Things began moving fast after that day. Too fast for Zachary's liking.
Nephis continued her "charity" work throughout the slums. Beyond distributing the spoils of the hunt, she spent her hours among the dwellers. She didn't speak much—her social awkwardness was still a fortress—but she listened, and for the Sleepers of the Outer Settlement, that was enough.
Zachary didn't dwell on the political implications; he was just as busy as she was, if not more.
Their hunts were relentless. Every morning, they breached the ruins of the Dark City. The city was not kind to the living in general, but it was specifically cruel to Zachary.
No matter how well Cinder Eyes meshed with Effie's veteran experience, there was always a variable they couldn't calculate. An extra creature would emerge from the rubble; a second pack would arrive, drawn by the scent of copper and iron. Sometimes, winged horrors would descend to steal their prey, only to find themselves captivated by Zachary's Attribute.
None of these encounters were beyond their weight class, but Zachary was always at the epicenter. He walked away with more injuries than he was happy to admit.
In the Crimson Labyrinth, the trio had always held the initiative; they grew in a controlled, surgical manner. But the Dark City had stripped that advantage away. Now, even with his enhanced senses, Zachary was perpetually reactive—a lightning rod for every nightmare in the vicinity.
Each time he was wounded, Nephis would heal him, her pristine face twisted in the frown of her Flaw. The days blurred into a grueling routine: hunt, bleed, be healed, endure the charity work, and train.
And each time, Zachary was growing more and more restless. It was as if the last part of his routine was prohibited for him.
Unlike Sunny, Zachary wasn't an outcast. On the contrary, people flocked to him, drawn by his self-diagnosed, excellent sense of humor and his carefree attitude. The growing ranks of Nephis's followers always seemed to find him, no matter where he tried to hide.
Most of the Sleepers already knew about his "situation," and most assumed it was his Flaw. Zachary was too tired to correct them. By surviving every immersion into the ruins and returning victorious despite his "curse," he had earned a rugged, hard-won respect among the dwellers.
His mood soured as the interruptions grew weirder. One young man had approached him offering to craft underwear from beast fur, insisting he needed to "take measurements" beforehand. A scarred woman had come with a proposal to "polish his sword," an offer Zachary rejected immediately with the frantic argument that Memories polished themselves in the Soul Sea.
He would be lying if he said the sheer straightforwardness of the slums didn't make him sweat.
Gradually, he began to distance himself. He stopped appearing when Cassie distributed food; he no longer walked alongside Nephis through the muddy streets. His absence didn't go unnoticed. Caster, ever the opportunist, stepped into Zachary's vacant roles with a polished, amicable smile.
Zachary didn't mind. He was almost elated to be replaced—if not for one singular fact.
'Why can't they just leave me alone?!' he cursed internally as he sat cross-legged in deep concentration.
Thanks to Balance Control, he didn't need much sleep. No matter the state of his body, the Ability found a way to keep him functional. But with every social inconvenience, he ended up sacrificing his rest to practice Flow Control.
He was currently in the remodeled stone lodge, deep in the heart of the night, doing what he had been doing for weeks: making his essence flow without much success. Despite his physical resilience, the sleepless nights were finally carving deep, dark bags under his eyes.
'I was even rude to them sometimes,' Zachary thought with a wince. 'Yet, that only seemed to fuel them further.'
True to his thoughts, as his sourness and restlessness increased, his interactions had become sharper, dripping with a sarcasm that was losing its playful edge. He tried to maintain a baseline of respect, but the slum Sleepers were genuinely getting on his nerves. At some point, it started to feel like they were actually seeking those biting remarks, as if his irritation was a badge of honor.
Even Effie had joined the "bothering sessions," popping in to test out new nicknames that never quite stuck. She was beginning to grumble that finding a name for him was becoming an "inconvenience"—and so, "Mr. Inconvenient" was becoming more permanent by the hour.
Shaking his head to dispel the distractions, Zachary dove back into the deep waters of Flow Control.
His discoveries regarding the illusory, wave-particle nature of essence had helped; his immersions into his inner world were becoming more precise. He was improving, but the pace was torturously slow. At this rate, it would take two or three years to move his essence with any decency—and that didn't even account for the "Unity" he had felt during the final moments of his fight with the Demon. That level of fluidity felt like a mirage, shimmering and unreachable.
