Merin senses the dense, ancient power radiating from the Cross Lady as chaos erupts below.
Devourers clash with Republic troops, but none dare come close to where he and the Cross Lady stand.
Even Valerie, though visibly unbound now, is untouched—feared as both the mate of one great being and the mother of another.
Everyone senses it: neither of the two godlike entities cares for her, but none will risk provoking them.
The Cross Lady's brow tightens.
"Why are you here?" she asks.
Merin smiles and steps forward slowly.
"Today is my daughter's eighteenth birthday. Why wouldn't I be here?"
"You knew about me before," she says.
Merin smirks.
"What do you think? Someone overestimated herself trying to refine a dimension—and failed."
The Cross Lady flinches inwardly. Dimension. That word again. Do outsiders really see their world as just another layer of existence?
She narrows her eyes.
"So you knew your daughter would become my vessel."
Merin shrugs.
"A small sacrifice for a greater cause."
Valerie's eyes widen in horror.
She rushes toward Merin, screaming, "Bastard! How can you say that!"
She pounds her fists against his chest, but Merin's eyes remain cold.
His hand calmly moves behind her head and strikes.
She collapses like a discarded cloth sack at his feet.
He doesn't break her fall.
The Cross Lady watches with curiosity, eyes gleaming.
"If you feel nothing for her, then why accept my mating bond?"
Merin shrugs.
"I wanted to see how strong our child could be."
The Cross Lady's smile fades slightly.
"You are the father of this body. So if your people retreat, I will let you leave."
Merin shakes his head.
"We've come this far. How can we leave empty-handed?"
She nods once.
"Then this won't end without a fight."
In an instant, both vanish.
They reappear ten thousand meters above the forest canopy.
Below, the battle rages unseen.
Merin scans the open sky.
"A perfect place to fight without holding back."
The Cross Lady's smile returns.
"Then let me show you how talented your daughter truly is."
Behind her, a massive serpent made of twisting purple flame coils into existence.
With a shriek, the flaming purple serpent hurtles toward Merin like a living comet.
A violet crystal shield materialises before him, shimmering with dense energy.
The serpent slams into the shield, detonating in a wave of heat and flame, but the shield holds firm, cracking but not breaking.
The Cross Lady follows with a barrage of elemental spells—razor winds, molten fireballs, water lances, and jagged earth spears.
Merin raises his palm.
A dome of pure, silver-tinged magic energy forms around him, absorbing the elements without reacting to them.
Unlike her mastery of elemental transformations, Merin's strength lies in the sheer quantity and purity of magic energy.
The path of the mage is transformation—Merin has taken that path to its peak, refining his energy until it is nearly divine in quality.
Suddenly, behind him, a thousand magic circles bloom into existence—massive, interlinked rings of glowing purple.
From each one, hundreds of compressed magic energy bolts shoot forward like rain.
A storm of force descends on the Cross Lady.
In response, a floating stone fortress erupts into the sky around her, its ancient walls crackling with protective enchantments.
The impacts blast chunks from the structure, shaking the air with thunderous sound, but the fortress holds.
Minutes pass.
The storm subsides.
The two figures float high in the clouds, facing each other silently.
Merin is calm.
For him, this is merely the beginning.
Only an hour has passed—barely a warmup.
He has used only the mage's path so far.
The path of the martial artist lies untouched.
And even if both paths fail, he still holds a final card.
The Cross Lady, however, frowns.
She can feel it.
With every massive spell she casts, her grip on Allison's soul weakens.
She's siphoning too much magic from the body, and if she empties it completely, Allison may seize back control.
She cannot let that happen.
This fight must end quickly.
And she must win in a way that strikes fear into all invaders—so none would dare move against her again.
She begins chanting.
An ancient, long-forgotten language spills from her lips.
The sky darkens.
Magic energy begins funnelling from every direction—streams from the forest, mountains, rivers—all gathering above her.
A colossal spell circle spins into existence over her head, wide enough to cover cities.
Merin watches, interested.
Still no fear.
Because so far, he has only shown her the magician's way.
The martial artist waits behind his calm gaze.
And beyond that, something even more dangerous.
The Cross Lady raises her hand to the sky and shouts, "Come out—Godslayer."
The clouds split.
A massive silver-gold sword descends like a divine judgment, glowing with celestial and abyssal runes.
As it nears her, the blade shrinks in size, folding into a form fit for her grip.
She slashes once in the air.
A wave of silver-gold energy screams toward Merin, tearing space in its path.
Merin raises a pure magic shield—clean, radiant, and dense.
But the energy cut slices through it like paper.
It continues, reaching him in a blink.
He thrusts out his palm.
The moment the energy hits, a spark bursts from his skin—his palm halts the slash, but the power tears through his flesh.
When the energy vanishes, a single drop of blood falls from his palm.
It sizzles in the air.
The wound closes instantly, but the meaning is clear.
That sword—if it touches him directly—can cut deeper than any elemental magic.
He cannot allow her to close the distance.
He exhales slowly, then clenches the space with his will.
His field activities.
Dozens, then hundreds, of purple lances form in the air around them, hovering like silent predators.
They launch in unison.
