Surviving These Unfair Scenarios [LITRPG - DIMENSION HOPPING]

The eerie laugh that echoed through the ruined battlefield did not belong to Adam, nor to anyone visible, but it carried a tone that chilled the air around them, spectral and deranged, rippling with malicious delight. It hung in the plaza, carried by an unseen wind, curling through the stone like the promise of something terrible.

Jonathan remained motionless, still crouched and covering his head, trembling as if awaiting the end. Konrad, although standing, had paled again, the unnatural shift in atmosphere dragging him into a panic far deeper than any he had experienced before. Then, he tried to recover, forcing his voice into a command.

"I said, kill them both. Now!"

And surprisingly, Adam moved… But it wasn't the mechanical obedience from before. It was a slow stretch, as though the body had just awoken from a long and restless slumber.

His arms flexed, back arching slightly. The grip on the cursed spear shifted, knuckles relaxing. Then, something even stranger occurred. Before their eyes, Adam's body began to change subtly. His muscle mass, previously enhanced by the [Yong Xian Sovereign's Body Manifestation] skill, receded slightly, and his figure became leaner. His hair grew in length, unnaturally fast, cascading down his shoulders and past his back. The strands turned white, unnervingly pure, while his skin became paler and almost lifeless. When he raised his head, his expression was one they had never seen before.

(Spoiler: Adam's possessed look for reference)

His eyes were blood red. His mouth curled into a sharp smile filled with amusement, pride, and something deeper—something cruel. And when he spoke, it was Adam's voice, but distorted, as though overlaid with a second voice—female, elegant, and venomous.

"I told you…"

The voice rang out through the boy, more to herself than anyone else.

"Trying to run away from me was pointless. I told you… you're mine. You always were, my little Lich."

Then he started laughing, sharp and manic, twisting his fingers through the white strands of his own hair as if reveling in the feel of it. The demonic spear was still firmly in his grasp, but his attention wasn't on it anymore. He was fully focused on the sensation of being alive in this body again. Meanwhile, Konrad was already shouting.

"What is this?! Who are you?! What's going on?! That's not him!"

But the entity didn't even turn to acknowledge him. It kept speaking with the same twisted glee, eyes flicking briefly over the battlefield and then settling somewhere distant.

"Look at how much you've grown, my little Lich. All this power… and yet you still don't understand it. You never did. I waited. I watched. I thought eventually you'd open your eyes, realize the truth, but this—this is almost embarrassing. You've done it all wrong."

The smile never faded. He spread his arms out wide, as if welcoming something—an embrace of divine light, perhaps.

"Let's fix that, shall we?"

Then his tone dropped into something more dangerous, something ceremonial.

"[Divine Contradiction], release."

Immediately, the atmosphere cracked. A rush of golden energy burst outward from Adam's frame, wild and unfiltered, divine power spilling out in waves that could be felt even from dozens of meters away. The light wasn't gentle—it was pure, aggressive divinity, the kind that should have seared through corrupted flesh and shattered undead bone.

But it didn't… Instead, the divine energy trembled mid-air, twisting itself. The light fractured, convulsed, and began to darken. Dozens of system windows appeared at once, flooding the space around her.

Katya instinctively took a step back. Angela, though still chained to the floor, gritted her teeth and shut her eyes, as if the energy itself was slicing into her skin. Konrad, frozen, stared at the phenomenon without speaking. There was no longer a trace of the Adam they knew. His body might still be standing there, but it now belonged to something far older, far more dangerous… The Undead Empress had returned.

The echo of corrupted divine energy had not yet faded when Adam—no, the ghost possessing Adam—began to move again. The laughter had ceased, but the smirk on his face remained. He brought a hand to his chin, rubbing it thoughtfully with exaggerated care, as though mentally sifting through a collection of memories that didn't originally belong to him. His crimson eyes flicked back and forth, not focused on anything external, lost in internal recollection. It was the kind of expression one would wear while rediscovering a long-forgotten secret. Then, as if a spark had reignited something in his mind, he snapped his fingers with sudden clarity.

"Oh, right. That thing in your head."

He muttered with a grin, his tone light, almost playful.

"The Overmind Parasite. How utterly shameful. Sharing your own body with such a thing… Really, what were you thinking?"

The voice was still Adam's, deep and familiar, but layered with the unmistakable echo of the Empress. It carried scorn and delight in equal measure, like someone poking at a freshly opened wound just to savor the reaction.

