"Die for me!" Birand’s right side flushed into searing crimson energy, like molten ore. His right hand shaped into a blade, a crescent falling on the panting masked man.

"So, it’s still a stretch." The masked man slipped past the slash like wind through reeds, then drove a boot into Birand’s gut, distance opening like a rip tide.

He tasted iron at his lips and wiped it away, half a grin, half a sigh. "Such brute force. Seriously... ah."

Over there, Birand shrugged the kick off like a bull shaking rain. He’d only been nudged back, and he burst forward again like a charging storm.

Steel met steel. Their blade and sword crashed, sparks swarming like fireflies in night air.

"Son of a— who are you? Why block me?" Birand ground his teeth, rage boiling like thunderclouds.

This guy was too strong, a mountain under a cloak. When the Demon Race attacked, he’d never sensed anyone at this tier.

He scanned the face, no long ears, no odd horns, a normal body, a silhouette like any man under sun.

Every sign screamed human. Yet Birand knew human stock like cracked clay; the Church ran three censuses, calm as dry wells.

Damn. Who is this man, a ghost in daylight?

The masked man parried a flurry like leaves batting rain, then caught an opening and thrust for Birand’s left shoulder, a silver fish darting upstream.

The longsword met no resistance. It cleaved Birand’s left arm clean, a pine branch snapped in winter. Birand frowned and flicked his right hand, a gale in a fist.

The masked man’s stance wobbled; that raw force shoved him back several steps, boots skidding like stones on riverbed.

He steadied himself, breath rough, a bellows under frost. Unease coiled like a snake in his gut.

Damn. It’s more out of my plan than I thought. If I don’t hurry, once this state fades, I can’t stall him—like dusk swallowing fire.

He shook numb hands, pins and needles like cold rain, and glanced at the Celestial God’s position, a lighthouse in fog.

"Tsk... speed it up!" His brow knit. A bead of sweat slipped under the mask, a lone drop like dew leaving a leaf.

Birand narrowed his eyes, hawk-keen. What’s this? People at this realm are wells without bottom.

Why’s he acting like he’s spent, a lamp sputtering? Or is that actually a tear, a drop of winter thaw?

In a blink, Birand’s left shoulder regrew, flesh budding like spring wood. He set his stance and lunged again, a red comet crossing sky.

"Tsk!"

Clang!

Another brutal collision, a drumbeat in a storm. Both slid back, footprints like scars in dust, the masked man farther.

They both felt it, a clock sanding down. The masked man’s heart dipped, hollow as a gourd. "So fast, my time’s up... I need a plan."

"Heh... just as I thought." Birand’s laugh was cold, a knife under snow.

He’s not using his own strength. It’s borrowed, a tide on loan.

From the Abyss? Or a Celestial God? Whatever. The tie’s slipping free like a rope from a ring. When that buff ends, he dies like a star that falls.

"Heh-heh, feeling hollow?" Since his road of revenge, Birand finally smiled, brittle as ice under sun.

The masked man shrugged, shoulders loose as reeds. "Can’t help it, brother. I don’t last like you."

Birand paused, a pebble in stream. "You one of those who call themselves the New Era Sect?"

The masked man chuckled, light as drifting ash. "How could I be? They’re weak right now."

"...Toxic straight?" Birand’s tone tested, a thorn under silk.

The masked man blinked. "Come on, how am I a toxic straight?"

"You’re from that other world too." Birand’s eyes slit, a cat in dusk. "Don’t block me, transmigrator."

The masked man smiled. "Ah, that’s what you meant. Then how about we drop the fight and talk?"

Birand bared his teeth, a wolf measuring moonlight. Planning to drag this till your clock dies?

"Fine. Say it. You get five minutes." Birand arched a brow and sat, cross-legged, a mountain folding its knees.

His body settled, calm as a lake. Flesh returned to human, color cooling like embers.

Edlyn blinked, tail of thought tangled. What... what’s this? Love at first fight? Huh?

What the hell—chatting mid-brawl? You two trying to kill this Demon King with laughter?

The masked man raised his brow too, a feather lifted by breeze. So confident I won’t cheap-shot?

You’re dropping that state just like that?

Birand smiled, easy as dawn. Shifting takes me less than a heartbeat; I’ll watch your tricks like a falcon.

I’ll drag it till your energy gutter’s dry. Then nobody stops me, not wind, not sea.

At that thought, Birand wore a thin smile, a blade in a sheath.

"Mm. You really think you’ve got this in the bag." The masked man shrugged, helpless as driftwood.

"Oh? Weren’t you here to chat? Why say that?" Birand sat cross-legged, eyes locked like talons, hawk fixed on prey.

Seeing that, the masked man sat too, slow as setting sun. "I’m beat. Hey, man, is this worth it? Such a grudge?"

"You slaughtered the Celestial Realm and plan to smash this world’s fulcrum, the pillar under heaven."

"Nothing to say." Birand’s tone was frost. "I was this world’s Hero. I saved a pack of white-eyed wolves."

