Clank—
The sound of chains rattling echoed through the cell as Asher thrashed against the restraints.
"FUCK!" he screamed, the word ripping from his throat like a wound.
It was no use.
He wasn't screwed. He was very screwed.
Dead even.
"UGHHHHHHH! WHY ME?!"
His voice cracked in frustration as he tugged futilely at the shackles bolted to the wall. While most of his mind spiraled in panic, a small, stubborn part kept thinking—analytical, relentless. The part of him that refused to die without answers.
He'd come to a few conclusions. Well, four, actually.
First, [Nimble Intellect] was ridiculously overpowered. If he didn't have it, he would've been dead ten times over by now. No question.
Second, [Spectral Sight] bore uncanny resemblance to Sunny's ability post–Blood Weave. Too similar, even. It let him read enchantments directly from the interface in the nightmare realm. That level of clarity wasn't normal.
Third, he was definitely replacing someone in this nightmare. Just like Sunny in his first trial, who had inherited two out of three attributes from the slave he had possessed, Asher now had five attributes. That alone was insane.
It was logical to assume [Mark of Anomaly] and [Dreamspawn] came from the host. Possibly even [Soul Veil], if you accounted for his soul literally being transported into the nightmare. Which meant—whoever this "slave" was… he wasn't ordinary.
A slave with [Nimble Intellect] and [Spectral Sight]? That didn't make any damn sense.
Asher gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to bash his head against the wall.Who the hell did I inherit?!
Lastly, the Skinwalker. That grotesque freak seemed to be the objective of this nightmare. Which meant…
"I have to kill an Awakened Terror to get out of here?" he muttered, eyes wide.
He let out a long, broken groan and flailed again, the chains shrieking against the stone wall.
"WHYYYYYYY!"
"Shut it, you corrupted beast!" a guard barked from beyond the bars.
Asher froze. Slowly, he turned to glare at the silhouette behind the grate. Just a normal human. Not even Awakened.
'You're not even Awakened, you mouthy little shit,' Asher thought bitterly, sniffing as tears of rage threatened to rise.
He took a breath, then called out, "Hey, listen! Just get Eurys. He'll tell you I'm not what you think! I'm human—through and through!"
The guard approached and spat straight into Asher's face.
"I don't want to hear anything from that foul, corrupt mouth."
Asher stared at him, the spit sliding down his cheek. A vein throbbed in his temple.
'I'll kill him. I will kill this smug little NPC. He's not even real! What's the harm? There's no karma system in this hellhole.'
He forced a smile—tight, twitchy.
"Hey, come on, man. Just call Eurys. That's all I'm asking."
The guard scoffed, glaring at Asher with disgust, but before he could spit another insult—
"Shut up, wretch."
The man froze. His face paled as Eurys stepped into view.
Without another word, Eurys pushed open the cell door and walked in, his expression unreadable. The guard quickly bowed his head and slipped away as ordered.
"Eurys! Finally—thank god. Listen, I think there's been a huge misunderstanding—"
Eurys didn't respond. Instead, he calmly opened a leather satchel and pulled out a glinting knife.
Asher recoiled. "Whoa—hey, hold on! I'm telling you, I'm not a Skinwalker! You said so yourself—right? Too expressive? Too—"
"I know," Eurys interrupted.
He turned, offering Asher a strange, almost kind smile.
"A defiled creature could never be this... emotive."
"Then what the fuck is this?!" Asher demanded, eyes darting between the knife and Eurys's calm face.
"Oh, this?" Eurys took Asher's bound hand and pressed it flat against the cold table. "This is torture."
—STAB.
The blade plunged through his palm.
Asher screamed. Raw. Wordless. His whole body spasmed against the chains.
Eurys grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked his head up, forcing their eyes to meet.
"Now. Tell me—who are you?"
"I—I don't know!" Asher sobbed, breath hitching, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven bursts.
—STAB.
A second blade joined the first. More screaming. More pain than language could carry.
Eurys watched him, emotionless. Then, without a word, he returned to the satchel.
"You know," he said casually, rummaging through the leather pouch, "no slave caravan ever passes through the desert. How would they even keep the slaves alive."
He pulled out a nail puller.
Asher's blood ran cold.
"Don't—don't do this. Please. I'm not lying!" he gasped, voice breaking.
Eurys ignored him, returning to Asher's side and gripping his trembling hand.
Asher tried to flex his fingers, but the damage was already done. Every nerve screamed.
His instincts screamed louder.
He could summon his aspect—call forth the blade, or the orb. But… what was the point? He wouldn't beat Eurys. Not in this state. Not ever.
"Who are you really?" Eurys asked, his voice low. Steady. Inescapable. "You're no slave."
The nail puller hovered over the first finger, poised.
Asher clenched his jaw, bracing for the agony when—
"Stop. Eurys of the Nine."
Eurys froze.
Slowly, he turned his head back to Asher. His pupils dilated. His breath hitched.
Then, without warning, he slapped the knives off the table and seized Asher by the collar.
"Who. Are. You."
Asher could feel the heat of Eurys's breath on his cheek. His eyes bored into him like fire and frost at once.
"…Ask Azarax," Asher rasped, eyes narrowing.
Eurys's expression shattered.
Blood rushed to his eyes. In a single motion, he shoved Asher back—hard—slamming him against the stone wall.
Asher's voice trembled.
"Azarax knew of the Nine... for a long time."
Asher was making a gamble. A stupid, reckless, life-or-death gamble.
He didn't know much about Eurys—not really. But he did know one thing:The Nine were in hiding.
Hiding till the time came.
It was a shot in the dark. A bluff without a hand to back it.Asher wasn't even sure if Eurys had met Azarax. Or if he'd joined the Nine.But from the look in Eurys' eyes—that flash of panic, that storm of emotion—
The bluff had landed.
Asher winced through the searing pain in his hands, lifting the bloodied shackles."Remove these, Eurys."
Eurys stared at him coldly, like a butcher deciding whether the meat still twitched."Why would I? You know of the Nine. That's reason enough to kill you."
Asher opened his mouth—then shut it again.
'Damn it.'
"There's no point pretending," he said finally, voice low. "The Imperial Nobles already know. They learned about the Nine… recently."
Eurys's face twisted. He let out a guttural scream and slammed his fist into the wall.CRACK. The stone exploded, sending chunks flying.
"You mongrel! And you wait until now to say that?!"
Asher swallowed hard. Eurys was unraveling.
'He's unstable. Emotional. Not thinking clearly.'
If it weren't for the searing pain in his palms, Asher might've smiled.
Perfect.
"It couldn't be helped," Asher said carefully. "After all, Auro died recently..."
He wasn't sure what Auro's connection to the Imperials really was—but it sounded right. It sounded like something.
Eurys gripped the edge of the table so tightly his knuckles turned white. His face drained of all color.
"Then… what about the 'Goal?'" Eurys whispered. "Who replaces him now?"
Asher raised his shackled wrists again, blood dripping from his torn palms."Remove these," he said quietly. "And I'll tell you."
Every word was a lie. A stall tactic wrapped in a prayer.
Eurys stood frozen, jaw clenched. Then—CRACK!The table shattered under his grip, splinters flying.
The room shuddered.
A low, visceral sound echoed from above—like tearing flesh. Screams followed.
'Something is happening outside.'
Eurys's face darkened. "Shit," he muttered.
Without looking back, he tossed the iron keys onto the floor."They're yours. Free yourself. We'll finish this… later."
Asher blinked.
Then he looked down at the keys, lying just inches from his reach.
He grinned—bloodied, pale, still trembling.
"Thanks," he said, voice dripping with dry relief. "Much appreciated."