After hours of grieving, Night finally regained his sense. He thought there was no use in holding on to what would fade away. The only thing that could give him peace now was regaining his memories, and the people he had abandoned.
Night's eyes fell on the corpse. He didn't need the meat, but he needed the soul core—which he doubted was even still inside.
His hands trembled as he carved through the rotting flesh. The blade in his grip felt heavier than ever, his muscles tight with fatigue. The stench clawed at his throat, bile rising, but he gritted his teeth and pushed through. He had to find it.
His breath shuddered as his blade scraped against something hard.
He reached in.
There it was—the stone.
But this one pulsed.
Bigger. Darker. Alive.
He glanced at the first stone tucked inside his pocket, then brought it close.
A spark.
A pull.
And then—click.
The stones fused. Smooth. Whole. The cracks vanished, but not the strange hum within. A beat like a silent heart echoed from the surface.
His thoughts slowed. Then the Hex spoke:
[You have received a Chronicle.]
Night's breath hitched. Another one? He barely understood the first. And now—
He lifted his hand. The runes responded.
They flickered into life, wrapping around his vision.
---
Chronicles:
[Shadow Key], [Forgotten King's Blade], [Shattered Heart]
[Shattered Heart]: 3/8
---
No abilities. No descriptions. Just numbers.
His fingers tightened, then loosened. "At least it's something…" he muttered.
He slid the stone into his soul, watching it crumble to dust. One less weight to carry. One less thing to worry about—for now.
---
Days bled together.
The next spawn was stronger.
Then the next—stronger still.
Each fight pushed him past exhaustion. His body refused to heal fast enough. Wounds reopened. Fingers bled. Bones ached.
And yet—he kept moving.
He didn't complain. He didn't cry.
He survived.
Because he had to.
Each fight brought him closer to the truth, to the island's secrets—and to that feeling again. That sense of something missing.
Seven pieces. He had found seven.
Each one darker than the last, the weight almost unbearable. When they got too close, they buzzed in his pouch, vibrating with hunger, like they were calling out.
But the final one—the eighth—was still out there.
Then he saw it.
The spawn didn't lunge.
It waited.
In the dark.
Its eyes glowed.
Sword in hand—cracked, but humming with power.
Night froze.
He didn't blink.
Didn't breathe.
The thing didn't see him as prey. It saw him as something else.
An opponent.
---
Then it moved.
Fast.
The sword split the air like lightning, and Night leapt—
Too slow.
BOOM.
The impact shattered trees, carved through the forest like an axe through snow. Night hit the dirt, rolled, coughing as dust choked the air.
He looked up, eyes wide.
The crater left behind was massive.
No way… His thoughts slowed.
This thing wasn't a spawn.
Wasn't a devil.
Or a terror.
This—this was a Titan.
Something no one dared to cross. A being close to the apex rank of corrupted beasts.
---
Night's body locked. His feet refused to move.
The Titan stepped forward, lifting its cracked sword again.
Air bent.
The hum grew louder.
Night's eyes widened. He tried to move—
But he knew.
He was too late.
The blade came down, the shockwave shattering his surroundings.
Night barely rolled aside. The ground exploded, earth and trees ripped apart in a deafening roar. Shards of stone cut into his arms. His ribs screamed.
He stumbled to his knees, gasping.
The Titan didn't slow.
It advanced, every step a promise:
You are nothing.
Another swing. He dodged—barely. The aftershock alone carved a trench beside him, splintering trees into dust.
His lungs begged. His legs faltered.
The Titan pressed harder. Each strike was faster than the last, heavier, hungrier. The ground caved beneath its steps. The forest itself trembled.
Night's vision blurred—not from blood, but from fear.
---
Then—the questions came.
"Why do you fight?"
"Why do you try to live?"
"Who do you protect?"
"What are you without power?"
Each word echoed from nowhere and everywhere—etched into the air like runes of judgment.
Night's blade shook in his grip. He tried to answer.
But his mouth refused. His soul trembled.
The Titan raised its blade for a killing blow.
And then—a pulse.
A whisper beneath his skin.
Familiar. Foreign.
"LINK RESONATING WITH TRAIT: SHADOW DEVOUR…"
A mark flared on the back of his hand, glowing brighter with each heartbeat. Eight shifting symbols slowed, spinning into alignment around the hollow center.
"SYNCHRONIZATION INITIATED."
"UPGRADE: TRAIT – SHADOW DEVOUR → SHADOW ECLIPSE."
---
[Darkness Absorption: ACTIVE]
[Formless Mist: Modified to Dense Shape Manifestation]
The cold returned—but this time it belonged to him.
And in that still moment, something else stirred inside his body.
Movement. Memory.
Not his.
A stance. A shift in weight. A pivot of the foot.
He recognized it.
Father.
Not a thought—a reflex. His body moved, guided by blood and instinct.
The Titan attacked.
This time, Night didn't retreat.
He stepped into the blade's path—low, precise, unshaken.
A hand swept up. Darkness rippled from his palm, not like mist, but like liquid metal—shaped, dense, alive.
He caught the blade.
And the darkness devoured it.
Like oil into flame.
Like breath into lungs.
The Titan's attack was swallowed whole by the evolved trait.
Shadow Eclipse.
The Titan roared and struck again, faster, wilder. Night countered each swing—not perfectly, but instinct carrying him where thought could not.
Steel clashed against shadow. Trees split. The earth cratered.
The fight blurred into motion. Blow after blow. Strike after strike.
The Titan's blade screamed through the air, each swing threatening to end him. One nick nearly took his arm. Another strike sent him sprawling, blood spilling from his lip.
But he kept rising. Again and again.
Night spun, Chronicle in dagger form. The motion wasn't his—but it was perfect. His father's style flowed like water through a cracked dam. Controlled. Brutal. Balanced.
A feint. Low slash. Uppercut spin.
Then—a strike with his palm.
Not to kill.
To imprint.
Darkness burst from his hand in a ring of dense fog, spiraling with shadow threads, coiling up the Titan's frame.
It struggled—
But the fog clung.
It didn't just restrain—it drained.
The Titan's own darkness bled away.
Its sword shattered into ink.
Its body flickered—once, twice—then froze.
Night's eyes burned with silver-black light. His lips trembled, breathless.
"I'm not running anymore."
He lunged.
Blade and shadow met in tandem. One final movement, clean and sharp. Chronicle pierced the Titan's core. The swirling eclipse fog invaded the cracks.
The Titan's howl tore the forest apart. Its form convulsed, dissolving—not into smoke, but into Night himself.
And on its face—he saw it.
Relief.
The trait devoured the last of the Titan's form, and the mist settled like a cloak around Night's shoulders.
He stood there, hunched, swaying.
Alive.
But changed.
His father's stance lingered in his feet.
The fog answered his pulse.
And the Mark pulsed once more—then vanished.
[Link terminated.]
[You have slain: Twilight Titan – Forgotten Guardian.]
[You have received a Chronicle.]
Night's hands trembled. His heart thundered.
"Why," he whispered, "did I feel his relief