'What is missing?' Zachary's brow creased as he pulled the essence toward the pit of his stomach, trying to condense the "tar" into a singular, infinitely small point. 'What can I do? What am I overlooki—'
"Zach!"
Cassie's hurried, alarmed voice shattered his focus. The gathered essence dispersed instantly, bleeding back into his limbs like spilled ink.
'Happy thoughts, happy thoughts, happy thoughts,' Zachary chanted like a mantra before finally opening his eyes.
The blonde seer stood in the doorway of his small room, her pretty face etched with a frantic worry.
"Yes, my esteemed, respected, and charmingly blind Cassie?" he asked, forcing the praises out to suppress the frustration boiling in his gut. "What can I do for you on this pleasantly and clearly undisturbed night?"
"Something… something is coming from the road. I've dreamt of it!"
Zachary's expression went stone-cold. The irritation vanished, replaced by the sharp clarity of a survivor. He stood up immediately, dusting his pants with a practiced motion.
"Thanks for the warning."
As he moved toward the door, a soft hand caught his wrist.
"Be careful, Zach," Cassie whispered, her voice trembling slightly.
"Aye, aye. Don't worry." Zachary placed a hand gently on her blonde hair, offering a brief, grounding touch. "Just go back to sleep. It'll be over before you wake up."
He stepped out of the stone lodge. Nephis and Caster were already there, waiting in the gloom. Before he could even offer a greeting, he felt it—a strange, heavy tension in the air that made the hair on his arms stand up.
It wasn't the buzzing of Danger Sense. This was deeper—a primal, biological intuition reacting to a predator. Something grave was approaching, and the group was about to meet its first true test. Without an unnecessary word, the group made their way toward the White Road.
Their objective was singular: intercept the danger before it reached the vulnerable dwellers of the Outer Settlement.
The moment Zachary's shoes hit the white stone, Danger Sense finally triggered. It wasn't the frantic buzzing of a nearby enemy, but a low, pulsing thrum at the base of his skull—a grim warning that felt like cold water down his spine. He couldn't see the creature yet, but the way his Ability reacted told him everything he needed to know.
This was a predator of a different caliber.
Without missing a beat, Zachary summoned the Carapace Echo. It materialized in a flurry of shimmering white sparks, its chitinous plates clicking as it settled into a defensive posture. They would need every ounce of muscle they could find.
Caster's eyes widened, a flicker of jealousy crossing his face; even for a Legacy, Echoes were rare and prized possessions. Nephis, however, looked at the creature with a hint of pleasant recognition.
"It's still alive," she noted.
"Quite durable," Zachary replied, white sparks already coalescing in his hand to form Antlered Wrath. "I was surprised it survived the plan, too."
He immediately began to swing the heavy warhammer, the weapon whistling through the air as he built up momentum. Nephis watched him for a second before glancing back at the Echo. "I thought it had been consumed by the flames."
"Almost," Zachary grunted, mid-swing. "Took a long time to heal. It seems fire has a particularly nasty effect on the carapaced creatures from the Labyrinth."
"It's a fine Echo," Caster said, his voice neutraly polite as he studied the creature. "What are its Attributes?"
Zachary completed his ninth swing, the warhammer trembling with the raw kinetic energy stored within its frame. He signaled to the Echo, which lowered a pincer and gripped the handle of the hammer with surprising finesse.
"Well—"
Zachary cut himself off, his head snapping toward the darkness where the White Road met the ruins of the City. His face twisted, his shoulders bunching with tension as Ender's Solace materialized in his right hand. He had finally felt it—the approaching horror and the jagged, twisted presence it dragged behind it.
"Zach?" Nephis asked. She sensed the shift in him immediately, her own sword appearing in a flash of light.
"Awakened Devil," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion.
Nephis's expression darkened. She turned toward the shadows, white fire beginning to dance in her grey eyes, illuminating her defiant features against the gloom.
"Go get Effie."
"Impossible," Zachary said, a faint glow beginning to coat the edge of his blade. "It felt me too."
In answer to his words, a low, dissonant shriek tore through the air, a sound so jagged it felt like it was scraping against their very souls. It grew closer with every passing second, accompanied by heavy, rhythmic thuds that made the white stone beneath their boots tremble.
