NYOKO
A WHILE AGO
That moment when night fell over the city... from above, everything looked more orderly than it should have been. Lights turned on at regular intervals, streets flowed smoothly, people moved as if guided by an unseen rhythm. But this orderliness... never brought me peace. On the contrary, it always evoked the same feeling: delay. As if this world was experiencing everything that should have happened one step behind schedule. Decisions were made late, awareness developed late, and breakpoints occurred late. And I... felt like I was stuck inside this delay. Even as the wind blew my hair, I could feel the inadequacy of that movement; it was as if even nature wasn't functioning at full capacity here. Everything was a little lacking, a little worn down, a little slowed down. And this slowness... wasn't just annoying. It was suffocating.
When I looked at the city below, what I saw was not life; rather, it was a repetitive cycle. People created their own small meanings, then got lost in those meanings, and then started over again. But there was no sharpness in any of it. None of them had that "point of no return" feeling. It was as if everyone, consciously or unconsciously, was avoiding that breaking point. And I... was someone who had grown up amidst those breaking points. That's why everything here seemed superficial to me. Like an ocean with no depth. A vast expanse that seems endless but leads nowhere. Breathing was possible in this world, yes... but living? I wasn't sure about that.
Once upon a time... there was a place where I held these feelings. I had a role, a duty, a history, a path. I was part of an order that was said to belong to me. But now when I look back, I realize this: just because that order belonged to me... didn't mean I belonged to it. Because one day... that bond was severed. Not silently, not softly. Clearly, definitively, and irreversibly. I was fired. There's no need to beat around the bush with this word. Because no matter how you dress it up, the outcome doesn't change. I was removed from somewhere. I was torn away from something. And from that moment on... the idea of belonging ceased to be a possibility for me. It turned into a question mark.
That's why the Sacred Domain I'm in now feels foreign to me. I can stay here, yes. My teammates are here with me, yes. I can observe, I can analyze, and I can even intervene when necessary. But I don't take root. Nothing inside me clings to this place. It's as if my presence touches it but doesn't penetrate. This is not a familiar feeling. Because not belonging doesn't just mean loneliness. Not belonging means not knowing whether you'll be able to return one day. And this uncertainty is the worst kind. Because humans—or whatever—at least want to know which direction to go. As for my direction... it's still not defined.
But despite that, there are things that keep me here.
They exist. Of course, I'm talking about my team members. Our captain, Urizen, can really get on my nerves sometimes. Because his jokes are stupid and ridiculous, and when he acts romantic towards me, he looks extremely stupid. So yeah, I'm not exactly sure what I like about him, but I do like him.
Other than that, there's Astar. Our crazy scientist knows everything. He somehow finds everything we need, explains it to you as much as you want, and doesn't talk about anything else. Well, I guess he's a bit bad. So I'm not exactly sure what I like about him either, but I do like him.
There's also Tobias. He's a Leviathan. I know neither anything about his race nor anything about his past. However, he claims that thanks to the book he possesses, he can access all kinds of knowledge in the universe. That's why, according to the book's rules, he's supposed to never say anything wrong. That's why he doesn't talk much either. So it's a bit strange, but I'm not exactly sure what it is about him that I like, but I do like him.
I do have people I like, in short.
The moment I think of this word, all the analyses in my mind momentarily recede. Because their existence is not something that can be calculated. The choices I make for them cannot be explained logically. And perhaps that's why... they are the most real. Because no matter how much I change, no matter how far I stray, no matter how fragmented my identity becomes... their value remains constant. This may be a weakness. It may be a vulnerability. But at the same time... this might be the only thing that still makes me "me".
If this world seems slow to me... if the order here doesn't belong to me... if I've been torn away from my past...
Yet there's only one reason why I stay here.
For them.
If necessary, I can adapt to the pace of this world. If necessary, I can pretend to take root in places I don't belong. If necessary, I can even give up on myself.
But I won't give up on them.
Never.
Because, when I think about those I left behind... I love and care about having at least the people I can still be with. Maybe the people I want to be closest to right now hate me. That's why I love and care about being with the people I can be with.
When the wind changed direction, I was the first to sense it. But it wasn't a physical change. It was something deeper. A subtle rupture in the surface of reality. An imperceptible deviation that could only be felt. These kinds of things... are beyond the perception of ordinary beings. But I... am used to it. Because my world has never been stable. Everything was either about to change... or had already changed.
I squinted my eyes slightly.
That familiar feeling inside me rose again.
I had a student. Someone I loved more than anything else, someone I would give everything to educate and protect.
"Do you miss me, little one...?"
I miss you so much.
I fixed my eyes on the silence of the night before me. I sat on the ground and pulled my legs to my chest.
The air was quiet, but I could sense some Spirit Power. Urizen asked me to share anything I notice with the team instead of handling it myself. This is what I've done during my own shift hours until today. However, right now I want to deal with something rather than go back to work.
