The world convulsed as the two figures blurred through existence, one vanishing into the depths of absolute darkness while the other pursued, cutting through reality itself like a phantom god. The murderer of Selara, an entity feared across countless realms, surged forward with everything he had, his form dissolving into tendrils of endless night. He wasn't running blindly—he was leading. A thousand layers of darkness collapsed behind him, traps woven from void itself, meant to swallow even the strongest hunters.
He was the master of darkness, the ruler of abyssal dimensions. No one—not gods, not demons, not ancient beings—had ever caught him once he decided to vanish. But Mira was not just a hunter. She was the Phantom Venerable. And the void itself bowed to her.
His first trap detonated, an implosion of spatial severance meant to drag her into a sealed abyss. It didn't even slow her down. She didn't dodge.
