Chapter 28: Ouroboros’s Glyph

There was no blood from the cut but the statue's face twisted grotesquely, as though pain was not just a concept, but something it could feel.

It let out a low, guttural wail that echoed through the chamber. With a roar, it swung its massive staff at Narvel. The force behind the attack could have easily crushed a man but the strike missed. Its footing was off.

With one of its legs severed, the statue couldn't fully balance its weight, and the power behind its swing faltered.

Its stance was now lopsided and its movements became slower, losing the grace of its execution. The loud, reverberating thud of its stone staff striking the ground left hairline cracks in the floor.

Noticing the opportunity, Narvel darted forward like a flash of black lightning. His body screamed in protest from the earlier blow, but he didn't falter. With a fluid sweep of Ebonveil, he cut through the statue's remaining leg. Cracks spider-webbed outward from the impact point, and the statue lurched, before toppling forward like a collapsing tower.

Before it could hit the ground fully, Narvel felt a sensation, a guiding sensation from Ebonveil, telling him where to hit. It directed his focus toward the statue's head.

Destroy it.

Narvel didn't hesitate. He leaped upward and, with an arc, brought Ebonveil down in a series of clean, rapid slashes. The weapon cut through the stone like it was rotted bark, dividing the statue's head into four unequal chunks.

At that moment, everything became still.

The statue, frozen mid-fall, paused for a single breathless second. Then its entire body broke apart, crumbling into a heap of scattered stone. The severing of the head had undone whatever mystical force was animating it.

As its remains settled in heaps, a thick swirl of grey mist bled from it. It was far denser, more potent than what Narvel had seen after defeating the Common Specters. This mist swirled being swiftly drawn into Ebonveil.

Then, his interface flickered.

Uncommon Specter killed – 1.

The entire confrontation hadn't even lasted a full minute.

That was an Uncommon Specter? Narvel's thoughts buzzed as he caught his breath. Why is the difference between common and uncommon so vast?

Though this one had been relatively easy to cut down, its body was not particularly resistant to his attacks, but the damage it had inflicted in such a short span was terrifying. He could still feel his ribs grinding, his internal organs burning.

The gap in threat level was immense. And a shiver passed down his spine as he considered the possibility: If I had faced a wave of these things… I wouldn't have made it out alive.

The grey residue of the Uncommon Specter finished pouring into Ebonveil, and this time, the effect on Narvel was almost immediate. A surge of concentrated essence pulsed through the weapon and into his body, traveling like a second heartbeat.

His mind cleared and sharper than before. The stagnant progress of his Mental stat finally stirred. The fatigue that clouded his mind—especially the strain from activating his [Mind's Eye] attribute began to subside.

Even his stamina surged with new vitality, refueling his limbs. Yet the internal and external damages from pushing his body beyond its natural limits and being struck by the stone staff didn't vanish. The pain from them remained.

His muscles felt torn, his joints strained to their limits. Each breath he took burned a little.

Just as he considered deactivating his attributes to rest, movement flickered in his peripheral vision—an unnatural glint of light on stone.

A halberd, chiseled from solid rock, came crashing down toward him from above. Almost simultaneously, a Morningstar carved from the same material swung at him from the side.

Two separate Uncommon Specters had joined the fray.

His body was too worn. Even with [Mind's Eye] sharpening his senses and somewhat predicting danger, his instincts screamed that these two attacks were nearly impossible to dodge in time.

In that split second, it was as though the cells in his arms and legs ignited—bursting with desperate energy to compensate. The adrenaline tearing through him now was unnatural, maddening. With sheer force of will, he forced Ebonveil in front of him, summoning every last thread of energy he had left.

He activated the unnamed skill.

From the black metal of the scythe, eight tendrils of dark energy exploded outward. They moved faster than the eye could track—arcing, twisting like a whirlwind. The tendrils rotated in formation, forming a defensive fan that sliced through the descending weapons.

The halberd and Morningstar collided with his counterattack. His strike had landed first, but it wasn't enough to fully stop them.

Boom!

The force of two weapons struck the hilt of Ebonveil, and the force behind the collision was too great for the current Narvel to dispel. His body was launched backward with such speed that he couldn't even process the motion. He didn't just fall—he flew, his body ricocheting off the ground and skidding violently across the stone floor.

He was thrown down the chamber's corridor, the very passage he had entered from. Dust and shards of loose stone followed in his wake. His body tumbled, rolled, and finally came to a stop deep within the shadows of the tunnel.

Two ribbons of grey mist hovered where the two Uncommon Specters had once stood. The tendrils from Ebonveil, despite being unable to block the attack fully, had struck true. The mist was was by the tendrils and then absorbed instantly into the weapon.

As for Narvel, he lay motionless on the floor.

He had passed out from the impact, his body battered beyond immediate repair. His limbs were twisted unnaturally, his breathing shallow, his face bloodied.

Not even a few seconds had passed when a familiar figure emerged, it was Voidscale. It scampered toward Narvel in a blur.