"Forgive my selfishness, general, blah blah blah…"
This was a beginning for me. Even if it's slow, I want to take a step for the first time in two years since I was banished from where I belonged.
And I... never miss the beginnings.
Because in this world, everything can be slow.
But war…
It never starts slowly.
"Hey! The most powerful Queen in history is coming, World!" I said, making a stupid gesture and carefully observing my surroundings.
Then, I slowly regained my composure, stood up, and tried to listen to the surroundings. I listened to my heart to feel all the Spirit Energy in the area.
—??!!
A vibration started in my heart. A strong vibration. I must not have understood it clearly just now because I wasn't focused.
The moment I first felt that vibration, I knew it wasn't just an ordinary crack. It was... an entity ceasing to hide itself. That intense, repressed yet uncontrollably overflowing state of Spirit Power... at this level, such an outpouring would either signify the peak of a battle or indicate that something has reached an irreversible point. I didn't close my eyes, but my gaze deepened; to see such fluctuations, one needs not eyes but habits. And at that moment, I recognized it. It was not an alien force. A chaotic, destructive, internally contradictory yet still unified flow bound by a single will… Magnus.
Not the slightest hesitation arose within me. I didn't think about it. I didn't analyze it. Because there are moments when analyzing means being too late. And I... have never been one to be too late.
I have been called one of the fastest beings in the universe throughout history. Everyone I know has known me as deadly because of this aspect of mine.
Even my closest friends have learned a lot from me about moving quickly. Since I took my student with me to teach him everything I knew, I've been constantly explaining things. Because in war, speed was my deadliest skill. Not only with my legs, but also with my mind.
When my body moved, it wasn't a "movement". It was disappearing from my current position. Speed... for most people, it's a way of covering distance. But for me, speed means destroying the meaning of distance. The wind did not blow from behind me, nor did it blow in front of me. Because I existed before the wind itself. The city, the towers, the lights—all suddenly turned into lines, and then those lines disappeared. The only place I'll reach is only my destination itself
And before even a second passed... I was there.
But the place I arrived at was not a "space" It was like falling into the center of a destruction. Reality was shattered here. The ground felt like something that had once been whole had been broken repeatedly and forcibly pieced back together. The blackened surfaces had turned into glass-like, sharp plates; some had detached from the ground, while others refused to defy gravity. Even the sky was not stable; light was being blocked, fragmented, and reassembling. As if this area wasn't the result of a war... but was the war itself.
And in the midst of all that chaos... I saw a familiar name. A name I hadn't seen in a very long time. I remember seeing him once during the war we were in before we left Cistern.
Magnus.
When I repeat this name in my mind, I don't just remember one person... I recall a chain of associations. What we call history is often a story written by the winners, but when it comes to Magnus, the situation was different. It was one of the rare constants on which both winners and losers agreed: hatred. Perhaps there was no one throughout history whom he did not harm. The lieutenant, the general, the king, the queen, the high king, the high queen, God, and whoever else is above them... They all hated him.
When I met a few people who cared about him, it was among the most astonishing moments of my life. However, Magnus... He shattered even them. Their hearts, their feelings, their values.
I looked at Magnus's face for a few milliseconds. The only thing that came to my mind was a heart torn apart by Magnus.
That heart belonged to one of the Sacred Domains where I was born. My High Queen, Nahlorie.
In this universe, she is the woman who can forever stand up to evil. I respected and admired her more than anyone else.
After analyzing the situation, I came to the conclusion that I should put these thoughts aside for now and discuss them later.
I looked at Magnus again, this time trying to see him.
His presence was still at the center. But this time… he was struggling.
I didn't need to look at his face to see this. I could tell from the fluctuation of the Spirit Power. The black flames were still swirling around him, still destructive, still under control... but under pressure. And the thing before him...
That woman.
With its mask, with its presence, with its unsettling "formless order" ...
It was like a disaster incarnate.
The things torn from his body... were not merely "pieces". Intestines... but alive. Blood... but possessing willpower. Each one lengthened, twisted, multiplied, attacking Magnus from thousands of different angles. This was not an attack... it was an encirclement. Slashing, piercing, and shattering attacks coming from every direction, at every speed, in every form... they were being burned, destroyed, dispersed by the black flames. But the numbers... the numbers did not stop. It was as if two more appeared for every one that was destroyed.
And at that moment I saw it.
A few attacks slipping through Magnus's defense.
A very small opening.
But at this level, if the attacks came into contact with him, the result would be death.
Without thinking, I headed straight there.
There was no time to think anyway.
I moved.
But this time, my speed wasn't just about reaching. This… was about intervening. As my body surged forward, the world fell behind again. But this time, everything was sharper, more distinct. Because my target wasn't just a point... it was a moment.
And I captured that moment.
The cutting pieces of blood advancing toward Magnus were tearing through the air like thin but deadly threads. Each one came from a different angle, at a different speed, with a different intention... but with the same result.
I fell into that result.
My sword was already in my hand.
