Chapter Fifty-Six: Passing in Sorrow

Ang and the black dragon faced each other in utter silence, neither making the first move. Both sensed the overwhelming power in their opponent.

At last, it was the black dragon who could contain itself no longer. With a thunderous roar, it lunged at Ang with astonishing speed, its mighty claws crashing down. The ground beneath their feet seemed to tremble with an explosive boom, dust rising in thick clouds that obscured everyone’s vision.

When the dust finally settled, a shocking sight was revealed. Ang had met the black dragon’s blow head-on, blocking the strike with his own fist. Compared to the seven- or eight-meter-tall black dragon, Ang was like an infant before a lion—yet despite this absurd disparity, he had withstood the dragon’s full force with his fist alone.

The black dragon, stopped in its tracks, let out a furious bellow. Never before, not even the first-ranking Inquisitor, had dared to challenge its strength so directly. But today, its attack had been halted, and rage consumed the beast. With a swift twist, its tail—charged with the force of a thunderstorm—swept sideways toward Ang.

Ang had no intention of dodging. Instead, he shouted with excitement, “Good! Come on!” All the muscles in his body swelled rapidly, bursting through his clothes. Fangs jutted from his mouth, his lips protruded, and his head transformed into that of a wolf, silver fur covering his body. Facing the black dragon’s unrivaled might, Ang unleashed his own, transforming into a werewolf.

The dragon’s tail lashed mercilessly at Ang, but he charged forward to meet it. Once again, the shock of their collision rippled out. When the tremors subsided, the bystanders were stunned anew: diminutive as he was, Ang had caught the dragon’s massive tail in both arms, holding it fast. The dragon struggled, but Ang’s grip was unbreakable.

“How is this possible? He stopped Pipi’s tail!” the Seventh Inquisitor exclaimed in disbelief.

Ang threw back his head and laughed wildly. “Come, let’s see who truly stands atop the pinnacle of strength!” Muscles bulged anew as he spun in place, using centrifugal force to swing the massive black dragon into the air. The dragon beat its wings desperately, but it could not break free. At last, Ang hurled it skyward.

Disoriented, the black dragon flapped frantically, finally regaining its balance in midair. It glared down at Ang, unleashing a roar that shook the heavens, its voice seething with fury.

Ang only laughed harder. “So this is the power of the black dragon? Is that all?”

Enraged beyond measure by Ang’s taunts, the black dragon soared higher, wings beating furiously.

“Ang, be careful,” I warned, having felt the terrifying power contained in the dragon’s last assault.

Heeding my words, Ang watched the black dragon, now no more than a tiny black dot in the sky, with growing seriousness.

That dot grew rapidly as the black dragon plummeted straight toward Ang, its body igniting with flames from the friction of the air. Just as Ang braced himself for the impact, the black dragon made an unexpected move: it opened its jaws wide and unleashed a jet of black fire—its dragon flame—straight at Ang.

Caught off guard, Ang couldn’t dodge. The dragon flame struck him full on, scorching his silver fur and filling the air with the stench of burning hair, breaking through his defenses. The dragon’s unstoppable descent followed immediately.

Dust once more shrouded our vision as we waited anxiously for the outcome. At last, with a resounding dragon’s cry, the black dragon burst from the dust and soared skyward.

“Well done, Pipi!” cried the Seventh Inquisitor, forgetting her status as a captive in her joy. But what of Ang? I searched the swirling dust for any sign of him, but found nothing.

Just as worry began to gnaw at me, the black dragon’s roar rang out again, this time filled with pain. In the Seventh Inquisitor’s stunned gaze, I saw Ang emerge. His body was covered in wounds, his fur—recently blackened by fire—now dyed red with blood. His right arm hung limp at his side, but with his remaining left hand, he had driven his claws deep into the black dragon’s back. Blood poured from the wound, the source of the dragon’s agony.

Howling skyward, Ang’s cry rose above even the dragon’s wails. Then, he ripped his left hand free and seized the dragon’s left wing. Amid the dragon’s desperate screams, Ang tore it clean off.

Stripped of a wing, the black dragon plummeted from the sky with a mournful cry. At the moment before it crashed to earth, Ang leapt clear. The impact shook the ground, dust billowing once again as Ang strode toward his grievously wounded foe.

The black dragon struggled, but with one wing lost, it could never fly again. On the ground, it was no match for Ang. Without hesitation, Ang drove his left hand into the dragon’s chest.

