The deluge descended in an unending torrent, relentlessly scrubbing the sea of magma.
There was simply too much water, and it fell with a violence the molten rock could not withstand. Had this volume of water been unleashed upon the real world all at once, it would have birthed a catastrophic flood, a natural disaster of unparalleled proportions.
But here, within the mental realm, the flood focused entirely on the magma, forcing the fires of the illusion to extinguish.
Initially, the quenched lava clung to its residual heat, sending up defiant plumes of acrid smoke as if refusing to surrender. But as the relentless rain continued to hammer down, even that lingering warmth was snuffed out. The smoke vanished, replaced by the heavy, damp silence of the storm.
Water is the ultimate conductor for heat dissipation. Despite the terrifying temperature of the magma, the sheer volume of Horitake's "idealistic" rain rapidly cooled the surface, hardening the liquid fire into thick, jagged plates of basalt.
The cooling didn't stop at the surface. The icy rain saturated the cracks, seeping deeper and deeper into the core of the illusion, forcing the lower layers of magma to harden into cold stone as well.
In the natural world, a flow of magma would never cool so quickly from top to bottom; the hardened surface usually acts as an insulating crust, protecting the molten heat beneath. But this was not the natural world. This was an arena of the mind.
In a battle of phantasms, spiritual strength is the only law. Because Horitake's spirit was vastly superior, his perception dictated that his rain would penetrate the depths, and thus, the water defied the laws of physics to drench the very heart of the abyss.
Soon, under the weight of the eternal storm, not a single spark of orange-red remained. The once-blazing underworld had been transformed into a silent graveyard of cold, black basalt.
This marked Horitake's total, crushing victory over the illusion.
And what of the demoness Kyojutsu?
As her domain was suppressed and her spirit lanced, she grew increasingly frail. She had intended to pick up her pen for one final, desperate struggle, but the total extinction of the magma dealt a crippling blow to her consciousness. She no longer possessed the strength to even lift the pen.
Kyojutsu lay slumped across the desk, her fingers still clutching the fountain pen. She stared at the notebook, her eyes fixed on the crimson blood she had coughed up—blood that now stained her beautiful world. Her heart twisted with an unbearable, distorted sense of indignation.
How can this be happening?
How could a mere human do this?
It's impossible... absolutely impossible!
But a silent scream is no foundation for a comeback. If raw fury alone were enough to trigger a miraculous reversal, then Kyojutsu would have been the protagonist of this story, not Horitake.
Within the illusion, having successfully turned the fire to stone, Horitake prepared for the final strike—the blow that would shatter the dream and the demon behind it.
He raised his hand, and the terrifying deluge ceased instantly.
The rain stopped. The world went still. Only the heavy, pregnant silence of the thunderclouds remained.
Standing amidst the rolling mists, Horitake pointed a single finger toward the ground.
"Thousand Thunderclaps."
CRACK! BOOM!
The heavens roared. The clouds churned and boiled, birthing a sea of violet lightning that pulsed with a terrifying, rhythmic intensity. This was not a focused strike; there was no need for precision. Like the rain before it, this was a carpet of pure, destructive power.
In an instant, the mental realm was drowned in a blinding violet light.
Every inch of the wasteland was saturated with descending bolts of lightning. Thousands upon thousands of purple strikes hammered down with the weight of mountains, slamming into the basalt floor.
A continuous, deafening roar filled the void, accompanied by the sound of the world itself splintering.
The thick layers of basalt were shattered, pulverized, and annihilated by the celestial thunder. The destruction of the stone represented more than just the end of the scenery; it was the total collapse of Kyojutsu's spiritual framework.
The violet lightning filled every corner of the dream until the realm could no longer contain the energy. With the sound of a thousand mirrors breaking at once, the illusion shattered into a million glittering fragments.
In the office on the library's fifth floor, the shattering of the mental realm triggered a violent reaction.
On the desk before Kyojutsu, the notebook began to vibrate. The words she had written—the very ink that had birthed the nightmares—suddenly began to glow with a brilliant, ominous violet light.
Before she could even process the change, the light erupted into actual, crackling purple electricity.
The lightning surged out of the notebook, using the written words as a medium to bridge the gap between the illusory and the physical. It lunged forward like a viper, striking Kyojutsu directly in the forehead.
Kyojutsu was caught completely off guard.
Where had this lightning come from?!
It was the lightning from the dream—the "idealistic" thunder Horitake had summoned. Because the energy was so immense and the spirit behind it so powerful, the lightning had bypassed the boundaries of the mind, manifesting in reality through the very tool Kyojutsu had used to trap him.
Kyojutsu's Blood Demon Art was specialized for hypnosis and construction; her physical combat capabilities were negligible. Her durability was barely above that of a common demon.
Faced with a direct hit from celestial lightning, she had no defense.
Squelch!
The purple bolt tore through her skull with explosive force, obliterating the upper half of her head.
A grisly spray of white brain matter, crimson blood, and jagged skull fragments erupted into the air, accompanied by the wet pop of a bursting eyeball. The gore splattered across the room in a macabre display.
In an instant, the office was painted. The desk, the curtains, the window panes, the walls, and the floor were all coated in the remains of the Lower Rank Four.
Even though the lightning had started as a mental construct, it was now a physical force—and celestial thunder possessed a purifying quality that was lethal to demons. There would be no regeneration. The damage was absolute.
Kyojutsu's body remained seated in the chair, her hands still clutching her ruined head. Her jaw, the only part of her face left intact, hung open in a final, silent scream.
"No..."
But death arrived with merciless speed.
No matter how much she resented her fate, Kyojutsu had to accept it. With a final, weak convulsion, her life signs vanished entirely. She was dead.
The headless corpse slumped forward, sliding off the chair and hitting the floor with a dull thud. Even without sunlight, the body began to crumble, the demonic flesh dissolving into gray ash that drifted away on the stagnant air of the library.
At the same moment, on the second floor, the man sitting in the wooden chair slowly opened his eyes.
Horitake let out a long, weary sigh. He stretched his limbs, his voice echoing softly in the empty reading area.
"Hah... In the dream, I can control the heavens, command the storms, and master ten thousand bolts of lightning. Such style. Such power."
He looked at his hands, a self-deprecating smile on his face.
"But a lie is a lie. What happens in an illusion is just a manifestation of the imagination, not a reflection of my true physical limits."
He stood up, his gaze turning toward the ceiling, toward the fifth floor where the ash was settling.
"I wonder... will the day ever come when I truly possess that kind of power in the real world?"
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