The afternoon sun beat down mercilessly on Shrek Academy's main training field.
Dust rose in small clouds with every footfall as Zhao Wuji stood in the centre like an immovable mountain, arms folded across his broad chest, a ferocious grin splitting his bearded face.
"Listen up, brats!" he bellowed. "Theory is fine for Grandmaster's classroom, but real strength comes from combat! Today's lesson: practical sparring. I'll be your opponent. All eight of you—together. If you can last the time it takes one incense stick to burn, you pass. If you can make me take one step back, I'll treat you to meat tonight!"
The students exchanged glances.
Tang San's eyes narrowed in calculation. Xiao Wu bounced lightly on her toes, eager. Dai Mubai cracked his knuckles, tiger spirit already stirring. Oscar began reciting his sausage spells under his breath. Ma Hongjun's evil fire flickered around his plump frame. Zhu Zhuqing melted into the shadows at the edges, ready to strike.
Ning Rongrong stood a little apart, Seven Treasure Glazed Tile Pagoda already summoned and rotating slowly above her palm. She looked annoyed at the prospect of getting dusty, but her expression was focused.
And then there was Aza.
He stood quietly at the back of the group, hands loose at his sides. The faint outlines of his court were still visible to those who knew where to look: a tall shadow, a cluster of iridescent spheres, a patch of darker grass. But something had changed since morning.
As Zhao Wuji's words echoed across the field, the air rippled once—gently, like heat haze.
Then, three figures stepped forward out of that ripple and took their places beside Aza as naturally as if they had always been there.
Human figures.
To Aza's immediate left stood a tall, slender man in an immaculate black tailcoat, skin like polished obsidian, face sharp and handsome in a way that was almost too perfect. His hair was slicked back, silver at the temples despite his apparent youth. A constant, knowing half-smile played on his lips, and his eyes—one crimson, one gold—gleamed with eternal amusement. This was Nyarlathotep, the Crawling Chaos, wearing the mask of a charming gentleman.
To Aza's right stood a young woman of breathtaking, alien beauty. Her skin shimmered with faint opalescent light, as though made of pearl. Long hair cascaded in impossible colours—shifting from silver to void-black to star-filled night. Her eyes were countless tiny gates, each reflecting different skies, yet her expression was serene, almost maternal. She wore flowing robes that seemed woven from space itself. This was Yog-Sothoth, the Key and the Gate, in a form mortals could comprehend without shattering.
Behind them, slightly to the side, stood a voluptuous woman with wild, dark-green hair that moved as though underwater. Her skin was pale with faint vine-like markings, and her eyes glowed soft amber. She wore a simple black dress that clung to curves both generous and unsettling, and around her neck hung a necklace of tiny, cooing dark young that occasionally shifted shape. This was Shub-Niggurath, the Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young, restrained into a form that radiated fertile, primal allure.
All three appeared no older than their mid-twenties. All three were stunningly, impossibly beautiful. And all three stood with perfect posture, eyes fixed not on Zhao Wuji, not on the other students—but solely on Aza, with expressions of absolute, worshipful devotion.
Zhao Wuji's grin faltered.
Flender, watching from the sidelines with Grandmaster and the other teachers, choked on air.
"Those… those are the things from last night?" Flender hissed.
Grandmaster's pen scratched furiously across his notebook. "Humanoid manifestations. Voluntary restraint of true form. Purpose: integration into mortal society while maintaining proximity to the primary entity. Loyalty remains absolute."
On the field, Xiao Wu's jaw dropped. "They're… gorgeous! And super creepy at the same time!"
Oscar muttered, "I think my sausage spirit just fainted."
Ning Rongrong stared openly. Her pagoda's rotation slowed, towers chiming softly as though in recognition—or greeting.
Aza glanced sideways at his court.
"You changed," he observed quietly, voice layered as always.
Nyarlathotep bowed elegantly, smile widening. "Mortals prefer shapes they can understand, my Sultan. We merely… accommodated. And it pleases us to walk beside you thus."
Yog-Sothoth inclined her head, voice a soft chorus of overlapping whispers. "All gates lead to you. This form is but one path."
Shub-Niggurath laughed—a rich, throaty sound that made the grass around her feet bloom unnaturally. "My young wished to see the world through eyes like yours, Great Dreamer."
Aza accepted this with a small nod, as though it were the most natural thing in existence.
Zhao Wuji recovered first, clearing his throat loudly.
"Fine! Whatever! Three extra pretty bodyguards don't change the rules! All of you—against me! Begin!"
He slammed his fists together. Spirit rings rose: yellow, yellow, purple, purple, black, black, black. Seventh ring terrifyingly prominent. The Motionless Bright King martial soul possessed his body—muscles bulging, fur sprouting, aura crushing the field like a mountain.
