The remnants of the fierce battle hung heavy in the air as Yaksha extinguished the purple flames that had devoured the opposition. The atrium of the dungeon, now a battlefield strewn with debris and bodies, was eerily quiet. The narrow pathways of the labyrinthine structure hemmed them in, amplifying the tension.
Only Adam remained standing among the DERT members, his stance defiant despite the overwhelming odds. Behind him, Sasha wiped the blood from her blade with an air of grim satisfaction, the aftermath of her brutal work on Felicia and Lea. Carlyle, composed as ever, stood beside Yaksha, his sharp gaze betraying no emotion.
Adam broke the silence, his voice steady but tinged with a faint, mocking edge. “What do you want with me?”
Yaksha’s expression was unreadable, his eyes cold as he answered. “Your Gift will be of great use to the World Order. The immortality function we’ve been outsourcing from the Elsewhere Cult is no longer viable, and my superiors are... impatient.”
Adam’s lips curled into a smirk, a sharp, cutting sound escaping him. “Heh~!”
Yaksha’s brows furrowed. For the first time, he sensed something was off. “What’s so funny?”
Adam chuckled, reaching into his back pocket to retrieve a pair of reading glasses. He slid them on with a flourish, the lenses catching the dim light. With deliberate movements, he ruffled his dark brown hair, transforming his entire demeanor.
“Let me reintroduce myself,” he said, his voice carrying a playful lilt. “The name’s Loki.”
For a moment, the atrium was silent, the weight of his words sinking in.
Sasha reacted first, her instincts honed by years of combat. She lunged forward, her sword raised to strike, but the motion stopped cold. Frost encased her arm in an instant, spreading up her blade and immobilizing her.
“What—?!” she hissed, her breath visible in the icy air.
Before she could react further, Felicia—alive and very much unscathed—emerged from the shadows. With a fluid motion, she slammed the sheath of her bow into Sasha’s weapon, disarming her, and drove an arrow into her throat with unerring precision. Sasha collapsed in a heap, her eyes wide in disbelief.
Yaksha’s gaze darted between the unfolding chaos and Loki, his calm demeanor slipping. “What’s the meaning of this?”
Loki spread his arms in a mock bow, his grin wide and infuriating. “Guess where Adam is? Hint: I made the swap while we were fighting. You never even noticed.”
Carlyle, who had remained silent until now, took a step forward, his voice cutting through the tension. “What’s the leader of the Undead Troupe doing here?”
Loki turned to him, wagging a finger in mock admonishment. “Ah, Carlyle, always so serious. But that’s the wrong question, my friend. The real question is—what happens next?”
As he spoke, the air around them shimmered, the telltale sign of illusions breaking and reality bending. Felicia stepped forward, her bow at the ready, while Loki’s grin widened, his aura radiating confidence.
Yaksha clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing. “You think you’ve won, trickster?”
Loki laughed with a carefree and almost jovial sound. “Oh, Yaksha. Winning and losing? Those are just illusions too. Now, let’s see how well you play in my world.”
Yaksha’s gaze lingered on Felicia and Lea, his expression darkening with suspicion. They should have been dead—Sash’s strikes had been fatal. A closer look, however, revealed the truth: they were dead. But they weren’t alive, either.
“They’re undead,” Yaksha muttered, his voice a low growl. His eyes narrowed as he addressed Loki. “Is that why you call your group the Undead Troupe? Because you use undead? What’s your Gift? Necromancy?”
Loki grinned, unbothered by the accusation. “Necromancy? Oh, please. Such a limited view of the world. Gift theory? Not my style. I prefer the old ways. The Seven States of Aura—they offer so much more freedom, don’t you think?”
Yaksha didn’t respond. Instead, he wreathed himself in purple flames, his aura crackling with raw power. Without hesitation, he charged at Loki, flames trailing behind him like a comet.
As he closed the distance, Yaksha felt a small sense of relief. At least he had reduced the other two members of DERT to ash earlier. If they had been revived as well, this battle would have dragged on far longer than he could afford.
Loki dodged Yaksha’s fiery projectiles with ease, his movements fluid and almost playful. “Come on, Yaksha,” Loki called, twisting his body to avoid another blast. “You’re too rigid. Loosen up a little!”
