Sunny reached up and grabbed what remained of his shirt, fingers curling into torn fabric. The kick had shredded it beyond saving, the cloth hanging off his shoulders in useless strips. He yanked it free in one sharp motion and let it fall away, the white sparks surging around him as new Memories answered his call.
Threads spilled into existence.
Not the rigid armor he was accustomed to.
Fabric wrapped around him instead, layer by layer, moving like smoke caught in a current. Black bandages coiled tightly around his arms and torso first, firm and supportive, each wrap settling with deliberate pressure that anchored muscle and bone without restricting movement. Over that came a sleeveless, tight-fitting turtleneck, dark and seamless, hugging his frame as if it had been tailored to him alone.
Then the hoodie manifested.
Navy denim flowed into place without a sound, zipperless and loose, its hood settling against his back. Along the sleeves and across the spine, a subtle pattern of dark clouds emerged, shifting faintly as though mist had been woven directly into the cloth. It did not flutter in the wind.
It drank it.
His legs followed, spandex leggings sealing to his skin, flexible and resilient, before white harem pants layered over them, baggy and light, designed for motion rather than defense. Steel-toed boots locked into place with a muted clink, weight grounding him without dragging him down.
Finally, gloves formed around his hands — black and fingerless.
Two symbols burned faintly into the fabric of each glove, unfamiliar and sharp-edged, etched in a language Sunny did not recognize. The Spell whispered immediately, translating without ceremony.
Ink.
Over.
Sunny blinked once, then ignored it for later. A thin chain dangled from an otherwise underwhelming utility belt at his waist, swaying slightly as everything settled into place.
He exhaled.
Modern was the word for it.
Sunny had learned quickly, after spending time around March and Dan Heng, that modern Awakened cared far more about how they looked than the Legacy Clans ever had. Fashionable garment Memories were common among those who expected to live in public spaces, to blend into cities instead of stalking ruins and battlefields. They were expensive, absurdly so, but still cheaper to commission at the Transcendent level compared to armor, which required rare materials and specialized forges.
Half the reason why Sunny didn't wear the Finality's Farewell was because it was barely better than Dormant armor.
The other reason was because he didn't like wearing it, and only did so early on due to a lack of alternative clothing.
…He spent that first week in Belobog wearing the same shirt. He was ever so grateful to the fact that the hotels had washing machines in their rooms.
A Transcendent garment Memory outperformed Ascended armor by a wide margin, though it still fell short of a true Transcendent armor.
This, however, held the advantages of both.
A Transcendent armor of the fourth Tier that did not look out of place in a crowd.
Silent Mist.
The name surfaced unbidden, etched into his awareness. He did not have time to check its enchantments, but he could feel its quality immediately. The weight distribution was perfect. The protection was subtle but pervasive, like a pressure field rather than a shell. He was more used to traditional armor, to plates and layers and visible defenses, yet he could not deny how good this felt.
He was briefly concerned about his head, about the lack of a helmet, before his attention shifted to the weapon now resting in his hand.
Hail Sorrow.
The longsword was long and elegant, one hundred and twenty centimeters of black steel edged in silver. The blade absorbed light instead of reflecting it, the darkness so complete it seemed to pull the world inward. Despite its size, it was light, perfectly balanced, responding to his grip as if it were an extension of his arm.
Sunny rolled his wrist once, testing the weight.
It felt right.
He had mastered all forms of weaponry long ago, but his signature had always been an odachi nearly as tall as he was — Soul Serpent in its weapon form. This was shorter, but close enough to feel familiar, and his body adjusted instantly.
Kafka's voice cut through the moment.
"Bladie worked hard on that. Better give him your thanks or else he'll lose all motivation for his craft."
Sunny glanced up at her, unsure if that last part was a joke or not.
She stood relaxed, tachi resting against her shoulder, magenta blade humming softly.
From what he saw from its runes, Hail Sorrow was a Transcendent Memory of the fifth Tier — meaning that one had to kill a Corrupted Tyrant to get something on its level.
He did not know what it did. He did not know what enchantments it carried or what price it demanded. Under normal circumstances, he would never go into a fight blind with a weapon like this.
But Kafka was already moving, and he was definitely not going to use a weapon that would likely snap in one clash.
She vanished in a blur of motion, the rooftop cracking beneath her launch as she crossed the distance between them in an instant. Sunny barely had time to react, instincts screaming as he hauled Hail Sorrow up to block.
Steel met steel.
The clash detonated across the rooftop like a thunderclap. Magenta light screamed against black nothingness, shockwaves rippling outward and carving deep grooves into the structure beneath their feet. Sunny was driven backward, boots digging into the rooftop as he fought to hold his ground. Stone and metal shredded beneath his heels, debris spraying into the air as his momentum finally bled away.
Two pairs of eyes locked.
Kafka's gaze was dull magenta, hypnotic and steady, like a spider watching its prey struggle in silk. Sunny's eyes were darker still, a void so deep that even abyssal creatures avoided meeting it for too long.
Their blades pressed together, locked at the midpoint.
Kafka smiled.