Zachary's mind raced, weighing two grim possibilities. The first was to lead the creature toward the Bright Castle. With a Devil snapping at his heels, he could force Gunlaug's Host to intervene. But that path was a poison pill; it would bring Nephis's fragile movement directly under Gunlaug's watchful, predatory eyes before they had the foundation to resist. And considering Zachary's own shaky standing with the Lieutenants, the risk was too high.
The second option was the only one left. They had to kill it themselves.
Nephis and Caster began to split, moving to flank the incoming aberration. But before they could take their second step, Danger Sense surged—sharp, loud, and deafeningly urgent.
"Cover yourselves!" Zachary roared.
He commanded the Echo to lunge forward, its massive pincer raised like a barricade. Nephis and Caster dove behind the creature just as a lethal barrage of thorns whistled through the dark. The projectiles slammed into the Echo's carapace with the force of ballista bolts. Some ricocheted off with sparks, but others buried themselves deep in the chitin. Even for a tank like the Echo, the raw power of a Devil was a different world.
An aged, gravelly voice echoed in Zachary's memory.
"The principle of "one-hit, one-kill" lies in the element of surprise." Eddard had told him that during one of their grueling sessions in the Academy.
Being a walking beacon for monsters stripped Zachary of surprise, and he certainly didn't have the raw strength to kill a Devil in one blow. Yet, the core of the lesson remained: to survive a superior enemy, you had to seize the initiative.
You had to dictate the flow.
Zachary lunged out from behind the Echo, charging headlong toward the incoming nightmare.
What he saw nearly turned his stomach.
Nightmare Creatures were inherently hideous, but the Devil before him was a masterpiece of biological horror. It was a feverish hybrid of a hedgehog and a giant spider. Its back was a forest of steel-tipped quills that glinted in the night. It had a wolfish, elongated snout that dripped thick, emerald-green saliva, and instead of legs, it stood on four oversized, needle-sharp thorns. From its distended belly, dozens of pale, sickly appendages writhed like a nest of translucent tentacles.
Zachary didn't slow down. The Devil unhinged its jaw, and a moment later, a stream of glowing saliva hissed through the air. Even without Danger Sense, Zachary would have seen the death in that strike. He rolled to the side, hearing the stone behind him sizzle and melt where the acid landed.
"Acidic spit. Great," he spat, scrambling back to his feet and closing the gap. "Throw it!"
Behind him, the Echo—ignoring the quills lodged in its armor—twisted its massive right pincer with a mechanical grind. It heaved Antlered Wrath forward, sending the fully charged warhammer screaming through the air toward Zachary's reaching hand.
Catching the warhammer mid-stride, Zachary lunged forward. The Devil's thorned back tensed, preparing to unleash another lethal volley, but it was a fraction of a second too slow. Reaching the creature's distorted flank, Zachary swung Antlered Wrath with every ounce of kinetic energy it had stored.
The hammer connected with a sickening, bone-deep crunch, shattering one of the Devil's needle-like spider legs.
Zachary was thrown back by the recoil, the warhammer dissolving into white sparks as he released the summon. Thanks to Balance Control, he didn't tumble; he used the momentum to skip backward, putting vital distance between himself and the thrashing beast. The opening gambit was a success—he had crippled the horror's mobility.
Now, they just had to kill it.
Zachary scrambled to his feet. Despite the mangled limb, the Devil remained fixated solely on him, its five eyes glowing with a manic, singular hunger. To his left, Nephis and Caster were closing in, their blades drawn; further back, the Carapace Echo lumbered toward them, its shell bristling with the thorns it had received.
"The arc!" Zachary screamed, pointing toward the massive stone structure ahead before sprinting down the White Road.
Nephis caught his gaze, a flash of cold understanding crossing her face as her speed suddenly doubled. They couldn't stay in the open. The Devil's quills were long-range projectiles; if they missed Zachary, they could easily rain down on the sleeping Settlement.
They needed the solid cover of the stone arc.
Danger Sense surged again. Zachary glanced over his shoulder to see the tilting Devil aiming its back once more. A moment later, ten thorns whistled through the air.
Cinder Eyes didn't just track sword paths; it mapped the trajectory of every incoming threat. Zachary saw the invisible lines of death carving through the air and adjusted his stride by millimeters.
He brandished Ender's Solace, deflecting a lone quill that threatened to impale his chest. The impact sent a numbing vibration up his arm, making the hilt tremble in his grip. Using the opening, he wove through the remaining lines of fire, escaping the volley unscathed.
