Months had unfurled like the petals of a blooming flower since Jingliu's last conversation with Seris. The noble's absence had left a void, one that the siblings seemed to view with a tranquil certainty of her eventual return. Yet, the lack of concern from others did little to quell the stirrings of worry within Jingliu. Resolute, she chose to immerse herself in training, to hush the quiet whispers of concern for Seris.

In the midst of her quest for growth, Jingliu sat across from Yara, the doctor's eyes scrutinizing the detailed notes before her. The faint scent of herbs and parchment permeated the air, a testament to Yara's ceaseless research.

Yara's gaze lifted from her notes, settling on Jingliu with a curious blend of interest and uncertainty. "Jingliu, how do you feel?" she asked, her voice carrying the clinical detachment of a physician.

Caught momentarily off guard by the directness of the inquiry, Jingliu quickly regained her composure. "I am well. Your siblings have been very helpful with their guidance," she replied, her words measured and sincere.

A thoughtful hum escaped Yara as she tapped her notes. "I do not know what Seris did to you, but the Mara in you seems to be cured," she mused, her hand thoughtfully caressing her chin.

The word 'cured' echoed within Jingliu, a wave of disbelief washing over her. "Cured...?" she questioned, unable to grasp the unexpected and uncelebrated liberation from her curse.

"Yes, cured," Yara confirmed, her voice a cocktail of confusion and wonder. "My analyses are thorough, and yet, your affliction has vanished without a trace. You are now free from any curses."

Jingliu's heart should have soared with the revelation, but it remained anchored, heavy with a sense of unease she couldn't shake.

Yara, sensing the need for further investigation, declared her intent to keep a close watch. "I will observe you closely, just in case. Something doesn't feel right," she admitted, her instincts prickling with suspicion. "But continue your training as usual. It will help me understand what's truly happening."

Grateful for Yara's diligence, Jingliu nodded. "Thank you, Yara. My next stop is with Pluto; she said she wants to take me somewhere."

With a wave of her wand, Yara dismissed her, her eyes returning to the spot where Jingliu had been seated. A faint trail of energy, almost imperceptible, caught her attention. Her eyes narrowed, a silent vow to unravel the mystery shrouding Jingliu's sudden cure. The doctor's intuition told her that miracles in this realm were seldom without their shadows.

---

Y/N's gaze followed the elegant glide of the creatures above, their wings cutting through the air with effortless grace. Yet, where there once was wonder, now a familiar indifference settled within him—an aftereffect, perhaps, of IX's constant presence or the result of growing too accustomed to such extraordinary sights.

Six months had passed within the realm of Idrila, six months that felt like both a fleeting moment and a drawn-out eternity. Progress, it seemed, was an elusive companion to Y/N and his fellow travelers.

The Knights of Beauty, alongside Sandra, had departed to study the spires that rose like natural monuments across the horizon. They held cities aloft, a testament to Idrila's vision of life in harmony, a symbiotic masterpiece of living architecture. The concept was indeed remarkable, Y/N conceded. Yet, the awe-inspiring creation was being overshadowed by an encroaching darkness—a horror unfolding in slow motion.

Each month, the decay became more apparent. The kingdom, once radiant, now bore the scars of a creeping nightmare, reminiscent of his encounter with the Great One.

The deities, which he now referred to as "Amygdalas" due to their peculiar form, lurked quietly among the ruins. They loomed over towers and slipped through narrow alleys, their nightmarish aura palpable. It was this aura that prompted Y/N to send the others away for their safety. He remained, thanks to IX's protective presence, which also threatened to erode his mind with the insidious creep of Nihility.

This numbness to emotion, this void where hope and purpose once resided, had become a constant battle. The Progenitor had warned him of such a test, but Y/N found himself wishing for a more tangible enemy—one he could confront with a swing of his greatsword.

His mastery over the Abyss had seen improvements, at least. The armor he initially conjured was too cumbersome for his taste, and he had dedicated time to crafting it into a sleeker form, one that would accentuate rather than encumber.

