Noctis rested for about twenty minutes; his chest rose and fell violently. He stood up with effort and approached the Scavenger Chest's corpse.
With a tense sigh and a frown from the pain that pierced his body, he bent down.
With his broken sword, he began to dissect it and finished in five seconds.
He reached into the corrupted tissue and extracted the core. It was larger than those of the Hollows. It pulsed irregularly, like a diseased heart. Gray... green... gray... green. Each flash seemed to ooze something impure.
[You have obtained a Corrupt Aberration Core, Scavenger Chest]
Noctis listened to the voice from the Abyss with a complicated expression; he alone had defeated that Remnant. Something almost impossible for someone of his level.
...Well, he almost lost his life, but that's a minor detail, so it shouldn't be given much importance, right?
He looked at the mangled corpse and remembered the lessons he hated listening to in the past, but he did so because he was the next heir to the Vale Clan.
The voice of the beautiful and kind teacher hired by his damned father echoed in his mind.
"Each Remnant is divided into three classes: Corrupt (C), Profane (P), and Damned (D). They indicate their level of corruption, the quality of their cores, their intelligence... and their lethality."
The teacher adjusted her glasses calmly.
"The difference between a Corrupt Spawn and a Profane Spawn is enormous. A single mistake can cost you your life. As for the ranks... Spawn, Aberration, Deformity, Titan... and finally... Horror of the Abyss."
Noctis let out a sigh, his ribs aching and his wrist possibly broken.
On the corpse of the Scavenger Chest, there was also a tarnished brass key.
He bent down and picked up the object; then the voice of the Abyss echoed in his mind:
[You have obtained an item]
Retreating from the Remnant's corpse, Noctis leaned against the wall to improve his attributes and look at the runes he had just obtained.
Once seated, he opened the attribute runes where he had five points to use. He didn't think too much about it and spent three points on Constitution and two on Mana.
Strength: 8 | Dexterity: 7 | Constitution: 13 | Mana: 10
Attribute Points: 0
Noctis felt the change in his body, but it wasn't enough to make the pain disappear completely. So he moved on to look at the next runes.
[Corrupt Aberration Core]
Rank: II.
Affinity: Mutation.
"Hmm... interesting."
Noctis already had an idea of how to use that core... but the pain he would suffer in creating the Skill made him reluctant. He shook his head and moved on to look at the item's runes.
[Master Key]
Rank: III.
Type: Tool.
Description: [Some doors were locked to keep things out. Others to keep things in. This key opens both.]
Reading the item description, he felt a cramp in his stomach that made him frown. Noctis knew what it was.
Hunger.
How long had it been? Since the ceremony, he had only eaten instant noodles in his apartment. It felt like days had passed, although it was probably less than twelve hours.
Noctis pushed the thought aside and stood up, his face contorted with pain. He marked the room with a scratch on the doorframe (a simple X) and continued exploring.
He needed to understand this place better. He needed supplies. Information. Something that would give him an advantage.
The corridor branched off repeatedly, creating a maze of passageways and abandoned chambers. Unlike the section he had been in before, with its uniform cells, this section of the prison offered variety. Rooms built for daily operations that had long since ceased.
The first room he found was a storage chamber.
There were shelves lining the walls, most of them empty or collapsed. But on one of them, partially hidden behind the rubble, he found a cloth sack.
Inside: three strips of dried meat, tough as leather. Prison rations, preserved by the strange properties of the Abyss.
Noctis's stomach lurched when he saw it. He took a strip and bit into it.
It was like chewing boot leather. Tasteless. But as he forced himself to swallow, a warmth spread throughout his body.
For five seconds, nothing happened.
Then the pain began.
Not in his stomach. Everywhere.
His veins felt as if they were filled with broken glass. His muscles tensed. His vision turned white.
Noctis and the pain arrived; it was unlike anything he had ever experienced: worse than being strangled by the first Hueco, worse than his dislocated shoulder, worse than all of them combined.
The minutes passed like hours.
And despite everything, his stomach continued to digest. It continued to process. It continued to extract the nutrients that remained in that corrupted flesh.
Thirty minutes.
Noctis remained, feeling the excruciating pain; cold sweat ran down his entire body. It seemed that his body had adapted; it was something he inevitably had to do, and he had also been taught this in the clan.
