Even in his demonic form, the weight of this place pressed against him, a constant reminder of the haunted system's cruel design.
He had fought countless abominations here. Mutated horrors, cursed beasts, twisted husks abandoned by whatever race once claimed this world. But the creature before him now was no mere remnant. It was a Prime Hollow, a living code etched in suffering, upgraded through death. In the game, Prime Hollows were predictable, their attack patterns rigid, their openings exploitable.
This was different.
The Blind Witness moved with a fluidity that defied the game's rules. Its patterns shifted, its rhythm adapted. It was chaotic, alive, and utterly unlike anything Belial had faced before. His bones knew the truth: a Prime Hollow was no joke.
He tightened his grip on his sword, holding the stance he trusted most. Black Wind offered speed and versatility, keeping him light on his feet, defensive and aggressive in equal measure. The creature's empty sockets seemed to bore into him, though it had no eyes to see. Its skeletal frame, wrapped in taut, ashen muscle, twitched with restrained energy. Long limbs, wired for explosive movement, hung loosely at its sides. Belial's eyes narrowed. He couldn't afford to blink. One opening, and it would end him.
The Blind Witness did not wait.
Without warning, it surged forward. The air screamed as its limbs sliced through the wind like spears. In a blur, it closed the distance, its speed unnatural, its intent unmistakable. Belial raised his sword to intercept, but the creature was faster. With a single, expertly timed movement, it slapped his blade aside. The strike was smooth, precise, and it left his chest exposed.
He barely had time to shift his stance before its clawed hand raked across his torso.
Pain exploded in a white-hot burst across his ribs. It wasn't deep, but it hurt like hell. Belial stumbled backward, snarling. The scales across his chest glowed faintly, absorbing some of the impact, but the scratch had pierced through. Blood seeped from the cracks in his demonic armor, warm and sticky against his skin. He pressed a hand over the wound, the sting radiating like static through his nerves.
That thing could close the distance in an instant.
He forced himself to focus, his breath ragged. The creature's limbs were long but not clumsy. They were compact muscle, designed for precision and power. Its strength wasn't just brute force—it was control. Every movement was deliberate, every strike calculated. Belial had seen that kind of movement before.
He knew it.
The more he watched, the more familiar it became.
This thing fought like a beastman.
Beastmen were raw power and instinct, their combat style a brutal dance of claws and full-body attacks. They favored their bodies over weapons, every strike personal, every movement natural. Belial had fought Pacey, a beastman from the final exam months ago. The bastard had used Hax-infused strikes, blending claw swipes with bone-crushing tackles. Brutal, unpredictable, yet rooted in a discipline most mistook for savagery. The Blind Witness moved the same way—fluid, instinctive, yet terrifyingly precise.
But how? How could a Hollow fight like a trained beastman?
Belial's mind raced. Was the haunted system feeding it information? Had it studied him, watched his fights? Or worse...had it absorbed someone? The thought sent a chill down his spine. The system was cruel, but this… this was something else.
Then he caught it.
A scent.
Faint, but real.
Blood.
Not his own.
It lingered in the air, clinging to the breeze like oil on water. Familiar. Too familiar. There were layers to it—human, beastman, Demon, all mingled together. Belial's expression darkened. The creature hadn't just killed. It had consumed. Flesh, ether, memories, maybe even instincts. That would explain its speed, its tactical mind, its ability to fight like something more than a cursed beast. It was learning from what it devoured, gaining more than strength.
It was evolving.
The haunted system allowed this. Fed it. Rewarded it.
The Blind Witness tilted its head slowly, as if acknowledging his realization. Its lipless mouth twitched, exposing jagged teeth. Then it spoke, its voice a croaking, strained mimicry, scraping together fragments of stolen language.
"Ne…ro…"
Belial flinched. That name—the alias he'd used since entering the Black Theatre, the one he'd buried his true identity beneath. It was what the haunted system knew him by now. What he had become.
But what came next chilled him to the core.
The creature's head twitched violently. Its mouth opened wider, splitting at the seams. And then it spoke again.
"Be…li…al…"
The name came out in three warped syllables, slow but unmistakable. Belial's sword trembled in his grip. His heart thundered in his chest. It knew his real name, the one he'd stopped using aloud, the one he'd locked away beneath layers of secrecy. No one here should know it. The haunted system shouldn't know it.
