Atop the floating island, the peak Tier 5 true beast hovered with regal stillness, its form a fusion of beast and man. It radiated calm, even as Tunde—and several other streaks of blazing light—raced toward it through the sky. The beast grinned.

  With a casual gesture, it raised one hand. A radiant golden formation unfurled above its palm, its symbols pulsing with searing brilliance. From the array, beams of molten gold light burst forth—lances of condensed Ethra so potent they could erase Lords and anything beneath with a mere grazing touch.

  The beams tore across the air in erratic patterns, moving like predators with minds of their own.

  Tunde twisted through them with the speed of a Highlord, his Void Step devouring the distance between himself and the beast. As he closed in, his naginata swung in a gleaming arc toward the creature’s head—only for the true beast to raise a single hand.

  In it appeared a weapon like a feather forged of razors, and the two blades collided in a clash that sent shockwaves through the sky.

  The beast narrowed its lightning-ringed eyes as it spoke, voice smooth and deceptively calm.

  “You’re strong.”

  Before it could say more, a black-veined blade slashed through the space it had just occupied. It dodged, lightning crackling as it floated backwards—and there, grinning with wild anticipation, stood a figure Tunde knew far too well.

  The beast’s wings unfolded again, this time manifesting as fully-formed lightning constructs of Ethra—vast and jagged, flaring with violent energy. Overhead, the skies churned. Thunder cracked like the voice of a god, and the metallic tang of imminent rain filled the air. Lightning rippled through the storm clouds like serpents in water, and a shriek of raw power echoed across the battlefield.

  That was when Tunde noticed them—those gathered here not by accident, but drawn to this place for the core of the true beast. For the Rift Guardian itself.

  The mystery still gnawed at him—how had a true beast become a Rift Guardian? But the announcer earlier had said the island belonged to the Keepers. That meant a formation powerful enough to imprison a peak true beast, something vast and ancient. It wasn’t lost on him. Someone had chained this monster.

  The beast’s voice echoed again, heavy with bitterness.

  "Is this what I’ve been reduced to?” it asked, wings flaring wide.

  Behind it, lightning gathered into a shape—a massive bird of pure gold, its eyes alight with dancing blue lightning. The sky trembled at the sight.

  “I, on the cusp of advancing to the Master Realm,” it snarled, “sealed here for countless centuries by those cowards… And now, mere children at the initial stage of Highlord dare to challenge me?”

  The words dripped with wounded pride and fury.

  Rhyn stepped forward, his presence cutting through the tension like a blade. Tunde's eyes narrowed as he watched the Herald unsheathe his weapon. The blade shimmered with such force it seemed to sing—resonating with the very air around it.

  “Anyone who dares to steal my prize,” Rhyn declared coldly, “will die by my hand.”

  With that, he launched himself forward, and the beast laughed—a booming, electric sound—as the golden lightning bird shrieked and soared straight toward Rhyn.

  From the Herald’s void ring emerged a massive silver shield, catching the lightning head-on. Tunde felt it as it clashed—traces of Master Realm Ethra, woven into the shield’s core. Impressive. But there was no time to dwell.

  He launched himself forward as well—only to be intercepted.

  A blood-red blade barred his path.

  A familiar figure stood before him—one he had been hoping to avoid.

  Shui.

  There was no room for conversation. No room for her usual grin, her cruel taunts, or whatever vengeance she had prepared for Sera or the others. If she wanted to die, he would oblige her.

  Empty Silence clashed with her Asura-blessed blade, a thunderous bang erupting from the impact as her form was flung backwards. Tunde pressed the attack. His aura surged—a massive spectral wolf forming behind him, jaws wide, howling as it drew in Ethra from Shui and anyone else nearby. It wasn’t just suppressing—it was consuming.

  Shui’s eyes widened in alarm.

  From her void ring came a sudden burst of power—a six-armed puppet of gleaming metal, each arm wielding a conjured Ethra blade. It surged at him, trying to halt his advance.

  Tunde met it head-on.

  His core, now at the Void Star stage, pulsed with power, feeding off the devoured Ethra and—more importantly—bits and pieces of essence flame and concepts. He hadn’t tested it yet.

  Now was the time.

