When they finally reached the site, Elara had to admit Bryella might've been right.
At first, it looked like nothing was there. But once they unleashed a burst of combined magic, the illusion broke, and a massive tunnel opened up in front of them, dozens of meters wide, cutting straight into the mountain's core. Cold air roared out like a warning.
Elara tried hitting the walls with a spell, but nothing chipped off.
The ice was impossibly hard. But the surface was covered in signs, claw marks, blast impacts, scorch trails. Whatever did this had carved straight through with terrifying power.
As they moved deeper inside, the temperature kept dropping. The air turned so cold it didn't feel real anymore, like it could burn flesh with a touch.
"We're here," Bryella said.
Before them stretched a vast cavern, torn apart by chaos. Cracks ran along the icy walls like veins, and beneath a layer of fresh frost, Elara spotted it: a giant claw print.
So it really happened.
"Ugh… gross!" came a familiar groan.
Elara looked up and saw Bryella sulking on the ground, arms crossed, puffing her cheeks out like an angry otter. Her eyes were locked on a chunk of ice-blue crystal sitting in a black pedestal.
The shard pulsed faintly, giving off a cold aura, similar to Bryella's magic, but dirtier, like it had been mixed with something else.
"What is that… your shard?" Elara asked.
Bryella scowled, her voice full of frustration. "That's the leftover scrap of my power! That damn dragon swallowed me, and this is what came out!"
She kicked at the ground. "It probably spat it out just to mess with me! Disgusting! When I rebuild myself, I'm gonna find that lizard and punch it across the continent!"
Elara's attention drifted from the tantrum to the pedestal beneath the shard.
It was strange, more than just a stand. The thing gave off an odd magical feeling. A kind of layered, empty energy that didn't belong to any element.
"This isn't normal," Elara muttered.
It clicked suddenly. That pedestal... it wasn't just holding something, it had created a separate space. A spatial construct.
That explained everything.
That was how Bryella had survived sealed away for so long. Her sanctuary hadn't just been protected by magic, it was cut off from the rest of the world, hidden in a pocket space that couldn't be reached through normal means.
And it wasn't something you could break with brute force either. It was like punching a reflection, useless unless you understood how space itself worked.
Someone, or something, had come here with the knowledge, and the power, to shatter that sanctuary and pull Bryella out.
Only a true Dark God of space magic… or a creature born from the void itself… could've done that.
Elara pointed at the shard. "Should we take it?"
"No! Don't Take it!" Bryella yelled. "I don't want to see that gross thing again!"
So the three of them left that frozen cavern, Bryella's personal trauma site, and stepped back into the swirling snow.
Far away, in another city, Belial casually descended from the sky. Below him, another siege was in full swing. The scene was so familiar now, it almost looked routine.
Belial used to worry that he might've gone overboard, eating too much, hunting too often, and maybe wrecking the local ecosystem beyond repair. But once the beast tide started shrinking, he stopped chasing every creature he saw. Well, he said he'd hold back, but in truth, he didn't slow down much at all.
The moment he found out the beast tide wasn't some natural disaster but part of a man-made plan to destroy human cities, and that the person behind it had now become his personal enemy, Belial stopped pretending to care.
He started hunting with enthusiasm again. Ecological balance? Environmental damage? That was not the reason.
He was a hero now, just look at how many people he'd saved! Cities probably owed him more than just thanks. Maybe a whole stretch of reinforced city wall too.
Honestly though, the beast tide had probably died down not because he backed off, but because the villain behind it was running out of energy, or maybe because Belial had eaten too many of their monsters. Either way, he couldn't get a proper meal anymore unless another city got attacked.
And even if he never admitted it out loud, there was something addictive about the thrill of those big hunts. Millions of monsters had been reduced to ash, turned into fuel for his growing body. The magic inside them flowed into him, swelling his strength.
He had grown again, back to almost fifty meters tall. His weight had shot past the 10,000-ton mark. That meant he was getting close to his old form's level.
Growth for Godzilla-type creatures wasn't about age, it was about energy. More fuel meant more power.
Just like the real Godzilla, who grew to over 100 meters after absorbing massive amounts of nuclear radiation, Belial's body kept evolving thanks to his never-ending feast.
But it wasn't just about size. His body was changing too. His scales were darker now, though it was hard to tell under the snow.
His horns and dorsal fins had dimmed, their light hidden beneath the surface. His body was thicker, tougher.
Bones denser. Muscles stronger. The atomic furnace inside him burned hotter, letting him fire his Atomic breath more often.
Now, he was strong enough to walk into the Holy Capital and bite someone's head off if he felt like it. Sure, his growth would eventually slow unless he found new energy sources, but that was fine. He could start optimizing, refining his organs, especially the Ice organ he'd created in the North. His Cold Breath was becoming terrifying, maybe even able to match something like the Absolute Zero Cannon someday.
Odd as it sounded, he actually felt kind of thankful toward the one behind the beast tide.
Without them, how could he have grown this fast? And to top it off, they'd handed him a new mystery to chase. He'd definitely repay that generosity, by using a little extra force when he crushed them later.
Following the system's map, Belial reached another city that had been attacked. His massive form hovered above the ruins. He bared his fangs. A grin full of oily malice spread across his face. The audience was in place. The show was about to start.
Far away, Malrik had already spotted him through his modified vision. In the depths of an ancient fortress, a strange, fleshy brain the size of a person pulsed behind him, plugged into the floor like tangled roots. His spinal cord was directly linked to it, feeding him live data from the battlefield.
He had prepared everything for this moment. Thin soul threads and fleshy cords extended from his fingers, connecting him to dozens of puppet-like warriors on the walls.
They looked like zombies, but they moved in perfect sync, controlled as if by one mind. Their eyes were dull, their faces blank, but that was enough to fight.
No one knew why the white dragon never attacked humans, but Malrik didn't care. In fact, it made things easier.
These humans would make perfect sacrifices when the time came. The brainless monsters he sent forward were disposable, but they served their purpose.