Kiaria's gaze hardened.

The Yin was no longer circulating. It was spreading–rolling outward like a tide that had lost restraint, pressing against the formation with intent rather than flow.

"All of you, step back," he said sharply. "The formation is expanding. Do not interfere with their battle."

The words carried authority, not urgency.

Everyone moved at once–everyone except Azriel.

His eyes never left the fog. His mind was locked inside it, isolated, dragged toward the lone figure standing against the encroaching darkness. He heard Kiaria speak. He understood that words had been spoken.

But meaning never reached him.

Mu Long cursed under his breath, stepped forward, and seized Azriel by the shoulder. He dragged him back–hard, unceremonious–just as the ground beneath their feet darkened and sank.

Azriel stumbled, breath breaking, but did not resist.

At Gen Jin's feet, the severed arm dissolved.

Bone blackened, softened, and melted into viscous liquid before evaporating into Yin fog. The injured Marquis vanished with it, leaving behind only rippling darkness–no sound, no trace, no visible displacement.

No one saw where he went.

Except Kiaria.

Beneath his gaze, the Will remained–thick, malignant, rotating. Evil Intent, dense and deliberate, threaded through the formation like a living current.

Gen Jin had not retreated.

He had submerged.

Aizrel felt it.

She closed her eyes and slowed her breathing, shutting out sight entirely. She did not cast a single whip lash into the air. Not one. She remembered the cost of carelessness.

One mistake here could not be repeated.

She listened.

Not with her ears–but with pressure, with distortion, with the subtle imbalance that always preceded violence. Her stance remained still, coiled, prepared to strike or defend without warning.

The ground shifted.

Yin flooded outward in a perfect circle–except where she stood.

Around her, black liquid surged to knee height, thick and heavy, swallowing terrain without ripple or sound. It pressed inward, suppressing her Yang violently, dragging at it like a weight chained to her spine.

Her energy began to drain.

Fast.

The formation had been completely tainted.

"Yin Sea," Azriel whispered hoarsely from afar.

From within it, Aizrel's position appeared like a solitary island–barely wide enough to stand–surrounded by endless black water. Every step beyond that boundary promised immediate annihilation.

The Yin stirred.

Four figures rose from the surface.

Each bore Gen Jin's face.

One emanated the heaviness of Earth, another the cold pressure of Water. Heat shimmered around the third, while cutting currents bent the air around the fourth–Wind.

Elemental bloodlines.

Each held a dagger formed of its own nature.

Aizrel opened her eyes.

They burned red–not with madness, but with strain. Four elements pressed against her intent from all directions, compressing space, testing her limits.

Her Vengeful Intent erupted–not summoned by skill, not guided by training.

It burst forth because her heart could no longer contain it.

The doppelgangers attacked.

One at a time. Relentless. Coordinated.

She dodged by intent alone.

Within the field of her will, she could feel where each strike would land before it happened. Blades passed where she had been, never where she was. Her movement remained constrained within the shrinking Yang zone, the Yin Sea preventing escape.

Evasion continued.

Then she forgot something.

The poison.

Blood surged up her throat.

She vomited violently.

The intent field shattered.

Her rhythm broke.

Four daggers tore through cloth. Sleeves split and fell away. Fabric at her waist and thighs was shredded, torn loose by precise, humiliating cuts. Skin met cold air–exposed not by accident, but by design.

"Despicable scum…" Aizrel hissed.

From afar, Azriel collapsed to his knees.

The sight–his daughter cornered, stripped of dignity, drowning in poison, surrounded by enemies wearing one man's face–shattered what remained of him. Tears fell freely, his body bowing beneath a pain he could not intervene in.

Gen Jin's will answered.

Aizrel saw it.

His kneeling.

His tears.

Her heart convulsed.

The vengeful side she had buried erupted completely.

Her Yang flickered.

That was enough.

Yin breached the boundary.

Like fog slipping through a crack, Gen Jin re-entered her Yang field the moment it destabilized. She lashed out instinctively–whip and kick slicing through space–

Nothing.

Only mist.

She coughed again, blood spilling freely now.

The doppelgangers dissolved.

Behind her–

Gen Jin appeared.

Real.

Solid.

Smiling.

Her strength failed.

The poison had reached deep. Her Yang could no longer suppress it. Veins blackened visibly beneath her skin, spreading from her pierced thighs upward, threading toward her waist like creeping rot.

Her legs buckled.

He seized her hair from behind and yanked her head back.

