646 Indoor Fight
Twanaku Tupián’s ears rang, his eyes stinging with blood. His mind burned, his thoughts scattering like sparks. For an agonizing moment, he couldn’t process his situation, couldn’t even think about the enemy closing in.
Blood, smelling strangely metallic, trickled from his eyes and nose. His pale skin darkened ominously.
“Ha!”
Lumian spat a blast of pale-yellow light, hitting the suspected Hisoka from barely two meters away.
Twanaku’s eyes slammed shut, and he collapsed. Before he hit the ground, Lumian’s Symphony of Hatred, a black bone flute, jabbed towards his neck.
Instantly, the tiled bathroom floor dissolved into a vast, muddy expanse of darkness. Arms burst upward.
Some were stripped of skin, all raw muscle and glistening tendon. Others twisted and ghostly, pale and transparent. Some bore bulging eyes that spun madly, others sprouted thick green growths…
The grotesque limbs tore at Lumian and Twanaku, clawing and dragging.
This was Twanaku’s spell, a death-type enchantment once called Vengeful Wraith’s Entanglement, meant to summon an undead horde to paralyze his targets.
But as a Mid-Sequence Beyonder of the Devil pathway, his power twisted the spell into something new—the Fallen Abyss!
He could alter a space in advance, allowing undead or fallen creatures to lurk beneath the surface. Anyone unfortunate enough to step inside would be grabbed by unseen arms and dragged into the muddy, pitch-black depths. The Abyss would slow and weaken its victims, the icy touch of the undead stealing their strength with agonizing speed. If they were pulled all the way under, they’d be corrupted and lost.
Twanaku had cast this spell in the bathroom before attacking Kolobo. He hadn’t wanted any nosy employees or customers to stumble on the scene, but it turned out to be a lucky break. That’s why he’d appeared in the mirror instead of right inside Kolobo’s eyes.
Lumian’s attack with the Symphony of Hatred came to an abrupt halt.
Countless arms wrapped around his ankles, calves, hips, and torso. A wave of icy stiffness washed over him, his movements turning sluggish.
It was the same for Twanaku. With the Wraith and Desire Apostle unconscious, the Fallen Abyss slipped from his control, leaving him vulnerable. His limp body was seized by the strange arms and dragged to the ground.
Nearby, Kolobo, badly injured and out for the count, was pulled into the muddy, pitch-black depths of the illusory Abyss.
A burst of crimson flames exploded from Lumian’s body, surrounding him like a blazing cloak.
The flames roared, scorching most of the arms into retreat. Still, some remained unaffected, their grip relentless. A creeping coldness numbed Lumian’s body, but he regained a sliver of his former agility.
Before, he could have simply lunged forward, thrusting the black bone flute towards his enemy’s neck. But now, the target—the one he believed was Hisoka—was about to vanish into the ground.
Thud!
Twanaku slammed into the ground, the impact jarring him awake. The Spell of Harrumph’s grip faded, and he finally regained his senses.
His toughest moment, that relentless surge of desire, was behind him.
Lumian lowered his head, a single scornful sound escaping him.
“Hmph!”
Twin beams of white light shot out while Lumian retracted his hands, fingers slipping back into his Traveler’s Bag.
The beams missed their mark, but horrifying, bloody arms sprouted from the ground, a gruesome forest that blocked Twanaku from their path.
With a flash of awareness, Twanaku seized control of the Fallen Abyss spell, shielding himself and attacking his enemy.
The arms hit by the Spell of Harrumph softened, sinking back into the pitch-black mud as if drained.
Twanaku took his chance. His body twisted, morphing into a dark, oozing malevolence, a shape born from the darkest shadows of his heart.
Silently, Twanaku transformed into an illusory, viscous, and foul black liquid, merging with the muddy Abyss and vanishing.
The evil arms, unfazed by the flames, clung to Lumian, limiting his movement.
His hands flew to his Traveler’s Bag, pulling out a suit of gleaming silver armor.
He set the armor beside him, sinking it firmly into the pitch-black mud.
