Chapter 201. Astral Plane
The wretched abomination of the sky continued its descent, twitching and spasming as if in defiance of the inevitable. Its grotesque form, spiraled slowly—agonizingly—toward the blood-colored sea below.
Each convulsion was weaker than the last, every movement a pitiful, dying echo of the malice it once carried.
Art watched from his vantage, expression unreadable. At first, a rush of satisfaction flared in his chest—ecstasy at the sight of that thing falling. But it didn’t last. His eyes narrowed, and the flicker of a grin faded. ’So, I won’t be the one to end this bastard...’
There was disappointment, sure. But also something else. ’No matter. At least it’s being given a fitting end. Slow, cruel, and well-earned.’
Still, a pang of frustration lingered. Even if he wanted to intervene he couldn’t. Not with the Red Sea. That place wasn’t something he could tamper with. Even hiding in a fold of space, a sliver between existence and the void, didn’t grant him safety from the aftershocks radiating below.
He felt it. The pull.
His mind quivered under the weight of it. As if his consciousness itself was being magnetized toward the Red Sea. Only sheer willpower held him together. Just a little less, and he would’ve joined the fate of that twitching husk.
’Tsk... Tsk... Where the hell were these freaks hiding all this time? Why were they stagnated all the time?’ he thought bitterly.
’Why now of all times? What changed? Did someone finish a ritual? Maybe a sacrifice... like the merfolk?’
But speculation offered no answers. He had nothing but questions, theories chasing each other in frantic circles.
The Rift’s Descent. The appearance of unknowable beings, monstrous and mad. The suddenness of it all.
’When I first shook hands with Isolde... I never imagined it would end like this. Did reviving the White Dragon of Grief really cause this cascade? A chain reaction from a single touchpoint?’