The emerald fog within the Vance Manor did not merely obscure sight; it devoured hope. Outside the pulsating black barrier that had swallowed Rayn, the atmosphere was suffocating. Veora

  "He’s gone... that fool is truly gone," she whispered, her voice trembling. "A Void Scourge user trapped in a Grade-3 Phantasm? Benson was right. I shouldn't have let him near this place. His blood will be on my hands."

  In stark contrast, Vespera

  Veora stopped her pacing and glared at Vespera. "Are you truly made of stone? Your husband was just dragged into a devil’s maw! Elara Vance is a parasite who drinks the youth of the innocent. She is likely flaying his soul as we speak, and you sit there as if you are waiting for tea!"

  Vespera tilted her head, a small, enigmatic smile playing on her lips. "Senior Veora, your concern is noted, but unnecessary. My husband may appear to have a 'weak will' to those who measure the ocean with a cup, but his mind is a labyrinth that even a God would struggle to escape. He is not locked in there with a devil; the devil is locked in there with him."

  Veora stared at her, stunned. She thought.

  Twenty minutes passed—twenty minutes that felt like twenty years of torment for Veora. Suddenly, the black barrier shivered. It didn't fade; it tore open like a wound in reality.

  Veora and Vespera both lunged toward the opening. But as the mist cleared, the sight that met them was a masterpiece of horror.

  A body lay sprawled on the rotting wood. It was Rayn—or what was left of him. His left leg had been torn away, leaving a jagged stump of white bone and shredded muscle. His right arm was a mangled mess of gore. But the face... the face was the most terrifying part. The left side was still young, his crimson eye staring blankly at the ceiling. The right side, however, had aged a century in minutes; the skin was like cracked parchment, the eye sunken and clouded with the grey film of death.

  "NO!" Veora shrieked, her legs giving out. She collapsed to her knees, the sight of her junior’s mutilated form shattering her resolve. Tears blurred her vision as she saw the "corpse" twitch, a final, silent plea for a life already lost.

  Vespera stood frozen. For a heartbeat, her golden eyes widened. She knew Rayn was a monster, but could he truly die? No. She sensed it—the lingering aura of the Red DragonHeaven’s Divine Rebellion. Rayn’s soul carried a weight that no ghoul could crush. she realized.

  "Senior, look closer—" Vespera started, but Veora was already gone.

  Driven by a mixture of guilt and hysterical grief, Veora scooped up the mangled "body" of Rayn. She grabbed Vespera’s wrist with a grip that bruised. "We have to go! Elara is too strong! We cannot defeat her today! I will not lose another junior!"

  Veora didn't wait for a reply. She channeled every ounce of her wind mana into her boots, shattering the floorboards as she leaped through the window. They descended the stairs in a blur, fleeing the manor as the green fog let out a high-pitched, mocking cackle.

  The journey back to the Spectre Central Office was a desperate sprint. Veora ran through the soot-choked streets of Ashbury, the "corpse" of Rayn slung over her shoulder, dripping phantom blood onto the cobblestones.

  They burst through the doors of the headquarters, their clothes stained red, their breathing frantic. Novara

  "Veora? What happened?" Novara rushed forward, her hands glowing with spatial mana.

  Freddy Orenstein stepped out from his office, alerted by the commotion. He looked at Veora, then at Vespera, his expression turning grim. "Veora, I told you to lead them. Where is Rayn? You said you brought his body, but I see only your shadows."

  Veora gasped, looking down at her arms. Her hands were empty. The "body" she had been carrying, the weight she had felt against her back, had vanished into thin air. There was no blood on her coat—only the faint, lingering scent of green alchemical mold.

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  "He was... he was right here," Veora stammered, her face turning a ghostly white. "He was mutilated... his face... I saw him die!"

  Vespera stepped forward, her voice calm and cold. "I tried to tell you, Senior. After we left the house, the weight vanished. You were so blinded by your own fear that you didn't notice you were carrying a hallucination. You left the real Rayn back in that house, alone with the witch."

  Freddy’s gaze turned into daggers of ice. "Veora... you are a Senior Spectre. You allowed a Grade-3 phantasm to trick you into abandoning your junior? You didn't even check the soul-pulse? You have become 'mature' enough, it seems, to leave your subordinates to die."

