Each swing of Asher's soul-forged scythe cut not only through bodies but through the ancient bindings that tethered the undead to this realm. Wherever it struck, the connection to the dungeon's core weakened, and in that brief moment, Asher saw—no, felt—a flicker of rebellion in some of the enemies' eyes. Not hesitation. Not fear. Awareness.
"They're becoming aware," he called to Valeris between strikes, parrying a cursed halberd with a sweep that cleaved through its wielder's spine. "Something is watching through them. Learning."
Valeris pivoted midair, letting herself hover momentarily on a rising spiral of spirit wind. "Then we blind it."
With a sharp exhale, she released Spirit Crown: Sovereign Bloom, and the battlefield changed.
Roots of radiant energy burst from the ground, latching onto enemy souls like glowing chains. Ethereal flowers bloomed along their spectral bodies, tearing at the bindings that held them. Each blossom was a prayer of release—a spirit ritual encoded in battle.
Dozens of warriors froze mid-step. Some collapsed. Others turned their heads skyward, their hollow sockets filling briefly with light—before their bodies shattered like brittle shells, freed at last.
A distant, inhuman scream echoed through the temple halls—a voice of rage, denied control.
"We're hurting it," Valeris confirmed, landing beside Asher. Her blade now glowed with seven distinct soul signatures, spirits harmonizing with her.
Asher looked down the corridor. "Good. Then let's tear it out by the roots."
Behind them, the portal shimmered once more. Then—collapsed.
A ripple of force surged through the temple. The runes on the walls brightened to a blinding intensity, and the ceiling above them peeled away like liquid glass—revealing an endless sky swirling with stars, storms, and alien moons.
From the far end of the temple, beyond the army of transcendent undead, a colossal throne emerged—rising like a mountain of bone and obsidian. Upon it sat a figure cloaked in the void, wearing a crown made of broken sigils and faded time.
"The Emperor…" Valeris said under her breath. Her voice was almost reverent.
[RAID LEVEL: Emperor-Class Entity Detected]
[Class: Void-Bound Arbiter of the Forgotten]
[Realm: High Ascendant — Anchor Tier]
Asher clenched his jaw. "Of course he's Anchor Tier…"
The Emperor rose from his throne.
And the eight shadows behind him moved.
The Eight Generals stepped forward in perfect formation—each one radiating a different aspect of death: Rot, Silence, Grief, Madness, War, Frost, Chains, and Echo.
They were each a calamity on their own.
And they were coming.
Asher turned to Valeris. "Still want to go all in?"
Valeris grinned and rolled her shoulders. "Now we go all in."
Together, they surged forward—Asher cloaked in Soul Warp and Void Pulse, Valeris becoming one with the spirits of war, her blade splitting into mirrored versions that echoed every swing in triplicate.
The sky above roared.
The ground beneath cracked.
And the war for the Forgotten Empire truly began.
The temple thundered with every step of the Eight Generals. Their power was not simply overwhelming—it was cosmic, each stride cracking the air as if reality itself strained beneath their presence. Each general brought not just a weapon, but a domain—a piece of an old apocalypse tied to their will.
But Asher and Valeris did not yield.
Asher's form ignited with Sanguine Supreme, the forbidden lineage of the Crimson Sovereign roaring to life. His veins lit like rivers of starlight, pumping not blood, but divine ichor infused with Void Flame, Chronos Ash, and Nihility Venom. Every breath he took warped the space around him, time stuttering and folding in his wake.
Asher's body pulsed with dark radiance, veins glowing with the signature of the Dragon God of Void, Chronos, and Nihility. His presence bent space around him—folding time, unraveling logic. His eyes burned like inverted suns.
Valeris's form shimmered with ethereal flame. The Dragon Goddess of Souls and Celestial Harmony flowed through her every motion. Scales of iridescent soulfire patterned her skin, her aura an endless spiral of elemental and spirit force.
Their power didn't bloom—it roared into being.
Abyssal Rot, the first of the Eight Generals, struck first. This chapter is updated by Novel~Fire. (n)et
His body was a walking plague—fleshless, pulsing with toxic ooze and corruption. With one gesture, the ground blackened and vines of disease lunged out, seeking to consume their very essence.
Valeris met him mid-leap, her blade humming with Spiritlight Reversal. She cut through the corruption—not just physically, but spiritually—severing its anchor to this plane. A burst of purifying light erupted in her wake, turning plague to pollen.
"First down," she said, breathing hard.
But Asher didn't reply—because Silent Fang, second General, was already on him.
The world fell into utter silence as the fang-blade of the second general lashed forward, severing even soundwaves.
Asher countered with Chronos Rend—stopping the strike before it began. With a twist of his wrist, time cracked open. He reversed a single instant, appearing behind the general. His scythe, now longer and darker than death, carved down.
A burst of crimson mist marked Silent Fang's end.
But then the real storm began.
War, Chains, and Frost charged together—like a trinity of destruction.
War's entire form was a living battlefield, with miniature armies and banners growing out of his armor. His strikes caused shockwaves that summoned echoes of entire wars—phantoms locked in endless combat.
Chains struck with divine suppression, summoning spectral bindings that could lock down gods. They lashed out, trying to strangle Asher and Valeris's very divinity.
Frost brought stillness—an aura that froze mana itself, making spells brittle and movement sluggish.
Valeris spun into motion, calling forth Dragon Spirit Storm—a fusion of her Dragon Goddess Bloodline and her strongest spirits. A spectral dragon wrapped around her, breathing raw starfire.
She tore through War's phantom legions with a Rift-Tearing Spiral, her swords glowing with layered blessings—cutting through past, present, and fate itself.
Asher didn't hesitate. He raised his hand, invoking Sanguine Terminal Ascendance—his blood igniting in spirals of void-red. Chains wrapped around him—
—but shattered the moment they touched his body.
"Too late," he growled. "My blood isn't bound by divinity. It devours it."