The incense stick was lit.
The battle began.
Dai Mubai roared first, White Tiger possession exploding as he charged. Zhu Zhuqing flanked from the shadows, Nether Spirit Slash cutting silently. Tang San's Blue Silver Grass erupted from the ground in binding patterns while hidden weapons flashed. Xiao Wu teleported in close for waist throws. Ma Hongjun spat phoenix flames. Oscar tossed recovery and speed sausages mid-air.
Ning Rongrong's voice rang clear and proud:
"Seven Treasures turneth out with glass!
First: Strength increased by thirty percent!
Second: Speed increased by thirty percent!"
Rainbow light bathed the team.
And Aza?
He simply stood where he was.
Nyarlathotep, Yog-Sothoth, and Shub-Niggurath did not move to attack. They stood protectively around him, smiling serenely, as though watching children play.
Zhao Wuji laughed and barreled forward, Vigorous Vajra Palm slamming down like an avalanche.
The combined assault met him head-on. Explosions of spirit power shook the field. Dust billowed.
Yet Zhao Wuji's defence was absolute. He waded through fire, grass bindings, tiger claws, and rabbit kicks like a bear through tall grass, laughing all the while.
Ten minutes passed. The students were tiring. Sweat poured. Spirit power reserves dwindled.
Ning Rongrong's boosts were keeping them in the fight, but even she was pale from expenditure.
Zhao Wuji finally closed in on the back line—on Aza and his unmoving court.
"Time to teach the pretty boy a lesson!" he roared, palm strike descending like a falling star.
Aza looked up.
He raised one hand—slowly, almost gently.
The Void Nucleus manifested above his palm: a perfect sphere of absolute black, no larger than a fist.
Zhao Wuji's palm connected.
There was no sound.
No explosion. No shockwave.
The massive force of a Spirit Sage's full-power strike simply… vanished into the sphere. Swallowed whole. Not reflected, not dispersed—gone, as though it had never existed.
Zhao Wuji blinked.
Then his eyes widened in horror.
For a single heartbeat, he saw.
Beyond the sphere—through it—into the dream.
Endless flutes. Bubbling chaos. Things that wore his face and laughed with too many mouths. The centre of all things, blind and idiot and vast.
He staggered back one step.
Only one.
But one was enough.
The incense stick had not yet burned out.
Silence fell across the field.
Zhao Wuji stared at his hand, trembling. Sweat poured down his face for the first time.
Aza lowered his hand. The sphere dissolved.
"I believe," he said softly, "you owe us meat."
Behind him, Nyarlathotep chuckled. Yog-Sothoth's countless eyes curved in what might have been a smile. Shub-Niggurath stroked her necklace of young, which cooed approvingly.
The other students stared at Aza in stunned awe.
Ning Rongrong's pagoda chimed again—louder this time, a bright, clear note that rang across the field like celebration.
She met Aza's eyes across the dust.
For the first time, she smiled—not her usual haughty smirk, but something small, genuine, wondering.
Aza noticed.
The distant piping only he could hear shifted—adding a new thread, faint but unmistakable. A note of rainbow light woven into the endless chaos.
Zhao Wuji finally laughed—a deep, shaken sound.
"Meat it is! All you can eat! Damn… I haven't taken a step back in years."
He looked at Aza with new respect—and not a little fear.
"Kid… you and your court… you're real monsters, alright."
Flender, counting potential tuition fees in his head, grinned ear to ear.
Grandmaster simply wrote one more line in his notebook:
Subject demonstrated capability to nullify Spirit Sage attack with zero apparent effort.
Court maintained complete non-interference.
Conclusion: Power level incalculable. Loyalty to primary entity absolute.
As the students dispersed—exhausted, exhilarated, and quietly terrified—Ning Rongrong lingered.
She approached Aza slowly, pagoda still floating beside her.
"That was… incredible," she said, voice softer than usual. "Your… friends… they didn't even lift a finger."
Aza turned to her.
"They do not fight for me," he said. "They exist with me. But today… your light helped the others stand longer. It was… harmonious."
Rongrong's cheeks coloured again.
"Well… don't get used to me boosting you or anything. I'm an auxiliary for the whole team."
Aza inclined his head.
"Of course. Yet your song reached farthest."
He walked away then, his human-formed court falling into step beside him—Nyarlathotep offering a playful wink to the stunned students, Yog-Sothoth gliding silently, Shub-Niggurath humming a fertile lullaby.
Ning Rongrong watched them go.
Her pagoda chimed one final time—soft, almost shy.
And somewhere deep in the void, the Nuclear Chaos listened to a new note in its endless dream.
A note that sounded, for the first time, like hope.