In that single, explosive instant, the world around Ethan twisted violently out of shape.

His Mindscape collapsed without warning. The islands of his soul vanished as if erased, and everything he knew was crushed into one overwhelming sensation, one burning vision that swallowed all else.

Red.

Not the red of blood, but the red of a world consumed by fire.

Scarlet flames crawled across the ground and surged through the sky, roaring endlessly, filling every direction with heat and fury. The air itself seemed to burn. It felt less like a place and more like a punishment, as if Hell had been given form.

"The Heart-Devil Realm?" Ethan muttered, grasping at the specter's earlier words.

He had already sensed something deeply wrong the moment he arrived here. That unease was why he had instinctively expanded his soul-form, trying to tear free from this unfamiliar confinement and force his way back into his own Mindscape.

Only now did he understand how pointless that struggle had been.

No matter how much he expanded, the realm expanded with him, perfectly synchronized, locking him in place with cruel precision. Worse still, his opponent, the legless ghost that wore his own face, had matched him strike for strike without ever being pushed back.

The realization struck him with chilling clarity.

This world itself was the specter.

The flames, the sky, the ground beneath him, all of it belonged to that thing. The ghost was not merely standing within the realm. It was its master.

Was it truly his past self, given form and will, or was it a Heart-Devil born from the darkest corners of his own psyche? Why had it chosen this moment to surface? Was Shadowstrike's death the trigger, that brief instant of regret and weakness cracking his resolve just enough to let this thing crawl out?

Questions flooded his thoughts faster than he could grasp them.

"Hahaha! Stop thinking!" the specter crowed, its laughter sharp and unhinged. "I am you, and you are me! Everything you have is mine! Your Mindscape is impressively strong, I'll give you that. But now it's all been turned into my realm. So just stay here and behave. Since you want to struggle, go on, struggle! I've changed my mind. I won't destroy you yet. Stay here and rot. I have better things to do than waste time playing with you. I want you to watch, to see with your own eyes as I take everything. And those three women… hahaha!"

As the laughter echoed, a swirling black portal formed behind the specter, an abyss of absolute darkness that stood in violent contrast to the blazing world around it. The specter began to drift backward, slowly retreating toward the void.

Ethan's thoughts snapped into focus.

He knew that portal.

The Gate of Ascension.

It was the exit of the soul-space, the path that led back to dominion over the physical body. Once consciousness passed through it, control of the flesh would follow.

So this really was his Mindscape. Somehow, without him realizing it, this entity had manifested here and seized control. The question of when burned at him. Had it happened at the exact moment Shadowstrike died, born from his hesitation, his guilt, his brief lapse in will?

There was no time left to dwell on it.

The specter was already halfway through the Gate. If it reached the other side, if it claimed his body, the result would be catastrophic.

"Soul Technique," Ethan roared, forcing his will into a single point. "Soulspike!"

He already knew the odds were stacked against him. He had tested his abilities the moment this realm formed, and none of them responded. His druid transformations were gone. The Twilight War Spear might as well have never existed. The only thing that still answered his call was raw Soul Power, and even that felt unstable, like drawing water from a cracked vessel that was nearly empty.

It did not matter.

If he failed here, there would be no second chance.

If that thing escaped, he could be trapped forever. No one understood the terrifying resilience of his own Mindscape better than he did. If he could not destroy the invader now, breaking free from a prison forged from his own soul would be nearly impossible.

He poured almost every remaining shred of Soul Power into the attack, compressing it into a single, razor-sharp lance of psychic force.

The specter sensed it immediately. Its eyes narrowed, and for the briefest moment, something flickered across its twisted face.

Tension.

Ethan caught it, and his heart surged. Soul attacks could harm it. More than that, it feared them.

"You think this pathetic spike can defeat me?" the specter shrieked, though its voice wavered despite the bravado.

"Without Source Energy to draw from, you're nothing! I'm sparing you so you can watch!"

But the fear in its expression betrayed the words.

"Who lives and who dies hasn't been decided yet," Ethan shot back, his earlier panic replaced by a sharp, icy focus.

The Soulspike screamed through the air toward the specter's face. It twisted aside at the last instant, narrowly avoiding a direct hit. But this was not a physical projectile bound by simple momentum. With a thought, Ethan bent its course, forcing the spike to arc and pursue its target.

For the first time since entering this hellish realm, Ethan held the advantage.

He pressed it without hesitation.

The specter clearly lacked any real understanding of soul techniques. It flailed at the incoming spike with its incorporeal hands, trying to bat it aside. Each contact ended the same way, the spike piercing straight through its form, drawing out shrill, pained howls that echoed across the burning landscape.

