The haze of a hundred mists twisted left and right, struggling to maintain its form amid the shifting obscurity.
"You are truly just a lost child," Lamar intoned, his voice echoing with the reverent gaze of a priest speaking about his god.
"You live your life unknowing of the truth.
But what can I expect from a mortal whose convictions always change?"
Lamar continued to speak to Sinn, his tone solemn and unwavering.
It was unclear whether he was merely fishing for Sinn's location or if he genuinely believed his own words.
Sinn, on the other hand, was gripped by paranoia after experiencing the most frightening event of his life moments ago.
Now, nothing mattered to him except winning.
"I'll show you the power of a god's blessing," Lamar declared.
"Even if you are destined to become my ingredient, at least your life will serve a purpose."
The worshipful light in Lamar's eyes soon darkened into malevolent malice, his gaze sharpening and focusing with sinister intent.
Sinn's hair stood on end as he anxiously double-checked his surroundings, determined not to overlook anything.
He refused to take any more chances; his body began to shift, dissolving into smoke as he changed form.
Earlier, Lamar had tossed Sinn's ripped arm onto the floor—a gesture that Sinn failed to realize was a calculated gamble on Lamar's part.
So far, Lamar had tried multiple sacrificial spells from the Book of Haze, but each required something from the other party first.
He attempted to use Sinn's blood to locate him, but nothing glowed. He tried hypnotizing Sinn through speech, but again, nothing happened.
Annoyance twisted Lamar's expression beyond understanding. 'That bastard—where is he?' Lamar thought bitterly.
Though Lamar struggled to find Sinn, he was far from out of options.
He looked at Sinn's severed arm, grabbed it, and dangled it over the Book of Haze.
One of the book's laws forbade letting blood touch its pages; sacrificing blood after using the book was customary, but direct contact was forbidden—only a third party or spell could do so.
"Hide all you wish," Lamar whispered, his smile bright enough to cast shadows across the sun.
"In the end, you'll still become my favorite ingredient on my immortal journey."
He spoke of immortals and mortals with the fervor of a true believer, dismissing the lives of mortals while extolling the privileges of immortality.
Even Sinn found himself intrigued by this concept—immortality achieved through the deaths of others.
In Sinn's understanding of the dialect, this was the ultimate gift granted to those who evolved.
But how could another achieve something similar?
He saw no deception in Lamar's words. Was his own information truly so mediocre? How unfair!
'After I kill him, I'll ask. No, I'll ask before I kill him,' Sinn plotted silently.
His plan was taking shape, though Lamar's actions with the severed arm were unexpected.
Yet, given Lamar's peculiar character, Sinn could only sigh inwardly.
"It's to be expected," Sinn murmured.
The clarity in Sinn's eyes was so profound that it seemed to pierce through the haze of battle, transforming him into someone almost unrecognizable—a man forged anew by the crucible of conflict.
His gaze, once clouded with uncertainty, now shone with an intensity that bordered on otherworldly.
This fight would not merely scar Sinn; it would reshape him entirely, leaving behind the remnants of his former self.
Crimson blood dripped steadily from Sinn's severed arm, each droplet splattering onto the ancient Book of Haze and spreading across its surface like a sinister ink.
The book, already steeped in mystery and darkness, now bore the unmistakable mark of sacrifice.
Lamar watched with rapt fascination as the blood pooled and seeped into the parchment, dyeing it a deep, ominous red.
The sight was both grotesque and mesmerizing, a testament to the violence that had unfolded.
Lamar's gaze lingered on the growing stains, his curiosity mingling with apprehension.
He wondered what might transpire when a tome filled with forbidden knowledge was baptized in fresh blood—especially blood as unique as Sinn's.
The fact that the book's contents demanded blood as tribute only underscored its depravity, hinting at rituals and secrets best left undisturbed.
For a moment, nothing happened.
The silence was absolute—far too quiet, as if the world itself were holding its breath.
The mist that blocked Sinn's escape hung heavy and impenetrable, muffling all sound and movement.
Even the wind, which had once whispered through the battlefield, was stilled, frozen in place.
Sinn himself stood motionless, his body burning with feverish heat, sweat glistening on his brow.
His heart felt as though it were being squeezed by invisible hands, gripped by a phantom that threatened to crush his spirit.
Suddenly, a strange transformation began.
