Lin stood in the shadows of the Concept Sanctuary, a floating city that hung like a colossal white heart beneath the leaden sky. He could "hear" it beating; each pulsation was a current of "Faith" flowing through the air, a formless warmth that soothed the troubled souls on the ground. But for Lin, that warmth was an icy chill. He knew this faith was built on blind obedience, a forced suppression of doubt and fear.
He looked down at his hands. They were stained with the fragments of other people's souls. Each time he stripped a concept, he was like a surgeon, meticulously excising the disease from rotting flesh. The difference was, he could not simply cast aside the "Despair," "Anger," or "Grief" he had removed; they would sear into his consciousness like a temporary brand. He had grown accustomed to this burden, but never to the solitude. No one could truly understand that what he carried was the spiritual wreckage of the entire world.
He slipped into the lower levels of the Sanctuary, a blind spot untouched by the light of faith. The air was filled with a cold, damp scent that was not rot, but the distinct aroma of "Doubt" essence—a questioning of established truths, a silent rebellion. He found Aya, a girl with clear eyes but tangled in "Doubt" essence as if caught in a spiderweb. Countless fine, gray vines snaked around her, tightening whenever she tried to speak, rendering her mute.
When the Sanctuary guards rushed in, their bodies were wrapped in blinding light from their "Fanatic Faith" essences, like suits of steel armor. Lin knew he couldn't simply strip it away. Fanatic faith was rooted in humanity's deepest fears—the fear of losing order, the fear of facing chaos, the fear of being abandoned by their gods. He chose a more difficult path. He did not strip the faith; instead, he reached out and touched the very source of the guards' inner fear. He let his own consciousness seep in like a drop of ink in water, allowing their suppressed fears to instantly swell and spread.
The moment Lin made contact, he felt a powerful backlash. Stripping others' pain was a familiar burden, but experiencing the fear that had been suppressed by faith for decades still tore through him with a searing agony. As that fear was released, cracks appeared in the guards' faith-armor, and their rigid bodies began to tremble. Lin seized the opportunity, pulling Aya away from them. He did not, as he would have before, directly strip the "Doubt" essence from her. He realized her doubt was not a sickness, but a form of resistance. Within that resistance, a faint, chaotic aura flickered like a weak electrical current within the gray vines—a scent that did not belong to this world.
As they fled, Lin glanced back at the magnificent Sanctuary. He no longer saw it as a holy city, but as a precarious cage forged from humanity's fragile beliefs. He ran with Aya into the world below. He knew this was not a simple rescue, but the prelude to a war. What he now had to strip away were no longer mere concepts, but humanity's deepest vulnerabilities, exploited by Chaos. And what he was about to face was an adversary more elusive than any physical form—a formless, shapeless God of Chaos that could twist everything.