The hallway trembled as Arin's manifestation—the faceless silver knight—rushed forward with impossible speed. Every step thudded like metal striking stone, echoing through the apartment complex like war drums.
The first cultist reacted too slowly.
The knight's arm—shaped not like flesh but like sculpted memory—slammed into the cultist's chest. He flew backward, crashing into the wall with a choking gasp. The symbol around his neck flickered, then dimmed.
The second cultist reached for a charm, but the knight seized his wrist and twisted. A crack echoed. His scream cut off as the knight drove him into the floor with brutal force.
Arin staggered, breath shuddering.
This power…
This was his mind?
Elyra didn't waste time staring. She grabbed Arin again, pulling him toward the exit.
"Move! We don't know how long it'll hold!"
Behind them, the knight lifted its head, sensing the creature descending the staircase—Arin's childhood nightmare made flesh. Two manifestations, born from the same mind, now locked onto each other.
The creature roared, but the knight didn't flinch. It charged.
Metal memory collided with imagined horror.
The shockwave made the hallway lights explode.
Arin shielded his face.
"Elyra! Will they kill each other?"
Elyra shook her head sharply.
"No. Reality-Bleed manifestations don't 'die.' They persist unless you—"
She stopped, eyes widening.
"—unless you dismiss them."
Arin felt cold all the way into his ribs.
"How? I don't even know how I created them!"
"You didn't create them," she corrected.
"You remembered them. The more vivid the memory, the stronger the projection."
The creature shrieked from behind them as the knight slammed into it again. Something tore—a piece of the creature's body dissolving into black vapor that stained the walls.
"Arin!" Elyra snapped.
"We need to go. NOW!"
He nodded and followed, but as they reached the stairwell, something clicked in his mind—
a thought so sharp it hurt.
The cultist upstairs.
The one with golden eyes.
He wasn't dead.
He wasn't defeated.
And he had Arin's frequency.
Arin froze.
Elyra turned.
"What—what is it?"
"He… he knows me. He knows my mind."
Elyra's expression turned grim.
"And that makes you his prize."
Before Arin could reply, a whisper slithered down the stairwell.
"You cannot run from your own mind, Arin Vassir…"
The golden-eyed cultist stood at the top of the stairs—calm, untouched, as if the chaos around him didn't matter. The ripples of reality around his body faintly warped the air.
He walked down a single step.
The wallpaper peeled.
Another step.
The lights flickered.
Another step.
The air thickened, like heavy water.
Arin felt a cold spike behind his eyes.
Elyra cursed under her breath.
"He's using Cognitive Pressure. One of the highest-level techniques…"
Arin staggered.
"What does it do?"
"It forces your mind to respond. It pushes your thoughts into Manifestation whether you want it or not."
Arin's breath caught.
"That means—"
"Yes," Elyra said.
"He can force you to Manifest. He can make your mind bleed into reality."
The cultist reached the bottom step and smiled.
Arin felt something pull at the edges of his consciousness—like invisible fingers prying thoughts open.
His Guardian Knight faltered.
The creature pressed in.
Both manifestations flickered—reacting to Arin's rising panic.
The cultist's voice dropped to a whisper.
"Do not fight it, Arin…
Let your mind open completely."
His words crawled into Arin's skull like worms.
Elyra grabbed Arin's hand.
"Snap out of it! Focus on my voice—ignore him!"
Arin tried.
He really did.
But his heartbeat echoed like a drum in his mind.
The hallway blurred.
The air shimmered.
The cultist raised his hand—five golden threads pulsing from his fingertips.
"Let me show you," he breathed,
"what you are capable of."
The threads shot forward—
Elyra screamed, pushing Arin aside—
The threads hit her instead.
Her body jolted violently.
She gasped, choking—her eyes widening in terror.
"E—Elyra?!"
She collapsed on her knees, clutching her head.
The threads were inside her mind—pulling, twisting—
"No!" Arin shouted. "LET HER GO!"
The cultist tilted his head.
"Why? She is interfering. And she is weak. Her mind is… unremarkable."
Arin's anger spiked—
and the air around him cracked with silver sparks.
The cultist's eyes widened a fraction.
"There. Yes. More."
The knight let out a metallic roar and charged—
—but the cultist flicked two fingers.
The knight froze mid-charge.
A mind-born entity forced to stillness.
"How—" Arin choked.
"I have your frequency," the cultist said.
"Your creations obey me as easily as they obey you."
Elyra screamed again—blood trickling from her nose.
Arin felt something inside him snap.
The silver sparks around him ignited into white flame—cold, searing, made of raw thought.
The cultist smiled wider.
"Beautiful. Your mind is opening."
But Arin didn't want this.
He didn't want any of this.
He wanted Elyra safe.
He wanted the cult gone.
He wanted this nightmare to stop—
And then something changed.
He didn't think it.
He felt it.
A memory.
Small.
Familiar.
Old.
Elyra laughing in the rain.
Her scolding him for forgetting lunch again.
Her sitting beside him when he couldn't sleep.
Warm memories.
Memories that did not hurt.
They formed a pressure—
not panic,
not fear,
but intention.
Arin inhaled sharply.
The white flame dimmed…
then focused.
Like all his thoughts were aligning into one pure point.
He raised his hand.
The cultist paused, sensing something shift.
"What are you doing?" he whispered.
Arin didn't answer.
Behind him, the Guardian Knight trembled—
then bowed its head
as if waiting for a command.
The cultist tried to pull Arin's mind again—
but the golden threads snapped
like weak strings.
His eyes widened in shock.
"Impossible—your mind—how did you—"
Arin stepped forward.
His voice was steady, low, cold.
"You don't understand my mind," he said quietly.
"You only understand my fear."
The cultist took a step back.
Arin pointed at him.
The Guardian Knight moved instantly—
breaking free of the cultist's control
as if the chains had never existed.
The knight struck the cultist with a full-force blow.
The wall exploded.
The cultist crashed through plaster and dust, slamming into the opposite corridor.
He coughed blood—
shocked, genuinely shocked.
"You—your mind is too stable—
You shouldn't be able to resist—
You shouldn't—"
Arin didn't let him finish.
The knight charged again—faster, angrier, realer.
But the cultist wasn't done.
He raised his palm—gold blazing violently.
A final technique.
"Cognitive Split."
A dangerous one.
He forced his consciousness to fragment, leaving a clone-like afterimage of his mind in his place.
The knight's blow passed through an illusion.
The cultist's true body flickered a few meters away—
blood dripping from his chin, breath ragged.
He stared at Arin with a mixture of awe and fear.
"Your awakening…
is beyond prediction."
He took a step back.
"This is only the beginning, Arin Vassir."
He disappeared into golden vapor.
The hallway fell silent.
Arin felt the adrenaline dissolve from his body.
His knees buckled.
The Guardian Knight caught him gently, holding him upright before fading into silver mist.
Elyra crawled toward him, still trembling.
"Arin…" she whispered, voice cracked.
"You stabilized your mind. You resisted a Cognitive Thread.
Do you understand how impossible that is?"
Arin didn't.
He couldn't.
He just looked at her with exhausted eyes.
"Elyra… what am I?"
She swallowed hard.
"You're not just infected with Helunsntion."
Her voice shook.
"You're something much, much more."
Arin exhaled shakily.
"That cultist… he isn't coming back?"
"No," Elyra said softly.
"He's gone."
But her eyes darkened.
"He'll return with others."
Arin nodded weakly.
He knew.
He felt it.
In the pit of his mind—
something had opened.
And once opened…
It would never close again.