The black mists didn't just dance — they *convulsed*. They undulated in patterns that defied logic, thick as toxic smoke but fluid as water. They made the walls of the ancient temple seem blurred, distorted, as if looking through glass covered in oil. Shadows within shadows. Constant movement that made eyes burn, tears forming in the corners just from trying to focus.
Nemor widened his eyes, pupils contracting. A shiver ran down his spine — not common cold, but something deeper. As if cold cadaver fingers had dragged over each vertebra, one by one, slowly.
Sun held the sword made of shadows with force that made his fingers ache. White knuckles. Forearm muscles trembling slightly — not from fear, but from pure adrenaline being pumped through veins. His eyes didn't waver from the sleepless. From the symbol engraved on its forehead — a times (×) and two golden crosses that glowed like live embers against grayed skin. The light pulsed slightly, synchronized with something. Heartbeat? Breathing? Impossible to know.
Sun took trembling steps, approaching until he was less than a meter from Nemor. But not for a second did his eyes leave that creature. It smiled — cracked lips opening in an impossible arc. And the eyes? Completely closed. Smooth eyelids as if they had been sewn shut. As if enjoying the most tender and peaceful sleep while planning to kill them.
Sun's words came out dragging, each syllable carrying the weight of visceral dread but also hatred — the kind of hatred that burns in the pit of the stomach like acid:
"Do you think you can continue... protecting her?"
He stared at the sleepless but the words were spat in Nemor's direction. Accusation. Condemnation.
Nemor remained firm, forcing tense muscles not to tremble. He analyzed every microscopic detail in that abominable body. The way skeletal muscles moved under skin thin as paper. The posture — too relaxed, too casual for something so clearly lethal. Like a predator that knows the prey has nowhere to run.
"Who are you?" Nemor's voice came out controlled, but edges trembled slightly. "And what are you talking about?"
"Do you have any *idea*..." Sun clenched his teeth so hard that jaw muscles jumped under the skin. Frustration burned in every word. "...what you're protecting?"
Brief but loaded pause.
"With each passing day..." He continued, voice gradually rising. "...you'll be the one *responsible*. The one *guilty* for each death of intos here in the nightmare."
The words penetrated deep — like cold blades sliding between ribs and piercing lung. Nemor felt something tighten in his chest. He didn't fully understand the meaning, but the weight was undeniable. He narrowed his eyebrows, deep crease forming between them.
Sun briefly looked away from the sleepless — which continued there, waiting patiently like an animated statue. He turned against Nemor, voice exploding in contained rage that finally overflowed:
"You're protecting the girl..."
Suffocating silence. Three seconds that seemed like thirty.
"...who can *finally* exterminate the nightmare."
At that exact instant, Nemor saw it. Movement in peripheral vision. The sleepless had moved — not much, just a subtle shift of weight. But it was enough.
Instinct screamed louder than thought.
He raised his arm quickly, pushing Sun back with force.
Sun, in his trained agility, misinterpreted. Thought it was an attack. Tried to block with the shadow sword, blade rising to intercept. But then his eyes caught it — movement to the right. The sleepless was no longer where it had been.
It was *there*.
Understanding came like lightning: Nemor wasn't attacking. He was trying to save him.
Too late.
The creature's arm had already connected with Sun's chest.
It wasn't a common punch. It was *demolition*.
The impact produced a sound that shouldn't come from a human body. Something between the crack of breaking wood and the muffled sound of flesh being crushed. Ribs — at least three — fractured instantly. Didn't break clean; shattered. Bone fragments pierced soft lung tissue. Sun felt something hot and wet filling his chest cavity — internal blood accumulating where it shouldn't.
The scream that escaped was visceral, primal. It wasn't a sound someone chooses to make. It was a sound that is *ripped out* when pain exceeds processing capacity.
Sun's body was thrown like a rag doll — arms and legs flailing uncontrollably, trying to find balance that didn't exist. He crossed fifteen meters in two seconds, tearing through mists that separated around him like curtains. He hit the ancient temple wall with an impact that made thousand-year-old stones explode. Masonry fragments rained down, some large as fists, others thin as needles. One of them cut Sun's cheek, opening a red line that began to bleed immediately.
The sleepless planted its foot on the ground to slow the momentum of its own attack. Earth under its sole cracked violently — fissures spread in a spiderweb pattern, small pieces of soil jumping as if the ground was having a seizure.
Nemor didn't think. There was no time for thought.
He shouted to himself — desperate internal voice:
*"Give it to me!"*
Sasha's response was instantaneous:
"Of course, sir."
