Cling?

The battlefield lay strewn with chaos, miasma swirling thickly in the air. The frozen air blades and writhing tentacles fell to the ground with a sudden, oppressive weight. Ethereal anchors shimmered into existence, slamming into the tentacles and pinning them to the ground, while the blades of air vanished, dissipated by the heavy resonance of the anchors' impact. 

The Plaguewalker crouched low, his movements precise and deliberate. He grasped the prism on lower part of his pendulum as if it were a dagger, his dark cloak billowing with the motion. With a sharp lunge, he propelled himself into the air, the pendulum's prism-point gleaming with deadly intent. 

The Greater Spirit froze, its eyes widening as the Plaguewalker carved through its neck in a clean, fluid motion. A viscous, blood-like substance erupted, staining the ground below. The spirit convulsed, and like instinct one of its massive tentacles whipped out, latching onto the Plaguewalker's leg. 

The moment the tentacle made contact, the miasma shifted. It thickened, becoming more oppressive, carrying with it an eerie, bone-deep resonance. 

Faust blinked, his breath catching in his throat as a sudden whisper slithered through his mind. It wasn't a sound—it was a feeling, crawling and insistent. 

"The Greater Spirit…" Claire landed lightly behind a pile of rubble, her Spirit Gear lowering her with practiced grace. Her voice was steady, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of unease. "It's discovered its metaphor."

Faust clutched his head as an overwhelming tide of murmurs invaded his mind, the same word repeating endlessly in a frenzied chorus: 

"Cling. Cling. Cling."

Gelatea and the carriage driver mirrored his agony, their hands pressed against their temples as the psychic noise battered their thoughts. Even Claire winced, narrowing her eyes against the unseen force. 

With a thunderous crack, the Greater Spirit slammed the Plaguewalker toward the ground, its tentacle coiling tighter. But before he could hit the earth, an anchor materialized and severed the tentacle in one clean stroke, sparing him the brunt of the impact. 

The Plaguewalker twisted mid-air, somersaulting before landing deftly on his feet. With a flick of his wrist, he summoned his pendulum back, spinning it upward in a fluid arc. As it reached its zenith, he slammed it down. 

A massive anchor, larger than any before, descended from the clouds like divine judgment, crashing onto the Greater Spirit. 

The Plaguewalker glanced at his leg, where the severed half of the tentacle still clung stubbornly. He shook it off, his voice a low growl. 

"Cling, huh…"

Shrugging off his cloak, he let it fall to the wind. The pendulum hovered in the air before him, suspended as if by some unseen force, its steady swing marking time. 

"That's a troublesome metaphor…"

But even as he spoke, something changed. His body froze, his muscles locking in place as if seized by an invisible force. His body began to drag toward the anchor atop the Greater Spirit, as though an unseen tide was pulling him. 

The Greater Spirit's damaged body shuddered, its wounds stitching themselves together. With a slow, deliberate motion, it lifted the anchor pinning it down, its eyes narrowing with recognition. 

"How, did it use that ability?." the Plaguewalker lampooned, his tone calm despite the dire situation. His mind raced. Wait, that's my...

The pendulum in front of him continued its unrelenting swing, catching the spirit's attention. The Greater Spirit hesitated, then sent a tentacle toward it, its intent clear. 

Faust and Gelatea held their breath, anticipation etched across their faces. 

The tentacle struck the pendulum. The swing stopped. 

For the first time, the Plaguewalker visibly struggled, the metaphor's influence weighing on him. The word cling echoed louder in his mind, drilling into his thoughts, threatening to consume him. 

Clarity began to pierce through the haze as he struggled against the Greater Spirit's hold. Its metaphor, Cling, wasn't merely physical—it extended to anything it touched, binding it to other entities, objects, or even abstract concepts.

As the realization crystallized in his mind, a vivid memory resurfaced: the tentacle coiling around his leg earlier.

"This attachment doesn't just tether—it allows the spirit to manipulate or even dominate its host," he thought grimly, the weight of its influence pressing down on him.

The Greater Spirit exuded a newfound power, its dominance spreading across the battlefield. Tentacles rose, and with a single command, it summoned a storm of spectral anchors. They rained down like judgment, each one tearing through the sky. 

"Move!"Claire shouted. 

Faust threw himself to the side, narrowly avoiding an anchor that slammed into the ground with enough force to shatter stone. Behind the rubble, the group scattered, each one dodging for their lives as the anchors continued to fall. 

The Greater Spirit extended its influence further, anchoring the group in place. Each of them felt an unbearable weight pressing down, their movements grinding to a halt. 

The Plaguewalker, sensing the shift, exhaled deeply. A dark aura radiated from him, his body exuding an overwhelming presence. The anchors, as if recognizing him as their master, changed direction mid-fall, converging toward him and the Greater Spirit. 