The little creature's usual mischievous glint had dulled, replaced with a shimmer of concern in its eyes. It stopped at Narvel's side, its nostrils flaring as it examined its master's unmoving form. Then, its gaze shifted toward the still-glowing Ebonveil, gripped tightly in Narvel's limp hand as though his very soul clung to it.

Voidscale, understanding exactly what the glow signified, was immediately drawn to it. Giving in to its greedy instincts, it reached out, gently curling its claws around the weapon.

Time crawled.

Narvel's breathing, though faint, began to grow more labored.

Each inhale was a jagged pull, and every exhale came with a subtle wheeze. His body trembled ever so slightly as if trying to reject the pain that lingered in his bones. Despite the energy from Ebonveil, it was clear that his body wasn't healing fast enough for the injuries he'd sustained were deep, and some unseen resistance seemed to be slowing his recovery.

Then, without warning, a faint orange glow began to shimmer from the center of his chest.

It was subtle at first, like the first flickers of dawn beneath the horizon. The glow took shape and became a glyph, one Narvel himself may or may not have been able to recognize, even if awake. It was the shape of a serpent devouring its tail.

The light slowly intensified.

Slowly and deliberately, the serpent within the glyph released its tail and began to slither toward Narvel's heart with its mouth wide open. But before it could reach its destination, before it could devour the very source of Narvel's being, something stirred.

From deep within his chest, a terrifying aura erupted.

It wasn't sudden. A slow but unstoppable wave of power surged from Narvel's heart like a growing tide. It was cold, suffocating, and something otherworldly. The aura lashed out in every direction, unseen to the eye but heavy enough to make the very air feel thicker.

The serpent, though not truly alive, recoiled as if it had been seized by an instinctual terror. It twisted violently, trying to resist the pull, but the aura dragged it in. Like it had found its prey.

It was sucked into Narvel's heart, vanishing into him in a final flicker of light.

All of this occurred within Narvel's body, deep beneath his skin and bone. Even Voidscale, who remained by his side, couldn't perceive the struggle that had just taken place within his master's body. Not until the sound began.

Snap.

One by one, Narvel's bones began aligning themselves.

Joints popped, cracks sealed, and tendons reknit with almost an unnatural flow. Voidscale jerked back in fright, its eyes wide as it watched the mangled body before it began to reform at a disturbing pace. The sound of shifting bones echoed through the passage.

The fractures sealed.

The skin tightened.

Flesh filled where hollows once carved him open.

Voidscale trembled. The sight of Narvel healing in such a violent, involuntary manner was more terrifying than any ordinary display of power. It was unnerving because it was foreign. Even worse, there was a new kind of aura coming off Narvel now, a subtle aura that made the creature hesitate to approach any further.

…

Elsewhere—far removed from the catacombs, hidden beneath the arches of shelves filled with books and dusted scrolls—inside the Eperium Library, a certain scholar sat in silence. His fingers curled around a brittle parchment and his gaze transfixed on its faded symbols. The room was dim, with only a few rays of warm morning sunlight slipping through the half-shuttered windows.

His trance was broken when, out of the corner of his eye, a glyph began to glow.

"Hm?" He reacted, lifting his head slightly. The glyph was a carefully etched seal in the shape of a serpent devouring its tail, resting within a small, crystal disc. The light pulsed once… then twice… before suddenly fading into a deep crimson. As the last light blinked out, the glyph seemed to rot, losing its glow and crumbling slightly at the edges.

The scholar blinked once, then smiled.

"The boy should be dead by now," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, "and if that's the case, Ouroboros's glyph should find its way toward the prisoner in the lowest lock. If all goes well… our plans will be set in motion before the month ends."

He paused, letting out a chuckle.

"Foreigners really are the best kind of free labor." And with that, he returned his gaze to the parchment in his hands, as if nothing of consequence had just transpired.

…

Time passed.

Exactly how much was difficult to say. Minutes… hours… maybe more.

The passageway remained quiet.

Narvel's body, now fully healed, radiated an unfamiliar aura, strange and slightly repellent. Even Voidscale had pulled back, further away from its master. It now lingered several feet away, pacing anxiously.

At one point, a viscous, black substance oozed from Narvel's pores. It coated parts of his arms, his chest, and even parts of his face before drying into a crusty layer. The residue clung to his clothes and the stone beneath him like tar.

The smell was harsh, like burnt waste. It made Voidscale wrinkle its snout and retreat a few more steps. Whatever had just exited Narvel's body, wasn't natural. It thought.

Then… finally, Narvel's fingers twitched.

His chest rose in a steady, conscious breath.

And slowly, his eyes fluttered open. His vision blurred, only to be met with a ceiling he barely recognized, his mind swimming with disorientation.

"Where…?" He muttered, his voice rough and dry, caught in his throat as he immediately sat up and coughed out black blood.

His gaze flicked left and right, trying to piece together where he was and what had just occurred.