"They stole what was dearest. I died for it, a candle snuffed mid-song. Now I’m stuck in a twisted state."

"Should I spare the culprits, let the rot spread like mold?"

"While my reason still stands, not yet eaten by this power like ants on sugar, I’ll do everything I can."

Edlyn turned, eyes on Birand’s face, a moon on a tide. What hatred carves a man that deep?

Elsewhere, several Angels sat in waters drawn from the Spring of Life, liquid light like dawn in bowls.

Six Angels watched that battlefield, eyes bright as stars. They wondered why the two stopped, lightning paused mid-sky.

But time pressed like a winter river. First, set the energy array, lines like constellations on earth.

The masked girl glanced toward the masked man, worry fluttering like a moth. "Careful. Don’t die."

Celestial God Yulia kept her gaze on the girl’s forehead, a sunbeam boring through cloud.

The stare burned like noon. The girl couldn’t stand it; she turned to Yulia. "What do you want?"

Yulia tilted her head, a playful bird. "You’re Demon Race, right? Why hide your demon horns? Shame?"

The masked girl froze, a deer under torchlight. She sighed, then snapped her fingers; horns unfurled like antelope crescents.

"Can’t fool you, huh."

"Demon Race!" Archangel Ferrero cried, voice like a spear thrown.

He swept a hand, and a huge spear appeared, a glacier tooth in his grip.

Yulia glanced at him. The spear vanished, ash snowing in the air.

Ferrero stared, hollow as an empty sheath, then grumbled, heat like a forge. "Lady Celestial God! She’s a demon!"

Yulia rubbed her brow, a tired priest. The other Angels looked at Ferrero like he’d swallowed a rock.

"She didn’t harm you. She helped undo the Hero’s bindings. Can you weigh heavy and light, you fool?" Archangel Mikaen sighed, iron and pity braided.

"Tch." Ferrero turned his head, storm-cloud sulking.

The masked girl fought a laugh, bubbles under water. She’d heard the charge-loving Ferrero kept getting roasted by the Hero for low IQ. So it’s true.

"No mood for jokes." She patted her cheeks, palms like cold petals.

"You’ve seen my horns. Can we focus now, Lady Celestial God?"

Yulia pressed her lips, doubt circling like a hawk. "Your ripple feels so close to the Abyss."

"You should be his direct hand. Why help me?"

The masked girl’s words held weight like rain. "For our world. And for him."

Yulia looked toward the masked man chatting with the Hero, head tilted like a sparrow. "Him? He’s human."

"Yes. Exactly."

"..."

"You can see my state." The masked man’s radiance of law faded, glow draining like dusk.

His hair went back to full black, night silk. His wounds surfaced, red soaking cloth like spilled wine.

He looked ragged, a scarecrow in a storm. "So do you kill me now, or keep talking?"

Birand smiled, rare ease like a warm breeze. "Since you gave me a laugh, I’ll tell you a joke."

The masked man tilted his head, a willow listening. "Go on?"

"Xiao Ming went out with a strawberry, a watermelon, and a tomato, strolling under blue sky."

"At the first intersection, a car hit the watermelon. Xiao Ming said, ‘Haha, watermelon juice!’"

"At the second, a car hit the tomato. Xiao Ming said, ‘Haha, ketchup!’"

"At the third, a car ran over Xiao Ming. The strawberry said, ‘Haha, scumbag.’"

"Pfft. Hahaha."

Clang!

A red long blade swept across the masked man’s face, a comet scraping sky.

The leaking energy split his butterfly mask in two, halves flitting down like dead moths.

The blade was about to sink into his skull, a nail into cedar. Birand saw the man’s face and froze, lightning stalled mid-cloud.

"What—what is this!"

Edlyn tried to rush in, heart pounding like hooves.

But right now Akenachel cared only about the task in hand, senses narrowed like a tunnel. He couldn’t spare a glance at the man’s face.

Edlyn bit her lip and stamped, anger flaring like a torch. "I’m gonna blow a fuse!"

The masked man snapped back, hand clamping over half his face, shadow like night. He stowed the broken mask into space, shards swallowed like stones in a lake.

"Wow. You want to look at my face? You’re really out of line!"

He caught Birand’s stunned heartbeat, that one breath of still water, and burst with power like a volcano, blasting Birand away.

"Celestial God! Now!" The masked girl slapped Yulia’s shoulder, a drum for battle.

Yulia closed her eyes. Holy air rose again, a dawn halo.

Meanwhile, Birand steadied himself, disbelief like ice. "You! What are you?"

The masked man flew toward the Celestial God, a swallow arrowing for a branch.

Birand sprinted after, legs like thunder. In moments, without law’s blessing, the masked man got kicked to the ground.

The kick slammed his back, a hammer on an anvil. He spat a mouthful of blood, bits of organ glinting like torn petals.

"Urgh!"

"Hurry!" The masked girl saw him folding and pushed Yulia, urgency like wildfire.

Yulia opened her eyes again and sent a palm at Birand, a moonlit wave rolling straight ahead.