Spirits

Beneath the Chain Isles, Klaus hovered in the suffocating abyss, surrounded by the scorching radiance of the Sun God's flames. The inferno roared, its incinerating heat enough to reduce most beings to cinders.

But not him.

He had made a habit of coming here whenever he had time, descending into this searing hell to feed the Devourer.

It was a tedious, monotonous process—watching the gluttonous relic greedily consume the divine flames, swallowing them like a starving beast. But it was necessary.

The Harrowing White Flames—pure, destructive, divine.

The power to burn away impurity. To erase corruption from existence.

After all, what could be more fitting for the Leviathan than the flames of a god?

His gaze shifted to the runes glowing in the air before him, ethereal light displaying the progress of his relentless efforts.

---

[Second Slot: Leviathan]

Enchantment: Flaming Sword – Burns and purifies all that is impure.

Enchantment: Catastrophe – Destruction in its purest form.

Enchantment: Nourishing Flames – When fully charged by using souls as fuel, can heal any wound.

---

This was it.

Years of feeding the enchantment with the flames of a god.

Three enchantments might not seem like much, but their potency was undeniable.

Flaming Sword was a bane to Nightmare Creatures, searing through their corrupted flesh, making them suffer in the purifying blaze.

Catastrophe wasn't just fire, but ruin incarnate. A force of annihilation, reducing everything to nothing but ashes.

And Nourishing Flames was perhaps the most valuable of all. The Hemera could heal him, but his spirit creature wouldn't always be there. A trump card like this was priceless.

Yet his gaze drifted downward, to another set of runes.

---

[Third Slot: Pandora's Box]

Enchantment: Evil – The box contains malice, despair, and corruption.

Enchantment: Miracle – The box contains the power of change, a gift capable of creating miracles.

Enchantment: Ark – The box can become anything its user desires.

---

Now, this was something strange.

He had fed Devourer countless memories—of change, of restoration, even living Nightmare Creatures. He had sacrificed so much to shape its power.

But there was a problem.

Unlike Leviathan and Satan, whose full strength he couldn't wield—barely even ten percent of their true power—this was different.

Pandora's Box refused him entirely.

It was as if he had no right to wield it.

It was frustrating. Maddening.

The only thing he could use was Ark, but even that was limited. A cube that could become anything... but to him, it was just a glorified weapon shapeshifter. A waste of potential.

And then there was this.

His eyes flickered over another set of runes.

---

Memory: Devourer

Rank: Divine VII

Memory Type: Tool

Enchantment: [Conquest]

"The Will to Forge One Who Conquers Them All."

Enchantment: [War]

"Devourer can gain characteristics of mystical artifacts and materials it absorbs. By synthesizing absorbed artifacts, you can create the Seven Deadly Relics of devastating power."

Enchantment: [Hunger]

"Allows its master to devour up to seven abilities. Hunger can fuse abilities to create new, more powerful ones. However, the abilities must be compatible, or the results will be unpredictable."

Enchantment: [Death]

"Created from the remains of a long-extinct Soul Serpent and Sinister Shadow, it carries the Will of Death itself."

Number of Devoured Souls: 45,258 / 100,000

---

Klaus let out a slow, heavy sigh.

This gluttonous bastard...

He shook his head, dragging a hand down his face.

No matter how much he fed it, Devourer was still hungry.

The Devourer was a strange relic. It had no fixed form—always shifting, everchanging. It would have been easy to call it darkness, but that wasn't quite right. It was something more, something worse. An amalgamation of everything it had ever consumed.

It churned and writhed, a grotesque reflection of its own insatiable hunger.

Klaus shook his head and dismissed it, letting its restless, wriggling presence sink back into nothingness.

---

Winter was starting.

In the waking world, the skies would be dull and gray, the winds cold and biting. The earth would be slick with rain or snow, the scent of damp leaves filling the air as the trees shed the remnants of summer.

But here, beneath the boundless and lethal expanse of the Sky Above, the world remained warm, untouched by the seasons.

Floating in midair, Klaus stilled himself. And then—

With a burst of blue and scarlet flame, a magnificent phoenix appeared before him.

The Hemera had grown. No longer the small, delicate bird it had once been, it was now larger than an old-world helicopter, its vast wings carrying a storm of embers with every movement.

Klaus climbed onto her back, feeling the steady heat of her fire beneath him. With a powerful beat of her wings, she ascended, carrying him from the white abyss into a sky teeming with stars.

---

They traveled for two weeks.

Even a phoenix could grow tired, but there was a solution for that. When Klaus needed rest, she carried him. When she needed rest, he would return her to his Soul Sea and teleport himself higher, step by step. It was an efficient rhythm—one that brought them to their destination far sooner than expected.

