Into the Rift?

The carriage rattled through the dim afternoon light, heading toward what seemed to be a tear in space. As they approached, Faust noticed the Plaguewalker sitting across from him tense up, his posture rigid. Then, in a deep and steady voice, the figure spoke.

"Brace yourselves."

Faust raised an eyebrow. "He's a he," he said, catching the unmistakably masculine tone. The words lingered for only a moment before chaos erupted.

The carriage plunged into a thick miasma. Visibility dropped instantly, and the air turned suffocating. Just ahead, they spotted another carriage overturned on the ground, its wheels stained with blood. Ethereal tentacles from a purplish mist snaked through the air, holding one of the passengers aloft, writhing in a grotesque display.

"Stop the carriage. Now!" the cloaked figure barked.

Before the horses could even slow, the Plaguewalker leapt from the moving vehicle, his black cloak billowing like smoke. He landed lightly on the ground, only for a blade of wind to tear through the air. Faust barely registered the attack before the figure's body was split cleanly in two.

Faust's breath hitched. "What just—"

The swirling mist coiled and rushed into the suspended passenger. The man's body convulsed unnaturally as the mist took hold, his bloodshot eyes glowing with spiritual essence. His limbs jerked as if controlled by invisible strings, and his screams sent ripples through the air. The body of the now possessed man hovered mid-air, his plaguewalker attire now a mockery of its purpose, this was the plaguewalker assigned to the overturned carriage.

The carriage ground to a halt. Faust and Gelatea scrambled out, crouching behind a nearby piece of rubble, Claire and the carriage driver behind them. The world around them was in ruins: broken buildings, withered vines, and the oppressive weight of the miasma. Though it was midday, the dim, sickly light made it feel like twilight.

"Where did that blade come from?" Faust muttered, scanning the desolate landscape. His hands clenched into fists, though he felt powerless.

Gelatea crouched beside him, trembling. Her fingers twitched, and without realizing it, she summoned her Spirit Gear. The umbrella appeared in her hands, its bluish aura faintly cutting through the miasma.

Her thoughts were frantic.The Plaguewalker—just like that, gone. I don't even know what hit him. How do we fight this?

The possessed plaguewalker turned to them, bloodshot eyes locking onto their hiding spot. His body began to change—tentacles sprouted grotesquely from his torso, and with a sickening snap, he absorbed four serpentine creatures emerging from the rift behind him.

The grotesque figure let out a shriek that reverberated like a physical force. Stones and debris flew in every direction. The driver, pale and trembling, stumbled back, his fear overwhelming him.

Claire stepped forward, her blonde hair in her hands as she tied it back into a practical knot. Her voice was firm as she assessed the scene.

"That's no longer a lesser spirit," she said grimly. "It's a greater spirit now."

Gelatea's grip on her Spirit Gear faltered.

"A greater spirit…" Her voice trembled. She had held out hope that she could handle a high-tier lesser spirit, but this? This was beyond her.

"High-tier lesser spirits are on the cusp of evolving," Claire continued, her voice steady despite the chaos.

"They're unpredictable as they try to understand their metaphor,at this point of rebirth. "

She glanced at Faust. For once, the usually carefree look on her face was gone, replaced by deadly seriousness. Faust stared back, startled by this side of his mother.

Claire made her decision.She stepped out from behind the rubble, summoning her Spirit Gear. A pair of massive scissors materialized in the air, shimmering with spiritual energy. With a single gesture using her fingers, she snapped the blades shut, slicing clean through the possessed plaguewalker's body.

The corpse fell to the ground in two pieces, motionless. Claire turned back to the others. Her expression softened briefly as her gaze lingered on Faust, but before she could speak, Gelatea's voice cut through the air.

"Behind you!"

Claire's eyes widened as a massive tentacle lashed out, slamming into her with crushing force. She was yanked into the air, her body dangling helplessly. The possessed plaguewalker's severed body began to reassemble, the wounds knitting together with an eerie fluidity.

Before the possessed plaguewalker could strike again as it's tentacle drew Claire close to it's gaze, a sudden flash of lightning tore through the miasma, striking the greater spirit with devastating force. The creature collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. Claire, now falling, landed on the flat edge of her Spirit Gear, softening her impact, as it hovered in the air.

Stunned but alive, Claire's gaze darted toward the source of the lightning. Suspended in the air, a silver pendulum swung back and forth, it's ticking audible even amidst the chaos. At the end of the chain hung an intricate prism, gleaming faintly.

"A Spirit Gear? " Claire muttered.

The Cloaked Plaguewalker reappeared. The crack in his mask revealed part of his face, but his focus was unshaken. His right hand stretched forward, palm open, revealing a ring connected to the pendulum by a thin chain.

The greater spirit roared in fury, sending waves of destruction through the battlefield and air blades at random directions. Tentacles slammed against the ground, and the mist thickened. But the plaguewalker stood unmoving, his grip steady as the pendulum slowed.

Ripples of spiritual energy flowed from the prism, spreading outward. The tentacles and air blades froze mid-strike, held in suspension.

Gelatea's eyes sparkled with hope. "He's alive!" She cried, her voice breaking through Faust's stunned silence.

Faust however, could only stare. The scene before him was unlike anything he had imagined. The cloaked plaguewalker, the greater spirit, the sheer power of the pendulum, it was all overwhelming.

The Plaguewalker tilted his head slightly, his voice low and commanding. "Stay behind the rubble. I'll deal with this."

The battlefield grew still, save for the faint ticking of the pendulum, counting down the next moment of chaos.