“See? Told you the array on top was fine.”

The old man, vinegar tang practically clinging to him, sat beside Blade. He stared at the screen’s unfolding scene and yelped, nine parts pleased out of ten with this work.

Blade’s portrait didn’t even show on the feed; he only gave a slight nod, praise held like a calm lake. It wasn’t time to celebrate yet—wait till Night Frost’s trio returned.

“Send Lu Jin and Lu Shi to the mouth of the Abyssal Rift to meet Dawnlight’s team. Anyone flagged by the checkup, move them to the new cabin ward.”

Blade gave the order. The First Symphony scribbled on paper, then bolted from the room. The others kept their eyes fixed on the screen, its image sharpening like dawn through mist.

A golden Magic Cannon punched through the Abyssal Rift, then dropped straight onto cracked concrete in the Twelfth District. The shell, watermelon-sized and etched with pale-gold Array Patterns, split open.

A thin antenna unfolded from within. The shell’s heavy base sank into the cement like a nail. It was a signal amplifier—set close within the rift so satellites could lock on and beam the scene back to the screen.

On the feed, thick Abyssal Aura smeared the dim sky. The whole street lay under a press of shadow, a tide of the undead massing like stormclouds. Their bodies, bulked by the Abyss, roared and rushed toward Illusory Glass.

Illusory Glass pinned a row of undead in place. The ones fixed earlier had already turned to ash in flame; she snagged a fresh batch, her focus tight as wire.

With the Abyss’s blessing they were harder to hold, but the seconds she bought were enough. She clipped spatial supply boxes at her waist, the latches clicking like frost.

Done, she pulled two submachine guns from the boxes, dropped magazines, racked bolts, and opened fire in one seamless breath.

Everyone watching glanced at Moon Owl without meaning to. They all knew he had a younger cousin. Word was she’d been promoted to Cantata Two just days ago. Looking at the screen, rumor felt like truth.

Moon Owl’s young cousin looked sharp—hands sure on the gun, sights steady, like a sparrow that never misses its perch. Hard to believe she’d just turned eleven. Around her, Magic Maidens who’d studied eleven years yet lingered at First Symphony felt their cheeks burn.

Hand grenades bloomed open. Orange flame washed the street, a lantern flare in the night spun from Abyssal Aura. The undead tide stalled; the front ranks took losses. The rear held firm like a wall of stone.

Ordinary guns barely scratched undead whose bodies sat at First Symphony. Worse, among them, some undead Magic Maidens chanted Magic Spells and raised wide-area shields like glass domes.

Stronger… and smarter. Give them time, and they’d become Fallen Ones. Illusory Glass felt a hard chill, then judged the flow—Fallen Ones wouldn’t be born that easy. Their climb slowed, like a wave losing crest, as if nearing a limit.

“There are stronger weapons in the boxes.”

The satellite phone crackled a calm directive. Illusory Glass pulled out a black cube veined with gold Array Patterns. It pressed on the air like a storm. In her memory, it was an unfinished Mana Pillar made by the Order Keeper.

Someone intended to turn this street into a testing ground.

She’d seen the Pillar before—set it down, then detonate. The mana blast becomes a column, power equal to a single-person Magic Cannon, wiping enemies and buildings like chalk.

It was costly and impractical. Better carve Array Patterns onto a missile’s nose; the power didn’t lag far behind the Pillar.

Illusory Glass primed the Pillar and hurled it. The black casing quivered. Boom—mana surged, and the Abyss’s churn scattered like leaves in wind.

A golden mana column ripped skyward, shredding the heavy Aura. Cold moonlight poured through, silver on stone.

This prototype’s bite nearly matched the Pillar she remembered. A bit less stable, but absolutely a deployable Magic Tool.

The column swallowed the undead within its circle, erasing them clean. It tightened and sank, leaving a pit several meters deep in the concrete.

A quarter of the horde vanished in a breath. But there were only three cubes—throw them all, and you still wouldn’t end the tide.

Besides, Illusory Glass faced only a few thousand here. The real flood was where Night Frost and Dawnlight fought.

Crimson Gold Flame wrapped Night Frost’s fists, rainstorm blows hammering the Fallen One. Her arms sprouted dark green vines, thrusting up like ironwood to block the fire.

Boom!!

Fist-wind cracked like thunder. A swath of woods ripped up, and within a dozens-high blaze, two figures were hurled backward like sparks.

Dawnlight’s chains climbed the Fallen One’s body like serpents. Holy light fell on Night Frost’s scar-mapped form, a pale dawn over wounds. Behind them, countless undead crawled over broken city bones, surging at Night Frost and Dawnlight.

