Chapter 5 — Deceive Thus Greed

The cold air pressed against Niko's skin as he stared down the Howler. The moonlight cast two shadows—one full, pale and quiet, the other a haunting orange half behind it. Joran was gone now, dashing toward the gates to deal with whatever nightmare had broken in. All that remained was the thing that wore child's skin and the man it nearly fooled.

The Howler's lips curved into a smirk, eyes glowing faint green-blue.

"Your friend's gone. You sure you can handle me by yourself?" Its voice was oddly calm, almost amused. "You don't look that strong."

Mr. Ledo whimpered behind him, curled up and shaking. Niko glanced back at the man, then returned his stare to the creature.

"There's a saying," he muttered, voice quiet but firm. "Don't judge a book by its cover. Just because I look skinny doesn't define my strength."

He moved. No warning. No charge. Just a sudden burst of speed—Essentia surged. Niko struck forward in a blur, his fist colliding with the Howler's arm. The creature blocked, barely flinching.

"Impressive speed," it said.

Then its fist slammed into Niko's chest, launching him backward. Niko skidded along the ground, boots screeching against broken stone. He coughed and spat, then looked up, eyes still burning.

"You're strong," he admitted.

The Howler cracked its knuckles, pacing forward.

"Fast and gutsy... but you'll be dead if I start getting serious."

Its thoughts slithered behind its calm mask:

Let's see... Deceive Thus Greed. To use it, I need an anchor. If I can tap into his, I can make the illusions real—It raised its hand and snapped its fingers.

Suddenly, sharp-edged boxes shimmered into view—floating, angular constructs aimed straight for Niko. They launched—Niko's body reacted before his mind caught up. He charged into them—and punched straight through. They burst into white mist.

The Howler's eyes narrowed.

Didn't work... He didn't even hesitate. What is this? His soul... it's fragmented. Incomplete. I can't read it. His is too deep to anchor. Niko stepped forward again, wiping dust from his cheek.

"What's wrong?" he called. "Having issues with your Essentia?"

His own thoughts echoed:

Still not used to saying that word... Essentia.

The Howler's grin twitched. It studied Niko carefully, then turned its head slowly toward Mr. Ledo, whose eyes went wide with fear.

"Is your ability... to control people?" Niko asked, voice cautious. "If so, then it's useless. That old man can't even fight."

The Howler didn't answer. It simply smiled—too wide, too calm.

Not control... anchor. That old man's greed is bottomless. A perfect vessel. He only helps those who help him first. A selfish, self-interested soul.

—Deceive Thus Greed— This Essentia did not control people. It anchored to them.

To their flaws. Their hunger. Their selfishness.

And this man—this weak, grumbling, coin-hoarding parasite of a human…

His greed wasn't just present. It was bottomless. A perfect anchor.

To the Howler, his soul reeked of self-interest,

the kind that hides behind favors and fake smiles.

Perfect.

The Howler raised its hand.

"Get ready."

Palm open, and whispered:

"Deceive... Thus... Greed."

A ring of flickering shapes shimmered into existence—opaque, square-edged constructs blinking into being like cubes of fractured glass. They hovered, sharp and humming, then shot forward in a brutal wave.

Niko squinted.

They looked familiar. Like before. Intangible illusions—But—He saw the flicker. The hue. It was subtle, but Mercy in Panic whispered something different this time. These weren't fakes. Not entirely.

They were solid.

Niko raised his arms and braced—just in time.

The first construct hit him with a jarring thud, knocking him off balance. The next came from above. He twisted, ducked, and sent a punch clean through it—it shattered like metal glass.

"What the—"

Two more launched in rapid succession. He leapt backward, twisted mid-air, struck one down with his heel. The second skimmed past his shoulder, clipping him hard enough to numb his arm. He landed, skidding.

His body ached.

He looked up—The Howler was already in front of him, swinging a wide punch. Niko raised his arms but took the hit—his ribs flared with pain as he was thrown backward again. He hit the ground, rolled, rose. Mr. Ledo was still crouched against the wall, pale and frozen in shock.