Now, as he hovered above the world, his amethyst eyes burned with an eerie glow.

His vision sharpened.

At times, he focused too closely, the details of the land below overwhelming. Other times, he pulled back, viewing the world as if from an impossible distance. He played with the perception of time, slowing it down, stretching out each moment.

And below him, the Chained Isles came into view.

Once, they had been nothing more than scattered floating landmasses. But now, the terrain had shifted. What lay before him was solid ground, stretching as far as the eye could see.

Forests and meadows wove together in a vast, unbroken expanse. Rolling hills and glistening rivers carved through the landscape, feeding into marshes and deep valleys.

Yet it was the abyss that dominated the land—a dark, endless chasm, devouring the rivers that plummeted into it, their waters forming magnificent waterfalls as they vanished into the void.

And at the heart of it all—

A ruined fortress loomed, its walls weathered and broken. From its gates, an iron chain—colossal, many times thicker than the ones binding the isles—extended across the abyss, anchoring itself to the distant soil beyond.

This was one of the great anchors of the Chained Isles.

The road that Awakened traveled when they came from the south, from the lands ruled by Great Clan Valor...

Or rather, as much as anything could be ruled by humans in this realm of nightmares.

The moment Klaus landed, his legs buckled.

Exhaustion slammed into him like a collapsing tower. Weeks of travel had taken their toll—draining him not just physically, but mentally. Even with the phoenix carrying him, teleporting, and resting strategically, the endless journey had worn at him.

But he was late.

His amethyst eyes lifted, narrowing as they locked onto the Sanctuary of Noctis in the distance.

And then—he grinned.

A sharp, wicked expression stretched across his face, his breath still uneven from fatigue. If anyone had seen him at that moment—a man clad in nothing but loose black pants and a flowing black-and-white haori, his chest bare, revealing the dark sun tattoo that pulsed with sinister patterns—if anyone had met his gaze, those glowing purple eyes swirling with eerie symbols—

They would have been terrified.

But that wouldn't do, would it?

His form began to shift. Melt. Features softened, body changed, height diminished. In seconds, the menacing figure was gone, replaced by a young woman—average-looking yet strangely adorable. Soft brown hair, wide black eyes.

"She" smiled, meek and unassuming.

With a single thought, she vanished.

---

The citadel was as grand as ever.

Walking calmly through the stone halls, Kate moved with the practiced ease of someone who belonged there. She approached a woman sitting in office and relaxing—Marie, a steward of the White Feather Clan.

The steward turned, instantly scrutinizing her.

Kate bowed her head slightly, offering a timid smile. "Apologies for interrupting your rest. I'm an Awakened from Bastion. I was hoping to meet Lady Tyris… to get sorted here."

Marie's gaze sharpened, suspicion flickering in her eyes. But then—a sigh.

Clearly, she was irritated. Another new arrival bothering her when she was supposed to be resting.

Still, duty was duty.

"I'm Marie," she said, tone weary. "What's your name?"

Kate hesitated, biting her lip, her voice a touch softer this time. "Kate… I'm Awakened Kate." Her brown eyes gleamed, as if delighted. "Oh? Marie? What a beautiful name. It means Star of the Sea, doesn't it? The French version of Mary, hmm?" She giggled nervously. "Ah, but don't worry! I've come prepared, so you won't have to go through extra work."

She handed over a set of documents—her identification, government records, proof of residence in Bastion, all neatly in order.

Marie raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised.

Oh?

Everything was prepared? For once? No whining, no confused idiots showing up empty-handed and making her do extra paperwork?

What a refreshing change.

And—gods above—she was cute.

Marie, now considerably less annoyed, gave her an approving nod.

"I'll be honest with you," she said, tucking the documents under her arm. "Meeting Saint Tyris might be impossible… but since you have Saint Cor's approval and recommendation, maybe it'll happen." She gestured toward a long hallway. "Follow the path and knock on the door at the end—that's Lady Tyris's office."

Kate's smile faltered just a little, as if nervous. She nodded, still not quite meeting Marie's eyes, fidgeting slightly before hurrying along.

Marie watched her go, amused.

Adorable.

With a sigh, she turned and walked away, already looking forward to telling the others about the rare competent visitor she'd met today.

Kate hesitated for a moment before raising a hand and knocking lightly on the door.

"Uhmm… S-Saint Tyris, can I—"

A calm, neutral voice from within cut her off.

"Come in."

She swallowed, steeling herself, and stepped inside.

The room was bathed in cool light, its walls lined with tall bookshelves and a massive map of the Dream Realm stretched across one side. But Kate's attention was drawn to the figure standing before her—a woman of striking presence.

