The cave’s interior glowed softly, illuminated by the presence of the saint who sat on a smooth rock surface, his legs folded in meditation. Tunde felt an inexplicable calm wash over him in the saint’s presence—a feeling of contentment with where he was, here and now. It was as soothing as it was puzzling.

  “My other half is... difficult to deal with,” Saint Bai said, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “The sealing formation I used has only contained his power, siphoning and purifying it back into Ethra.” He sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, with humans nearby and his ability to steal their flesh Ethra as well as their very souls, I fear he is no longer the weakened being I once subdued.”

  “I thought you were the Soul Saint. How does he siphon souls?” Sera asked.

  “Because they’re the same,” Daiki answered in a hoarse voice as he woke, sitting up carefully. Sera rushed to his side, a waterskin in hand, retrieved from her void ring.

  The monk accepted it gratefully, drinking deeply before bowing to the saint. “Bahataba, I greet the esteemed saint,” he said. Bai nodded gently.

  “Do not strain yourself,” the saint advised. “You walk a path of light in a world of darkness. Even you, despite your low rank, should understand the cost of such talismans.” The saint’s tone held a hint of chastisement as Daiki winced.

  “I apologize, great saint, but we had no choice at the time,” Daiki explained.

  “The taint of corruption is far-reaching,” the saint replied. “You were wise to protect not only yourself but your friends. Please, continue.”

  Daiki nodded, taking a deep breath. “There are... laws that govern reality,” he began.

  Tunde frowned, confused. “I keep hearing about these laws, but I can’t seem to grasp them. How come you know them?”

  Daiki gave a soft smile. “The laws, or profound laws as they’re called, are eight fundamental principles that govern our reality,” Saint Bai explained, drawing everyone’s attention back to him.

  “You haven’t heard of these laws because your cultivation stages are too low for them to have a significant impact on you. Simply put, your actions don’t yet affect the fabric of reality or this realm’s existence,” he clarified.

  “This realm?” Zehra asked, curiosity piqued. The saint merely smiled indulgently; a look Tunde recognized. He had seen it countless times from Ifa—the look that signaled a question was beyond his current understanding or cultivation level.

  “Don’t worry about that. What matters now is the law that binds the Flesh Saint and me together—the Law of Resonance,” the saint said. “As you progress in cultivation, you’ll come to understand that many things you believe to be coincidence are far from it, like the affinities you develop and the concepts you manifest.”

  Tunde sat up, intrigued.

  “In my case, I cultivated both the flesh and soul affinities—two of the most esoteric and difficult paths. It required immense determination and a deep understanding of my place in existence to reach sainthood,” Bai continued, smiling at the memory.

  “Flesh affinity may seem random, but I chose it to remain grounded in my mortality, at least for a time. The soul affinity, on the other hand, allowed me to comprehend my surroundings and draw power from them.”

  He paused, then added, “When I inadvertently broke one of the laws of reality... No, I cannot tell you more than that. Certain rules prevent me from revealing everything,” Bai said with a smile, stopping Zehra from speaking with a knowing chuckle.

  “I broke the Law of Resonance without being advanced enough to survive the process. My affinities blocked my ascension,” Bai explained with a sigh. “Most saints ascend after reaching the peak of the master rank, having overcome the need for mortal sustenance. They fuse their mortal form with their essence, becoming... enlightened.”

  “But you had already crossed over to sainthood,” Daiki murmured.

  “Indeed, young one. Yet, the law still collects its due,” the saint said with a nod. “It couldn’t reverse the process of enlightenment, but it ensured that the resonance between my affinities remained.”

  The saint raised his arm, which glowed softly. “As the Saint of Souls, my mastery over souls, memories, and spirits is nearly supreme. But having lost my mortal form, I am vulnerable to physical attacks.”

  His voice dropped as he continued, “What this means is that I cannot engage in physical combat. My domain is to twist reality, but should I suffer a physical attack—depending on its strength—it could spell my end.”

  “That can’t be right,” Sera said, frowning. “You rescued us using vines. Weren’t they under your control?”

  Bai nodded. “It appeared that way, but I merely wrested control of the vines from my other half while he was preoccupied. And they weren’t vines,” he added, turning to Tunde, who looked horrified as realization dawned.

  “They were flesh,” Tunde whispered, his voice shaking.

  The saint nodded gravely. “Yes. My other half controls the affinity of flesh entirely. No matter how much damage you inflict, it’s futile.”

