Gurgling figures rose from the pulsing flesh ground all around them—large, grotesque caricatures, mockeries of life. Bone protrusions jutted out from every part of their twisted bodies, their hands ending in razor-sharp claws that glowed faintly with the power of the Flesh Saint. They came for him, claws lashing out, but Zehra’s frost blade technique tore into them, a blizzard erupting around her, its sharp winds as lethal as blades.

  These creatures were peak Lord-rank abominations, their forms made from the very ground beneath them. They felt no pain. Tunde realized this at the same moment the Flesh Saint’s scythe crashed into his naginata. He grunted, nearly driven to his knees by the force. He parried, knowing better than to try to absorb the attack's full strength now that the Saint was at full power.

  A scream tore from Tunde’s throat as he felt his flesh begin to twist, but he quickly flooded his body with essence flames, driving out the Saint’s control. Saint Bai’s white flames followed, cutting off the Flesh Saint’s influence completely.

  With a sudden movement, the Saint kicked Tunde in the midsection, knocking the breath out of him and sending him crashing into the flesh-covered ground. The earth opened beneath him, trying to swallow him whole. But Tunde erupted with Ethra, forcing his way out of its grasp as he twisted through the air.

  Two enormous hands made of flesh shot up from the ground, poised to crush him between them. Tunde summoned void spears around him, dozens manifesting as he drained his core, firing them repeatedly into the fleshy limbs. With a wet crunch, they exploded. Still mid-air, Tunde grabbed two of the spears and hurled them at the Flesh Saint.

  Meanwhile, Bai and his flesh counterpart clashed, though their hands rarely made contact. Instead, raw force—authority, Tunde suspected—crackled between them. The spears flew toward the Saint, but his scythe sliced through them, the projections dissipating in explosive bursts as he snarled.

  Tunde flipped back toward the ground, his naginata slicing through one of the flesh creatures next to Zehra. The earth beneath them began to tremble violently. “Tunde, these creatures!” Zehra snarled, her blade a blur as icicles trailed her movements, freezing, slicing, and shattering the monsters. But more kept rising to replace the fallen.

  “What about them?” Tunde asked, his naginata cleaving another creature in two as Joran’s punch obliterated one’s chest cavity.

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  “They look familiar,” Zehra replied, horror creeping into her voice.

  Tunde struck down another creature, staring at its grotesque, twisted face. Recognition hit him like a hammer. “By the Hegemons,” he whispered, grabbing Zehra and pulling her backward as they retreated, too horrified to speak the truth.

  Tunde turned his attention to the rising pillars of flesh shooting out of the ground like the spears of a germinating plant. “Go! Get to Daiki and Sera,” Tunde urged. Zehra hesitated, confused.

  “Tell them we don’t have time—they need to reach the ship, to find out—” he paused, slicing through two more creatures closing in on them. “Are you mad?” Zehra snapped.

  “We *don’t* have time!” Tunde shouted. “For all we know, they could already be dead,” he whispered, the image of the ship’s captain flashing painfully through his mind.

  Zehra gripped her blade tighter, swallowing hard before shooting toward the exit of the settlement. The lingering Ethra of the Spirit Saint would guide her back to the cave. Tunde turned his focus to the creatures now closing in on him. His void ring opened, and he tossed his naginata inside.

  He was done playing nice. If he had an advantage, it was time to use it.

  Alana’s Fang manifested in his hand—a black blade emanating raw Ethra and aura. He infused it with essence flames, feeling the fire within him sputtering, already on the verge of burning out. He swung it through the creatures, and they ignited like dry paper.

  The ground beneath him burst into flames, turning to black ash, and a scream of agony echoed through the domain. The Flesh Saint roared in pain. From the burning flesh forms, white orbs emerged, swirling toward Saint Bai, who watched in astonishment.

  “What have you done?” the Flesh Saint bellowed, swinging his scythe at Tunde. His relic deflected the blow just as a spear of white flames intercepted it, stopping the attack halfway. The Soul Saint shone brighter than ever.

  “I warned you,” Saint Bai said coldly. “The law of resonance always comes true. You wield mere fragments of the seeds of flesh, fragments of the authority of a Saint... and you’re nothing but a Highlord.” He pointed at Tunde. “This is the law’s answer.”

  “It matters not,” the Flesh Saint growled. “My flesh towers are nearly at full power!” Black Ethra began to pour from him, dark veins spreading from the burning ground into his body, the orb embedded in his chest glowing ominously.

  “Stop him!” Bai roared, launching his spear toward the Flesh Saint. The scythe blocked the strike, but Tunde’s next attack didn’t miss. Alana’s Fang tore through the scythe, shattering it as a violent explosion ripped through the air.

  Tunde was flung to the ground, his senses torn apart by the shockwave. He groaned in pain, his mind spinning. His stomach churned, and he tasted blood on his tongue. His muscles burned, and blood dripped down his face, though he had no idea from where.

  His head pounded, his legs shook, and everything around him blurred.

  Blinking the blood from his eyes, he looked up to see the two Saints grappling, streams of Ethra flowing between them, each trying to overwhelm the other’s body.