The Soul Sea trembled.
Ash floated at the center of his own being, white mist swirling around him like a living cloak.
Before him, Thrill unfolded like a contained storm—a shapeless mass of gray mist and shifting shadows, with two points of intense light at its core, watching him with ancient hunger.
There were no greetings. No words.
Thrill attacked.
The mass of its being surged forward like a tidal wave, a wall of pure will that crushed the mist between them. Ash felt the impact in every fragment of his soul—a weight that tried to bend him, break him, absorb him.
His spiritual feet scraped against nonexistent ground as he resisted the force, his arms crossed before his face like a shield of will.
Let me out, Thrill screamed—and the scream was not sound, but pressure, a force that pushed Ash backward, his heels carving trails through the mist. You are weak. Your doubts bind you. I can be more. We can be more.
Ash clenched his teeth. Thrill's fury was an ocean—and he was a rock the ocean sought to grind into dust.
But he did not move.
—No —he said, and the word was a wall.
He pushed back.
The mist around him exploded outward, colliding with Thrill's mass in an impact that made his two soul cores tremble in their orbits.
The two gray suns in the inner sky flickered, and the entire Soul Sea shook like a drum struck by a hammer.
Thrill recoiled.
The mass of its being tore apart from the impact, fragments of gray mist floating between them like spiritual blood. But it did not retreat. It reformed in an instant—denser, more furious.
The presence folded into itself, compressing into a solid core—and then exploded forward. A spiral of gray mist tentacles surged from its center, each one reaching for Ash from a different angle.
Ash turned, his own mist forming a cocoon around him. The tentacles struck again and again. Each impact was a lash against his consciousness, each strike a crack in his defense.
One tentacle found an opening.
Ash felt Thrill slip through his guard, like a serpent, reaching toward the core of his being. Thrill's emotions flooded him—desire to feel the wind, to run, to live with an intensity his current body could not allow. Vivid images, almost tangible.
And for a moment—
Ash hesitated.
Yes, Thrill whispered in his mind. Let me take control. Let me show you what we can be.
Ash felt his will falter.
Power. Freedom. Everything he had never allowed himself to desire.
No.
The denial was a clenched fist. Ash grabbed the tentacle that had pierced his defense and tore it free.
Thrill shrieked—a spiritual sound that shook everything—and its mass twisted in spirals of pain.
"You're not the only one who can be ferocious" Ash growled, launching himself forward.
The mist around him condensed into a massive hammer that came crashing down on Thrill. The presence split into four fragments that evaded the blow and regrouped behind him. Ash turned—but she was already moving, her form fluid, impossible to grasp.
Faster, Thrill transmitted—and there was laughter in the emotion. Is that all you've got?
Ash didn't answer.
He extended his spiritual arms—and the mist obeyed.
From all directions, from a thousand fragments, the mist rose like a tide.
It wasn't a direct attack.
It was an enclosure.
Thrill felt it. Its mass churned, trying to break through before the trap closed—but Ash had already anticipated the reaction. The mist grew denser, heavier, forming walls that resisted the impacts.
What are you doing? The question lashed with distrust. Locking me away again?
"I'm buying space" Ash said.
The enclosure closed.
Thrill was confined in an ever-shrinking space, its mass compressed, its forms spiraling in frantic motion. Ash felt its desperation, its fury, its fear of being contained again after so long.
—Listen to me —Ash said, pushing through the storm of emotions—. I don't want to imprison you forever. But I won't let you take control.
Thrill answered with an attack.
Its compressed mass exploded outward—a ring of gray mist that slammed into the walls with a force that made Ash's will creak. He clenched his teeth, holding the structure together, containing the blast. The pressure was immense—a pain that ran through every part of his being.
But he did not let go.
The sphere warped, stretched, its white mist walls cracking under the strain. Ash felt each blow eroding his will, the presence exploiting the cracks forming from his fatigue. A pull here, a push there—the sphere stretched like a balloon ready to burst.
"No!" Ash shouted, and all his will condensed into his hands.
White mist surged from around him—from the two gray suns, from the very depths of his sea.
The mist wrapped around the sphere, layer after layer, each one reinforcing the last, compressing the interior, silencing Thrill's strikes.
The sphere stabilized.
Inside, Thrill struck again.
The impact echoed through the entire Soul Sea—but the walls held.
Again. And again.
Each strike weaker than the last.
Ash held it.
His spiritual hands remained extended, fingers sunk into the mist, maintaining every layer. He could feel Thrill inside—its mass spiraling, its two points of gray light searching endlessly for an exit.
Let me out! Thrill slammed into the wall again. You can't keep me here forever!
Ash did not respond.
He focused.
With a motion of his hands, gray chains sprouted from the surface of the sphere. They formed slowly, link by link, wrapping the structure in a lattice of solidified mist. Each link was a fragment of his will, each ring an additional layer of containment.
The chains tightened.
The sphere was suspended in the center of the Soul Sea—immobilized.
Inside, Thrill continued to move. Its forms crashed against the walls again and again, its fury still palpable.
Ash looked at it.
His spiritual face was pale from the effort, his hands still extended, ready to reinforce any weak point.
But his yellow eyes remained fixed on the two lights inside.
—We'll talk when you calm down —he said.
There was no reply.
Only the dull, rhythmic impacts of Thrill against the walls of its temporary prison.
Ash waited.
The blows continued—steady, relentless.
Thrill would not calm down.
It would never calm down.
He sighed.
His hands lowered slowly, leaving the sphere suspended by the chains alone.
Ash watched the two lights move endlessly inside.
This wasn't over.
But for now—
It was enough.
He closed his spiritual eyes, feeling his consciousness rise—leaving the Soul Sea, the chained sphere, the two gray suns behind.
---
He opened his eyes.
He was in the Cathedral, lying face down on fractured stone. His left cheek rested against the cold floor, a thin layer of dust covering his gray robe. The mist around him had thinned into faint strands crawling along the ground like dying serpents.
He didn't move immediately.
He breathed.
Real air filled his lungs. His heart beat steadily again.
Above him, through the broken ceiling, a moonless night sky stretched—filled with stars, leaving everything in deep darkness.
Ash calculated the time.
The battle with the black knight, the possession by the fallen devil, the clash in his Soul Sea… together, it must have lasted at least an hour. Perhaps more.
His body was stiff. His muscles cramped from staying still so long.
He turned his head.
The Pale Needle lay a few meters away—where it had fallen when he gained his second soul core.
Its bone blade glowed faintly in the darkness.
Waiting.
Ash slowly pushed himself up. Every movement reminded him of the blows he had taken—the cuts in his robe, the bruise on his side.
But nothing was broken.
Nothing bled.
He stood.
The Cathedral was silent.
The shadows that once inhabited the altar had vanished. The air smelled of old stone and mist—but not death.
The fallen devil was gone.
The black knight had found its end.
Ash walked to the Pale Needle and picked it up. The fragment pulsed in his hand, recognizing him, before fading back into his being.
He closed his eyes for a moment—and glanced into his Soul Sea.
The sphere was still there.
Floating in the center.
The gray chains glowed faintly.
Inside, Thrill had quieted. Its two gray lights moved more slowly now, circling within the sphere.
Thrill did not rest.
Its boundless fury continued to strike the sphere—
Without leaving even the slightest mark.