Tyris was tall and slender, her long, pale-gold hair cascading down her back like silk. Her posture was impossibly straight, exuding a quiet authority, and her face—cold, unreadable—was almost too perfect, beautiful in a severe way.

She wore a suit of light steel armor, its pauldrons and greaves etched with elegant, stylized feathers. The gleaming metal contrasted with the deep amber of her eyes, which were piercing, weighty—unforgiving. Vertical pupils, sharp and calculating, gave her the gaze of a predatory bird.

She regarded Kate with a single nod before lowering herself gracefully into her chair. With a subtle gesture, she motioned for her guest to do the same.

Kate moved quickly, taking a seat and lowering her gaze, fidgeting slightly under the weight of that scrutinizing stare.

Tyris waited in silence, expecting her to speak.

Instead, Kate wordlessly handed over a set of documents, her fingers brushing against the cool surface of the desk.

A flicker of confusion crossed Tyris's face as she accepted the papers, lowering her gaze to scan them.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sound the faint rustling of parchment as she read.

Finally, Tyris looked up.

"You came to visit Lady Cassia?" Her voice remained composed, but there was a faint note of finality. "I apologize, but she has already left with her companion. They departed for the Night Temple. I cannot say when she will return, but the Fire Keepers and other survivors from Forgotten Shore are currently on a nearby island. If you wish to know more, they may have information."

Kate forced a shy smile and nodded in gratitude.

"Thank you, Saint Tyris. And… I'm sorry for disturbing you."

Tyris inclined her head slightly, her expression unreadable, before sliding the documents back across the desk.

"You can find an empty room. The details are written here, as well as your responsibilities."

Kate took the papers with a polite nod, her posture still small and unassuming, before rising from her seat. With a quiet step, she turned and exited the room.

And then—she vanished.

For a long moment, Tyris sat still, staring at the now-closed door.

Her face remained cold, as neutral as ever.

But beneath that perfect mask—

A faint frown lingered.

Kate appeared on the island, far from the Citadel. The only inhabitants were Nightmare Creatures—silent, prowling horrors lurking in the shadows. But as she stood there, something changed.

Her body stretched, bones twisting and reshaping with a sickening crack. Muscles surged beneath her skin, filling out a frame that was no longer hers. The transformation was quick but brutal, and when it was over, Kate was gone.

In her place stood a striking young man.

Klaus exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders as he took in his new form. Taller, stronger—Saint Tyris was as kind as ever. He grinned, amused by the generosity of someone so revered. Still, there was a twinge of guilt. Taking advantage of her goodwill felt... wrong. But only a little.

Shaking his head, he vanished from the spot.

His next destination was clear. The Fire Keeper.

Klaus sighed. The title alone made him cringe. Sounded like the kind of person who'd wax poetic about embers and destiny. He hoped he was wrong.

But Cassia… That was what really worried him.

Why had she gone to the Night Temple? And worse—Mordret.

"Shit."

This was a problem. A big one.

Should he gather information first or go straight to the temple?

He thought of Cormac, who often wandered the Hollow Mountains. Was he in the temple now? The Valor Clan guarded their secrets viciously, and anything related to Mordret was locked down tighter than a vault. Getting answers wouldn't be easy.

Klaus flexed his fingers. If he went all out, Cormac might die. Klaus himself wasn't strong. Not yet. But his spirit creatures? They were powerful.

Very powerful.

"Bloody hell…" he muttered.

Decisions, decisions.

Klaus cursed under his breath, eyes flickering toward the intricate runes etched into his skin.

Spirit Creatures:

[Lich]

[Hemera]

[Miseria]

[Loki...

His gaze lingered on the last two.

The runes shimmered, revealing the spirits bound to him—his companions in this cruel and unfathomable world.

---

Name: Hemera

Spirit: Child of Daylight

Spirit Description:

[A luminous bird, wreathed in flames, stood upon a desolate plain, her molten-gold eyes fixed upon the boy who lay upon the grass, gazing at the endless abyss of the night sky. The stars shimmered above, distant and untouchable, mirroring the quiet longing in his gaze.

Curious, she stepped closer. He sensed her presence, yet unlike the others who feared or sought to claim her radiance, he merely smiled—a bright, knowing smile.

"I will hurt you," he murmured, his voice a whisper against the wind.

The phoenix inclined her regal head, lifting her gaze once more. Her life was nearing its end. Even she, a child of the sun, could not defy the creeping rot of corruption. She had been born into ruin, hatched from her egg into a world already devoured by darkness. What was there to live for, when all that remained was loneliness and grief?

"Of course, you will hurt me," she answered at last.

The boy's smile deepened—melancholy yet serene.

