In the skies of northern Xilu’s Wubei Province, an oval-shaped black vortex abruptly appeared. Prettik darted forth like an arrow; another swirling void was forming in his path.
Between transitions, Prettik glanced backward at the last second—and his face drained pale. He nearly collided with the exit portal.
Zhang Boqian brushed past the sand soldiers without pause. His direct thrust sliced through the array toward Stone Keep, where resounded the battle clash of Hao Di and Habus.
Emma’s floating city resembled an overturned saint-goblet pouring continuously an endless stream of warriors of various species across races. These figures slid down the curtain’s brilliance onto the earth, directly hurling them towards the city wall of the You Tong fortress. Below, an army’s might was already gathered—magnificent enough to lay claim upon any conquest with thunderous force.
The fortress of You Tong, fully mobilized, unleashed immediate counterstrike: from its walls roared the fire of powder weapons and blasts of mana-guns. Several aerial gunboats rose into the sky, dive-bombing into the battle below them. Suddenly, a mighty champion erupted from the battlefield, flinging his spear. With a resounding boom the aircraft was pierced through. With relentless might it flew on, a cannonball aimed at the fortress gate!
But still mid-flight, one orb of arcane might streaked through the battlement towers above to demolish the burning steel into dust. Zhao Jun Du lowered his gun while watching the sand soldier legions closely. Even slight, his brows twitched at the unidentifiable.
At the front lines atop the city gate, however, the Imperial commanders of You Tong hadn’t held composure that steady. All had lost at least slight paleness of mind.
The warriors rushing forth had not shown life even in their falling—their postures more phantasm than flesh. Nevertheless, the might displayed in the previous throw was at least earl-tier in devastation. Could this legion of warriors really contain commanders comparable to the most elite units?
Further analysis was granted by watching Zhang Boqian’s slicing path; some sand soldiers did not lay slain entirely: arm-or-leg less, some were broken halves staggering upward unceasingly. Faced against those insensible to pain, such battle was unlikely ever to prove ‘leisure.’
Afore the heavens, as Prettik entered the transitional portal at the crucial moment, he made an intricate turn and halted momentarily. Gripping the scepter with both hands, it appeared akin to a grand staff, aimed Heaven’s way. Through it he cast toward Zhang Boqian—a dark arc of shadowy essence, striking from the distant firmament as a faceless monstrosity yawning wide in hunger for prey.
Though Zhang’s famed velocity is legendary, Prettik dared not let him sustain his unchecked acceleration. For if Zhang gained speed long enough, even void traversal itself might scarcely surpass him. Launching the final assault, Prettik barely found time even to turn: his form spun backward and darted right into the transitioning swirl just at the brink of vanishing.
Zhang did not so much as cast an eye toward that looming darkness, waving a careless hand that delivered an inaudible thump—an invisible fist smashing down upon the malevolent force with the resound, *Boom!*
The dark mist, however, refused dispersal—it instead thickened like flattened dough upon pressure, *Boom* unfurling into a looming black wall against the martial hero’s course. Winding across its obsidian plane were countless visages flickering, mouths gaping in motion, eyes firmly sealed. Faces contorting through endless transitions between forms.
*‘Yokai No Mori,’* or as Prettitk once first summoned at earl-rankhood—a Patriarch-Level power belonging to the Ancients himself. Named *Howl Chains* for the offense, the *Wall of Faithless* at the defense.
Yet even Zhang, with breadth of experience unmeasured, raised his brows. For what sort of war-locking Demonblood wielded their rod as if long weaponry and summoned an offensive/defensive combo remotely?
But trifling diversions could never truly disrupt the martial patriarch. He unfurled “Thunder Riven Blast,” a sound so resonant that the wall visibly began to thin while its etched faces seemed to widen with awakening gaze. Before the magic could reassert dominance, a secondary burst cleared all remnants to purity—leaving nothing behind.
Standing on the stone balcony where the pinnacle of the Fortress rose, Haungdi and Habus fought without let up.
One observed the environment would assume no true conflict—the surrounding grounds and stone railings remained largely intact. Indeed not even the towering adjacent glass panes showed breakage. Yet glancing upon the two duellists’ battle wear and bearing, a starkly opposed impression surfaced.
Within mere moments that passed since this scene first unfurled, both had drawn wounds.
Lesser was Haungdi’s wound; across waist and rib with light grazing marks of severance; even a spot or so dark by spilled blood. While Habus’ armor’s exterior remained perfect from torso to limb—it had only collapsed upon his midsection chest down diagonally from shoulder across abdomen revealing bloodied undercloth.
A vampire’s body could heal grievous damage quickly, even amidst warfare; thus the presence of spilled blood alone could only testify toward the lethality he’d experienced.
