In the shadowed corridor, at intervals came the sound of iron drawn taut, then snapping, with low, muffled growls rising and fading like tide and undertow.

It was Beozwulf the Sky-Bearer wrenching free of his bonds.

Monsters crowded the place in all sizes—tiny as insects, towering like skyscrapers—each a strange silhouette, no two sharing a face.

Their only common thread was hunger. They were all bloodthirsty, all steeped in malice, each killing in the way it excelled, culling any life not born beneath the Tower of Final Stars.

In the dark, blood-red glints winked on and off. Those were their eyes, lanterns of slaughter.

Sometimes foul water slid by, source unknown, destination unseen, a black river without banks. Twisted plants sprouted here, stinking and slick, many with leaves like teeth, carnivorous and cold.

No full food chain lived here. Life fed on the silt of inert mana saturating the air, lingered and ossified, serving as nameless gatekeepers to a door no one opened.

But…

The Sorcerer Emperor’s imagination had only reached this far.

The Golden Age knew no darkness, no tears. They could never grasp what true night looked like.

Calm first, then motion. Vega walked the pitch-black secret realm as if sunlight warmed her back. The lives of shadow gave timid roars, then spun away in panic.

“I’m the real venom. The Sorcerer Emperor? He’s nothing…”

She lifted her chin and pulled her short blade from a hanging spider, voice soft as humming under her breath.

Darkness terrifies because it strips mortal knowing, leaves mortals fretting, fearing unnamed jaws waiting in the night.

But for us, it’s different.

Vega kept walking, every step as serene as a pilgrim under noon sky.

“We see just fine. We are the dark itself.”

Singing the thought like a tune, she slipped into a corridor that coiled like a serpent and took the sure branch without a pause.

“Berenz, how’s she holding up?”

No answer was needed; the scene said it all.

Berenz sat astride a trussed-up Nan Lu, twirling a Green Dragon blade between lazy fingers.

“Ah, Vega, where d’you think Master found this ‘black tech’? Is it like black magic?”

She pointed at the ropes binding Nan Lu and yanked out a long black hair with a cruel snap.

“I… demand treatment as a prisoner of war… mmph, mmph…”

Berenz stood, shoved another rope hard into Nan Lu’s mouth, and pressed a boot to the back of her head like a heel on a snake.

“Idiot. A mere captive wants ‘treatment’? Living comfy among humans made you forget you’re born of the Demon Realm? Got complaints? Then fight back. Give me screams with a spine!”

Stomp, stomp, grind. In Berenz’s eyes, a red flame that had guttered began to kindle again, ember to blaze.

“I don’t think so,” Vega said. “Dark magic’s still rule-bound and ordered. It only uses shadow-aspected mana. These ropes block the conceptual field. That’s not a normal artifact.”

“Eh, so even Vega’s not sure. Whatever. Master’s ropes are great. Two more loops and you cut off access to the conceptual field.”

“I think Nan Lu’s here to stall. So finish fast and contact Master. Looks like Her Highness Anna really is making a big move.”

“Nan Lu never thought we had toys like this. By the way, your peach-bind was fast. You tied her in the blink of her hesitation.”

“Oh. I practiced on you lot.”

“…”

Berenz went quiet, turning her face aside. The sadist heat blew out like a candle.

“Honestly, the tortoise-shell bind is quicker, but it restrains less than the peach-bind. For one clean success, I passed up plenty of openings.”

“…”

Berenz said nothing and kept her boot firm on Nan Lu.

“Enough, Berenz. Master must’ve given you a task.”

Vega stayed her brutality—not out of mercy, but to curb her inclination and get the job done.

“Oh, you mean die once? No need. As long as I kick this thing when she tries to launch a thought-wave, I’ll beat her down. Still gotta die?”

“Mmph…”

Berenz dropped the rope and drove a hard kick into Nan Lu. The pretty qipao went from silk to rags in a breath.

“Master has his reasons. So die when the Sky-Bearer breaks the seal or when Princess Anna arrives. We’ll revive you.”

Vega smoothed hair that hadn’t shifted a strand and said it plainly.

“Fine. Didn’t think I’d have to die so soon after dropping in. Makes me sick. All because of you—kick—without you—kick—I could’ve killed more. Damn it. Hey, Vega, what about this one—kick?”

“Oooh, that hurts… My Master’s wisdom isn’t for the likes of you to… mmph…”

This time Vega gagged Nan Lu herself, using a special rope and a ball gag that silenced pride and breath alike.

“Bring her back. A retainer, before death, gives the Demon King a last message. Master’s griped about it for ages, though what bothers him isn’t what bothers us.”

“So Master’s the chuuni-type he keeps talking about?”

“I’d say denpa-type… You probably don’t get that, Berenz.”

“Ahaha. I only need killing to live. Don’t mind me. Tell me what else before I die.”

Vega thought for a beat, then tore at her maid uniform, fabric whispering like paper under flame.

“Wait, it’s too urgent for that now. Ah, but if you really want it, I can…”

Berenz blushed, heat on her cheeks, oddly shy about a topic she usually mocked.

“Berenz, what are you thinking?” Vega’s eyes brimmed with scorn. “Give me two punches. Quick. I need blood.”

“Your taste…”

“Cut the chatter. I can’t go ask for aid in pristine formal dress. A little ruin works better on sympathy.”

“Got it. If I swing, you don’t get to retaliate.”

“Do it. If something goes wrong on Master’s side, are you taking responsibility?”

“Hahahaha, I’ve waited forever for this day. Vega, taste my rage… Why dodge the punch I packed with killing intent?”

Vega hopped back, slipped aside, then turned toward the way out like a shadow peeling from a wall.

“First, I need injuries. I’d prefer not to die.”

She slung the muffled Nan Lu over one shoulder and drew her beloved dagger, Poison Fang, with the other, blade whispering for blood.

“Second, the Wraith of the Mass Graves, blood-hungry Liebich, is here. I won’t even need your hands.”

“Correct,” a voice chimed. “I said it long ago and whined to Master many times. Nan Lu can’t; Nan Lu won’t. Ah, just slander off the tongue—but Nan Lu, you really can’t. You can’t. Haha. Dirty jokes are delightful, haha.”

A laughing beauty walked from one dark into another. Compared to average-built Nan Lu, Liebich’s lush curves and a qipao slit to the waist set blood surging.

Breasts and hips swelled under silk, one heartbeat from bursting the seams.

Her flaxen hair whipped back. She leveled her naginata, voice bright and clean, ringing like metal on stone.

“I’m here to drag time. You probably guessed that. But I’d rather kill you outright, so you won’t make me lift a finger later.”

Behind her rose gravestones in every form—winged angels, crosses, cloud-scrolls, bixi turtles. Her naginata sank into the dark and came out dancing with deeper malice.

“So then, who dies first?”

She licked sultry lips. In her eyes, layered flames flared and refused to go out.