The mud pulsed—slow, deliberate, like a living lung inhaling beneath the earth. Tiny ripples ran across the surface, catching dim twilight reflections, each tremor resonating with a low hum that pressed against Ren's chest. The vibration wasn't merely sound—it was a warning, a mechanical rhythm that told him the Mire itself was aware.
Then the Dread Maw Rootbound moved.
The ground convulsed violently as its massive frame heaved upward, tearing free from the soil. Root-bones coiled along its grotesque torso like ribs forcing themselves through rotten flesh. Slick mud streamed down its frame, mingling with the stench of decay. A vertical maw split open across its chest—not releasing a scream, but radiating a psychic vibration that clawed at Ren's consciousness, pressing with weight heavier than gravity itself.
Ren felt the presence of intent, an intelligence focused solely on him. This Vessel must not exist.
But he didn't react.
Fear, panic, despair—every natural human response was processed, measured, and suppressed. His Deep Mark had isolated the raw emotional input, swallowing it whole and converting it into cold, calculating resonance. His body operated with the precision of a machine, his mind a sealed chamber of logic amidst the chaos.
The scent of Mira's blood, dripping from the attack earlier, should have ignited outrage or panic. Instead, it registered as inert, like the faint taste of iron in water. He could feel the Deep Mark at work, isolating his core from the psychic assault of the Rift. Each heartbeat was deliberate, a metronome in a storm of vibrations and psychic pressure.
Roots slithered outward across the mud, rising into rippling waves that twisted like living things. Pebbles, broken twigs, and mud debris floated alongside the motion, suspended by subtle magnetic distortions from the creature's psychic output.
Behind him, the Gloom Walker observed. Its shadows vibrated softly, almost contemplatively, as though it were studying a puzzle it could not immediately solve. Its presence added another layer of pressure, pressing against Ren's consciousness, calculating patterns, predicting movement.
Ren didn't glance back. He focused on the fractured mud, each ripple and crack etched into his mind. And then—the world detonated.
WHUUM—!!
A massive root shot upward, tearing a canyon through the ground. Mud, splinters, and shards erupted like liquid stone. Ren felt himself lifted, thrown with the force of a small cataclysm. Air crushed against him, but bones remained intact. A thin, shadowy membrane wrapped around him for a brief instant, dissolving into mist. Echo #3 had acted instinctively, a reflexive safeguard ensuring his survival.
He crashed into the mud, sliding inches from a jagged rootbone. Behind him, the earth split into a second yawning maw, its twisting root-bones twitching with intelligent intent.
Ren staggered to his feet. Every movement was guided by fragments of Echo—Echo #7 activated, flooding him with sensory input: micro-vibrations, shifts in air pressure, minute changes in root orientation. His mind didn't slow time—it accelerated, processing everything simultaneously. Every strike, every coil, every approach of Rootbound was cataloged, analyzed, and countered before it even reached him.
A root swipe—sidestepped.
A coil strike—ducked.
A grasping tendril—vaulted.
His body moved with unnatural precision, though he had not trained for this. The Echoes were piloting him, a collective of residual instincts and consciousness ensuring the Vessel remained intact.
A massive root slammed into the earth—
DUGAAAAAM!!—
obliterating the surrounding mud, sending debris flying in chaotic spirals. Ren ducked instinctively as splinters scraped past his face. His shadow peeled outward.
Echo #15: shadow split. Two thin, translucent silhouettes emerged at his sides, flexing to block debris and roots. Microseconds later, they adjusted to every subtle shift in the Rift's chaotic topography.
Too many Echoes were active at once. The strain hit instantly. His mind screamed as competing residual memories, instincts, and fragmented consciousness fought for dominance. Dark fissures pulsed along his back and shoulders, spreading like ink along glass. The activation wasn't smooth—it felt like metal tearing against oil.
He staggered. Vision vibrated. Internal noise screamed—twenty-seven competing fragments vying for priority. Not dizziness, not pain—pure overload.
The Gloom Walker growled low, registering the excessive resonance. Its psychic intelligence noted patterns that even Ren did not understand.
Rootbound advanced, chest-maw vibrating in a psychic roar. The ground beneath Ren shuddered violently, twisting the terrain into a chaotic trap. Time seemed to fold around him, every fraction of a second stretched and multiplied.
Then—a warm pressure behind his knees. Mira's Echo. Her lingering will to live nudged him sideways. Instinctively, he moved.
His shadow elongated and thickened, shaping itself into a jagged axe.
BRAAAK—!!
The shadow-axe cleaved through a root-rib, fracturing Rootbound's chest-bone. The psychic scream that followed was silent to human ears, yet the Rift itself quaked in response. Roots splintered, the mud trembled, and dark lines snaked across the ground.
Ren fell, attempting to stabilize. Echoes jostled within him—too many at once, but coordinated just enough to maintain control.
Gloom Walker watched from a distance, tilting its head. Recognition. Assessment. Patience.
The Rift erupted into dark light. He was hurled outward.
When he hit solid ground, it was Blackspire again. Rain pattered over his face. Flickering lights of the ruined city above. Sirens, shouting, metallic screeching. His body fought for balance, shadow still alive beneath his feet, moving like a living entity. Blood trickled from his lips.
Footsteps approached.
"Visual contact! One Nightfall target—exit confirmed!"
Flashlights pierced the darkness. Four government Hunters advanced, weapons raised.
"Scan the resonance—now!"
A scanner glowed over Ren.
"Emptiness Signature detected. Medium strength. Possible Carrier or wild Vessel."
The Hunters tensed.
"Then we take him to the Blacksite. Sedate and secure—"
A metallic hum vibrated above. Hunters looked up. A black silhouette perched atop a ruined billboard, coat whipping violently in the wind.
"Hhh… that Vessel…" one muttered.
The figure claimed territory—not for government orders, but for something older, something calculating.
Hunters didn't see it.
Ren did.
Just before darkness folded over him.
Ren's mind raced despite the blackness. Echoes of Mira's trauma, Rootbound's psychic assault, and Gloom Walker's assessment intertwined in a chaotic symphony, each fragment seeking recognition, each urging him to act. Even now, his body trembled faintly, not with fear, but with the raw, latent potential that had yet to be fully realized.
"Target stabilized. Transporting to Blacksite."
His consciousness snapped. Black.