Lamar's voice echoed through the dim chamber, his laughter carrying a hint of genuine joy.
"Hehehe… I forgot to ask, child—what is your name?" he inquired, his tone light but curious.
"Though you hide behind a mask, I doubt it's out of fear of retaliation."
Sinn's gaze was unwavering, his eyes glinting with mirth as he replied, "My name is Sinn."
"Remember it well, little immortal." A demonic smile curled on Sinn's lips, visible through the fractured left side of his mask.
It seemed Sinn was intent on provoking Lamar, hoping to shatter his composure. Yet Lamar remained stone cold, his expression unchanged, unreadable.
In that tense silence, Lamar moved suddenly—a blur of blinding speed. His towering form loomed over Sinn; from their previous distance, Sinn hadn't realized just how tall Lamar truly was.
He was Six foot six?
What monstrous height had Lamar reached now?
Without warning, Lamar unleashed a swift kick aimed at Sinn's head. But Sinn's reflexes were sharp—he raised his remaining arm to block the blow.
The impact was brutal; a sickening crunch echoed as Sinn's arm snapped, sending him crashing into the wall.
With a thunderous crash, Sinn's mask splintered further, exposing more of his left cheek and eye.
Pain radiated through his back, and he realized his arm was broken. Gritting his teeth, Sinn forced himself upright, dashing to the right as his instincts screamed danger.
To his shock, Lamar pressed forward relentlessly, his attacks leaving no openings. Sinn found himself pushed back, his earlier arrogance fading from his eyes, replaced by a steely resolve.
Lamar's eyes narrowed in surprise. Something about Sinn's gaze—and his remaining arm—had changed. From Sinn's hand, a sticky black substance began to ooze, stopping at his wrist. Was this its limit? Lamar wondered.
This viscous material was Sinn's other stark ability: Ebony Veil. Its function was simple—it amplified the user's strength and recovery depending on how much it covered.
In the past, Nel could only coat half his forearms, even after becoming a half vestige 2. Sinn, however, could cover only his wrist and hands, yet he wielded it with confidence.
After all, power depended on its use.
The sticky paste crept up Sinn's forearm, hardening visibly into a thorny shell, maintaining the arm's function and promising slow healing.
For now, this thorny bracelet—born from flesh and resembling a unique tattoo—would have to suffice.
A blood-red glow ignited in Sinn's eyes. Old runic tattoos darkened, withering and fading into his skin. With a forceful stomp, Sinn's body dissolved into fog.
Even as Sinn vanished, Lamar's gaze remained fixed on the ghostly footprints that crept closer across the floor. Though Sinn's feet were hidden, the parting mist shaped spectral steps.
The quiet hum of fog blended eerily with the silence. Lamar circled the haunting footsteps, wary. After repeated defeats and ambushes, his caution grew.
Soon, he faced a choice: attack or flee. The steps surged forward, taking the initiative.
With rapid, foggy strides, Sinn dashed toward Lamar. Lamar braced himself, positioning at the center where he had shoved the Book of Haze into his wound.
His hair slowly grayed, and green energy radiated from his hollow core and hands.
Ghostly Sinn approached, then veered sharply, darting past Lamar before his misty steps faded.
Confusion clouded Lamar's face, but caution kept him alert. He turned to see hundreds of spectral footprints racing toward him.
"What the hell…" he muttered.
As uncertainty gnawed at his mind, Lamar felt it again—a chilling sense of dread at his back, the same killing intent as before.
"Does this bastard always attack from behind?" he thought bitterly.
He spun around, seeing nothing.
"How? Is my sense deceiving me? Am I really that afraid?"
Before Lamar could unravel his thoughts, the familiar terror forced him to dodge once more.
"Damn it," he cursed inwardly. Even with this surging strength, he couldn't overcome Sinn.
His expression became brittle, like that of a broken old man. The power he once believed heavenly now seemed a fleeting illusion.
After fleeing like a hunted animal for so long, Lamar began to gamble with the march of a hundred ghostly steps…
"I'll die… I know I'll die, but can't I at least take him with me?"
Lamar thought, his mind unraveling under the relentless psychological torment Sinn inflicted upon him.
Reason slipped from Lamar's grasp. The fear of death faded, replaced by a grim acceptance—perhaps dying wasn't so terrible after all.
Yet, unbeknownst to Lamar, Sinn too was teetering on the edge of madness.
The Book of Haze, mysterious and perilous, had begun its sinister work.
Sinn's blood was the first to stain its pages, binding him to its enigmatic power. Was its purpose merely to prevent others from acquiring runic tattoos?
The answer was both yes and no.
The true intent of the Book of Haze was far darker: it slowly eroded the sanity of those who touched it.
Both Sinn and Lamar found their minds clouded and hazed, thoughts distorted by the book's insidious influence.
Sinn's actions grew increasingly erratic, bordering on insanity. Lamar's own decision—to shove the Book of Haze into his wound—was equally deranged.
This was no longer a battle of intellect or strategy; it was a clash between two souls driven mad, each courting death in their own way.
For the first time, Sinn felt his mind manipulated, twisted by forces beyond his control. Lamar, meanwhile, was dragged along, caught in the same spiral of madness.
In this haunted struggle, reason had abandoned them both, leaving only desperation and the haze that threatened to consume them.
Lamar's eyes tracked the ghostly footprints as they crept across the flooded chamber. Suddenly, with a flash of light, his body surged forward, cutting through the mist.
"Luminous."