Felicia drew her bow, her undead form eerily calm as she loosed a volley of arrows. Yaksha’s eyes flicked to the incoming projectiles. He recognized their precision and knew he couldn’t dodge them all. His Gift flared, and he teleported in a burst of flames, reappearing just inches from Loki.
Yaksha’s fist, blazing with purple fire, shot forward in a powerful punch. It connected—but not with Loki. The trickster dissolved into mist, leaving Yaksha’s blow to pass harmlessly through.
Before Yaksha could recover, Lea appeared at his flank, her hands radiating icy energy. A cryokinetic blast erupted at point-blank range, threatening to encase him in frost.
“Not bad,” Yaksha muttered, twisting his body and summoning his flames in a defensive burst. Carlyle reacted swiftly, raising a shimmering force wall that encased Lea. Her own cryokinetic energy backfired, freezing her in place.
Loki whistled, clapping his hands slowly. “Impressive! You really do know how to handle yourselves. But…” He raised his hand in the shape of a finger gun, aiming it at Carlyle. “Bang~!”
Carlyle’s head popped off with a sickening sound, revealing a figure standing behind him—a woman clad in revealing silk garments, her expression one of cold amusement.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“And lo and behold,” Loki said, his tone dripping with mockery. “One of my team members has arrived. Or not. Nah, just messing with you. She’s the only one I brought along. No need to panic about being outnumbered.”
Yaksha’s teeth clenched. His original plan to capture Loki and extract information was rapidly slipping away. He had no choice but to unleash the full power of his Gift.
“Gates of Gehenna!” Yaksha roared, his flames surging to life. The atrium was engulfed in an inferno, purple fire consuming everything in its path as it surged toward Loki.
When the flames dissipated, Yaksha froze. Loki stood untouched, the shimmer of a force wall surrounding him.
In Yaksha’s peripheral vision, Carlyle’s headless body remained upright, his aura disturbingly intact.
Loki’s grin widened. “Checkmate.”
Felicia’s arrows rained down once more, their trajectory guided with supernatural precision. Yaksha incinerated them mid-air, the heat of his flames warping the air around him.
“You’re persistent, I’ll give you that,” Loki said, shrugging. “But man, you’re stubborn!”
Yaksha gritted his teeth and chose retreat. He teleported out of the dungeon, a feat not most hunters would be able to achieve.
The forest was eerily quiet when Yaksha reappeared at the extraction point, the scent of charred flesh and scorched earth lingering in the air from his previous battle. He steadied himself, expecting to see Fu waiting by the van, perhaps with that smug look he always wore.
Instead, his gaze fell on a dismembered body. Fu’s remains were scattered, his severed limbs twisted unnaturally, and chains glowing faintly with residual energy hung in the air like malevolent specters.
Standing by the van, unbothered by the grisly scene, was Reynard. His suit remained pristine, and his single arm rested casually at his side. He exuded an aura of composed lethality, as though this slaughter was beneath his notice.
Yaksha let out a dry laugh, masking the unease bubbling within him. “I didn’t see that coming. I thought we were betraying you, only for the tables to be turned against us.”
Reynard’s expression was unreadable, his voice calm and measured. “Where is Leora?”
Yaksha hesitated but maintained his composure. “Unknown.”
Reynard’s gaze hardened. “Why target me all along?”
“You’re a loose end,” Yaksha admitted, shrugging as though it were nothing personal. “The upper brass decided we were better off without you.”
“A pity…” Reynard muttered, almost to himself.
Yaksha gestured to Fu’s remains. “You managed to slaughter him. Now, that’s the most unexpected development I’ve seen.”
Reynard glanced briefly at the chains still suspended in the air. “He let his guard down, thinking of himself as invincible. He was a fool.”
Yaksha’s flames flickered to life, casting a fiery glow around him. “So, are we gonna keep on yapping, or are we fighting?”
Reynard didn’t flinch. Instead, he took a single step forward, his remaining hand flexing slightly. “One last question. Leora’s last known location—where is it?”
“Off-world,” Yaksha replied, his tone firm but guarded.
Reynard tilted his head, his expression almost amused. “By off-world, you mean another dimension. That’s easy enough to deduce, considering Ulrich’s involvement. It’s funny how you try to mislead me when we both know outer space is a convenient fabrication. Or rather, a very complicated omission.”
