I kept watching the scene with a blank stare, like my senses were dulled by the abnormality unfolding before us. My eyes were fixed on the footprints — grotesque marks of dark, thick, almost viscous blood that slowly and methodically appeared on the ceiling above us.
Each new footprint was accompanied by a wet, muffled sound, like raw meat pressed against stone. They were getting closer. Inch by inch, the marks converged on the exact spot where Nyara and I stood.
Gravity seemed irrelevant to whatever was moving above our heads. Next to me, Nyara stood still, her face bathed in a cold serenity, almost inhuman. Her eyes stared into nothingness with absolute indifference, as solid as mine.
There was no fear, no surprise — just an empty silence, like this was just another whisper among the many the veil of the unknown murmurs on moonless nights. Honestly, I don't think I've ever seen Nyara, Althea, or even Nekra show real surprise. It's as if something inside them broke long ago, or maybe... they already knew what lies beyond the visible world.
Anyway, the wet, repulsive sound kept echoing through the narrow corridors, like raw flesh dragged across stone. With each moment, new footprints appeared on the dusty floor, forming an irregular trail inching slowly, relentlessly closer to where I was.
There was something intrinsically wrong about the rhythm of those steps — as if the creature making them didn't fully understand the art of walking, just mimicked it. Then, in an abrupt silence, the last footprint appeared mere inches from me. Whatever was leaving that trail of black blood... was now there, standing at an almost intimate distance.
We could feel the presence — heavy, pulsing, like the very air around us was being consumed by an invisible hunger. Nyara and I just watched, motionless, our indifferent expressions the only sparks of light in the oppressive darkness of the corridor.
It was watching us, I could feel it — even without eyes, even without a visible form, there was an ancient intelligence, something beyond human understanding, examining us with a silence that screamed. We waited. One second. Two. Too long for any sane man. But nothing happened. No attack, no additional sound. Just the crushing weight of its presence.
Confused, I closed my eyes for a brief moment — and when I opened them again, I noticed something terribly wrong. Where my iris had natural golden patterns before, there now seemed to be a swirl of colors, like a liquid rainbow being sucked into my pupils.
The hues danced and twisted unnaturally, pulsing as if they had a will of their own. It was then that the world in front of me... changed. Reality seemed to unravel, shattering like glass plunged into viscous darkness.
The air thickened, almost solid, and every sound seemed to come from somewhere too distant to reach. The first thing I noticed in this new, profane scene was a face — or something daring to pose as one. It had no mouth, eyes, or nose. No recognizable features, yet somehow impossibly, I knew it was watching me.
Its outline vaguely resembled a human head, but there was something horribly wrong with its symmetry, as if shaped by hands that had never seen a real face, or rejected the logic of human form. Its surface looked like wet, textureless flesh, pulsing softly like the belly of a sleeping... or hungry creature.
Closer inspection confirmed what was already clear: the figure before me had human proportions. Arms, legs, torso — everything in place, structured with almost academic anatomical precision. Yet, the skin, if you could call it that, resembled the viscous, matte texture of crude oil, with a surface that absorbed light instead of reflecting it — like a solid void where reality hesitated to touch.
It showed no intention to move. It stood there, motionless, maintaining a fixed gaze that didn't seem to come from eyes but from an indistinct point where a face should be. It didn't blink. Didn't twitch. Just watched — or at least projected the feeling of watching — like a black mirror reflecting the act of seeing without revealing anything of itself. I kept my eyes on it for a while.
Then, the entity raised one hand. There was no noise. No air displacement. No preparatory gesture. The movement happened just like a shadow stretching at dusk — inevitable, but with no perceptible origin.
It was as if its presence escaped ordinary physical laws, sliding on a plane that ignored ours, yet interfered with it with unsettling ease.
The gesture was minimal, almost indifferent. Still, there was something — an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere, a faint pressure lodged under the skin. The feeling wasn't immediate danger, but inevitable consequence.
If that arm completed its movement toward me, the result would be final. Not exactly death, I think, but a meticulous destruction, maybe... functional. Being reduced to fragments — crushed, twisted, undone beyond repair — didn't seem like a remote possibility, just unpleasant.
My body, though tougher than an ordinary human's, was far from invulnerable. This wouldn't be a good experience. But there are worse things than pain, and that presence seemed intimately familiar with them all.
It was a matter of milliseconds. A golden field manifested around me and, in absolute silence, expanded to envelop Nyara and the anomaly standing before me. The light didn't flicker or radiate heat — it simply was, defining a space where the rules seemed suspended, or redefined.
In the next instant, while my eyes still adjusted to the faint glow, I noticed the anomaly's arm had extended in front of me. A long, disproportionate limb, with fingers too thin, almost shriveled, ending in bony joints that curved like ancient claws.
There were no muscles, no flesh, yet something about the way that arm existed suggested strength — a quiet, concentrated power, capable of crushing bones and organs as easily as crumpling wet paper. It hovered inches from my face. Still.
