The crystal's collapse left a ringing in the air. Dust still drifted when Ren moved.
Fourteen black tentacles stretched out from his body, each ending not in a claw, but gripping something far worse—a tool from the Outer God Surgical Set. Scalpels that could cut anything. Bone saws that sang faintly when they moved. Forceps with grips like the jaws of deep-sea predators. Retractors that could pull apart steel as if it were paper. Spirit Thread that swayed like fine silver hair yet glowed faintly, ready to stitch through flesh, soul, or stone.
They didn't shine. They didn't even look special. That was the problem. The more mundane they appeared, the more the mind resisted believing what they could do.
Across from him, Veyra's shadow poured over the ground, swallowing light, birthing spears and blades from the dark. They shot forward in a dense wave.
To her left, Elias stepped forward without a word. Capsules clicked free from his belt, splitting open in mid-air to release abominations of alchemy—limbs taken from beasts, welded with steel frames, organs pulsing under glass domes. Chimeras the size of trucks followed, their hides a patchwork of scales, feathers, and plated metal.
Evan stood well back, hands behind his back, his expression unreadable.
Ren's tentacles snapped forward, every tool moving with surgical precision.
The first contact was with Veyra's shadows. A scalpel slashed through a black spear—the moment it touched, the weapon didn't shatter, it ceased. No fragments, no splash of mana, simply gone. The Body of Pure Horror recognized her conjured shadow as part of its own genre, and it erased it with the same indifference as swatting a fly. A retractor tore a shadow blade in two, its edges curling into mist before vanishing entirely.
Veyra's eyes tightened.
The chimeras met the same fate. A bone saw passed through a plated beast's neck; its head fell, but before it hit the ground, the rest of the body unraveled into dust. Forceps clamped down on a living weapon's leg, and half its body vanished in an instant, leaving only the echo of its weight on the ground. Spirit Thread whipped out, slicing through three constructs in a single motion, their forms erasing like chalk under rain.
Elias's jaw shifted, the faintest sign of reassessment. He sent more—lighter constructs rushing low to tangle Ren's movement, heavier ones hammering from above. It didn't matter. Every tool in Ren's grasp cut as if nothing in the world could resist it—because nothing could.
Veyra's shadow attacks collapsed again and again. Her brows furrowed deeper. "…Why?"
Ren didn't answer. A scalpel traced the air in front of him, casually severing another dagger-shaped shadow before it could reach him.
Veyra let the shadows fall away entirely, drawing on her true strength. Her body blurred. No magic now, no tricks—just the raw, silent precision of a Myth-ranked assassin. Her dagger's first arc aimed for the back of his neck. A tentacle with a retractor intercepted, steel against steel, the clash ringing sharp in the air.
She spun away, pivoting low for his hamstring. Another tentacle caught her wrist, the forceps nearly closing around her blade arm before she twisted free.
She was faster than the chimeras had been, fast enough to make most of his tools miss by inches. But the air between them grew sharper with every exchange.
Elias changed tactics. The living weapons stopped. His hand dipped to his belt, retrieving a flask filled with liquid that shimmered like molten quartz. He hurled it underhand, and the glass broke at Ren's feet. A cloud billowed upward, shimmering with runes that twisted too quickly to read. The vapor clawed at the lungs, warping balance and perception.
Ren's tentacles swept once, cutting the glyphs apart. The gas dispersed instantly. The Body of Pure Horror rejected the enchantment, the scalpel's edge severing the magic from the matter holding it.
Elias's eyes narrowed, but he didn't stop.
Veyra vaulted off the wall, spinning mid-air, her dagger curving for his throat. A tentacle with a bone saw rose to meet it. Sparks leapt, but the blade didn't bite. She landed without sound, circling left, dagger flickering for his ribs. This time, Spirit Thread blocked, its line pulling taut to guide her strike away.
Elias was already hurling two more flasks—one red, one green. The red burst on the ground, erupting into molten glass vines that shot upward. The green exploded mid-air into a swarm of metallic insects with wingbeats like rattling chains.
The vines lasted less than a breath. A retractor hooked one, pulled, and the entire growth vanished from existence. The swarm flew in, but a scalpel traced a single arc through the air, and every beetle in its path disintegrated without even falling.
Veyra stayed in motion, every step designed to keep her inside his blind angles. She didn't try to overpower his tentacles—she moved between them, looking for fractions of a second where his limbs were committed elsewhere.
It was working, slowly. The back of his coat was sliced in three places now, the fabric fluttering with his movements.
Elias's next flask was capped in black, the glass engraved with tiny seals. When it shattered, the air dropped to freezing in an instant, frost racing along the walls. Breath hung like smoke.
