Demonic Kitsune

“The… fuck?”

The Fairy Knight, hurled by the Nin's demonic energy-coated punch, careened past the Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath. They scattered, desperate to avoid being crushed by his impact. The Saint crashed into a gorge, carving out a deep crater with jagged cracks that spiderwebbed outward. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth as he spat out in disbelief.

The sheer force of the clash left him reeling, shaking him to his core. Even the Monsterized Knights of Wrath stood frozen, eyes wide with shock.

“What the hell?”

“Even the Fairy Saint was knocked back!”

“No, it wasn’t the Arrancar bitch that did that...”

“Then who? Damn it!”

“It seems… a reinforcement with immense power has arrived for them.”

As their surprised murmurs filled the air, flashes of lightning revealed the young Arrancars emerging from the storm, with the Nin leading the charge.

The Fairy Saint, however, was still in shock. He hadn’t sensed the attacker until they were within a hair's breadth, and by then, it was too late. The attack, moving faster than sound itself, had slammed him into the gorge. It shattered his Holy Magic barrier, pierced through his Divine robe’s defenses, and left him separated from his opponent. Now, rain poured down on him, soaking his tangled hair and tattered robe, while lightning illuminated his grim face.

Meanwhile, Clare, the one who had delivered the devastating blow, stood deep in thought. Her gaze was fixed on the familiar figure in the Saint’s robe, particularly the weapon in his grasp.

The dragon-fanged greatsword… Could it really be crafted from the white southern dragon’s fangs? The very beast she had slain in her past life as the Heavenly Saintess? If so, it was a rare and formidable weapon. She recalled the fierce battle to bring down that dragon—a creature so powerful it had nearly dragged her to the afterlife with it. The Central Holy Church had claimed the carcass, leaving her with only the energy core and a few materials to fashion her robe. That was the robe she had worn on the day of the bloody crusade.

But that was long ago. Clare found herself momentarily dazed, seeing a piece of that dragon now reforged into a greatsword, its blade crackling with unique tendrils of energy. Yet, she wasn’t surprised that the Saint could wield it. Wielding and mastering its power were entirely different challenges. Those who could handle such a unique weapon often had a weakness—whether they lacked the inner strength of a true Saint, or their Holy Mana was so unstable it needed constant regulation.

It was hard to say which weakness the Saint before her possessed, but there had to be something. No one wielded such an unusual weapon unless they had something to hide. But why was the Fairy Saint of the Central Holy Church here, of all places, with this sword?

Clare flexed her hand, the air humming with tension as she turned to stand by Noir. She tried to deduce the Saint’s weakness, her mind racing as the wind whipped away the smoke that drifted from the gorge where the Saint had landed. The sound of footsteps echoed, and the Saint emerged, brushing off his wet, dirt-streaked robe.

His once-proud, handsome face was now a mask of frustration, his features hardened by the battle. Lightning flickered across the sky, casting sharp shadows over his scowling expression as he flexed his weapon, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. His gaze locked onto the Nin who had turned him into this bedraggled mess. The Saint’s expression was clear—he was on the edge of losing control.

“If you throw that explosive punch one more time, you’ll be in the way, and I’ll have no choice but to slay the innocent!” The Fairy Saint’s voice was calm, but it held an impulsive edge as if he could snap at any moment. 

His body shimmered with Holy Mana, healing the internal injuries from the crash. He wiped the blood from the corner of his lips and braced himself, ready to attack.

Clare didn’t respond as rain droplets tickled down her hair. Instead, she gave a sharp order to the First Young Arrancar Squad. “Come down and protect the members of the Second Young Arrancar Squad!”

As soon as they heard the command, the members of the First Young Arrancar Squad, driven by fierce fighting spirit, charged down the treacherous landscape. The area was thick with glistening shrubs and water-laden vines clinging to slick, rocky slopes. Jagged peaks, drenched in lush greenery, pierced the stormy sky. Such terrain would challenge any combatant, but not these young Arrancars—they had adapted to these conditions since childhood.

Zhan Ruyan leaped first, positioning himself as if he could protect everyone by himself with his strong physique.