I don't remember drawing it. I didn't have time to think.
But it was there, in my hand.
And I swung.
This wasn't a swing... it was a collision.
When my sword entered among those thousands of pieces, time bent for a moment. Every blow, every contact, every intersection... became part of a single flow. When steel came into contact with blood, no sound was heard—because speed had outpaced sound. But its effect was felt instantly. Every incoming attack lost its direction upon contact, disintegrated, and scattered. Some split in two, some vanished completely, while others lost their momentum and fell to the ground.
Nothing remains that reached Magnus.
When I stepped in front of him, the ground cracked for a moment. But even that crack was temporary; because I wasn't standing there... I only existed for a moment.
I shifted my sword slightly to the side.
My eyes locked onto the woman in front of me.
Her presence... was still the same.
She hadn't changed.
But now...
I was here too.
And at that moment, I spoke for the first time.
My voice neither rose nor softened. It just... found its place.
"This much noise..." I said, without taking my eyes off him, "it's too disorganized to conceal the cause-and-effect relationship."
The last drop of blood dripping from the tip of my sword evaporated before it could hit the ground.
"So either you don't control it…" I continued, "or you're imitating something you can't control."
I took a step.
But this step wasn't to close the distance.
This was… redefining the field.
"In both cases," I said, my voice deepening slightly, "you chose the wrong opponent."
I leaned my sword against my shoulder. I also fixed my gaze on the woman standing in front of us, who was spouting absurd things from her body.
My gaze didn't waver.
"My name is Nyoko."
A brief pause.
But this pause… was not a gap.
It was a boundary.
"And I…" I said, "don't deal with slow things."
When Magnus' voice came from behind me, I noticed that even in the midst of battle, its tone remained unchanged; there was neither haste nor pressure, as if reality weren't crumbling around us, as if death weren't breathing a few centimeters away—he could speak as if nothing were amiss. This is something most people don't understand: some beings aren't in the war; the war is within them. And Magnus... fell into this category. "Finally, one of you has arrived." when he said, although the words seemed simple on the surface, the meaning underneath immediately found its place in my mind. "One of you." He didn't mean just me. This indicated what needed to be behind me, what needed to arrive, what was delayed. This meant… he already knew we were here. Beforehand. Quietly. And despite this… he chose to be alone.
This realization caused a sudden and sharp discomfort within me. When I momentarily looked away from him and then looked back, I no longer saw only the battlefield... I also saw his decision. "You knew." I said, my voice rising with an edge that could not go unnoticed. This was not a question. This was a statement. But the question that followed... was unchecked. "You knew we were here and still didn't call?" My words carried more than just questioning; there was also suppressed anger in them. Because this wasn't just a tactical mistake. This was a matter of choice. And when it comes to someone like Magnus… every choice is conscious.
But Magnus was Magnus.
As if my words had not reached him, or even if they had, they did not matter, he did not take his gaze away from the other being. He neither defended himself nor explained. For him, what others felt towards him was not even data. Hatred, anger, questioning... all were ignored variables in his equation. This was not indifference. This was... a conscious form of exclusion. And that's why... it was frustrating. But at that moment there was no time to continue this.
Because the thing across from me... was changing. Its form wasn't remaining fixed.
That terrible, organic chaos emanating from the masked woman's body had now reached an uncontrollable level. The intestines... no longer merely lengthened or contracted; they disintegrated, broke apart, and then reformed in mid-air. Each severed piece behaved as if it were an independent entity, vibrating, bending, and readying itself for attack once more. This... was not a biological process. This was a deformation forced by willpower. And that deformation had now lost its boundaries.
Then the smell changed.
It became sharper, its texture even took on a form that stung my nose.
That heavy scent, a mixture of burnt metal and putrid blood, suddenly became more pungent, more acidic. When I looked at the air, I saw droplets. But these weren't water. This... was acid. And it wasn't just falling—it was raining. Even the sky had become part of this battle. Every drop struck the ground, melting the surface and penetrating even blackened plates. At the same time, the blood droplets forming in the air took on the shape of blades, sharpened, vibrated, and flew towards us. Each from a different angle, at a different speed, with a different intention…
This was no longer an attack.
It was... an attempt to destroy.
Magnus's soul power changed at that moment.
There was no need to look to see it; feeling was enough. The black flames were no longer just swirling around him... they were intensifying. They were accumulating. As if the power that had only been "sufficient" up until that moment had suddenly decided to become "excessive." The ground cracked further around him, the vibration in the air deepened, reality began to warp even more at his location. This was not a defense.
This... was the silence before the explosion.
And then it happened.
The black flames rising around Magnus suddenly expanded. But this expansion was not a spread; it was a concentration. Instead of rising upward, the flames seemed to collapse in on themselves, becoming denser, darker, and then bursting outward in an explosion. This was no ordinary fire. It was something that not only burned everything in its path but also questioned its very existence. The acid raining down on us evaporated and vanished the moment it came into contact with these flames, leaving not even a trace. But this... was just the beginning.