'It needs time to recharge the big shots,' Zachary realized. The first barrage had been a cloud; this one was only ten. But even ten were nearly too much.
'These aren't meant to be parried.' His wrist burned with a dull ache. If not for the Soul reinforcement of his sword and the perfect angle of the ricochet, the impact would have snapped his bones like dry kindling.
He reached the arc and dove behind the massive stone pillar. The Devil, hampered by its shattered leg, lacked the agility to follow his tight turn and crashed into the stone with a deafening thud.
But the beast was relentless. It didn't care about its posture or its pride; it only cared about ceasing the existence of the man in front of it.
The Devil twisted its wolfish head around the pillar, its jaw unhinging to spray a stream of acid. Zachary pivoted around the stone, the sizzling liquid missing him by an inch. As the creature lunged past, Zachary spotted its tail—a long, twitching cord. Without hesitation, he coated Ender's Solace in a thin sheen of essence and drove the blade through the tail, pinning it to the earth.
The Devil roared in agony, but it still didn't retreat. It whipped its head back toward him, throat glowing with gathered acid—only for a green blur to intervene. Caster appeared out of nowhere, driving his jade jian into the creature's jaw, forcing the mouth shut before the acid could escape.
An instant later, Nephis was in the air. Her silver blade was wreathed in white flames as she plunged it deep into the Devil's left eye, searing its corrupted brain with holy fire.
Zachary was about to let out a breath of relief when Danger Sense spiked with the same intensity as the beginning of the fight.
"Behind the Echo!" he screamed.
He commanded the Carapace Scavenger to interpose itself just as the Devil—driven by an instinctual panic—exploded. Hundred of quills on its back shot out in a 360-degree radius, a desperate "death blossom" intended to kill everything nearby.
The Echo held the line, but it didn't emerge unscathed. At such close range, most of the thorns didn't ricochet; they sank deep into the chitin. The Carapace Echo now looked as much like a hedgehog as the Devil itself, bristling with jagged steel, but it remained standing—a silent, loyal wall of bone and plate.
In front of them, the Devil began to stir again, its remaining eyes locked onto the "Blasphemer" with a hatred that defied death.
"Watch the acid!" Zachary shouted, his voice rasping. "Don't try to block the thorns—use the Echo or the pillars for cover. It needs time to charge the big volleys!"
This was the first true fight he had taken part in since his Premature Enlightenment and the acquisition of Blood Weave. His clash with Nephis in the Ashen Barrow could barely be considered one—if only because he hadn't been in the right state of mind, battling the Soul Devourer's enthrallment while simultaneously trying to pull Nephis back from it.
As the battle unfolded, Zachary could feel it. Blood Weave infused his blood with an odd tenacity, but it didn't just make him harder to bleed out—it enhanced his metabolism as well. And it worked extremely well in tandem with his Balance Control, directing the blood to enhance his athleticism as a whole.
'Let's do this!' He lunged out from behind the Echo, sprinting toward the far side of the arc to draw the beast's focus. The battle exploded into its final, chaotic movement. The Devil scrambled after him, but having spent its primary "death blossom," it was reduced to smaller, frantic shots and its corrosive breath.
Nephis and Caster surged from the shadows behind it, their blades targeting the soft flesh of the tail and the exposed underbelly. They danced between the creature's thrashing, needle-like legs with lethal grace.
In the heart of the storm, Zachary's Mind sharpened to a crystalline point. His Body moved like a well-oiled machine, every step purposeful, every breath controlled. Cinder Eyes burned brighter than it ever had before.
His senses mapped the battlefield in high definition. He heard the crunch of Caster's boots on the gravel, the sharp intake of Nephis's breath, and the whistle of their blades cutting through the air. He wasn't just fighting; he was conducting. When Caster's stopped his ability, Zachary pivoted, drawing the Devil's gaze away to give him a window to breathe. When Nephis prepared a burning strike, he created the perfect opening.
And yet, the Devil refused to fall.
Its vitality was monstrous. Worse still, the thorns on its back were already beginning to regrow, a forest of steel rising from its bloody hide. It was preparing for one last eruption.
'We have to end this now,' Zachary thought. He ducked beneath a sweeping, thorned tail and stepped back, his eyes falling on Ender's Solace. The edge of the blade shimmered with a faint, ghostly light.