  Veora collapsed into a chair, her head in her hands. The realization was a soul-crushing blow. She had run away, leaving the "weak" Rayn to be devoured while she carried a bag of air.

  While Veora was weeping in the office, the real Rayn was standing in a literal river of blood.

  The hall of the Vance Manor was no longer a room; it was a meat locker. Rayn moved with a grace that was both beautiful and terrifying. The Conqueror’s Sword

  A Shadow-Crawler lunged from the ceiling, its obsidian teeth inches from Rayn’s neck. Rayn didn't even look. He pivoted on his heel, the blade tracing a perfect arc that bifurcated the monster from head to groin. Black ichor sprayed across the walls, mixing with the green runic symbols.

  Silas

  Rayn obeyed, his body a blur of motion. He ducked under a Spectral Knight’s mace and thrust his palm into the creature's chest.

  The green fire within the knight’s armor was sucked into Rayn’s palm, turning into a tiny, condensed marble of pure energy. The armor clattered to the floor, empty.

  "Another core," Rayn muttered, tossing the marble into his spatial ring. "Silas, what are these? They feel... dense."

  For one solid hour, the massacre continued. Rayn was a whirlwind of destruction. He didn't tire; the King DD Core

  Finally, the sounds of fighting died down. Rayn stood in the center of the hall, his black coat drenched in the fluids of four hundred abominations. He looked at the three remaining demon-witches. They were no longer screaming. They were huddled against the stone wall, their spines shaking, their eyes wide with a terror that transcended the grave. One of them had literally pissed herself, a puddle of yellow liquid spreading on the floor.

  Rayn walked toward them, his boots squelching in the gore. He stopped, looking down at them with a thin, predatory smile.

  "So," Rayn said, his voice melodic and terrifying. "You tried to feed me to your 'children.' How did that work out for you?"

  "P-please..." one of the witches, Vellena

  Rayn crouched down, the crimson thunder of his sword flickering near Vellena’s throat. "I will spare your lives for ten seconds. Tell me: what is Elara’s true goal? Where is the 'young face' hiding?"

  Vellena babbled, her words tripping over each other. "She... she wants the Queen! The Queen of Ashbury! Elara has prepared the 'Great Transference.' She wants to lure the Queen here, or infiltrate the palace, and put her soul into the Queen’s body! She wants a new life... she wants to rule the country and stay young forever!"

  Rayn let out a dark, mocking laugh. "The Queen? She wants to become the monarch of this pathetic, soot-stained kingdom? Her ambition is as small as her soul. I expected a god, and I find a social climber."

  He leaned closer, his crimson eyes boring into Vellena’s. "Is that all? How does she maintain her youth now?"

  "She... she lures young men," Vellena sobbed. "She has sex with them to draw their yang energy, then kills them to harvest the yin. Her husband found out, so she killed him. Her daughter... she drank her own daughter’s blood because it was the 'purest vessel.' She is a monster, sir! Please, let us go!"

  Rayn’s smile didn't reach his eyes. "A monster calling another a monster. How poetic. I told you I would spare you... but first, you must clean my floor."

  The witches looked at him, confused.

  "Drink it," Rayn commanded, pointing to the puddle of urine on the floor. "Drink the liquid of your fear. If you want to live like dogs, you will act like dogs."

  The witches hesitated. They looked at each other, then at the crimson lightning dancing on Rayn’s blade. They realized there was no mercy in this man—only a cruel, sovereign justice. They lowered their heads, lapping at the floor like wretched animals, their dignity shattered.

  Rayn watched them with cold indifference. "Straight ahead, you said? Through that corridor?"

  Vellena nodded, her face wet and humiliated.

  "Good," Rayn said.

  He began to walk past them. The witches exhaled, a spark of hope igniting in their hearts.

  In one fluid motion, Rayn didn't even turn around. He merely flicked his wrist, and three needles of compressed air, hardened by his earth element, shot backward.

  The witches didn't even have time to scream. Their heads were severed from their necks with surgical precision, falling to the ground with three distinct . Their blood erupted in violent fountains, painting the back of Rayn’s coat a fresh shade of scarlet.

  "I lied," Rayn whispered to the empty hall. "I don't leave survivors who have seen my true face."He adjusted his collar and walked into the darkness, toward the inner sanctum of Elara Vance.