Western Addus – Wastelands Outside Karnak City
The boundless desert wasteland was now blanketed in smoke and ash. What had once been the forward position of the Savior’s Advent Sect was now littered with densely packed shell craters. Around these craters, trenches crisscrossed the land, and the corpses of fallen soldiers lay scattered. Most of these were soldiers of the Savior’s Advent Sect—some were gunned down, others mangled beyond recognition by explosions. Fires still burned in many places, and the air reeked of scorched flesh.
A large number of Revolutionary Army soldiers were now sweeping the battlefield, gathering spoils into piles, tending to wounded on both sides, and corralling surrendered enemies for disarmament. All signs pointed to the same conclusion: the battle had ended, and the attackers—the Revolutionary Army—had secured a decisive victory.
With overwhelming manpower and firepower, the Revolutionary Army quickly overran all the outer defenses around Karnak. Without undead reinforcements, the Savior’s Advent Sect crumbled rapidly, unable to mount any meaningful resistance. The Revolutionary forces suffered minimal losses as they cleared the outskirts. With the command structure of the Savior’s forces completely broken, their soldiers were captured en masse without even managing to organize a proper counterattack.
Standing amidst the devastation in the uniform of a high-ranking mainland officer, Shadi held a pair of binoculars and gazed into the distance. From where he stood, he could already see the outline of Karnak City. Victory was just one step away.
“General, all outer positions that could pose a threat to our siege have been eliminated. There’s nothing left standing between us and Karnak. The city is as good as ours. We can rest the troops for half a day before launching the final assault,” reported Adan, one of Shadi’s officers, suggesting a brief pause.
Shadi lowered his binoculars, turned to Adan, and replied.
“No need for that long of a break. Our troops are in high spirits—now’s the time to press forward. At most, rest for thirty minutes, then continue the offensive.”
“Half an hour? Isn’t that a bit short? The soldiers might get fatigued from continuous fighting.”
Adan said with concern.Shadi quickly responded.
“From the look of the last skirmish, the enemy was completely disorganized, fighting separately without coordination. They fell apart even faster than we expected. I believe their command structure is broken—chaos below because of failure above. That’s why we were able to win so easily.
“So we can’t afford to wait. We must end this while they’re still disorganized. If we give them time to reestablish their command, we’ll be forced into street fighting, and if they’re well-prepared, we’ll suffer heavy losses. While they’re still scrambling, let’s finish it in one push.”
Adan nodded silently, apparently convinced by Shadi’s analysis, then turned to relay the general’s orders.
Once Adan left, Shadi once again turned his gaze toward Karnak in the distant desert. After watching for a while, he focused his attention on the high mountains behind the city. After staring at the peaks for some time, he lowered his binoculars and spoke to the spirit dwelling within him.
“Setut… what do you think those Heaven’s Arbiter cultists are up to at the royal mausoleum? Could this sudden collapse of command in Karnak be related to their operation?”
But unlike before, the ancient undead inside him did not respond right away. Instead, it remained silent. This silence puzzled Shadi.
“Setut? What’s wrong, Setut?”
After a moment’s silence, Setut finally replied in a hushed, incredulous tone.
“The madman… That madman… How could he be here? It’s not possible… there’s no reason for his power to have spread here…”
Hearing this, Shadi felt even more confused and pressed the spirit inside him with a solemn voice.
“Madman? What madman? Did someone important from the Savior’s Advent Sect arrive?”
“No… not a new madman from the Savior’s side… an old one. A madman twisted over thousands of years. Pitiful… and monstrous. He is a sinner, a prisoner, a lunatic… the greatest taboo among existences like myself…”
…
Northern Karnak, Dead Eagle Valley, Rachman Royal Mausoleum.
Within the vast underground palace of the mausoleum, shadows spread. Dark sigils emerged. Icy cold filled the air…
A giant, semi-transparent mummified face—adorned with countless golden ornaments—loomed into view, its fearsome gaze fixed upon the sand giant lizard in the center of the mausoleum. All around, the black handprints continued to spread, rapidly crawling toward the sand lizard. Soon, they began stamping upon its body, covering it inch by inch until the entire massive creature was immobilized under the pressure of the marks.
“What is… this!?”
