He was wizened and skeletal, shrouded in gray, black miasma. Sightless sockets burned with twin green flames.
This was Ghostshade, one of the infamous Five Shade Demons, master of soul-gnawing sorcery and already Level Three of the Heavenly Immortal Realm.
His body blurred, after-images trailed like torn banners as he materialized at the hall’s center in a single heartbeat. Stretching a stick-thin finger toward Neville, he hissed, “Mr. Contreras, your instruction, please…”
Before the last consonant faded, ghostly shrieks erupted. Vengeful spirits poured from his aura, a tidal wave of wailing spirits crashing toward Neville.
Frost clawed through the chamber, carrying the stench of decay so thick it scoured the sinuses raw. Terror rippled through the watching disciples. The sight of a thousand ravenous souls was enough to fracture weaker minds.
Yet before Neville could raise a hand, a clear, cold voice rang out like silver striking steel.
“Abominations, know your place! I’ll be your opponent!”
A surge of ice-blue sword light swept down, bright as a river of stars spilling from the heavens, cleaving straight into the horde of spirits.
Where the blade’s brilliance passed, specters sizzled like snowflakes under sunlight, shrieking as they vanished into nothingness.
Sylvia moved like a startled swan, her snowy robes billowing as she lifted a sword that exhaled glacial vapors.
The legacy of Heaven Gate Sect pulsed within her, including the power of peak Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Two. That new power, pure and abundant, was poison to aberrations like the one blocking the throne room.
“Oh? Heavenly Immortal, Level Two?” Ghostshade rasped, green flames dancing behind his sockets. “Cute, child, but that scrap of cultivation won’t save you.”
He wove a rapid seal; midnight mists condensed into a colossal claw, each knuckle shaped from interlocking skulls. It descended with a shriek sharp enough to cut the air itself. Even before impact, the talons’ wind sliced trenches across the marble beneath Sylvia’s boots.
“Snow-Dance Freeze!” Sylvia’s cry cracked through the hall like frost splitting glass.
Her body whirled with the blade; wherever steel swept, the throne room crystallized into biting white.
Snowflakes spun out of nothing, caught in the orbit of her sword until they coalesced into a roaring blizzard that met the oncoming claw.
The collision split the silence, raw shockwaves rippling outward.
Light and darkness, ice and malice, slammed together in the center of the chamber. The blast howled through the rafters, stone tiles exploded to gravel, and lesser disciples of the Nethergate Sect were tossed like dolls across the floor.
For a heartbeat, they wrestled, but Ghostshade’s cultivation was the deeper river. His claw clenched, the blizzard shattered into glittering shards that rained harmlessly to the ground.
A muffled grunt escaped Sylvia, blood streaked the corner of her lips as she staggered back several paces. The icy glow of her sword dimmed, though it did not extinguish.
“Ms. Vale!” Neville shouted, ready to charge.
“I’m fine!” Wiping the blood away, she squared her shoulders; determination burned clearer than the failing light on her blade.
The Heaven Gate Sect’s legacy stitched her wounds almost as fast as they formed, lending her a resilience that belied her slender frame.
Cackling, Ghostshade blurred forward again, two skeletal hands streaked for her throat and heart, leaving only gray afterimages.
“You’re mine!”
The shout crashed through the air like a thunderclap. In the same instant, Neville flashed before Sylvia, his robe snapping as he intercepted the attack.
Though once weaker than the Soul Devourer, Neville’s strength had long breached Heavenly Immortal Realm Level Three, more than enough to deal with Ghostshade.
A flicker, and he stood between friend and foe, feet planted like iron posts. Rather than dodge those vicious claws, he answered with a straight, unembellished punch.
