It was eerily quiet. Not the comforting stillness of peace, but a suffocating silence, the kind that pressed against one's bones and whispered of imminent destruction.
Every demon in the hall felt it—not the quiet of rest, but the quiet of impending doom. A silence so powerful even breathing felt like a betrayal.
For in the Heaven of Chaos, quiet wasn't a gift. It was a warning.
And the demons knew it.
Even those who were skilled at slithering through schemes and playing cards of deception over centuries—like the Snake Demon, master of whispers—couldn't ignore the stillness. Their instincts were screaming. Something was coming. Perhaps an invasion? Rediscovery? Retribution?
Or worse—her.
At first, it was just faint, half-imagined. Something delicate, sounding like tiny pearls clinking together in a breeze that no wind had brought.
Then—clarity.
Ding.
Ding.
Ding.
A sound so subtle, yet heavy with significance, threaded through the air like watery silk. It was unmistakably coming from the northern corridor.
Bell chimes.
Not the gentle tinkle of a monk's staff or ceremonial beads—no. This was the sound of steps. A foot accessory, the strange kind that announced power before its bearer even entered the room.
Every step rang. Every ring proclaimed. And every ring demanded attention.
The hall stilled. Blood ran cold in ancient veins.
Without looking at one another, all demons bowed their heads, eyes pinned firmly to the veined obsidian floor. Even the bolder ones refused to so much as twitch.
Because they knew.
She was here.
The Veiled Black Frost.
Dragged from myth into existence, dipped in weaponized elegance. She was the one no one dared to summon, yet she always came when order teetered on collapse—or when the Grandmaster's safety was threatened.
The Snake Demon had once smirked in an empty corridor and whispered to his minions:
"She is the Grandmaster of Chaos' sister. The only one in this realm whose love is colder than her frost."
And love?
Yes.
But only for her brother.
Everything else was beneath her.
She appeared past the veil, gliding in as if the space bowed to allow her passage. Her robes—a cascading river of obsidian shards and starlit silk—drifted behind her like shadows with secrets of their own.
There was no wind.
Yet her attire moved, fluttered, flowed as if it belonged to a different law of nature entirely.
Her front was nearly bare from the waist down. A sliver of thigh peeking out from beneath frayed cloth, intricate frost patterns tattooed onto her pale, luminous skin like celestial scripture. Some would have called it enticing—had the frost in her kohl-lined eyes not been a death sentence in disguise.
Her eyes—so dark, but glowing subtly with veins of red like old blood frozen under glass—were proof enough that she was no seductress.
She was judgment, wrapped in elegance.
A force carved out of winter's deadliest silence.
And when she stepped toward the Dark Lava Altar, even the hellfire of the molten pool beneath her seemed to retreat.
The lava hissed—not because she neared it, but because she dared to look at it with contempt, as though it personally offended her.
Most demons could not approach it without retreating from its intensity. But she stepped up, barefoot, black ice blooming under her feet, and nothing dared to touch her.
Some whispered that it was because her body was forged from frost.
Others said it was because she was dear to the Grandmaster—Chaos himself.
The rest… attributed her survival to sheer, god-defying luck.
But none of that mattered.
The Veiled Black Frost stared into the lava like it had slapped her across time. Nostalgia twisted into violence beneath her expressionless face.
The silence stretched again, until it became unbearable.
Finally—she spoke.
Well… not quite. She exhaled a sentence—so soft, so muted, that those closest to her questioned if it was real.
"When did this… happen?"
It was like the room itself held its breath.
The Snake Demon was first to answer. Head bowed low, voice deferential.
"Black Frost Master, the lava cracked—twice. It—hasn't been long."
A harder silence followed. The kind that pressed down like a billion frozen needles.
She turned her head—slowly—but her eyes never softened.
"And none of you thought to alert me first?"
The Snake Demon trembled, mouth parting as he bowed deeper.
"You are everywhere and nowhere, Master. It was difficult for us to—"
"Oh?" She lifted her chin slightly. "Snake Demon… may I know what you've been doing… all this time?"