  His body gleamed with Ethra. His naginata shifted, transforming into the exact replica of the dense, blunt weapon used by the Force and Metal cultivator from earlier. He brought it down with titanic force, shattering the puppet’s conjured blades and caving in its reinforced torso.

  One hand seized its skull, and with Joran’s Wrath surging through him, he crushed it into oblivion. The puppet’s body—an artifact of peak Highlord grade—collapsed into fragments, vanishing into his void space in an instant.

  But Shui was not done.

  Her aura surged. Her Essence Flame flared to life, and her Dominion began to manifest—only to crack and collapse, overpowered by the wolf still howling behind Tunde. She staggered, blood splattering from her lips. One hand clutched her chest in visible pain, but her weapon still rose.

  The air around her turned blood red.

  So did the sky.

  Even the scent changed—thick with the iron tang of fresh blood, as if the heavens themselves were bleeding.

  It spoke volumes of the Asura’s strength that her very form burned with essence flame, tongues of wrathful power licking at her skin like a cloak of divine fury. Her weapon shimmered with Ethra, pulsing violently.

  At the hilt’s edge, a thin split began to form, revealing a glowing crystal embedded deep within—a crystal that radiated with the unmistakable presence of a Master’s aura. The air grew heavier, each breath a labor, the pressure bending the world around them like a storm pressing down on still water.

  Tunde’s body, too, ignited with essence flame—not red, not gold, but grey tinged with violet, a hue that pulsed with the profound resonance of his aspects. His very concept abhorred restraint. The void responded, the space around him warping subtly, and his weapon reverted to its true form—a naginata humming with tightly bound intent.

  “You have looked down on the Asuras enough,” she growled.

  The words were not entirely her own. Her voice had twisted, warped, as though something ancient and malevolent was speaking through her—something buried deep in the bloodline of her race.

  Tunde remained unmoved.

  “I couldn't care less about you,” he said coldly.

  “What I want… is the true beast. Step aside.”

  She only laughed in response. Slowly, she began to rise into the sky, drawing the attention of the others. Her ascent was like a beacon—raw and radiant. The true beast laughed too, the sound rolling across the battlefield like thunder crashing against mountains.

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  “A Master in disguise?” the beast cried in astonishment before its body blurred into motion, shooting toward Shui like a bolt of divine punishment.

  Her eyes widened in response—but not in fear. In readiness.

  And in that heartbeat of distraction, Tunde acted.

  His naginata shifted again, elongating into a spear as he angled it skyward, every ounce of his focus set on impaling the beast in mid-charge. But before he could strike, the skies themselves turned gold. The true beast halted in mid-air, its gaze snapping upward, eyes narrowing with instinctual hatred.

  Above them all, a figure hovered—serene, terrible, and hated.

  Tunde’s blood boiled at the sight of him.

  The Keeper.

  He held a glowing golden sphere, and from it projected an even larger sphere of radiant energy encircled with spiraling script—script that didn’t simply shimmer, but vibrated with divine authority. Time itself seemed to halt. All motion stilled. Reality bent to the Keeper’s will.

  But Tunde resisted.

  He fought the suffocating stillness with everything he had, the entirety of his concept pushing back. All around him, others strained as well—warriors, cultivators, even the true beast, each caught in the grip of this overwhelming power.

  Tunde’s eyes locked on the Keeper—he was bleeding from his eyes, the exertion of wielding what Tunde now understood to be a mid, if not peak-tier Master relic slowly tearing him apart.

  “Begone,” the Keeper said.

  The word wasn’t a mere command—it was a law. A reality-warping declaration that tugged at Tunde’s soul. It wanted to move him, to cast him from this place as though he were no more than an errant particle of dust.

  He gritted his teeth.

  Why… why do the Talahan clans and the factions give the Keepers this much power? he thought bitterly. He could feel it, the command pulling at his essence, attempting to redirect him elsewhere. But then—his space aspect responded. Not with fear. With hunger.

  His bloodline sang. A chorus of want. A desire for dominion.

  And in that moment, Tunde knew exactly what he wanted.

  You want to send me somewhere else? he thought. Fine. Then send me to the source.

  To the sphere itself.