Clare’s "Seventh Mind" activated automatically. Her ears perked up in alarm, and her bushy tail curled up its ends in response to the impending danger. Swiftly, she unwrapped her scythe and swung it just in time, blocking the Fairy Saint's greatsword as it came crashing down toward Noir. Clare wasn’t just blocking; she was shielding Noir, who now stood behind her. Noir recognized the gesture and, with a faint smile, warned, "GiMEL, that Saint bastard can heal himself—he just did!"

Clare, her scythe still extended, replied without turning, “I can tell. Just don’t distract me!”

“Sure… But—” Noir smiled, realizing there was little she could do right now. She could only obey the one she liked, the one who had answered her call for rescue. Huffing, she gripped her broadsword, though her hand trembled from exhaustion and cold. “The Fairy Saint is an Arrancar Grandmaster-rank combatant. Can you deal with him alone?”

“You could say that,” Clare replied. “Just rest, and don’t try any tricks to assist. You’d only drag me down.”

“Alright, don’t die!”

Ignoring Noir's concern, Clare swung her scythe again, the movement faster and lighter. Noir, with rain dripping down her face and blurring her vision, almost missed the swiftness of Clare’s strike. Even the Fairy Saint was caught off guard.

Since when is GIMEL this fast? SETH—Noir—stared in shock. A sly smile spread across her face as she blinked, her eyes catching something unexpected—

—GIMEL had removed two of her alloy-steel bracers.

She had done it just before dashing past Noir to strike the Fairy Saint. The situation was urgent, and Clare had made a quick decision, knowing she wasn’t strong enough to face her opponent with all the bracers on.

To be more accurate, Clare marveled at how light her body felt, her movements unburdened. Even when she faced the First Purple, the moment she removed two bracers, the sensation of freedom was indescribable. She felt an addictive rush of power with every restraint she shed. But Clare knew—she must never remove the rest of the bracers around her feet.

If she became addicted to this sensation, she wouldn’t be able to train properly. Unless it was a matter of life or death, Clare had firmly decided not to remove the bracers on her legs, even though the "Ancient Text" could be fully utilized in such cases. How would she defeat opponents stronger than this if she removed all her bracers today, just because her current opponent was an Arrancar Grandmaster, as Noir had stated?

For heaven's sake, she had been the Heavenly Saintess in her previous life. Both her demon and foxy sides could relate to those thoughts as she let out a deep breath.

The Fairy Saint, on the other hand, stared at her, rain dripping down his face. “Are you the Hound that made that psycho stall for time?”

“Hound?” Clare sighed, then mocked, “Such blasphemous words from a Saint of the Central Holy Church. Didn't your Divine Being teach you better?”

“What?”

“Or could it be that you don’t have a Divine Being? An unofficial Saint?” Clare taunted, noting the wrinkles of annoyance forming on the Saint's forehead, ready to snap.

Insulting a Divine Being he never had was bad enough, but calling him a godless Saint was humiliating. He gritted his teeth.

Seeing his expression, Clare knew she had hit the mark. This Saint was likely an unofficial one, a graduate of the Holy Academy who hadn’t been baptized by the Divine Holy Mana. Seizing the moment, Clare rushed forward. “What do you call an unofficial Saint hunted down by a Hound? Are you implying that you’re lower than that—probably unworthy?”

A strong explosion shook the downpour as Clare's dark purplish-yellow energy collided with that of the Fairy Saint. Their weapons clashed, sparking as each energy repelled the other.

Almost immediately, a deep bluish hue of tempered Mana of Fossilization began to float around Clare's body. Her once-shivering tails tensed, and her ears perked up in anticipation. Her eyes flashed with bloodlust, revealing that she was using a mix of Mana of Fossilization and Bloodlust, layered over the tempered mana like a shell. It flowed from her body through her scythe, and soon, even the raindrops that touched her turned to stone.

“What…?” The Fairy Saint was momentarily dazed, instinctively pouring out his Holy Mana to counter the threat. He flinched.

Clare smiled at his confused reaction. Her demon side took over for a split second. It worked. This was something she had recently created and was still testing. The fewer people who knew or could counter the Mana of Fossilization, the better. She couldn’t use the real Tempered Mana of Fossilization in critical situations like this, so she had to hide it. Besides, the principle of the Mana of Fossilization skill was based on "Superiorization of True Deviation," which she had derived from Wenceslas’ mysterious technique—an incomplete technique she had found in a run-down lab. A Saint who had seen Wenceslas in action before might recognize it. Clare couldn’t afford to overlook even the smallest details.