"And we will hurt each other..."

The phoenix regarded him for a long moment before lowering herself onto the grass beside him, her blazing feathers casting warm embers into the cold night air.

"But that is the very condition of existence," she murmured. "To become spring, one must first endure winter. To embrace presence is to risk the agony of absence."

And so, the Oldest Dream and the Child of Daylight lay side by side beneath the star-kissed sky, their destinies entwined in fire and sorrow.]

---

Rank: Awakened

Class: Terror

Attributes:

Light of Purity – Those tainted by corruption will experience excruciating agony upon contact with her light, their very essence ignited in sacred flame.

Flames of Redemption – In the presence of her radiance, those untainted shall find their spirits emboldened, their strength, speed, and soul essence magnified—so long as they do not surrender to despair.

Bird of Paradise – As a true creature of light, Hemera is immune to fire, untouchable by the inferno that consumes lesser beings.

Fireborn – A descendant of the Sun God's lineage, she carries within her the undying embers of divine flame.

Aspect Abilities:

Holy Flames – Hemera wields the blessing of the Lord of Light, conjuring sacred flames capable of reducing all to ash.

Restoration – So long as her essence endures, she can mend her wounds, rekindling herself anew.

Ocean of Light – She can unleash a radiant flood, engulfing the world in a sea of purifying brilliance, scorching away darkness while forming a luminous barrier to shield her allies.

Rebirth – As a phoenix, she is bound to the cycle of death and renewal. When slain, she may rise again from the ashes—but at the cost of a soul core.

Hope – With her presence alone, she stirs courage in the hearts of those who waver, igniting within them the strength to fight.

Light of Salvation – She may channel her essence to heal her allies, yet each act of salvation comes at the cost of her own dwindling strength.

Klaus exhaled slowly, fingers grazing the rune that bound her to him. Hemera was powerful, yet still so young. He had spent far more time cultivating his Lich, drawn to the need for cunning magic over raw destruction. But now… now he wondered if he had been mistaken...

And Description... He grimaced in annoyence. Spell was strangely poetic, huh?

Name: Miseria

Spirit: Wailing Wraith

Spirit Description:

[Once, long ago, a sorrowful specter wandered the halls of fate, her lamentations echoing through the void like a dirge for the damned. She was an oracle of storms, a harbinger of ruin, her existence steeped in prophecy and grief.

Then came the day she met him—the Ambitious Oldest Dream.

Their battle was a thing of madness, waged within the sacred ruins of the Storm God's Temple. Power of the Mind clashed against Power of Space-Time, twisting the world into an unfathomable labyrinth of paradox and chaos. The storm of their conflict defied logic.

Yet in the end, the Oldest Dream prevailed.

Standing over her defeated form, he did not offer death, but something far stranger—liberation.

He wove her sorrow into twilight and unshackled her from the chains of despair. The specter, once cursed to weep for eternity, was given a new purpose, free from the burdens of suffering and fate.

Thus, Miseria was born.

A wraith no longer bound by grief—only by the will of the one who had granted her new existence. The Will Of Her King.]

Rank: Ascended

Class: Devil

Attributes:

Ghost of Night: With an affinity for misfortune and nightmares, Miseria is drawn to the darkest corners of existence, where horrors roam unchained.

Phantom: Unseen by mortal eyes, she possesses a spiritual form that cannot be harmed by physical or elemental attacks. Only those who can see beyond the veil may truly perceive her presence.

Curse of Shadow: A dreadful premonition stirs within her—Miseria can sense when death approaches, the cold touch of its inevitability lingering ever near.

Night's Oracle: Once, in a time long forgotten, Miseria was the Oracle of Storm God—her visions guided those who sought answers through the maelstrom. Now, her gift remains as a shadow of its former brilliance, veiled in sorrow.

Aspect Abilities:

Mind-Wrecker: With but a thought, Miseria twists the psyche of her victim, warping their thoughts and emotions to her will. She stirs their deepest fears and desires, turning the mind into her playground.

Wraith: Miseria has the terrifying ability to invade the bodies of others, taking control with a chilling, silent grace. Their flesh becomes her vessel, their actions hers to command.

Dream Weaver: A master of the mind's domain, Miseria can weave both dreams and nightmares, crafting worlds of bliss or terror at her whim. She bends the fabric of the unconscious to her desires, shaping it like clay.

Dream Traveller: More than a mere weaver of dreams, Miseria can travel within them. She steps between the fragile veils of slumber, entering the minds of her victims, observing, manipulating, and influencing them in their most vulnerable state.

Klaus remained silent, his gaze distant.

"Beating Cormac... Hmm... Nah, I be fucked if I try that shit."