  He didn’t know how he did it. But just before the Keeper’s command fully took hold, he bent its authority to his will. And in the blink of an eye, he was moving—not with the others, not to the intended location, but hurtling like a meteor straight for the Keeper.

  The man saw it too late.

  Tunde’s naginata punched clean through his chest, splitting ribs and lung as the Keeper choked, blood spilling from his lips. Tunde twisted the blade, then grabbed the Keeper’s arm—the same arm that held the sphere, the same one adorned with a golden void ring—and ripped it free.

  In one fluid movement, he pulled his naginata back and then, with brutal finality, relieved the Keeper of his head.

  But he didn’t have time to gloat.

  The sphere—still active—reacted to the death of its wielder. The reality-warping authority snapped back into motion, and before he could resist again, Tunde was yanked into the flow of power, transported at last to the destination it had originally intended.

  Silence fell. A terrible silence.

  Then the floating island shuddered. A thunderous roar cracked through the heavens. Cultivators across the field staggered, shielding themselves as the entire landmass splintered and cracked like a giant egg.

  From its core came the horrors.

  Dozens—no, hundreds—of rift creatures burst forth. Mutated, writhing amalgamations of tooth and shadow, claw and aether. They erupted into the air, howling with unnatural cries, descending upon the stunned cultivators like a tide of nightmares.

  No time to think.

  No time to question what had just happened.

  The battlefield became a war zone, chaos reborn.

  **************

  The authority within the relic dumped Tunde unceremoniously into an unfamiliar place—one utterly foreign, its silence oppressive. His spiritual sense was dampened almost entirely, smothered under a suffocating stillness.

  There was no trace of Ethra, no flicker of aura, not even the comforting burn of essence flame. It was as if he had been cast into a vacuum, a hollow absence that devoured sensation.

  Yet it resonated with him.

  This place, this void, called to his very concept. He could feel it attuning to his core, harmonizing with the deepest parts of what he was. A quiet bond formed, subtle and dangerous.

  “Ah… welcome to my prison,” a voice crackled like splitting stone and thunder, “the abode of the end.”

  The true beast manifested then, coalescing into a storm of golden lightning—terror made manifest. Its aura shrieked behind it, howling with raw fury as arcs of lightning danced along its form.

  Wasteful, Tunde thought with a note of disdain. Every spark felt like an extravagant sacrifice in a realm where power itself was starved.

  The sphere was already safely locked within his void ring, hidden away from the gathering of powers now revealed around him. Rhyn stood with both blades drawn—black and white, etched with living scripts that rippled with the unmistakable weight of a master.

  Shui, still caught in her blood-crazed trance, stood ready, her sentient weapon pulsing with baleful hunger and hatred, its gaze fixed on the true beast.

  Thorne was here too. Of course. The one person Tunde had hoped to avoid for as long as possible. He observed in silence, a black orb of pulsing decay floating at his side like a second heart.

  And then, unexpectedly, Tunde noticed someone—or something—else: a golden-furred ape who met his gaze with a mischievous grin and raised a finger to its lips in a shushing gesture. Tunde blinked. Who was that? And why did the sight of the true beast seem... unfamiliar to him?

  A seaborn floated nearby, encased in a shimmering sphere of water, a dozen spectral blue knives orbiting it like sentinels. Each one pulsed with soulbound weight, master-tier power etched into every blade. Tunde slowly realized something chilling: he was the only one among them without a master-tier weapon drawn.

  Others stood among them as well—Anaya, robed in immaculate white, her presence heavy with divine force; a green-glowing staff floating near the girl from Silvershade, who still harbored an obvious grudge against Elyria. They, like the others, were all drawn here.

  “Your lives,” the true beast intoned, “have been bought by the keeper. That insolent child bequeathed me the key to this spatial rift and spent it frivolously… all for the sake of vengeance against one of you. Him, to be precise.”

  It pointed a jagged claw at Tunde. Silence fell like a blade. All eyes turned to him.

  “I was promised freedom, a soul oath no less, if I killed him. Shame the oathmaker is dead. And the oath... broken.”

  It sighed mockingly. Then its tone turned sharp, jagged.

