The Death Scissors were pitch-black, absorbing all light.
With each snap of the blades, the blue-white divine threads sustaining the outpost's barrier shattered at the root.
Every break sent a piercing wail through the Bronze Loom Pillar, its surface fracturing with fresh cracks.
"Stop! That's the lives of thousands!" Isa roared, wings folding into a silver drill of light as she shot toward the crimson-robed figure.
[Divine Covenant Technique: Silver Spiral Breakthrough]
The figure turned slightly, a mechanical scoff escaping the golden mask. Without facing her, they flicked the Death Scissors backward.
Clang!
The sound of metal on metal split the air. Isa's mountain-piercing charge was halted—her silver wings trapped between the blades.
"The Winged Clan's 'Silver Strings'... too fragile."
The voice through the mask was dull, metallic, yet its distinctive lilt struck a nerve in Silas's spine.
Silas crouched behind a shattered pillar, pupils narrowing.
That voice... where had he heard it? In the rain-soaked nights of the slums?
"Silas, snap out of it! Help me!" Isa was thrown back, blood at her lips, her wings trembling with internal damage.
The crimson-robed figure turned fully, golden mask locking onto Silas.
"Ah? An Ordinary Weaver fused with a Dreamweaver fragment?" They spread the Death Scissors wide. "A ripe God Core in this wasteland. Harvesting you is worth more than this entire outpost of trash."
With each step, dark-red threads bloomed beneath their feet—a domain of Saint Weaver-level power.
Silas felt his pores burning, as if sliced by microscopic blades.
[Warning: Forced.stripping Field detected.]
[Your Core Loom is locked by the Reaper's Law.]
"Want my life?" Silas rose, voice icy with dark humor. "Then pay my memory consultation fee first."
He activated the Shattered Mirror.
This time, he wouldn't copy scraps—he focused on the Death Scissors in the figure's grip.
[Detected: Forbidden Divine Weapon—Death Scissors.]
[Copy Success Rate: 0.001%.]
[Recommended: Copy auxiliary technique Void Step.]
[Cost: Extreme.]
"Copy!" Silas screamed inwardly.
Vrrr—!
His mind felt shredded in a blender.
In that instant, he forgot how to write, forgot the name of his slum's stinking ditch, even forgot what fear felt like.
His eyes turned hollow, mechanical, fingers curling around a faint red thread.
Slice!
A heartbeat before the scissors fell, Silas vanished, leaving a black fissure in his wake.
He reappeared behind the figure, copper needle elongated into a divine spear, aimed at the mask's seam.
"Hm?" The figure tilted their head, surprised this maggot had touched the Void Step.
They dodged—barely—the needle scraping the mask, leaving a shallow scratch.
Beneath the mask, bloodshot eyes burned with fanatic madness.
In them, Silas glimpsed a rotting badge—a memory fragment clawed from the void:
The "doctor" who gave him black bread in the slums... the one who vanished.
"You're... Uncle Sullivan?" Silas's voice cracked.
The figure froze.
"Sullivan? That weak fool who tried to heal the world with mortal medicine?" A manic laugh erupted. "I cut him to pieces! I am the Pantheon's Reckoner!"
Their domain flickered—a crack in the armor.
"Isa! Now!" Silas yelled, vision blurring from overpayment.
Isa didn't hesitate.
She bit her tongue, wings igniting in silver divine fire, and became a living blade diving from the sky.
[Divine Covenant Soul Burn: Meteor Silver Cut!]
BOOM—!
The Bronze Loom Pillar shuddered as silver fire clashed with red reaper threads.
The outpost trembled—a preview of its end.
Smoke cleared.
The crimson-robed figure was gone, leaving only shattered red threads and half a golden mask.
The Bronze Loom Pillar groaned, then collapsed in a final, sorrowful cry.
"Did we win?" Isa landed, bloodied and broken-winged.
Silas lay in the rubble, staring at the crimson sky.
He wanted to cry—but forgot why.
He remembered Uncle Sullivan—but not if his hands were warm or cold.
Worse, he looked at Isa and frowned.
"Who are you?"
Isa's purple eyes widened in terror. "Silas, don't joke like this."
Silas sat up, rubbing his temples, gaze clear but unfamiliar.
"Sorry, miss. I think... I've lost my companion's name."
In the distance, the Godfall Tide burned brighter than ever.
Without the outpost's shield, this land would become a playground for gods and monsters alike.
Silas felt a vast, hollow void in his mind—a chunk of memory violently ripped away.
He stared at the silver-haired girl before him. She was beautiful, her pale violet eyes carrying a mix of exhaustion, anger, and an incomprehensible sorrow.
Her wings were shattered, tattered silver ribbons, as if torn by a storm.
