“I am not done yet!” Horus snapped, his voice laced with frustration. He refused to accept failure, refused to allow Emery to outshine him. Determined, he turned sharply to issue another command—only to find his formation expert assistant coughing up blood, doubled over in pain.
His other assistant, the Stage 5 Cosmic Magus healer, was completely preoccupied, her hands glowing as she desperately tried to stabilize the wounded man. The poison had already invaded his internal organs, eating away at his life force.
Seeing such a situation, Horus hesitated. He clenched his fists, his noble pride seething as he saw Ivaris smirking at him.
Horus’ lips curled in disdain, but his fury only deepened as he saw Emery confidently stepping forward toward the poisoned tree.
“He’s only in the Magus Realm,” Horus sneered. “There’s no way he can retrieve the flower!” Then, as an afterthought, he added sharply, “And don’t you dare damage it—or you will pay!”
Emery ignored him completely. His focus remained on the ominous, twisted trees standing before him, their blackened bark oozing with toxic mist. Each gnarled root pulsed with venom, releasing wisps of corruption into the air.
Kaelyn, watching closely, took a cautious step back. Unlike the others, she sensed something different about Emery—something dark. She did not interfere but observed with a mixture of curiosity and wariness as he prepared his spell.
There was a reason Emery was so confident in succeeding where even Grand Magus experts had failed. It was because of a presence that whispered in his mind, guiding him.
Chutulu.
<Yes… Just do as I say,> the ancient voice echoed in his mind.
Emery felt the power of Khaos stir within him. Shadows rippled, coiling around his body like unseen tendrils. A dark silhouette loomed behind him—an eldritch shape with countless writhing tentacles.
It was Chutulu.
The monstrous being’s essence funneled into Emery’s core, channeling through his limbs and into his blade-clawed hand. Without hesitation, Emery stabbed his claws into the poisoned earth beneath the trees.
The ground shook.
A deep, reverberating pulse spread outward as dark energy seeped into the roots. The toxic trees quivered in response.
Horus’ expression twisted in alarm. “What is he doing?! he’s going to damage the flower!!” He instinctively stepped forward, ready to intervene—but Ivaris blocked his path.
“Give him time,” Ivaris said, his gaze fixed on Emery with fascination.
On the other hand, Kaelyn’s face turned pale. The two fairies at her side shifted uneasily, their wings fluttering in distress.
“This is…” Kaelyn whispered, her voice barely audible. “Darkness… death… He is not a Fey.”
Instead of resisting the poison, or countering it with spells or barriers, Emery was devouring it.
[Spirit Devour.]
It was an ability that should not have been possible on this scale. But with Chutulu as his guide, Emery had come to understand something crucial—
The poison mist was not just a magical construct. It was alive. A bacterial swarm of microscopic organisms that consumed flesh and spirit alike.
And now, they had found their alpha.
Chutulu’s overwhelming presence commanded the organisms, bending them to his will. The once-hostile bacteria began to shift, slowly assimilating into the eldritch beast’s essence.
<… This will help me recover from our last fight,> Chutulu murmured, his voice like a thousand whispers crawling through Emery’s mind.
At the same time, as the poison was stripped away, what remained was pure energy—energy that flooded into Emery’s body, nourishing him.
[Soul Force has increased.]
[Soul Force has increased.]
[Your comprehension of the Law of Nature has increased.]
Ivaris was the first to realize what was happening. His eyes widened.
“He’s absorbing it… He’s consuming the poison itself.”
Gasps spread through the gathered experts as they watched in disbelief. Even the Grand Magus had struggled against this poison, yet Emery was devouring it like it was sustenance.
Minutes passed. Then longer.
Emery stood there, unmoving, his body pulsing with dark energy as he continued his work.
[Soul Force has increased.]
[Soul Force has increased.]
[Your comprehension of the Law of Devour has increased.]
Ivaris let out a breath of exhilaration. “It’s working! The trees’ lifeforce is weakening!”
The ominous trees began to wither. Their bark cracked. Their roots shriveled.
Then, finally—after half an hour—they collapsed.
The toxic mist that had once made the oasis impassable vanished. The land fell silent, as if exhaling for the first time in centuries.
Horus, on the other hand, was livid. His hands clenched into fists, his nails digging into his palms. He had stood here, helpless, as Emery single-handedly did what he could not.
And now… the flowers were free for the taking.
The moment the mist dissipated, Horus launched forward, his body a blur as he shot toward the oasis, aiming to snatch the prize before Emery could.
But before he could reach them—
SNAP!
A vine lashed out like a whip, cutting off his path.
Kaelyn.
With a single graceful motion, she extended her hand, sending more golden vines slithering forward, forming an impenetrable barrier between Horus and the flowers.
Her eyes were cold as she spoke. “We agreed that I would take the first pick. Let me harvest them properly.”
Horus glared at her but said nothing. He had no choice. Despite his arrogance, he knew that Kaelyn, as a Fey, had an unmatched reputation when it came to handling delicate flora. Mishandling these flowers would ruin their potency.
Everyone watched in tense silence as Kaelyn approached the now-exposed rainbow flowers. Carefully, she extended her hands, her magic radiating in soft, emerald hues.
Gently, she loosened the soil around their roots, ensuring they remained intact. With delicate precision, she pulled the three flowers free, their radiant petals still pulsing with energy, their roots still clinging to rich, nourishing dirt.
As she stepped back toward the group, holding the precious flowers in her hands, a shadow moved.
Horus.
Once again, he stepped forward.
“I demand one stalk of the flower for myself.” His voice was low, controlled—but the tension in his posture was unmistakable.
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