Interlude 3.37 [Nal-Serath]

The moment the Heavenly Leviathan vanished, her aura vanished with her.

That terrible, crushing pressure that had paralyzed every creature on the battlefield, Kovrath and Depth Dweller, elder and demigods alike, simply evaporated. One moment it was there, pressing down on their souls like the thumb of an indifferent god. The next, it was gone and the absence was almost as disorienting as the presence had been.

The old dance resumed immediately. Serath's precognition screamed, and he twisted aside just as a massive blade carved through the space where his torso had been. The Metal demigod was already on him, relentless as ever, the hunter's mark was crawling up his spine. Serath wove through the follow-up strikes with fluid grace.

But his attention kept snagging on the golden dragon.

She had emerged from the obelisk's ruins like something out of legend. Her form had changed. Subtle mutations rippled across her frame: an extra pair of wings folded against her spine, a more serpentine elongation to her body, something in the way her scales caught the light that suggested a density of presence that hadn't been there before. She was larger and a bit sharper.

And yet.

Serath's heart sank as his senses probed deeper. She was still Red Core. Still fundamentally the same tier of power she'd been when they sealed her. Whatever changes she'd undergone, whatever mutations had reshaped her body, they hadn't advanced her core. And without that advancement, without crossing that unbridgeable chasm between Red and Gold, she was still hopelessly outmatched against three demigods of equal rank.

He swallowed his disappointment. Even his divinations confirmed it. She shouldn't have been able to break free for at least a month, the seal had been woven with sacrificial anchors, powered by the mass suicide of an entire ritual circle. The fact that she'd escaped in a week was a miracle already.

But whether it was a blessing or a curse, he couldn't feel happy about it. She was formidable, yes. With his guidance, his ability to see the threads of fate and direct her strikes where they would do the most damage, she might become a nuisance. A capable distraction that bought them time. But in the end, his people would still be dead. Even if she survived, there was no scenario where she defeated three Gold Core demigods. The math simply didn't permit it.

Still. Serath braced himself. If nothing else, this bought him more time. Depending on her new capabilities, she might be able to delay the inevitable. And if the other tribes arrived, if the Verdant remnants or the Divine Flame survivors answered the call his scouts had carried, there might be a chance. However slim and desperate.

He wove around another attack, spatial blade passing close enough to shave scales from his shoulder, and braced for the follow-up that his divination told him was coming— it was a spear thrust that would skewer him through the spine if he didn't—

It never came.

Serath's eyes narrowed. He looked at the spot he'd just vacated.

The golden dragon stood there. She had her head tilted, watching the Metal demigod with an expression of intense… clinical curiosity. The massive spear, imbued with the very concept of the Hunt, a strike that should have been unerring and absolute, shattered against her claws like a child's toy. She'd flicked her wrist casually. As if brushing away a gnat.

That was impossible.

No Red Core, no matter how durable, no matter how optimized their defenses, should have been able to shatter a Gold Core attack. Especially not from a demigod walking the path of Hunt. The gap between tiers was supposed to be absolute. It was one of the fundamental laws of power that Serath had built his entire understanding of combat around.

And she had just broken it just like that.

He wanted to divine how she'd done it. The question burned in his mind, demanding an answer immediately. But her threads were as opaque as ever, she was a blank spot in the threads of fate. He couldn't rely on his usual perception to track her. He had to keep his eyes open and his mundane senses sharp, and that was harder than it sounded for someone who had spent centuries relying on precognition to do the work for him.

He braced for another attack. His divination told him he'd be under assault again within the next second—

The golden dragon vanished.

She reappeared behind the Space demigod, claws already mid-swing, and Serath's breath caught in his throat. The Space demigod smirked. His hand waved through the air, and the space around the dragon began to ripple and contract, the familiar precursor to a forced teleportation. Serath had seen this trick before. The Space demigod would shunt her directly into the path of the Nature demigod's [Annihilation Decay Ray], an attack that had already been weaving and was now fully formed. It was a beam of concentrated entropy that would reduce anything it touched to dust.

