A sinister moon hung high.
At the bottom of the abyss, a few of the twisted creatures finally clawed their way up to the middle of that charred giant arm like festering parasites.
They lowered their heads and let out shrill, hoarse laughter from their throats, mocking those of their kind who lagged behind.
The aberrations still struggling to climb paid them no mind.
In their eyes there was only upward—upward—until they reached that unreachable summit.
Everything else could be abandoned.
But those sinking at the lowest depths of the horde were ignited with rage by the contempt and mockery—the laughter had stripped them of the last treasure they possessed.
Dignity.
The first monster chose to ignite itself.
*If I am destined to have nothing… why should you get to live better?*
The ghostly green soul-fire touched other creatures and instantly spread like oil thrown onto flames.
The suffering monsters struggled and shrieked, spreading the calamity into more corners as they rampaged madly.
The blaze swept through the bottom of the abyss with unstoppable force.
The aberrations who had climbed higher looked down with ridicule and disdain in their eyes.
How could the fire at the bottom of the abyss ever reach those high above?
But when one of them turned back again, it was horrified to find many burning creatures climbing upward at all costs.
Their flaming bodies were getting closer and closer.
It was a pursuit from hell…
The undying fire of resentment spread across the abyss and the giant claw.
The already charred and withered arm grew ever more fragile under the flames, and the castle in its palm began to sway as well.
The colossal shadow in the void gazed on calmly—without joy or sorrow.
All things wither into ashes, waiting in silence for a new cycle.
Before the age of twenty, Zyra believed love would be eternal.
Later, love extinguished like a candle.
Before thirty, she regarded shadow magic as the eternal faith in her heart.
But soon she realized that pursuing truth with her mediocre talent was as ridiculous as trying to scoop the moon from water with a tiny ladle.
At forty, she pursued wealth.
At fifty, she pursued power.
At sixty, she pursued pleasure.
Only in her twilight years did she suddenly realize that the only things truly fleeting were herself—and the irretrievable time she had lost.
So she chose to abandon everything in this life and offer herself to the gods, begging to obtain true **“eternity”** from their hands.
Now, there was only one final obstacle before her—
—the arrogant knight who never placed her in his eyes.
“Friend, I’ve still got something to deal with here. Finish the trouble on your side quickly and… and then come out and play with me, okay…?”
“Alright.”
After receiving Leah’s message confirming she was safe, the heavy stone in Jon’s heart finally fell away.
He looked up, only to see the demon with curved horns and a thick, ferocious body staring at him with a sinister gaze.
“Finished talking?”
Zyra bared her fanged mouth in a grin.
“See? I’m so merciful! I even allowed you to say your final words to the person you love most and wish each other safety. Shouldn’t you thank me properly?”
Jon froze for a moment and thought about it.
Not interrupting someone who was talking with a friend during battle did seem like a kind of unusual knightly courtesy.
“Understood,” he said sincerely as he looked at Zyra.
Zyra choked on her words.
Her bulging, bloodshot eyes stared fixedly at Jon.
There was a trace of nostalgia in her expression, mixed with confusion.
“You remind me of someone,” she said quietly.
“Are men incapable of ever growing up?”
“I don’t know,” Jon answered honestly.
Perhaps she was enjoying teasing her prey before the hunt, or perhaps she rarely encountered someone who reminded her of an old acquaintance.
Zyra opened up and began chattering like a true elderly woman:
“My first man was my teacher… He was a clever and kind bastard. People around him both admired him and wanted to strangle him.”
“My second man,” Zyra deliberately paused, her tone carrying a twisted sense of pride, “was the Hero.”
Jon’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
Even though he knew she meant the hero of generations past, an inexplicable displeasure still rose in his heart.
“Just like you earlier, the Hero often said things that made me laugh and cry at the same time. It made me wonder whether he had never grown up—or simply had no brain at all.”
“If you once followed the Hero to crusade against the demon race and earned great merit, why have you now fallen and allied with demons?” Jon asked in return.
“Ha!”
Zyra let out a harsh, piercing laugh.
“Listen to that tone! I almost thought the human Hero of this era was standing in front of me. Why don’t you look in a mirror first and see what identity you have?”
Jon remembered the role he was currently playing and couldn’t help but feel both amused and helpless.
“Heh~~ you fool. I’ll give you a chance. As long as you swear loyalty to me, I’ll forgive your rudeness and turn you into my high-ranking thrall. I might even… share a little of these sacrificial blood offerings with you.”
Her tone was half teasing, half seductive.
But Jon shook his head.
“No. I refuse.”
“Because you despise my current ugly appearance?” The warmth vanished from Zyra’s voice. Her grotesque face turned as pale as the frozen soil of the northern lands.
“Or are you like that damned Hero, with some ridiculous virgin complex?”
“No. Because the ‘sacrificial blood offerings’ you mentioned are prisoners of our Demon Lord. I have the responsibility to ensure their safety,” Jon answered seriously.
“Then forget it. I was just joking anyway.”
Zyra waved her hand dismissively and stepped forward.
Her massive body made the ground tremble violently.
Behind her, a sky-covering shadow surged like a tide, engulfing everyone and sealing off every route of escape.
The nobles forced into the corner trembled uncontrollably.
The terrifying pressure had long crushed them into silence.
Hearts wavered.
Some regretted in despair.
Some calculated whether they should surrender.
Some even wanted to kneel and beg Zyra to let them replace that reckless fool.
Just then, Zyra grinned viciously and said, “You all—”
Before she could finish speaking, her enormous head suddenly exploded like a ripe watermelon.
She didn’t even have the chance to retreat into the shadows.
The huge shadow beneath her feet froze momentarily as well.
Under the drifting, ghastly blood mist, Jon slowly withdrew his fist.
He casually tore off a scrap of Zyra’s torn dress from near her feet and calmly wiped the blood from his arm guard.
Silence.
For a moment, the crowd couldn’t react.
When they finally came back to their senses, waves of shocked exclamations broke the quiet.
“Huh? Huhh???”
“What just happened? Was that an illusion? Or a death hallucination?”
“Wait—so it’s just over like that? Then what was the point of me being scared to death earlier?”
One noble complained in disbelief, spreading his hands.
“She made such a huge spectacle but didn’t even get stronger? If I’d known, I would’ve gone up and punched her too!”
He had clearly forgotten how he had been trembling in fear just moments earlier.
Most people weren’t so brazen, but whispers still spread everywhere.
The once heavy and terrifying atmosphere gradually became strangely relaxed.
Jon ignored the noisy nobles.
Instead, he turned his head and gazed at the eerie crimson moon outside the window—and the towering shadow.
He could clearly sense that the **seven gazes**, which even made him wary, were still watching this place.
The ascension ritual had not ended.
Sure enough, in the next second, the headless corpse began to convulse violently.
At the top of Zyra’s massive chest muscles, two bloodshot **eyes** suddenly opened.
Her navel split apart, turning into a giant mouth filled with sharp teeth.
This brand-new “face” turned toward Jon, unable to hide its terror.
“Wait! Something’s wrong! Who exactly are you?! This power… why do I feel like you’re somewhat like…”