"Don't move!" Zerin's words struck her ears like a whip.
She froze, trembling. The command only deepened her fear.
How can he expect me to stay still when that thing is so close!?
It took every ounce of her residual will to not flee. Her courage, her training—everything she could offer—was in her burning brazier.
But it had already failed her.
She pressed her lips together and exhaled through her nose. Panic only meant death.
If she faltered, that thing would devour her just as it had devoured Cain.
The creature terrified her.
But lurking just beneath that primal fear was something worse: the chilling realization that her own power had been dampened since the Palehollow. Since the moment she woke from the trance.
And it wasn't just that.
Her connection with the Spell had dimmed as well. If it hadn't... she would have been able to access her soul sea and summon the echo.
She could've saved Cain.
That knowledge was crippling.
Every breath felt like drowning.
Then her eyes found Zerin.
Through the chilling haze that muffled her Aspect, he was the only thing she could grasp—an ember of chaos smoldered beneath his mundane exterior.
And then it surged.
She caught a glimpse of his face—his eyes glowing fierce and red in the moonlight.
Her breath snagged in her throat.
Was he smiling?
Then he looked at her.
And that's when she met a new kind of fear:
The gaze of bloodlust.
***
Shallow breaths left his mouth—and that wasn't without purpose.
Zerin had been holding still for what felt like an eternity, not moving a muscle. The strange flowers blooming from the creature's form swayed slightly, grazed by the wind that swept across the crowned mountain.
The sweet scent of its blossoms was nothing but a lie—what sat there was a grotesque heap of flesh and flowers.
And Zerin knew better. This was no harmless mistake. If not outright deception, then it was simply the cruel design of its nature.
Like the others, Cain believed it was dead. A severed head tends to give that impression. But the real mistake wasn't belief—it was turning his back on it.
The moment he turned, the creature pulled him into its writhing mass. He might have believed himself immortal—but that didn't matter. To them, he was already dead.
Zerin dipped his head, fingers flashing to the hilt of his sword as the creature began to writhe without warning—its bloated, grotesque mass sloshing wetly, the azure blossoms on its flesh trembling in the wind.
A false alarm.
He sighed in relief—he couldn't take another fight. His strength had already been tested, and it had failed.
He wasn't a fool—his life wasn't something he'd gamble lightly.
The Howler, maybe, could have done better. With its brute strength and blood-ice claws, it might have stood a chance.
But that was nothing more than wishful thinking.
Zerin hadn't seen it since the storm swept them up.
He had never considered the possibility—that the creature might not be as dependent on him like he thought. Unlike Echoes, the Howler was flesh and blood, less bound to him, less tethered by design.
He knew one thing for certain: it was still out there. But that didn't mean it could come to save him.
So, what did that leave him with?
How could he possibly fight a creature born of winter itself? How could he succeed where fire, explosives and even steel failed? What weapon still mattered?
He turned back to Seren, and it was just as he suspected. Horror written plainly across her face.
Probably the first time she's seen someone die...
And it wouldn't be the last.
The Dream Realm never promised a life of ease—or longevity.
The only sympathy Zerin could wrench from his heart was that it had taken her over a year to see the truth.
It's a shame... I could've saved myself the trouble by not helping her at all.
The thought was cynical, sure—but he couldn't afford to rely on her anymore.
If he was being honest, he'd leaned on her far too much already.
Now, he was truly alone.
Just him—and his blackened blade.
His one true advantage over the creature should've been his greatest weapon: he still had his senses
He knew his body, controlled it completely. Unlike the creature, all five senses remained intact.
That alone had to be something—something that would make killing it easier. All he needed was a way to tear through its flesh.
But the first few times Zerin managed to land an effective blow, the thing sprouted azure flowers from its wounds—blossoms that drank deeply of its own blue blood.
The same had happened with Cain.
Even after he'd lopped the Amalgam's head clean off. More of those flowers bloomed where its neck had been, sealing the wound as if it had never been struck.
As far as Zerin could tell, the creature was of the Monster class—just like it had been back then in its more brutish form. It held the same traits: Lack of reason, indifferent to logic, driven solely by the urge to kill—even when fatally wounded.
Its intelligence wasn't the concern—everything it did sprang from pure instinct, raw and unfiltered. But what made it truly dangerous was its unpredictability. Instinct alone could kill you, especially when wielded by something beyond your understanding
Which only made things harder—Zerin had never been trained on how to kill nightmare creatures, especially not a shifted abomination like this. His training was strictly in fighting people, which, looking back, now seemed almost useless against nightmare creatures.
His goal shifted—to understanding the creature's capabilities. His mind and body already knew a few firsthand. For starters, it could summon a harsh winter gale—strong enough to knock a person off their feet, hurl jagged shards of ice, and glance the ground with frost.
Other obvious traits were its endurance and its primal method of attack—largely unchanged from when it was just a brute: mindlessly charging at its prey, then consuming it.
Zerin took a step back, combing through every detail. Had he missed something? Overlooked anything?
Crack.
His boot had broken through a layer of ice.
The mass of flesh and blossoms convulsed violently, petals flaring like startled birds. Then it moved.
Zerin's hand snapped to his sword. With a swift, motion, he yanked it free from its sheath. The now empty [Curtained Carcass] slipped from his grip, clattering to the ground as he threw himself into a roll—just barely evading the thunderous stampede barreling toward him.
He slammed against the earth. Gritting his teeth, he twisted sharply, watching the creature hurtling past him. Then it gradually slowed... and finally came to a halt.
Zerin's eyes darted beyond, and there she was.
Seren stood frozen, barely twenty feet from the monstrous thing. Every inch of her body screamed hesitation—a desperate urge to flee.
"Don't move!" Zerin shouted.
She flinched at the harshness of his voice, her eyes snapping wide with fear.
It was jarring—ironic even. Not long ago, she had stood tall, full of confidence and defiance when she'd saved his life. Back then, she had looked fearless.
But now, in the face of this thing, that courage had wilted.
At first, he didn't understand why.
Then it clicked.
It wasn't the creature's size that broke her. Nor its grotesque form.
It was something deeper. Something harder to face.
The truth.
The hopelessness of it.
And he'd learned something else too.
The creature wasn't entirely blind to its surroundings.
And now, it stirred again.
That grotesque mass began to shift like a tide of flesh and blossoms.
Was it searching?
Of course it was.
Monsters like this were never satisfied.
Then the world snapped out of focus. A surge of raw instinct and power tore through Zerin's body—his Aspect igniting for only the second time in his life, burning hot and fast through his veins like wildfire.
But how could this be the case? He hadn't consumed a drop of blood—
Not recently.
So, what triggered it?
The surge was overwhelming—raw, blinding. It made thought slippery. But then he saw it—
His sheath— [Curtained Carcass] —was lapping up the blue blood from the pool he'd flung it into, drinking deep with greedy hunger.
And then it clicked: the enchantment—the memory held.
[Life's Partake].
"Life doesn't cease with death," he muttered, eyes narrowing. "It transforms."
An idea struck—wild, dangerous, and perfect. A grin crept across his face, twisted by chaos.
He knew exactly how to win. It wouldn't take much—not with his Aspect set ablaze in his veins.
But where was the fun in ending it quickly?
Maybe he'd have fun first...
And carve away everything he could.