He began to panic. Droplets of sweat slid to the floor like falling stars.
"Black Frost—Master… I can explain—"
But she wasn't listening.
Her gaze became colder. The air thickened like a storm cloud had breathed frost into the hall.
And without so much as lifting a finger—it began.
A crack.
Like ice splitting painfully across bone.
And the Snake Demon gagged.
Black frost—born of something beyond nature—began forming at his neck. Thin at first, then spiraling up with crystalline growth, lifting him off the floor like a puppet strung by invisible threads.
He was yanked into the air—choking and writhing—his feet kicking helplessly above the ground.
Panic surged through the hall in silent waves. Knees buckled. Claws scraped the floor. No one dared to breathe. No one dared to speak.
The Veiled Black Frost watched him the way a hunter observes a caught animal: detached, curious, a moment away from deciding whether it lived or died.
"I asked a question."
She leaned in—not inch by inch, but like time itself bended to bring her closer.
"And you know how impatient I am."
The snake demon gagged, voice splintering.
"I—des—deserve to die…"
She let out a faint breath. Could it be amusement? Disgust? Pity?
"Of course you do."
Her voice was low. Gentle. Too gentle.
"But I have a need for your death later. There are things I'll require you to do first. After that… we'll see."
She released him.
The frost cracked. The demon fell—hard. Coughing and gasping, as the frost melted away like it had never existed.
She stood tall amongst cowards, and looked to the rest, her presence still wrapped in chill.
"From today onward… you report everything to me.
If there is so much as a hairline crack in the lava—you tell me.
If a pebble moves—you tell me.
Because if any of you remain silent again… mercy will be too polite a word for what I'll do."
She turned from them without waiting for confirmation. Without granting them relief.
Her steps were soundless. But the echo of her presence resonated like frost crawling through ancient stone.
Her only thought as she left was a whisper:
"Come out quickly… mei-mei will protect you."
And though she disappeared from sight—her cold did not.
The hall remained breathless. Coated in the aftertaste of terror.
And the Snake Demon, still kneeling—still trembling—clenched his jaw.
He knew this was only the beginning.
---
Unlike the unnerving, suffocating quiet of the Heaven of Chaos, this place was alive with peace.
The world seemed to exhale in a long, gentle sigh. Lush greens covered every inch, from soft moss to towering trees, their branches swaying like wise, ancient beings. The sweet chorus of birdsong drifted lazily through the air. Delicate breezes carried the scent of wet leaves and wild blossoms. Somewhere close by, water sighed against stone, perhaps a passing stream or a river wrapped in mist.
Zhao Lian drew in a slow breath.
For a fleeting moment, the fear that had gripped her chest since the dungeon loosened. She could almost pretend she was safe. Alive. Human.
The sun filtered through breaks in the canopy like scattered pieces of gold. Light danced on her ocean blue hanfu, making her appear out of place—but somehow, beautifully so. She watched a white-petaled flower float in the air like a drifting memory. Peace was a rare luxury in the game world, and despite enduring nightmares within nightmares, she let herself believe it—just for a heartbeat—that perhaps, she could enjoy this peace a little longer.
It was the kind of place where she wouldn't be surprised if a woman in flowing green robes, wearing a crown of fresh leaves, appeared and whispered, "I am Mother Nature."
Zhao Lian would have believed it. She may have even kowtowed immediately and burst into tears of gratitude. She had never felt more in tune with the world than now. She would've worshipped her on sight.
But peace was never built to last.
The rustling branches behind her shifted. Footsteps—two light taps against grass. The soft giddy hum that followed made her shoulders stiffen instantly.
Zhao Lian turned—and her moment of calm shattered like glass.
There he was.
Ming Fang. The Water Demon.
Walking toward her with a gait that was way too cheerful for someone who had poisoned her sister not too long ago. His expression was immediately unsettling—eyes crinkled with innocence, arms swinging slightly like a child who had just found a candy hidden under a rock.
