After almost two months away, traveling, Ash finally returned to the city.
A massive black crow—one that seemed to absorb sunlight—landed atop a great white arch. From its back leaped the figure of a young man with ash-gray hair, pale skin, and an immaculate gray robe without a single scratch.
What stood out the most was a pair of yellow eyes that seemed to glow with an ethereal sense of danger.
Of course, this young man was Ash—he had finally returned.
It had taken him two months to travel back and forth from the Dark City to the Hollow Mountains and return.
Along the way, he had been in great danger—but he had overcome it.
Ash lay down on the marble arch, looking at the gray sky of the Forgotten Shore.
Soul Fragments: [999/1000]
He only lacked one soul fragment to reach a thousand. Ash frowned for a moment—the presence within his Soul Sea was more restless than ever.
He could feel an overwhelming amount of emotions flooding him. It was even worse when he entered his own Soul Sea.
The last time he tried, he had to leave immediately—it was too dangerous.
The presence within his soul, seeing that he had not gathered the final fragment, bombarded him with complex emotions, overwhelming him.
At times, he laughed hysterically. Then he would grow furious without reason. At other moments, he felt immeasurable hatred toward the world—he wanted to kill, destroy, love, hate… he even felt the urge for intimacy.
Every single one of his emotions had become an uncontrollable sea.
And right now, he was sad, shedding solitary tears as he was flooded with melancholy.
Ash watched as the last light faded, and with it, the darkness of night returned along with the dark sea to the Forgotten Shore.
Ash closed his eyes, beginning to sleep in a dreamless slumber.
---
The next morning, Ash woke up and summoned his Echo. It flew over the walls of the Dark City, heading toward the ruins. Once inside the city, it landed in an area free of abominations—at the outer wall, the same place where they had first arrived.
Dismissing the Echo, Ash began to walk. His destination was one: the Cathedral.
Checking his belongings, he smiled as he held the key he had obtained before leaving the city.
The hours passed quietly.
Once night fell, Ash was one or two kilometers away from the cathedral where the Fallen Devil resided.
Summoning the Dawn Fragment, he felt how his Cloak of Mist strengthened. At the same time, he activated the Field of Mist enchantment.
He watched as the mist formed and spread rapidly, covering a vast area. Originally, the Mist Field had a limit of one kilometer in diameter, but now that limit had doubled to two kilometers around him. Its height was about six meters—so from above, to anyone looking down, it would appear as nothing more than a vast, eerie white sea.
Advancing forward, he summoned the Pale Needle, which was his best weapon to destroy the Fallen Devil's sword. If he shattered the blade, the black knight would inevitably lose.
---
Ash stopped in front of the cathedral, the mist seeping into the structure.
Taking one last breath, he stepped inside. The mix of darkness and mist created a terrifying contrast.
As he moved forward, he saw the black knight materialize from the darkness. Without hesitation, it swung its sword toward him.
Ash dodged the ultra-fast attack and instantly counterattacked with the Pale Needle, striking the knight's shoulder. Ash felt the corrupted soul of the black knight—and shuddered.
Its soul was strong… and disgusting.
Ash jumped back just in time to avoid another strike.
Both stared at each other without looking away.
The next instant, they attacked again.
---
The Cathedral turned into a whirlwind of steel and shadow.
The black knight attacked with a ferocity that defied its spectral nature. Its sword—a wide, massive blade that seemed carved from obsidian—descended in a whistling arc that cut through the air. Ash didn't try to block; he knew the warrior's raw strength surpassed his own. Instead, he slipped to the side, feeling the cold wind of the blade pass inches from his face.
The Pale Needle gleamed in his hand—a long dagger of white bone that seemed to absorb the faint light of the mist. It was not a weapon for trading blows. It was a tool for soul surgery.
Ash counterattacked before the knight could recover. The Needle traced an upward arc, striking the exact point where the shoulder armor met the chestplate. There were no sparks, no metallic clash. Instead, there was a wet, almost organic sound—as if the Needle had pierced living flesh.
The black knight staggered—not from physical pain, but because its soul had taken a direct hit.
Through the Needle, Ash felt the corruption: a dense, viscous mass that wrapped around the warrior's essence like rotting sludge. It was strong. It was vile. It was the residue of millennia of forced fury.
The knight made no sound. There were no words in it—only purpose.
Its sword moved again, thrusting forward. Ash barely deflected it with the edge of the Needle. The impact forced him back three steps, his boots scraping against the stone floor.
The mist swirled around him—dense and obedient—slipping through the gaps in the knight's armor, searching for weaknesses.
Ash shifted his angle. He couldn't face the warrior head-on—his Needle wasn't made to block a two-handed sword. He had to be faster, more precise, more relentless.
The knight advanced again, sword raised for a descending strike that would split Ash in two.
Instead of retreating, Ash lunged forward, slipping beneath the arc of the attack. The blade cut the air just above his back—so close that strands of his gray hair drifted in the mist.
The Pale Needle pierced the knight's armpit—the weakest point in the armor, where the soul was most exposed.
