Symbiotic Inhabitation

Had he not known the other party was incapable of mobilizing psychic power, Rossard would never have chosen to step forward and block him directly, opting instead for an alternative tactic. "What on earth is—" While he was pinned where he stood, Covington's body, blown wide open with a gaping hole, was rapidly regenerating. During this process, an exceedingly bizarre field emanated from him, actually inducing a burning sensation within Rossard's mutated tissue. Rossard's pupils dilated abruptly. Before Center City was established, he had participated many times in operations to encircle and annihilate entities from the other side. That was a bloody, unforgettable chapter of his past, and he could never mistake this sensation—it was something from the other side! In that instant, realization dawned upon him. He raised his head, his gaze boring fixedly into the man opposite him. He could not speak, for his entire body was stiff and numb, yet his eyes conveyed his meaning: *You let it inhabit you!* "It seems you understand?" Covington's eyeballs shifted, and he flashed a strange, rigid smile before adding with deep meaning, "No, you still don't understand." Earlier, the three imprisoned individuals had appeared to break out in different directions, but in truth, communication had passed between them. He did not know that former Emperor, who had offered him no response whatsoever. However, because he had once ingested a certain taboo object, he was able to communicate directly with that entity through their fields. That entity had shared a portion of its power with him, which he had absorbed and assimilated. Even though his spirit could not connect to the world on the other side, this power revitalized his shriveled, parched mutated tissue, restoring some of his former capabilities. Rossard suddenly realized that Covington was actually able to draw the power of an entity from the other side into his own physical form and wield it—and seemingly without being controlled at all, still retaining his original consciousness. This could not help but bring a possibility to mind. Rossard forced a strained sound from his mouth: "The Convergence faction...?" Covington stared at him with ashen eyeballs and said, "Yes. I am a Consul. I had no desire to abandon my duties. If I chose to swallow that taboo object, it was because I was certain I could handle it! "I wanted to use that experiment to obtain the power to devour those entities from the other side, thereby finding a path that we could use! "When we can treat 'them' as food to consume, we will no longer need or have reason to fear 'them'! We could have had a new way forward, yet you fools ruined my plan! "No, no—you didn't ruin it. You indulged me! You supplied those things to me, waiting for me to walk down this path, and then you arrested me and treated me as a test subject! "You plotted this all along!" His expression abruptly twisted into immense rage, the white flame of spirituality flickering erratically across his form. This caused Rossard, standing just inches away, to feel even sharper stinging pains throughout his body, and his vision began to blur. Yet at that moment, the fury on Covington abruptly vanished. He broke into an eerie laugh. "Still, this works out fine. Without all that, how would I have had the chance to gain what I have now?" As Covington spoke, Rossard finally managed to break free from the psychic suppression. Although he had not yet reached the level of a Throne martial artist, in the century or more since becoming a martial artist, he had never halted his progress. He had honed himself day and night without ceasing. Even though he remained at the Secret Hall level, he hovered close to the brink of a breakthrough; his mutated tissue had already acquired tremendous resilience. At this very moment, high above his head, a colossal figure coalesced out of the void, instantly enveloped in amber-yellow flames. A fist plunged downward. Covington tried to pull back, but Rossard grabbed him in an iron grip. *Boom!* The massive phantom fist smashed down upon Covington, but the latter merely sank his stance and bore the impact head-on. Yet that strike was only the beginning. From above, more fist shadows rained down like a torrential storm. The spiritual fire of both sides collided and eroded each other, amber-yellow and sickly-white flames billowing outward as the ground shuddered continuously. Rossard did not stand idly by either; drawing in a breath, he joined in the assault. He threw rapid, relentless punches at the figure before him, no longer holding back his strength in the slightest, squandering and venting it recklessly. For he knew the other party's power had not yet fully recovered. Even if he had patched over a flaw in his psyche, at most he could only draw a trickle of energy through a tiny vulnerability right now, far from his peak. So long as Rossard wrought enough devastation, he could still bring him down! And this opportunity was exceedingly hard to come by. If he failed to seize it, the one collapsing next would inevitably be himself! Fierce, furious punches from both directions rained down like a raging deluge. Every blow was like a colossal artillery shell pounding the earth, utterly blasting the air away. The tremors in