Red rays exploded from his arms like solar eruption. Started at the shoulders, descended through the forearms, enveloped the hands in a cascade of pure energy. The heat was intense — didn't burn him, but the air around distorted in visible waves. When the energy dissipated in sudden flash, it left behind two materialized swords. Red from hilt to tips. Long — almost reaching the ground when held. Thin as paper but vibrating with power that made space itself tremble slightly around the blades.
Without hesitating, he swung the sword in his left arm in a perfect horizontal arc. Fluid movement, practiced a thousand times in dreams he didn't remember having. Aiming exactly where neck met shoulder — carotid artery point.
But the sleepless was already reacting.
Golden rays spun around its skeletal arms — not as bright as Nemor's red ones, but carrying unnatural light that seemed to suck shadows around. They materialized into two golden blades. Short — no longer than a forearm. Looked more like daggers than swords. But the way they captured light from the mists... there was something *wrong* about them. As if they were made of metal that shouldn't exist.
It raised both abruptly, crossing them in an X right in front of its neck.
The blades collided.
Sound was sharp, piercing — like a church bell being struck with a steel hammer. Sparks exploded at the point of contact, glowing in red and gold before dying. The vibration traveled through Nemor's arms, making wrist bones ache.
But he didn't stop. He raised the sword in his right arm, preparing second attack.
At the same instant, the golden blade in the sleepless's left arm dematerialized. Didn't disappear — *exploded* into pure energy that enveloped the creature's fist like a glowing glove.
Then it moved.
Speed was obscene. It lowered its body just a few centimeters — minimal movement, efficient. Fist wrapped in golden energy was already rising, perfect trajectory for Nemor's unprotected stomach.
Connected.
It wasn't like being punched. It was like being *run over*.
Nemor felt every internal organ violently shift backward, crushed against his own spine. Something tore — didn't know what, but felt it. Wet and warm sensation spreading internally. Blood filled his mouth instantly — not just dripping, but *gushing*. Metallic and nauseating taste covered his tongue, ran down his throat, made him gag.
He spat. Blood sprayed from his mouth in a thin jet, staining the ground before him.
The force of the blow launched him backward. He crossed eight meters before hitting the same wall where Sun had fallen. But the impact was worse. His back hit first — felt vertebrae being compressed, discs between them flattening painfully. Head hit next with hollow sound that reverberated through the skull. Vision starred, white dots exploding in his field of vision.
The sleepless's golden energy had already returned to being a short blade.
When it felt Nemor's impact hitting the wall, its face opened in a distorted smile. Lips widened beyond the point human anatomy allowed — tearing slightly at the corners, small drops of something black dripping like inverted tears.
But then it felt it. Something behind it. Presence that wasn't there a second ago.
Shadows.
Blacker than the mists surrounding them. So black they seemed like holes in reality. They materialized right on its back like a portal opening.
Sun emerged from them.
Blood dripped from his broken nose, descending over lips and dripping from chin. Fractured ribs made each breath agony — could feel bone fragments moving, cutting tissue with each inspiration. But he ignored it. Adrenaline and rage were better anesthetics than any drug.
The shadow flowed to his arms, solidifying into a black sword that sucked light.
He launched an accurate attack on the creature's exposed back.
The air vibrated with the force. Mists separated violently.
The sleepless was no longer there.
Sun widened his eyes — confusion mixed with horror:
"Damn it..."
He felt presence behind. Always behind.
He turned his head just to see the creature's foot already in motion. Kick came from above, descending in an arc. Hit the right side of Sun's face with surgical precision.
Nose broke completely this time. Didn't just fracture — *crushed*. Cartilage disintegrated under pressure, turning to paste. Small cheekbone bones cracked. Sun felt loose teeth moving in his gums.
He was thrown downward with force that made the ground crack under him. Face hit the floor — mouth filled with dirt mixed with blood. Taste of iron and filth.
When the sleepless's feet touched the ground again, Nemor was already getting up. Blood dripped from multiple wounds, staining his clothes. But he held the red swords firmly.
He attacked.
Both blades came in sequence — left, then right, then left again. Quick, precise cuts. Each one aiming for the neck.
Millimeters from connecting with grayed flesh...
The creature moved.
So fast it left a residual image — gray blur that remained for a fraction of a second before disappearing.
The ground under its feet exploded. Earth and stones were thrown backward by the pure force of acceleration. To it, Nemor moved like a slug — each movement telegraphed, obvious, slow.
It was already right in front of Nemor. Zero distance. The short golden swords didn't need to be forced. Just pushed gently.
