Chapter 144

Nastiorn leaped through the shadows, dashing ahead in a frantic chase that led through alleys, past building ruins, and into underground passages. Even with his ability to move between shadows almost akin to teleportation, he couldn’t shake off Ortes’ relentless pursuit.

That thing was a horrifying monstrosity. It possessed none of the celestial powers one might expect from a demigod but wielded earthly authority as if it were its own.

Perhaps, the Theistic Order had inadvertently created a new god—not of lightning or seas or natural laws, but a deity of artificiality suited for this age: a master of human constructs, holding both the Order and Blasphemia in one hand and shaking them at will.

He could not die here. Nastiorn believed he must inform Argeyirion’s comrades about the truth of this unnatural existence.

But finally, there was no way out. Ortes’ blade pointed into the void beneath the dim light of the underground passage, reflecting the shadow of a magical conduit.

From the shadows, Nastiorn surged forth, bubbling with dark energy.

“You are truly a monster.”

“What do you mean? You look far less human than I do.”

Nastiorn’s shadowy form contracted and expanded, mirroring his chaotic mental state. The churning shadows resembled a beating heart.

“The distinction between human and monster lies not in appearance but within…”

Ortes shrugged once. It was hard to tell whether his words were sincere or merely a stalling tactic.

Not until they cornered him underground did Ortes fully understand the nature of his ally—a psychic parasite. Though its identity was difficult to decipher, like layers of overlapping text too dense to read clearly, one fact remained clear: its name—Nastiorn.

‘I need to provoke a reaction.’

“Argeyirion, right? Was the manpower shortage so severe that they’d collaborate with something like a psychic parasite?”

It was a straightforward question. By process of elimination, only Argeyirion would be desperate enough to work with such an entity.

Nastiorn responded calmly, unsurprisingly.

“So, you’re the great enemy. What exactly did you do in the golden desert?”

“I didn’t do much. Just struggled to survive.”

Both sides knew they were stalling, neither able to fully grasp the other’s intentions. Ortes sought to decode Nastiorn’s shadow magic to prevent his escape, while Nastiorn waited for the right moment to complete his spatial magic by gauging the flow of magical conduits.

“Survival? Survival?”

Even amidst their conversation, Nastiorn found it absurd. Could survival truly be the ultimate goal of this strange demigod who now threatened his life?

Upon reflection, though, the will to survive was among the most primal and powerful desires. Even Nastiorn himself, driven by the need to live, was preparing an ill-advised strategy he wouldn’t normally consider.

The spell was ready.

As Nastiorn enveloped himself around the magical conduit and Ortes pierced the edge of his shadow, their actions occurred simultaneously.

***

Blasphemia agents gradually dismantled the connections between magical conduits and the magic core while occupying Amimone Magic Tower, weakening the unknown presence step by step. But they felt an instinctive foreboding—an intuition akin to animals sensing an impending natural disaster. While animals rely on heightened senses to detect calamities, mages perceive extraplanar disasters through their sixth sense for manipulating magic.

Among the Blasphemia agents, only Niobe fully grasped what was happening. She had experienced an extraplanar catastrophe alongside Ortes in Algus City days ago.

‘This can’t be true.’

Though areas previously affected by extraplanar incursions are more likely to suffer again, Amimone Magic Tower’s magic core, being as powerful as that of a proper tower, should have been resilient. Unless they were extraordinarily unlucky—

Niobe realized that Amimone Magic Tower had somehow mutated into a monstrous entity preying on people.

The dimensional barrier stabilization function provided by the magic core was likely nonfunctional. As soon as this thought crossed her mind, the physical space of the Amimone Magic Tower, which was also the body of the psychic parasite, began to distort.

The very fabric of the tower’s space started to deform. Though fragmented, the swirling void still retained the essence of being “inside and outside the tower,” shimmering with iridescent hues and writhing unnaturally.

It was succumbing to extraplanar contamination.