The word echoed like a chant, filling the room with a sound like rushing water—loud and endless, as if a river had burst from the cracks in the ancient stone walls. Water poured in, not just from the fissures but also from the Book of Haze itself, pooling quickly around Lamar's feet.
The vest of Obscure, once glowing faintly, began to dim as the water rose, swirling cold and clear around his ankles.
Then, as if summoned by some unseen hand, long shapes began to rise from the water—swords and spears, their blades glinting in the pale light, forming a silent forest of weapons.
This sudden transformation brought the marching footsteps to a halt. The air was thick with tension, every sound amplified by the stillness of the water.
Lamar reached out and gripped one of the newly-formed spears, its shaft cool and solid in his hand. He glanced around at the glassy surface, seeing his own reflection ripple and break apart.
Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward—and found himself walking atop the water, each step sending gentle ripples outward.
But the comfort the fog once gave him was gone. Now, the mist pressed in close, heavy and suffocating, turning the chamber into a watery coffin.
Lamar knew he couldn't remove the vest of Obscure without paying a price, nor could he face Sinn's other companion alone.
Wait, he thought suddenly, a spark of hope flickering in his mind. If he could recall the summoned monster, maybe he could use it to kill Sinn.
All he needed was time—to lure Sinn close, then trap him within the vest of Obscure.
A small, grim smile touched Lamar's lips, but he forced himself to focus. The water around him began to stir, waves rolling across the surface.
The movement was unmistakable—ripples spreading faster and faster, until a massive wave rushed toward him from all sides.
Yet Lamar didn't flinch. He stood tall, unmoved, watching the illusion unfold. He knew Sinn loved tricks—especially attacking from behind. This was just another distraction.
His instincts proved right. A chill ran down his spine, warning him of danger at his back. With lightning speed, Lamar dashed to the right, only to see a floating arm—no longer withered—hovering in the air.
He stared, baffled, but before he could react, another surge of fear prickled along his skin. Spinning around, he saw Sinn above him, launching straight for his heart.
Lamar thrust his spear upward, aiming for Sinn's chest. But as the weapon struck, Sinn's body dissolved into fog, leaving behind only a gaping wound that oozed mist.
Only a dried up arm remained falling to the wet floor.
Again, that deep sense of dread returned—but this time, it radiated not from behind, but from the Vest of obscure contained within the tiny sun.
Lamar watched in horror as the floating arm twisted and reshaped itself, morphing into Sinn's form.
Sinn's eyes burned with fanatic desire—not for Lamar's life, but for the vest of Obscure itself.
Don't tell me… he's been after the vest this whole time? Lamar realized, shock freezing his thoughts. So everything was just an act. But why not just kill me and take it? Why wait until now?
Insane bastard.
Even as these questions raced through his mind, Lamar's body moved on instinct. He lunged for the vest, reaching out with desperate determination.
Years of training had hardened his hands, but as he grabbed the artifact, Sinn's remaining hand did the same.
Sinn started to feel his flesh begin to wither, nerves burning with pain, but he refused to let go. Bone showed through torn skin, yet he pushed deeper, gripping the vest with all his strength.
His 'stark' ability was useless..
Both men seized the artifact at once. Blinding light exploded between them, accompanied by a sharp, thunderous bang. An electric shock jolted their bodies, lifting them off the ground as the vest of Obscure cracked under the strain.
Green pus oozed from every corner of the room, seeping from the walls and pooling at their feet. Sinn's eyes bled the same sickly green as he swallowed the fragments of the vest, greedily consuming its power.
Lamar watched in disbelief as Sinn devoured more than sixty pieces of the vest. Rage twisted Lamar's features, veins bulging on his forehead as he realized Sinn's true goal.
But what shocked him most was the sudden fury radiating from the Book of Haze. Silver chains erupted from its pages, lashing out at Sinn and digging into his flesh without mercy.
"Oh? Hahaha"
Sinn's laughter rang out, wild and unhinged.
For the first time, his gaze left Lamar and locked onto the Book of Haze. Dozens of green-irised eyeballs opened along the book's cover, glaring at Sinn with pure malice.
Sinn's hair grew longer, shifting from black to a ghostly silver-white. Horns sprouted from his head, and his once-red eyes multiplied, protruding grotesquely from his cheeks.
The sight sent a shiver down Lamar's spine. He could feel the hatred pulsing from the Book of Haze, vibrating through the air.
Is it alive? Did Sinn know all along? Is there a reason he needed to consume the vest of Obscure?
Lamar's questions went unanswered as Sinn's body continued to change, growing larger and more monstrous, horns curling and eyes multiplying, while the chamber filled with the echo of maniacal laughter and the relentless, hateful gaze of the Book of Haze.
As millions of eyes appeared, each one seemed to stare directly into Lamar's soul.
He couldn't tell if this was another of Sinn's illusions or something far more sinister, but his instincts screamed at him to run—to abandon everything and escape.
For a moment, it seemed the Book of Haze had stopped polluting Lamar's mind with its chaotic whispers.
Perhaps, in its own twisted logic, the book realized that being wielded by a "baboon" like Lamar was preferable to falling into Sinn's hands.
The vibrations from the Book of Haze intensified, as if it were thinking furiously: This bastard is using the Vest of Obscure as an ingredient…
"I'll kill you…" The words echoed through the chamber, filled with venom but somehow only Sinn could hear it…
Sinn's runic tattoos, which had faded before, now began to glow once more. The ancient, constricting symbols activated, their power crackling in the air.
But to the Book of Haze, Sinn's gaze held nothing but pure contempt—a look that made the ancient artifact feel utterly worthless.
Was it truly less valuable than the Vest of Obscure?