Garfield had lost track of how many days had passed in Tomb Maizel. The air never changed, there was no sun, no moon. Only the whisper of glyphs and the oppressive hum of mana in the stones. His body should have collapsed, but his will and his obsession kept him moving forward.
The first hybrid stood beside him—half-man, half-scorpion—its movements jerky, its mind dull but obedient. Garfield studied it as though it were not a creation but a mirror. Its existence confirmed his theories. It was proof that will, mana, and flesh could be rewritten.
Still, it was imperfect. Too fragile, too unstable. When he tried to command it beyond simple gestures, its body shook, twitching like a puppet near breaking. He realized something crucial: to strengthen the vessel, he needed sacrifice of a higher quality.
And so, Garfield hunted.
From the desert sands above, he dragged new victims—rogues, mercenaries, wandering fools who thought treasure lay within the tomb. Their screams echoed through the stone corridors as he tested combinations: void hounds with human bone, goblin sinew grafted to desert hawks. Some burst into ash before life could take root. Others twitched for hours before expiring in silence.
But failure was not wasted. Each one taught him something new. Each one stripped away the veil of mortality.
The Being hovered silently through all this, no longer chastising him. But Garfield noticed the way its form flickered when he neared the erased name on the mural. As if the very idea of the Fourteenth wounded it.
One night, when the Library's whispers grew louder than usual, Garfield turned to it.
"You were once human, weren't you? You spoke of ascent. You said you reached the Eighteenth Late."
The Being's shape darkened, and for a moment, something like sorrow leaked from its voice.
"Yes. And for it, I was devoured by that which should never be named. Do not chase my path, Garfield."
But Garfield only smirked, eyes burning cold.
"Then I will surpass you."
The hybrid knelt at his side, obedient in silence. And Garfield returned to carving glyphs into flesh.
The tomb trembled faintly as though recognizing him as its new master.