Last time, these bastards had been playing with her and buying time for the ritual. This time, it seemed like they were leaving nothing to chance. That attack would leave her gravely wounded at best. At worst—

Serath was already moving, mapping every possible location he could intercept her and every safe point he could drag her to for emergency healing—

Then the teleportation magic collapsed, dissipating into nothing before it could take form around her. The Space demigod's eyes widened in what Serath could only describe as genuine astonishment, which was an expression he hadn't seen on that smug face in the entire course of the battle.

The dragon's claws swept through empty air as the Space demigod teleported himself to safety at the last possible instant. The Nature demigod's [Annihilation Decay Ray] found nothing but empty sky.

She landed on the shattered ground and stood there, motionless for a moment. Her violet eyes swept across the battlefield below her with an expression Serath couldn't quite read. Was it assessment? Calibration? Like she was getting a feel for something.

It was strange to describe it that way, but that was exactly what was happening. Over the next several moments, she teleported around the battlefield in short, staccato bursts, appearing, striking, vanishing, reappearing elsewhere. She moved her body in ways that seemed almost experimental, like she was testing its limits. Getting used to it. Relearning her own physicality.

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And she mainly targeted the demigods. That was the part Serath couldn't understand. Every time she engaged, it was against one of the three Gold Cores. Every time they retaliated with magic, it had no effect. She dodged what she chose to dodge. Shattered what she chose to shatter. Shielded herself with spells Serath didn't recognize, casting a myriad of techniques that seemed almost random, testing everything, trying everything, gathering information. She hadn't truly committed to an offensive yet. But it was becoming increasingly clear what she was doing.

This was a diagnostic.

She vanished again.

…And reappeared directly behind him.

Serath nearly jumped out of his skin. His precognition had given him nothing. He hated her fateless nature. It was like being blind in a room full of knives.

"You appear to be the commanding authority here." Her voice was different from before. There was an archaic weight to her words that hadn't been there during her earlier battle. "Attend my words with the gravity they warrant. Gather your warriors and withdraw from this engagement. This battle no longer concerns you."

Serath opened his mouth. There were a dozen objections queued up— strategic concerns, the impossibility of disengaging cleanly, the fact that retreating now would leave their flanks exposed to slaughter—

"When I offer a command," she continued, her violet eyes swirling with something deeply unamused, "it is not an invitation to negotiation. Your martial conduct has been... adequate. Holding opponents of superior cultivation at bay with nothing but foresight and discipline speaks to a certain caliber of leadership that I am reluctantly inclined to acknowledge. But this battle was never yours to win. It was a foregone conclusion written before the first drop of blood was spilled. Withdraw now, and raise every barrier and bulwark at your disposal around your sanctuaries." Her gaze swept across the carnage below, and her expression flickered— just for an instant— into something that might have been distaste. "My engagements have a tendency to become... indiscriminate. I would prefer not to waste effort distinguishing ally from obstacle."

Serath's mind raced. Every tactical instinct screamed at him to argue. But he had seen what she'd done to the Metal demigod's attack. He had watched their magic collapse around her like paper in a fire. Whatever trump card she was holding—and she was clearly holding one, even if he couldn't sense it, even if it left no trace on the threads of fate—it was enough to make three Gold Core demigods look impotent.

With her, he could plot a path to victory. He could finally see a future that didn't end in annihilation.

He opened his mouth to say as much—

And immediately fell to his knees.

His heart seized and clenched in his chest like a fist had closed around it and squeezed. Terror, pure, primal, reason-shattering terror, flooded through him with no source and no explanation. It was just there, inside him, gripping his soul with fingers made of absolute, unassailable dread.

A spell. It was a spell! Cast directly inside his body.

His eyes shook as he looked up at the dragon who had— must have— cast it. She was watching him with an expression of cool, detached assessment. Like she was observing a mildly interesting specimen.

"Ah." Her voice was soft now, almost wistful. "There was a time when my mere presence sufficed to induce this reaction. Mortals would prostrate themselves the moment they glimpsed my shadow. The awe was... effortless." She flexed her claws, examining them with an idle sort of interest. "I suppose I must work with the tools at hand, crude as they are. Magic will suffice."

The grip on his heart tightened, just fractionally, just enough to remind him it was there.