Aizrel screamed.

The sound tore through the fog.

Azriel broke.

He surged forward despite restraint, throat ripping raw as he shouted her name–powerless, watching his daughter dragged deeper into despair by the enemy he had sworn to end.

Gen Jin dragged her head sideways by her hair, forcing her to face the formation's edge.

"Look," he whispered close to her ear. "Look properly."

Her teeth ground together as pain lanced through her scalp. Vision blurred–but she still saw him.

Azriel.

Kneeling.

Hylisi clutched him from behind, arms locked tight around his shaking frame, her voice breaking as she screamed instructions no sound could carry. Mu Long restrained his arms with brute force, preventing despair from turning suicidal.

Gen Jin laughed softly.

"I'll torture you until he begs," he said calmly. "Until he kneels to me and asks for your life." His grip tightened. "And when that fails–I'll make him kill himself for being helpless."

He leaned closer.

"For letting you be born."

Aizrel forced her head up.

She looked.

And remembered it.

Gen Jin yanked her hair harder, dragging her upright until her neck screamed.

"Azriel," he called mockingly, eyes gleaming. "Want to see something beautiful?"

He dragged her close–too close.

His tongue slid across her neck.

Aizrel screamed.

The corrosive saliva burned instantly. Flesh peeled away in a hiss, skin dissolving, muscle exposed beneath. Fire tore through her nerves as blood flooded down her collarbone and pooled inside the Yang zone.

Her blood did not spread.

It collected.

An isolated pool of red within a black sea.

She writhed, breath tearing apart, heat and pain overwhelming her senses. Bleeding did not slow. His hand never loosened from her hair.

Gen Jin drew his dagger.

"Watch carefully."

He sliced.

Her hair fell.

Aizrel collapsed forward, knees smashing into her own blood. Her face struck the ground, nose splitting as more blood spilled free.

She did not lose consciousness.

Azriel did.

His Martial Soul erupted–Silver Snow Hawk tearing free in a flash of light–

–and froze.

He couldn't reach her.

Kiaria snapped.

Reality folded.

Azriel vanished.

The relic box sealed shut.

Kiaria's gaze lifted.

Locked onto Gen Jin.

For the first time, the Marquis felt it.

Cold.

Pure.

Not murderous intent.

Judgment.

He stiffened.

Aizrel moved.

She had been gathering energy the entire time–every breath, every spasm of pain, every second of humiliation compressed into a single purpose. She twisted her upper body violently, forcing motion where none should have been possible.

Her ankle snapped sideways under the strain.

She ignored it.

The whip lashed.

All her force.

All her intent.

It struck diagonally across Gen Jin's body and dragged him–tearing him backward through the Yin Sea like debris caught in a tide.

He screamed.

And threw.

The poison dagger left his hand in a blur.

It missed her chest.

Struck lower.

Ripped through her abdomen.

Shattered her spine.

And exited.

Her body arched once before collapsing.

The dagger vanished into the Yin Sea.

Both of them fell.

Broken.

Hylisi's voice echoed uselessly beyond the fog–screaming, pleading, raging.

Kiaria grimaced and sealed her away as well.

Outside, the formation answered no one.

Gen Jin laughed.

He lay back as black water surged upward, forming a pillar beneath him–supporting his ruined body like a throne.

"Hahahaha… that's all?" he coughed. "That's everything you have?"

The Yin Sea responded.

Four remaining token bearers were seized. Black liquid climbed through their skin like veins filling with ink, merging with flesh, eyes, bone.

Gen Jin raised a finger.

"Die."

Spikes erupted outward–from inside them.

Blood exploded into the sea.

Aizrel lay half-submerged in her own blood.

Below the waist, her body no longer responded.

The Yang circle trembled.

She smiled.

Barely.

"Patron," she begged aloud, voice hoarse but steady, "let my father and mother see how I destroy this pest."

Her voice crossed the formation.

Clear.

Unblocked.

Kiaria released them.

Azriel and Hylisi returned.

Aizrel smiled at them once.

Then she poured all the Golden Berry Beads into her blood.

Gold erupted.

Yin screamed.

Balance shattered.

She stood.

Her Silver Snow Hawk Scorpion descended.

Her soul weapon emerged.

The real battle began.

Golden Yang roared outward.

It did not spread gently. It invaded.

The blood pool beneath Aizrel's body ignited first–white Yang dissolving, then transmuting into pure Golden Yang, dense and sovereign. It surged through the Yang circle like molten sunlight, colliding with Yin head-on and forcefully converting it rather than dispersing it.