He tilted his head, fingers dancing idly through his now-white hair as he continued speaking, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Now that I can see everything you've been hiding, I understand. You did manage to control it once, didn't you? Briefly. Pathetically. And yet you were proud of that."

He sighed, eyes narrowing. Then the smile widened again, sharp and gleaming.

"How did you do it? Oh, yes… Seal [Resist Hunger]."

The change was immediate. Adam's body tensed violently as if an internal chain had snapped. His spine twisted, his arms trembled, and his chest began to heave as if breathing became a battle. The convulsions grew more erratic by the second. Flesh bubbled under the skin, bulging and rippling unnaturally. Parasitic tendrils burst forth from his back and arms, wet and gnarled, flailing like a nest of worms given sentience and fury. His legs buckled but did not collapse, held firm by something deeper than muscle. Throughout it all, he continued to laugh. Not in mockery now, but in exhilaration.

The grotesque transformation reached its peak as clusters of chitinous growths ruptured from his ribs and shoulders, nearly overtaking the entire form. Then it all stopped abruptly. Every malformed limb froze mid-motion. The howling tendrils halted, and the swelling flesh began to compress. In the center of this chaos, Adam's face remained untouched, smiling as he spoke again in a calm, almost loving voice.

"Insignificant insect. I feel your hunger. I feel your agony. Your endless craving for my little Lich's life force… Allow me to offer you more than you could ever consume, because my power is as eternal as my hatred is endless. Let it feed you until it shreds your soul."

A wave of dark energy exploded from his core, engulfing the battlefield. It wasn't merely destructive—it was consuming. The cursed surge swallowed every crack and fragment in the air, centered around Adam as though the world itself was shrinking toward him. The misshapen tendrils and unnatural protrusions shrank and coiled inward, drawn back into his body like they had never existed. His limbs returned to their leaner form, the distorted skin smoothed over, the corrupted divine aura stabilizing into a chilling calm. Once again, he stood whole.

He took another breath, flexing his fingers and admiring his arm. His smile persisted.

"This body… this potential. How you've wasted it."

He muttered. Then his gaze dropped to his left hand, where the [Mark of the Damned] had begun to glow. The dark tattoo pulsed with ethereal light, pulsing in sync with his heartbeat. For a moment, the Empress's expression softened—not into gentleness, but into something reverent, almost like care.

"Ah… There it is. My children. My brothers and sisters. I have returned, and we have so much to do."

The mark flared once, and a cold wind whispered through the battlefield, carrying voices that no one else could understand.

Finally, Adam turned to face Konrad.

The necromancer hadn't moved; his entire body was trembling. All that had happened until now was a blunder after the last one, and now this… this creature… stood smiling at him. Konrad's mouth opened slightly, but nothing came out. Adam chuckled.

"You look surprised. You shouldn't be. In fact, I owe you thanks. Had it not been for your desperation, I wouldn't be free now."

He took a few slow steps forward, the blackened mist still curling around his feet.

"I can smell it on you, necromancer. The scent of death clings to your bones. You've danced with the void too often to escape its grasp now. So I offer you this: when this world falls, I will welcome you among my kin. A gift… for liberating me."

That finally broke something in Konrad. He clenched his fists and took a trembling breath, mustering what little courage remained in his hollowed chest.

"What the hell are you talking about? Who are you? What do you want?!"

Adam stopped. He didn't answer immediately. His grin widened further, stretching almost unnaturally across his face. The red glow in his eyes intensified. Then, in a voice colder than before, he responded.

"I want to make this world just like home."

Neither Konrad nor Jonathan understood. Not Angela. Not even Katya. But far from there—if Drake, Kazue, or Li had heard those words, they would have recognized the nightmare that was beginning to take shape.

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Then, without hesitation or restraint, Adam raised his voice and shouted, not with panic or urgency, but with manic joy and absolute authority.

"Come forth, all of you. Extinguish the life of this world. Consume everything. Break the souls of all who stand in our way. This is our home now. Let a new "Ghost Apocalypse" begin beneath this cursed sky!"

His voice echoed like a decree, reverberating across the broken land with unnatural force. And then it began.