Inside the body of the sand lizard, Chabakunka was horrified to discover that he could no longer control its form. His own soul and the summoned wild spirits were completely suppressed. He couldn’t muster any power at all. A tremendous fear spread through Chabakunka and his spirits. He could feel their souls trembling under the pressure of this monstrous mummified face. For the first time, Chabakunka found himself unable to even raise the will to resist.
He sensed the terrifying spiritual presence before him radiating intense hatred and resentment. He thought perhaps this was a powerful wraith and mustered his strength to speak, hoping to banish it.
“Resentful soul… this world is not where you belong. Lay down your burdens. Obey the great guidance… and return!”
Chabakunka tried to use his burial rite ability to guide the spirit into the Netherworld—but it had no effect. Instead, the mummy’s illusory form sneered and responded in ancient North Ufigan.
“I’m not going anywhere… Not until the dynasty is reborn through death! Not even gods can expel me!”
As it spoke, ghostly flames ignited upon its pained face. In the void above, two massive skeletal, charred, clawed hands, each resembling something dragged from a cremated corpse, manifested in midair. They swooped down together and pierced into the body of the sand lizard, directly grabbing hold of the spirits within. Chabakunka’s own soul was immediately crushed under their grip.
Then, the blackened skeletal arms began to pull outward. In short order, they yanked out two spirit forms—Sandtongue, the lizard-like wild spirit, and Soulcall, the chicken-like wild spirit. Both thrashed violently, but it was utterly futile. The skeletal hands clenched, and in an instant, both wild spirits were crushed into drifting fragments, scattering like spiritual ash through the air.
After the two wild spirits were crushed, the massive sand lizard collapsed with a thunderous crash, disintegrating into sand that poured to the ground. Once the sand settled, Chabakunka’s physical body was revealed, eyes wide in shock as he fell from midair and landed heavily on the thick sand.
“You can’t hide, Boyle… No matter what you hide in, you can’t escape…”
Once again, the two withered cursed hands reached down, seizing the fallen Chabakunka. They ripped two souls from his body. One was Chabakunka’s own, the other belonged to Mohn, the soul he had used as his vessel. Both faces bore expressions of pure terror.
The cursed hands then tossed Mohn’s soul aside and reached again for Chabakunka’s spirit, aiming to tear it apart. As the ripping began, Chabakunka felt a piercing pain from the depths of his soul. He watched helplessly as his soul rapidly unraveled, consciousness descending into chaos. And only then did he understand what he was truly facing.
“A... curse…”
“What’s happening? Why am I suddenly afflicted by such a powerful curse?!”
Under the grasp of the cursed black hands, Chabakunka’s soul—at Crimson rank Silence strength—began to collapse. His spiritual arms were torn off, vanishing into thin air, followed by his legs and then his torso. That’s when he finally realized the cause.
“It was that soul! The one I devoured earlier!”
Chabakunka remembered clearly, he had never before been cursed this severely. There could be only one explanation: the curse belonged to the soul he had consumed. By devouring it, he had overlaid his own soul upon theirs, and until the consumed soul was fully refined, any curse it bore would transfer to him. This manifested curse sought to tear his soul apart, not just to destroy him, but to release its original target… so it could curse her instead.
Realizing this, Chabakunka frantically tried to expel the soul he had devoured. But purging a soul took time, and time stretched painfully long during the agony of soul-rending. After enduring unbearable torment, he finally spat out the spirit as a flickering soul flame. By then, most of his own spirit body had been torn away. Limbs and part of his torso were gone. His soul had weakened so much it could no longer maintain its form, and after spitting out the cursed soul, it collapsed into a trembling wisp of soul flame.
“Found you…”
Seeing Chabakunka expel the soul it sought, the colossal mummy-like specter revealed a grotesque grin. Its giant black cursed hand extended toward the newly released soul.
At that moment, hidden within the sepulcher, Dorothy sensed through the information channel that Nephthys was being rapidly overtaken by the curse. She immediately transmitted a message to Gregor far away:
“Mr. Hunter, inject the spirituality!”
Thousands of kilometers away in Tivian, in the underground vault of the Boyle family’s new estate in Pritt, Gregor clutched the golden scepter. Upon hearing Dorothy’s voice in his mind, he immediately channeled Revelation spirituality into the scepter. The avian eyes atop the scepter gleamed with a flicker of light.
Back in Rachman’s mausoleum, the dark cursed hand that had been reaching for Nephthys’s soul suddenly froze mid-air, completely paralyzed as if some invisible force blocked it. The terrifying mummy visage began to blur and distort.
