The world stilled.
For a moment, it was as if reality itself had been suspended—time held hostage in a single breath. Amaranthus felt it immediately: an overwhelming sense of crisis crawling over his skin. He pivoted sharply, planting his right foot and hurling his body leftward.
Gravity lost its grip on him.
The sudden speed unmoored him from the earth, leaving him weightless—like an astronaut drifting across the surface of the moon.
From several meters away, he spotted it: a black-flamed arrow slicing through the frozen air. Unlike the rest of the world, it still moved, albeit agonizingly slow.
So that's why my ability activated, he thought.
He had tried to reach this state before, many times. But it had always remained veiled—hidden behind a curtain of silk. Now, he'd torn through it.
I remember the feeling. I might be able to harness this again, he mused as he approached the arrow, its black flame licking at time itself. He reached out and grabbed it.
There was a brief resistance—like trying to grasp smoke—but the arrow settled into his hand.
Then came the next priority.
He scanned the still world.
[Target Identified: Dark Phantom. Eleven o'clock.]
Excellent.
A few meters ahead, crouched behind a twisted tree, a humanoid figure cloaked in Dark Fog emerged from the motionless tableau. Its form was barely discernible—an amorphous shape shifting between shadows. The Fog around it blended seamlessly with its environment: bark-brown where it touched the tree, jet black where it met the earth.
What's its weakness? Amaranthus asked inwardly.
[Species: Obscura Nebula. Life force stored in a mobile core known as the Omnis Anima—typically located near the eyes.]
An orb flickered into focus within the creature's skull.
Without hesitation, Amaranthus drove the black-flamed arrow into the core.
The Omnis Anima cracked instantly—shattering like glass beneath the pressure. The creature convulsed, its form unraveling into smoke and soil.
Amaranthus turned on his heel and sprinted.
A lone assassin? Unlikely.
As he darted through the forest, blurring past frozen birds and animals, a new sound reached him—a low roar, like wind tearing through metal. He turned instinctively.
His heart skipped.
Two humanoid figures emerged, halting just tens of meters away. One radiated a deep, sickly green. The other glowed red. Smoke billowed from their armor, blurring their outlines like heat haze. Their presence was nauseating.
"Another Vintros?" the green-eyed one rasped, voice grinding like metal on whetstone.
"No," spat the red-eyed one, flecks of green saliva hissing on the earth. "A manurekin. Filth."
"Brother, why does he have that lightning on him?"
They hadn't realized his speed.
He acted immediately.
Amaranthus surged forward, closing the distance like a bullet loosed from a railgun.
I don't know what they're capable of—and I don't intend to find out.
"Ice Lance. Expanding."
He thrust his arm forward. A frozen lance erupted from his hand, stretching mid-flight—its speed and growth outpacing the green creature's reflexes. It struck center mass, piercing its heart.
"Gravka!!" the red one screamed.
The green one burst into particulate mist—its body dissolving like fog and crumbling dirt.
Amaranthus didn't stop.
He sidestepped the fading corpse and conjured a blade in his right hand.
Oscillating Lightning Sword—sharpened, reinforced.
A jagged, black-and-white blade materialized, humming with contained fury.
The red one moved—faster than anything he'd faced. It ducked low, springing forward with its knee aimed at Amaranthus's throat.
But Amaranthus leaned back at the last second, letting the strike pass overhead. In one fluid motion, he grabbed its leg, planted his feet, and swung the creature sideways, slamming it into the ground with brutal force.
The armored figure coughed up glowing red ichor.
Without hesitation, Amaranthus seized its head, summoned a hidden blade at his wrist, and drove it into the shifting orb between its eyes.
The Omnis Anima shattered.
And the creature followed its brother—into oblivion.
Amaranthus exhaled sharply and allowed the super-speed to disengage. The world lurched back into motion.
"That was insane…" he muttered, sweat clinging to his brow. 'Others have this speed too. I need a countermeasure…'
As he began walking, a sharp chime echoed in his mind.
Ping.
[Loot Found: Nebula Anima.]
"What is it?"
[An orb composed of condensed paracausal essence harvested from an Obscura Nebula's core. Volatile. Highly reactive to emotion-based energy signatures.]
The orb hovered midair, rotating slowly. It looked alive—its surface a shimmering swirl of red and black mist encased in a translucent membrane. Faint pulses of light rhythmically flickered near its center, like a heartbeat searching for a body.
Amaranthus reached for it.
The moment his fingers touched the orb, it quivered.
Then—snap.
Images surged into his mind.
Not memories. Sensations.
A blinding sense of hunger. Cold, endless hunger. Then motion—instinctual, predatory. The taste of heat in the dark. The pulse of prey. And finally—impact. Death.
He reeled back, jaw clenched.
[Warning: Direct contact with Nebula Anima may result in involuntary memory transference or psychic echo from slain targets. Recommend containment or immediate absorption.]
"Absorption?"
[Compatible with current Veil-State. May amplify your neural response time, enhance passive detection of life signatures, and reinforce temporal displacement field.]
He stared at the floating orb.
"…It can make me faster."
[Faster… and sharper. But it is unstable. The Obscura's instincts are partially embedded in its anima. If you absorb it, you must anchor yourself.]
"Anchor myself to what?"
Silence.
The system didn't answer. Or couldn't.
Amaranthus clenched his jaw. His heart still thundered from the fight, and yet something in him wanted the orb. Needed it. That feeling—it wasn't his own. It came from the veil.
I'm not just borrowing this power…
It's changing me.
He looked around. The forest was waking up again—leaves rustling, birds taking flight, small creatures peeking from behind bark and stone.
There wasn't time to debate.
With a deep breath, Amaranthus brought the orb close to his chest and let go of his resistance.
The Nebula Anima liquefied in midair, pouring into his sternum like ink into water.
His veins lit up.
A streak of black and red energy rippled through him, branching like lightning through muscle and bone. His knees buckled. A scream fought its way to the edge of his throat—but he didn't let it out. He bit down, hard, drawing blood.
Then it was over.
His breathing steadied. The world around him sharpened—colors clearer, sounds more precise, distant heartbeats ticking like metronomes.
But something else lingered. In the back of his mind, a whisper. Quiet. Almost imperceptible.
More.
Amaranthus stood tall again.
He didn't know if the voice was his.
But he knew one thing: the Veil had lifted once, and it would lift again.
And when it did—he would need to decide whether he was the master of it…
…or just another vessel.