward, their killing intent surging. Their goal was clear, their conviction absolute-they would take care of Amazo and Ana.
A fiendish smile spread across Tiramisu's crimson maw.
"Perfect."
With her allies engaging the distractions, she could turn her full attention toward the true target-the Crimson Exarch, the man the Demon King himself had commanded her to destroy.
Her aura flared, an inferno of bloodlight.
She shot forward like a red teor, her wrathful energy distorting the very air around her.
The Crimson Exarch stood firm, his twin golden eyes radiating focus and calculation. The oppressive might of the True Depravita was suffocating, and unlike with Black Mask, he had never engaged with her before, so he lacked his ultimate weapon.
For the first ti in countless years, he felt genuine danger.
Tiramisu appeared before him in a blink. Her leg ca down like a divine guillotine, cleaving through the air toward his skull.
But before it could land, two sleek, tallic shapes materialized in the Crimson Exarch's hands-guns, forged from the fusion of stellar alloy and divine energy.
He moved without hesitation.
The trigger of his left weapon clicked.
A burst of energy erupted from the muzzle, not to strike her, but to propel his own body sideways. The force twisted his montum, allowing him to evade the descending blow by the width of a hair.
A flash of surprise crossed Tiramisu's eyes. She had expected to crush him in a single strike-yet he had moved faster than his body could allow.
Her gaze fell to the strange weapons now gleaming in his hands. The Crimson Exarch raised both guns and pulled the triggers. No sound. No flash.
For a mont, it seed nothing had happened-until two sharp impacts struck Tiramisu's chest. The blows didn't tear through her
flesh, but the concussive force drove her massive body backward, smashing her across the obsidian plain.
The Exarch did not pause.
He continued firing, his motions fluid, relentless. The invisible projectiles rained down like unseen teors, hamring against the True Depravita of Primal Fury.
Tiramisu growled, raising her crystalline forearms to shield her chest and head. The shots struck one after another, driving her back with mounting force. She could not see them. She could barely feel their trajectories before they hit.
But she was not one to cower behind defense.
Her perception extended outward, tracing not the bullets-but the guns themselves.
She analyzed their subtle movents-the angle of each muzzle, the rhythm of each discharge, the delay between trigger and impact. Her mind sharpened, calculating faster and faster, until enlightennt flared within her.
When she opened her eyes again, they burned with renewed ferocity.
This ti, she moved before the next shot fired.
She took two steps forward, tilted her head slightly to the left, then twisted her body low to the ground. The invisible shots passed just over her shoulders, grazing harmlessly past her scales.
She advanced again, her body weaving through unseen trajectories with terrifying precision.
So of the invisible rounds still struck her-flesh tearing, crystals cracking-but her immortal body healed as quickly as it was damaged. The few wounds she sustained were insignificant.
The Crimson Exarch's expression hardened.
He could sense her reading his rhythm, understanding his technique.
"She's not seeing my shots," he realized. "She's calculating them."
Every movent of her body matched the invisible intervals between
trigger and impact. She was deciphering the unseen trajectory by instinct and intellect alone-gauging distance, timing, and angle purely through observation.
It was a feat beyond comprehension.
A surge of admiration flickered through him even as he fought. Her intelligence and battle sense were not the result of divine birthright- they were forged through unimaginable struggle, honed by endless tribulations that would have crushed countless others.
But awe could wait.
This was a fight for survival.
He adjusted his stance, stopped suppressing his energy signature, and poured his full strength into his weapons. The next rounds fired faster, louder, brighter-visible streaks of golden light that scread
through the air.
Tiramisu's grin widened.
She wasn't retreating. She was closing in.
The Exarch kept his distance, backpedaling, firing with both hands. Each shot carried enough destructive power to level mountains, yet the True Depravita wove through them like a dancer of death.
The ground trembled beneath her steps. The air rippled from the
sheer intensity of her aura.
Closer.
Closer.
Until she vanished.
One heartbeat-she was gone from his golden sight.
The next she was right before him, her chest nearly touching the ground, her moves out of his divine golden gaze.
Her movents blurred, transcending perception itself.
The Crimson Exarch barely realized what had happened before a
crushing blow struck his jaw.
Her kick hit like the wrath of a dying star. His head snapped back, his body blasted through the air, slamming into the blackened ground with bone-shaking force.
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