The Greater Spirit responded in kind, summoning more anchors, its tentacles reaching for the pendulum once again. This time, it attempted to amplify its control. 

The battlefield froze, the tension palpable. 

Then, from nowhere, the air tore open. 

A grotesque arm, impossibly long and covered in hanging pendulums instead of hair, erupted from the void. With a deafening crack, it slammed into the Plaguewalker, sending him sprawling. 

Faust and Gelatea could only watch, their breaths shallow, as the battle reached its nightmarish crescendo.

The Plaguewalker slammed into a pile of jagged rocks, coughing as debris scattered around him. The Greater Spirit roared in anguish, its grotesque form writhing as it attempted to regenerate. Suddenly, the air shifted. An oppressive stillness blanketed the battlefield.

Through the haze, the entity emerged.

The entity tore through the air, its head and shoulders forcing their way into the scene as if breaking through an unseen barrier. It stepped forward, fully revealed, 2.5 meters tall. Faust craned his neck to take in the creature, his awe mingled with dread. The anchors and the suffocating weight that had once pinned them vanished entirely, as if erased by the Echo's arrival.

The Entity, was a monstrous amalgamation of human and beast. Its head was shrouded by a frayed silver cloth, tightly wrapped over hollow sockets where eyes should have been. The cloth appeared ancient, its texture uneven and worn, faintly stained with marks resembling dried ichor. It had no mouth, its faceless visage radiating an eerie silence broken only by the soft metallic chimes that echoed with every movement.

Instead of hair, thin pendulums hung from its skin, swaying rhythmically. Each pendulum seemed alive, reflecting faint light as if in tune with an unseen force. Its slender arms dangled unnaturally low, reaching its knees, giving it an almost marionette-like appearance.

The creature's torso was both muscular and gaunt, a contradiction that made it look as if it had been starved despite its strength. Its abdomen appeared hollowed, adding to its unsettling form. Its lower body was clothed in tattered, baggy trousers, the dark fabric faded and torn as though it had weathered countless battles.

"Faust!" Claire's sharp voice cut through the tension, snapping him out of his trance as he realized he had begun to move forward instinctively, drawn to the entity.

The group—Faust, Gelatea, the injured carriage driver, and Claire—huddled together, now fully exposed as their cover had been obliterated.

"Is that another high-tier Lesser Spirit?" Gelatea asked, her voice tinged with unease as she turned to Claire.

Claire gripped Faust's arm tightly, her tone firm.

"That's no Lesser Spirit… That's an Echo."

"An Echo?"Faust repeated, his voice filled with disbelief.

Claire nodded. "Yes, his echo to be precise". She said pointing to the Plaguewalker.

"No time for a full explanation, but it's here to stop what the Plaguewalker was about to do. Echoes have one purpose—to kill the bearer of a specific metaphor. The bearer can't die by any other means, so it stopped the Plaguewalker's sacrifice."

The Echo strode toward the Greater Spirit, its pendulums swaying ominously. With ease, it grabbed the spirit and hoisted it into the air. The Plaguewalker, still sprawled on the ground, let out a broken laugh through his fractured mask.

The Plaguewalker sat up, blood dripping from his wounds.

"Anchor!"he shouted, his voice ragged but defiant.

Claire's gaze flickered to the Echo, her brow furrowed.

"Anchor… That's the Plaguewalker's metaphor and also the name of his Echo."

The Echo, now looming over the Plaguewalker, dropped the Greater Spirit from its grasp. Tentacles lashed out in a frenzy, but before they could land, the pendulums on the Echo's body began to swing.

The Greater Spirit froze mid-attack, its entire form paralyzed by the Echo's oppressive presence. Ethereal anchors began bursting from within its body, their jagged forms tearing through its flesh. The spirit writhed in agony, its form flickering and destabilizing.

Moments later, the spirit gave a final, guttural scream before collapsing into a mutilated heap, its lifeless body pierced and deformed by countless anchors.

The Echo turned slowly, its faceless head tilting slightly toward the Plaguewalker.

The Plaguewalker was no longer lying down. A voice—masculine and commanding—shouted, "Anchor!"

Before the Echo could react to it's name, the Plaguewalker moved with impossible speed, zooming past it in a blur. His weapon slashed clean through the Echo's chest, revealing the glowing mark of an anchor carved into its flesh.

The Echo shimmered, its form wavering like a mirage. Slowly, it dissolved into the air, vanishing completely... for now.

The battlefield fell silent. The Greater Spirit was gone. The Echo had vanished.

The Plaguewalker stood amidst the carnage, his shoulders rising and falling with exhaustion. Blood dripped from his wounds, pooling at his feet. He glanced at the others, his broken mask hiding the faint smile tugging at his lips.

The battle was over.