Zhao Lian stared.
No.
This can't be real. Wake up.
He cannot be acting like that.
She blinked once. Twice. But there was no illusion.
The same demon who had bound them, frightened her, held Mei's life in his palm—was now standing before her like he'd just been complimented by a celestial fairy.
"What do you want?" she asked, voice flat, hoping it hid the disgust simmering in her gut.
It came out less hostile than she intended—and that irritated her more.
Ming Fang clasped his hands behind his back and offered her a smile that probably would've disarmed weaker souls.
"I came bearing news!"
Her eyes narrowed.
"What news?"
"Your sister has turned back to her usual color."
Silence. A long one.
"...Am I supposed to be glad, or terrified?"
A grin, sheepish as ever.
"Both."
She didn't like that answer.
"Explain."
Ming Fang shuffled like a scolded child reciting a confession.
"Well, turning back to her original color means she's getting better. That's good. But she'll have to stay with me now."
Instantly, Zhao Lian was on her feet. Her breath hitched.
"What do you mean 'stay with you'?"
Her tone wasn't raised yet—but every word carried a pointed edge. An edge sharp enough to slice rope, steel, or pride.
Ming Fang stepped back, visibly faltering under her glare.
"She was poisoned. The poison was created by a... water beast."
Zhao Lian glared harder.
"Your point?"
"To cure such poison, she needs the blood of the creature that caused it. So… she has my blood now."
Time slowed.
Every emotion—rage, dread, disbelief—boiled inside her.
She stood, straight-backed, eyes blazing. Her voice trembled—not with fear, but with something much more dangerous: protective fury.
"And you expect me to believe that? You poisoned her. Now you want to keep her? Hah! Try something else."
Zhao Mei was her only tether in this broken game world. Her only older sister—friend—shelter.
She would rather battle every demon in the abyss and be shattered into stardust than allow Ming Fang—or any creature—to wear family's mask and steal Zhao Mei away.
Ming Fang raised his hands in mock surrender.
"Would you believe me if I said I didn't poison her?"
"The hell I would."
"You both were poisoned," he said, exhaling hard. "But for some reason, you're immune. Your sister's not."
Her jaw clenched.
"Explain again how that justifies taking her."
He hesitated.
"As long as she's near me… she'll live. That's how water beast poison works."
He met her eyes.
"Let's make a deal. You take me with you. Protect me from that iron fist lunatic… and your sister stays alive."
She scowled.
"Is that… a negotiation?"
"Whatever you call it," he muttered, shrugging.
Zhao Lian stared at him long and hard, trying to decipher any cracks in his expression.
"Why do I feel like this is just you wanting to escape punishment from Gentle Spear?"
"Is it working?" he offered a small smile.
Her glare shut him up instantly.
She didn't trust him. She didn't want to trust him.
But… she needed him.
And the system still hadn't blared that awful alarm in her ear, which meant—annoyingly—this was likely part of the intended path.
After what felt like a lifetime of wrestling with inner conflict, Zhao Lian sighed heavily.
"Fine. Deal. But if you do anything—anything at all—stupid… I will make sure you regret every lifetime you've lived. I still don't trust you."
That was all Ming Fang needed to hear.
He lit up. Too quickly. Too brightly.
And before she could snap at him again, he—giddy, relieved, somewhat ridiculous—skipped off toward the house.
Zhao Lian stood alone in the garden again.
Surrounded by tall trees swaying like echoes of forgotten stories, and the calming hush of the wood's pulse, she released another exhausted breath.
"For you, jie-jie…" she whispered. "For you, I'll allow even this."
She lingered another moment.
The leaves rustled gently, answering her grief.
And she wondered—just briefly—if peace was ever meant for someone like her.
"Maybe…" she muttered, turning toward the house, "it wouldn't be so bad after all."
She walked slowly, reluctantly leaving behind the serenity of nature.
Because now, even paradise felt tinged with uncertainty.
Even peace was laced with poison.