A magic-like flying carpet appeared once again outside the castle.
Though the surrounding area was still shrouded in poisonous mist, compared to the toxins Samuel had deliberately concentrated in the castle dungeon to torment Annin, the air out here felt as fresh as sunlight after a spring rain. Annin, seated on the carpet, couldn't help but take a deep breath and sigh softly.
"You shouldn't have brought me out. That man… Yamiru… he's no match for Samuel."
Mr. Popo stood behind her, his expression as wooden as ever. "Yes, he really isn't."
Annin wondered if this mysterious black-skinned man was just plain dull.
"My body now…" She sat stiffly on the carpet, her limbs completely numb and unresponsive. The only reason she could move at all was by circulating the last remnants of her ki through her body, treating herself like a puppet and manipulating her movements with a technique akin to flight. "In this state, not even the Furnace of Eight Divisions can heal me. Unless my master…"
She trailed off, then turned her gaze back toward the eerie castle barely visible through the toxic haze.
"Earlier, he said he could save you. Mr. Popo didn't believe him, but he actually did it," the dull-witted black man said in his usual monotone. "So this time, Mr. Popo chooses to believe him outright."
"Is that so?" Annin hadn't expected that. She had assumed Yamiru's ability to cure her poison was just a fluke.
"That green-skinned man Yamiru mentioned… I've seen him before. He was with Yamiru, that monkey-tailed girl, and the others…" Mr. Popo peered in a certain direction through the mist. "But sensing energy in this poison is… inconvenient."
"Then let's just head straight for the strongest one among the approaching group. I can still detect that much." Annin was decisive. If Mr. Popo trusted Yamiru's words, then she would focus on recovering as quickly as possible—at least enough to regain her combat ability—before returning to assist him. "That way. About two hundred meters ahead."
"Okay," Mr. Popo nodded.
In the final second before the flying carpet vanished, Annin glanced once more at the shadowy silhouette of the castle behind the mist. Yamiru's energy was growing stronger—unnervingly so. How could power increase so abruptly?
'Abruptly…' Ah, so that was it. No wonder Yamiru looked like a demon. He must have been absorbing the demonic energy in the environment to enhance his strength.
---
"So that's how it is. He's actually drawing in this foul energy through sheer willpower."
In a hidden corner of the dungeon, a blurred figure observed the two fighters clashing within the thick poisonous mist. It quickly became clear why the dragon-like figure was growing stronger with each passing moment.
"But he's just an ordinary Earthling. How is he resisting the mental corruption from absorbing such tainted energy?"
The obscured figure watched with fascination as Yamiru's draconic features became more pronounced—his scales denser and sharper, his face more bestial and severe. Yet his golden eyes remained clear, as if twin suns burned within them, dispelling any darkness that sought to invade his mind.
BAM! BAM!
The dragonified Yamiru collided with Samuel's poison-wreathed form. The latter sneered, while the former was sent crashing into the dungeon floor, his black scales shattering and blood spraying as he carved a trench through the mist before slamming into the ground with a thunderous impact.
PFFT! Yamiru spat out a mouthful of blood, wiping it away with a clawed hand. The sound of scales scraping against each other was grating.
"To last this long against me… for a human, you're not bad," Samuel mused, descending atop the mist with an air of superiority. Then she shook her head. "No, wait—looking like that, can you even call yourself human? Hmm… as for demons… no, you're not one of them either. Heh." Her lips curled into a cruel, mocking smile. "A freak, neither man nor monster. Whatever trick you're using to boost your power, your movements are getting slower!"
CRACK. Yamiru forced himself up from the crater. The seductive demon was right. The more demonic energy he absorbed, the harder it became to control.
The logic was simple. If Goku in the comics could overload a creature like Yakon with Super Saiyan 2 energy until it exploded, then Yamiru could theoretically absorb demonic energy until he burst. He wasn't at that point yet, but the principle was the same. Right now, it felt like every capillary, every bone, every muscle fiber in his body was filled with liquid metal. Even with his demonic transformation helping him contain some of it, wielding this far-exceeding power was like carrying an unbearable weight.