  “How does the law affect him, then?” Zehra asked, clearly trying to distract herself from the horrifying thought settling in.

  “He is flesh incarnate,” Bai explained. “However, because we were once one, his most powerful techniques still require soul energy—or Ethra, as you call it. His flesh resonance alone isn’t enough to sustain these abilities. The conflict between his need for soul energy and his flesh affinity strains him. His resonance with flesh isn’t designed to handle large quantities of soul energy.”

  Bai mused quietly, “He must continuously steal soul energy to maintain his form and power his techniques. Yet, the more he siphons, the more unstable he becomes, as his body mutates uncontrollably under the strain of violating the Law of Resonance.”

  The saint paused before shaking his head ruefully. “Still, he possesses my understanding of the laws and has grown adept at walking the fine line between both. His days of forcing souls into lifeless constructs for later consumption are nearing an end.”

  “I can feel it—the screams of the departed,” Daiki muttered.

  The saint gave him an almost curious look before nodding. “Exactly. The laws are aligning. Soon, one of us must perish for resonance to be complete.”

  “There is only so long you can delay the inevitable,” Bai said, his voice heavy with finality.

  “Then you know how to stop him for good?” Zehra asked, standing.

  “I do,” the saint confirmed. “You all noticed the black orb lodged in his chest?”

  They nodded. It had been impossible to miss.

  “That orb is his connection to his domain—the part of the island that obeys his commands. Destroying it will sever his authority and strip him of his sainthood-derived powers.”

  “But that won’t be enough,” Bai continued. “The entire island must be cleansed. He must be eradicated so thoroughly that he ceases to exist. And the only way to do that is with the one thing he craves most.”

  “Soul Ethra,” Tunde murmured.

  “Not quite,” Bai corrected. “It must be refined into essence flames—a purification ritual designed to wipe away every last trace of his corruption from reality.” As he spoke, pure white flames manifested in his palm, crackling with power, mesmerizing them before he extinguished them.

  "I will work with the monk on how to set up the array, as he’s the only one here with knowledge of such matters," the saint said. "The rest of you, however, need to rest and prepare yourselves. He knows we’re coming, and he’ll be expecting us," he finished, his tone serious.

  Zhu woke up a few minutes later, initially agitated, but Tunde quickly calmed the Ethralite, who soon matched the serenity of the group. Tunde spent the next hours in quiet meditation, cultivating his Ethra in preparation for the inevitable battle ahead. Most times, Tunde could feel the saint’s gaze upon him, but he avoided looking in that direction, instead focusing on sharpening his naginata. Zehra, always attentive, offered him refreshments and waterskins, generously packed by her clan before their journey.

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  Zhu consumed the most, bounding deeper into the cave with uncharacteristic excitement. Meanwhile, Daiki and the saint spoke in low tones, drawing intricate symbols and shapes on pieces of paper that briefly glowed pure white before vanishing.

  With nothing else to do, Tunde found himself, for the first time, without Ifa’s guidance. His only clear goal was to escape the island, and strangely, he found the simplicity of it refreshing. As he sharpened his weapon, he cleared his mind and mentally prepared for what lay ahead.

  Time passed unnoticed until Tunde was roused from his meditation. His breathing had steadied, and his mind was now sharp. He stood, observing Daiki as he took the saint’s place on the stone platform, beads in hand, while the cave walls lit up with glowing white inscriptions. The saint appeared, his form luminous as ever, and addressed the group.

  "It’s time," he said. "Daiki and one other must stay behind to protect this place. Once he realizes what we’re attempting, he will throw everything he has at destroying this cave."

  "What makes the cave so important?" Zehra asked, glancing at Daiki, who was deep in his chants, beads firmly clasped in his hands.

  "The cave will be the source of the formation, its focal point," the saint explained. "I can’t explain it more simply than that."

  Tunde turned to Sera. "Would you mind staying to watch over the monk?" he asked gently. She frowned, sensing his reasoning.

  "Besides, you share an affinity with the Flesh Saint. It would be too risky if he used that against you," Tunde explained carefully.

  The saint nodded in agreement. "He speaks the truth. It’s a wonder you aren’t already under his control," he added, a serious note in his voice.

  Sera gripped her blade tightly, her expression betraying a mix of defiance and insult. Tunde knew she saw his request as a slight on her abilities, but he would rather risk her pride than her life. Better to be alive and offended than dead, he thought grimly.

  After a long pause, she relented. "Very well. I will watch the monk," she replied, her voice tight with restrained emotion.

