The Menin crouched over my body lifted its head. A guttural howl tore from its throat, a rough, cracking sound that echoed down the endless tunnel. The others turned, their hunger igniting anew, and began shambling forward drawn to the feast.
But before its fangs could sink again – my hand shot upward.
It clamped around the Menin's face with a sudden, violent force, and in the next breath hurled it backward. The impact launched the creature past Aria's limp form, smashing it into the far wall of the tunnel. Stone split and dust burst outward as it disappeared into the shadows.
The remaining Menins froze, their bloodied eyes fixed on the empty space where it had been.
My body lurched upright, rising into a seated position as though yanked by invisible strings. My head hung forward, eyes shut, a grim reminder that I was still unconscious.
Then it began to shift: Black lines crawled across my skin, etching themselves into place like ink spreading through veins; Stripes cut through my white-bluish hair, staining it in jagged streaks. Two thick lines bled downward from my closed eyes, running along my cheeks and halting just beneath my chin. On my upper arms, three dark marks clustered close together, like brands seared into flesh. More lines curled around each finger on bothe hands, wrapping at the distal joints, twisting the hands into something both human and not.
Behind me, the seal burned away. The mark that had once been etched into my back vanished completely, leaving the skin bare as if it had never existed.
Only the paper seal remained, quivering, edges curling as though ready to peel off and fall at any moment.
[Such weaklings…]Vanik'shur's voice rumbled through the corridor, deep and venomous, his thoughts echoing like a presence that pressed against every wall. [You disgust me.]
The words weren't meant for anyone else, they were directed squarely at the Menins.
[How about I teach you some manners…]
My body rose unsteadily, dragged upright as though by unseen strings. My arms dangled for a moment, lifeless, before stiffening into place. It wasn't me moving, not even close. Vanik'shur had slipped into control, pulling at me like a puppeteer, without ever setting foot inside.
[What ugly creatures…] his voice sneered, dripping with disdain. [You don't even wear pants.]
The Menins held their ground, though their throats never ceased producing guttural, broken sounds that scraped against the walls.
My shirtless body drifted toward Aria, its steps measured, deliberate. It stopped in front of her, standing unnervingly still. Though my eyes remained closed, the posture carried the weight of a stare – like someone studying prey.
For a long moment, it lingered there, as if even Vanik'shur had forgotten why he had drawn me close. Then, slowly, the body crouched. Fingers curled around the weapon at Aria's side, lifting the spiked bat from the floor.
[Now… let the fun begin.]
Vanik'shur's voice thundered through the corridor, deep, heavy, dripping with cruel amusement. A dangerous grin spread across my lips, one that was not my own.
They lunged, hands clawing only to meet spikes.
My body swung the bat, but this time the force was far beyond anything I could have mustered.
The first Menin's arms exploded at the elbows, flesh and bone spraying as the bat shattered them into pieces. Without pause, the swing carried into the ribs of the next, caving its side in with a crunch that left a gaping hole where its stomach had been.
The bat arced again, crashing through another's neck, its head ripped clean off, tumbling into the dark while its body collapsed like a felled tree.
Then came the fourth. My body twisted, the strike sharper and heavier. The bat cleaved it in half, tearing the torso from the hips. Flesh burst apart in a spray, wet and violent, like meat torn through a grinder. The upper half spun across the tunnel, crashing against the wall, while the lower body toppled limply to the ground.
[It's been so long since I felt this…] Vanik'shur's thoughts pulsed, heavy with hunger.
[The smell of blood. The bite of metal carving into flesh. The trembling fear in a body about to break. It feels so good. I want it. I want more of it.]
My body let the bat fall with a dull clang. It no longer needed a weapon. The fight was one-sided anyway. The Menins clawed and lurched, but they didn't know how to fight, or perhaps their hollow minds had long forgotten how.
I moved through them like a butcher.