I acted at that moment.
I wasn't stopping anyway, but this time I changed direction. As I weaved through the incoming attacks, I increased my speed; my body wasn't just dodging; it was moving forward by reading the gaps between the attacks. Every blade of blood, every drop of acid, every torn organic structure... had become data for me, rather than a threat. Where they came from, how they moved, at what speed they changed direction... I processed it all at once. And this processing... never stopped.
The ground was no longer a reference point for me.
Using the momentum from my speed, I jumped upward with all my strength.
But this leap… wasn't to go up.
It was to leave this area. If I stay out of range and gain full field of view, I can finish him off.
When I ascended into the sky, the chaos below appeared in its entirety for a moment. Magnus's black flames clashed with the masked woman's wildly multiplying attacks, each contact creating a new explosion, a new rupture. But this... was not enough. To suppress such an entity, a single force would not be sufficient.
I didn't take a deep breath.
Because I didn't need to.
But I narrowed my focus.
"It's cold, it's me."
When this word took shape in my mind, the atmosphere around me changed. The humidity thickened, the temperature dropped, the vibration shifted to a different frequency. When I raised my hand, it wasn't just a movement. It was... a call. And what answered that call... did not come directly from nature, but from the principle behind nature.
"Ice, it's mine."
But not just any ordinary ice.
A concentrated, compressed structure, ready to explode.
That crystalline structure forming around my hand grew, condensed, and then focused into a single point within fractions of a second. I looked down. The target... was fixed. Because even in chaos, the center is always clear.
And I threw it.
This wasn't a throw.
This was... a collision.
That ice blast descending from above met the black flames of Magnus at the same point, at the same moment. Two opposing forces that should normally destroy each other... this time they merged. Because this wasn't a contradiction... it was an overlap. The black flames did not absorb the energy within the ice; they enveloped it, guided it, and accelerated it. The ice, in turn, did not extinguish the flames; it shaped them, focused them, and sharpened them.
And when the collision occurred…
What emerged was neither fire nor ice.
It was… pure destruction.
This combined attack, which hit the masked woman in the center directly, struck not only her body but also the entire uncontrolled, fragmented structure around her. The explosion did not produce light; it created a void. Even sound was delayed in that instantaneous void.
And when I was watching from above, I knew that:
This…
It wasn't over yet.
The intense vacuum created after the explosion swallowed everything for a few seconds. There was neither sound nor movement; just a feeling of emptiness that expanded and then collapsed in on itself. But such silences... are never truly final. On the contrary, they often işarete moments when something redefines itself. When that hazy veil formed by suspended dust, burned particles, and vaporized substances began to dissipate, even the slightest possibility within me had long since vanished. Because an entity of this level... cannot be destroyed by a single collision.
And it really didn't happen.
A silhouette emerged from the dust. At first like a shadow, then clearer, more distinct... and finally fully revealed. The masked woman. But even saying "it came out" was inadequate; it was more like she had re-emerged from within that void. Her steps were calm. There was neither haste nor any sign of fatigue. As if everything that had just happened... was merely a "pause" for her. The atmosphere around him was changing along with him. This change was not visual; it was a vibration that could be felt, that disturbed perception, that instinctively screamed "wrong." Aura... yes, but not an ordinary power emanation. This was the outpouring of the being itself.
When I looked at his body... the first thing I saw was movement. But this movement wasn't coming from the muscles or joints. It was coming from within. Those torn-apart intestines, those amorphous structures mixed with blood, the fluids that had rained down on us like acid just moments ago... all of it paused in the air for a moment. Then they returned. But this return was unnatural. It was fast, precise, and directed. It was as if an invisible center was summoning them one by one. When the fragments hit the woman's body, they did not bounce or scatter; on the contrary, they melted and penetrated her. Flesh, blood, organs... all were reuniting, reshaping, being forced into human form once again.
But this form... was not a human form.
It was just something that resembled it.
When I saw it more clearly, my internal analysis... paused for a moment. This doesn't happen often. But it happened at that moment. Because what I was looking at wasn't just powerful; it was conceptually disturbing. Her pale skin, far from vibrant, seemed almost non-reflective, like a surface. Her long, disheveled white hair cascaded down her shoulders, but even this flow was unnatural; it carried a wavelike motion independent of gravity, as if moving underwater. The upper part of his face... was missing. More precisely, there was something else in its place. In pale gray tones, organic structures resembling coral and shell formations had grown from both sides of its face, forming a spiral structure that curved like an ammonite in the center. Its eyes were completely covered. But that didn't mean it couldn't see.
On the contrary.
Even though he had never seen it, he gave off the impression that he knew everything about it.
The outfit... or rather, the second skin... was black, shiny, and asymmetrical. It hugged her body tightly, but in some places it looked deliberately "torn." The pure white skin visible through those tears... it didn't create a contrast; it posed a threat. Because from those gaps, those open spaces... those organic structures, those coral-like growths, had protruded once again. On his left shoulder, his hip, under his chest... it was as if his body was constantly struggling with something growing within itself. But it wasn't losing. It was just... carrying.