What Clare was using now was another application of Mana of Fossilization, something she learned during her fight against the First Purple. Now it had a name.

‘Hidden Blood Lotus.’

This other application suppressed the Mana of Fossilization into a thin layer, with Bloodlust as the shell. A pulsating fog surrounded her body like a blossoming lotus instead of radiating outward like the main technique or “crawling plague” like the previous application.

“You’re using devilish power against me. Pathetic!” The Fairy Saint snapped, unable to hold back any longer. He swung his Humming Greatsword wildly, even more disgusted by Clare’s sneer, which revealed her canines.

As the Greatsword descended, Clare flipped, swinging her scythe to intercept the attack. A lattice cage of Asura energy formed around her, infused with the power of the Ancient Text.

‘Prison Maze of the Ancient World.’

Her bushy tails moved in rhythm with her feet, which gripped the muddy ground as she held her scythe tightly. Her upper body shook violently. The Fairy Saint released his Holy Mana, dispersing the falling rain with its brilliance, and tightened his grip, changing the trajectory of his Greatsword.

Despite being an unofficial Saint discarded by the Central Holy Church and sent to the far end of Salamander to lead a group of outcasts, he was strong. He had graduated from the Holy Academy with reasonable grades, and breaking through the cage his opponent had trapped him in was dangerous but not impossible. His Greatsword swirled with a hurricane of Holy Mana in a single swing. But Clare anticipated this, moving her feet like an electric eel—not to dodge, but to deflect and tank the attack.

Correcting his posture once again, the Fairy Saint admitted, “You’re pretty strong to block that too! I guess you weren’t all talk!”

“Hmph!” Clare responded. “Should I take that as a compliment from someone less than a Hound? You must be quite dull.”

“You piece of shit!” The Fairy Saint cursed.

From his reactions and the previous collisions that had altered the terrain despite the chaotic weather, Clare deduced why the Fairy Saint used a unique and unusual weapon. His Holy Mana was too overwhelming and quite unregulated. She guessed this was likely due to the Holy Mana Circulation Technique he had trained in.

When it seemed like the Fairy Saint's understanding of the Dragon Fanged Greatsword was deep, it was actually quite shallow. His improper training in the unique yet flawed Holy Mana Circulation Technique had led to an irregular and unstable pool of Holy Mana within his energy circuits. While her opponent might be a genius or a prodigy with the right equipment to mask this flaw, he likely knew his limitations, unlike the First Purple. Clare had a way of handling those with flawed but explosively powerful techniques—it was her specialty.

Her opponent’s easily provoked nature made it simple for Clare to intimidate him. As the Saint had noted, the sinister effect of Hidden Blood Lotus worked to her advantage. However, defeating the Fairy Saint was still a daunting task.

Contrary to Clare’s expectations, the Fairy Saint swiped at the air, sending a wave of Holy Mana through the downpour, scattering it in all directions. He stomped firmly into the mud, channeling more power into his swing. From his movements, it was clear that he intended to kill the Nin in front of him with a single strike. Meanwhile, Clare analyzed the situation. The Saint's Holy Mana might have been overwhelming, much like the First Purple's Aura, but it was unstable and poorly regulated, not fully synchronized with his body. In other words, Clare doubted that his large yet unstable reserve of Holy Mana would make much difference.

"You Arrancar bitch!" the Fairy Saint mocked, his arms bulging with strength as bruises formed and blood dripped, staining his already wet white titanium robe. He put everything he had into his attack. "You're pretty good for your age, but you’ll pay for your arrogance."

The chaotic atmosphere crackled, pushing away the downpour with the shockwave generated by their clashing energies. The pressure against Clare's skin intensified, and the muddy earth beneath her feet caved in under the power. Her bones felt like they were snapping, her muscles churning and loosening. The unstable yet overwhelming Holy Mana was crushing her. If not for her honed physique, she would have been flattened like a leaf under a boulder.

Clare briefly admired how Noir had fought this Saint in her exhausted state, despite his dangerous flaw. But then again, Noir was the second strongest young Arrancar in the Institute, right after Clare and the Direct Descendant. Anything less would have been disappointing.