They penetrated human flesh like knife through butter.
**SHLACK.**
Sound was wet, obscene. Like damp fabric being torn.
The first blade pierced Nemor's right shoulder. Entered between collarbone and shoulder blade, separating muscle from bone with disturbing ease. Nemor felt the cold tip tear through tendons — tiny but distinct snap of fibers breaking. Hot blood gushed instantly, soaking his shirt in a stain that spread rapidly.
The second blade went through the abdomen. Deeper than the first. Pierced through skin, fat, muscle, internal organs. Something vital was cut — Nemor didn't know what, but felt it. Sensation of something important being severed.
The creature pulled the blades quickly. Abrupt movement that widened the wounds even more. Torn edges of flesh opened like obscene flowers. Blood didn't drip — *poured*.
Nemor coughed. More blood. Could feel strength draining from each muscle like water running down a drain. Legs trembled, threatening to give way.
The sleepless's blades dematerialized, returning to golden energy that flowed back to its arms.
Then it grabbed Nemor's face. Skeletal fingers closed around his jaw with brutal force. Bone creaked under pressure.
Nemor tried to react — hands rising to defend himself. But movements were slow, weak. Blood loss was already affecting coordination.
The sleepless didn't wait.
It lifted Nemor by the face and *smashed* his head against the ground.
The impact produced a hollow sound that reverberated. Cracked earth deepened. Nemor's skull hit so hard that vision blinked — momentarily just white, then coming back blurred.
But the creature didn't stop.
It lifted again. Smashed a second time.
Then a third.
With each impact, something new broke. Nemor felt it but couldn't process exactly what. Maybe facial bones. Maybe loose teeth. Maybe something internal that shouldn't break.
Blood accumulated under his head, forming a puddle that grew every second.
When it finally let go, one of the golden swords materialized in the creature's hand.
Without hesitation. Without ceremony.
It pierced through Nemor's defenseless chest.
It wasn't quick. It was deliberate. The blade entered slowly, cutting through skin, then chest muscle, then rib cartilage, then...
Heart.
Nemor felt it. There was no way not to feel it.
The cold tip piercing the organ that kept life pumping through veins. Felt the four chambers being pierced one after another. Felt the erratic rhythm when heart muscle tried to keep beating around the invading blade.
His strength didn't just diminish — *evaporated*. As if someone had cut all the strings keeping a marionette standing.
Vision darkened at the edges. Not gradually. Rapidly. Darkness swallowing everything like a curtain being pulled.
When the blade was removed — pulled with abrupt movement that widened the hole even more — what came next was a punch blow.
Direct to the center of the chest. Where the blade had just left.
Force pushed Nemor backward. Didn't fly this time. Dragged. Body sliding over uneven earth, leaving a wide trail of blood. Small stones jumped under him, some sticking to the red trail.
He stopped after five meters.
Didn't move.
---
The creature maintained upright posture. Tilted its neck backward — joints cracking in sequence. Then it said, voice dragging like nail on chalkboard:
"I... want... you... to be... strong..."
Pause.
Repeated in trance:
"Strong... strong... strong... strong..."
Word echoed, each repetition overlapping the previous one until it became cacophony.
Then it felt it. Something sharp pressing skin on its back. Not piercing yet. Just... threatening.
It turned.
Sun's blade was there, tip touching between shoulder blades. Sun bled profusely — mouth, nose, wounds on body. But eyes burned with determination that surpassed physical pain.
He pushed the sword with all remaining strength.
The black blade bit grayed flesh.
The sleepless turned completely. Its own golden blade materialized, hitting against the black one with sharp sound.
Sun staggered backward.
Then he invoked the shadows. They sprouted from his feet like spilled ink, rising and swallowing him completely.
He disappeared.
Reappeared three meters behind the sleepless.
Attacked again.
The sleepless turned to block. But Sun was already invoking shadows again.
He entered them.
The creature, seeing that, moved in an explosion of speed. Entered the shadows *along* with Sun.
Inside that black space — where there was no light, sound, or sensation — both moved. Blades collided multiple times in sequence so fast it was impossible to count.
When they emerged near the temple wall, the shadows dissolved.
But Sun was underneath.
Back against ground. The sleepless on top, one knee pressing Sun's chest. Left hand closed around his neck.
It squeezed.
It wasn't gradual. It was immediate. Total pressure from the first second.
Sun tried to breathe. Couldn't. Trachea was being crushed. Felt cartilage beginning to give way. Face turned purple in seconds — first red, then dark purple, then almost blue. Veins bulged in his neck and forehead, pulsing frantically.