And the spear in his hand...
That weapon was not an object.
It was alive; when you looked carefully, it was obvious that it was moving on its own.
Red veins wrapped around its black, smooth body pulsated like a heartbeat, branching out like roots and nourishing that intricate crown structure at the end. Even the classic metal tip at its bottom seemed like a relic within this living structure. As if the weapon... had transformed into an organism over time. And that organism... was connected to its owner.
I was still in the air, gliding slowly. Because I slightly numbed the front parts of my body. I slowed my fall.
I had my descent under control, watching it with my eyes and dissecting it in my mind. But then… something happened.
The figure in my vision… disappeared.
This wasn't speed.
This... just disappeared.
And the next moment...
That woman was directly behind me. She had moved behind me in the blink of an eye. I was able to follow because I was fast enough, but since we were in the air, there was no ground for me to step on to move. Therefore, I had to make the most logical decision 'quickly'.
My reflexes worked. But even those reflexes were… on the edge. The movement of that entity that appeared behind me seemed more like a "consequence" than an attack. When her leg swung through the air, there was neither muscle tension nor preparation in that movement. There was only… action.
A hard kick came towards my stomach.
And at that moment, I summoned my image.
My katana formed in my hand simultaneously with the thought. But this was not a struggle; it was revealing an extension of my being. I positioned the sword crosswise, calculated the direction of the incoming blow, and executed the defense.
But that wasn't enough.
The moment we made contact, I felt the difference in power. This wasn't just a physical collision. It was a pressure at the level of existence. My sword didn't stop the blow entirely; it only slowed it down. But even that slow down... was enough to throw me backwards. My body lost direction in the air, my momentum got out of my control, and I began a steep descent towards the ground.
My impact with the ground... was inevitable.
But it didn't happen.
Something formed beneath me.
A massive, purplish structure... a hand. The Hand of God. One of Magnus's important abilities that I remember. If my memory serves me right, this was an ability that could be used by the gods who were descendants of the five siblings of the Supreme Five. Magnus's use of it was therefore undoubtedly not surprising. That hand caught my fall, absorbed my speed, and broke my momentum. The ground impact created a layer between us and the ground. It provided controlled contact instead of a hard landing. But even that... couldn't completely erase the impact's force. The vibration inside me still continued.
When I lifted my eyes again... the war had already begun anew.
The masked woman turned toward Magnus without hesitation. As the spear twirled in her hand, there was a fluidity to that movement. This was not a weapon swung randomly; every twist, every angle, every speed... was deliberate. Magnus was standing before him. The Shadow Sword was in his hand, black flames swirling around it. And they clashed.
Sword and spear.
But this was not an ordinary weapon battle.
Each contact created a disruption in the surrounding environment. When the sword struck the spear, not only did the sound of metal ringing emerge; the air split, the ground cracked, and light refracted. Magnus's black flames wrapped around the spear with each swing, trying to set it ablaze, but those blood vessels in the spear absorbed, channeled, and deflected the flames. The woman's movements were fluid. They never stopped. Each attack stemmed from the previous one, and each defense laid the groundwork for the next. Magnus, however, was heavier. But this heaviness was not a disadvantage. It was a center. He controlled the space. The woman was moving... but Magnus was setting the pace.
I... didn't retreat.
But I didn't intervene either.
I watched. I watched carefully. I needed an opening to attack that woman. The most crucial moment to use my speed.
Because at this point, the most valuable thing is… information.
I was analyzing the woman's speed, her attack patterns, the behavior of the spear, Magnus' reactions—everything. Every collision, every breakage, every change in direction... found its place in my mind.
This battle...
It hadn't reached its peak yet.
But I... was beginning to figure out its rhythm now.
The war continued uninterrupted for a while longer; but this was not a process that could be described with the word "continuation." This was an analytical cycle in which two entities attempted to understand each other—each collision was a test, each deflection a data-gathering method, each retreat the preparation for the next move. Every arc drawn by Magnus' sword did not merely cut through the air; it tore through it, leaving brief vacuums in its wake. Black flames seeped through these vacuums, then recondensed and collided with the red veins coiling around the spear. The woman, however, was not lost in this flow. On the contrary, she was directing the flow. Every time she turned his spear, the pressure around him shifted; the ground seemed to sink for a moment, then rebounded. This was not just a physical battle. This was a conflict in which the field itself was rewritten.
Then… the balance was broken.
The woman retreated for a moment. This retreat was not an escape; it was a deliberate pause to build up momentum. As Magnus' black flames expanded toward her, she swung her spear at a horizontal angle. But this blast... wasn't directed directly at Magnus. It was a sectional attack aimed at the area itself. That section reached the point where Magnus was standing like an invisible line and the next moment... it exploded. Magnus's body remained within that line. The black flames dispersed momentarily, scattering uncontrollably through that void... Magnus was pushed back.