Still, the cost was brutal.

After several exchanges, Ethan felt the strain bite deep. Guiding the Soulspike demanded constant focus and steady output, and his already dwindling reserves were draining at a terrifying speed. He could feel the emptiness creeping closer with every second.

If this turned into a battle of endurance, there was only one possible outcome.

The specter sensed it as well.

The panic that had twisted its face moments earlier slowly faded, replaced by a sharp, mocking sneer as it realized what was happening. It could feel Ethan weakening, feel the thinning of his Soul Power with every forced adjustment of the Soulspike.

Ethan saw that expression and his teeth clenched hard enough to ache.

"Laugh at this, you bastard," he snarled through sheer will.

Then, abandoning any pretense of careful control, he made a decision born from desperation rather than calculation.

"If I can't leave," he roared inside his own mind, "then neither can you!"

The Soulspike abruptly changed course.

Instead of chasing the specter, it tore away in a violent arc, screaming through the burning air like a comet and slamming straight toward the still-open Gate of Ascension.

"You—!"

The specter had been mid-dodge, already twisting its body to evade another pursuit. It had no time to react. Its eyes widened in raw terror as understanding hit a fraction of a second too late.

BOOM!

The impact released no sound in the physical sense, but the psychic shockwave that erupted was catastrophic. The Gate convulsed violently as distorted Soul Power detonated against its structure, rippling outward in a wave that tore through the entire realm.

"AAAGH!"

"ARRRGH!"

Two identical screams ripped through the fiery world, one from Ethan and one from the specter, perfectly synchronized, overlapping until they became indistinguishable from one another, a single chord of unbearable agony that echoed endlessly before collapsing into silence.

---

What felt like an endless stretch of torment within the soul passed as only minutes in the outside world.

The moment Ethan froze in place, his body going rigid as cold sweat broke across his brow, Rainie noticed immediately. She was the closest to him, and without hesitation she reached out, catching his shoulder and steadying him as his legs began to tremble uncontrollably.

Blackfin noticed at the same time.

His eyes flicked over Ethan's slack expression and trembling form, and his instincts screamed opportunity. This was a gap, a fleeting one, but real.

'Now,' he thought. 'This is the opening.'

That armored woman had unsettled him, but he did not believe for a second that it was anything supernatural. Good armor, maybe custom built, maybe experimental, but still just gear. He was a mercenary and an arms dealer. His base was stocked with weapons money alone could buy. If power armor that advanced truly existed, he would know. This was not some ridiculous action movie.

He tilted his head just slightly, the signal subtle and practiced.

Then everything went wrong.

WHUMP!

Something slammed into the ground from above.

A figure clad in heavy armor fell from hundreds of feet in the air and smashed directly into the crater Ethan had carved earlier. The impact shook the ground and violently deepened the pit, dust and debris blasting outward in all directions.

Before anyone could even shout—

Whoosh!

The armored figure launched itself out of the crater like a cannon shot, moving so fast it blurred into streaks of motion. It passed Blackfin's head in an instant and punched straight through the wall of the building behind him, vanishing inside with explosive force.

Every mercenary who had been on the verge of moving froze in place.

But the fear did not stop there, three more figures appeared high in the sky. Two of them wore no armor at all.

They did not fall, they simply walked.

Step by step, they strode through empty air as if the sky itself were solid ground. Two casual steps from hundreds of feet above, and they were standing calmly on the earth in front of the stunned mercenaries.

"Move it, maggot," one of them growled, his voice thick with disdain. "You're in your Black Grandpa's way."

The man wore pure black robes, his gaze locked directly onto Blackfin.

Blackfin blinked.

Black Grandpa? That was his phrase.

That single heartbeat of confusion was all it took.

SMACK!

An open-handed slap struck his face with overwhelming force. The impact lifted him clean off his feet, sending his body spinning sideways through the air like a rag doll.

The legendary underworld figure crashed into a stack of crates in the distance, wood splintering as his body tore through them.

"Damn," Blackie muttered casually, staring at his palm and then at Blackfin's crumpled form. "The technique is tricky to get right. How does the Boss slap people and make 'em move like that? Ah well, next time."

Without another glance, he turned and strode into the building.

Micah, who had arrived alongside him, was already kneeling beside Ethan. His brow furrowed deeply as he examined him, confusion etched across his face. He could sense nothing wrong with Ethan's energy, no imbalance, no corruption, nothing that explained what he was seeing.

Yet Ethan's body shook violently in Rainie's grip, muscles locking and releasing in uncontrollable spasms, his entire form wracked as if seized by a violent convulsion, while his consciousness remained trapped somewhere far beyond their reach.

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