  “But! This is a competition, isn't it? And there are many experts of the Highlord realm and above beyond these walls. So tell me… how exactly am I supposed to escape?”

  Its aura erupted outward like a thunderclap. The spiritual pressure that followed crashed into them like a collapsing sky, each of them assaulted at the soul.

  Tunde didn’t buckle.

  His aura surged outward—an ethereal wolf rising and howling through the pressure. The others held on thanks to their weapons, their soulbound tools shielding them from the full brunt.

  “Impressive! Impressive!” the true beast howled in delight.

  “Your bodies will nourish my soul well enough!”

  Lightning exploded outward. The air became a maze of crackling death.

  Tunde moved first, streaking through the chaos, his naginata burning with the silence of the void. Around him, the others unleashed their attacks—coordinated, refined, and deadly.

  The true beast raised a golden barrier, absorbing every blow, and retaliated with arcs of lightning that scorched their robes and flung them back.

  Tunde twisted in midair, activating his dominion. Formation scripts sprang to life around him. His bloodline surged. The lightning that struck him was consumed, his body devouring it as the beast shrank to match their size, a golden spear crackling in its hand.

  Made of pure Ethereon and lightning, it glowed with lethal promise.

  “We can’t beat it unless we work together,” Rhyn said calmly, his ethereal voice cutting through the chaos.

  “I agree,” the seaborn murmured from his undulating bubble, his tone unreadable but firm.

  “Working together?” the true beast sneered, pointing its spear at them.

  “Hmph.”

  A lightning spear lanced straight for Rhyn. Tunde reacted instantly—his void space devoured the attack, pain searing his spirit as he prayed none of his items were destroyed in the exchange.

  Void step brought him close to the beast.

  “I’ll distract it. Break its barrier!” he barked, voice infused with Ethereal voice. Ifa had taught him how to use it. Until now, he’d never needed it.

  Now, it was essential.

  Suddenly—danger.

  A skeletal figure surged into the air behind him, pale and deathly. An alarm blared in his head. The disciple of the Death Saint had made her move.

  Her scythe swung at him, trailing black essence flame. Tunde twisted, the blade just missing him and smashing into the true beast’s barrier instead.

  The beast’s attention was still on Rhyn, Thorne, and Shui. Their attacks struck with full fury, shaking the realm around them.

  Lightning retaliated toward Anaya. Tunde didn’t stop it. She deserved this. Six barriers of formation scripts sprang into place in front of her.

  Her eyes widened, realizing too late her mistake as the lightning shattered the barriers one by one. She twisted into smoke, a technique of her concept, but not fast enough. A patch of void ice trapped her—then the lightning struck.

  Her screams echoed, wails of betrayal and pain. The true beast cackled.

  “Good! Betrayal rewards betrayal!” it shrieked as a lightning storm exploded from its wings, raining death upon them again.

  Tunde tore open his void space once more, consuming the blasts—but a lance of pain stabbed through his soul.

  “Let’s see how long you can keep diverting my lightning!” the beast laughed.

  Then Rhyn ignited. His form blazed with red and gold essence flame, power beyond the Highlord realm pouring out of him. Above him, a single petal unfurled, transforming into a spectral warrior wielding twin blades.

  “The concept of war,” the true beast whispered, breathless in its ecstasy.

  For the first time, Tunde felt awe.

  Rhyn stood clothed in aura armor so powerful that the air itself pulsed in rhythm with it.

  “Come, seed of decay!” Thorne roared. The orb beside him pulsed and unfolded into a towering tree of rot and ruin, its roots devouring the ground, its presence corroding even light.

  Shui screamed, and something screamed with her—scripts of power etched themselves into the sky above her. Death. Battle. Rage. Joy. The storm within her responded, flaring wildly.

  The true beast howled in laughter.

  “Yes! This is what I wanted! Show me! Show me the limits of your power! Let the last of the thunder roc race see what the future holds!”

  Tunde looked around.

  Even the seaborn had summoned a colossal sea creature—pressure and rage rolling off it in waves.

  He was outmatched.

  And yet… he smiled.

  He let go.

  He invited it.

  “Come,” he whispered.

  And the very realm around them—the hollow, empty prison—became the domain of the void.