Eldritch Horror Theatre

"Even if you are the fearless White-Hot Knight, against me, the Man-Demon Tyrant, you still fall a little short—keh keh keh—"

Though there was no sun to blot out, amid the Mechanical Tyrant's sinister clamor, the pure-white, inviolable knight of the Sword-Spear was instantly swallowed by a swarm of hideous tentacles.

He dodged, backhanding his weapon to sever swathes of the horrific creations, but the already cramped space was completely overwhelmed by the omnidirectional attack.

Evidently, the special spatial confinement created just now treated all targets equally. Even its initiator was no exception.

Furthermore, the hundreds of tentacles seemed to lash out indiscriminately, yet their angles and force were meticulously controlled. They struck exactly within the drawn boundaries, deliberately avoiding breaking the confinement.

Left with nowhere to hide, the knight's tall figure was instantly pierced through in multiple places. It was a mangled sight that would instinctively stir pity in anyone.

Yet the grotesque figure before him harbored no such mercy, instantly charging forward again.

Squelch—

From amid the still-retracting tentacles, a massive, horrific claw—each fingertip tipped with a jagged barb—tore straight across the gaunt body.

"What a valiant guard. A pity this place cannot escape its fate."

No matter. As long as his mouth still worked, it was fine.

The next moment, Fu Qian's death knell fully displayed the merciless nature of the Resplendent Tyrant.

"How does it feel, Knight of the Apocalypse—"

And its sheer madness.

Immediately after, however, his terror-inducing laughter was cut short by a distinct sound.

...

Space itself seemed to shatter into fragments. Even someone as powerful as the Resplendent Tyrant was left spraying blood from head to toe.

The White-Hot Knight, despite being nearly torn in half, neither dodged nor counterattacked. Instead, he dropped into a half-crouch and viciously drove his weapon into the ground—and then the ground simply ceased to exist.

In that instant, everything within the original area of drawing a circle on the ground as a prison collapsed like a row of dominoes.

The resulting effect was countless sharp crystals coalescing into a massive file, violently grinding against everything inside.

At least, that was how Fu Qian felt.

Judging by the dozens of new wounds that appeared on the White-Hot Knight in the blink of an eye, this effect was equally indiscriminate.

Aside from this realization, it confirmed one more thing: La Nina was definitely not hiding anywhere beneath their feet in this area.

Leveraging a light push while the White-Hot Knight lacked the strength to pursue, Fu Qian retreated from the original range of drawing a circle on the ground as a prison.

That last strike had clearly consumed the previous confinement as well.

Most astonishingly, the ground in that area hadn't truly vanished; it had dissolved into granular crystals resembling quicksand, perfectly matching his earlier assessment of how the White-Hot Knight felt to the touch.

Moreover, they were mineral crystals, not ice crystals.

Aside from the utter lack of traction, Fu Qian felt no chill from this visually deceptive sight.

It was a truly counter-intuitive phenomenon.

But that only lasted a moment. Soon, the area felt identical to the black-and-green ice wall from earlier.

Fu Qian didn't have any more time to study it, as the White-Hot Knight leaped out of the zone as well.

...

Riddled with holes.

No phrase could better describe him.

Unlike Fu Qian—who casually ripped off his ruined head, threw it aside, and pulled a fresh one right out of his neck—the points the White-Hot Knight had allocated to his Health Bar were woefully lacking.

The proof lay in the fact that, even now, the wounds and holes riddling his body showed zero signs of healing.

His earlier theory about the knight's physical composition was also validated.

Grains of crystalline sand trickled from almost every single wound.

Though the total volume of sand loss wasn't massive, it was clear that his Descent had entered its countdown.

Yet he remained entirely fearless. He glanced down at his wounds for barely a second before raising his Longsword to point at Fu Qian again, clearly intent on a battle to the death.

But that was fine. Striking a pose was one thing; at least he hadn't launched straight into another five-hit combo, right?

"You have no idea what you are doing, and you cannot change a thing..."

Witnessing this tragic, heroic display, Fu Qian let out a low chuckle, effortlessly slipping back into his villainous monologue.

Of course, Fu Qian had absolutely no idea what that "thing" actually was.

Spouting these lines all the way wasn't out of some twisted amusement; he was just hitting the date tree whether there were dates or not.

Compared to Pestilence from earlier, this White-Hot Knight was clearly much more introverted and averse to conversation.

Even so, Fu Qian refused to abandon his philosophy that among three people walking together, there is always one who can be my teacher.

Given the knight's disposition, polite small talk would likely yield zero response.

Thus, his core communication strategy was to use the knight's resolute murderous intent as a wedge. By guessing what the man cared about most, he could try to bait a reaction with certain elements.

For instance, the classic trope: guarding something so fiercely that you lose your own humanity in endless slaughter.

White armor and a Greatsword, charging forward undaunted—considering his appearance and vibe, the odds of such a character design were non-zero.

"Impossible..."

To his delight, the effort finally seemed to pay off.

Though the voice was incredibly muffled, Fu Qian managed to parse the words echoing in his mind.

"The seedbed... allows no impurity... no desecration..."

And something more.

Unfortunately, that was all.

Within that final word that seemed to radiate boundless hatred, the white Greatsword slowly rotated, mimicking the salute from earlier.

Without holding the pose for a millisecond longer, the blade smoothly continued its motion, sliding inch by inch across his already-punctured neck, severing it entirely.

Meanwhile, his other hand lifted his severed head, gripping it firmly.

...

So this "impurity" actually included himself? Wasn't that a little extreme?

The whole sequence happened fast, but it still would have been remarkably easy for Fu Qian to interrupt.

Instead of intervening, he watched the body's every move, until a shade of white beyond comparison flooded his vision.

Following the self-decapitation, his opponent launched an attack without a shred of hesitation.

And compared to before, he really did seem to have undergone some changes.

With his head removed and his sense of self obliterated as if it were mere filth, that piercing white seemed to become even more immaculate.

On one hand, the White-Hot Knight could clearly no longer hold a conversation. On the other hand, the destruction brought by his attacks had grown far more exaggerated.

Meeting the attack with a long-prepared, seemingly ordinary punch, Fu Qian silently evaluated his body's feedback.

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