Dragon Ball Human

The wilderness was eerily silent. 

What was already a desolate landscape had transformed into something even more sinister—a nightmarish realm where the air itself felt thick and viscous. The faint rustle of wind was replaced by a grotesque, syrupy stirring, as if the atmosphere had congealed into a murky gel. 

The surroundings twisted and warped, shadows contorting into ghastly shapes that danced at the edges of vision. Phantom whispers slithered into the mind, and ghostly figures flickered in the periphery, luring consciousness into a drowsy, hypnotic trance… 

Annin, just shaken awake by Yamiru, felt the drowsiness creeping back. She fought to keep her eyes open through sheer willpower, her undershirt already drenched in cold sweat. 

Her face was pale, brows furrowed in confusion. 

"You're right—your resistance to demonic corruption shouldn't be this low," Yamiru said, as if reading her thoughts. "My guess? Residual traces of Abaddon's mist are still inside you." 

"I see," Annin murmured. 

"With Abaddon dead, those remnants usually don't affect you. But in an environment like this…" 

Yamiru's golden eyes swept across the distorted scenery. 

The viscous air reflected in his pupils, but what he saw was the unaltered world beneath. 

Where his gaze passed, the grotesque whispers softened into a gentle breeze, and the writhing shadows resolved into ordinary rocks, weeds, withered trees, and drifting pollen. 

"Three Demon Kings so far. Samuel used poison, Abaddon refined demonic energy into mist, and now this one crafts illusions…" Yamiru's voice was analytical. "Each bypasses your martial prowess, exploiting indirect methods that could, in theory, defeat you despite being weaker." 

He paused. "Seems the 'selection mechanism' for the Six Demon Kings really did its job. This generation is tailor-made to counter you." 

Annin offered a faint, bitter smile. "It doesn't matter." 

What truly mattered was the final Demon King—Satan, the shadow looming over the entire planet. If she possessed the strength to face him, the other six's underhanded tricks would be mere pebbles in her path. Even Samuel's lethal toxins could be neutralized with the Furnace's power. 

'If only I were stronger…' 

A jolt of alarm shot through her. 

She had nearly succumbed again. 

Clenching her sweat-slicked fists, she focused on Yamiru, following him as they navigated the distorted terrain in search of the unseen Demon King. 

In truth, given her martial mastery, entering a state of "emptiness"—free from distracting thoughts—should have been elementary. It was a foundational requirement for ki control. 

But the demonic illusions, amplified by the lingering mist in her system, were too insidious. The whispers tugged at her mind, making it impossible to stay vigilant. 

Yamiru, however… 

Annin distracted herself by observing him. 

Yamiru moved with unshakable calm, his golden eyes gleaming like polished metal—bright but restrained, devoid of arrogance. He was a man of few words but constant thought, a fact she'd come to recognize over their time together. 

"You say these Demon Kings are tailored to counter me," Annin broke the silence, "but you seem tailor-made to counter them." 

Yamiru blinked. "Do I?" 

"These illusions don't affect you at all, do they?" 

"Credit goes to these eyes," Yamiru admitted, scanning their surroundings. 

Their brilliance was impossible to miss—especially since Yamiru's original eyes had been black. Annin couldn't help but ask. 

"Truthfully, I don't know their origin either. They weren't always like this," Yamiru mused. "One day, they just… appeared." 

"That's a strange way to phrase it," Annin said, puzzled. "If it's an awakened ability, of course it 'wasn't always there.'" 

And… 

What she didn't say aloud was: 'Who thinks of their own power as needing an 'origin'?' 

Yamiru was a peculiar man. 

"Fair point," he conceded. 

The "origin" he referred to, of course, was his life before transmigrating. 

But… 

'Did I have these golden eyes before transmigrating? Or did they awaken after crossing over?' Yamiru couldn't be certain. 

Annin spoke again. "Not only are you immune to demonic illusions, but Abaddon's mist had no effect on you either. You can even absorb the miasma from these hallucinations…" She shook her head. "Calling you the natural counter to these demons isn't an exaggeration." Before Yamiru could respond, she continued, "Then there's Samuel. Her lethal toxins nearly killed me even with the Furnace's aid, yet you're completely immune—even capable of purging poison from others effortlessly. It's as if you were designed to counter her." 

Yamiru didn't know how to reply. His toxin immunity wasn't innate—it was a desperate gambit, a fluke born from bargaining with the Dragon God while on the brink of death. If anything, he'd encountered Samuel's poison first, then gained the antidote. At best, he'd developed a countermeasure—hardly a "natural enemy". 

"If you'd appeared a few centuries earlier…" Annin murmured, lost in thought. 

Had Yamiru arrived sooner, the Furnace of Eight Divisions might have chosen him instead of her. 

What a world that would've been. 

Clear skies, a land free of demonic taint—the azure heavens and cotton-white clouds of ancient ballads, the warmth of untainted sunlight… 

Mountain springs, emerald peaks, flower fields, the smoke of peaceful hearths… 

Everything could have been so beautiful. 

If only the chosen one had been Yamiru, not her. 

"If ugly doesn't work, it switches to beauty?" 

Around Yamiru, the nightmare had shifted into a paradise—rolling hills, blooming gardens, a sunlit utopia. 

But his golden eyes saw through it all. Beneath the illusion, the barren wasteland remained unchanged: the same withered trees, the same cold wind, the same desolation. 

The real question was—where was the Demon King controlling this? 

Both he and Annin had tried sensing its energy, but the ambient demonic miasma was too thick, too deliberately manipulated to pinpoint a source. Even their heightened perception couldn't immediately locate the hidden foe. 

A ragged gasp drew his attention. Annin's face was ashen, sweat dripping from her chin. 

Yamiru was impressed. To break free from a blissful illusion on her own—this future Supreme Elderly Lord truly was extraordinary. *What did she see in there?* 

But the priority remained: find the demon. 

Though precise energy sensing was jammed, their instincts screamed that a demonic presence lurked nearby. That was why they hadn't simply flown away—whatever held them this long was likely one of the Six Demon Kings. Probably the only one without a fixed territory. 

"Wait." 

A realization struck Yamiru. 

Long ago, his Golden Veil had a function he'd neglected after mastering ki perception: energy vision. 

Focusing, he willed his eyes to shift—and the world transformed again. 

His gaze locked onto a gnarled, dead tree in the distance. 

"What's wrong?" Annin asked, mistaking his stillness for succumbing to the illusion. 

Yamiru raised a hand to silence her, stepping slowly toward the tree. 

On the "tree's" far side, a pair of eyes snapped open within the bark. 

The demon listened to the approaching footsteps, a bead of sweat rolling down its wooden face.