The Devil was a ruin. It was bleeding from a dozen gashes, three of its eyes were extinguished, and its belly tentacles were a tangled mess of viscera. But its fixated gaze remained on Zachary.
He bolted toward the inner side of the arc. The Carapace Echo was mangled—one pincer was torn completely away, and half its face had been dissolved by acid. But it understood its master's intent. It lowered its remaining pincer, forming a step.
Zachary slammed his boot into the chitin, launched himself into the air, and used the stone pillar of the arc as a foothold to vault higher. He was a dark blur in the white stone, diving straight for the soft juncture where the creature's head met its thorned back.
Sensing the terminal threat above it, the Devil made one last, desperate effort. It fired its regrowing thorns upward in a jagged, uneven spray.
Zachary was mid-air. There was no ground to push off, no way to dodge.
He twisted his body into a tight coil, minimizing his profile. He flipped Ender's Solace in his grip, pressing the flat of the blade against his side to act as a makeshift shield for his vitals.
Sharp, white-hot pain erupted in his leg and arm. A whistle of wind brushed past his ear as a quill narrowly missed his skull. But his momentum was unchecked. He came down like a fated sentence, and the enhanced edge of Ender's Solace found its mark, burying itself deep into the Devil's brain.
A heavy silence fell over the White Road, broken only by a familiar, contemptuous voice echoing in his mind.
[You have killed an Awakened Devil, Daruma's Bane.]
A ragged, pained silence followed the fading echo of the Spell's voice. Zachary stood atop the thorned ridge of the dead Devil, his right hand gripping Ender's Solace as it dripped with thick, black ichor. His right side had seen better days. Unsummoning his sword, he reached for the long quills embedded in his shoulder and forearm. He yanked them out with a grunt; no blood followed. Blood Weave held firm, keeping his life essence where it belonged.
"Did... did we just kill a Devil?" Caster asked, his voice thick with incredulity. He turned to Zachary, watching him pull the remaining thorns from his leg. "Those senses of yours... the way you moved..."
There was a new weight of recognition in the Legacy's voice, but he left the rest of his thoughts unsaid. Zachary didn't bother to answer. He didn't flinch as the final quill left his flesh. His crimson eyes were unfocused, drifting—not with exhaustion, but with an intense, inward stare.
Suddenly, his gaze snapped back into focus. He descended from the Devil's carcass and began walking toward the Outer Settlement with hurried, urgent strides.
"Zach, your wounds—" Nephis started, stepping toward him with her hand raised, ready to let her white flames mend the hole in his shoulder.
"Later. Sorry," Zachary cut her off without looking back, his voice tight. "Don't interrupt me."
He broke into a run, his face a mask of singular focus. It was as if he were chasing a fading ghost, something he couldn't let escape. He dove into a ruined, empty hut on the edge of the slums, sat cross-legged in the dirt, and forced his breathing to level out.
He turned his senses inward, but not toward Flow Control. He was looking at the very architecture of his existence. Without missing a beat, he summoned his runes.
[The Fool] Attribute Description: "It appears you are new to this world, an innocent child who hasn't met hardship. Because of that, you are open to a vast number of opportunities. Your naivety makes you the bearer of infinite potential..."
"Infinite potential..." Zachary muttered, the words finally clicking into place.
He had long wondered what that phrase meant. He had suspected it was the reason he improved so quickly, but he'd always credited his Aspect Abilities—the preternatural control over his faculties—for his physical growth.
But during the fight with the Devil, he had finally seen the truth. Aside from the deep-dwellers of the Dark Sea, this Devil was the strongest thing he had faced on the Shore, yet the fight had felt... easier than the one against the Demon.
Caster's skill and Nephis's growing power were factors, certainly. But the core of the victory had been Zachary himself. By acting as the eye of the storm, keeping tabs on every micro-movement of the battlefield, he had dictated the flow of life and death.
And through that absolute control, he had finally understood [The Fool].
"Infinite potential just means I don't have a ceiling," Zachary whispered, a surge of raw emotion tightening his chest. "My improvement isn't limited by biological or spiritual walls. But reaching that potential... that's the catch."
He sifted through his memories of the Forgotten Shore, pinpointing the two moments where his strength had taken a sudden, violent leap. Each time, it had happened on the precipice of defeat.