No time to breathe. Night Frost forged a Crimson Gold Spear from flame and drove it through the Fallen One’s head. Dawnlight’s Magic Tool spun up a gale; invisible wind Blades sliced undead like bamboo.

The Fallen One drank the Abyssal Aura, her breath rising steady, then stopping at the peak of Cantata Two—a brink she couldn’t cross.

A peak Cantata Two Fallen One with Abyss’s blessing and tens of thousands at her back—against that, even Night Frost and Dawnlight, who could duel a weak Cantata Three, couldn’t hold the gate.

The Fallen One tore free of Dawnlight’s chains and raised both hands. Vines burst from every angle around Night Frost and Dawnlight, weaving a thick cage like a living fortress.

Night Frost’s flames burned the vines. Rings of fire slammed the bars again and again. The dense Abyssal Aura slowly bled air and mana from inside, night drinking breath—a move Night Frost knew too well.

She’d used this drain against that ghost days ago. The Fallen One learned fast.

But this wasn’t a dead end. The vine cage could pen a First Symphony. Against Cantata Two, it was a wicker fence. Give Night Frost a little time, and she’d break it.

The Fallen One’s body appeared inside the cage. In that heartbeat, a massive vine lunged from behind her, spearing for Night Frost and Dawnlight like a black harpoon.

The vine was thick, coiled with power. Black patterns crawled across it, vivid as living ink, turning tough wood into stubborn iron.

Even Dawnlight, not trained in Formation or engraving, saw it—the Fallen One had begun to engrave. Using Abyssal Aura, she traced reinforcement patterns from Magic Tools onto her vines, hardening them and sharpening their bite.

With each minute, as the Fallen One devoured more undead, the even fight flipped. Her raw rank didn’t advance, but the negative emotions and memories she absorbed made her grow on every front—craft, instinct, cruelty.

This Human Abyss meant to forge, from all its undead and all its Aura, a new king on the Abyss’s absolute peak.

Night Frost felt it—this vine would break her line. She set her spear across her chest. A wall of fire roared up from the earth, a molten curtain.

The vine punched through the fire wall, then tore through Dawnlight’s Holy Light shield and Night Frost’s mana shield like paper.

A crisp bite of flesh echoed. The sharp vine drove half an inch into Night Frost’s right chest. Green vine in, crimson vine out—blood burst forth like a spring. Dawnlight shoved mana into a stopgap, sealing the flow.

It aimed for the heart. Night Frost’s last-second shift kept the day from ending here.

Hurt this badly, talk of breaking the cage fast turned to smoke. Night Frost signaled Dawnlight to stop. She cauterized the wound with flame, iron scent rising, and forced her own mana to dam the blood.

Dawnlight flared a light screen again, a pale dome over both of them. Her scepter condensed into a long spear; she thrust at the soft plant bulwark, knowing this was a trapped beast’s struggle—break the wall, or lose the fight.

The Fallen One was turning this place into her field, like the domain some Cantata Three wield.

Boom!

Before the Holy Lance met the bulwark, a rumble rolled outside the cage. Dense mana needled through the thick Abyssal Aura. Gold light squeezed through vine seams and spilled out like honey.

Illusory Glass’s voice cut in, calm and close: “Get clear.”

Dawnlight and Night Frost stepped out of the shaking mana circle. A golden pillar soared up, blasting away everything woven from Abyssal Aura, the street included.

The hard vines were swallowed by gold. A hole tore open through more than half the cage. Moonlight fell on the embers clinging to the vine bark. Night Frost and Dawnlight slid out through the gap like shadows.

The Fallen One coughed tar-black blood. A faint Abyssal Aura drifted from the dark spatter.

Night Frost was in rough shape—cuts and burns mapped her body, more than a hundred. Her right chest was pierced. Her mana couldn’t sustain this kind of consumption, frayed like winter reeds.

Pale-faced, she took the vials Illusory Glass pulled from the box. Illusory Glass poured them down her throat, quick and sure. The potions did little for a Cantata Two, but they were clean to absorb. A sliver of mana returned, just enough to keep her Magic Armor lit.

The vine prison blew apart. The Fallen One walked down vines spreading into the sky, step by deliberate step toward the trio. Her black eyes were washed in scarlet. The twisted vines behind her swayed in rhythm like a dark chorus.

She paced toward Night Frost, crossing void and Abyss, and landed on the unblasted stretch of street.

Then got blasted away.