"Do we... know each other?" Silas asked cautiously, his hand instinctively gripping the heavy copper needle in his pocket.
Isa looked at him, her tense shoulders slumping slightly. She gave a bitter smile, her voice hoarse. "Know each other? Five minutes ago, I was considering tossing you—this 'memory sieve'—straight to that crimson-robed lunatic."
"Sounds like I owe you a lot." Silas shrugged.
Even though he couldn't remember her, his bone-deep humor—or maybe just his defense mechanism against a fucked-up life—remained intact.
"You owe me two lives and the registration fee for three standard divine threads."
Isa tore a strip of cloth from her shirt, hastily bandaging the wound on her arm. "I'm Isa. Don't ask me again, or I'll carve a word into your forehead."
In the ruins of the outpost, the thunder-winged beasts that hadn't yet died wailed in the distance.
The air was thick with burnt divinity and unstable remnants of shattered laws.
Silas looked down and saw half of a shattered golden-red mask lying at his feet.
It had fallen from the red-robed figure. On impulse, he bent down and picked it up.
The moment his fingers touched the mask, a cold, slimy sensation spread through his body—like countless tiny worms crawling up his spine.
"...Sil...as... weave it... mend me..."
A wet, gurgling voice whispered in his ear—not Sullivan's, nor any human voice, but the muttering of something vast and ancient, slumbering at the edge of the void.
[Warning: Contact with unknown-tier shadow fragment.]
[Shattered Mirror Core Loom destabilized—Current State: Critical.]
"Drop it!" Isa shouted, a silver feather slicing past Silas's fingers, knocking the mask away.
Silas snapped back to reality, his back drenched in cold sweat.
"That's a 'Sweeper's' sigil, imbued with some indescribable 'Void Weaver Shadow.' Stare too long, and your soul gets twisted into one of their madmen."
Isa's eyes were wary as she stared at the mask. "We need to move. With the outpost fallen and the Balance Loom.fail, this area will soon become the Forgotten Wasteland."
The Forgotten Wasteland wasn't a place that erased memories—it was a land where divine laws were shattered beyond repair.
Any mortal who lingered too long would have their body rewoven by chaotic laws—turned into trees, stones, or unspeakable distortions.
The two of them, leaning on each other for support, stumbled out of the hellish ruins of the Iron Loom Outpost.
The night was deep, and ghostly blue lights floated over the barren plains ahead. With every step, Silas felt his body grow heavier.
"Isa," Silas broke the silence, "since I've forgotten everything about you, why didn't you just kill me and take the Dreamweaver God Core? Old Bard said it's worth a fortune."
Isa walked ahead, her wings retracted, leaving only two long scars on her back. She was silent for a long time, until the wind and sand obscured half her face.
"Because in this damned, crumbling Pantheon, someone has to remember something." Her voice was soft. "And you're the only one who can reach Divine Covenant status as an Ordinary Weaver (Level 1). If you survive that long... maybe you can mend the tears in this world."
Silas didn't respond. He felt the newly copied dark-red displacement thread inside him—a lethal parasite that granted him incredible mobility but was also slowly devouring his remaining memories.
Suddenly, Silas stopped.
"What is it?" Isa instantly went on alert.
Silas pointed to a twisted, withered tree ahead. Beneath it sat a wizened old man, holding a glowing needle, stitching a tattered cloak.
"Old Bard?" Silas squinted.
No. That wasn't Old Bard. The man's face shifted constantly—now a dwarf, now an elf, now the golden mask.
"It's a 'Landmark.'" Isa's face turned pale. "A manifestation of the wasteland's malice. It's luring us somewhere."
The old man looked up. His empty eye sockets held no eyes—only two swirling masses of gray threads, radiating a Cthulhu-like madness.
"Young one... want to find your lost memories?" The man grinned, revealing countless tiny teeth made of pure divinity. "Just give me one thread—your most precious thread—and I'll tell you... where your sister is."
Silas's pupils contracted sharply.
Sister.
The only memory fragment he clung to, even at the cost of his life.
In that moment of distraction, the landscape around them twisted. The calm sand turned into rolling tentacles, and the stars in the sky became gigantic eyes slowly opening.
[Detected: High-tier Will Intrusion—Void Weaver Shadow: 'Stargazer.']
"Don't listen!" Isa screamed, reaching for Silas, only to find her hand turning to stone.
Silas stood still. The copper needle in his hand suddenly blazed with golden light—not from his copied abilities, but from the Dreamweaver God Core within him, reacting instinctively to the threat.
"Whoever you are," Silas said, a cold, gray smile on his face, "if you want my thread, ask my memories first. I've forgotten so much already—I wouldn't mind forgetting you too."
He stepped forward, the dark-red 'Void Step' erupting once more.