The Fairy Saint launched a chain of rapid attacks, fully aware of the advantage his flaw gave him. His strikes not only cracked Clare’s defenses but threatened to overwhelm her completely. The air and ground shattered, and shrapnel, dust, and mud flew everywhere, accompanied by a deafening explosion.

Clare eventually broke through the onslaught, though she was now covered in mud and blood from large and small wounds. None were too deep—so they didn’t fully expose her “Ancient Text” of gradual healing, which stopped the bleeding to some extent—thanks to her faintly emitting Holy Mana within the Demonic energy she deployed, along with a trace of Asura energy that protected her vital spots. Still, blood tainted her body. She was in terrible pain, her teeth clenched, and her legs felt heavy. Any unnecessary movement could break them. She wanted to remove the rest of her alloy steel bracers, but she didn’t.

In that dire moment, two techniques flashed through Clare’s mind: The Crescent of the Starless Night Sky and Absolute Reaper Compensation—The Six Binds of Grim. One was light and stable, while the other was heavy and swift, binding the air with explosive force. Wanting to be more aggressive, Clare chose the latter. She decided to contrast it with the flow of ‘The Crescent of the Starless Night Sky’ and also “Ομόκεντροι αυξανόμενοι δακτύλιοι του Αρχαίου Φύλακα,” a mysterious ancient skill from the “Ancient Text” that would modify her attacks into concentric rings. Clare summoned a surge of Demonic energy that erupted like raging magma.

Absolute Reaper Compensation: אמנות אלף להקות של Ομόκεντροι גדלים טבעות: Art of a Thousand Bands of Concentric Growing Rings.

Clearing her mind, Clare focused on her movements. She gripped her scythe tightly and began to unleash the technique. Her scythe swarmed like concentric rings, slicing through the Fairy Saint's attacks all at once. The technique was rapid, matching the pace of the Saint’s assault. At the end of the last attack, Clare’s body flickered out of existence as she backflipped into the air, using the momentum from her scythe. She reappeared behind the Saint, her scythe aimed at his head.

Sensing Clare's movement, frustration crept across the Saint’s face at how slippery she was. He tightened his grip, his feet moving in sync with his weapon. His offense shifted. His Greatsword arced backward, not as an attack but as a solid deflection and defense against Clare's impending strike.

Clare’s attack was deflected and blocked as their weapons collided. Metal clanged against metal, resonating through the tense atmosphere. Flashes of lightning illuminated their faces and reflected off their weapons. Shockwaves rippled like thunderbolts.

The Fairy Saint unleashed another attack in sync with his flawed Holy Mana.

“Flocks of a Thousand Holy Ostriches!”

Clare was momentarily bewildered by the name. It was an odd name for a technique, especially since ostriches don’t fly. She almost laughed but exhaled sharply, suppressing her amusement.

Seeing her reaction, the Saint blurted out, “Don’t look at me like that! Regardless of its name, it’s an impressive technique, unlike your incomplete form, you bitch of the Demon Clan!”

Indeed, it was impressive, as a flight of ostriches of greatswords, each carrying blade aura, rained down on Clare. The wind howled, and a bizarre sound rang out. The end of her scythe began to distort under the relentless barrage. Even though it was made of sixty-year-old Legendary Cold Titanium Steel, it struggled against the Dragon-Fanged Greatsword’s overwhelming power. The onslaught seemed endless.

What would she do now?

The ‘Absolute Reaper Compensation,’ with its heavy, swift strikes that seemed to bind the air in an explosive, inconstant carving, could penetrate the ‘Flocks of a Thousand Holy Ostriches,’ but it would be blocked by the wave of the ‘Holy Ostriches Ancile’ of the Saint’s defense. On the other hand, the ‘Crescent of the Starless Night Sky,’ with its light and stable circular motions—a crescent moon that forms the first and second verse—could break through the blade wall of ‘Holy Ostriches Ancile,’ but couldn’t get past the ‘Flocks of a Thousand Holy Ostriches.’

No matter how Clare contemplated it, each option led to a one-way ticket. A frustrating dilemma that made Clare grit her teeth. She swung a heavy and swift, wide arc, carving a path shrouded in darkness. The strike cracked with desolation and corruption, rendering any living thing insensible and destroying the flight of the ostriches. The scythe's great blades carried an aura, but were blocked by the wave of the ‘Holy Ostriches Ancile.’

