The lion of white mist opened its maw, releasing another wave of chilling mist thatsurged toward Zay like a crashing tide of winter air.
This time, he saw it coming.
Zay twisted his body, narrowly dodging the cold wave as it swept past him. He raised his arms into a defensive stance, muscles tense and eyes locked on the beast. But unlike before, the lion didn't immediately lunge—it circled him slowly, its form shifting like smoke caught in the wind, tendrils of mist curling and unraveling with every silent step.
They paced around each other in a ghostly dance, predator and prey blurring in the haze, both waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
Zay made the first move.
He surged forward with a burst of momentum, aura flickering at his knuckles as he slammed his fist into the lion's face. The impact split the fog briefly, but the creature's form simply swirled—disassembling into a storm of mist—before reforming as if nothing had happened.
Its eyes glowed dimly in the white haze as it opened its maw once more.
Zay reacted instantly. He launched himself upward, twisting in the air to avoid the cold blast. But instead of mist, the beast's body turned pitch black as it let out a deafening roar, louder and fiercer than before. Its roar wasn't just sound—it was pressure, intent, fury.
Then it leapt.
It ran along the air itself, using trails of thick mist as footholds. Zay's eyes widened as the creature chased him mid-air, every movement silent yet devastating.
With no time to waste, Zay expelled his aura, propelling himself downward in a controlled fall. Just as he hit the ground, he flared his aura again and vaulted backward—barely escaping the lion's massive jaws as they slammed into the chamber's floor. Stone didn't crack or crumble—it dissolved into mist on impact.
The beast reformed into its original white-mist state and began circling once again.
Zay remained crouched, eyes locked on the creature, breath slow and controlled.
'Is it following a sort of pattern?'
'It only attacks after the cold mist touches me... That mist doesn't numb the body—it messes with my head. Brings back memories... even from past resets. Only then does it strike. Unless... unless it's enraged like before, when it broke the pattern and attacked anyway.'
He clenched his fists, frustration rising.
'And my punches don't work. No blood, no bones. It's not even truly physical. What kind of bullshit fight is this? How do I defeat something that doesn't bleed? That doesn't even exist in a solid state?'
Then his eyes widened.
'[Midnight: Razor]..'. he thought. 'Wait, no—I can't use passives here. Damn it.'
He clicked his tongue in irritation, eyes narrowing as the lion continued its slow, haunting prowl.
'If I can't hurt it physically... maybe I can hurt it mentally. Psychologically. But how...?'
The lion exhaled another wave of chilling mist, and this time, Zay wasn't fast enough.
The cold air wrapped around him like a veil, and before he could blink, a memory surged to the surface—one not of pain or torment, but peace.
He was seated alone on a small wooden rowboat, gently rocking in the middle of a vast, sunlit ocean. The waves were calm, the skies endless, and for once, his mind had been at ease.
A moment later, the lion surged forward, its massive form slicing through the air like a phantom. It was on him in an instant.
Zay snapped out of the memory just in time, shaking his head sharply, disoriented—but alert.
'What was that?' he thought.
'That wasn't pain… That was something I enjoyed.'
The mist-lion halted mid-strike, leaping backward with a low, guttural growl. Its glowing eyes narrowed, and for the first time, it hesitated.
Zay noticed it immediately—its movements had slowed. Just slightly. But enough to make a difference. Enough to give him space.
His mind raced.
'…I see now.' His eyes narrowed.
'This isn't just a test of strength. It's psychological. A trial of experience—pain, joy, maybe even regret. It's trying to break me or confuse me… but why show me something peaceful? Why show me a moment I enjoyed?'
He stepped back slowly, keeping his gaze fixed on the beast.
'I need to observe more, If this thing is tied to memory and emotion, then there has to be a deeper trigger—some threshold I haven't crossed yet. Rushing in now would be reckless. I need a plan before anything.'
Around them, the orbs of dim light suspended in the mist began to glow slightly brighter, revealing more of the fog-shrouded battlefield. The visibility improved just enough for him to see the subtle movements of the creature more clearly—the way its paws barely touched the ground, the way its form flickered at the edges as if it were barely clinging to shape.
Zay's breath steadied, his amethyst eyes focused.
Twenty minutes had passed, and Zay's chest rose and fell in labored rhythm. Sweat mixed with the mist on his skin, each breath burning like cold fire in his lungs. He'd dodged relentlessly, darting through gaps in the lion's movement, analyzing patterns, looking for openings—but none came. His body ached, and his aura had thinned to a whisper.