the ground could be felt clearly even by the White Rock Long Hall and the stations of the various delegations, while dull, deafening booms rumbled ceaselessly across the skies of Center City. Over at the White Rock Long Hall, they could no longer make out the specifics of the situation; before them was only wave after wave of white glare. When a powerful martial artist unleashed their full strength, virtually no other field could exist beside the combatants. In fact, had it not been for the binding constraints of the ritual, the unleashed shockwaves alone would have been enough to flatten this entire area. Yet even so, the expert esoteric ritual team sweated profusely as they hid within a fortified bunker to maintain the ritual. Behind them, people continuously dumped ritual supplements into one cross-shaped pit after another. These were being consumed at a startling rate, only for even more materials to be poured in, for only in this way could they keep the ritual from breaking apart. Under such a pummeling, Covington's body seemingly could not endure for long. The freshly regenerated form was once again battered into pulp, until his entire figure could barely be distinguished. Yet Rossard felt no joy. Instead, his heart sank steadily, because that intensely corrosive psychic power had not dissipated. Even though the sickly-white spiritual light had been scattered, it still lingered in the surroundings. Still, he did not stop; instead, he redoubled the force of his strikes, as if wringing out every last drop of energy from his body. After throwing an untold number of punches, when he struck out once more, he found his fist held firmly by a palm, unable to advance even a fraction of an inch. He forced his eyes open and saw the silhouette of a "person" before him. It was coalesced from a mass of blinding light, yet it was not pure radiance—clinging to the exterior were mangled shreds of flesh and fragmented tissue. The palm stopping him extended directly from this form. More pieces of flesh drifted through the air, fusing onto it, while strands of mutated tissue could be seen weaving together and rapidly growing. At the same time, he felt a tremendous surge of psychic power plunge into his body. If the force he faced earlier had merely immobilized him, now he seemed to lose the very capacity for thought, sinking half to his knees onto the ground. Even the Spiritual Visage hovering above froze in place. The radiant figure stood before him. As the scattered shreds of flesh clinging to the light grew denser, a face emerged. When the eyes opened, the ashen eyeballs rolled slightly, casting a glance at him. "Dayel, I should thank you. Without your cooperation, it would have been very difficult for me to accomplish this on my own." As he spoke, a grayish-black stone was slowly pushed out from between his brows, landing with a sharp clatter. Fractured fragments could be seen on it. A moment later, another stone dropped down. Rossard's vision was blurred, yet seeing these objects through the haze still sent a shock through his heart. He recognized them as sealing relics specifically meant to bind psychic power. How could anyone break free of them on their own? And without these things... The hole between Covington's brows gradually healed. He spread his two arms along with the dense thicket of arms upon his back, feeling even more power steadily channeling into him from the other world. It was upon these two relics that Blockade Hall had relied to constrain his psychic power. Just now, however, he had deliberately allowed Rossard to blast him to pieces. His spirit was already weak; without a physical body, it had nothing to anchor to. Even if the remaining flesh could regrow the body, that required time and a process, leaving him practically defenseless. Yet after devouring the power of that entity, his spirit could temporarily attach itself to the entity's spirit, which was tantamount to relinquishing his own ego for a time. And once the relics lost their host, they immediately ceased to function. Although these objects would still be inside his body once it was reshaped, unless the ritual was performed all over again, they would no longer serve their previous purpose. Of course, the prerequisite for all of this was that the entity permitted him to borrow its strength. The condition by which he had persuaded the entity was that, once he successfully regained his power, he would let it lodge within his body and carry it out to escape together. He had no intention of going back on his word. Once the psychic power in the sky above disengaged, he would still be shoved back into his cage. Thus, the only opportunity was to tear open a fissure and flee to the Confluence or the world on the other side. Yet even possessing a portion of the entity's power, he lacked the strength to do so; only when the entity had recovered could it be achieved. He tested his senses. Although the ritual's power still obstructed his spirit, as long as he cleared away the obstacle before him, nothing else would be able to stand in his way. He slowly lowered his head to look at Rossard kneeling before him, gradually clenching his fist. The arms across half his back mirrored the motion, and sickly-white light instantly converged upon them. Then, a fist smashed down!