The sixth Menin lunged, and my hand clamped its throat mid-air. I slammed it to the stone floor with bone-snapping force, then drove my fist straight into its skull. The blow didn't stop at the surface, my fist punched clean through, leaving a gaping hole as the head collapsed around it.
My body straightened, head turning slowly toward the other Menins. My eyes were still shut, yet it was as though I could see, like a blind man sensing every motion, every breath.
None of them flinched.
[I see? When smashed that hard… they can't regenerate.] Vanik'shur's voice oozed with satisfaction.
But it wasn't only raw strength that made the strikes lethal, it was what they carried. A very tiny amount of Vanik'shur's essence always leaked into my body, and with each blow, that essence amplified the damage.
This was because, after burning for decades Vanik'shur had lost his real body. And what remained of him now was only his spiritual body which transformed all his essence into spiritual energy.
That might also explain why Van can muster several Generation abilities, while I, his so-called Master, cannot since I was born with none and never awakened even after. It's probably because he channels the fragments that leak from Vanik'shur.
Which means Van as a spirit was drawing in spiritual essence doubling his spiritual energy.
Another Menin lunged, clamping its jaws around my body's hand and biting down.
[You want me to send you to hell?] Vanik'shur's voice rumbled with contempt. [If only I could show you what real demons are…]
My body lifted its right hand, index finger extended, pressing it against the Menin's skull as if expecting some hidden power to spark. But nothing came.
[Pathetic,] Vanik'shur sneered. [This weak punk doesn't even have an ability. And this… this is supposed to be my successful vessel?] His voice dripped with disgust. [I should start looking for another before this one disappoints me further.]
Vanik'shur felt it all as a mockery of his existence. His fury coiled inward, and he strained to force something – anything – into existence.
The corridor fell into silence. My body stood rigid, Menins gnawing at its flesh, their fangs sinking deeper, blood being drawn away. Yet Vanik'shur did not move it. He listened, his presence focused, as though hearing something no one else could.
Then something happened.
A shimmer. Crimson and faint, like a spark trying to pierce through darkness flickered at the tip of my raised index finger.
Vanik'shur aimed it close against the Menin's skull. The spark released, in an instant, flames erupted, crimson fire bursting inward rather than out. It consumed the creature from the inside, its body igniting with a hiss that ended in silence. All that remained was collapsing black ash.
My body turned, the grin widening. The same shimmer danced again, brighter now. One after another, the Menins were struck, each eruption finishing them with a single, brutal blow. In mere breaths, the hall fell quiet, nothing left of them but drifting ash.
Then something tugged at Vanik'shur's instincts.
His gaze shifted to the left upper arm of the vessel. The skin there hissed, steaming as if it were burning from the inside out. Heat coursed through the body, searing, unstable.
Before he could dwell on it, a sound ripped through the tunnel. A roar, deep, monstrous, and earth-shaking. It came from the direction where he had hurled the first Menin, the one that had been feeding on my body. The cry reverberated down the endless hall, thick with rage and hunger.
But instead of fear, a grin curled across my lips.
[Now that… might be a worthy opponent,] Vanik'shur thought, his voice thrumming with dark amusement.
He forgot, in that thrill, that the vessel he controlled was not his true body. His stride faltered, steps heaving under the strain. Heat poured from within as the flesh began to burn, the body itself rebelling against the force inhabiting it.
—--
The so-called Thirty-Five rose slowly to his feet, his gaze locking onto the screen that displayed Vanik'shur moving within my body.
He rewound the feed, studying every frame. His eyes narrowed as he focused on my face, the way my eyes remained shut yet still saw, the black stripes etched across my skin. Recognition struck, and with it came a darkness in his expression.
His lips thinned, his stare hard. He didn't like what he saw.
"Why… are you the one with such a strong vessel?" he muttered under his breath.
But then another thought slithered through his mind.
No. It isn't just him. That body… it's too compatible, too perfect as a vessel for anyone. Now I want it even more. I want them all.
Each word echoed inside his skull, heavy with a groan of rage, desire, and gnawing frustration. His hunger for possession burned hotter than before.