Niko's thoughts spun: Mr. Ledo 

He's using Mr. Ledo as a catalyst. Or a lens. Or both.

Maybe his Essentia relies on proximity…? Maybe if I get him out of sight—

Another barrage.

The constructs flew again. But this time Niko didn't wait. He sprinted forward, angling toward the Howler—but at the last second, pivoted sharply. He kicked off the wall to redirect—sliding behind Mr. Ledo, scooping the trembling man up with one arm.

"HEY—!" he yelped, flailing.

"Shut up," Niko muttered, rushing across the ruined path.

The shop was barely a few feet away. He crashed through the wooden doors, shoved Mr. Ledo inside, and slammed them closed. The sounds of battle vanished behind the old wood.

"Stay in there," he muttered, slamming the door.

Outside, wind whispered.

Niko stepped back out, standing in the moonlight once more. His breath was steady, but his eyes narrowed with sharp intent. He faced the Howler again.

Okay. Let's see how strong you are without your little catalyst.

He stepped forward and called out: "I know you were using Mr. Ledo as a catalyst for your ability. But now he's out of your line of sight. What'll you do without a catalyst?"

The Howler just smiled. Then the world changed—Explosions rang out above him. He looked up—constructs again, hanging in the air, blinking like stars.

What... how?

The Howler cackled, voice sharp and cutting.

"How dumb. How utterly stupid. Smart enough to figure out my Essentia... but not smart enough to figure out its rules—"

It pointed at him.

"Once I've chosen a target... once they become my anchor... it doesn't matter if they're ten steps away, or in a different world altogether. I'll keep feeding on their greed until I decide to change targets."

Niko blinked. The word finally clicked.

Greed.

He's feeding on greed. His illusions gain reality through someone else's desire. And the name—Deceive Thus Greed. It's the Essentia's name. He straightened, eyes narrowing. The Howler prepared another wave—Niko's stance shifted. Feet apart. Knees bent.

He whispered:

"Mercy in Panic."

And then he charged.

Their fists collided again. Sparks flew. The Howler created a blade of light—Niko dodged beneath it, spinning low and kicking upward. The kick was blocked—bare foot slamming into clawed leg. The Howler swung again—this time a solid beam-shaped object emerged mid-air and shattered into the ground behind Niko as he ducked.

He rose, struck twice, once in the gut, once in the ribs. The Howler flinched for the first time—More illusions. More pressure—Niko weaved between solid images and shadowed lies, some that shimmered, others that struck with weight.

Their arms blurred—Breath after breath. Every movement hurt. Every dodge demanded more. Niko staggered back, chest heaving.

This isn't good, he's overpowering me... If I don't understand how my own Essentia works, I won't stand a chance.

What I've figured out is that, one's Essentia comes to them as breathing does... but if you don't know how to handle it. It's basically like trying to breath in a place knowing full well there's no oxygen.

He exhaled.

And the street around them fell quiet.

---

The silence by the gate was unnatural. No crackle of torches. No idle gossip between guards. No distant hum of conversations behind walls.

Just… breathing.

Wet, gasping, guttural breathing.

Joran slowed his pace, stepping past the final alley between two shanty stalls. Moonlight flooded the clearing in front of the shelter gate—and his pupils constricted.

They were everywhere.

Dozens of twisted silhouettes hunched and twitching, crouched over limp bodies. Limbs flailed weakly beneath them. Some were already still—torn open like fresh fruit, steam rising from their remains. Others squirmed and whimpered as claws held them down, fangs sinking into soft flesh, bones crunching in that sickening, crackling way.

One of the Strays looked up with blood-soaked jaws and let out a rasping hiss, before returning to its feast. Another tore a guard's arm out of its socket with casual disdain.

Joran recognized the uniform.