Of Death.
Yet, said leap wasn't miraculous, born from nothing. The fight against the Centurion had birthed the "Attack Lines," but that wasn't a miracle—it was just his mind finally grasping a tool Cinder Eyes had always possessed. The fight against the Demon had forced the realization of "Unity," something that had always been present and he was subconciusly ignoring.
He had taken that realization to open the doors of his Premature Enlightenment. That Noble Truth hadn't been gifted to him by the Spell, it had been nesting within him all along, waiting for the pressure of near-extinction to crack the shell.
Every breakthrough he had made—every leap in power—had followed a pre-established path. He hadn't been creating new abilities out of thin air; he had simply needed a catalyst to kickstart his Infinite Potential in a specific direction. He needed a spark hot enough to melt his limits.
Now, Zachary had a new path: Flow Control. But walking it normally was proving to be a slow, agonizing crawl. At this rate, he would be a master only after the City had already claimed his life.
If he wanted to accelerate his mastery, he couldn't just practice in the safety of a lodge. He needed to stand in a situation where the only way out was forward. A situation where he either mastered the essence or died in the dirt.
Forced Evolution.
"But I'm not suicidal... I think. Not yet, at least," Zachary muttered with a dry, tired chuckle.
What a twisted joke this world was. Back in the Other World, he had prided himself on being the most mentally stable person in the room. Now, after barely a few months in this nightmare, he was seriously considering throwing himself into the jaws of death just to see if his soul would finally learn to swim.
The truth was cold and clear: despite being injured by an Awakened Devil, the battle had still been—to a certain extent—under control. If he wanted to cross the threshold and kickstart the evolution of his Flow Control, he needed a bigger opponent. Something that sat right on the razor-edge of his weight class. Something that would offer no room for error.
'I can figure out the "who" later,' Zachary thought, the tension finally leaving his muscles.
He laid back on the hard, uneven ground of the ruined hut. Despite the stinging wounds in his shoulder and the exhausting task ahead, he could finally rest. For the first time in weeks, the fog had cleared.
He could finally see the way forward.
***
The next morning arrived on a joyous wind. News of Changing Star defeating a Devil and protecting the Outer Settlement spread like wildfire, sending her already burgeoning reputation into the stratosphere.
Zachary stood on the White Road, a calm smile playing on his lips, though his crimson eyes remained grave. He was staring at the Dark City in the distance—at its scorched buildings and broken, skeletal spires. His shoulder and leg hadn't fully healed, but Blood Weave was working overtime, and his mobility remained sharp.
He was deep in thought when the crunch of gravel and a frantic presence pulled him back to reality.
"Zachary!" an Outer Settlement hunter called out, his name escaping Zachary for the moment. The man was panting, a wide, euphoric smile plastered across his face.
"What's up, my very forgettable friend?" Zachary asked, shaking off his heavy thoughts and turning away from the ruins.
"Have you heard? Lady Changing Star and Caster killed a Devil last night!" the hunter exclaimed, too excited to care about the insult.
"Oh my. Did they now?" Zachary asked, genuinely amused. He noticed immediately that his own name had been omitted from the tale. It made sense; he had vanished from the scene in a hurry, and given his reputation as the "cursed" one, most dwellers couldn't fathom him surviving a Devil, let alone spearheading the kill.
"Yes!" the hunter continued, his chest swelling with pride. "Who's going to go begging those Castle bastards for protection now? We have our own Saintess right here!"
Zachary's brow furrowed at the word "Saintess," but he quickly smoothed his expression. "I assume you didn't run all this way just to be a herald, right?"
"Oh, right! Lady Changing Star is calling for you," the man said, his tone turning serious. "They're preparing for a bigger hunt. A massive one."
The hunter turned to lead the way, but Zachary stopped him with a word. He looked back toward the heart of the Dark City, his face casting a long, sharp shadow in the morning light.
"Hey. Before we go..."
The hunter paused, looking back.
"You wouldn't happen to know anything about a Ruined Cathedral in the ruins, would you?"
The hunter led Zachary back to the remodeled stone lodge. He was the last to arrive. Inside, Nephis, Caster, and Effie were already deep in discussion with the leaders of several other hunting parties from the Outer Settlement. On the walk over, the "forgettable hunter" had explained that the news of the Devil's death had sent a shockwave through the slums. Now, dozens of Sleepers were clamoring to join Nephis on her next excursion.
