A familiar scent rolled in. Devila shut his eyes and breathed it deep. The world felt too familiar—like his birthplace in a still pond’s reflection. So why hadn’t he felt it first thing?

Ouyang watched his reaction and nodded, thoughts drifting like clouds.

“Looks like I guessed right…” He wore a pensive look, then suddenly pointed at the sky. “Hey—look, a birdman flying past…”

“Birdman?” Devila hesitated, then the thought snapped into place. Angels. He looked up. Sure enough, high above, faint trails cut the air—angels had flown by, leaving ripples in the blue.

“But… no. My home’s a low-element plane. Why would angels be here? Did those birdmen take it over?”

While Devila’s mind ran wild, the sky flooded with wings. Angels multiplied like a storm of feathers—a full angelic host.

Ouyang almost swore aloud.

“You idiot vampire, what are you daydreaming about? You actually pulled a whole flock of angels in here!”

Devila blinked, blank as a stone. His thoughts and this mess—how were they connected? Then he dug one layer deeper and felt the wrongness bloom.

He was Blood Kin with ten thousand years behind him. He wasn’t brain-dead.

“This place… could it be…”

“Yeah. Whatever you think appears. So calm your mind.” Ouyang stared at the dark swarm overhead and swallowed hard. With that many enemies, even their spit could drown the two of them.

Devila proved himself a god-tier Blood Kin. Once he grasped the truth, he closed his eyes. The heaven-darkening angels vanished like ash in rain. The green hills and bright waters around them winked out too, leaving a boundless white, as if the world wore a cloak of fog.

“Starspace’s Five Great Mysteries—the Mist Labyrinth.” Ouyang scanned the pale expanse, every muscle on guard. He’d known something was off after their castle drifted for too long. The “drive malfunction”? A trick he’d used to scare Devila. He’d tossed the lie out—and it had become real.

Maybe the first time was a fluke. The second time, he’d nudged Devila with “this is your home.” Doubt took root. Devila wasn’t sure, but the moment his heart leaned even a little, the world tilted to match.

Once could be chance. Twice could still be chance. But the angels clinched it—this was a place where thought became the world.

Of the Five Great Mysteries, the Boundless Sea was the hardest to reach and the safest to survive. The Mist Labyrinth was both blade and balm. Its danger rose and fell with your mood.

Let your emotions riot, and its danger spiked to the heavens.

In here, your inner knowing set the Labyrinth’s teeth.

“So the one who needs watching is you.” Devila’s tone was a warning bell. “You’re a man of the Other Shore. You’ve dealt with Ancient Gods and even a Primordial Deity or two. If those show up, we’re dead.”

He wasn’t wrong. In sheer knowledge, Ouyang could lap Devila by light-years. Which made Ouyang far more dangerous in the Mist Labyrinth. Devila hadn’t even met the Creator God. No matter how wild he imagined, he couldn’t manifest what he’d never seen.

The Mist Labyrinth had a rule—it only gave shape to what your eyes had truly beheld.

Ouyang stared at the glowing fog and sighed. This damned place—he didn’t even know how they’d wandered in. One moment they were drifting through a temporal riptide. The next, they washed ashore here, dazed.

Because the Labyrinth solidified thoughts, he couldn’t tell when the threshold had been crossed.

“So scary. How about you knock me out? If my mind runs off, I’ll scare myself, too.” Ouyang hunched his neck like a turtle, theatrically afraid. Truth was, fear didn’t bite deep. In the Labyrinth, mood was god. Keep it bright and you got a playground. Let it sour and you birthed a hell.

“Mist Labyrinth Grand Adventure. Come on—let’s plant our banner in every corner.” A flag bloomed in his hand, like a blossom from thin air. White cloth. Red skull stamped bold. The same banner that once snapped above their castle.

Seeing Ouyang that upbeat, Devila felt his own worry thin like mist in sunlight.

Another flag shaped itself in Ouyang’s hand. He tossed it over, casual as a pebble. “As captain, I name you vice-captain of the Mist Labyrinth Expedition. Catch.”

Devila’s first instinct was to refuse. But there was no exit in sight. Idle minds birthed monsters here. Better to do something than to think the wrong thought.

He took the flag, obedient for once, and joined Ouyang’s so-called adventure. Maybe distraction would save him. Maybe adventure would find a way out.

Ouyang strode ahead, banner on his shoulder, marching like a general, wind in his back. Devila followed, banner sagging, head down, a storm cloud on his face.

They walked the drowning white for who knew how long. To their own sense of time, it was a long journey. They met nothing. No mountains, no trees—only fog like endless snow, a world bleached to bone.

As they walked, a thought snagged Ouyang. His face flickered—sorrow, anger, hate—storm after storm rolling in.

He stopped. Devila drew close—and his soul nearly leapt out of his skin. That face said Ouyang was thinking hard. And this place birthed whatever you thought.

“Hey. Kid. Snap out of it.” Devila shook him. Ouyang stared blankly, lost in some inner winter. No time for caution. Devila slapped him left, then right. Hard. Red handprints rose on Ouyang’s cheeks like twin brands.

Devila cracked his knuckles, ready to drive a fist into Ouyang’s skull, when Ouyang’s eyes slid sideways, cold as a knife. “Trash. You trying to die?”

“Ah—haha…” Devila reeled the half-thrown punch back and laughed, awkward as a creaking door.

“Good. You’re awake. I thought something broke in you…”

He wore concern like a borrowed coat. But—

“Funny. Those two slaps looked pretty joyful. And that punch felt eager.”

“Your imagination. Pure imagination.”

He’d never admit it, even at knifepoint.

Ouyang rubbed his face. Time to leave. Because just now, he’d tasted the aura of Original Sin. It didn’t come from nowhere. They said the Mist Labyrinth’s deepest coils could lose even a Primordial Deity.

Original Sin. This place was perfect to imprison it.

Let Original Sin wander forever, lost in mist.

Then Ouyang hesitated. Original Sin was an aggregate of emotion. In here, negative feelings took flesh. Maybe, for Original Sin, every day in the Labyrinth was a day in hell.

Why? Why did that person do this back then? He’d met an echo of Original Sin not long ago. He knew it wasn’t her true body. But twice, in brief crossings, she hadn’t felt that terrifying.

Especially during the “dark cuisine” fiasco—she’d felt like a prank-loving brat.

Why treat her like this?

He faltered. The elders moved with deep foresight. Maybe locking Original Sin here was one more piece in a game played across time. Twice he’d seen her, and he hadn’t found much hatred in her eyes. Only complaint. The kind a child saves for a parent.

“No. I’m going to see for myself.” He couldn’t set it down. Maybe she’d fooled him. Maybe the elder had been right. But he needed the bottom of it. He needed an answer.

“Go where?” Devila kept to Ouyang’s back. He didn’t know this pit-trapper of a man was leading him toward a blade’s edge.

The path ahead stayed white, smooth as silk. No walls, no gates. But Devila felt his emotions slipping their leash. Stray thoughts bloomed like mold. If he hadn’t kept repeating don’t think, don’t think, disaster would’ve already hatched.

He was getting irritable, too. The sight of Ouyang’s back made his teeth itch.

His last strip of reason fought to hold. Sweat beaded his brow, heavy as rain. He clenched his jaw. His eyes felt ready to burst.

Ouyang didn’t notice Devila had fallen behind. He followed his inner compass, step by step into the white.

At last, something appeared ahead—a workbench forged from blue light. Upon it lay a book, also woven from light.

He opened it with care. Inside, he found a diary.