He staggered back a step, his breath catching. "How?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. He stared into the creature's empty sockets. There was no mocking grin, no sign of malice. Just hunger. Hunger for identity. Hunger for form. Hunger for him.
Belial's mind reeled. The Black Theatre was a crucible, a place where the system tested and broke its players. But this was beyond its usual cruelty. The Blind Witness wasn't just a challenge—it was a predator, a parasite that fed on its victims' essence. Every person it consumed made it stronger, smarter, more complete. And now it had set its sights on him.
He tightened his grip on his sword, forcing his fear down. Black Wind stance kept him grounded, its familiarity a lifeline. He couldn't let panic take over. The creature was fast, precise, but it wasn't invincible. It had to have a weakness, an opening. He just needed to find it.
The Blind Witness didn't give him time to think. It lunged again, its limbs a blur of motion. Belial sidestepped, his scales flaring as he channeled ether into his movements. His sword flashed, aiming for the creature's exposed flank, but it twisted mid-air, its claws deflecting the strike with a screech of metal on bone.
Belial cursed, leaping back to create distance. The creature landed lightly, its head tilting as if studying him. Its movements were too fluid, too human. It wasn't just mimicking a beastman anymore—it was adapting to him, learning his patterns as they fought. Every dodge, every strike, was feeding it more data.
He needed to change tactics. Black Wind was versatile, but it was predictable if the creature could read him. He shifted into kaiju stance, slower but heavier, designed for crushing blows. His scales hardened, their glow deepening as he poured more ether into his defenses. If he couldn't outspeed it, he'd outlast it.
The creature didn't hesitate. It charged again, its claws aimed for his throat. Belial met it head-on, his sword swinging in a wide arc. The impact sent shockwaves through his arms, but the creature staggered, its claws scraping harmlessly against his reinforced scales. For the first time, Belial felt a flicker of hope. Kaiju stance could work. He just needed to—
The creature's tail lashed out, whip-fast, catching him across the legs. He hit the ground hard, the air driven from his lungs. Before he could roll away, the Blind Witness was on him, its claws pinning his sword arm to the dirt. Its eyeless face loomed inches from his own, its breath hot and rancid.
"Be…li…al…" it croaked again, its voice a mockery of his name.
"Get off me!" Belial roared, surging with ether. His free hand slammed into the creature's chest, sending it skidding back. He scrambled to his feet, his arm throbbing where its claws had dug in. Blood dripped onto the ground, mixing with the dirt. His scales were cracked, his ether reserves draining fast. He couldn't keep this up forever.
The creature rose slowly, its head twitching. It didn't seem fazed by his counterattack. If anything, it looked… amused. Its mouth split wider, revealing more teeth. Belial's stomach churned. It wasn't just fighting him, it was toying with him, testing his limits.
He needed to end this. Now.
He shifted back to Black Wind, his sword raised. The creature mirrored him, its limbs coiling like a predator about to strike. For a moment, neither moved. The air was heavy, charged with the weight of their mutual hunger, his for survival, its for consumption.
Then, as one, they charged.
Belial's sword sang as it met the creature's claws, sparks flying in the dim light. They traded blows, a whirlwind of steel and bone. Belial poured everything into his strikes—every ounce of ether, every shred of skill. But the Blind Witness matched him, its movements growing faster, more precise. It was learning. Adapting. Becoming him.
His strength faltered. A claw slipped through his guard, grazing his shoulder. Another caught his thigh, sending him stumbling. Pain burned through his body, but he didn't stop. He couldn't stop.
The creature's voice rasped again, louder this time. "Be…li…al…"
"Shut up!" he screamed, his sword slashing wildly. The blade connected, carving a gash across the creature's chest. It staggered, black ichor oozing from the wound. But it didn't fall. It didn't scream. It just tilted its head, as if curious.
Belial's chest heaved, his vision blurring. He was running out of time. Out of strength. The creature's hunger was endless, its evolution unstoppable. He couldn't win. Not like this.
The Blind Witness stepped forward, its claws dripping with his blood. Its empty sockets seemed to pulse with intent. It raised a hand, slowly, almost gently, as if reaching for his face.
Belial's sword fell from his grip, clattering to the ground. He stared into the creature's eyeless gaze, his heart pounding. It knew him. All of him. His name, his past, his essence. And it wanted it all.
Hunger for identity.
Hunger for form.
Hunger for him.
It wanted to be him.
Or worse.
It wanted to replace him.