  Tunde exhaled, nodding gratefully. "Thank you."

  "Good," the saint said with a chuckle. "Now, let us set out to certain destruction."

  Tunde didn’t find the probability of death nearly as funny as the saint seemed to.

  *********************************

  Ifa hovered just outside the barrier, eyes closed in concentration, trying to decipher the meaning of the runic writings floating around him. For once, he was grateful not to be human, aware that if he were, he might have succumbed to fatigue or, worse, Ethra deprivation.

  Still, he found himself respecting the strength and resilience of Tunde. The descendant of his once-cherished friend had surpassed even his wildest expectations. Tunde had gained an intimate understanding of the foundations of the Void Path—an aspect of the cosmic concept—and it was a beautiful thing to behold.

  Ifa only hoped that, at some point, he could gift Tunde the ability to read runes. When Ifa first gained sentience in this age, he’d been baffled to realize that only arcanists and a small number of artificers still used runes. In his time, both arcanists and artificers had existed, but the former had been protectors of powerful runic formations, spells, and arrays, while the latter perfected the art of rune-forged weaponry. Clearly, much had gone wrong during his absence from Adamath and reality itself.

  Opening his eyes for the first time in a while, he gazed up at the shimmering, weakened barrier that only those initiated, like him, could see. He sighed. Placing one hand on the second array in front of him, he felt the coolness of the formation despite his incorporeal form. Ifa readied himself, preparing to unleash his full strength, even if it meant losing more of the essence flame and Ethra that kept him whole. But something was wrong.

  He shot backward, still floating in the air, as he stared at the figure now standing in the spot where he had been just moments before.

  "Impressive. To sense my presence a mere fraction before I could consume you," the figure said, and Ifa immediately understood what he was dealing with.

  "You're the Saint," Ifa replied, already gathering his Ethra as his form began to ripple. The runes he'd painstakingly inscribed across his form since regaining sentience began to glow—runes of Ethra absorption, condensation, and refinement. Being a spirit, he had no core. Even now, he could barely retain the excess Ethra funneled from Tunde. But he was grateful for his foresight.

  The pale figure, with white beards and an orb lodged grotesquely in his chest, made Ifa's very essence recoil. "You are in my domain, little spirit," the Flesh Saint sneered, as vines of flesh erupted from the ground, their tips undulating before lashing toward Ifa.

  In his hand, a burning white blade of essence flames and runes appeared. But the act of summoning it rapidly drained his reserves, faster than he could absorb Ethra from the air around him.

  The tentacles, imbued with the Saint's authority, came at him from all angles, moving with a mind of their own. But Ifa had the advantage of being pure spirit, not flesh. Without that edge, he knew he would have been defeated already. Despite this, he realized with growing dread that the Saint wasn't focused on him at all—he was after the ship.

  Panic flared in Ifa's eyes as he shot toward the vessel. A dozen flesh tentacles attacked him simultaneously, laced with raw, malevolent Ethra. He defended himself but was quickly pushed onto the back foot as his runes began to dim. Even as some of the ship's crew fired its Ethra cannons at the Saint, they were only wasting precious energy from the ship's furnace.

  "Stop, you fools! Return to your rooms!" Ifa shouted, as the tentacles slammed into the ship. Several recoiled, burnt from the talismans placed around the structure by the monks.

  "Your time will come, little spirit," the Saint said dismissively, as though speaking to an insect. Fighting for his life, Ifa could only watch as the Saint turned his full attention to the ship, pitting his authority against the monk's talismans.

  Ifa felt it the moment the talismans burnt out, exhausted by the relentless pressure. They could not hope to withstand the Saint's full attention.

  Hope and a sense of honor urged Ifa to act, to save the people aboard the ship from the horrors the Flesh Saint would inflict. But cold realism screamed that this was a losing battle. His form was already flickering as the tentacles grew more frenzied in their attempts to ensnare him.

  Desperate, Ifa triggered the key he had been crafting—weak, unfinished, and unfocused—but he had no choice. The key disintegrated before his eyes, and a yawning gap opened, sucking him in. The Saint snarled, attempting to grab him at the last second, but it was too late.

  Ifa was pulled through the rift, slamming into black, rocky ground as the portal closed behind him. A severed tentacle flopped to the ground beside him before erupting into dark, gray flames, its nature rejected by the domain.

  Ifa shuddered, closing his eyes as the full weight of his failure crashed over him. He had lost. Worse, he had condemned dozens to a fate far worse than death.