Yaksha’s flames surged as he processed Reynard’s words. “You certainly know a lot. The mundane population was led to believe we live on a sphere, but the truth has been safeguarded for centuries. The world was broken long ago. It’s one of the World Order’s most protected secrets.”
Reynard’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. “Yes, I know. But I have no intention of doing what you’re thinking. I have no plans to reveal to the masses that the world is fractured.”
Yaksha’s smirk returned, though it was forced. “Finally, it makes sense. You’re the one behind publicizing knowledge about Aura. You’ve been a thorn in the Order’s side for years.”
Reynard remained silent, but the blue strings of aura around him pulsed with an almost hypnotic rhythm, weaving in and out of existence like living threads.
Yaksha’s body ignited fully, flames consuming every inch of him except for his eyes, which burned with defiance. “You know what I can do. A single touch from you could end me, so I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”
Reynard’s aura strings shimmered brighter, their movements quickening as though in response to Yaksha’s challenge.
The two men stood locked in a silent standoff, the tension between them thick and suffocating. The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, awaiting the inevitable clash of fire and will.
The tension shattered in an instant.
Yaksha flickered to Reynard’s left, conjuring a flaming spear mid-motion. The weapon roared to life, radiating a fierce heat that could incinerate most foes. Yet Reynard stood unfazed, his posture relaxed, as though Yaksha’s sudden attack was a mere inconvenience.
Even now, Reynard’s abilities remained an enigma. The King of Favors was known for his lethal touch, his mastery of chains and strings of aura, and his seemingly boundless adaptability. Records of his past engagements hinted at super speed, super strength, and abilities that defied categorization.
Yaksha’s theory lingered in his mind as he pressed the attack: Reynard didn’t possess a singular Gift. Instead, he wielded multiple configurations of his aura, each capable of mimicking or creating unique Gifts. If Reynard was truly one of the minds behind the Gift Theory, it made sense that he could manifest and shift between various abilities at will.
As Yaksha thrust the flaming spear forward, Reynard’s aura shimmered, becoming denser and more robust. The spear struck him directly but dissipated against the aura, as though it had struck an impenetrable barrier. Reynard moved, seizing Yaksha by the throat with his remaining hand.
Yaksha flickered again, this time reappearing behind Reynard. He summoned twin swords of flame, their edges crackling with destructive energy. But Reynard’s aura shifted once more, becoming fluid yet impenetrable. With a single arm, he parried the swords effortlessly, then countered with a knife-hand strike aimed at Yaksha’s neck.
The strike barely missed, and Yaksha felt the rush of displaced air graze his skin. Reynard’s aura changed again. Without warning, chains of glowing blue aura erupted from Yaksha’s conjured swords, snaking toward him with predatory intent.
Yaksha cursed under his breath and dispelled the weapons, teleporting a few meters away. He barely had time to process his escape before Reynard struck again. A crater formed where Yaksha had been standing, dust and debris scattering in every direction. Reynard stood at its center, his aura pulsating like a living force.
At the last microsecond, Reynard’s aura shifted yet again, and he burst into super speed. The gap between them vanished in an instant. Yaksha only barely avoided a killing blow, his teleportation saving him once more.
If Yaksha was any second slower, he’d been that crater.
The truth was undeniable—Yaksha was outmatched. Just days ago, he had been confident he could contend with Reynard. Now, that confidence felt like a distant memory, shattered by the overwhelming power he faced.
His mind flashed back to his encounter with Loki, where he had been similarly overpowered. The world, despite its flat nature, was proving to be far larger and more dangerous than Yaksha had ever imagined.
He made a split-second decision: escape. Yaksha activated his teleportation, intending to put as much distance as possible between himself and Reynard.
Instead, he slammed into an invisible barrier, a spatial distortion that stopped him cold. It was as if he had collided with an unyielding wall.
Reynard’s voice broke the silence, calm and unyielding. “Surprise… There’s a spatial anchor here. I placed it beforehand. With it active, you won’t be teleporting just anywhere. Your teleportation is impressive, though—managing to use it despite the anchor. I’ll give you that.”
Yaksha turned to face him, his flames flaring in frustration.
Reynard took a slow step forward, his aura shifting subtly yet ominously. “So, what’s it going to be? Are you going to fight me to the death? Or are you going to squirm?”
Yaksha clenched his fists, his flames burning hotter than ever. But deep down, he knew the truth. Reynard had already won.