From his feet, the first ripples of darkness spread out, not like energy but like liquid mass, as if an invisible ocean was swallowing the battlefield. But this sea was not empty. It carried forms, countless and writhing, as if the ground had cracked open and poured forth the nightmares of the underworld itself.

Ghoul-Types, skeletal phantoms with humanoid torsos and serpentine lower bodies, slithered forward in droves, dragging clawed fingers along the stone and soil as they rushed past like a white tide of bone and smoke. Feral-Types surged behind them, larger and far more violent, their faceless maws split wide, each with a single massive jaw instead of a head, moving like twisted wolves made of mist and hunger. Then came the Drake-Types, airborne monstrosities with rotted wings, resembling smaller wyverns stitched together from fragments of dead dragons, with sharp and overlapping screeches. Finally, the DeathKnight-Types marched in methodical rhythm, armored humanoids without heads but carrying spectral greatswords, their presence alone warping the nearby air with a cold pressure.

The flood of phantoms expanded in every direction, a true swarm born from years of grief, fury, and death. Konrad instinctively braced himself for impact, lifting his arms and lowering his head, expecting to be overwhelmed. But the wave split around him. The spirits passed by, uncaring, their spectral forms sliding around his body like he wasn't even there. The same happened with the unconscious body of Solène, for some unkown reason.

However, Jonathan wasn't so lucky… The man barely had time to scream before dozens of skeletal hands emerged from beneath the ghostly tide, wrapping around his legs, arms, and neck. His terrified cry rang out as he thrashed uselessly, trying to pull away. His foot slipped, and one arm reached for help, but no one answered. He was dragged beneath the surface of the phantom sea, his screams muffled and lost, fading too quickly.

Konrad could only watch, paralyzed by the sight. His mouth was slightly open, his mind caught between disbelief and helplessness. He could do nothing even if he wanted to, and before he could even realize what had just happened, Jonathan was already gone.

Katya reacted faster than anyone. As the tide of ghosts surged toward her, she quickly summoned a Tulpa, another one shaped like a humanoid beast with massive claws and insectile wings. Without wasting a breath, she grabbed onto the creature's arm and let it lift her into the sky, ascending just in time to avoid the vanguard of crawling ghouls beneath her feet.

Angela remained still for a moment longer, bound by translucent chains. But then, as the last of Jonathan's lifeforce was devoured, the shimmering bonds on her body evaporated, signalling that, without the user who cast it, The Plot Device's effect had ended. She gasped and acted without hesitation, grabbing her brush and drawing a rapid circle at her feet. A ring of ink solidified beneath her, forming a glowing platform that lifted her off the ground, rising parallel to Katya's altitude.

"What the hell is going on?!"

Angela shouted, turning in mid-air as her platform hovered steadily above the battlefield.

"I don't know!"

Katya barked back, her voice tense with frustration and panic. Her Tulpa flapped hard to stay airborne.

"I don't know what that thing is! And did you hear what it said?!"

Angela turned to look at her but said nothing.

"If those things get to Kazue before I do…"

Katya's voice cracked slightly, her breath catching as anxiety bled into desperation.

"She's not ready for this. I have to go. I have to get to her!"

But their intentions didn't matter. Without warning, both airborne women were swarmed from above. Drake-Type ghosts emerged in flocks, their rotting wings tearing through the air as they descended. Angela barely had time to react, ducking one talon strike and swiping her brush to draw a shield in front of her. The ink solidified mid-air, blocking a second phantom's bite but cracking under the pressure.

Katya's Tulpa twisted and rolled, dodging three of the airborne beasts with sharp barrel spins, but more kept coming. She reached out with her free hand, summoning a second Tulpa mid-air, a smaller one shaped like a bladed snake that bit into one of the attackers. The creature shrieked and evaporated into mist, but for every ghost slain, five more emerged from the tide below.

There was no escape. The sky was now a chaotic dance of attacks, evasions, and narrow escapes. Neither Angela nor Katya could regroup. They were being kept in the air—but barely. Each second, they were forced to dodge, defend, or retaliate. The spectral onslaught had no end, no formation, and certainly no strategy. It didn't need one. It was sheer volume.

Down below, Adam still stood with his arms lowered, the Ghost Empress's malicious grin carved into his face, red eyes glowing with divine corruption and madness. He wasn't issuing further commands since he didn't need to. The army he had summoned was autonomous, driven by will and instinct, with only the words of their empress as fuel.

