The clash shook the citadel like the wrath of gods.
The Tier Six monster towered over the Psyche Lord's borrowed body, its five-meter frame ripping stone from the floor with every step. Its hide writhed like liquid shadow, claws scraping sigils into the air as it lunged again.
The captain—no, the Psyche Lord within him—did not retreat.
He welcomed the attack.
The monster's claw came down like a guillotine.
The Psyche Lord twisted at the last moment, the captain's body bending far beyond human limits. The claw shattered the stone where his head had been an instant earlier, rubble exploding outward.
"Crude," the Psyche Lord sneered.
Dark runes ignited across the captain's arms. He slammed his palm into the monster's leg.
The impact released a violent psychic shockwave.
The monster roared—not in pain, but in fury—as its balance broke. The Psyche Lord did not give it time to recover. He stepped in, fists moving faster than sight, every strike layered with mental force that bypassed flesh and struck directly at the creature's soul.
The Devourer of Echoes adapted quickly.
Its body split along unnatural seams, shadowy tendrils lashing out from its back, piercing the floor and walls, anchoring itself. A scream—part sound, part psychic assault—flooded the hall, slamming into every mind present.
The princess collapsed to her knees, clutching her head.
Sylas felt it too—but now, he understood it.
{[Mental-Type Area Suppression Detected]
Target: All Conscious Entities
Resistance: Variable}
The Psyche Lord laughed.
"Mind games?" he mocked. "You face their master."
His eyes burned.
The monster staggered as its psychic assault was forcibly inverted, turned back upon itself. Shadow writhed violently, its form destabilizing as cracks of pale light spread across its body.
Enraged, the creature charged.
The Psyche Lord met it head-on.
Claw and fist collided. Stone vaporized. The citadel screamed as pillars collapsed and the ceiling fractured, chunks of ancient masonry raining down.
Blood streamed from the captain's mouth.
The body was failing.
But the will inside it was not.
The Psyche Lord raised one hand, fingers curling as if gripping something invisible.
"Your mistake," he said calmly, "was hunting prey instead of recognizing a predator."
He clenched his fist.
The monster froze.
Its shadow form convulsed as its core—an unseen nexus of echoes and devoured souls—was forcibly dragged outward. A shrill, inhuman shriek tore through the hall as the Psyche Lord ripped the monster's soul-anchor free.
The Devourer of Echoes collapsed.
Its massive body cracked like glass, shadow evaporating into ash that scattered across the floor.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Absolute.
The Psyche Lord stood amidst the ruin, chest heaving. The captain's body trembled violently, knees buckling as the borrowed strength finally gave way.
Blood dripped onto the stone.
The Tier Six monster was dead.
Slowly, the glow in the Psyche Lord's eyes dimmed.
For a moment, his expression was unreadable.
Then—annoyance.
"Tch," he muttered. "This vessel is already breaking."
His gaze shifted.
And landed on Sylas.
Not with triumph.
But with calculation.
The princess struggled to her feet, staring at the fallen monster in disbelief. The citadel groaned ominously, cracks spreading rapidly through its ancient structure.
The battle had been won.
But Sylas knew—
This was not the end.
Not of the Psyche Lord.
And not of the danger.
Because now, the strongest being in the room had noticed him.
And for the first time since awakening—
Sylas felt something colder than fear.
Interest.