Even as Zhang broke into the local atmospheric domain at unparalleled high speed, the clashing warriors instinctively both turned to behold. Haungdi’s eyes flickered surprise while Habus remained aloof. Seemingly even an incoming race of mortal sovereign could not so much as wobble his calm composure.
Yet it was upon a sudden dark vortex bursting amidst near skies—Prettitik spewed forth. There Habus’s eyes finally widened, his composure shattered.
Prettitk had half stumbled from the portal entrance. Fortuitously unharmed otherwise, the warlock swiftly balanced flight. But even now—far, a distant speck exploded into rapid expansion. Zhang Boqian neared.
While his form couldn’t yet fully be discerned, rolling thunder cracked open the very balcony with the impact of another “Thunder Riven Burst” that lached violently forth at Habus.
Glyph inscriptions circled around Habus erupted crimsonly, just before he received direct hit. With a *Pang*, he flew backward as rails crashed beneath his fall to the outside world. A blur intercepted, as Prettitk flew at full-speed to clasp hold—propelled both further still some dozens or meters before stabilizing.
Prettitk furious shouted out, “Is that how Qin Tengu treats all?”
Chest heaved pale; blood slipped across Habus’s lips which he hastily wiped himself. But he did not face back his human foe at all; gently patted the hand that held his right arm from Prettitk with weary resignation.
At the edge of the deck stood Zhang, face cold, voice even colder, stating, “This Sovereign honors the past with blood. Any that dare defy me now?”
A silence settled as he looked over him; the sorrow within Haungdi’s gazed eyes unfathomable by even blazing storms. Meanwhile, he sensed Prettitk’s fingers tightening around the forearm and exhaled a deep lament at his old comrade’s loyalty.
“PrPr,” said Prettiik with refusal sharp and clear in a single word.
At that moment, the staff in hand slashed outward sharply, not transmuting its force. Directly from the rim of the platform arose one “The Wall Of The Faithless.”
Meanwhile from behind Prettitk and Habus, new swirling gate unfurling.
Black mist swirled upon the balcony without concern for the arcane wall as waves advancing. In contrast to this, only a quiet palm thrust from Zhang Boqians’s hands rendered that dark curtain into shadow-melting dawnlight.
Prettitk, immediately pulling Habus in flight for his exit, turned back momentarily, and Habus abruptly froze—redirecting both trajectories in an instant by sheer muscle power. The lingering force of Zhang Boqian’s final strike broke straight through “The Wall of The Faithless” impact striking Habus across his back.
From Habus erupted one cough—the spray turned red misting through. Yet his positioning was impeccable; the redirected blow gave their velocity precisely a last surge pushing toward the vortex. Zhang stood motionless. One stride would bridge the space in the blink of eye.
Before he could strike true, the staff top’s tip rotated, the soft light swirling there suddenly transformed—glinted with the opening eye-like brilliance.
Then came the black sun rising.
Dark absolute devoured the dark fog entirely; it crept onto the terrace, enveloped the entire camp ruins, swallowing entirely the positions of Zhang Boqian and Haungdi within its domain.
Within endless obscurity stood motionless one man—his frame, average. Yet presence resonates across the plane of darkness as if He was Its source.
The words were clear, and cold: *‘Demon Emperor.’* And Zhang moved to strike…
But this time even before fist closed entirely upon itself, black abyss alongside the man’s form vanished with equal swiftness it had appeared—with no trace left beyond the sudden parting storm clouds and revealing skies.
Of course, by that delay, even as short as a single breath, had offered Habus and Prettitk escape through the rift.
Zhang uttered but short “Hmph!” as form propelled across distances. Within moments, the battlefield emerged anew before him: Sand soldiers ceased spawning reinforcements, and full-scale war engulfed siege. Every cannon blast, every deathly call was akin unto battles past.
Emma’s silhouette flickered and wavered; as if preparing to drift again into void.
Sudden re-intensifying winds followed the hero again; he rocketed with friction’s sparking blaze behind—before one final thundered blow directed straight to the city.
With earth trembling once the aura surrounding Emma paused—a sudden stalling solidity, as fluid light streams froze rigid as though fissuring through the fabric of matter’s integrity while some segments developed horizontal lines in weakness. Yet only moments held this pause. Emma flickered once… twice… then faded silently from existence.
Zhang now hovered still midair, eyes set on where city had lingered while offering no sign he intended further action. From beside rose Haungdi’s presence anew.
Hao Di spoke, “How did the sky-fort withstand against attacks?”
Zhang answered, “Still stood with my nine-tenth’s strongest. Unbroken.”
Hao Di: “And that demon-king’s illusion? Did you discern his real power?”
Zhang paused, “That was a passively activated echo projection stored within the staff to preserve the scion, maybe a sovereign’s equivalent of the moment. Though I once encountered Arachnid Queen’s projection as well—the demon sovereign likely holds greater might than her.”