The lion, too, had changed. It moved more sluggishly now, its elegant form less fluid, its mist fraying at the edges each time Zay shook off a memory. The beast circled less, stalked more.
Then—it stopped.
Its paws came together with deliberate grace as it turned its full gaze on him. Those pale, ancient eyes locked onto Zay's soul. Then, it closed its eyes and slowly tilted its head upward.
With a roar—graceful, almost mournful—it launched into the air, higher than before, wings of mist unfurling briefly from its sides. The moment the sound echoed through the chamber, the entire atmosphere shifted.
A deep chill tore through the room. Not just cold—ancient. The kind that seeped into the marrow of your bones, that made time feel frozen, irrelevant. Zay barely had time to react before the chamber exploded in white mist, a living, breathing force that wrapped around him like a shroud. It swallowed his body whole.
He stood in a burning village, bodies lined in rows like broken dolls. A woman screamed, her voice raw and shattering. Zay stared at her. She begged for her child—Zay had already tossed the child into the flames. For information? No. He remembered now. It was for fun. Her tears had meant nothing.
"You talked way too fucking much," he had said with a smirk as he drove his blade through her chest.
A temple collapsed under his power—screams of celestial priests rang out as a god of wind lay dying before him, wings torn from its back. Zay knelt on the god's chest, carving runes into its ribs with a ritual blade just to see if its divinity would leak.
A demon on its knees. Eyes like molten gold. Zay had already crippled its army. He gave it a choice: serve him—or suffer. When it chose defiance, Zay kept it alive for seven days, peeling away its essence one layer at a time, simply to test how long a soul could scream without a mouth.
And then it was pain. The lion—now just a streak of jagged white—slammed into Zay from behind. Its claws dug into his left leg, shredding flesh, slicing through muscle and nearly severing it at the knee. The sound was like wet cloth being torn in half.
Zay let out a strangled gasp as blood splattered across the mist, which devoured it instantly.
He collapsed to one knee. The lion leapt back, poised in the air, mist spiraling around it like a god of winter. It didn't pounce again. It wanted him to suffer. It was watching.
Another roar echoed—this one triumphant. Cruel.
And Zay? He was still trapped.
Eyes wide, breaths shallow, as the weight of thousands of lives he'd taken—some for war, others for power—but many for no reason at all, came crashing back down like a tidal wave of guilt he'd buried lifetimes ago.
He had lived so long. And forgotten too much.
He blinked—
And found himself standing atop the marble steps of a radiant palace, sunlight glinting off silver banners that bore his name.
Zay Yuso, Savior of Irelith.
He remembered this. A kingdom swallowed in eternal darkness. A parasite born of ancient corruption had nested beneath their land, spawning monsters that devoured cities. Zay had descended into the belly of that ancient beast and torn it apart. Alone. No armies. No backup. Just him, his Seals, and his fury.
When he emerged, soaked in black ichor and divine ash, the people had wept.
They sang his name.
They built statues.
He was their hero.
But…
A week later, a lone monster—nothing more than a remnant of the fallen hive—slipped past the weakened defenses and killed a young woman gathering flowers near the forest's edge. She wasn't royalty. She wasn't a warrior. Just a girl with amber eyes and dreams of becoming a musician.
And somehow, they blamed him.
"You promised we were safe!"
"You're the Savior—how could this happen under your watch?"
"This is your fault. You brought the monsters here in the first place, didn't you?"
The whispers turned to rumors. The rumors became doctrine.
And then came the chains.
Aura-sealing, soul-binding chains etched with ancient glyphs. He had been too exhausted to fight, too stunned by the sudden turn. He remembered falling to his knees on the palace steps, once again surrounded by the same people who had hailed him a god.
Now, they jeered.
He was dragged through the streets. Pelted with stones. His injuries from the final battle hadn't even healed.
They tied him to the obsidian slab in the central plaza—the one reserved for traitors and war criminals. He looked up and saw the king—the very man whose daughter he had saved from a basilisk's maw—turn away, unable to meet his eyes.
The executioner was dressed in white.
Elegant and unbothered. No words were given. No charges read. Just the cheers of the crowd—the same voices that once screamed his name in reverence.
And then, the sword fell without warning.
He felt the blade bite into the back of his neck, severing through tendon and bone like silk.He didn't scream. He didn't beg. He just listened to the cheers.
Back in the chamber, Zay dropped to both knees. His vision blurred. Blood poured freely from his ruined leg. His aura flickered erratically.
The lion, still a graceful beast of swirling white mist, watched him in silence. Not pouncing. Not pressing. Just… observing.
Like it wanted him to remember everything.