I looked at my hand stretched out in front of me, studying it with a certain detachment. The fingers were still there, though a bit too crooked, the bones hinting they'd dangerously flirted with collapse.
There was a slight involuntary tremor, almost imperceptible, as if the tissue was trying to remember being flesh after almost becoming something else — something crumpled, misshapen, irreparable.
Behind me, so close that her breath seemed to carve words right on my neck, Nyara's voice sounded low, unhurried: "It's been a long time since I last saw your authority, sister"
When I heard Nyara's words, my eyes quickly shifted toward her. She noticed my gaze and, with a slight sideways smile, tilted her head as if trying to understand what was strange. I have to admit I was surprised — after all, I don't recall ever testing this ability on any of my sisters before. I always imagined they, like anything else touching my field, would freeze. But at least with Nyara, it seemed to have no effect.
Ignoring the curious look I gave her, Nyara stayed still, her eyes slowly scanning the edge of the golden field I had created. Her gaze, sharp and calculating, analyzed every inch of the shimmering light barrier fluttering softly in the wind.
With an expression mixing curiosity and a slight hint of doubt, she finally broke the silence, her words echoing hesitantly in the air: "Why does it seem so short? Also... there's something strange, it feels incomplete"
Honestly, I had no idea how to answer Nyara's musings. I mean, this power... wasn't it something I already had when I woke up in that forest? Was it already part of my arsenal even before my memory disappeared? Although, technically, I seemed to master it at that moment, deep down I never bothered to really think about it.
At that time, my priority was different: trying, with every ounce of strength I had left, not to end up as a meal for those bizarre dogs. In the end, I chose to just set that question aside, at least for now. Ignoring Nyara's thoughts, I turned my gaze back to the being before me. Its hand remained still, suspended inches from my face, as if hesitating between a gesture and nothing.
For a moment, some strategies ran through my mind — cold calculations, various possibilities — but in the end, I went with the most direct method: a punch. No emotion, no hurry, just a pragmatic decision. I focused on the spot on the anomaly where a strange glow pulsed, something that might be the equivalent of a heart.
Without changing my posture, I circled its arm and moved closer to the body of that dark, viscous form. Then, with the indifference of someone performing an inevitable procedure, I clenched my fist and struck, applying all my force to that vulnerable point on the anomaly.
But at the very moment my punch should have collided with its body, something unexpected happened — my arm simply passed through that indistinct form as if it were air. I couldn't hide the surprise washing over me; my eyes widened as I blinked, incredulous at the scene.
The sensation in my arm was strangely contradictory: I definitely felt something there, a faint and almost tangible contact, yet at the same time, it was like there was nothing blocking my movement, like my fist had crossed a shadow with no substance. It was a disconcerting feeling, a mix of touch and emptiness that left me completely disoriented.
The moment I pulled my arm back from the anomaly's chest, the feeling of "touching" something simply vanished, as if it had never existed. It was strange, almost like my hand had passed through an illusory shadow, a ghostly presence that faded into thin air.
I alternated my gaze between the creature's weak spot and its face, feeling a crushing weight of helplessness. For the first time, the situation was completely out of my control — or rather, I couldn't even properly touch it, let alone figure out how to kill it.
A whirlwind of doubts invaded my mind. Then, behind me, Nyara, who had been silently observing everything, spoke with a low, firm voice, cutting through the tense silence hanging in the air.
"Sister, do you want to kill it?" Nyara asked, her face carrying a curious mix of doubt and fascination. Setting aside the fact she used the word "kill" which definitely didn't fit her style. I simply nodded, saying nothing.
Noticing my silence, Nyara continued, analyzing the situation carefully: "Hmm... looks like it's in an alternate dimensional field, different from this one we're in now, but clearly doesn't know how to control it properly. Still, the fact that it tried to attack you shows it has some knowledge — or at least a way — to temporarily enter this reality. It's probably the moment it's getting ready to strike, right?"
Nyara's words sounded more like enigmatic questions than concrete answers, filled with a mystery that seemed to slip between the shadows of the conversation. Still, it was impossible to deny that every sentence she said carried a hidden meaning, like a secret about to be unveiled. Moreover, Nyara clearly had much deeper knowledge about the matter than I did; that made me not only trust her.
With that thought, I dived into intense reflection while keeping my eyes fixed on the anomaly before me. To sum everything up into a single strategy, I knew I'd have to act at the exact moment it attacked me — a precise, ruthless instant.
At the same time, I'd have to time my activation of the golden field perfectly, because without that protective barrier, my chances of reacting were minimal. Without it, I'd hardly manage to dodge the incoming blow and launch an efficient counterattack at the same time.
Honestly, when it came to offensive anomalous abilities, I was completely unprepared... It felt like I had this huge gap in that area. And then, all of a sudden, for some inexplicable reason, a wave of stupidity washed over me — like I'd wasted precious opportunities by just ignoring all the anomalous abilities right in front of me.
(... anyway, why hasn't that guy shown up yet?) I thought, uneasy, as a familiar image formed in my mind — a face almost identical to mine, but with vibrant red eyes.