However, this dragon was extremely resolute. It knew perfectly well that the sword in Thea's hand could kill it without any difficulty, yet it still fulfilled its duty, blocking the entrance without retreating even half a step, watching her nervously.
Miss Thea found herself in a dilemma. Excalibur was incomparably powerful, but its limitations were equally significant. The psychic dragon before her was loyal to its duty, and the sword itself had no intention of harming such a being.
If Thea were to forcefully wield it, a barrier would form between her and the sword. A poor initial impression between wielder and blade would be difficult to repair later. From another perspective, this dragon was not only a guardian, but also a guide; without it, Thea would never be able to reach that illusory world.
Sensing that she made no further move, the psychic dragon quietly let out a sigh of relief.
It did not fear death, but neither would it seek it. After a brief hesitation, it proposed a compromise that it believed did not violate its rules.
"Find someone who possesses the qualification to enter Paradise Lost, and have them invite you in. That is the greatest concession I can make."
Thea smiled. This was a result she could accept. "As you wish, Guardian."
With that, she sat down on the spot. For anyone else, such a condition would be nearly impossible. With six billion people on Earth, determining who qualified and who did not would be like searching for a needle in a haystack. But Thea knew exactly who qualified.
Many years ago, there had been a little boy who entered Paradise Lost in a dream. The reason was unknown; the purpose was unknown. He believed it had merely been a joyful dream, unaware that it was a real world—one composed entirely of psychic energy.
That boy was none other than Deadman, Boston Brand, who had little direct contact with Thea, yet regarded her as a god on a spiritual level.
The psychic dragon was puzzled as to why Thea remained seated instead of searching the world for a qualified individual. Was she staging some kind of silent protest?
However, it was not impatient. Nor did it hurry to revert to stone. It simply lay there as well. Competing in patience? It had spent countless billions of years alone—patience was the one thing it lacked least.
Yet in less than ten minutes, it was stunned.
Deadman, dressed in his bright red bodysuit, floated in.
At a glance, the guardian knew that this strange existence indeed possessed the qualification to enter Paradise Lost. Excluding the infinitesimal chance of coincidence, it was obvious he had been summoned.
At present, the conflict between Hal Jordan and Sinestro had grown increasingly sharp. As Hal's friend and Sinestro's nominal subordinate, Deadman had been staying on Earth during this period, idling about and causing trouble wherever he went.
"Boss, your place is really hard to find!" Deadman hovered in midair. Though he complained aloud, he was secretly alert, staring at the psychic dragon and wondering if he would need to fight this huge creature later.
After a moment of silence, the dragon spoke. "Human king who bears the holy sword, I will honor the agreement and guide you into Paradise Lost. However, your physical body cannot enter. That world is composed entirely of psychic energy."
Thea was pleased. Human king who bears the holy sword—the dragon certainly knew how to speak. She had known from the beginning that her physical body could not enter. This minor problem was something the holy sword could resolve. A sword formed from the collective will and imagination of countless beings naturally possessed functions as numerous as the stars.
Gripping the hilt forged from star-stone, Thea briefly communicated with the blade. A surge of power flowed back from it—fantasy made manifest, capable of turning the impossible into reality.
Her body gradually dimmed. The form once composed of matter transformed entirely into spirit, returning from reality to void—Heroic Spirit manifestation.
This was one of the sword's abilities: allowing its wielder to freely shift between the material and the immaterial, without side effects or time limits.
Already possessing formidable psychic power, Thea now received further reinforcement from her transformed body. Her spirit form swelled to over three meters in height, taking some time to stabilize before returning to normal proportions.
The holy sword in her grasp shone with a dazzling radiance. Sword and wielder resonated with each other—the blade granting power to the heroic spirit, and the heroic spirit feeding new emotion back into the blade.
In the eyes of Deadman and the psychic dragon, Thea now shone like a moving sun. Only she herself knew that her true psychic potential, affected by the unicorn clone, had not yet reached its upper limit; her current purity and brilliance were gifts bestowed by the sword.
Only by expanding her total psychic capacity, absorbing her other two same-origin clones, and discarding their personality traits could she ultimately complete the concept of the "true self."
Seeing this transformation, the psychic dragon had no further excuses. With a sigh, it turned around. "Get on my back. I will take you inside."
"Uh… where exactly are we going? I still have a date tonight…" Deadman muttered as he drifted onto the dragon's back, turning to ask Thea.
Miss Thea could only explain her objective in brief.
"Wait—are you saying I've been here before?" Deadman pointed at the rapidly rotating passageways around them. Though already incorporeal, he clutched the dragon's neck tightly, glancing around in disbelief.
"Yes, Boston Brand. You were once a visitor here, at a time you have already forgotten," the dragon replied kindly. "This is a rift between universes, time, and space. No matter how long you remain inside, only a single night will pass in the outside world. Under my guidance, you will be safe."
Thea sat silently on the dragon's back. The surrounding corridors emitted a hypnotic red glow. With just a casual glance, she saw countless people and events—war and plague, celebration and harvest—unfolding before her eyes. Even with her current mental capacity, processing so much information at once was exhausting.
Endless corridors and endless universes spun past. She closed her eyes, focusing instead on communing with the holy sword she had drawn into herself.
The dragon offered no further explanation. It was clearly a creature of few words.
The remainder of the journey was filled only with Deadman's constant shouting.
"That two-story house over there looks like my place in Gotham!"
"Hey, aren't you a dragon? Why are you spinning while flying?!"
"How much longer until we arrive? You're not planning to fly forever, are you? Even though I'm already dead…"
"You're spinning too fast… I think I'm the first Deadman in history to throw up his spiritual stomach…"
A vein twitched on Thea's forehead. "Shut up, Deadman."
Even so, it wasn't entirely his fault. The dragon was flipping and rolling through countless passageways like an acrobat.
At first, Thea maintained a dignified, upright posture, but eventually even she could no longer endure it. She wrapped an arm around the dragon's other neck, watching as it carried them deeper into the passage.