I am an Eldritch Entity

If Eryndor had been in the right mind, he would've noticed that Daoisto was forced to appear with his main body but for him, it was still his human body.

Of course, even if he was completely sane, he wouldn't have noticed or sensed the huge figure flickering behind him even through his extended vision or anything else.

It was as if the force of the ritual and force of the item which had bound Eryndor into a human body were clashing, with the former appearing victorious.

However, when a crown appeared above the oblivious Eryndor for a fraction of second, the ritual seemed as though it instinctively grasped the true intent behind his current state.

It immediately relinquished the force which imposed the rules.

All of this resulted in only a faint image of a huge entity appearing behind Eryndor.

The entity was countless times taller than Eryndor.

However, compared to Daoisto's true form, this entity looked far closer to a humanoid, at least in shape.

His purple body was smooth throughout its entire surface.

He was vast, seamless, and covered in intricate golden inscriptions that constantly shifted and flowed, as though the laws of reality were being rewritten across his skin.

These etchings pulsed faintly at random intervals.

From His shoulders extended an elongated arm on each side, limb-like but segmented without joints, each covered by shimmering runes.

Half-real golden chains which flickered in and out of existence wrapped themselves around His wrist, with a portion of it trailing downwards.

His head resembled a flawless oval mask, divided evenly into black and white halves, devoid of eyes or mouth.

A red curve stretched across the lower end, appearing like a massive creepy grin.

The mask occasionally split open from the middle, revealing fractured glasses, a lattice of interlocking, ever-folding mirrors—mirrors that reflected not light, but fragmented layers of abstract realities.

Above His head rotated a halo of concentric rings formed from ink-like smoke, shifting constantly in shape and density.

Three massive pairs of spectral wings emerged from His back, woven from threadlike strands of golden, silver, and crimson light.

They didn't stay like that however, constantly changing forms. Wings one moment, armor the other, even a helmet and other forms occasionally appearing.

At times, a thick silver strand with countless images across its surface would flicker into existence around His neck—brief, unstable, like an unknown future forced into relevance.

Like an unknown distributary of the river of time being forced to join the mainstream.

His legs, covered in refractive plates, hovered just above the ground.

Lastly, His entire form was covered by black smoke, with not even a hint of the true body visible to anyone who attempted to gaze at Him.

Parts of Him blurred or vanished as if reality itself failed to fully comprehend His existence.

It was the true form of Eryndor!

The human form, standing on the platform groaned as soon as the ritual began.

Eryndor's will was nowhere near as firm as the massive figure on the other platform.

It was the truth after all.

Eryndor had just begun his path to peak. It had only been a few months since he began treading the cultivation power system as he climbed the ladder of power.

Even counting all the difficulties he had faced throughout his life, could it compare to the entity who had been living for centuries? Millenniums? Eons?

Who knew how old Daoisto was.

Deep in his mind space, the Mind Palace once again began shaking violently as it sensed the start of the ritual.

More accurately, when it sensed that Eryndor was losing.

Back in the outside world, the symbol of scales stayed firm, but the one of Cloak began shaking, and gradually began moving towards Daoisto.

A sense of urgency appeared within Eryndor as his Hunger filled mind tried its hardest to 'eat' the authority of 'Amplification'.

Apparently, Daoisto had a strong enough will to contend with Eryndor to safeguard his 'Amplification' and also begin stealing the 'Sovereign's Cloak'.

Its nine eyes showed a hint of greed as they witnessed the Cloak coming closer.

How is his will so weak?

Didn't he have all his memories?

If he didn't have memories, how did he trigger The Rite of Authority Severance?

But if he did have memories, how can I so easily steal his authority?

It must be known that at this moment, it didn't even require much effort on his part to drag the Cloak shaped authority towards him.

However, at that moment, a tiny amount of black smoke managed to escape from the Mind Palace.

What was Eryndor's analysis of the nature of black smoke?

That it contained his eldritch and human subconscious, with the former being far stronger, therefore needing sealing.

As soon as it merged in Eryndor's existence, even the Hunger which had been overriding his mind was washed away.

Before Eryndor could even recover a second of rationality, an overwhelming pain consumed him.

As time went on, he gradually gained complete clarity, but was still being tormented.

The nature of the suffering felt familiar. How could it not be?

It was the first time he had been assaulted by such horrifying pain.

The despair of identity erasure. The very disappearance of his 'being'.

Fortunately, it felt far weaker than before.

Was it because Eryndor was even more cognizant of his identity, knew about his past self, about eldritch entities, about his convictions, morals and principles?

Or was it because the black smoke had directed its effort towards the tug of war?

Indeed, at this point the symbol of Cloak had arrived back at the original position and the symbol above the luminescent orb, the one of scales, began shaking.

The nine eyes of Daoisto turned serious as he began using his true strength.

Just what is that guy playing at?

Why bother showing yourself as weak when you were so strong?

Just what is going on with that guy?

No matter what was the reason behind a weaker pain, Eryndor knew his identity was still in jeopardy.

No matter how weak the torment was, the identity erasure was still taking place, just at a far weaker pace.

Fortunately, he remembered what to do.