But "being pushed back" was an inadequate description for this scene.
He was thrown.
As his body was thrown backward, the buildings behind him were not just broken; they were crushed. With the first point of contact, the stone and metal disintegrated as if they were rotting from the inside. The ensuing momentum carried away the second, third, and fourth structures as well. Each collision created an explosion, each explosion sending fragments flying. The city... had become a byproduct of this war. When Magnus' body finally came to rest within the ruins of a structure, everything around him... had become unrecognizable.
But this... was not the end.
Because at that moment, what rose from the ground was not just dust.
It was black flames.
Those flames, rising like a column upward from the point where Magnus stood, did not disperse this time. It intensified, compressed, and accumulated in the center. Then... it exploded. But this explosion was directed upward, not outward. Black flames shooting skyward in a column reached the woman's location and engulfed her directly.
This is not the first time the woman has... made no defense.
When the flames touched her body, that contact was not burning; it was an attempt to "destroy". Black flames do not merely burn what they touch; they seek to erase its existence. The woman's body disappeared in those flames. Her white hair, her black overalls, those organic growths... they all seemed to melt away in the flames. But this image... was deceptive.
Because a few seconds later...
She emerged from those flames.
It had been burned. But it hadn't disappeared.
The woman was literally doing something that not even a handful of people in history had been able to do. She was easily resisting Magnus' black flames.
However, there was no doubt that Magnus was not at his full strength. This had been something I had been aware of since he joined Cistern. Although I tried to find out why, I never managed to learn the reason. There was not much left of that power that had once destroyed and overturned Sacred Domains. Still, even in its current state, it was evident that it ranked among the most powerful entities in the Cistern.
I feel like Nahlorie might like him better this way.
The masked woman was walking towards Magnus in heavy-footed steps.
Some parts of its body were still covered in black flames; in some places, those organic structures had melted and lost their form. But it was standing. And more importantly... it was moving.
And it attacked again.
At this point, instead of intervening directly in their conflict, I chose to watch again. Because one thing was now clear: these two entities were not trying to "kill" each other. They were... testing each other's limits. And these boundaries... could not be explained by ordinary criteria.
But this analysis... presented me with an opportunity.
The woman's movements, no matter how swift, carried a rhythm. Each attack emerged from the previous one. And that moment of emergence... created a void. Very brief. Almost imperceptible. But it was there.
I saw that gap.
And I moved.
This time I didn't increase my speed.
I… released it.
When my body began to move faster than my thoughts, the world around me did not become blurred; on the contrary, it became clearer. Everything slowed down. As the woman's spear collided with Magnus' sword, even the vibration created by that collision became a reference point for me. I passed through that vibration. When I reached behind the woman... she was still focused on the battle ahead.
That moment.
I lowered my hand to the ground.
But it wasn't an attack. This was the thing I used the most. It's ice itself.
Ice and the Night Queen Nyoko. That was my title for centuries.
When my hand came into contact with the ground, it slowly turned a shade of blue-gray and began to lose heat.
This… was a decision implementation. A decision I planned would put an end to the war.
The cold was felt more intensely this time. The atmosphere suddenly turned crisp. The moisture crystallized. The ice I created spread rapidly across the ground, and ice began forming around the woman's legs at a speed too fast to be seen with the naked eye. But this was no ordinary freezing. This was a state forced to a temperature below absolute zero. Molecular motion… was stopped. Energy… was extracted. Even time in that region… slowed down.
The woman's legs, at that moment... could no longer sustain their existence.
She tried to move.
But she couldn't.
That's when I made the second move.
My katana was already ready in my hand. But this time, it wasn't used for defense... it was used for cutting. My movement was swift. But beyond speed... there was precision. The path of the sword was clear. No deviation, no hesitation.
And I cut it.
The legs separated in their frozen state. The cut surface was smooth. There was neither blood splatter nor disintegration. Because at that moment... the thing that had been cut off was still frozen.
When I withdrew my gaze, my eyes focused again on the woman.
This... hadn't finished its job again.
But this was the first time...
We had stopped her.
The woman's legs had been severed, the rest of her body clung to the ground, and I locked eyes with Magnus for a few seconds. I immediately made a gesture with my head to tell him to step back, and we jumped back about five steps.
Those few seconds during which we watched the woman's lower body regenerate... were like moments where time itself bent. The severed area first remained silent; then it filled with a vibration that came from within that silence, felt rather than heard. The tissue remaining at the sectioning point did not heal by uniting like normal healing—instead, it collapsed inward, then was pushed outward again. The dark red, root-like fibers emerged not from the ground but as if drawn from an invisible void; they intertwined to form a skeletal outline. This outline lacked human symmetry; Where there should have been a knee, there appeared an excessively bent loop; where there should have been a foot, there were pointed protrusions that left no mark when they touched the ground. Then came the flesh tissue; but instead of covering, it spread like a fabric forced to conform to that flawed geometry, stretching, tearing, and reconnecting. Finally, that pale, light-absorbing skin covered everything—it wasn't smooth; it was filled with subtle ripples that gave away the things still moving beneath it.