Frustrations bubbled to the surface as he pondered his failed attempts at manipulating the creation of greatswords. The reason for his inability remained elusive, and in a decision borne of exasperation, he had abandoned the endeavor altogether.

"What am I going to do..." he murmured to himself, his voice barely more than a whisper against the backdrop of decay. Around him, the land lay barren, the buildings and castles crumbling under an invisible weight. The absence of life was stark compared to his vivid first impressions of this realm.

The soft clatter of a pebble against the decayed cobblestone drew Y/N's attention. "Hmm?" he hummed, his focus shifting to the origin of the sound. A silhouette emerged from the shadows, donning armor akin to that of Igris and Alphen, yet tainted with unmistakable signs of corruption.

"What do we have here?" Y/N muttered under his breath, his gaze narrowing on the figure. The armor bore the insignia of the Knights of Beauty, but it was marred by decay, its bearer's movements erratic, a grotesque parody of its former grace.

The knight's approach was unsettling—a lopsided gait, one arm twisted unnaturally, the other wielding a corrupted longsword. As it neared, Y/N sensed an absence within the armor, as if the soul it once housed had been consumed by the encroaching blight.

With a practiced hand, Y/N summoned his Ornate Dagger, its gleam a stark contrast to the knight's darkened steel. Compassion mingled with determination in his heart; he would grant this lost entity a swift end, a mercy to prevent any further desecration of what might once have been a comrade.

The knight lunged, its blade carving through the air and stone alike, a testament to its corrupted strength. "Driven by madness..." Y/N assessed, stepping forward to meet the charge. In a blur, he appeared before the knight, his dagger dancing with lethal precision, rending the armor and flesh beneath.

A convulsion wracked the knight's form as Y/N's blade tore through it, eliciting a shriek that was more beast than man. Without hesitation, Y/N delivered a final, decisive blow, severing the head from the tainted body. Silence fell as the head tumbled to a stop, the grim spectacle completed.

But the respite was brief. Y/N's senses, honed by months in this twisted realm, alerted him to more of the same ominous aura. A grimace etched onto his face, he recognized the necessity for speed and efficiency in the battles to come.

With a flick of his wrist, he cleansed his dagger of the sanguine evidence of conflict, steeling himself for the next wave. The cacophony of advancing knights grew louder, signaling the approach of more corrupted foes, each bearing the same emblem of decay.

He exhaled deeply, his breath misting in the cold air. "So be it," he whispered, stepping towards the oncoming tide of madness, his stride full of unwavering confidence.

---

Sandra's world seemed to be slipping through her fingers, like a dream upon waking. An uncanny sensation gnawed at her; it was as if she were slowly vanishing, her very essence being forgotten over time.

She stood amidst the rubble of what was once a hallowed tomb, the final resting place of her mother and repository of their most cherished treasures. Now, it lay in shambles, its desecration complete—a grim tableau of loss and decay.

Six months had elapsed since they first set foot back in the kingdom, their hearts buoyant with anticipation. But the elation had waned, dimmed by a reality far grimmer than they had imagined. Sandra's thoughts turned to Y/N, her frown deepening. She knew of his trials with the Aeons, but the man who returned to them was altered, his warmth now replaced with a detached focus that alienated her.

His concern remained, yet it was rigid, mechanical almost. His mind preoccupied with relentless training and the mission at hand. Sandra's heart ached with the sense that they were back to the beginning, back to a time of emotional distance and solitary burdens. "Urgh! Everything is spiraling too much and too quickly," she whispered to herself.

Her gaze drifted to Igris, whose posture betrayed an uncommon anxiety. The realization struck her with a jolt. "Wait, where's Alphen?"

Then, an amalgamation of voices, as if the very air sought to mock and unsettle them, whispered the word "Insignificant." The sound wormed its way into Sandra's mind, tempting her to succumb to fear, to flee and seek refuge in the protective shadow of Y/N.

She longed for a simpler time, for the embrace of her mother, for the safety of their carefree past. In the heart of the tomb's wreckage, surrounded by echoes of desolation, Sandra's yearning grew ever stronger—a beacon of grief in the enveloping darkness.

