214. A Twisted Fork in the Road
"How pitiful, Governor Bablushka!"
Balkomon spread his mage's hand, casually crushing a small asteroid, while his other hand gripped a staff. With the magical blade on its tip, he taunted the mechanical titan, laughing wantonly:
"The grand interstellar governor of the Night Butterfly, deploying Mechanical Apotheosis and still fighting so timidly—don't you feel embarrassed?"
"Noisy…"
Bablushka gave a cold snort but didn't refute him.
His Saint Mechanus body was covered in scars, nanomachines scurrying about to repair it under the chanting of scripture. All of this made one thing clear: in that recent barrage of spells, Bablushka had been at an absolute disadvantage.
As for Balkomon? His body was so hideously twisted that even the light reflecting off him warped into masses of bizarre fluid. For any mortal onlooker, just a glance would induce dizziness, and getting close would see them ripped apart by the twisted curse.
Bablushka glanced at the space around him. Even the sunlight streaming in seemed distorted.
Balkomon was nothing short of a madman.
If you compared their raw power, he was only slightly weaker.
Yet at the Kappa-tier, the deeper you draw upon your power, the more you risk the Abyssal curse warping your mind.
Balkomon didn't care. He cast forbidden spells and amplified his might effortlessly, unafraid of the curse. Indeed, the more distorted he became, the fiercer his onslaught grew.
No wonder he was hailed by a narrative-level civilization as a genius.
The front lines already found the Golden Dragon Monk a handful. If the Crystal Tower placed Balkomon there… the outcome was unthinkable.
"You didn't come all this way just to fight me, Minister Balkomon."
Bablushka inclined his head, his voice emanating in a holy yet melodic electronic tone akin to a choir:
"Any more of this and you'll be devoured by the curse, while I'll also suffer the Abyssal curse—that's hardly what we'd call a victory, is it?"
The subtext: Cut it out. If this goes on, we both lose.
"Victory—is it really worth anything?"
Balkomon asked in utter simplicity. Carrying his staff as though it were a polearm, his words echoed like an age-old knight's challenge—but born of genuine confusion:
"Knowing full well the other side is weaker, unable to threaten you, yet you strike them anyway. Even if you win, it's not a glorious victory."
"On the other hand, when you know your opponent is stronger and you can never triumph, yet you charge ahead anyway, you'll be lauded as a hero if you lose."
"Tell me, Governor Bablushka—what good is victory?"
Balkomon's words lacked logic, his thoughts twisted and chaotic. His voice came from every direction—front, back, left, right, up and down:
"Victory is meaningless. Only the fight before us truly exists."
The magical aura pouring from his body seemed tangible, spraying outward in terrifying and distorted tendrils.
He mumbled this strange phrase:
"For a warrior to survive the battle… is blasphemy…"
Blasphemy?
Blasphemy…
Blasphemy!!!
Within that single word were countless emotions—ever-changing, intertwined, joyful and sorrowful, furious and resentful. Their mélange shook the entire galaxy.
"You son of…"
Bablushka retreated at high speed, beholding the monstrous surges of energy erupting from Balkomon's body. His heart sank:
"That lunatic has entered 'Curse Mode'!"
Kappa-tier powers have no place in this layer of the universe. The more they climb the path, the more they feel the Abyss calling, luring them deeper.
Every Ascendant knows… the divine power they seek must come from a deeper layer of the Star Abyss.
Ascending requires descending. Descending means being adored and observed by the Abyss. After accepting the Abyss's boons, do they still expect to return safely?
Things aren't that simple.
Those who flee the Star Abyss after ascending remain forever cursed—woven through their blood and fate—until they're utterly annihilated.
"Curse Mode" means letting one's power run wild, no longer resisting the curse but actively heeding the Abyss's call.
—Returning to the Abyss!
Physically speaking.
If this continues, he'll drag everything around him into the Abyss.
"Tch, I sure took a loss coming here for Remaining Moon—"
Bablushka cursed under his breath. Just then, he received new intel from his subordinates. He rapidly skimmed it, and his spirits soared:
"Oh? Two fragments of the Identification Eye—"Lyle Swindler's Arts of Deceit" and "Lyle Swindler's Whisper"—secured?"
Though the most valuable fragment, "Lyle Swindler's Fate Card", had slipped away, that was enough to recoup losses.
On top of that, a piece of news that made him even more elated:
"Observation shows [Mechanical Society] Mashgegang has invaded White Candle Star?! They formed a council? They'll be descending any day now? This is… fantastic news?"
Bablushka's eyes glinted. His electronic gaze shone with divine brilliance.
Blessed be the Night Butterflyer of Darkness—truly, she's guiding the Night Butterfly people to triumph.
White Candle Star is the Crystal Tower's prime recruitment source. If [Mechanical Society] completes its devouring, the Night Butterfly Federation will rampage triumphantly on the front lines!
"This is destiny… from now on, the Night Butterfly Federation's fate changes!"
Stall!
So long as he keeps this single Kappa-tier occupied, he wins.
Bablushka let out a sharp, unrestrained laugh:
"Oohahahahahaha—hahahaha!"
He flung his head back, mechanical features twisting into a fearsome grin:
"Ba~l~ko~mon! If you're so eager to fight, then I'll play with you!"
The verses chanted by mechanical slaves brimmed with double-meanings and twisted prayers, their devout liturgy altering in a bizarre fashion. A cursed aura bent the light instantly, enveloping Bablushka's towering mechanical form in an orange-red vortex like a black hole.
Abyssal Curse: Path-Bending Twist
Balkomon stuck out his tongue, charging forth in a tide of epoch-making magical energy. Wherever he passed, entire planets were crystallized by magical radiation. Bablushka spread dark, butterfly-like wings of the night, launching surging beams that shattered asteroids and extricated solid water, scattering brilliant azure arcs through the galaxy.
They crossed swords, collided, tore each other apart!
In this battle of destruction and hatred, reality itself was warped and distorted. Light and time were twisted, leaving only savage, insane laughter echoing through the starry heavens.
"Such is the fate of the cursed."
Bablushka's aide shook his head, withholding any comment.
As weapons of final confrontation, Kappa-tier entities hold tremendous value. Their actions are tightly restricted, for a careless move may see them dragged into the Abyss, forever doomed by its curse.
Narrative-level civilizations might have many high-tier powerhouses, but few who can engage in normal combat.
The higher one climbs, repeatedly ascending and descending, the harsher the curse grows. They stand but a step away from madness or annihilation.
And still… who could resist the lure of ascending the path to godhood?