Rebirth

Two weeks flew by, and Nico was within the outer settlement once more, sitting cross-legged on the road in front of the first line of hovels.

His new home was in its first phase. He had nestled in one of the abandoned areas near the road. Tucked behind the buildings, no one would bother him much.

Only the foundations were built at the moment, but he'd collected more than enough intact stones from the Dark City to use as building materials. He just needed to continue chiseling and shaping them into bricks before beginning its true construction.

Aside from stones, he had collected several other nice materials as well. The tattered shroud from the Blood Fiend, plates of tough armor from the Bone Worm, and large scales and hides from various other Awakened and Fallen monsters he had slain.

Well... he hadn't really killed any of them himself. The only creature he had any part in hunting was the Fallen Monster last week. Even then, forced to retrieve the two roots he gave to Shaman, he was only a convenient distraction — his Echo took point, using a Fallen Beast and its clever mind to outsmart the Monster.

Many of his Echo's power and limitation were discovered with that hunt. For one, once a being was taken fully by Shaman, there was no hope of it ever escaping, no matter how spent the Devil became. As long as it didn't leave its host, it would keep control.

It also didn't seem capable of holding more than one possession at a time. It's mind-attack still worked, and seemed even more powerful, as well. A corporeal body to harness its gaze made the ability much more vicious.

But, now that he was on the topic...

Nico took a breath.

'I guess it's about time.'

He took a glance at his runes:

Soul Cores: [2/7].

Soul Shards: [403/200].

He was finally able to attempt transforming his Echo into a Specter.

But, still, he was cautious. If his Echo became visible — physical — it could no longer possess Fallen without a distraction.

But, could he put it off anymore? He was curious to see how his Aspect's Innate Ability functioned. He had also hit a solid wall with soul essence. The control over it achieved with his soul roots was astounding, yet it eluded him how to transfer the mystical energy.

Maybe he could get an idea from watching his first Specter be born.

Decidedly, Nico focused his mind and retreated within his Soul Sea.

A pleasant, warm wind ruffled his hair. The drawl of lapsing waves reached his ears. He opened his eyes, and before him, a massive tree formed from ghostly veins, its bark suffused with soft light, was reflected in his irises.

He walked forward, his steps solid, firm. 

Then, he called forth his Echo, watching the glowing orb of light descend and shimmer, then fade, revealing nothing once more.

He extended a hand.

The Spell spoke without delay:

[Transform Echo into a Specter?]

With hesitation or care in his voice, he answered:

"Yes."

Something imperceptible shifted in his Soul Sea. It was as if a vast pulse traveled through the interconnected web of roots beneath him, ushering a momentary, radiant glow into his Soul Tree. At the same time, a powerful gust rolled across the surface of the water, scattering fog like dust, floating his hair in a halo, and making the bleached leaves dance.

The great tree began to shift. A single branch lowered, bearing the weight of a single, pristine fruit. Nothing about it seemed material, though. Translucent, it swirled with beautiful light. Pure soul essence — his lifeblood, empowered by the lineage of a god.

Yet, something separated it from him — not soul, not form, but something deeper. Something profound and unseen. It was... new. Different. It wasn't Nico's. It was the difference between him, and a being born from him.

It was a new spirit. A new consciousness.

Or perhaps an old one reborn.

In that moment, an epiphany dawned on him. The reason his attempts to transfer essence had never worked was not because they simply weren't compatible, it was because it was still his, and therefore, despite being in another human's core, Nico's spirit resided, unusable by anyone except him.

However, despite the breakthrough, his attention remained rapt on his Echo's soul. The four flaming nodes still resided near him, but they soon floated outward, drawn in by the commands and guidance of the Spell.

He watched as the ghostly wraith imperceptibly floated across the waters of his Soul Sea, rising ever so slightly to meet the low-hanging fruit.

When it finally connected with the amalgamation of essence and spirit, a brilliant flash blinded Nico.

But, though his vision failed him, he felt it.

The calm tide. The soothing warmth. The gorgeous rebirth. The flaming nodes swelled, surging outwards with newfound energy. Then, reigned in, it swirled, again and again, until tiny, crystalized beads began to form like droplets of water in its four nexuses.

Thousands of times they collided, bouncing off each other and slamming into the next, drawn into each other by unseen force.

But when they reached a critical mass, they shattered and fused together, causing a chain reaction that spread across through the rest. More merged. Thousands of tiny beads turned to hundreds, then dozens, then tens, and, finally, four.

After the process was done, the light faded — rather, it felt like it was drawn in, absorbed into the creature. The true being. The Noble Beast. No longer a mere Echo but bearing a kind of live all its own.

And it stood changed.

