Body covered in bite marks, blood dripping, Lior bit back the fiends that tried to devour him.
Black ink trickled from his lips, a mouthful of snake intestines sliding down his throat. He swallowed, then wiped it away.
With a burp, he gazed at the hundreds of snakes keeping their distance.
"What's wrong? Didn't expect me to bite back?" he said, smirking.
Then he felt it. A sensation.
Not nausea. Something strange invading his body.
Strangely familiar—yet vastly different.
It's like that energy, but...
The energy flooded through him, wild and aimless. Flowing similarly to Arcanum essence. It didn't burn. It was something less—but infinitely more terrifying.
Cold sweat broke out over him, the bitter chill making him tremble. He leaned forward, clutching his chest.
Breathing heavily, his vision blurred.
"What's this?"
With every exhale, dark smoke escaped his lips.
Moments passed. The same happened to his arms. Then, from his entire body, a black haze poured out—as if he were evaporating.
It's eating me alive.
Judging it similar to Arcanum essence, he sat down to meditate with what little strength he had.
I need to get this under control.
He drew a breath and began.
Controlling the flow, guiding it to his chest, then condensing it—the principle of forming a core in its simplest form. Easy on paper, difficult in practice.
Before attempting this, one must feel the essence, learn to influence it, then take control.
Then came guiding multiple currents. Each demanded precision and focus—from his extremities and head, slowly and carefully, all the way to his chest.
There, it was like filling a vase—keeping the current circulating until it formed. The crucial part was stabilizing the core.
Luckily, Lior had practiced countless times since arriving in Solmira.
Splitting his attention between every current, he moved them with impeccable accuracy and calm.
After torturous hours, the energy finally circulated to his chest.
What?
Strangely, the calm dark essence refused his control.
Lior noticed how different this energy felt. Unlike the chaotic and blazing Arcanum essence, this one was tranquil. Guiding it felt almost too easy, too timid. But on the cusp of creating his core—it resisted.
What contradictory energy.
Lior didn't understand why, but it felt like the energy was warning him. Once done, there's no going back. Like committing a taboo.
Seeing the energy refuse only made him want it more.
You don't get to decide. I do.
With that, he forced the energy into his core.
The darkness screamed.
It shook Lior's very soul. Uncooperative, it tried devouring his entire being. Out of control, the rampaging energy bled from his face—nose, eyes, mouth, ears—all dripping dark ink.
Lior grinned, teeth slick with ink and blood.
All right. Let's see who lasts longer.
Ignoring the pain, he poured on.
Harrowing screams echoed in his mind, trying to disrupt him. Futile resistance.
At last, he succeeded. The darkness calmed, returning to its tranquil state.
Lior gasped, breath heavy, eyes narrowed.
"I did it," he exclaimed, bloody lips curling upward.
But something was wrong. Lior couldn't control his body.
Slowly, it rose to its feet.
"Wait!"
It didn't listen.
Once upright, a piercing pain struck him—an invisible stab aimed not at his heart, but something deeper.
Screaming, he realized its target.
My soul!
Too late.
Still standing, Lior fell into a trance. Darkness clouded his eyes.
---
When Lior regained sight, he stood elsewhere.
Holding a Kodachi, he faced a battered Velgrynd warrior. The man's left arm was mangled beyond use. The rest of him was barely better.
Lior glanced at the Kodachi in his hand, then back at the wounded warrior.
Shadow sparring—no, it feels too real.
Interested, he pointed the sword at the man, expression calm—too calm.
The man flickered with a faint light. Lowering himself slightly, he pounced.
In a heartbeat, he was upon Lior.
Lior's eyes narrowed.
Was he always this slow?
The man swung his blade down.
Lior could have dodged easily. But instead, he threw his Kodachi away.
The warrior's sword froze mid-swing. Lior caught it—barehanded.
Baffled but hiding it, his gaze locked onto the hand holding the blade.
Why did I do that?
Having met the attack head-on, Lior didn't budge. Instead, the warrior was immobilized. His sword stuck firmly in Lior's palm.
Lior looked at him, indifferent.
"Your sword... isn't sharp enough."
Gripping the blade tightly, he yanked.
The warrior stumbled forward.
Lior caught the mangled left arm, clenched the wrist, and put all his strength into his grip.
The warrior shrieked in agony, still unwilling to let go of the sword.
Dark haze emitted from Lior's eyes.
"Let go," he said low, "I'll show you how to wield it."
Stubborn, the warrior refused. Lior broke his wrist.
The warrior knelt, losing strength to the pain. His grip weakened.
Lior tugged the sword again. This time it slipped free.
The blade flew past Lior. He caught it by the handle, gripping firmly.
"Feast your eyes, monkey," Lior said, condemning, "this is how you cut."
The blade hissed through the air.
With one clean, effortless slice, the man's head slid from his shoulders and fell onto the snow.
Lior gazed at the headless body, still kneeling.
Regret, sorrow, doubt—none stirred.
Only pity.
"That was no fun at all."
Raising an eyebrow, he glanced at the Odachi in his hand.
The handle remained the same, but the blade had changed.
Pitch black.
Thick, smoky tendrils of darkness coiled around it, pulsing like a heartbeat.
What is going on?
Before he could think further, the world shifted.
Space warped around him, revealing a maze of towering trees, shapeless blue fog, and endless snow-covered ground.
Elaren's Veil...
In a small clearing, something behind Lior illuminated the dark forest.
Turning, a familiar voice whispered.
"It's your fault. All of it."
A boy stood before him, body engulfed in wild flames.
Lior smiled gently as he walked forward.
"It is, Fenric. Trying to protect you, when I couldn't even protect myself. I was foolish."
Now face to face, he spoke.
"But it's too late for regrets. That's why—"
He grabbed the boy's neck. His hand caught fire.
"Why don't you stay dead, please, Fenric."
The boy didn't resist. But the fire did.
It flared wildly, burning Lior's hand with savage heat.
Suddenly, black haze rose from his body—snuffing out the flames. They cowered in fear.
When they dispersed, there was only Fenric. His eyes lifeless, lips sealed.
Lior took one last look.
For a moment, Fenric's old smile flashed through his mind. All the memories—the laughter, the fear, the loyalty—surged up in an instant.
His expression darkened.
"Goodbye, Fenric."
With that, he snapped the boy's neck.
---
Lior woke from his trance, regaining control of his body.
He glanced down. Both ankles were as good as new, the same with his hands.
"What ha—"
Before finishing, harrowing pain surged through him.
He dropped to his knees. It felt like his muscles were stretched beyond limit. Every bone threatened to shatter.
Then a piece of skin dropped. Grazing his face, he felt his skin crack and peel.
"Damn it, what is this?"
He couldn't endure the pain. Losing consciousness, he collapsed.
Lior was roused by burning pain.
With foggy vision, he looked down.
On his inner forearm—a smoky black sigil was engraved.
A name with a quote below.
Ash Vein — "I died once. I won't do it again."