“Wha... What... No... No!”
Sensing something had gone terribly wrong, the mummy wraith began howling in rage. Before everyone’s eyes, the countless black handprints covering the tomb rapidly faded. The cursed hands disintegrated and scattered like dust.
“No… NO! Boyle… How dare you… Return the Holy Scepter…”
Amidst its bitter screams, the mummy phantom twisted and dissolved into nothingness. As the last of the cursed marks vanished from the mausoleum, the phantom and its hands vanished entirely. The once-crowded mausoleum now felt vastly emptier—only a few soul flames remained floating in the still air.
Among those, the most violently flickering was Chabakunka’s soul flame. Despite the brutal assault, it retained a sliver of consciousness. Seeing the terrible curse vanish, he sighed with relief and struggled to keep his soul from dissipating, desperately preparing to flee.
“I have to… I must leave this place immediately!”
With that thought, Chabakunka began initiating a reverse spirit-summoning ritual, intending to use his soul’s remaining strength to return, along with the spirit-bound divine artifact, to the Nether Coffin Order’s territory. Rachman’s soul may have been lost, but at least he could still bring back the divine artifact.
But this required activating power in a purely spiritual state—without a host body. Such an act placed heavy strain on the soul and was severely self-destructive. Yet Chabakunka no longer had a choice.
Just as he began the ritual, a sharp thunderclap rang out through the mausoleum. A bolt of lightning shot from the sepulcher, striking directly at Chabakunka’s soul flame. The searing light made it tremble violently and shrink drastically.
Shocked by the impact, Chabakunka’s soul cohesion collapsed. In panic, he looked toward the sepulcher doors—and saw a masked figure in a robe flying out, racing toward him with lightning energy crackling around them.
“It’s them! That hidden member of the Heaven’s Arbiter Cult!”
Realizing the incoming threat, Chabakunka felt despair flood his heart. In his current state, he could no longer complete the spirit-summoning. As a defenseless remnant soul, there was no way he could contend with a fully intact White Ash-rank Beyonder. His fate now was certain: soul annihilation, followed by capture and eternal imprisonment.
“No. I refuse to accept that!”
Chabakunka’s soul surged with resistance. He wouldn’t accept such a fate. Not without one last struggle.
Even as a remnant soul, he could burn what little essence remained and forcibly summon a powerful spirit to fight on his behalf, to cover his escape.
Souls are hard to fully destroy. If he did this, his soul would be reduced to a mere strand, incapable of maintaining any spirituality, drifting for over a hundred years before potentially regaining sentience. It would be no different from death in the eyes of others. But even so, he would not let his soul fall into the enemy’s hands. If they refined souls, he would be utterly finished.
For the same reason, he couldn’t risk using soul-burning to instantly reverse-summon himself back to the Nether Coffin Order’s base. Who knew what his colleagues and subordinates might do to his vulnerable soul? That might be worse than capture.
So Chabakunka made his choice—instantly.
Faced with oncoming death, he burned his remaining soul and performed a summoning spell in one final burst.
The summoning ritual activated in a blink. A complex array spread across the ground. Chabakunka’s fragile soul flame dimmed to a thin wisp. He could no longer maintain the Goblet of Nether Guidance; the spectral goblet, like an antique oil lamp, fell from the air.
Dorothy’s eyes locked onto it.
Just then, a soul rose from the ritual circle and caught the falling phantom goblet.
It was the spirit of a middle-aged man with a thick beard, wearing a helmet and luxurious North Ufigan-style armor with distinct Addus design elements. When Dorothy saw his face beneath the helmet, she instantly felt a jolt of familiarity—and quickly realized why.
His face bore a striking resemblance to Mazarr. They were clearly blood relatives.
This was none other than Diedin Baruch, the last King of Baruch, slain by Shadi and Muhtar—a father to Mazarr.
“Go forth, last King of Baruch… Do whatever it is you desire! Stall them for me… You, our most successful experiment of the Soul Desecration Cult… let’s see how complete you truly are…”
With the last of his awareness, Chabakunka whispered to Diedin’s spirit. Then, his final soul thread drifted out of the mausoleum—and consciousness left him completely.
As a Crimson-rank Great Shaman, he was now dead by all conventional standards. For this era, he would have no more presence. Perhaps a hundred years from now, he might return as a “mentor ghost” to guide some young hero—and bide his time for resurrection…