The instant Ian answered the power of the collective souls.
A bone-chilling force flowed into his body. Yet it did not damage any physical structure; instead, it made them colder, more condensed, more refined. A faint, ghostly radiance covered his entire body.
Any physical attack would have over forty percent of its force weakened beneath this tangible Netherworld Armor, while each of his attacks would erode the target's soul and flesh, draining away their life force to nourish himself.
Beyond that, Ian sensed an unprecedented clarity that made his thoughts extraordinarily sharp.
His control over Origin Matter became even more minute. He could even construct an Origin Matter shield with an accuracy of a fraction of a millimeter, or launch attacks at enemies to unravel their defenses.
A pale, incorporeal crown appeared above Ian's head. Frost flowed out from the depths of his soul. He slowly exhaled, and the cold that made even the air freeze seemed to kill the wind, plunging everything into deathly silence.
Even Frost Butterfly was affected. The little Fairy in his waist pouch was caught off guard and wrapped in a layer of frost, as though she had been covered in armor and blessed by the power of the dead souls.
This terrifying power even stimulated Ian's psionics, causing all things to reveal colors of every kind before his eyes.
The entire Subspace Labyrinth was trembling.
Elsewhere within the Subspace Labyrinth.
—Before the courtyard of a fortress surrounded on all sides by a phantom army.
A white-haired man who was swinging his sword and directing the phantoms' assault seemed to sense something and raised his head. His crimson eyes turned toward Ian's location.
He wore a suit of armor that radiated waves of deathly chill. The armor was jade-red, yet its outermost layer flowed with