She quickly looked around for the one person she could rely on in this situation—her senior.

But her senior wasn’t there.

Still cloaked, Carisia observed Niobe’s sigh and makeshift improvisations before halting the emission of radiant beams.

It was time to think.

***

The moment the target turned back, I instinctively thrust my high-frequency blade. Although the physical attack seemed ineffective as the blade passed harmlessly through, it didn’t matter.

Only when the creature attempted to cast a spell did I catch a glimpse of its true nature. The shadows forming Nastiorn’s body were actually magical runes.

Whether Nastiorn’s self-identity was crafted through magic or if he was originally an artificial intelligence created by sorcery remains unclear.

But since his essence is magical, I am his natural predator.

The activated magic-engraved drive disrupted his physical form, causing the shadowy figure to twist uncontrollably.

Losing its humanoid shape, Nastiorn’s body transformed into various geometric shapes—cubes, dodecahedrons, flat shadows becoming triangles, eventually fractal structures expanding infinitely.

The smaller the forms became toward the edges, the more infinite the transformations. Attempting to observe them placed immense strain on the mind.

Suddenly, my vision blurred. This was my brain signaling an overload of unprocessable information.

I closed my eyes immediately.

‘Could it be?’

Was the kaleidoscopic transformation just now a defense mechanism against my sight? When attacked, Nastiorn displayed confusion and fear, lacking the composure to execute such a high-level counterattack.

Something intrinsic to Nastiorn reacted to my assault, either an automatic defense system installed by his creator or perhaps a second personality even Nastiorn was unaware of.

My vision cleared.

Before me, Nastiorn had returned to human form, albeit partially disintegrated—his left arm and part of his thigh seemingly gnawed away.

“I cannot die here. No, I cannot die without informing Argeyirion about you!”

Behind Nastiorn, the distortion of space already rippled, rapidly eroding the surrounding area.

Silver, metallic spider-web-like tendrils extended outward, radiating and pulling everything into the void.

Nastiorn dove into the distorted space. My thrown high-frequency blade pierced where his heart should have been.

Then he vanished into the silver abyss.

“Hah, damn.”

This is bad.

The abyss that consumed Nastiorn now stretched its spider-like tendrils toward me, imprinting spatial data onto my mind.

The prey has escaped, and now I am the hunted.

If only some monsters like alligators or vampires emerged from the underground passage instead.

***

The twisted space churned, vomiting extraplanar magic. The soil, saturated with ominous magical energies, underwent bizarre mutations.

“Aaaagh!”

“Soil property change! Strong acid! We need earth-element magicians or those capable of transmuting resistant metals!”

The psychic parasite, observing the chaos below, mulled over the final message transmitted by Nastiorn, briefly connected moments ago.

“We’ve failed. We completely misunderstood this thing. To achieve our cause, we must return and reveal the truth.”

Though it declared its intention to flee alone, the parasite felt no betrayal. If roles were reversed, it would have done the same, and Nastiorn would have understood. This was the mission-driven mindset shared only by those serving their creators.

The parasite didn’t expect to survive after its cover was blown. It could only hope to uphold the plan prepared by its creator.

After the space-warping magic unfolded, the brilliant yet deadly beam attacks ceased. Perhaps their magical power was depleted. The Blasphemia agents were also preoccupied with countering the extraplanar corruption.

Two-thirds of the magical conduits were destroyed, but enough magic remained to attempt the transformation.

Deep within, the parasite felt joy. Stalling for time would be beneficial.

But wouldn’t it be better to completely defeat Ortes?

The parasite’s laughter turned into a fierce gale, shaking Algus City. Scattered spaces converged around the magic core, moving to the next stage of transformation that had been repeatedly interrupted.

All fragments of space came together. The parasite realized it no longer needed the title of ‘parasite,’ feeling the swelling omnipotence.

And then it saw two golden eyes staring back at it.