“No!” The Seventh Inquisitor’s scream was heartrending, but powerless—she was only a helpless captive, unable even to control her own fate, let alone save the dying dragon.

Ang withdrew his hand, clutching the dragon’s still-beating heart. A torrent of dragon’s blood gushed from the wound, raining crimson upon the earth. As the Seventh Inquisitor’s cries echoed, Ang shoved the heart into his mouth, greedily drinking the blood.

“Pipi!” The Seventh Inquisitor rushed to the black dragon’s side, heedless of the scythe at her throat, blood streaming from the wound it left. I made no move to stop her.

“Pipi, Pipi.” She stumbled to the dragon’s head, tears of blood streaming from her eyes. Stroking the great head, she called the dragon’s name in anguish. At her voice, the dragon forced open its eyes, gazed at her with longing, and gently licked her face with its bloodied tongue.

“Don’t die, Pipi, please don’t die,” she sobbed, cradling its head. The black dragon raised its head with effort, uttered a low growl, glanced at the lurking Netherwolf, then looked one last time at the grieving Inquisitor before closing its eyes and letting its head fall heavily to the ground. Without its heart, even a black dragon could not survive.

“Pipi, Pipi.” She called the dragon’s name again and again, refusing to believe it was gone, but the dragon did not stir. Staring at the lifeless body, the Seventh Inquisitor finally broke down, crying uncontrollably, tears of blood streaming from her eyes like a child’s heartbreak.

“Pipi.” After a long while, her sobs subsided. She caressed the dragon’s head tenderly.

“Princess Liliana, may I ask you one thing?” she said quietly as I approached.

“What is it?” I replied coolly. For some reason, watching her weep over the dragon’s body, I was reminded of a silver-haired girl, countless years ago, who stood before her mother’s grave but could not shed a single tear, could not feel true sorrow.

“Please don’t harm Bai Bai. Let him go.” Her voice was full of pleading.

“I promise you.” I could not bring myself to refuse her in her grief.

“Thank you. I have nothing to offer in thanks, but if you’ll accept it, please take this.” With those words, the Seventh Inquisitor plunged her hand into her own chest. When she withdrew it, she held a single drop of golden blood—the essence of her lineage, distilled from all her magic and power.

“Thank you. I accept.” I took the golden droplet from her hand and swallowed it in one gulp.

“Pipi, we’ll never be parted. We’ll always be together, just like when we were children.” She cradled the dragon’s head, speaking softly, then closed her eyes. Her body dissolved into dust, drifting down to cover the dragon’s remains.

The Netherwolf, lurking nearby, came over, sniffing the dragon’s body and the dust left by the Inquisitor, whimpering softly.

“Go. I promised her I’d let you leave,” I said to the Netherwolf coolly.

It glared at me with fury, but did not attack. It knew all too well the gulf in our strength.

I paid it no further heed, turning instead to Ang. “Bury them. Let no one disturb their rest.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Having devoured the black dragon’s heart, Ang’s wounds had nearly all healed. He answered respectfully, then tore open the air with both hands, creating a black rift before us—a gateway to the interdimensional space where all is still, a place where nothing, not even the most powerful being or the deadest ghost, could survive.

The rift slowly swallowed the bodies of the black dragon and the Seventh Inquisitor, then began to close. Just as it was about to vanish, the Netherwolf surprised me: it leapt into the rift after them. I stared, dumbfounded, before sighing softly. Perhaps, for it, this was the best possible end.

“Your Highness.” Ang’s soft voice roused me from my reverie.

“Let’s go, Ang,” I said. For some reason, though we had just eliminated another Inquisitor—the Seventh, no less—my heart felt heavier than ever.

“Lilith!” As I was about to leave, Xingyu’s desperate cry rang out. Only then did I remember his presence; badly wounded, yet surviving even the aftermath of Ang and the dragon’s battle—he was truly fortunate. I glanced at him indifferently, said nothing, and turned away.

To the Lilith of the past, Xingyu had been indispensable. But with the awakening of my bloodline, the true self had returned, and he now meant no more to me than any other human.

“Lilith, wait!” Xingyu’s urgent voice echoed after me, but I ignored him, never looking back.

Ang looked at the wounded, helpless Xingyu and sighed. “Boy, stop shouting. The young lady—no, Her Highness—won’t answer you. She’s not the same person she once was.” With that, Ang strode after me, leaving Xingyu lying there, consumed by helplessness.