Chapter 7— The Forgotten Ruins

The corrupted glade was eerily quiet.

Teresa stepped forward carefully, her armored boots sinking slightly into the damp moss that blanketed the uneven ground. The ruined pillars leaned at odd angles, their ancient runes flickering faintly beneath layers of moss and dirt.

Though time had long since consumed the structures, the magic clinging to them still pulsed irregularly—as though gasping for air after centuries of decay.

She paused, extending her senses outward.

Her Yoki, sharp as ever, dissected the surrounding magic like a blade through silk. This was not natural life-magic like Earthland's vibrant forests. This was artificial—forged by human hands, corrupted through abandonment, and now unstable. Foul traces of old curses mingled with raw threads of power, tangled like old scars.

But beyond the ruins, something darker pulsed.

A signature.

Not human.

Not beast.

Not entirely magical.

It was waiting.

Teresa descended into the glade without hesitation, her silver eyes calm. The corruption in the air tugged faintly at her skin, like invisible strands brushing her armor. She ignored it.

Ahead, the stone floor fractured into a wide circular pattern—an ancient ritual platform, perhaps. Faint cracks in its surface oozed soft green light. The broken remnants of carved sigils hinted at forbidden work once done here—work that Earthland's people had since buried beneath the legend.

As she approached the center, the air thickened.

The energy coiled tighter.

She slowed.

Then it revealed itself.

A creature stepped from behind one of the collapsed pillars—or rather, unfolded itself, as if emerging from the very shadows. It stood upright but hunched, its form vaguely humanoid but grotesquely distorted. Blackened bone-like armor covered patches of its frame; long, skeletal arms ended in serrated claws. Its head was featureless except for a wide vertical slit where a mouth might have been—filled with writhing tendrils.

Its presence was wrong.

Not a natural Earthland species.

Not a Vulcan. Not any known magical beast.

Something in its design reminded Teresa of the Awakened Beings from her world—not identical, but twisted through entirely different magic.

It hissed softly, voice a wet rasp.

Teresa stood her ground.

"You are not of this world," she said calmly.

The creature's head twitched unnaturally, as though studying her.

Hunger. Magic. Fresh…

Its voice pulsed directly into her mind, bypassing sound.

Telepathic resonance—a trait not entirely foreign to her after years of hunting Yoma.

Power... not from here. You... different. Delicious.

Teresa's faint smile remained. "You will not feed."

The creature's claws flexed.

Strong. But alone.

"Yes," Teresa answered softly. "By choice."

With that, it lunged.

It moved fast—unnaturally fast for something of its size—but to Teresa, its attack was crude. Wild hunger made it predictable.

She sidestepped its first claw swipe easily, her armored boots sliding across the moss with precision. As it whipped its second arm around, she ducked under the wide arc, pivoting behind it.

With one smooth motion, her right hand summoned her Claymore sword from Requip—a flash of light marking its arrival in her grasp.

The creature screeched in frustration, spinning toward her.

Teresa advanced immediately, giving it no room to react.

Her Claymore sliced through its outer bone armor, shearing off chunks with terrifying ease. The blade bit into its shoulder, spilling thick, dark fluid that sizzled against the moss-like acid.

STRONG!

It flailed wildly, forcing Teresa to withdraw briefly. She circled with careful grace, watching its movements.

The Yoki within her pulsed steadily—not flaring, but ready.

This thing was not Yoma. Not even a proper demon. It was a fusion—likely the result of rogue magic feeding upon some unlucky host, mutating flesh and spirit into this abomination.

A man-made monster.

Her specialty.

The creature roared again, charging recklessly. This time, it opened its mouth-slit wide, firing a stream of sickly green vapor—a caustic cloud of corrupted magic.

Teresa pivoted to the left, narrowly evading the cloud. The edges of the mist hissed against her armored gauntlet as tiny droplets splattered.

She observed the reaction—corrosive, but not deeply penetrating.

Its strength was in offense, not defense.

She rushed forward again before it could prepare another attack.

Her Claymore cleaved low, sweeping through its leg joint, severing its right leg entirely.

The creature toppled, shrieking, but still thrashed violently with its upper limbs, trying to drag itself toward her.

Join... the hunger...

"No," Teresa whispered.

With a single fluid motion, she stepped forward and brought the Claymore down in a final vertical strike, cleaving straight through its central core. The corrupted shell split apart as the tendrils writhed one last time, then dissolved into a putrid cloud of steaming vapor.

Silence reclaimed the glade.

Teresa stood still, sword lowered, eyes cold.

The remnants of the creature disintegrated into ash, consumed by its unstable magic.

For several long moments, Teresa remained there, surveying the remains.

There was no satisfaction. No pride.

Only observation.

The creature's magic signature faded into nothing, but the corrupted energy lingering in the ruins continued to pulse weakly.

This was not the only site like this in Earthland. That much she understood now.

Magic in this world was not limited to the structured guilds and regulated councils. Beneath the surface, old wounds still bled. Experiments abandoned. Cursed rituals are long forgotten. Things men had tried to control—and failed.

Even here, centuries away from the Yoma and Awakened Beings of her world, the echoes of humanity's arrogance still bred new monsters.

As the corrupted air began to dissipate, Teresa quietly summoned her Requip, dismissing her armor and sword back into storage. The familiar black tunic remained—light, comfortable, allowing her body to breathe once more.

She glanced upward at the pale sky.

This world is not so different after all.

And then she turned, leaving the ruins behind without a second glance.