Eventually, I decided to get up — slowly, painfully.
My reconstructed body still ached in places I didn't even know could ache, but I was standing again. Beast followed, his heavy steps shaking the ground behind me as we left the ruins of the cathedral.
The morning — if it could even be called that — came with a dim, gray glow. The sky hung heavy over the dark city like wet cloth. The air stank of rust and ash, and a thousand shadows whispered across the streets.
I scavenged through the wreckage of a nearby building until I found something vaguely resembling clothes — torn rags, half-burned, but enough to cover my manhood. Dignity wasn't exactly easy to come by in the dream realm.
"I need a new armor memory," I muttered under my breath. "And fast."
For all the nightmare creatures I'd killed — dozens, maybe hundreds — not one of them had dropped armor. Not even a scrap.
What were the odds?
From what I remembered in school, the creatures that wore armor or had carapaces were the ones most likely to drop such memories. Stone, bone, shell — the tougher they looked, the better the chance.
So that was what I was looking for.
I made sure the fallen devil wasn't lurking nearby before climbing one of the crumbling towers. It wasn't easy — not with only one arm — but I managed. My fingers dug into cracks in the concrete as Beast leapt up beside me, his claws finding grip in the wall with ease.
We reached the top. The wind up there howled like something alive.
That's when I saw it.
A lone figure patrolling the ruins below — heavy, slow, deliberate.
A Stone Knight.
It looked almost human from a distance, but only in shape. Its body was made of dark granite, carved into mockery of armor, glowing faintly with molten lines that pulsed like veins. Normally, they moved in squads — an impenetrable wall of blades and shields — but this one was alone.
Perfect.
I crouched low, one hand gripping the edge of the wall as I summoned my crossbow. Blue sparks flared across my palm as it materialized, forming out of hardened blood and light. The weapon hummed in my hand, alive.
"Alright," I whispered to myself, "one shot."
I started charging it.
First came the flow — blood surging from my veins into the weapon, swirling through the runic channels carved along its surface. The crossbow drank greedily, its limbs vibrating as the pressure built.
The hum deepened to a growl.
Still not enough.
I needed more.
So I tore open the scar on my stump, letting blood drip freely from the wound. The crimson stream rose midair, twisting into a thin coil before sinking into the crossbow, merging with the rest. The weapon shook violently, trembling like it couldn't contain the force inside it.
"Hold together… just a little longer," I hissed.
But I knew even that wouldn't be enough to pierce stone.
I needed something sharper. Faster. Something that didn't just strike — but bored through.
An arrow wasn't enough. I needed a drill.
The idea came to me in an instant, but executing it took every ounce of focus I had.
I shaped the arrow from my blood, its form solidifying in front of me — long, lean, perfectly balanced. Then I began spinning it. Not physically — with will alone.
Threads of blood began to spiral around its shaft, feeding into the tip. Slowly, the arrow's point began to sharpen, twist, and narrow, forming a corkscrew pattern that gleamed like wet glass.
The faster it spun, the more unstable it became.
The hum turned into a shriek.
The air around me vibrated — dust lifting, pebbles rattling, Beast lowering his head and growling in discomfort.
But I didn't stop.
I poured more blood in. More and more. My vision began to blur at the edges, but I kept forcing energy into the crossbow.
The arrow now spun fast enough to blur into a crimson vortex. A spiral of blood, light, and sound.
I could feel it trying to tear free, like a beast caged inside my weapon.
"C'mon," I whispered, bracing my legs. "C'mon…"
Then —
I fired.
The recoil was monstrous. The force slammed into my shoulder and sent me skidding backward across the rooftop. Pain shot through my arm, but I didn't care — I watched the arrow fly.
The air ripped apart in its wake, a twisting red helix of blood spiraling through the fog. The sound it made wasn't a whistle — it was a scream.
The Stone Knight turned — too slow.
The blood-drill arrow struck the center of its helm and dug in. Sparks flew. Stone cracked. The molten light inside the knight's body flared wildly as the arrow spun faster and faster, carving through its skull, its neck, its core — until, with a shuddering groan, the creature crumbled to dust.
The arrow didn't stop. It tore through the ruins behind it and buried itself in the wall across the street, leaving behind a wide smear of red.
The sound faded.
Only the wind remained.
I lowered the crossbow, panting. My entire arm ached from the recoil, but I was grinning.
"Guess it worked," I muttered.
Then the spell's voice echoed through the air:
[You have slain an awakened demon: stone saint]
[You have received a memory]
I laughed quietly to myself.
"Finally."
I instantly summoned the memory, and armor appeared in front of me in blue sparks. It was dark, almost obsidian, and completely made of stone, but it didn't feel as heavy as it looked. I read its name.
[Mantle of the underworld]