The Yin Sea screamed.

Black liquid hissed and recoiled as Golden Yang devoured its territory, erasing corruption by rewriting it. Yin and Yang slammed into equilibrium, the pressure bending space itself as the formation struggled to remain intact.

Aizrel healed.

Bones realigned. Organs regenerated. Poison evaporated as if it had never existed.

She rose.

For the first time, she released her mutated Martial Soul.

The sky split.

A Silver Snow Hawk descended in a cascade of radiant feathers, its wings vast enough to blot out the formation's upper boundary. From its spine unfurled a scorpion tail–gleaming blue, segmented, heavy with lethal poison.

Silver Snow Hawk Scorpion.

The air trembled beneath its presence.

Aizrel did not stop there.

She opened her mouth.

Reached inward.

And pulled.

Her spine emerged like a living weapon–silver-blue, flexible, segmented–sliding free without blood, without resistance.

A Scorpion Whip.

A true Soul Weapon.

Poison dripped steadily from its tail, each drop corroding the air before it could fall.

Across from her, Gen Jin staggered.

Yin swallowed his armor completely. His elemental bloodlines collapsed under dominance–Earth, Water, Fire, Wind erased in succession. His body hardened unnaturally, strength replacing technique, but power drained rapidly.

This was no longer a test.

The real battle began.

They vanished.

Reappeared.

Yin solidified into weapons at Gen Jin's will–blades, spears, axes forming midair and raining down without pattern. Space distorted under sheer quantity.

Aizrel moved effortlessly.

Her Martial Soul spread its wings, shielding her as poisoned feathers formed, multiplied, and detonated outward in a storm. Each feather carried lethal intent, piercing through darkness like falling stars.

Gen Jin raised the Yin Sea.

A black wall surged upward.

Blind.

She struck.

The whip lashed horizontally–piercing the wall, extending impossibly–wrapping his waist as the scorpion tip drove into his thigh.

The same spot.

The whip tore free.

Bones cracked.

Lower ribs collapsed inward.

Gen Jin tried to heal.

Failed.

Golden Yang rejected Yin completely.

For the first time–

He felt fear.

Obsession surged in response.

Fueling Yin.

Consuming him instead.

"Before I go," he roared, charging forward, "I'll take you with me!"

"Really?" Aizrel mocked calmly. "Then come."

He raised his dagger.

Tried to summon his doppelgangers.

Nothing answered.

His bloodlines were gone.

Realization struck too late.

The whip struck again–coiling, stabbing into his other thigh.

The first poison had been neutralized by his corrupted body.

The second was not.

His flesh began to itch.

Then burn.

Then rot.

He clawed at himself, tearing armor fused to skin, scratching until meat peeled away from bone. Blood poured endlessly into the Yin Sea.

Aizrel stopped attacking.

Watched.

"Father," she said calmly, without triumph, "watch me take revenge."

Her voice carried no joy.

"This is for my mother. For my father's family. And for everyone you killed."

Gen Jin begged.

She did not answer.

Kiaria covered Diala's eyes.

That stopped her.

Aizrel noticed.

Realized.

She was becoming him.

Her expression softened.

She bowed her head once.

Then looked up–resolved.

Her Martial Soul fused fully.

Silver wings dissolved into light.

Her hair transformed–flowing blue, ending in a scorpion's curve.

She plucked a single strand.

Let it fall.

It touched Gen Jin's blood.

Dissolved.

And invaded.

Hair-threads spread through his nervous system–wrapping bone, piercing joints, flooding marrow with invasive control.

Aizrel snapped her fingers.

The strands detonated inward.

Gen Jin screamed once.

Aizrel raised her hand.

Five strands extended from her fingers–connecting, winding, anchoring.

"Gen Jin," she said coldly, "you're not the only one who can control."

She lifted her hand slightly.

Two hundred and six bones separated.

Cleanly.

They tore free from flesh without explosion, without mercy–each joint disengaging as if commanded by law rather than force.

The body collapsed.

Dead.

The formation shattered.

Kiaria incinerated the remains with Earth Core Green Flame.

Nothing was left.

Aizrel stepped forward.

She knelt.

And placed two hundred and six bones before her father.

Silence followed.

Azriel did not take them.

He pulled her into his arms instead.

Held her.

Tightly.

As if releasing her even for a breath would break reality again.

No one spoke.

And for the first time–

No one needed to.

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