It rose like sacred gospel. Even endless dark became the Great Way’s grand, booming song.

The pitch-black cocoon cracked. The sable barrier burst into ten-thousandfold light. In the temple, flowers pushed from tidy stone seams, strange and beautiful.

Shadowed guards faced the cocoon and dropped to their knees. Before that dark radiance, they dared not lift their faces, like vassals before a throne.

Inside the cocoon, a figure slowly stood.

She wore a body honed to perfection. Tall lines, a thin waist, fullness without excess. Hair like a waterfall draped to her pale feet, spring-light teasing under the black veil.

That pull between maiden and woman—near and far—was irresistible. Like Eden’s forbidden grove; knowing the fruit was poison, you’d still savor its sweetness.

Yet no one dared meet that perfect form. Not for lack of nerve. Lover-soft whispers gnawed at their minds, like demons from the Abyss—succubi in velvet shadow.

The pressure coiled around them, formless and crushing. Desire couldn’t rise. Even breathing under that weight stuttered and hurt.

Even Oz, hot with power at the side, was pressed flat to the floor. He knelt like a penitent sinner.

Oz bit hard on his lip. Bright blood fell onto a flower before him. It drank like a rare tonic; in a blink, tendrils shot out and bound him.

When a tendril sliced his skin, fear flared in his eyes.

Poison. Enough to freeze a mighty Demigod in place.

Oz tried to rouse his deep-crimson Arcane Power, to scour venom from his blood. No matter how he called, that beastlike power hid, silent and small.

When the black radiance first fell, it had fled behind Oz like a spooked bird. It whimpered once, then thinned into air. Now it didn’t dare answer him.

Only Oz’s crimson greatsword still shook itself wild. It bit deep into the floor. Chains lashed around it like a shield, whipping to block the black light.

“Interesting.”

The flawless woman smiled, a breathtaking curve. Jade-slim fingers brushed her scarlet lips, then turned to the trembling blade.

For a breath, a vast phantom seemed to descend over the temple.

The shaking blade lost drive. Crimson glow drained from its body. Ancient rust bloomed across a mirror-smooth face. The silver-snake chains broke and fell as scrap.

A savage crack split the guard. A clean, gem-bright snap followed. The intact guard met the chains’ fate—scattered into glittering shards.

“How… how is this… possible…”

Spent of strength, Oz forced the words out. Pride fled his red eyes. Only deep fear remained.

“Why don’t you come and behold my perfect form?”

The pillow-soft question drew cold sweat from the middle-aged man.

He knocked his head to the floor again and again, then stammered in fear.

“I’m only a mortal. How could I be worthy to gaze upon a god?”

It wasn’t his heart’s truth. Who wouldn’t want a glance at such perfect flesh? Even a saint would break a vow for it.

But this god didn’t look like one to trifle with.

He could only hope she’d spare him, seeing all he’d done. Otherwise…

The thought drew broad beads of sweat along his brow. The god was already standing at his side.

A faint scent brushed him, sweet as lethal honey. He bit the tip of his tongue, clinging to his center.

“Since you labored for my descent, I’ll grant you not-death.”

Cold as it sounded, the voice was heaven to him. He wiped his mind clean and didn’t dare birth a speck of blasphemy.

The perfect figure seemed to recall something. She laughed low. Black radiance gathered and became a sumptuous feathered robe, soft across her frame.

The sword, now mere dead iron, flew to her with a gentle flick of her hand.

“Ugly thing. No sense of beauty at all.”

Her words fell. Dark light wrapped the fallen blade. The crimson Arcane Power inside flared, finally goaded. Fear had kept it from this perfect woman before. Now death sat before it. The power surged into a scarlet dragon and roared at her.

Hope edged Oz’s eyes. He couldn’t resist her pressure, but that crimson Arcane Power was beyond him, a thing he’d never fully bend.

She showed him what despair meant in a heartbeat.

She only laughed. A black serpent phantom coiled from her palm, wound around the blade, and bit into the scarlet dragon without mercy.

Serpent and dragon tangled in midair. In nature, a snake shouldn’t beat a dragon.

Her jade hand tightened. The black serpent lanced through the scarlet dragon, then fed from within. The dragon screamed in despair.

The uneven fight ended in a few breaths. The scarlet dragon blew apart, scattered into fragments of Arcane Power, and poured into the black light.

“Isn’t this just perfect~”

Like a girl with her coveted prize, she smiled in praise.

The dark radiance peeled away. What remained in her hand was a scepter of pitch black.

Black formed its body, like the radiance itself. Scarlet carvings climbed along both sides, glowing like fresh blood.

Between gray and black, a Rune was engraved at the center. Even Oz, a Demigod, couldn’t read it. A moment’s stare pricked his eyes and forced them away.

“Good, good. I’m satisfied.”

Scepter in hand, she was a high-born queen. She walked to the temple’s edge and swept the scepter. The force shrouding the temple faded. Beyond lay the endless Hydra Plains.

A handful of figures hung in midair there, stark against the vista.

At their head, a blue-robed woman breathed terrible frost. A deep-blue staff hovered by her. The sky behind her had gone black, crowded with stars.

The others wore varied armor. Weapons in hand, they took their places beside her. They faced the perfect woman on the temple, conceding nothing.

“Are you here to pay court to me as well?”

The perfect woman smiled up at them. She didn’t anger at their blockade. Yet a king’s weight bled from her without effort.

Her words were like wine, sweet and fragrant. Oz, nearest her, couldn’t take it. He went limp and passed out.

The middle-aged man’s eyes were blood-red, yet he knelt like the truest servant by her side.

“Pay court?”

The blue-robed woman laughed, ice-cold. Her frost-bitten air spoke her scorn. She was a proud sovereign too. Two crowns meeting—only death resolves it.

“Ah. After uncounted ages, the world has forgotten my name.”

The black-haired beauty smiled and shook her head. A tolerant monarch forgave a rude trespass with a faint smile.

She lifted her chin to the endless stars. Her smile drew in. Pride and cold grace crowned her face.

“Give your names. I’ll write in your blood the folly and courage of challenging a king. Across endless time, you’re the first.”

Her voice was gentle, but it didn’t brag. It spoke like fact.

“Heir of the Stars, Senro.”

Deep-blue eyes unfurled behind Senro, staring at the black-haired woman at the temple’s edge.

At Senro’s answer, approval lit the woman’s gaze. She didn’t move her lips. A voice that went straight to the heart sounded in every ear.

“Even reckless bravery is still courage. As your reward, I’ll speak my name.”

A vast inner shadow rolled through their minds.

“I am the Ancestor of the cosmos, incarnation of first light, and the will of original dark.”

“I died within the Primordial Flame, and was born there too.”

“All things begin and must end, destroyed within their birth.”

“I am the boundless Great Number, the body of chaos.”

Her scarlet lips curved, dazzling. She spoke like truth itself, proclaiming her being to the world.

“I am—the Ouroboros, the World-Serpent.”

“Uroboros.”