When he stood up... it wasn't a "standing up." First, his torso straightened; then his legs trembled as if they couldn't remember how to support his weight. Balance was absent for a moment—or hadn't been created yet. Then suddenly, it came back. And at that moment… it started moving.
But this movement… wasn't walking.
It was like a puppet with its wires connected incorrectly—it lurched this way and that. When it took a step, its body reacted with a delay, then tried to overcompensate. Its shoulders would slump forward, then spring back at a sharp angle. Their legs bent at angles their joints shouldn't be able to, then locked and straightened with sudden stiffness. Although this movement appeared uncontrolled for a moment... there was a search within it. It was as if she were relearning her body—but she was doing it through frantic exertion, not calm experimentation.
She suddenly stopped.
Then… her hands slowly rose upward.
Her fingers reached the ammonite-like mask that completely covered her face. The dry, scraping sound that emerged when the fingertips made initial contact with the surface of that organic shell... made the air even heavier. Her hands remained there for a moment. As if weighing what touching meant.
And then... she pulled away.
But this wasn't a pulling-away move.
This was... an attempt to break free.
Her fingers pressed harder against the mask. The shell-like surface did not crack—it resisted. But that resistance... didn't stop her. She pressed harder. Her nails sank into the edges of that hard structure. Then… a tremor. Fine cracks formed along the edges of the mask. But these cracks were not a sign of breaking… they heralded separation.
The woman threw her head back.
And at that moment…
She screamed.
This was not just an audible sound. This was an attack felt internally. The sound not only vibrated the air—it struck me deep within. My ears detected the sound, but the real impact occurred in my mind. It was as if that scream was the forced expulsion of something that couldn't be put into words. There was pain inside it, but this pain wasn't familiar. There was anger, but it was directionless. And worst of all... there was a void within that sound. It was as if the thing that was screaming... didn't know what it was.
It didn't withdraw its hands.
On the contrary... it pressed down even harder.
The mask began to peel away from her face. But this separation was not a clean break. The crust formations, as if rooted to her face, tightened as they were pulled, then broke off in fine fibers. With each break, that scream grew louder, sharper, more fragmented. For a moment… I wanted not to hear that sound. But it wasn't possible. Because that sound… wasn't just coming from outside.
It was entering.
And then…
Suddenly…
It was silenced.
Without any transition.
The scream… stopped.
His hands were still on his face. Most of the mask was no longer in place—it had been torn off, torn to pieces, and was hanging half-detached. But he... wasn't moving.
He just stood there.
It neither shook nor breathed nor made any new move.
It just… stopped.
And that stance…
It was scarier than the madness just before.
Because this time...
He wasn't doing anything.
That sudden silence of the woman... was not merely a simple pause amidst the midst of battle; it was as if the very existence itself had ceased to breathe. That uncontrolled violence that had just compelled fragmentation, disconnection, and rewriting had suddenly ceased. But this interruption did not carry the feeling of an end. On the contrary, that silence was filled with something. Within it was suppressed movement, deferred intention, a consciousness in the process of transformation. The way she stood frozen, her hands still on her face, grasping the hard, organic fragments of the half-torn mask... from the outside, it might have looked like a state of stupefaction, but I understood that this was a threshold. That body was letting go of something that had belonged to it until just moments ago... and accepting something else in its place.
This transition... was not something visible.
But it was felt.
The density of the air changed. The sounds... receded. Even the echoes of the destruction around us seemed to fade into the background for a moment. The war itself... seemed to take a step back to make room for this scene. And in that void, the woman's head slowly tilted to the side.
This small movement... gave everything away.
Because this time... there was "decision" within the movement.
A certainty, a sense of direction, an intention—things absent from the previous contortions—were condensed into this single bow. Her fingers slowly detached themselves from the remnants of the mask. Those fragments of crust loosened and sagged downward, as if they didn't belong on her face. But the thing underneath… still wasn't visible. Maybe it wasn't supposed to be visible. Because what mattered now wasn't "how it looked" but "what it was".
And at that moment… the change was complete.
What emanated from the woman's body was no longer familiar. The chaotic, directionless, destructive force of before had given way to something more orderly, more precise, more "conscious." This new entity... was less impetuous, but much deeper. It was less noisy, but much more powerful.
More dangerous.
The woman's body slowly straightened. Her shoulders drew back, her chest rose slightly, creating the impression that she was "breathing" for the first time. Her legs—which had barely been supporting her moments ago—those still unnaturally positioned, slightly misaligned structures—now settled onto the ground with perfect balance. This balance... was not learned.
This… was imposed.
First, she turned her head towards me. That look… was felt despite the unseen eyes. Then she turned to Magnus.
And she spoke.
