Ariel reaches the border of the frozen wasteland within hours.
The first thing she sees is chaos.
High above the snowfields, Divine Mind realm demons are locked in battle with the nine leaders of the Martial Art path. Space trembles under the clash of powers, shockwaves tearing through clouds and ice alike. But Ariel's gaze fixes instantly on one figure.
Ge Qiu.
He is a storm of slaughter, moving without restraint. While fending off three Divine Mind realm demons in the air, he casually cuts down lower-ranked demons below, his attacks falling like judgment from the sky. The three Divine Mind demons are already grievously injured, their auras flickering, blood freezing into crimson shards before it can fall.
Ariel understands at once.
The timing is deliberate.
After she advanced to the Great Wizard realm, many demons like her chose the Wizard Way. To do so, they shattered their demon cores. Their power pathways collapsed and had to be rebuilt from the ground up. Most of them are injured now—alive, but unable to fight at full strength.
Otherwise, the martial artists would never have dared to act so openly.
Cold fury rises in Ariel's chest.
She does not allow it to slow her down.
Her natal weapon appears in her hand—a thorny rose vine, alive with quiet authority. She snaps it sharply. The vine straightens, hardens, and reshapes itself into a lance. Along its length, roses bloom one after another, deep crimson petals unfolding despite the frozen air.
A rosy mist spreads outward.
Petals fall across the white snow like blood on silk.
The effect is immediate.
Below the Gang Qi realm, martial artists' eyes turn red. Their breathing grows ragged. Without warning, they turn on one another, blades flashing, fists striking indiscriminately as Ariel's magic tears at their minds. Screams echo across the battlefield as allies slaughter allies, reason drowned in hallucination and desire.
Even Gang Qi realm martial artists struggle.
They grit their teeth, force their minds to remain clear—but the effort costs them dearly. Their movements slow, their techniques falter. For brief moments, madness breaks through, and when it does, some lose control of their flight and plummet from the sky, bodies twisting helplessly before vanishing into the snow below.
Among the nine leaders, only Ge Qiu stands firm.
The other eight are affected. Their auras waver, their coordination falters, and their strength is subtly suppressed. They can still fight—but not at full power.
Ge Qiu feels it too.
A faint pressure presses against his mind, a whisper at the edge of his perception. It does not overwhelm him, but it irritates him. Angers him.
Seeing the tide turn, he abandons the slaughter below. With a sharp motion, he disengages from the three Divine Mind demons and charges straight toward Ariel.
This is why they came.
The war against the Night Dynasty has stalled. Progress has slowed, and Ge Qiu needs more evil energy—blood, death, killing—to fuel the breakthrough of his comrades. The Demon Palace remained neutral throughout the war. No god stands behind them.
They are soft.
Malleable.
A resource to be harvested.
Ge Qiu swings his sword.
From its edge erupts a crescent blade of dark crimson energy, thick with killing intent and condensed evil Qi. It tears through the sky, freezing the air around it, warping space as it races toward Ariel.
Ariel does not retreat.
She thrusts her lance forward.
From its tip, a spear of green energy launches outward, life and decay intertwined. The two attacks collide midair.
The explosion is catastrophic.
Energy detonates outward in all directions, shockwaves ripping through the battlefield. Dozens of bodies—demon and human alike—are shredded instantly, erased before they can even scream. Snow vaporises. Ice fractures. The sky itself seems to rupture.
From the heart of the explosion, Ge Qiu bursts forth.
His sword drags a trail of crimson through the air as he accelerates straight toward Ariel, intent burning in his eyes. He knows she is not a physical combatant. Close the distance, and the fight ends.
Ariel reacts instantly.
She ascends, soaring higher into the sky, keeping distance between them. Her movements are fluid, graceful, but precise. As she rises, she twists the lance in her hand.
From its tip, green light pours forth in rapid succession.
Bolts of condensed energy streak toward Ge Qiu, each one blooming into thorned constructs mid-flight—vines, spears, blossoms that explode into clouds of corrosive mist. They do not aim to kill outright. They aim to entangle, slow, and poison.
Ge Qiu roars and slashes through them.
Each swing of his sword obliterates a spell, but the sheer number forces him to divert his momentum. His advance slows. His aura flares brighter, pushing back against Ariel's domain.
Below them, the battlefield continues to unravel.
Demons rally under Ariel's presence. The madness gripping the lower martial artists spreads further, while the Divine Mind demons, given breathing room, begin to recover enough to rejoin the fight.
High above it all, Ariel's eyes remain locked on Ge Qiu.
Ge Qiu pursues relentlessly, cutting apart the energy orbs that rush toward him whenever dodging is not enough. He rises higher and higher, intent on closing the distance. From the tip of Ariel's lance, a thunder spear suddenly forms and shoots forward, lightning roaring as it tears through the sky. At the same time, a vast snowstorm blooms behind her, swallowing the heavens in white chaos.
Years ago, when Ariel bonded with Kaelan, she gained a fragment of his storm authority. In the entire world, aside from Kaelan himself and his children, she alone can mobilise the power of the storm. Such authority normally requires Kaelan's permission—but he would never deny her. The storm answers her call without hesitation.
The thunder spear strikes Ge Qiu directly and detonates.
Lightning explodes outward, engulfing him completely. The sky flashes white, and the thunder echoes across the frozen wasteland. When the raging light finally fades, Ge Qiu emerges from the centre of the blast. His clothes are scorched, his hair burned and smoking—but his body remains largely unharmed.
