The stag's cry split the night like shattering glass.
Its antlers scraped the air, twisted spires of bone draped with dripping black threads. What had once been a proud beast of the forest now staggered forward on limbs warped and swollen, shadows dripping from its hooves. Every step rotted the ground beneath it, grass shriveling, earth cracking like burnt clay.
The hunters braced with torches and spears, but already their weapons were faltering. One man thrust forward—only for his spear's wooden shaft to splinter into dust, the iron tip dissolving in his hands as if it had rusted through decades in an instant. Another raised his torch, but the fire sputtered and died, swallowed by the stag's aura.
Children screamed from behind shuttered doors. Dogs whimpered and fled.
Matthew's breath caught in his throat.
The threads of the stag writhed before his eyes, not the golden weave of life but jagged, corrupted ropes of black, forcing the creature into a mockery of itself. They coiled and pulsed, seeping rot into the very air.
And inside Matthew's chest, something stirred in answer. That splinter from the night before—the black filament he couldn't remove—throbbed with recognition.
The whispers surged.
"Yes… join… unravel with us… you are already ours…"
His knees weakened. For a moment, he wanted to collapse, to stop resisting the tide of madness.
But then—Liora.
She stood behind her father, jaw clenched, torchlight painting her fierce eyes. Mira clung to her mother, tears streaming. Bren shouted curses, trying to run forward, only to be restrained by a hunter's arm.
They were terrified.
And Matthew felt something rise in him that was stronger than fear.
If he didn't act, they would all be torn apart.
---
Matthew raised a trembling hand. Threads of the ground itself shimmered before his sight—roots, soil, stone—woven together in the tapestry of the world.
He pulled.
The earth quivered. For a heartbeat, the ground beneath the stag buckled, cords of soil snagging at its legs. The beast stumbled—
—and backlash struck him like fire in his veins.
Dark veins spiderwebbed across his skin, crawling up his arms. His breath seized, vision swimming. He nearly collapsed.
The stag roared, tearing free from the snare as easily as snapping twine. It charged, hooves gouging black scars into the earth.
Hunters shouted, scattering to flank it.
Matthew gasped for breath, clutching his chest. His mother's voice reached him faintly from the crowd, shrill with terror: "Matthew!"
He wanted to retreat. He wanted to run.
But the whispers pressed tighter.
"No need to flee… only unravel… let it all fall apart…"
---
The stag's shadow swept across him as it lunged.
Without thinking, Matthew pulled threads again—this time of the air, the space between him and the beast. A shield shimmered faintly into existence, threads woven into a fragile lattice.
The stag's antler slammed into it.
The shield cracked instantly. Splinters of golden thread burst like sparks. Corruption bit into the weave, gnawing down the strands.
Matthew's whole body shuddered as if the antlers had pierced him. The backlash ripped through his chest, and he felt that black splinter inside him sink deeper.
For an instant, he saw the world wrong.
The huts around him weren't huts but flimsy meshes of thread, ready to unravel at a touch. The people weren't people but fragile dolls, their weaves trembling on the edge of collapse. All of it—weak, temporary, meaningless.
He almost gave in.
"Yes… yes… unravel it all… one tug and the world is free…"
Matthew's breath hitched.
Then Mira's sob reached him.
He blinked. The hallucination cracked. The villagers were real. The stag was real. And if he did nothing—this corruption would devour them all.
-
His hands clenched.
He had been trying to fix things, to mend, to protect. But what if weaving could do more?
Not just repair. Not just shield.
What if it could cut?
Threads shimmered before his eyes, not golden and soft this time, but drawn taut—sharp, singing like bowstrings pulled too tight. His vision bled with light as strands of the world itself stretched under his will, trembling with force.
The stag lunged again.
Matthew screamed, yanking the threads.
They lashed out, glowing arcs slicing across the beast's corrupted limb. For the first time, golden light bit into black corruption.
The stag shrieked. Its front leg sheared apart at the joint, collapsing into ash and writhing smoke. The creature stumbled, crashing to the ground with a roar.
Villagers froze. Hunters stared.
Matthew panted, chest heaving. He had done it. He had cut.
But the whispers laughed, thrilled.
"Yes… cut… unravel more… everything can be thread, everything can be undone…"
He staggered, gripping his skull, nearly consumed by the black splinter inside. His veins burned, but he forced his trembling hands up again.
-
The stag thrashed wildly on three legs, corruption spraying like tar. Its antlers gouged the ground, ripping through huts and earth alike.
Matthew staggered forward, ignoring the terror clawing at his insides. His threads lashed out again and again—cutting, binding, tearing. Each strike cost him, black veins flaring across his arms and chest, but he refused to stop.
Finally, he wrapped glowing cords around the stag's throat. The corrupted weave writhed, biting back, trying to unravel his own threads.
Matthew screamed, every vein in his body searing with agony. Blood dripped from his nose. His vision blurred red and black.
"If the world frays…" he choked out, "…then I'll stitch it back—stitch by stitch… even if it tears me apart!"
He pulled.
Threads snapped—corruption shrieked. The stag convulsed, choking, before its body burst apart into ash and shadow. Its cry echoed once, then was gone.
Only silence remained.
-
The hunters lowered their broken weapons, stunned. Villagers peeked from huts with wide, fearful eyes. No one spoke.
Matthew swayed, barely able to breathe. His skin still crawled with black veins that slowly retreated beneath his flesh. He wanted to fall. He wanted to sleep forever.
But he forced himself to stand straight.
His gaze met Liora's. Her eyes were wide—not with fear of the stag, but of him. Yet there was something else there too. A flicker of respect.
Mira broke from her mother's arms, rushing to him. "Matthew!"
He gave her a weak smile before collapsing to his knees.
"I… stitched it back," he whispered. "Piece by piece…"
Then darkness claimed him.
---
Origin Realm
The ten-meter screen rippled with Matthew's collapse, showing his limp body in Mira's arms as the villagers gathered around in awe and dread. The stag's ashes scattered into the night wind.
Kai leaned back in his starlit throne, one hand buried in a bowl of popcorn. His smirk was lazy, amused.
"Well, well," he muttered. "The brat just figured out how to weaponize threads. Better pacing than most shonen arcs I've seen."
He tossed another kernel into his mouth.
Beside him, Ema poured golden nectar into a crystal goblet, her expression cool but her eyes lingering on the black veins that had writhed in Matthew's body.
"It spreads faster now," she murmured. "The Shadow Hunger isn't simple corruption. It gnaws at the foundation of the weave itself. If the boy breaks—"
"Relax," Kai interrupted, waving her off. "This is my universe. That thing can't touch me. For him?" He smirked. "It's just seasoning. Builds character."
Ema pressed her lips together, bowing slightly.
Kai leaned forward, eyes narrowing faintly on the screen as Matthew's unconscious form flickered. "Still… the kid's tougher than I expected. Already turning threads into blades. Hah. Entertainment and progress."
He raised his goblet, swirling the glowing liquid.
"Better than anime," he said with a grin.
Ema chuckled softly, though her gaze lingered on the black star pulsing above Matthew's sky.
---