  He sat up, rage and shame searing through his very being as he willed—no, begged—the infant domain to transport him to the sanctum he had carved out for himself.

  In an instant, he found himself within the cavern he had painstakingly created. Inscriptions and formations lined the walls and floors, all designed to distill the rampant cosmic energy into something he could wield. Drop by painstaking drop, the liquid accumulated in a bowl. It was half full. Ifa drank it all in one go, shuddering as his eyes burned with new light.

  He steeled himself. This was nothing. He was Ifa—the Ifa, the first of that name. For too long, he had been content to play the caregiver, watching over the last hope of the Seekers. The world was growing more dangerous with each step Tunde took. Ifa needed to be ready as well.

  ********************************

  The path back to the village was illuminated by the Spirit Saint, who guided them through the fog-shrouded surroundings. Tunde had expected an attack, and he hadn’t been disappointed. This time, the creatures that emerged were even more grotesque abominations. Fortunately, they were prepared.

  Zehra struck first, her frost blade slicing into the creatures as they appeared in droves, shrieking and writhing as they closed in. The Soul Saint dodged gracefully, conserving the small amount of power he was carefully building up. Tunde took it upon himself to defend him, his naginata spinning with Void Ethra as it tore into the creatures. The monstrous beings, which had once healed rapidly due to their Flesh Saint’s malevolent power, now struggled to regenerate under the ferocity of Tunde's attacks.

  Essence flames burned bright on his weapon, while Zehra’s deep blue fire froze the creatures solid, shattering them repeatedly and holding back the relentless tide. Tunde’s Ethra sight never wavered, his technique—what he called the Void Asura style—unleashing devastating, relentless damage.

  The Void Forge fired void spears, leaving gaping holes in the creatures, burning them from the inside out. Essence flames were usually conserved in large-scale battles, but they had no choice. As the creatures fell—dead or dying—they pressed on.

  The Soul Saint shuddered. "We need to move quickly. I feel something changing... drastically," he urged, pushing them to their limits.

  Soon, the path began to look familiar once again. The oppressive feeling that had weighed on Tunde since their arrival on the island returned, growing stronger as they neared the village. But this time, nothing barred their path. It was as if the Flesh Saint was welcoming them into his domain. Gone were the heaps of trash, bones, and rotten forms that had littered the area before.

  Instead, a single, pulsing mound of flesh stood before the destroyed temple.

  "We were too late... the ship’s crew are gone," the Soul Saint said grimly. Tunde’s eyes widened, and Zehra gasped in horror.

  At that moment, a beam of golden light shot skyward, striking the barrier above with a loud, resonant gong. Power rippled outwards, and Tunde felt the oppressive weight lift just slightly. The flesh mound before them sighed, drawing their attention back to it. A hand burst forth from the mass, clenching and tearing through the remaining fleshy sac.

  Out stepped the Flesh Saint.

  He had changed significantly. Where he once had white hair, there were now thin, floating strands of flesh, twitching with a life of their own. His eyes had been replaced by a smooth layer of skin, rendering him effectively blind. His form had grown larger—more muscular yet lithe, veins rippling across his body. The space around him shifted, like a scabbed layer of skin stretching and contorting.

  “Oh, my shame... what have you become?" the Soul Saint whispered, looking upon the abomination before them.

  The Flesh Saint grinned, turning toward the sound of his voice. "Bai, is that you?" he asked, extending a hand. "You can’t hope to defeat me, not with Lords,” he laughed.

  “I have touched the barrier of reality,” the Flesh Saint continued, his voice full of twisted pride, “and I’ve glimpsed what lies beyond this cage of a world. I have seen myths, beginnings, and ends. I have—"

  "—seen nothing but the delusions of a madman," Saint Bai interrupted, his voice cold. The Flesh Saint frowned.

  "You seek what I once yearned for, what I desired when I was still mortal," Bai continued, his tone sorrowful. "And I weep for you, dear me."

  The Flesh Saint’s laughter echoed across the clearing as a mound of flesh rose from the ground, shaping itself into a scythe with a blade of sharpened bone. "Your words mean nothing, weakling," he hissed, pointing the scythe at them.

  Tunde felt the overwhelming presence of the Flesh Saint settle over the domain. The very soil and sand beneath their feet transformed into flesh, the wood and metal became bone, and the wet puddles of water turned into stagnant blood.

  “All that exists... is me,” the Flesh Saint declared, charging toward them.