"Ahhh…How beautiful…what a beautiful scene I stumbled upon like this…Ah, ah, ha, ha, maybe I came across the darkness of destruction.Aaa!Did you get the wordplay?"
I think she meant Magnus... Should I laugh?
She put her hand to her mouth like a well-mannered woman and giggled. However, the voice we heard was undoubtedly a man's. According to Magnus's tone of voice, she had a thin voice but one similar in structure to his.
"Really... to miss such an aesthetic destruction... what a great loss it would be for me, you know? Because I... love beautiful things. Destruction... distortion... imperfection... And most of all... control. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm not a rude person. I'm just honest. And honesty... is often the most ugly thing. "
Her voice was soft at first. It started with an almost soothing tone. But as the words progressed... the tone shifted. Gentle at one moment, sarcastic at another, detached as if speaking to oneself at times... then regaining composure.
The woman—or whatever was inside that body now—tilted her head slightly to the side. She placed her hand on her chest. That movement... was graceful. Too graceful. Too "harmonious" for this body. Then she bowed slightly.
"Greetings... I apologize for the late arrival. Although... isn't time itself relative? What's late for me might be early for you. Or vice versa. Who knows? Maybe none of us are at the right time. Oh… What a ridiculous thought. There is no such thing as time. There are only… moments. "
She turned around in his own space, around himself.
"And I... I love being part of those moments."
My eyes narrowed.
This… was not the same being.
The same body… but a completely different "mind".
The Spirit Power… was fragmented. There was no single flow. Multiple frequencies were overlapping, colliding, then separating again. This... appeared to be an imbalance.
But it wasn't.
This... was conscious chaos. Who was this? Was this the woman we had been fighting against so far? Or were we really seeing someone else right now?
I hadn't realized I was looking at her too intently. She turned her eyes toward me, and our eyes met for a moment. She was smiling.
"Oh, those looks… Those beautiful, sharp, analyzing looks… How familiar they are… How… hungry. You're trying to figure me out, aren't you? You want to break me down into pieces and make sense of me. Because it… makes you feel safe. "Unfortunately..."
She spread one leg forward and jumped forward like a clown in a playground, standing on one leg.
"This time... the pieces don't fit together. This time... the equation doesn't get solved. This time... there was no result. Ms. Nyoko. Hihihihi."
Then she turned to Magnus.
And at that moment... the atmosphere changed once again.
"Magnus... Magnus... Magnus."
The second leg touched the ground again, and slowly, her smile disappeared. Her face took on a sullen expression.
"Saying your name three times… it's like a ritual. Maybe it summons you. Or… it reminds you. How rude of you. Starting such an event without inviting me... I'm truly hurt. Look... I'm seriously hurt... have you forgotten me... don't you want me anymore... am I not good enough? "
Her voice became higher-pitched.
It weakened.
Almost… it broke.
But in the next moment…
It completely changed.
"Nonsense. Of course you can't forget me. Because I... am not forgotten. I... leave my mark. And you... still bear those marks. Like your favorite person! "
While saying her last words, she shouted at such a loud volume that it shook the entire street.
I looked at Magnus.
He was still not moving.
But this... wasn't calmness.
This was... a suppressed explosion.
The Spirit Power was trembling. Unstable. Intense. Compressed. As if something... was being held back inside.
And this... was anger.
But it wasn't just any ordinary anger.
This... was personal.
The woman in front of us, or whatever she was, spoke up again, and I immediately turned my face toward her.
"Let's get acquainted then… Magnus. I have many names. Some know me as a curse. Some… as salvation. Some… just a mistake. And you… you used to call me Clown. Because I... am always on stage. And you... are always watching."
She lifted her hand gently. The woman's body... reacted with her.
The muscles tensed.
The organic structures vibrated.
"You're wondering… Of course you're wondering. This body… this distorted, broken, beautiful thing… isn't mine. But it belongs to me. How? Very simple.He snapped his fingers.
"Willpower… breaks. Mind… is rewritten. And the body… obeys. My little organization… Petrus… is very loyal. Or… must be loyal."
She paused for a moment.
Then she laughed lightly.
"Loyalty… what an abhorrent concept. But… it works."
She snapped her fingers.
The woman's body trembled slightly.
"Body transformation. The soul's forced shaping of the flesh. A form of… art. And you… you know this art well, Magnus."
Silence.
But this time…
The silence was heavy.
The Clown bowed his head.
She smiled.
"Oh… So you still remember. Good. Because I… don't like being forgotten. "
She took another step.
"I want to talk, Magnus. Not to fight. Not to kill. To talk. Because... words... sometimes cut deeper than swords. And I... I like deep cuts." Just like you healed all the wounds in my heart. Just like you took everything from me."
I…
I was still in my place.
But now I wasn't just watching.
I understood.
This… wasn't a war.
This… must have dated back to very ancient times. The person before me could be a god or even a being above that. Because she had a history with Magnus...
This was a showdown.
END OF CHAPTER