As the old man tapped the phone, the screen flickered before blooming into a bird's-eye view of their surroundings. With a soft hum, the device responded to the magic coursing through it, and the entire forest floor unfolded like a luminous projection suspended in the air. Trees, clearings, and carved lines were rendered with unsettling clarity. The old man lifted his gaze toward the sky, squinting as though he were trying to peer beyond the clouds themselves, searching for an unseen eye watching from above.

"Your Majesty," he asked carefully, awe threading his voice,

"is this highly detailed projection truly being captured through that thing you call a satellite—one that revolves around our planet?"

The Emperor nodded calmly.

"Thankfully, I managed to stabilise it before its fuel was exhausted," he said evenly. "Otherwise, it would have fallen back onto Skadrial, and we might never have been able to utilise this piece of lost technology."

The old man hesitated, then voiced the thought nagging at him.

"But Your Majesty… with your spatial powers, wouldn't you be able to project something like this on your own? It feels as though this lost technology is of little use to us."

Once again, the Emperor nodded. As if to demonstrate, he casually flicked a finger through the air. Space rippled, and an equally detailed projection materialised beside the first, hovering soundlessly, every carving and contour rendered with flawless precision.

"Yes, I possess spatial authority. That is precisely why I can do this," the Emperor replied, his golden eyes sliding toward the old man.

"But tell me—can you achieve the same result without that device?"

The old man awkwardly scratched his beard, fingers brushing against coarse grey hair, and shook his head in defeat.

The Emperor turned his attention back to the projection. Below them, nearly complete octagonal carvings marred the forest floor, their edges lined with faintly glowing wisps that pulsed like slow, measured breaths.

After a moment, as though struck by a sudden thought, the old man turned again, curiosity slipping past caution.

"Your Majesty… which beast do you intend to advance after this ritual?"

At once, the Emperor's expression shifted.

"Is that something you need to concern yourself with?" he asked, his tone calm yet carrying an invisible edge.

Realising he had overstepped, the old man stiffened and bowed deeply.

"Please forgive this fool. I allowed my curiosity to get the better of me," he said quickly.

The Emperor acknowledged him with a nod.

"Be careful," he added, eyes returning to the projection. "I recently came across an interesting phrase in an old prose: 'Curiosity killed the cat.'" He paused then added.

"--but satisfaction brought it back..."

Cold sweat trickled down the old man's forehead. For a fleeting moment, he had forgotten who stood beside him—a man capable of vaporising tens of kilometres of land with a single thought. Someone who clashed with the Demon Emperor at regular intervals, matching him blow for blow, even when his own rank had been inferior.

As if sensing that the carvings below were finally complete, the Emperor rose into the air, robes fluttering as invisible pressure gathered. He raised one hand.

At once, the eight football-sized areas at each corner of the octagon erupted with flaring violet energy. One by one, grotesque contents filled them—bodies of beasts entangled with the bodies of candidates, candidates were wrapped tightly in white cloth, dumped with chilling indifference into their designated spaces.

The sight was horrifying. Even more horrifying was how unfazed the Emperor appeared as human bodies were discarded like ritual components. Cloth did little to soften the reality—they were still corpses.

The Emperor let out a single sigh at the sea of death below, but there was no hesitation. He brought both hands before his chest, fingers weaving into a peculiar, ancient symbol, and began to chant.

Below, the spectators watched as the air itself grew heavy. Mana particles thickened, brushing against skin like static.

"Is His Majesty opening his soul domain?" one whispered urgently. "Look—he's forming hand signs!"

Another spat in irritation, eyes never leaving the sky.

"Get out of your hole, fool. Not all hand signs open soul domains. Heh, how'd you know? While you were locked away advancing, one soul's research was completed. Only those with Epic or higher soul ranks can open domains—and even then, you need a highly defined spiritual space to project it into the outer world. Though his majesty can do it, he it not doing that"

"Oh? Is that so…" the first replied, entirely unfazed by the insult. It was true, after all—nearly everyone present had secluded themselves at some point and kept secluding themselves at regular intervals.

Those gathered were King-tier powerhouses, with only a few General-rank beings—six-star existences—having remained on the ground to carve the formations. Even they had long since retreated into the distance when the Emperor began chanting.

The higher one's rank, the greater the maintenance required to preserve it—and to ascend further. Seclusion, meditation, and relentless wandering in search of energy-rich resources were unavoidable burdens.

Abruptly, all discussion ceased.

The forest fell into absolute silence.

Above, only the Emperor's incoherent chanting remained, echoing as golden, divine light began to swirl around him in wispy streaks, coiling and overlapping like living threads.

It was as though the world itself had been muted.

Then—it happened.

The corpses began to melt.

Flesh liquefied slowly, collapsing into viscous pools as blood seeped free and crept along the carved lines in the forest floor. The Emperor's chanting intensified, vibrating through the air, as the crimson blood gradually transformed into radiant gold while racing through the formation at terrifying speed.

The process continued until nothing remained of the bodies, all blood converted into brilliant gold—gleaming like the Emperor's own eyes.

One by one, the flowing streams slowed. The football-sized spaces ignited, each emitting blinding divine light.

The first illuminated.

The second.

The third.

Then—nothing.

Only three shone. The remaining five were swallowed by absolute darkness.

Suddenly, the light from the three converged, collapsing inward upon itself, compressing again and again, layering until the brilliance condensed into a single, human-sized form. Slowly, wings emerged from its back, unfurling as though something sacred—and monstrous—was being born.

At that moment, the oppressive silence shattered, and sound rushed back into the world.

"W-what is that?!" someone cried out in horror.

"Fuck! Are we supposed to fight those things?!"

Had one seen only their reactions, they might have mistaken these King-tier beings for ordinary humans. But the suffocating aura radiating from the three newly formed entities before them told a different story—one that justified fear, hesitation, and dread in equal measure.

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