His eyes narrow.
Around him, the snowstorm thickens.
The storm disrupts his martial will, scattering his senses and blinding his perception. Ariel vanishes within the swirling snow, her presence erased by wind, ice, and storm authority layered together.
Then—
A green light ignites within the storm.
It grows brighter in an instant, condensing into an energy lance that shoots straight toward him. Ge Qiu reacts immediately, slashing with his sword. Sword Qi flares, shattering the lance in midair.
But it is only the beginning.
Attacks come from all directions.
Lances, spears, thorned constructs, and condensed blasts of elemental force strike in rapid succession. Ge Qiu deflects most of them with instinct and experience honed through endless slaughter, but not all. Several attacks slip through his guard, piercing his body.
Poison floods in.
It burns through his skin and muscle, gnawing at his flesh with vicious persistence. Ge Qiu roars, his Qi erupting violently as he forces the poison out. Black markings spread across his skin where the toxins were expelled, leaving scorched, corrupted traces behind.
The roar deepens—no longer human.
His body expands.
Muscles swell, bones crack and reform, and black scales emerge across his flesh, traced with glowing red patterns. His eyes turn fully crimson, pupils narrowing into slits. The sword in his hand grows with him, its presence becoming heavier, sharper, more complete.
The aura it emits shifts.
It now radiates the unmistakable pressure of a true spiritual treasure.
Ariel notices—but does not dwell on it.
The sword's sudden rise in rank without a thunder tribulation should be alarming. Under normal circumstances, such a transformation would draw the wrath of the heavens. But Ariel has no time to question it. Ge Qiu's power surges violently, and she must respond.
Resolve hardens in her eyes.
Her form changes.
The humanoid shape dissolves, replaced by her innate form—a towering figure of intertwined vines, thorns, and blooming roses, majestic and terrifying, like a living embodiment of nature's beauty and cruelty. Petals spiral around her as her true power erupts outward.
The clash resumes.
This time, it is no longer a simple exchange of attacks.
Their Laws collide directly.
The rule network of the world trembles under the pressure. Space twists, authority overlaps, and in the region surrounding them, the world's rules begin to bend. Storm, poison, life, decay, killing intent, and sword authority all fight for dominance.
They seize control of the rule network around them and hurl it at one another, each strike reshaping the battlefield, each collision threatening to tear the sky apart.
Above the frozen wasteland, Ariel and Ge Qiu wage a battle that no longer belongs to mortals.
Far away, atop the roof of the Night Palace, Nyxarin stands in silence, watching the clash unfold across the sky. His posture is calm, composed—but beneath that still surface, his emotions churn like a violent storm.
Plan A has failed.
Plan B not only failed but collapsed before it could truly begin.
Forced to improvise, he has already set Plan C in motion. A plan whose conclusion demands the death of this body. But victory, in Nyxarin's eyes, has always required sacrifice—and he is willing to pay any price.
Footsteps echo softly behind him.
Elder Zhao appears at his side.
The artificial stiffness that once clung to Elder Zhao's movements is gone. His presence now carries the unmistakable sensation of flesh and blood. Warmth. Life. With his advancement to the third stage—Master Puppet Maker—his former puppet body has undergone a complete transformation, turning into a new lifeform.
Elder Zhao inclines his head.
"Lord, the army is ready."
Nyxarin does not turn.
"Go," he says calmly. "Bring me victory."
Elder Zhao nods once and vanishes.
Nyxarin steps away from the roof and descends into the heart of the mountain palace. Deep within, four other elders of the Divine Puppet Sect are undergoing their own transformations, their bodies reshaping as they prepare to advance to the third stage.
Every member of the Divine Puppet Sect is his puppet.
And according to the crystal's knowledge, once five third-stage puppets are refined, they can be combined into a single divine puppet. By borrowing the power of that divine puppet, Nyxarin can ascend to godhood.
This was never his first choice.
Plan A had been to become a God using his original authority of Night. But he lacked the time to complete the qualitative transformation required for that authority to evolve into True Godhood.
Plan B had been more direct—to seize the authorities of Nyra, Issac, and Isla, fusing them with his own to force that qualitative leap. That plan shattered the moment Kong Wuya advanced to godhood.
Nyxarin recalls the feeling Isla gave him the last time they met. Her authority had already completed its qualitative change. Even without Kong Wuya's interference, Nyxarin knows the truth now—he would never have been able to defeat her.
And so, only Plan C remains.
To walk the path of the Puppet Lord.
The crystal's knowledge unfolds clearly in his mind:
Mortal Stage: Doll Maker.
First Stage: Puppet Maker.
Second Stage: Elemental Puppet Maker.
Third Stage: Master Puppet Maker.
Demigod Stage: Divine Puppet Maker.
Fourth Stage: Puppet Lord.
Nyxarin understands his position perfectly. His current realm is called the Demigod Stage—but he refuses that title.
He is not a demigod.
He is a God.
And whether as a True God of Night or as a Puppet Lord, he will stand at the pinnacle under any circumstance.
Deep within his chest, the crystal—shaped into a locket and hanging from the necklace around his neck—begins to glow faintly. A pulse of red light flickers within it.
For a brief instant, Nyxarin's eyes turn red, his expression subtly warping into something colder, sharper, more alien.
Then the light fades.
Nyxarin does not notice the change.