Of course, she knew it would be blocked. That wasn't the point. She aimed to separate the defenses, to end that endless attack.

“So, you still have something up your sleeve,” came a jeering voice.

Under the intensifying downpour that hammered everything in its path, the Fairy Saint was pushed back but immediately leaped forward. The wind blew, the mist parted, and his voice grew closer. “Hey, let’s end this with my victory.”

Clare’s heart raced, and her blood pulsed. She gripped her scythe tightly, resonating powerfully as if in unity with her energies. She raised the curved blade high and pressed her feet firmly against the messy, muddy ground. Her feet parted as she leaped toward the Fairy Saint.

An explosion followed by a shockwave ensued as they collided. The attacks continued without a break.

But Clare’s mind was troubled. She was torn between two decisions: should she unleash the Six Binds of Grim, or should she remove her leg bracers? In this crisis, she couldn't fully utilize the “Ancient Text” without removing the remaining bracers. As she tightly held her grip and shifted momentum toward an attack that flowed like the unstable Holy Tornado of Holy Mana, Clare’s concentration compressed to its limit. Time itself seemed to slow as two brilliant shades of both attacks shone throughout the darkest of nights.

Then, an entirely different option came to her mind. Why not both? The question flashed instinctively, like an epiphany. It seemed to flip a switch in her mind.

Throughout both her lifetimes, she had encountered countless techniques. By filling foundational flaws with the flows, patterns, or principles of suitable vast knowledge and texts in her mind library, she had made the most of her techniques. Particularly, the created accumulation technique—Superiorization of True Deviation—or acquired new energy—Asura Energy—by combining Holy Mana and Demonic Energy, which were like oil and water.

But what about the ‘Absolute Reaper Compensation’ and the ‘Crescent of the Starless Night Sky’? She had failed to fuse them into an entirely new technique during her seclusion training. However, wasn’t this her goal? To combine the two? She had put it aside, thinking it impossible since there wasn’t a suitable method within the “Ancient Text.”

So, should she really stop? Or should she take the risk?

Chained attacks followed as Clare’s feet changed position, but she was still deep in thought. Combining two mastered techniques—though the generational difference between them wasn’t much of an issue for Clare—of fundamental principles, incomplete and polar opposite, was likely to produce adverse effects.

That was the rational judgment. But it was still worth trying to create a legendary technique. After all, she had already built a foundation by mastering both techniques to a certain degree. But could her foxy side endure the strain and stress of the aftermath? Her demon side certainly could. Something within her whispered to go ahead.

Her foxy side desired to create a brand-new scythe technique, a dream of any True Saintess. In that case, her demon side took over. A grin, as eerie as a Grim Reaper’s, spread across her face, her sharp canines glinting. The scythe in her hands was already moving, fueled by the wild imagination blossoming in her mind. The wind blew, her fluffy ears and tails tingled, and the muddy ground shook beneath her feet. The scythe in Clare’s hands moved with elegance, accuracy, and roaring violence as she pursued extreme stability and swift destruction. The Asura Energy, together with the Mana of Fossilization, blossomed in full abundance, creating a heavenward to earthward tsunami as it traced a trajectory she had never seen before.

With a mountain-shaking fall and a resonating explosive bang, a blinding light of bright, dense green hue shone in the twilight. From it, an otherworldly dragon with bewitched claws began its raging launch. It opened its fanged maw wide, revealing an endless abyss within, and hurtled toward the Fairy Saint to swallow him in one fell swoop.

It was the gentle, circular yet raging ascension dance of the Ancient Dark Moon Crescent Dragon, a force that overwhelmed and destroyed all within its domain or those unfortunate enough to bare their fangs at it. 

— — — — — 

"How amazing! My cutie… is so powerful," Noir muttered, her voice dripping with an unsettling mix of adoration and obsession. Her eyes, feverish with intensity, stayed locked on GIMEL, oblivious to the relentless downpour. She cradled her face with trembling fingers as if trying to contain the overwhelming emotions that threatened to spill out. Her voice, low and almost a whisper, carried a chilling menace.

Noir had been watching the fight between GIMEL and the Fairy Saint more closely than anyone else. In her golden, love-stricken eyes, GIMEL had transformed into something beyond human—far more than the Half-breed Nin she had once adored. How could something as simple as removing braces unlock such terrifying power?