Konrad, now fully aware of how far beyond saving the situation was, could do nothing but back away slowly, hands shaking, lips dry. He couldn't outrun the ghosts. He couldn't stop them. And worst of all, he had helped unleash them.

The vast ocean of ghosts spilled across the main plaza and continued to expand, flowing outward in every direction like a second tide of death. At the center of it all, the one who had unleashed the deluge stood completely still. Adam's body remained rooted in place, his pale skin glowing faintly under the cursed light of the corrupted divine energy, red eyes shining with hunger, his long white hair whipping gently in the wind.

From within that expanding tide, something larger emerged.

The spectral mass twisted and coiled in midair, then surged upward like a geyser. A towering shape rose from the chaos—a demon-shaped phantom, translucent but immense, with a form larger than any building in the city. Its muscular body rippled with barely restrained power, its wings spread wide and cast an unnatural shadow despite being immaterial, and its eyes burned with sickly green flames. Armor etched with ancient glyphs adorned its limbs and chest, just like the entity it had once been in life. This was one of Adam's highest-ranked summons, the Demon-Type ghost, a creature so dreadful that even other spirits feared to stand in its path.

The air warped as the giant ghost opened its mouth. It was about to roar, and none of the living would be able to resist the effects. This wasn't a simple cry—it was a skill, one that carried catastrophic mental backlash. If it succeeded, every mind present would shatter under the weight of pure spectral rage.

But it never got the chance… A streak of golden light split the sky, descending like a meteor from the heavens. In the blink of an eye, it struck the Demon-Type directly from above. The impact was instantaneous. The spectral giant let out a guttural screech of agony as the divine energy pierced its body, cleaving it clean in half from skull to chest. Then, in a flash, the entire entity exploded into wisps of scattered ectoplasm, evaporating as if it had never existed.

The golden streak landed in the plaza with a colossal impact. The force of the landing shattered the tiles beneath and blasted out a shockwave in every direction. The ripple of energy tore through the ghost sea like a divine explosion, dispersing hundreds of lesser specters into mist and interrupting the flow of miasma. Konrad was caught in the blast and sent tumbling across the battlefield, his limbs flailing helplessly as he was thrown like a ragdoll. Katya, in mid-air with her Tulpa, lost control and was flung into the air by the sheer force, crashing hard onto a rooftop. Angela, though still airborne on her painted platform, was struck by the aftermath and barely managed to stabilize herself with a new set of drawn sigils. The shockwave even shredded the flying ghosts attacking them.

Only one person stood unmoving. Adam didn't flinch. His eyes didn't even blink as the storm of sacred energy whipped around him. He stared directly ahead, grinning as the dust settled. His red eyes locked on the source of the golden descent with unshaken curiosity.

Then, through the cloud of pulverized debris and crushed tile, the figure appeared.

A colossal blade had crashed into the earth like a divine meteor, buried deep into shattered stone and cracked marble. Its entire surface pulsed with burning lines of golden Ki and blinding divine radiance, emitting a wave of raw pressure that rippled outward in concentric rings. Atop the hilt stood Drake, unmoving, his silhouette framed by the aftershock of his arrival. His golden hair billowed behind him like a banner of judgment, and his eyes, sharp, cold, and devoid of hesitation, were fixed solely on the figure ahead.

Imperial Ki surged from his frame in tandem with divine energy, twisting together in a roaring mantle that engulfed his body. The power rolling off of him wasn't just visible, it was palpable, crashing against the battlefield like the weight of a god's envoy descending. The ghosts recoiled as the air bent. The very space between him and Adam seemed to warp.

In that instant, the impossible occurred. The flow of spirits from Adam's body, once an unstoppable flood of death, halted and then stopped completely. As if even the dead recognized the arrival of something they were not allowed to oppose. The tide that had consumed the plaza ceased to grow, paralyzed by the presence of a single man.

And though the phantoms already unleashed continued their distant rampage, the breach itself—Adam's open gate—was silent for the first time since the nightmare had begun.

Drake's gaze narrowed.

"I recognize that stench."

He said. His voice was calm, but there was no warmth in it. Only disgust.

He leapt from his perch in an instant. A flash of golden light trailed behind him, and in less than a breath, he stood in front of Adam. His massive sword rested on his shoulder, held with one hand as though it weighed nothing. His expression was cold, but there was something underneath—a tension building, an anger ready to break loose.