WHOOSH! WHOOSH! WHOOSH!
Beams of energy sliced through the mist, raining down.
Yamiru dodged desperately, zigzagging through the poison as each blast narrowly missed him.
"Hehehe…" Samuel hovered above, lazily firing downward with an outstretched palm.
Not to mention the mental pressure.
Even with the Dragon God's mark shielding him, the demonic energy—this hellish miasma—couldn't truly corrupt Yamiru's consciousness. The mark was like an indestructible, transparent barrier, protecting his sense of self. But watching the dark energy pile up outside that barrier, even if he knew it couldn't break through, his subconscious still couldn't help but feel the weight of it.
Yamiru barely dodged the last energy beam.
"Is this all you've got? You think you can stand on the same stage as me? Keep dreaming!" Samuel sneered. "Go join that foolish human woman, Annin—oh, wait, my bad." Her grin turned vicious. "Those killed by demons don't get to reincarnate in the afterlife! Ahaha~ Poor little things, doomed to wander the world as lonely ghosts. Who knows how many years it'll take before you two even 'meet' again?"
An explosion grazed him, shattering bloodied scales on his shoulder as Yamiru tumbled aside. CLANG! His hand struck the leg of the Furnace of Eight Divisions, sending a jolt of pain through his trembling arm.
The more demonic energy he absorbed, the heavier the psychological burden grew. It was a fear born from self-awareness—Yamiru's subconscious knew better than anyone that if that protective barrier vanished, he wouldn't last a second against this level of corruption. It was a matter of 'realm'. If the Dragon God were in his place, even if the entire abyss pressed down on him, the old man could've treated it like an aquarium exhibit. But Yamiru? No way.
It was like his old fear of heights. Before training in martial arts, fifty meters had been enough to make his legs shake. After? Jumping a hundred meters was child's play—it took two or three hundred to even risk killing him. And once he learned to fly, the very concept of acrophobia became laughable. Just like how Gine had once been baffled: "How can anyone be afraid of heights?" For Saiyans, flying was as natural as breathing—so the idea of fearing elevation was absurd.
"That woman Annin is probably dead by now. Time for you to join her."
Just as Samuel moved to finish off the motionless Yamiru, he mustered his last strength and leaped into the Furnace of Eight Divisions.
"Tch. First Annin, now you. All hiding in this damn turtle shell, huh?" Samuel unleashed a barrage of energy blasts at the furnace, but they vanished without a trace.
The obscured observer mused: Finally at his limit, retreating into the furnace? But Annin's situation…
---
Inside the furnace, the demonic Ki within Yamiru's body began to dissolve on its own.
He coughed up blood, focusing his mind to accelerate the process. Soon, his draconic form reverted to human—though his body was still covered in wounds.
After a brief rest at the bottom, Yamiru looked up at the furnace's opening. 'Am I the frog at the bottom of the well, or the Monkey King inside Laozi's furnace?' He smirked, flicked his earlobe, and launched himself upward, landing on the furnace's rim. Back then, he and Master Son Gohan had sat right here, eating hotpot with the Supreme Elderly Lord.
Samuel glared. "You dare come out? Got a death wish?"
"Y'know, I could trade barbs with you. Doubt I'd lose." Yamiru took a deep breath—and in an instant, black scales raced across his skin, leaving only his golden eyes visible. "But then again, I only argue with my wife. So let's skip the chatter and get to Round Two."
As the demonic transformation completed, Yamiru realized his injuries had healed.
'So the tainted energy of the Celestial Realm has side effects—corrupting the mind and warping the body—but it also has regenerative properties, just like the pure energy…'
"He's transformed again?" Samuel kept her disdainful expression but inwardly frowned. 'And the speed of the transformation is faster this time…'
---
Outside, the flying carpet finally arrived near the group of Earthlings—now reduced in number, most of them wounded.
Even Yamoshi, the strongest among them, looked sickly, clearly poisoned, floating unsteadily like a drunk. The moment the carpet appeared, he reflexively hurled an energy blast.
'I think I'm getting the hang of this ki thing!' The Saiyan girl silently patted herself on the back.