Unholy Player

Feeling the familiar shifts and seeing the changes, they understood at once. The Rank 4 Spark was using its skill again, shaping another dimension and opening a passage to pull them in.

Edges blurred. Depth lost its measure. The nothing between them and the horizon behaved like pulled cloth gathering into a fist.

This time, there was no Brakhtar to collapse the passage and save them.

Even if he could, by some miracle, manage the same tactic, none of them were sure the Serpent would not use it a 3rd time or a 4th, turning it into a loop that would grind them down, a cycle with only death waiting at the end.

The thought moved through the group like frost, and every will that had stiffened a moment before felt the bite of it.

"So this is how it should end." One of Brakhtar's faces spoke softly, voice steady and eerily calm, as if he had already accepted the truth. The other face trembled with grief, eyes glistening as tears streamed down his cheeks. "We are all born with a path, a destiny. Nothing can rival Fate."

Those two expressions—resignation and sorrow—told everyone what they feared. He was slipping again, focus peeling away when they needed him most.

"Brakhtar! Pull yourself together. There has to be a way." Thalira's voice cut through the heavy stillness, sharp and commanding. Her brows furrowed, the faint glow of her drained energy flickering across her silver hair.

She looked exhausted—skin pale, lips dry, breath shallow—but her spirit still burned beneath the fatigue. She was not someone who would surrender before the end.

Brakhtar, however, didn't respond. His gaze wandered, both pairs of eyes unfocused. The tremors in his massive frame grew worse. Every second, it seemed as if another piece of him was slipping away.

Ever since he had consumed the Synergy Crystal, managing two minds in one body had become unbearable. It was like two souls locked in constant conflict, each trying to dominate the other. Now, he stood on the very edge of losing that internal war.

There has to be a way. Thalira's thought moved in silence as her gaze swept the Practitioners—pale faces, slumped shoulders, the last sparks of will fading.

It can't end like this.

Her gaze lifted toward the void ahead, where the fabric of space twisted like a wounded creature. Shadows bent unnaturally, forming shifting, liquid walls that folded upon themselves.

"If we can find the Serpent and kill it…" she whispered, scanning the void for any sign of movement, for the hidden enemy that held control over this cursed dimension.

If they couldn't break the skill itself, then killing its owner was the only hope left.

Where…

Her eyes darted to the right—nothing but roiling darkness.

Where is it…

She turned left, but her sense of direction was already gone, swallowed by the chaos around them.

Where are you hiding? She looked upward; pain shot through her skull, her temples throbbing as if her mind itself were being twisted.

Wherever she looked, there was nothing: a shifting, bending, endless nothing.

Until—she saw something.

"What is that?" Her voice cracked, eyes widening.

Through the wrinkling dark, something faint appeared—something that didn't belong there. A white glimmer, small and fragile, floating in the endless black like a single snowflake drifting through a moonless night.

Her pupils dilated. The speck shimmered softly, weightless.

She lifted a trembling hand, instinctively trying to reach for it, but her mind faltered. The distance warped; it was close and impossibly far all at once. Her perception fractured, like staring into a dream while awake.

For a heartbeat, she thought her mind was tricking her—an illusion born of fatigue and fear.

Then another voice broke the silence. "Something is moving toward us."

Everyone turned at once, following the pointed finger into the void. Eyes squinted, breaths held. Even Brakhtar's focus sharpened slightly, both heads aligning as he tried to make sense of the drifting white dust.

They stood waiting, watching.

The white speck swelled slowly, then faster, its outline shimmering as it came closer.

Before anyone could grasp what it was, a light began to bloom from it—a soft pulse—then another.

The white blurred beneath a radiance that was warm, brilliant, and divine.

"Oh… this… I know what this is." Loudbark's voice jumped into a trembling bark of excitement. His short, broken tail wagged uncontrollably, thumping his two butt cheeks in an uneven rhythm.

The others felt it too—the familiarity, the comfort. It wasn't just a light; it was something remembered, something sacred. They recognized it instantly, even before their minds formed the name.

The radiance expanded rapidly, chasing the edges of the void. It surged forward faster than the drifting core at its center, swallowing the darkness that dared to stand in its way.

No one moved. No one ran. No one even tried to defend themselves. The light did not feel like danger; it felt like salvation.

When it finally reached them, it spread like water over stone, climbing their bodies, wrapping them in warmth. It poured over their shoulders, between their fingers, across their faces, until everything around was bathed in a bright, endless glow.

All at once, it poured through them, a tide of warmth, healing, relief, and forgiveness.

The light touched them like the first sunrise after a long, frozen night. The crushing despair that had filled their chests melted away, like frost dissolving under the morning sun. The trembling of their hands stopped. Their breathing steadied. The heaviness that had bound their minds began to lift.

But it wasn't only their souls that healed. Their bodies felt lighter, too.

Knotted muscles relaxed. Old wounds sealed in soft glows of white. Aches faded into nothing.

"His bloodline talent…" Brakhtar's voice returned, steady and full for the first time in minutes. Under the glow, his two heads synchronized, both sets of eyes focusing on the figure now approaching through the veil of light.

Under the radiance of Presence and Grace, everyone locked on the source.

The figure descended slowly, wings spread wide—massive, cloudlike, and faintly translucent, carrying light with every motion. He looked like a celestial being stepping through the dark, the brilliance of his aura driving back the void.

His hair—messy, pure white—glowed faintly, strands catching the light like threads of silk. His smile was calm, familiar, the kind of expression that disarmed every instinct of fear. It was the smile of a friend, a brother, a lover who cared.

Then they saw his eyes—blue like the deepest skies of a forgotten world, bright enough to reflect eternity itself. Inside them, soft clouds drifted freely, unbound, like small pieces of heaven moving within the storm that surrounded them. Those eyes felt infinite… and merciful.

Everyone stared, spellbound. The weight of awe pressed against their hearts. For a moment, it felt as if a divine messenger had appeared, a being sent to rescue them from this suffocating dark prison.

His Presence and Grace were strong enough to affect even Liora, a Rank 4 Practitioner, and on the Rank 2s and Rank 3s—whose minds and souls were already on the verge of breaking—it worked like gravity.

And finally, the name broke from trembling lips all at once. "Adyr…"

He looked at them in return, his calm, reassuring smile never fading.

"Yeah." His voice came low, steady, and warm, carrying the same comfort as the light that still flowed from him. "Sorry for being late. Got a little lost on the way."