It was impossible, absurd even, for such a minor change to result in this kind of transformation. The rarity of it made her pulse quicken. GIMEL was being pushed back slightly, but she was far from defeated. She was holding her ground, and that only made Noir's obsession deepen.

Noir’s lips curled into a twisted smile, her eyes narrowing as she recalled how she had witnessed GIMEL’s hidden potential at the Institute. How much had she grown since leaving the Clan? Or more disturbingly, how much had she hidden from everyone? The stark contrast between then and now-intoxicated Noir, sent shivers down her spine. The twisted satisfaction of watching her beloved evolve was almost unbearable. Her obsession was slowly morphing into something more dangerous, more possessive.

The shockwave from the battle shattered the rain around her, the force brushing past her with a thrill that sent her heart racing. Noir's smile widened into a crazed grin. She remembered their first encounter, how she had known GIMEL was special. But now? Now, GIMEL was beyond special—she was perfect, and she was hers.

Noir clenched her fist so tightly that her knuckles turned white. A fierce, possessive need surged within her. She had to protect GIMEL from the shadows, ensuring no one dared to interfere with her ascension. And more than that, Noir needed to grow stronger, to be worthy of standing by her side.

‘GIMEL! My heart…can’t stop!’

Noir's mind trembled with the sheer intensity of her feelings. The thrill of battle, twisted into dark, consuming love, wouldn’t fade; it would rage within her like a storm. To protect this feeling, to protect GIMEL, she would cross any line, break any barrier.

Her eyes snapped open, filled with a crazed determination. She unsheathed her broadsword, but her gaze never left the fight. The rain continued to pour, accompanied by flashes of eerie lightning and the distant rumble of thunder, but nothing could drown out the tension in the air—or the dark, possessive hunger in Noir’s heart.

— — — — — 

At that moment, the battle between Clare and the Fairy Saint reached its peak, and a bright flash burst out. The roar of the Ancient Dark Moon Crescent Dragon echoed across the landscape, a sound of terror from a once-sleeping beast now ready to defeat all its enemies.

Fusing two high-level techniques into one was never easy, especially when the techniques were top-tier and shrouded in secrecy. The scythe techniques she was blending were fundamentally different and incomplete, with strange ancient foundations and bizarre, unheard-of energies.  

If Salamander knew she had successfully combined these techniques, even for a moment, many would jump over the "Bridge of Helplessness" and drown in the "Yellow Spring Road," or drink "Grandmother Meng's Soup," unable to believe such a ridiculous achievement. This feat meant Clare was more than just skilled; she had surpassed her previous life as the Heavenly Saintess.

Three reasons explained Clare's success in this heaven-defying task. First, luck played a role. Though not obvious, some luck is always needed when combining something from different foundations and principles.

Second, her concentration, honed by her experiences, was pushed to its limit. In her current Half-breed body, her already exceptional focus was even sharper. Alongside her "Seventh Mind," a fusion of her demon side's instincts and her foxy side's senses, she seemed to enter a state beyond normal reality. For a few seconds, her mind operated at a level drastically beyond what was naturally possible. She achieved something close to Hypercognition.

The third and most important reason was her essence and identity as the Heavenly Saintess, combined with her deep-seated need for vengeance—the uniqueness of Clare Ederson.

Her first life flashed before her—a kind but clumsy girl, average-looking, who never understood the harshness of the world. She was bullied and beaten until she became depressed, developed antisocial anxiety, and turned to drugs to numb the pain. A junkie, lost in her dark attic, she blamed her parents and her pathetic life until she died from a drug overdose and she transmigrated into a cadet at the Holy Academy, where she was bullied to death.

As a cadet of the Holy Academy, a top institution for both scholarly learning and grooming future Saints and Saintesses, Clare accumulated the essence of numerous techniques and knowledge over many years. She traveled the world as the Heavenly Saintess, discovering hidden dungeons and lost civilizations as the savior of the people of Salamander. The "Ancient Text," for which she was betrayed and killed, was especially significant. She had also acquired knowledge of monster techniques and demonic arts in her current life.

As the situation intensified, the knowledge in her mind began to come alive, like heated beads of light. Her heightened mental state allowed her to find exactly what she needed, enabling her to complete both techniques and create a legendary one.