Ren's forceps cut through the frost itself, and the temperature snapped back to normal as if nothing had happened. The shattered seals curled inward and crumbled.
Evan watched, still motionless. His gaze wasn't on Ren's tentacles or Veyra's blade—it was on their eyes, measuring reactions more than strikes.
Veyra caught it. "You're enjoying this," she said without breaking her pattern.
Evan didn't answer.
She clicked her tongue and vanished into a blur, dagger aimed low this time. A tentacle with a scalpel dropped in front of her, forcing her to feint left. She spun, reversed her grip, and slashed upward. Bone saw met her weapon, locking it in place.
Elias threw another flask—not at Ren, but at Veyra's feet. It exploded in a concussive blast of air, launching her forward with twice her own momentum.
She didn't hesitate. Her blade became a silver line aimed directly at Ren's sternum. Three tentacles crossed—scalpel, retractor, spirit thread—forming a wall. The dagger struck, and sparks jumped, the air between them ringing like a struck bell.
She tried to press through, but the grip didn't budge.
Elias, now five paces back, held a final flask in his hand. The liquid inside swirled like it had a mind of its own, shapes forming and breaking apart within. The glass pulsed faintly with restrained magic as he cocked his arm to throw—
And in that instant, all three combatants shifted their weight, the fight hanging in balance for the next heartbeat.
The moment cracked like glass.
Elias's arm whipped forward, sending the swirling flask spinning through the air. Veyra's dagger twisted under Ren's tentacle guard, her wrist turning with inhuman dexterity. Ren's fourteen limbs reacted at once, but she wasn't aiming for his heart anymore. Her movement was sharper now—personal, precise, meant to bypass defense instead of overpower it.
Three tentacles intercepted the flask mid-flight. A scalpel split the glass. The liquid inside screamed—there was no other word for the high, piercing vibration that tore through the air. The magic contained within tried to unfold into the battlefield, but the Body of Pure Horror didn't allow it. The moment the scalpel's edge severed its cohesion, it simply stopped existing.
Veyra didn't pause. The feint into his chest became a pivot toward his side. The knife bit deep into his stomach, slicing through muscle in a hot, tearing rush. Her grip didn't falter even as blood surged against her blade.
Ren's head—if it could be called that—didn't turn toward her. Instead, a tentacle on his left rear flank shot past, the scalpel it held flipping in reverse into a syringe. The Awakening Anesthesia.
The tentacle lunged. Elias barely saw it before the needle punched into the side of his neck. The liquid flooded in with unnatural speed, bypassing every defense his body could muster. His limbs locked in the next breath. Eyes wide, jaw tight, he tried to speak, but the paralysis had already taken his tongue.
The effect was instant. His chimeras and living weapons—those that hadn't already been erased—collapsed where they stood, glass and steel folding in on themselves as if the will animating them had been cut.
Veyra pulled free from Ren's side and jumped back, chest rising and falling with sharp precision. Her expression wasn't victory—it was frustration. Her shadow refused to respond, her stealth had failed, and now her partner was down.
Ren placed one tentacle against the wound in his stomach. Spirit Thread whipped out from its grip, stitching the flesh with mechanical speed. His coat still hung open, the blood still wet, but the injury closed in less than five seconds. His gaze, or whatever replaced it, settled on Veyra.
She took a step back. Not out of fear. Out of calculation.
Across the battlefield, the clash between Lu Changcheng and Armand was ending. The two stood ten paces apart, each breathing hard, neither willing to close the distance again. Dust from their last exchange hung in the air, drifting slowly toward the ground. Both knew that continuing would serve no purpose—neither could break the other without risking their own defeat.
The silence that followed was thick.
Evan stepped forward at last. The deliberate, measured rhythm of his boots cut through the tension. He walked past the wreckage—half-erased chimera husks, frost-burned stone, scorched wall plating—until he stood at the center between Ren and Veyra.
"That's enough," he said. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried the weight of finality.
Neither moved immediately. Veyra's blade stayed low, but ready. Ren's tentacles hovered like drawn weapons, the glint of scalpels and saws catching the light.
Evan's eyes narrowed slightly. "I said enough."
The weight of his tone pressed down harder than his volume. Slowly, Veyra straightened. Ren's tentacles retracted a few feet, though the tools didn't vanish.
Evan glanced to Elias, still frozen in place. "Medic!" His voice cut across the battlefield. "Now!"
The shout echoed off the walls. For a moment, no one moved—then the sound of boots came rushing closer.
Ren turned slightly toward the incoming medics, his tentacles curling back into a tighter formation around him. He didn't drop his guard. Not yet.
Because even with the fight ended, the air hadn't lost the taste of steel and blood.