"Who released you?"

The question came out as a growl, cold and direct. However, Drake didn't wait for an answer. His left hand shot forward and clamped tightly around Adam's neck, lifting him clean off the ground with effortless strength. The moment his grip closed, there was a sudden tension in the air, as if the battlefield itself was holding its breath. Adam's body dangled midair, but he did not struggle. His limbs stayed limp, his head tilted slightly forward with that malicious smile carved deep into his face like it had been branded there.

The possessed figure met Drake's furious gaze with a twisted satisfaction, eyes glowing a vivid red, his expression somewhere between amusement and hunger.

"I remember you."

The voice that emerged from his mouth carried a resonance far beyond normal speech. It was Adam's voice, but behind it lingered another, higher, feminine, echoing like the whisper of a ghost speaking from within his throat. The blend was unnatural, chilling, and deeply wrong. His words rolled out slowly, savoring every syllable.

"The blonde idiot with the hero complex. Look at you now… You've grown up nicely."

Drake's grip didn't loosen. His blue eyes burned with steady, focused fury, with his aura flaring with suppressed violence.

"Let him go. Now!"

His tone didn't rise much, but there was judgment in it, cold and absolute, like a blade against the neck. But Adam's expression only widened into a grin more perverse than before, the red in his eyes pulsing brighter as the voice of the Empress answered with casual defiance.

"I have no intention of doing that. His body and his soul… They're all mine, they always have been. I'm simply reclaiming what was always meant to be mine."

Drake leaned in closer. His face was impassive and unreadable, but his presence intensified, thick with controlled wrath. The force in his grip remained unyielding as he stared into the twisted version of the person he once called his comrade.

"No. He belongs to me."

His voice was still quiet, but each word struck with the force of a war drum.

"This entire team belongs to me. Every single one of them. You're nothing more than a mere NPC, a discarded fragment of system data clinging to what doesn't belong to you. You're not real. You're a glitch that should've been erased."

The possessed Adam paused, then tilted his head with a slow, serpentine amusement.

"Possessive, aren't we?"

The words dripped with mockery and amusement. His eyes shimmered with red light as he laughed under his breath.

"I won't lie, I don't dislike that kind of attitude in a man. There's so much darkness inside you, blondie. I can feel it, simmering just beneath the surface. You wear a divine light, but you're anything but pure. Were you always this delicious, or is this something new?"

Drake remained silent, without flinching or blinking. His expression didn't shift, he simply stared into the possessed face in front of him with eyes that had lost all warmth.

"And Adam?"

He asked in the same voice, calm and cold.

"Are you really going to sit back and let this thing walk around in your body?"

The response came not as words, but in laughter—deep, manic, and unrestrained. Adam's entire body shook with it. His head rolled back as if drunk on the moment, his red eyes gleaming with toxic joy. Then, slowly, he leaned forward until his face was almost touching Drake's. Their foreheads were nearly pressed together, breath against breath. His grin stretched wider than humanly possible, eyes locked on the blond with a malicious glint.

"Sorry…"

The voice was slow now, almost intimate.

"Adam's not here right now."

He said it like a secret, like a whisper turned into a threat. Drake didn't react instantly. His eyes didn't narrow, but something in the air snapped. His fingers released Adam's throat, letting him fall freely.

"I see."

There was no pause between his words and the explosion that followed.

"Then die."

The instant the words were spoken, the plaza detonated in light and sound. An eruption of force split the earth beneath them. A blast of golden light surged forward from Drake's right hand as his blade moved in a single, flawless arc, while at the exact same moment, Adam's arm lashed outward, the cursed spear igniting with corrupted energy. The two weapons collided in the center of the square, and the impact that followed shattered the sky.

The collision was a cataclysm, a concentrated storm of kinetic destruction that forced the entire plaza to recoil. The ground was obliterated beneath their feet, the stonework blasted into ash, the sheer pressure of their clash dispersing every remaining specter in the immediate area like dust in a storm. The shockwave expanded violently, ripping through the remnants of battle, turning the air itself into a blade. Debris screamed through the battlefield, and a flash of raw force blinded everything around them.

And then it stopped… The two figures were standing apart again, the distance between them only slightly larger than before. Neither had moved more than a step, nor were they hurt in any way; just Drake with a clear murderous intent, and Adam with a maniacal smile on his face.