It was one of the two who'd greeted him earlier. The one who had nervously saluted with a shaky spear and a polite nod—Gone now. Just a mangled torso pumping the last of its life onto the cold soil. Joran exhaled slowly, the metallic stench clawing at his throat.

"So this is what I was late for."

He pressed his hands together—fingers interlocking like a silent prayer—and closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry… but now that I'm here, you'll all be avenged."

His boots scraped softly as he stepped into the clearing. The Strays began to rise, one by one, heads turning toward him. Maws dripping, claws twitching—Joran counted quickly. Thirty? Forty? He couldn't be sure.

He rolled his shoulders.

"For someone like me, these are low-level creatures. This'll be a cinch."

With a quick twist of his waist, he reached behind and drew a flat black blade from the left rear pocket of his trousers. Moonlight glinted on its edge, sharp as vengeance.

"It's always disgusting to do this…"

He turned the blade in his hand.

"Well, that's what people say. They only see the blood. The pain."

"They never see the beauty."

His tone shifted—low, cold, reverent.

"But this Essentia of mine… was made for moments like this."

Joran raised his left hand.

The blade slid cleanly along the middle finger and sliced all the way to the wrist—smooth, practiced. Flesh parted, and blood should've spilled—but didn't. Instead, a warm light pulsed beneath the skin.

His hand twisted unnaturally, folding back upon itself, bones snapping and reforming midair, morphing into a curved, skeletal bow — elegant and horrifying. The blood that should have spilled instead hovered in droplets, spinning and merging into long, razor-like shafts of glowing crimson. Arrows, honed and humming.

Joran breathed in through his nose. Calm.

He drew one back and murmured:

"Forge Thy Self... Eternal Bow—Carcus Shot."

The first arrow launched with a whisper.

It tore across the air in a crimson streak, bypassing two civilians being held hostage. It passed straight through them like mist, ignoring their bodies entirely, before piercing cleanly through a Stray's skull.

Then, the arrow twisted.

Like a living parasite, it split inside the Stray's head, tunneling down to the Apolus, curling into the heart, and detonating all three points in a simultaneous flash of red vapor—The Stray dropped—So did two more.

A second volley fired—six, then ten. He didn't even pause to aim. The bow guided itself.

"It doesn't matter how I shoot," Joran muttered, stepping forward through the chaos. "My arrows only affect my target."

"So if you're not marked for death…"

"You'll never get hit."

He loosed again.

"Let's thin this herd."

The next barrage turned the battlefield into a crimson blossom. Arrows weaved through civilians and debris, through cries and flailing limbs, and found their marks like predatory beasts. Each arrow pierced a skull—then dove, twisted, coiled—hitting the other two weak points in elegant synchronicity.

The Strays howled—Then they collapsed. One by one, their bodies fell and dissolved into black smoke and bone dust. Joran stepped over the carnage, eyes darting, measuring. Only five left. No, three. Then—

One.

The final arrow streaked through the air—silent, perfect—and flew toward the last Stray, a larger one hunched behind a bent gate post. And then—A hand caught it. Fingers tightened.

Crack.

The glowing arrow fractured in its grasp, shards of blood-light splintering across the night air. Joran narrowed his eyes—That Stray rose slowly, bones cracking with every movement. Taller than the rest. Shoulders hunched unnaturally. Veins pulsing.

Its eyes weren't hollow like the others.

They glowed—just faintly—but enough to tell him what he needed to know.

> "...You're not like the rest."

CHAPTER END.

Chapter 6 Preview – "Cinders and Ash"

The Howler has a name—Greed—and a history drenched in cruelty.

As Niko fights to survive, rage and mercy twist inside him, pushing his Essentia to the edge. But will it be enough to silence the sins of a monster?

Meanwhile, Joran faces a different nightmare—an evolving Stray with power far beyond the others. With a child's life behind him and only one arm to fight, he must make a brutal choice:

Destroy the creature fast… or let it become something far worse.

Two battles.Two paths.But only one truth:

There's no room for hesitation in a world devoured by the Nullborn.