Chapter 45

“Waaah!” The Little White Dragon dove forward with a cute, strangled yelp, like a startled otter slipping off icy rock, dodging a bolt that hissed past her back.

Lilith rolled across the ground with fox-like grace. She didn’t pause for a heartbeat. Her little tail braced her, then her short legs kicked off. Under the Void Command Seat, she tore ahead like wind skimming frost.

Panic churned first. Ever since Thousand Legs wrapped herself in fresh lightning, she’d gone rabid—like her head had been sawed wrong by the Primordial Ark—doggedly snapping at the Little White Dragon’s heels. Bolts kept whipping down. Lilith squealed, hunched her cheeks with both hands, and sprinted with a wailing hum through the storm.

Nidhogg and the Ancestor of Ice Spirits were basically ignored. The Ancestor could still meddle with magic, like frost-veins guiding glacier drift, to hinder the chase. Nidhogg couldn’t. A Black Dragon thrives up close, but couldn’t close the gap. Thousand Legs’ senses were razor-sharp; the black chains Nidhogg fired never touched her. She’d just tilt her body and slip away like eel-shadow.

That meant the Little White Dragon had to handle her pursuer alone. Thousand Legs was a divine construct, and she’d devoured more divine constructs than Lilith had years. A brand-new Divine Fragment like Lilith didn’t even know which seam to pry.

“I even modded the Primordial Ark into a shield-axe and still can’t win. Now what?” Lilith muttered, ducking another sizzling strike. Her speed was fine. But lightning near light-speed cares nothing for legs; all she could do was pre-read the arc and slip aside. Even she couldn’t react to Thousand Legs’ zero-frame startup.

That Divine Fragment at her back was the worst boss Lilith had ever fought. In her three-year Hero’s journey, most enemies had quirky mechanics—watch carefully, find the odd solution, and you’re done. Not this thing. Tanky and brutal, hard as iron, with three phases. In phase three it chased like a rabid hound, chopping without end. The old Lilith would’ve joined a sect and called for backup. But in this other world, there was no Wind Spirit and Moon Shadow guarding her path. She could only lean on her own strength.

“Enough! I’m done playing cat and mouse!” The frustration hit first, hot as steam under ice. Lilith planted her feet, stopped running, and twisted. She swung the Primordial Ark down in a clean arc, ready to bite into Thousand Legs as she lunged in.

Half her body flickering as lightning, Thousand Legs didn’t fear that blade. She rushed straight into it, intent on dumping all her thunder onto the Little White Dragon, letting her taste what evil meant.

“?!” It didn’t go her way. The instant she touched Lilith, the Little White Dragon bloomed Taint-tentacles like night vines from her skin. Dark-red flesh coiled around Thousand Legs’ lightning-wreathed body, mouths within mouths drinking the energy off her skin.

“What?” Thousand Legs froze, like a hawk stalling mid-dive. She hadn’t expected this. Lilith’s tainted flesh wasn’t lightning-proof. Those spreading tendrils got fried into roast meat by the bolts, then sloughed off by the fresh growth behind them, peeling away from Thousand Legs’ body.

Even so, the Taint still siphoned magic. That magic barely fed the flesh’s regrowth. The tiny deficit? Lilith could supply with her own mana.

So a “perfect chance” to hammer the Little White Dragon became Thousand Legs’ misfortune. Once Taint-flesh wrapped you, it didn’t come off clean. Tendrils bound her limbs like hungry ivy. She couldn’t break free for a moment. She had to watch the Taint devour her energy.

“I’m done with ceremony.” Lilith puffed, cheeks swelling like a pouting carp. She never used the Taint unless forced. Even then, she’d limit it—like a half-dragon form with brakes. But Thousand Legs kept chasing. Lilith burned through every clean trick, and the hound wouldn’t die. She snapped. She released the locks on her Taint, became a walking spill of pollution, and lashed the divine construct before her, drinking greedily from her storm.

“Damn it, what is this thing?” Thousand Legs still fought. She called a lightning stroke straight from the sky. It hammered the tendrils coiling her like a divine mallet.

They charred all at once into black crust. Beneath them, Thousand Legs’ skin had already been gnawed raw. Severe patches leaked blood like dew from a torn leaf.