Zachary wondered if it was a primal response—an instinctual drive to attach themselves to her momentum, to belong to something powerful so as not to be left behind by the tides of history.
His thoughts were cut short as he felt a dozen gazes settle on him. Effie shot him a knowing, wolfish smile; she clearly suspected the truth of what had happened on the White Road. Caster, meanwhile, wore an apologetic expression. He looked like a man who wasn't proud of taking all the credit but wasn't quite selfless enough to turn it down. Zachary just shook his head with a low, private chuckle.
And then there was Nephis.
Her eyes immediately found the still-open wound on his shoulder. A frown flickered across her face before being smoothed into her usual mask of neutrality. Curiously, she didn't move to heal him. There was an awkward, distant air about her today, as if she were already standing on a pedestal they couldn't reach.
"We're leaving," Nephis announced, looking away from him as she folded the map of the Dark City. "For those who just arrived: we're heading toward the sectors near the lighthouse. The creatures there are stronger, but with our increased numbers, it's manageable."
The hunters nodded in immediate, fervent agreement. Zachary remained silent; he was too preoccupied with his own internal calculations to care about the destination.
They moved out, breaching the ruins of the City. With a larger group, the "scent" of living souls was a beacon for nightmares, but they navigated the danger with surgical precision. Between Effie's veteran instincts and Zachary's senses, they bypassed the worst of the ambushes. Several other experienced hunters had detection-type abilities of their own, finally allowing Zachary to take a mental break.
"Zach," Caster said, catching up to him during a brief lull in the march. "Hey, about the rumors... what people are saying about last night—"
"Don't apologize, dude," Zachary said, dismissive. "This actually works for me. I've had so much attention lately it's getting tiresome. You can keep the glory for all I care."
Caster nodded politely, though he lingered. "So... about that sword of yours..."
"Really? Now you're interested in my 'sword' too?" Zachary laughed, casting a wry glance at the Legacy. "I had my suspicions back at the Academy, but you really aren't beating the allegations, man..."
"What allegations?!" Caster's voice rose slightly, his composure cracking for a split second. "You really..."
He took a deep breath, forcing himself back into his practiced, noble calm. But Cinder Eyes caught it—the faintest, sharpest trace of hostility behind the mask. It vanished as quickly as it appeared, but it had been there.
"I was only asking because you seem to also favor a jian," Caster continued as they scrambled over a fallen wall to save time. "I was curious. What kind of Enchantments does it have?"
"Enchantments? None, actually," Zachary answered truthfully. 'It actually has Attributes,' he added silently with a dark chuckle.
They entered a shattered atrium, the blackened stone groaning beneath their weight as the steps shifted irregularly. Zachary and Caster followed close behind Nephis and Effie, who spearheaded the group. The huntress was mid-explanation, detailing the domestic ruins beyond the structure—the nesting grounds of their prey.
"I was just saying—"
Caster's words were cut short by a dissonant, distant shriek that seemed to vibrate through their very marrow. A colossal, oppressive shadow swept across the sky, followed by a low, mournful whistle of wind that kicked up a choking cloud of dust. A flying creature. Huge. Terrible. Powerful.
And according to the frantic scream of Danger Sense—Fallen.
"You've got to be kidding me..." Zachary whispered, his throat tight as he looked up.
Hundreds of meters above, descending at a harrowing speed, was a Spire Messenger. A Fallen Monster that terrorized both Sleeper and Nightmare Creature alike, a reigning horror of the grey skies. It was diving, drawn by the irresistible siren call of a concentrated group of souls.
Under the weight of the incoming catastrophe, Zachary's Mind accelerated. The world around him slowed into an amber crawl. It wasn't the absolute stillness of the Ashen Barrow—it strained his consciousness to the breaking point—but it was enough.
'Isn't this a bit much?' Zachary thought, watching the creature grow larger. He could see the hideous, serrated beak and the talons that could crush stone. It was a humbling, terrifying sight. He felt the instinctual urge to flee, to hide, to vanish—but he clenched his teeth until they ached.
'No! This is it! This is what I've been waiting for!' he screamed internally, Ender's Solace shimmering into existence in his hand. 'What were you expecting, Zachary? A Tyrant? You don't get to choose the hand that strikes you.'