Soul, spirit, and body were one, and where flesh was absent, Nico's Soul Sea would be substitute.

He watched as the powerful feeling he had always merely sensed became visible. The shaman's four flames, now complete cores, flickered into existence, intense as the sun and blue as his azure eyes.

It truly was his essence.

And guided by it, it became the shaman. Not the giant desiccated monster, but the true spirit of the reborn wraith.

So, instead of creating a vessel of flesh and bone, it drew upon the veil of fog that ebbed and flowed above the water's surface, releasing its soul and condensing it into an ethereal shroud that roughly resembled a slender, human figure.

Nico stared at the being without reproach. His eyes were drinking in every detail, every rough feature, and every ounce of presence it's soul exuded.

Sensing the gaze, its wispy head turned to look at him with uncanny sentience.

Crimson flames ignited on its formless face.

The Spell whispered:

[You have created a Specter Devil: [Barrow Wraith Shaman.]

***

Nico took a breath as he stared at the creature.

Was it... truly alive?

There had never been any real creatures untainted by the corruption that spread unbidden in the Dream Realm. Everything humans encountered was either reduced to ruin or perverted in some unnatural way. A hint of long-forgotten civilizations remained, but their ruins were reduced to little more than rubble by the passage of time. Nothing remained except the Nightmare Creatures.

But... there must've been live before them; beings with Soul Cores likes humans, yet intrinsically different.

Was he looking at one right now?

Sensations of awe, curiosity, wariness, and confusion muddled his mind — none his own.

A sliver of the Specter's own gratefulness bled into him.

Before Nico could question the strange occurrence, he felt himself forcibly ejected from his Soul Sea.

Startled, he blinked a couple times, reorienting himself back in the real world. Well, it was the Dream Realm, really.

'What the...'

Before he could finish his thought, a horrible pain — beyond word or description — bloomed in the center of his chest and abdomen. 

His entire body crumpled like a puppet cut from its strings. A broken, breathless gasp tore from his throat as he tried, and failed, to scream. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. It was sudden, torturous, and insidiously deep, burning into both his body, soul, and spirit like a searing iron.

Some things simply weren't meant for Dormant creatures, and it seemed that the act of creating a new spirit had utterly spent him, and then some.

He writhed on the ground. Muscles spasmed like broken gears, straining in unnatural ways to bear the agony. One hand desperately clutched the cloth fabric over his chest as if it could sooth the crushing pressure, and his eyes shut as tightly as they could, jaw clenched so hard his teeth might shatter.

More than a few cramps added to the pain, and after that, the crippling weakness.

Like a beast withered from hunger, he suddenly felt infirm — noticeably unraveled. His strength hadn't increased by nearly as much as when he formed his second core by now, but after just losing four hundred fragments, he was realizing the imminent backlash.

He sucked in a strained breath, then wheezed the next moment, the mere action burning white-hot pain into his chest.

Like a cascade failure, the spreading weakness only worsened his bottomless fatigue. They fed off each other like plagued beasts — both destined to die, condition worsened by proximity.

His face contorted into an inhuman expression.

He was still in the slums, and his Attribute was unsuppressed.

'Am I... going to die?'

The thought made him wheeze, then weep, ugly tears muddying his face and mixing with the dirt and grime he'd smeared on himself after falling. A broken sob escaped him despite the situation, and a painful lump lodged in his throat, his whole body shaking even more unnaturally.

'No... this, this isn't fair! Why am I here?!'

Pain. Pain. More pain.

Everything, unseen and otherwise, had been overtaxed, burned, then ripped from his body and sewn back together. Or so it seemed.

Time lost meaning.

'I want to go home!'

And he couldn't even think straight.

'Harus, you bastard!'

Not for the life of him.

'I... I can't go back to the slums again!'

Like a doll cycling through prerecorded responses, or a parrot stuck mimicking its owner, his sense of self drowned in the emotions of the Sleepers around him. Their fear. Their regret. Their spite. All of it was his, and every bit of it, too.

'Ah, I'm so hungry...'

Until eventually he couldn't tell the difference.

'It's been three years...'

Until eventually he wasn't Nico.

'Those bastards in the castle!'

Until...

No. No, he was Eternal Dawn. That was his True Name. His self. Nothing, not even this, could take that from him.

Like an anchor, it stilled his mind. He felt himself pulled back to reality, and before the harrowing pain consumed him again, he desperately ordered his new Specter to help him.

'Please...'

And it answered.

A fog, this one visible, ethereal, flowed out from him, coalescing into no particular shape and enveloping him instead. It took root in his mind. The foreign emotion slowly dissipated.

And, dragged away from the pain, he let his head fall back onto the stones, numb once again.