After eradicating the monsters that had infiltrated the Dimas, it was time for the true objective… the assault on Dimas itself.
As an old saying among adventurers went:
The only thing worse than the monsters surrounding Dimas… are the monsters that dwell within it.
The team stepped inside cautiously, their movements slow and deliberate, wrapped in a heavy silence broken only by the echo of their breaths bouncing off the stone walls. The darkness was thick, almost alive, watching them.
As they advanced, Diara couldn't stop observing Leo with quiet, wary glances. Thoughts ran through her mind:
I didn't expect him to be this skilled… he doesn't even look older than me. Or… maybe he is older, but short?
Her gaze lingered on the mask concealing his face.
I wonder… what lies behind that mask?
Diara had never been one to trust easily. And this was not a fleeting teenage whim—it was a wound forged in childhood.
When she was eight, she had been a gentle, beloved girl living in a peaceful village that had never known the taste of war. A village that believed in the goodness of people, and that strangers carried only stories, not harm.
But as every beginning has an end… that village's fate twisted violently overnight.
One day, a villager discovered a man, wounded and lying atop a tree trunk, drenched in blood. The villagers, their hearts stirred, cared for him, gave him shelter, and nursed him back to health.
He appeared kind, gentle, polite…
Yet he embodied the saying: sheep's face, wolf's heart.
This man was the leader of a notorious bandit gang, wounded while fighting the emperor's knights. During his recovery in the village, he watched silently, eyes gleaming with greed, waiting for the moment he would regain his strength.
Once healed, he left.
But two days later… he returned.
This time, with his gang.
And the blood flowed.
Diara watched helplessly as friends, neighbors, and family fell, one by one.
And in the midst of chaos, she whispered in her heart:
Why? Why is this happening to us? If only we hadn't sheltered that stranger… none of this would have happened.
After that long, tragic night, Harald and his team happened upon the village by chance. There, they found Diara, collapsed, suspended between life and death. They saved her, yet when they looked into her eyes, they saw a void… dark, cold, older than her years.
Diara did not open her heart to them immediately. It took time, and countless trials, for her trust to emerge. And from that day on, she adopted a rigid principle:
Trust is deadlier than any sword… trust no one.
Back in the present, the team pressed deeper into Dimas, while faint whispers began to reach Diara.
Voices she recognized… the voices of those she had lost.
The whispers grew, became tangled, overwhelming.
Diara clenched her fists, her eyes widening as fear and tension coiled in her chest. She scanned her surroundings, yet the team remained composed. No one else seemed to hear anything.
— "Did you hear that?" she whispered, her voice low.
They shook their heads.
Only then did she realize…
The sound was directed solely at her.
The whispers intensified, mingling: children, women, men…
Voices from her village.
The Echo Weaver had singled her out, drawn by the guilt and repressed fear etched deep in her past.
At first, the team could not see the monster.
Their attacks failed, for it did not move as a body… it moved with the echoes.
And with every spike of fear… its power grew.
Then Leo noticed something unusual.
The whispers were not coming from a single direction…
They repeated in a fixed rhythm.
He understood:
➡️ The monster was tethered to the walls of Dimas, not to the ground.
Leo closed his ears and ordered the team to halt.
He smashed one of the Echo Pillars—a natural formation within Dimas.
Only then did the creature's body appear, briefly, as if silence itself had forced it into existence.
But it was too late for Diara.
She collapsed, tears streaming, as the Echo Weaver surged toward her, targeting the weakest among them—her—rapidly closing the distance with lethal intent.
Echo Weaver
A gaunt, towering figure with grotesque, misaligned limbs, stitched together as if carelessly sewn. Its pale gray skin was semi-transparent, revealing black veins pulsing slowly beneath.
Its face was featureless, save for a vertical slit from chin to mid-forehead.
It did not attack directly.
It listened.
Core Ability: Memory Echoes 🩸
The Echo Weaver could:
Capture the sounds of fear or turbulent thoughts
Replay them in the corridors as whispers
Imitate voices of its victims' past
It did not create full illusions, only distort reality slightly…
making its victims question themselves.
For Diara… the effect was devastating.
As the team advanced, faint whispers filled her mind:
"Why did you bring him here?"
"This is your fault…"
Familiar voices.
Voices from her village.
The Echo Weaver targeted her specifically, feeding on her fear and guilt.
The team could not initially perceive it.
Their attacks failed, because it moved with echoes, not a physical body.
And with each spike of fear… it grew stronger.
Until Leo noticed the anomaly.
The whispers did not come from a single point…
They were cyclical, rhythmic.
He understood:
➡️ The creature was bound to Dimas' walls, not the floor.
Leo raised his hand.
— "Do not move."
The team froze.
He scanned the walls, not the path ahead.
— "This is no ordinary monster… it moves with the echoes."
Before he could finish, something lunged from the shadows.
A long, twisted silhouette, its limbs stretching and contracting like smoke.
The team finally understood what they were facing:
The Echo Weaver of Dimas.
And as it advanced, Diara, psychologically fragile, collapsed entirely, tears streaming, while the creature approached her with terrifying speed.
To be continued…