'Here it is!' He forced a jagged, nervous smile.
A Fallen creature was a death sentence. Without the Dawn Shard, a Sleeper couldn't hope to scratch it, let alone kill it. But with Effie's strength, Nephis's flames, Caster's speed, and his own unique edge... it was possible. Because he had the key:
Ender's Solace and its ability to harm higher-order beings.
This was the moment. His heart thundered—not just with fear, but with a wild, increasing excitement. It would be deadly, but the [Blasphemer] Attribute ensured the creature's focus would remain on him. This was his gamble.
His Do or Die.
Time snapped back into its natural flow. As the Messenger closed the final gap, Zachary felt the heat of Blood Weave surging through his veins. Unity called forth his Soul. Flow Control began to stir, dormant at first, then pulsing in time with his frantic heartbeat. It was happening.
"Nep—"
"Effie!" Nephis's voice cut through his like a blade.
Before Zachary could move, a hand gripped the collar of his mantle. He didn't even have time to gasp before he was airborne, tossed backward like a ragdoll away from the center of the impact zone.
He saw the Spire Messenger hit the earth with a bone-shaking bang, its talons screeching against Effie's shield in a spray of sparks, crushing the stone under her feet. And then, Zachary's vision went dark as he slammed into a nearby building, the structure collapsing over him in a roar of rubble and suffocating dust.
Zachary opened his eyes. He had hit his head and lost consciousness for a moment, but the dull thuds and violent vibrations traveling through the rubble told him the battle was far from over.
'Come on, move!' Zachary cursed, straining against the weight. He was pinned in an awkward position, unable to exert his full strength, and the stone above him felt like the weight of the world. 'I'm not Saddam Hussein. I shouldn't be lying in a hole under rocks!'
He searched for leverage, his fingers clawing at the dust, but just as he found a foothold to push, the sounds abruptly stopped. The silence that followed was heavy and final. The battle was over, and he was still buried. He went still, his face expressionless, his crimson eyes burning like embers in the dark.
Minutes later, the rubble began to shift. Rays of light pierced the gloom as stone was tossed aside. Finally, Effie cleared the last of the debris. She had seen better days—her hair was a matted mess and her left arm hung at a sickening, twisted angle—but a wolfish grin still adorned her face.
"Mr. Inconvenient, it's a bit early for a nap, don't you think?" she teased, hauling him out of the hole. "I must say, you fly better than you fight."
Zachary would have traded barbs with her any other time, but his heart wouldn't stop thundering. Ignoring Effie entirely, he dusted his pants and scanned the atrium. He saw the silver glimmer of Nephis sitting on a crumbled block, breathing heavily while Cassie helped her drink from her Memory.
Around them, the Sleepers looked mangled, exhausted, and terrified. Only two bodies lay still in the dust—a miracle, considering they had been hunted by a Fallen Monster.
Zachary strode toward Nephis. She looked up as he approached, standing with Cassie's help. Her eyes caught the blood matting his hair from the head wound.
"You're hurt," she said, her voice soft but strained. She reached out, her hand glowing with a faint white light. "Let me—"
Zachary slapped her hand away. The sound of the impact echoed in the quiet atrium.
"Why did you do it?" he asked, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion.
Nephis's eyes cooled instantly. Beside her, Cassie took a cautious step back. "Not here, Zach. We—"
"No. Here," he snapped, his voice dropping into a cold, dangerous register. "Why?"
Nephis stared up at him. Despite the difference in height, her indomitable spirit made her feel like the tallest person in the ruins. Finally, she let out a slow sigh.
"We aren't ready to face Fallen creatures. Not yet," she said, her voice neutral and flat. "Your presence would have forced it to stay. It would have forced our hand and risked the life of every person here." A frown flickered across her face before vanishing. "I did what I knew was right."
Zachary's mouth twisted. He understood her logic perfectly, he truly did. In her position, he would have made the same call. But he wasn't in her position, he was a man who had just seen his only chance of progress thrown into a dumpster. So he also believed his next words.
"It wasn't your call," Zachary said.
Nephis didn't blink. She locked eyes with him, her expression hardening into the mask of Changing Star. She turned her back on him, signaling the group to begin the retreat to the Settlement.
"It is," she replied.
They returned in silence. And the next morning, when the hunting parties gathered, Zachary wasn't summoned. Nor was he called the day after that.