Green blood, unnatural and luminous, started to seep from Sinn's eyes, nose, and mouth, trickling down his face in eerie rivulets.
It pooled at his chin before dripping onto the ground, staining the earth with its sickly hue.
Black, cryptic runes appeared across his skin, each one etched with a sharp, stinging pain that made him wince.
The runes pulsed with dark energy, their meaning lost to all but the most ancient scholars.
After the searing heat came a chilling silence, as if the world had shifted into another realm.
"Huh!"
Lamar exclaimed, startled, as he looked at Sinn's severed arm dangling before him.
He dropped it quickly, recoiling as squirming bones writhed like pale tendrils within the broken limb, moving with unsettling speed.
The once-healthy flesh withered at an alarming rate, shrinking and twisting until it resembled something monstrous.
Meanwhile, the page of the Book of Haze that had absorbed Sinn's blood began to shift and shimmer.
Images painted themselves onto the parchment, emerging from the depths of the book's magic: a holy crystal radiating vibrant colors, its facets reflecting light in dazzling patterns.
But what truly froze Lamar's blood was the figure depicted alongside it.
A young man with floating black hair and broken horns slowly turned his head on the page, fixing Lamar with bottomless black eyes that seemed to see straight through him.
His smile was grotesquely wide, stretching across his face in a manner that defied human anatomy.
Swords were driven deep into his body, their blades sunk to the bone, yet he showed no sign of pain.
Six brittle, broken wings jutted from his back, each feathered with eyes darker than the young man's own.
Chains sprouted from his flesh, binding him to a gnarled tree whose roots twisted and writhed like living serpents.
The figure's gaze locked with Lamar's, and though silent, he commanded Lamar to look at his chest.
As Lamar obeyed, the image's stomach split open, releasing a swirling mist of tentacles that lunged toward him.
Paralyzed, Lamar watched as several tentacles manifested into reality, writhing around him playfully, as if testing his resolve.
Unbeknownst to Lamar, this vision was not meant for him alone.
The tentacles soon vanished, and the Book of Haze closed itself, Sinn's blood fully absorbed.
Yet the grip on Lamar's heart remained, mirroring Sinn's earlier torment.
Just as suddenly as it had come, the experience faded, leaving Lamar shaken and breathless.
Lamar's eyes widened as a green haze clouded his vision, revealing his deepest desires.
Sinn's blood now glowed with an eerie green light, invisible to the naked eye, its brightest concentration at the center of the page.
Lamar's expression became impossible to read—a tumultuous blend of fear, joy, excitement, despair, desire, greed, and anger.
In that moment, he embodied every emotion at once, his soul laid bare before the power of the book.
With a look of twisted gratitude, Lamar spoke, his voice trembling with awe.
"Your blood truly is unique, my friend… but as I said, your life is unworthy."
With those words, he summoned a host of thick, writhing tentacles, directing them to strike at the glowing center.
Over ten tentacles lashed out with perfect precision, tearing through the mist and bombarding their target.
The air crackled with energy as the tentacles struck, sending shockwaves through the room.
Lamar was determined not to let Sinn escape again; he could not fathom how his glowing eyes could keep enduring this green hue.
As he pondered how best to use the corpses left behind, Lamar sensed a nearby tentacle approaching. He sighed, resigned.
"Just in time to pay the price for using this power for so long." The tentacles began to fade, the cost of their summoning weighing heavily on him.
"I'll just use some of his corpse," he muttered, his tone tinged with regret.
Suddenly, Lamar's eyes widened in terror as he sensed death looming behind him.
He moved faster than ever before, adrenaline surging through his veins, but it was too late. Agonizing pain tore through him as a gaping hole opened in his lower chest.
He screamed, the sound only intensifying his suffering as his lungs contorted around the arm that impaled him.
Dangling helplessly from the arm, Lamar's gaze quivered for the first time as he slowly turned to face his assailant.
The fog coalesced, forming Sinn's body.
The tentacle he wielded faded away, revealing Sinn's cracked mask and the jagged line of his lower mouth.
Razor-sharp teeth formed an exaggerated, maniacal grin, and Sinn's laughter echoed through the mist, chilling Lamar to the core.
Sinn's eyes blazed with a deep red glow, trailing afterimages with every movement.
"It's to be expected,"
Sinn intoned through his mask, staring down at the terrified Lamar suspended in midair.