---

Y/N's shadows coiled around him like serpents, a premonition of impending dread. His eyes, now deep pools of Abyssal darkness tinged with a purple-grey hue, scanned the skies. The once majestic spires atop the creatures above twisted into grotesque forms, a spectacle of decay unfolding before him.

"Why is everything happening too fast?" Y/N muttered, the fallen knights at his feet a grim testament to the day's toll. The watching Amygdalas seemed to scrutinize his every move, their silence as ominous as the destruction that surrounded him.

"Great," he sighed. "Everything converges at this singular point in time." Six months of eerie quietude had erupted into a maelstrom in mere hours.

"Joy," he remarked dryly to himself. Perhaps complacency had crept in unnoticed. With a swift gesture, he summoned the Abyssal Gate, stepping through it and into the unknown once more.

Materializing in a new location, Y/N surveyed the disarray. "So this is the tomb?" he inquired of the empty air, his gaze sweeping over the tumbled stone and shattered relics. The absence of Sandra and the others was as conspicuous as the chaos.

He strode through the tomb's halls, the echo of his boots a solitary beat in the labyrinthine silence. Memories of Oedon's realm flashed through his mind, a sensation of repulsion tightening his features.

As his senses frayed, akin to his time in the realm of the Great Ones, Y/N called out to IX. The Aeon responded, weaving arrows of cosmic beauty into the air, serving as a celestial compass. The blend of his own shadowy intuition and IX's guidance was swift and precise, leading him through the maze.

At the junction of pathways, Y/N stood before another Abyssal Gate. Without hesitation, he entered the portal, each step bringing him closer to the comrades he sought in this dreamscape twisted by reality.

As Y/N emerged into the ghastly panorama of the arena, his shadows snapped to alertness. The walls, festooned with cold iron shackles, told a history of captives long forgotten. Above, the ceiling resembled a net, pulling at the light, distorting it into a semblance of freedom. The air hung thick with the essence of a Great One, its presence heavy and oppressive.

His gaze, darkened by the Abyss, settled on the towering form of the Amygdala. Its arms stretched wide, looming over two knights—one prone, the other kneeling with a greatsword at its side.

"Igris? Alphen?" Y/N's voice echoed through the arena, but the Amygdala's swift descent cut through the stillness. Instinct took over; Y/N's form blurred, his Ornate Dagger shearing through the deity's fingers with deadly precision. Taking advantage of the creature's agony, he swept the knights to safety, away from its towering rage.

Recognition dawned as he whispered to the familiar figures, "Don't worry, both of you are safe." No response came, but life still flickered within Igris. Alphen, however, lay unsettlingly still.

Gripping Alphen's hand, Y/N searched for a pulse, for any sign of life. The silence that met him was a denial he couldn't accept. A confirmatory check revealed the stark truth: Alphen had fallen. Memories of their camaraderie, though not as deep as those with others, flashed before him—a trust now severed by fate.

The Abyss exuded from Y/N like a dark mist, drawing the Amygdala's gaze once more. The Great One's fingers began to regenerate, but Y/N's presence twisted the space around him, asserting dominance. "You. I will cut you," he vowed, the Ornate Dagger now an extension of the shadows themselves, a slithering embodiment of darkness.

He pinpointed the creature's vulnerability with ruthless efficiency. His sprint was a shadowy streak, his movements leaving the Amygdala defenseless, its cosmic arms severed before it could react. The Abyss's corrosion left it a withering husk, its power to heal undone.

With a final, swift motion, Y/N circled to its rear and severed the massive head from its body. The Great One's form crumbled to dust, a silent testament to its demise.

The Ornate Dagger shed its darkness, gleaming once more with its inherent beauty. Y/N stood over the remnants of the deity, his victory hollow. The absence of emotion gnawed at him—a void where fear or triumph should reside. "Damn IX, damn the Great Ones, damn the world," he cursed under his breath.