He tried to struggle. Legs kicking uselessly. Hands grabbing the creature's arm, trying to loosen it. Useless. It was like trying to move a steel bar.
The sleepless's smile widened even more. Impossible, but it widened.
---
Meanwhile, Nemor lay in the growing pool of his own blood.
Breathing was nonexistent. Heart didn't beat — couldn't, there was a hole going through it. Technically, he was dead.
But consciousness still flickered weakly.
Then he heard. Not with ears. With something deeper.
Voice that wasn't Sasha's. Voice that came from a place outside reality.
*"So what? You're still our baby."*
Mr. Yeager's voice. Calm. Gentle. Full of unconditional love.
Image invaded his dying mind. Mrs. Wan smiling. That smile that lit up the humble house. That made bad days seem bearable.
Tears rolled from his eyes — mixing with blood covering his face.
Then another memory. Older. Buried deep.
*Six years old.*
Narrow street of dirty alley. Walls covered in graffiti and mold. Smell of rotting garbage.
He — small, fragile — was leaning against the wall. Knife buried in his small chest. Not deep. Enough.
Tears ran down childish cheeks, leaving clean trails on dirty face.
*"I don't want to die..."*
Child's voice — high-pitched, trembling, desperate.
*"I want to live... mommy... daddy... I want..."*
Pause while more blood dripped.
*"...to live."*
Next to him, a young woman. Early twenties. Torn clothes, smeared makeup. Shaking so violently teeth chattered. Eyes wide in horror seeing what had happened.
Two men were also there. White clothes now stained red. Trembling equally.
One of them — the one who held the knife he had just dropped — looked at his own hands as if they weren't his:
*"I... I didn't mean to... I didn't mean to hurt you..."*
The other, voice coming out in rising panic:
*"It was an accident! Accident, understand?! Why?! Why did you have to try to protect this bitch, you damned brat?!"*
He screamed to convince himself more than anyone else.
The boy's vision was blurring. Cold spreading from inside out. Sound of cars on the main street becoming distant...
---
Back to reality.
Nemor — body destroyed, heart pierced, blood forming a lake around — shouldn't be conscious.
But he was.
Tears kept flowing. Mixed with blood, impossible to distinguish.
With blurred vision, could barely see Sun being strangled. Purple face. Muscles giving way.
Sasha's voice cut through the fog of imminent death:
"I will assume control of your body to regenerate the wounds."
Nemor tried to respond. Lips moved but sound that came out was just ghostly whisper:
"Mo... mom... dad..."
"Please, sir. Don't force the body."
Then it happened.
Nemor's eyes glowed in pure gold — not just iris, but entire eyeball. Light emanating from within.
Wounds began to close. Not quickly. Gradually. Flesh regenerating, tissues reconnecting. Even the heart — hole going through heart muscles — began to repair. Fibers growing, chambers sealing.
Took thirty seconds.
When it finished, Sasha's voice came out — not internally, but externally. Through Nemor's mouth:
"Sir, I've taken control of the body."
Voice was the same but there was subtle difference. Less emotion. More... mechanical.
The body rose. Movements were fluid but lacked natural human hesitation.
The sleepless was still strangling Sun. Hadn't noticed. Was too focused on feeling life slip through its fingers.
Nemor's voice echoed internally — weak, barely able to form words:
*"Can you... handle... this thing?"*
"No, sir." Sasha's answer was honest, direct. "The level of this Failed Archangel is significantly above mine."
Pause.
"The title 'failed' is not a diminution of power. It's simply reference to origin — sleepless instead of native deity. But in terms of celestial hierarchy... it's still a deity."
Nemor's voice was barely audible now:
*"Then... save him..."*
Sasha responded:
"Sir, I've completed analysis of the anomalous voice you've been hearing."
Loaded pause.
"When you reset to level zero... it was direct consequence of creating a new deity. Process occurred automatically, linked to your body."
Another pause.
"Do you wish for *her* to assume control of the body?"
Sun's breathing was ceasing. Lips turning blue. Eyes beginning to roll back.
Nemor's voice — so weak it was almost imperceptible:
*"If... it'll help... then... so be it..."*
"Understood, sir."
Pause.
"For the record: her chances of victory against the Failed Archangel are ninety-nine point eight percent."
Heavy silence. Then Sasha completed, each word carrying the weight of mountains:
"After all... her level is..."
Three seconds of absolute silence.
"...Seraphim."
The word hung suspended in the air like silent thunder.
END OF CHAPTER 11