Pride Armor!
Evil, writhing arms erupted from the illusory Abyss—and the corresponding spirit world. Guided by the spell, they lunged for the Pride Armor, seizing its ankles, legs, torso, and back.
The Pride Armor struck back, a broadsword of pure light flashing in its hand. Blinding, holy light flooded the washroom.
The shadowy arms recoiled with hisses of black smoke, retreating into the depths.
The pitch-black mud dissolved, revealing the bathroom’s stone tiles.
Kolobo, who’d been on the brink of sinking into the Abyss, lay unconscious on the floor.
Just meters away, near the washroom door, a figure of viscous black liquid prepared to flee.
Now free, Twanaku came to a swift decision.
He wouldn’t waste time trying to possess Lumian Lee. Instead, he’d abandon the Matani Import and Export Shop—and Port Pylos!
It was a trap. He had to escape before it closed around him. Staying to fight back was foolish—he couldn’t risk lingering just to satisfy his rage and murderous desire.
That would be far too dangerous!
Twanaku was glad he’d chosen to give Lumian Lee those two “gifts”. He’d even divided his favorite mystical items to do it. The patrol team should be in chaos by now, focused on a false target.
The distraction would give him his chance to escape.
Before, Twanaku hadn’t been focused on killing Camus. His priority was taking out Kolobo and escaping. If everything went smoothly, there shouldn’t be problems for either side. Any chaos caused by Camus’s death would be a bonus—
distracting the enemy by having the other passing off as the real deal.
He’d sent that extra “gift” as a precaution, not some bloodthirsty urge!
…
In Camus’s office, nestled inside the patrol team’s beige four-
story building, a poker card shimmered with metallic light as it hurtled towards him. Coffee was the last thing on his mind. He dove behind his desk with a surge of adrenaline, planning to send the table flying back at Sow before blasting him with Psychic Piercing.
The joker-faced card soared over Camus’s head, missing its target.
But then, as if it had a mind of its own, the card swerved and plunged down, aiming for Camus’s back.
It seemed to melt right into him, vanishing in a flash.
Sow’s grin stretched wider. He strode to the desk, yanking the broadsword from his back.
…
Inside the men’s bathroom of the Matani Import and Export Shop.
A figure made of thick, black liquid slipped through the crack under the door then strangely reformed in its original spot.
Bottle of Fiction!
The moment Lumian harbored malice and took out the Symphony of Hatred from the Traveler’s Bag, Lumian had used this bathroom vent as a base, using the Bottle of Fiction to set one condition: only females could enter or exit!
That way, innocent customers wouldn’t stumble into the dangerous Beyonder battle. And Hisoka couldn’t escape without destroying the Bottle of Fiction first!
The black, liquid figure spread toward the vent, dodging the two white beams from Lumian.
Twanaku was done with dodging. His body swelled and warped, transforming into a monstrous giant almost three meters tall.
The monster’s skin turned a dull, dark shade, and a pair of curved goat horns marked with strange patterns sprouted from his head. Colossal bat wings wreathed in blue and crimson flames lashed out, releasing a stinging, sulfurous stench.
Devil Transformation!
This was the signature power of a Sequence 6 Devil from the Prisoner pathway—a boost to strength, speed, defense… everything.
Lumian knew his target, the one he thought was Hisoka, was on high alert, braced to dodge his Spell of Harrumph. He stopped using it.
He decided against the Symphony of Hatred too. The situation was different.
Before, his enemy had been fueled by bloodlust in his murder attempt on Kolobo, a perfect trigger. Now, there was only a cold, emotionless focus.
With no guarantee that the Symphony of Hatred would work
—or that it wouldn’t backfire—Lumian wasn’t taking that chance.
Instead, a crimson spear sparked into existence. From a few meters away, he hurled it at the suspected Hisoka.
The second the spear left his hand, Lumian vanished.
He couldn’t stay put. Possession by the Wraith, a mind-
shattering psychic blast from a Desire Apostle, some twisted desire spell—any of those were a risk!
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