Approaching Alphen's fallen form, Y/N knew what he had to do. He tapped into the lingering essence, summoning the Phantom Bubbles to capture the fading memories. As he delved into the knight's past, he sought answers, perhaps even closure, in the echoes of Alphen's final thoughts.

---

Alphen's world spun in disarray as he stumbled through the shadowed corridors of the tomb. "Where the hell am I?" he muttered, his voice echoing off the ancient stone. Panic clawed at his throat as he called out, "Everyone! Where are you all?"

Sandra's voice, tinged with relief, cut through the gloom. "Alphen!" she cried, rushing into view with Igris close behind. The sight of them was a balm to his frayed nerves. "Thank Idrila," he breathed out, a smile playing on his lips despite the dire situation.

"Lady Sandra! Igris! I thought you guys had abandoned me," Alphen jested, his attempt at humor drew a chuckle from Sandra, a fleeting moment of levity against the backdrop of dread. Igris, however, remained a picture of stoic concern. "Alphen, this is no time for jest. The Great Ones are closing in, and our time is running thin."

Alphen's humor faded as he faced the dire reality. "Do you think this was their intention all along?" he asked, his voice hardened. "Six months of quiet, only for it to culminate in today's catastrophe."

Igris nodded solemnly. "It seems so. They have been biding their time, waiting for our separation from Lord Y/N."

Alphen, sharing Igris's sentiment, quickly formulated a plan. "I will investigate the west wing for clues; you and Lady Sandra should look for any remnants or keys," he instructed, his tone carrying the weight of command.

"You... that is acceptable," Igris conceded, his usual authority overridden by the practicality of Alphen's suggestion.

With determination, Alphen ventured westward, his eyes scanning the tomb's interior. The sight of roses strewn about, once symbols of beauty, now felt like a mockery of their purpose. Shaking off the distraction, he focused on the mission at hand.

Y/N's words echoed in his head, a guidepost in the chaos: they needed to find a key, a mystical lockpick to fend off the otherworldly menace of the Great Ones. But how did Y/N come by this knowledge? Alphen pondered as he tread cautiously through the gloom.

He explained once, his voice filled with a mixture of speculation and conviction, that if the Great Ones hailed from another dimension, there must exist a key or catalyst that beckoned them to theirs. And with Igris' mention of a tomb, Y/N conjectured that such a key might have been laid to rest with their queen, Idrila.

The notion that Idrila, their revered sovereign, could have summoned the Great Ones was unsettling, a bitter seed planted in the soil of their allegiance. Yet, the logic in Y/N's theory was compelling, and despite their initial reluctance, they agreed to search the tomb, leaving Y/N to confront the corrupted kingdom.

As Alphen stumbled upon a slab adorned with familiar runes, reminiscent of the markings upon Y/N's hand, a surge of realization washed over him. "Igris! I found something!" he exclaimed, believing he had uncovered the very key Y/N had theorized about.

Yet, before he could study the slab further, reality shifted violently. The tomb disappeared, replaced by a cavernous arena. The slab was gone from sight, and in its place loomed a monstrous Amygdala, its arms wreathed in cosmic energy. The shock of the transition was nothing compared to the blow that sent him crashing into a wall, the impact spewing blood from his armor.

As he lay broken, Alphen's thoughts drifted to his liege's warnings. They had been loyal to Idrila, yet they could not deny the logic of Y/N's words. They owed him their gratitude for the shelter he provided from the chaos that now consumed them. With a knight's resolve, Alphen accepted his end, his last vision that of the Great One's arm swinging down to deliver oblivion.

"..."

Y/N opened his eyes, drawing back from the tendrils of Alphen's fading memories. "I hope you find peace in the afterlife," he whispered, a solemn prayer for a fallen comrade. In this rare moment, his emotions stirred, a sign that the Abyss and IX had not wholly claimed his heart.

As he turned to seek out Igris, a subtle pull from Alphen's essence gave pause—a whisper of resistance suggesting a soul not yet ready to depart from the mortal coil.

End of Chapter