You will all be mine, Thirty-Five thought, his eyes narrowing. That vessel can only reach its potential with me.
He turned, eyes shifting to the right. Five tubes stood in a row; three glowing with a sickly purple light, while two glew faintly green. Their arrangements alone marked them as special. Inside each, a body floated – human men, though their appearances and skin tones varied strangely. Naked, suspended in liquid, their mouths were sealed by oxygen masks. From the gaps, streams of bubbles drifted upward, bursting softly at the surface.
This body is already weakening, he admitted miserably. Not all can endure the strain of being my vessel
Just wait… I'm close to finding exactly where you're sealed, Vanik'shur. And once I release you— Thirty-Five's lips curled faintly. You won't need a vessel anymore.
His gaze flicked back to the monitors one last time. My body stood there, moving on its own, black stripes across its skin. Thirty-Five's expression tightened. Then, without hesitation, he turned sharply and strode away, his footsteps echoing hollow in the chamber.
He entered a hallway, face stiff, the weight of calculation etched in every movement. Beyond it, he stepped into a room slightly brighter than the one with the monitors.
Shelves lined the walls, crammed with tins and kettles of every shape and color, their metallic shells catching the dim light. He studied them for a long moment, expression hardening with dissatisfaction.
Finally, he sat. Lowering himself into a chair before a bare table, he leaned forward, resting his cheek in one hand. His eyes gleamed, sharp and predatory, the stillness of a hunter waiting for prey.
Then, in a slow, deliberate tone, he called the name.
"Drazel…"
Somewhere, perhaps still within the woods, or within the warped space that had replaced them, Drazel sat in a dimly lit chamber. He rested on a two-step staircase, one leg stretched out, the other bent close against his chest. His half-lidded eyes stared ahead, unfocused. He might have looked like he was dozing, but it was the exhaustion of fatigue, not the peace of sleep.
His body bore an unnatural pallor, skin tinged with a sickly purplish hue. Patches marked him like rot, as though something inside him was decaying, eating him from within.
Then a voice rang through his mind, sharp and commanding, carrying his name.
Drazel immediately stirred, his frame stiffening. He dropped into a kneel, one knee pressed hard to the stone, bowing his head as low as he could.
"Are you hungry?" the voice asked, smooth and chilling.
Drazel's response was quiet, his throat rasping. "No, Master. I am not."
"Hmmm… " The voice question the answer. "How is the barrier holding? Is it steady?"
Drazel flinched. He knew well if even one barrier failed, the punishment awaiting him would be worse than death.
"Yes, Master," he forced out, his voice steady though his chest ached. "They are steady. I could… handle one more."
The reply slithered into his mind, cold and accusing. "Then why do I feel you're lying to me?"
Silence pressed down on him like a weight. Drazel clenched his jaw, his thoughts scattering. He tried to still his mind, to empty it, to completely think of nothing at all since his Master could hear their thoughts.
But the voice cut deeper.
"A little bird told me you haven't fed in some time. Tell me, Drazel… when was the last time you fed?"
Drazel's answer came immediately. That was not something he could dare conceal, it gnawed at him constantly, a reminder of reality he couldn't escape.
"Almost two weeks back, Master," he admitted, his voice steady on the surface. But inside, his heart pounded so violently he could barely hear anything else. The thunder of his pulse drowned the chamber, muffling his Master's next words.
"Do you want to tell me why?"
But Drazel didn't reply. He stayed silent – not out of defiance, but because he hadn't heard the question at all. And he didn't know what would happen if his Master decided to ask again.
His Master waited in silence for an answer, but when none came, he did not press further. He wasn't in the mood to tear it out of Drazel. Instead, his voice swept coldly through the servant's mind.
"Make sure the Phantom Hall does not falter. Keep the shifting reality active."
"Yes, Master," Drazel muttered at once, bowing even lower until his forehead nearly touched the stone.
And with that command, his Master dismissed him, leaving Drazel in silence, weighed down by both relief and dread.