"I perceive a recalcitrance in your bearing, little seer. A nascent objection forming on your tongue. Permit me to disabuse you of any misconception." She leaned closer, and Serath felt the words more than heard them. "I did not tender a suggestion. I issued a command. The distinction is not subtle, and your continued existence depends upon your ability to grasp it. The sole reason I am extending this courtesy at all is that your demise would create... complications... with my current self. A circumstance I find inconvenient. So I will speak plainly, and you WILL listen."

Her eyes locked onto his, and the pressure in his chest became absolute.

"Withdraw your forces this instant, or they will perish alongside your enemies. It is a statement of fact, not a threat. Now remove yourself from my battlefield before I reconsider my generosity."

The grip around his heart eased. Serath gasped, air flooding back into his lungs, his hands trembling against the broken stone beneath him.

What in the name of the Divine Dragon had that been?

Spells couldn't be cast directly inside someone's body. It was one of the fundamental principles of magical combat, innate resistance existed, the body's natural rejection of foreign mana, made it functionally impossible to manifest hostile magic inside another living being. You could attack from outside. You could overwhelm their defenses. But to reach directly into someone's chest and seize their heart with pure magical force? That wasn't supposed to be possible. Not at her tier. Not even a Gold Core of superior rank could pull it off.

Unless.

Unless she wasn't using mana at all.

His eyes widened. Divinity. She was wielding divinity! But that made no sense— Serath had spent his entire existence steeped in sacred energy, had dedicated his life to understanding its nature and its source. He knew what divinity felt like. He could sense it the way a fish sensed water. And yet from her, there was nothing. There was no trace or signature. Her spells left no mana behind just like her presence left no mark on the threads of fate.

And yet the evidence was incontrovertible. She had shattered a Gold Core attack with a flick of her claws. She had unraveled advanced spatial magic without apparent effort. She had cast a spell directly inside his body, bypassing defenses that should have been absolute.

Sacred energy was diluted divinity. A pale shadow of the real thing. And even diluted, it was potent enough to make the Kovraths formidable beyond their tier. If she was wielding pure divinity— that undiluted, concentrated, the energy of the Divine Dragon herself—

Then the gap between Red and Gold didn't matter. It had never mattered. She wasn't playing the same game anymore.

Serath had no idea what was happening. He had no framework for understanding what she had become. And at this point, he was too exhausted to try.

So he did the only thing he could do.

He bowed.

His heart was still hammering against his ribs, his breath still coming in ragged gasps, but his voice was steady when he spoke. "Yes. It shall be as you command."

He had been given no choice. But more than that, he recognized the weight behind her words. She was a dragon. The same species as their creator. Refusing her would be blasphemy. Obeying was simply... natural.

Through the command link, he sent the order pulsing to every surviving commander, every remaining elder, every officer who still had soldiers to lead. Full retreat. All forces withdraw to the inner layers. Raise every barrier we have. Now.

The responses were immediate and varied. There was confusion and outrage. Demands for explanation. One of the surviving elders, Vashne, Third Wave, who had lost her entire battalion in the last hour, outright refused, her fury bleeding through the link, fuelled by grief and a hunger for vengeance.

Explain yourself, First Elder. Why are we retreating? What—

Serath silenced her with a pulse of pure authority. Because I have given the order. That is explanation enough. Move. Now!

There was no time for debate. No time to explain that a Red Core dragon who shouldn't exist had just threatened to annihilate them if they didn't clear the blast radius. No time to describe the feeling of your own heart being squeezed by an invisible hand and the sheer terror such act had induced within his psyche.

"But an immediate withdrawal will be tactically unfeasible given the present circumstances," he said aloud, his voice carefully measured. "If we turn our backs to the enemy as things stand, the rearguard will be—"

"Oh, there is no need to watch your backs." The dragon's voice was cold. "Simply turn and flee with whatever alacrity your feeble wings can manage."

Behind her, three identical replicas materialized out of nothing. Each one wore the same expression. They looked at Serath the way a cat looked at a particularly delectable morsel, and Serath felt something in his hindbrain start screaming all over again.

"There will be no one behind you," the dragon said, "once you turn your backs. You have my word on that."