Nods from Haungdi’s head.
“During the reign of Shadow, Supreme Ruler had measured Nyx’s strength; only after thorough probing would he feel comfortable facing only 1-2. Curious whether the Demons sovereign matches or dwarfs that queen.”
Zhang considered: “Hard saying.”
Hao Di observed, “Night Court’s situation remains suspicious beyond belief recently. From all I deduce, the ones pulling strings in Parliament behind certain hostilities have no bearing from Coronation. It instead leans toward Shadowed King.”
Zhang glanced toward him at that, “If it’s indeed so—the great sovereign’s strings are controlled by the Holy Summit itself? Yet, not necessarily of the Lily-eth, you believe?”
“I know,” the emperor agreed solemnly. “The suggestion could seem incredible when first spoken. Indeed—it was exactly my own suspicion.”
“Black-fire shall cease soon in a few days; inevitably they shall strike then,” Zhang said glancing far past toward You Tong’s battlefields, concluding, “I felt dimensional ripple here in Westland earlier—it brought me over for investigation. I have now concluded affairs, hence shall now bid your sovereign’s leave.”
“You travel in New Realm repeatedly,” HaoDi warned solemnly. “Despite restraint of true power—such visits always carry costs. One must mind one’s vitality.”
Zhang snorted at once. “Spoken by one echoing *him* ever after, as to what matters even a death’s door approach when the ones whispering caution into ears are already the dead themselves. Don’t suppose I would care if *you* scold.”
Letting his breath go in sigh; helpless murmurd:
“Zhang Da Wang…”
But HaunDi lingered on that note… eventually, speechlessness held.
With final gesture of farewell from back raised hand: “Fearing whether I will stray path? Yet none save final moment reveals if one has trod the way righteous… Martial ways flow purely through inner will. Ever forward I must tread. For why should I seek or watch for other guiding glares?”
No reply would come from Haungdi. There he stood still watching the departure of the Sovereign vanish through outer-space of void.
But his glance returned slowly toward final combat of You Tong, where end loomed nearer.
Deeper still from shadowed alleyways in Emma lay emerging two forms—landing heavy upon reemerging ground both, gasping for air while resting from encounter with the celestial masters of mankind.
Habur spoke first, “PrPr—never dare do such things again.”
“Now calm, if still small sorrow remains” replied Prettitk not in fury, just murmured disappointment; “And yourself?”
“If the King did mean me harm,” mused Habur silently, “he might had sent any of the other nobles or lords. Choosing myself for support, perhaps he really did only hope that safety find in me return. … But then again—the motives wrapped beneath that benevolence remains mystery.”
At far end now came running an anxious noble vampire—a call out echoed through passage’s curve.
“My lords, we already entered Void.”
Prettitk merely nodded. Shaking off dust from outer vest’s hem, he paused as if in contemplation before replying gently.
“For a short while we will rest here; Lord Qingyang’s expertise over space is great. Returning to surface too early brings risks that might attract his attention.”
None doubting this command given, the noble bowed briefly in affirmation and returned again along the same passage to see its purpose done. Only when the silhouette was entirely concealed at next alley’s turning—did Habs now look back, in question toward his companion.
Prettitk parted lips slightly—nevertheless stayed silent—just took Habs’ hand and led past blocks toward towering structure—entered a vast inner space occupied by arcane laboratories and many instruments—where mana sigils flashed one upon another across room. Clearly marked a control core chamber.
Into the adjacent inner hall where a large round disc stood, roughly 30ft. In diameter. Before, a shifting image appeared—clearly that of the same Demon Monarch again!
Serene in tone as He spoke, addressing: “Come hither with your thoughts unhidden.” The holo-image vanished.
Understanding suddenly dawn within Habs as realization dawned: the detour Prettitk took within the abyss. Yet—what point of remaining when demon projection could trace to fixed position effortlessly?
Voice cracked through the room: quiet, yet edged with urgency.
“If you truly dread returning. Then flee now; go wherever desired—for Emperor Kane had not traced you, hence—no matter where. Untraceable.”
The habs silently deliberated; fingers lifting to wipe Prettitk’s tresses free from soot; “To return—I was always destined so.”
Gripped hands convulsively tightened with desperation from Prettiik;
“At the very least hear Kane with openness! Please. Deeply he reveres thee. Whatever choice awaits thee… do first give him opportunity to make his pleas!”
Habur wanted words, only to see into pleading eyes above—and swallowed whatever thoughts back, merely nodding. “Alright.”
Without a further utterance, hand in release, steps firm as Prettiick exited toward main chamber; barked command that directed Emma’s leap next to outspace south at Duskworld Continent.
Thus ends the tale—until fate may once again summon forth its characters for another episode.
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