Another hit. Another fracture in the soul.
The knight spun with impossible speed, sweeping its blade horizontally. Ash jumped back—but not far enough. The tip of the blade cut his robe at his side. There was no blood—but an icy cold spread across his skin.
Focus.
Ash took a deep breath, and the mist responded. It condensed around the knight's legs, forming white shackles that slowed it for a moment.
A moment was enough.
The Pale Needle struck three times in rapid succession: shoulder, side, and the joint between helmet and neck. Each strike made the knight's soul vibrate at a higher pitch, as if the corruption binding it was beginning to unravel.
But the black knight did not stop. It couldn't.
Its curse was to fight until its body collapsed or its enemy fell.
The sword became a storm of steel, forcing Ash backward step by step. Every deflection sent waves of pain through his arms.
Ash stumbled on a loose stone and fell onto his back.
The knight's sword descended.
He rolled aside just as the blade struck the ground where his head had been. Stone shattered into fragments that the mist caught midair.
Ash used the brief moment it took for the knight to pull its sword free.
The Pale Needle plunged into the back of the knight's knee.
The warrior staggered.
Its soul, struck again and again at precise points, began to reveal what lay beneath—a faint light, almost extinguished, struggling to shine through layers of corruption.
Ash stood, breathing heavily. He had minor cuts on his arms and chest, and a bruise was forming at his side where the sword had grazed him.
But the knight was worse.
Its armor, once solid black, now showed cracks leaking dark smoke. Each strike from the Needle had eroded a binding point that kept it together.
The knight charged again.
There was no strategy now—only the final command etched into its broken soul: kill.
Its movements slowed, its arms trembling under the weight of centuries.
Ash saw it.
The opening.
He waited.
The knight raised its sword for a final blow—both hands gripping the hilt, its entire body committed to destruction.
Ash did not retreat.
He advanced.
The Pale Needle shone with intense white light—all the energy Ash could channel focused into its tip.
He slipped past the knight's guard before the sword could fall.
Before the warrior could react.
The strike landed directly at the center of the chest—where the armor was thickest, where the soul was most protected.
And where the metal had been most eroded.
The Needle pierced the black steel as if it were mist.
It pierced flesh that was no longer flesh.
It pierced the soul that had been imprisoned for thousands of years.
The black knight stopped.
For a long moment, nothing moved.
Through the Needle, Ash felt the corruption begin to dissolve—not in an explosion, but in a slow unraveling, like frost under sunlight.
The trapped light beneath grew, expanding, filling the cracks in the armor until it began to decay in seconds—centuries of decay compressed into an instant.
The blackened metal turned brown… then orange… then crumbled into dust that the mist carried away.
When the armor fell, what remained was revealed—a vengeful, furious spirit. A humanoid made of shadows, its only defining features being red eyes filled with vile corruption.
Ash had no strength left to escape. He could only watch as the creature lunged at him, passing through something beyond his body—reaching his soul.
---
Ash's Soul Sea was an ocean of white and silver mist—an endless expanse where fragments floated like distant stars.
It had always been a place of deceptive calm—a still surface hiding depths even Ash feared to explore.
The presence that dwelled in those depths had been waiting.
The fallen devil materialized within the inner sea like oil spreading across pure water—a mass of darkness that began to expand, aiming to corrupt the soul and claim it as a new vessel.
But the presence within that soul did not allow it.
The mist moved.
Not with the slow, flowing motion Ash had learned to control—but like a whip.
From the depths of the sea, from abysses the devil had not even perceived, emerged tentacles of white mist—dense as mountains, fast as lightning.
The devil tried to retreat—but the mist had already wrapped around it.
The tentacles tightened with crushing force.
They pierced the dark mass—not to destroy, but to tear it apart.
Piece by piece, layer by layer, the mist flayed the corrupted being with almost artistic precision.
Darkness was stripped away in shreds, absorbed, assimilated, turned into more mist.
The fallen devil screamed.
The sound echoed through Ash's entire being—shaking the fragments in their orbits, resonating even in the empty cathedral where his body remained kneeling.
The tentacles tightened once more.
With a wet, cracking sound, the fallen devil shattered.
Its darkness exploded into countless fragments that the mist devoured instantly—leaving nothing behind.
What had once been an ancient being, a devourer of souls, a fallen devil that had survived for thousands of years—was reduced to nothing in mere seconds.
[You have slain a Fallen Devil: Abandoned Knight]
[Your soul overflows with power]
[You have received an Echo]
---
Hearing those words, Ash felt immense pain surge through every inch of his body, forcing him to collapse and grit his teeth.
Closing his eyes, he entered his Soul Sea.
Everything was shaking.
The mist had lost control, spreading endlessly.
At the same time, he felt the presence stronger than ever—filling him with countless emotions.
But above all—
Fury.
Ash watched as a second gray sun rose within his Soul Sea, joining the other, just as the pain faded.
At the same time, the presence moved—guiding the mist with the intent to consume him.
Ash felt his connection to the mist.
And using his will—
He did the same.
The two wills collided.