That brief escape didn’t change the tide. Lilith’s Taint could grow without end. A few tendrils got scorched to carbon, so Lilith reached farther, and they wound her again like fog-thickened rope.

“Damn you!” Thousand Legs sensed the truth. Cut the tendrils and they regrow. Only by destroying the puppetmaster—Lilith—could she stop the tightening net.

She went off like a sun behind stormglass. No more sky-borrowed thunder. From her core erupted a different lightning—gold like molten dawn. It blasted through Lilith’s Taint, turned her into a high-temperature shell, and shot at the Little White Dragon like a cannonball wrapped in thunder.

“This is my millennium of accumulation, all ruined by you!” Thousand Legs shrieked, voice edged with metal. Gold fire blazed from her eyes like a tiger breaking its cage. The lightning licking her body scorched the air into a kiln. Lilith inhaled on reflex; the heat stung. As an ice mage, she hadn’t smelled air this close to burning in ages.

“I’ll make you pay in blood! Everything I lost, I’ll carve back from you! A shard of god—I’ll savor your taste!” Thousand Legs slammed in like a maddened beast. Her lightning-gloved fist tore toward Lilith. The Little White Dragon slid sideways. The punch missed, but stray arcs singed a few hairs.

Thousand Legs howled and hammered, punches raining like drumbeats in a monsoon. Lilith dodged by a hair, tried to pull distance, and found the foe stuck to her like superglue. She couldn’t peel her off.

Enough. The Little White Dragon stopped dodging. She chose to meet that fist head-on.

Confident in her power, Thousand Legs expected bones to crack, at least an arm to snap. Instead, her fist hit iron. It wouldn’t sink even a hair’s breadth. Shock cut through her fury. She glanced down.

It wasn’t Lilith who caught the punch. It was Nidhogg, who had arrived without a sound, palm locked around her knuckles like a clamp forged in night.

“Made it. You alright?” Nidhogg held Thousand Legs’ fist, turned his head toward Lilith, and smiled like stars on black water.

It was Lilith’s first time seeing Nidhogg’s half-dragon form. The Black Dragon rarely showed dragon traits. If needed, he usually shifted to full dragon. This armored silhouette—scales plating most of his body like night-mail—Lilith had never seen.

“Of course I’m fine.” Lilith smiled back. Facing a mad Thousand Legs alone had made her mind ragged. With Nidhogg beside her, her heart cooled, like snow settling after a wind.

“Come to think of it, I’ve never seen your half-dragon look. And I’ve never seen your breath. You always just bite people. Where’s a dragon’s elegance gone?” Lilith’s tease had a bite, but her tone was bright.

“Don’t worry. I’ll show you plenty today.” Nidhogg understood. He leaned beside Lilith. They opened their mouths together.

Dark-violet breath, heavy with shadow magic, met ice-blue breath, freighted with winter days. They surged side by side, slammed into Thousand Legs.

The divine construct roared and burst with the brightest lightning Lilith had ever seen. Gold arcs painted the clouds gold, like a brush washing the sky. For a moment, their breath was pushed back.

Lilith didn’t panic. Nidhogg’s hand found hers, fingers pressing her palm, warm as a hearth. With that touch, she knew they wouldn’t lose.

When the grandeur of Thousand Legs’ gold thunder faded, her strength had run dry. She let out one last unwilling cry, then vanished beneath the twin breaths, swallowed like a spark in a blizzard.

After a while, the Little White Dragon stopped pouring power. She felt hollowed out, like a drained spring. Nausea surged up. Lilith clutched her belly, almost puked.

Nidhogg caught her. Lilith’s body was too fragile; that long breath had eaten at her like winter gnawing thin bark.

Leaning in Nidhogg’s arms, Lilith looked to where Thousand Legs had stood. Now, Thousand Legs’ whole body had turned ashen, her vitality gone, frozen still like a statue without spirit.

Lilith lifted the Primordial Ark, meaning to finish it. She didn’t notice when the Ancestor of Ice Spirits had appeared beside Thousand Legs.

The Ancestor held a long blade of ice. One clean motion. The blade fell. Thousand Legs’ head separated from her neck like frost snapping a thin branch.

“It’s over,” Lilith thought.