The Cross Lady swings her blade with blinding speed, cutting through lances, her footwork forming defensive spirals as she parries with precision.
Even so, a few lances graze her—ripping her robes, chipping her defences.
Merin raises his right hand.
From his magic field, he draws power into a solid form—electric arcs twist, harden, and lengthen.
A thunder whip forms in his grasp, glowing violet with electric veins crawling over its surface.
He swings.
The whip crashes through the air like a lightning serpent, striking toward the Cross Lady just as she lunges forward, sword ready.
Metal and energy collide midair.
The whip wraps around the blade, crackling violently.
The Cross Lady snarls and channels power through her sword, shattering the whip with raw divine force.
But the impact sends both flying backwards.
They recover midair, eyes locked.
Each now bleeding, each now wary.
This is no longer a battle of testing.
This is war.
They flash toward each other, the Cross Lady's blade shimmering with silver-gold arcs, and Merin's fist wrapped in coiled thunder.
Their clash rips the sky.
Every strike is a shockwave.
Her sword cuts across his side—flesh tears open—
But the next breath, the wound closes, seamless.
His punch lands against her ribs—bones crack, blood sprays—
But purple flames rise around her, and she heals as if untouched.
Again and again, they trade blows, injuries exchanged like dialogue between gods.
She retreats briefly, chanting in a cold, dead language.
Curse sigils spin around her.
"Weakness. Slowness. Fragility. Despair."
The magic circles snap toward Merin, sinking into his skin.
But he doesn't flinch.
He walks through it.
His body doesn't slow.
His power doesn't dip.
He smiles.
After transforming into a magic body, his physical and psychic resilience grew exponentially—
Curses slide off him like dust off steel.
She growls.
She lifts her sword overhead again, casting a curse of madness—an ancient spell meant to twist the mind and crack the soul.
But his eyes remain calm, unmoved.
His will—titanic, refined through war, pain, and isolation—shields him from its touch.
He vanishes.
She gasps as he reappears beside her.
A punch slams into her gut—lightning explodes outward.
She coughs blood but spins with her blade, grazing his neck.
His wound heals before the blood fully forms.
Hers too vanishes in a blink.
They hover across from each other again.
Exhaustion creeps beneath their power.
But neither shows it.
Neither blinks.
They both understand—
This battle cannot be won with simple strength alone.
Down on the ground, Valerie gasps awake.
Her perception roars like alarm bells—warning, screaming.
She looks up.
Above, the sky is split—
A wave of purple magic clashes violently with gold and silver energy, blinding and immense.
She staggers to her feet, realising her inhibitor is gone.
And then she sees a familiar face—Selena.
"What's going on?" she demands.
Selena answers grimly, "They're fighting each other."
Valerie turns pale, panic rushing in.
"Can you stop them? Adam—he's going to kill my daughter!"
A voice replies from the crowd:
"It's his daughter, too."
Valerie's head snaps around, fury blazing in her eyes.
"Who said that? That bastard knew what would happen to her. He left her in danger. And now—he's attacking her full force, knowing if he kills that woman, Allison dies too!"
Before anyone can speak, the sky explodes with a monstrous surge of magic.
A massive construct of purple energy—like a divine hand—strikes through the clouds.
A body is hurled down.
The shockwave is immense.
It's Adam.
He crashes toward the ground like a burning comet.
Moments later, a second, even greater blast shakes the heavens.
Merin falls like a meteor.
He slams into a distant town—
The impact unleashes a violent surge of raw magic.
Everything within the town evaporates—
Mothers cooking, fathers washing up, babies in their cribs, children laughing—gone in a flash of white light.
A peaceful town is erased without warning.
Selena and the others stagger as the wave of power brushes past them.
One of them mutters, "We need to support him—"
But Adam's voice cuts into their minds, sharp and final:
"Don't get involved. I have a plan to save my daughter. If any of you join this war—
You're my enemy."
Selena freezes.
Her eyes widen.
She thought… Adam was going to sacrifice his daughter.
But the voice wasn't of a man giving up.
It was the voice of a man betting everything.
High in the sky, they watch as a streak of purple light rockets back upward—Merin rising again.
He charges toward the magic construct.
Again, the construct slaps down with crushing force.
But Merin's body erupts in purple flame—his energy rising, condensing, roaring.
He transforms.
The sky trembles.
A familiar shape appears—
The dragon from the Dragon World.
Merin takes his true form.
Massive. Majestic. Terrifying.
He mirrors the Cross Lady—construct against construct.
Two magical titans clash above the world.
Each blow rips holes in the air.
Their energies cascade across continents.
Mountains crumble.
Tsunamis rise and race.
Volcanoes erupt across nations.
Lightning devours the sky.
The war on the ground halts.
No one dares move.
The earth itself screams.
And then—Merin's voice echoes across the world:
"Sleep."
A command, quiet but absolute.
The Cross Lady's construct begins to fade—its power flickers, then dissolves.
And from the remnants, a girl's body falls.
Allison.
Sleeping.
Descending fast.
Merin catches her mid-air.
He holds her gently in one hand, scales gleaming, and chants—
"Soul Siphon."