The Ancient Dark Moon Crescent Dragon swallowed the Fairy Saint in its abyss of despair, terror, and destruction. The Fairy Saint shouted, "Damn it! I won't die like this!" But even he knew the Reaper had come, wielding a scythe-like a demonic dragon. Yet, as a Fairy Saint, he refused to believe he would fall to a Half-breed Nin. He had to survive and gain acknowledgment from the Central Holy Church.

Desperately, he unleashed all his unstable Holy Mana, but it was useless. The dragon absorbed the mana, dispersing it as gas, before tearing him apart. The dragon’s movements were both gentle and fierce, unstoppable by the relentless rain or any barrier. Everything in its path was destroyed.

"How… could…you be so strong?!”The Fairy Saint screamed as his body was torn apart, his mind consumed by despair. He couldn’t believe all his efforts were in vain. The dragon’s force sent him crashing into the gorge, a gruesome mess of flesh and blood. The shockwaves from the impact cracked the surrounding gorge.

The newly created legendary technique didn’t just reduce the Fairy Saint to a mangled mess; it left a deep trace on the muddy ground, with detailed imprints of the dragon’s claws.

The young Arrancar members, who had been hunting the remaining Ten Monsterized Knights of Wrath, were amazed. However, Clare, who had created such a surreal phenomenon, remained calm. Not exactly calm or indifferent as usual—almost embarrassed by the attention.

"You defeated an Arrancar Grandmaster…" 

Noir murmured. Her gentle yet menacing words snapped Clare out of her stupor. Her "Seventh Mind" was deactivated, and her mind returned to reality. In a daze, she saw the destruction she had caused.

Who would have thought the newly created technique would do this? Clare almost laughed at herself. The old her had been able to transform terrain, so this kind of destruction wasn’t new to her. But now, her power had already surpassed what she had in her past life at this stage.

She had surpassed herself as a newly graduated Saintess from the Holy Academy. And she did it as a Half-breed Nin, an Arrancar. Clare had exceeded her own limits. But how did she do it? She squeezed her scythe, droplets dripping down. It had been so sudden and instinctual that she couldn’t fully remember how she did it, only how it felt. If someone asked her to break her limits again, she wouldn’t have the confidence to replicate it. Nevertheless, she couldn’t help but be pleased. She thought she had found a way to get stronger, more steadily.

At least, that’s what she thought for a moment before a chill crept up her spine. It wasn’t from the surrounding dangers, but from within herself, as crippling fatigue slammed into her body. She coughed up blood. When she opened her hand, she saw the thick, dark blood. Her body, pushed beyond its limits, began to betray her. Her demon side could endure it, but her foxy side, though stronger, still needed more work. She coughed violently again, spitting out blood as the backlash hit like a sledgehammer. It felt as if her very soul had been torn apart by the aftershock of completing and using the legendary technique, summoning the Ancient Demonic Moon Crescent Dragon—a force far beyond that of an ordinary dragon.

Pain erupted from deep within, searing her skin as dark, jagged marks tore through her flesh. The agony, once sealed away by the thrill of battle, now crashed over her like a relentless wave. Every nerve screamed in torment as the toll of pushing her foxy side beyond its limits consumed her entirely.

"Darn… it!" she gasped, her voice strained and broken as she chanted the "Ancient Text" of Gradual Healing. "Σταδιακή Θεραπεία ενός Αρχαίου Φοίνικα."

Though the healing had started, the fatigue was overwhelming. Her grip on her weapon faltered, and the blade slipped from her grasp as her strength ebbed away. The world around her blurred—the relentless rain, the booming thunder, the violent flashes of lightning, the chaotic battle of the young Arrancars—all became a dizzying haze. Her head throbbed violently as if it were about to split open. Her once proud, bushy tails drooped, drained of energy. Each breath felt like shards of ice tearing through her chest. The weight of everything—her exhaustion, the battle, her very existence—became unbearable. Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground.

For the first time, Clare, the Heavenly Saintess, fell after a victorious battle.

As she lay there, her vision fading, the last thing she saw was a familiar figure—perhaps Noir—rushing toward her, shouting her name. But the words were distant, drowned out by the overwhelming void that now engulfed her. What had happened to her? The sensation was eerily familiar, a cold comfort she had known once before.

The feeling of being surrounded by emptiness. The feeling of death.

The Void.