Of course, at that time, he did not eat anything in a suspicious state. They had mentioned it to him, and he had to experience it.
When the pain finally subsided, his vision remained blurry. His hands wouldn't stop shaking.
But the hunger had lessened. It hadn't disappeared. It was just... manageable.
Noctis slowly stood up. His legs trembled violently. He was still hungry... but when he looked at the strip of meat, his stomach churned again.
He shook his head; he would only eat another strip when strictly necessary. He wasn't masochistic enough to enjoy the pain. He just wanted to find the damn turning point and end this suffering.
So, with a delicate stomach, Noctis continued exploring.
The next room was even stranger.
It was some office. A desk stood in the corner, overturned. Papers were scattered across the floor, yellowed with age. And on the wall, someone had written something in what appeared to be dried blood.
DAY 127: THEY ARE CHANGING
PRISONERS NO LONGER DIE
THEY SIMPLY... STOP
Below that, in smaller, shaky letters:
I can hear them in the cells. Moving. Breathing. But when I look, their eyes are empty.
Noctis picked up one of the yellowed papers from the floor. A roster. Names of the guards assigned to the different sections.
Most of the names had been crossed out.
He was very curious about what had happened in this prison. What was the origin of the Hollows? Why didn't they die? Was it some unique magic?
He put those thoughts aside... although he was curious, that was all it was: his main goal was to find the point of return.
Noctis continued his exploration.
The chirping grew louder as he ventured deeper. But it wasn't the same erratic gait of the Hollows he had seen before.
These were... rhythmic.
The hallway led to a larger space, a kind of communal work area. Stone benches lined the walls. Tools lay scattered about: hammers, chisels, iron bars.
And Remnants.
Three of them.
But no Hollows.
They were something between humans and Hollows. Their skin was gray and waxy, but still intact. They wore the remains of their prison uniforms: rough fabrics hanging in tatters. Heavy iron handcuffs bound their wrists, linked together by chains that dragged along the ground.
And they worked.
One hammered the wall with methodical blows. Another lifted a block of stone, carried it three steps, lowered it, and lifted it again. The third stood with his arms raised as if holding something invisible, swaying slightly.
He watched for a full minute. The patterns didn't change. Hammer. Lift. Hold. Hammer. Lift. Hold.
It was as if they were stuck in a loop.
A chill ran down his spine as he worked with dry saliva; the sight was too chilling.
Noctis moved carefully around the room, keeping his distance.
When he passed two meters from the hammer bearer, the latter stopped mid-swing.
His head turned.
Empty eyes fixed on him.
Then he raised the hammer and lunged.
Noctis leaned to one side as the hammer fell. The impact cracked the ground where he had been standing.
The other two prisoners stopped their cycles. They turned toward him in the same mechanical manner.
The chained one.
The one wielding the hammer attacked again. Slow but powerful. The chain connecting his shackles scraped against the stone as he moved.
Noctis blocked the blow with his broken sword. The impact nearly knocked the weapon from his hands.
He dodged the next blow and counterattacked, cutting off the creature's arm.
The broken blade cut through gray flesh. There was no blood—only dry tissue, like old leather.
The Chained One did not slow down.
The other two were approaching. The one lifting the stone block had grabbed it and raised it above his head. The one holding it had released his invisible load and stretched out his arms, which were bound in chains.
Noctis kicked over one of the stone benches, creating an obstacle. Then he started running, not away, but in a tight circle around the perimeter of the room.
The Chained followed him. Their movements were jerky but determined. The chains limited their pace, forcing them to drag their feet.
Noctis let them chase him until they formed a line, then he darted between two benches, a space too narrow for the Chained to follow him directly.
They tried anyway.
The one wielding the hammer got stuck; his chains caught on the bench. He pulled, making the stone crunch against the ground.
Noctis seized the opportunity and activated [Shadow Strike]. He attacked the trapped creature's neck, not to cut it, but to pierce it.
The Chained one convulsed once and then collapsed.
[You have killed a Corrupt Spawn, Chained]
Now there were two left.
The lifter threw down his stone block.
Noctis dodged it, but the block crashed into the wall behind him, sending shrapnel flying. A fragment hit him in the leg.
The carrier pounced on his moment of distraction. Chain-bound arms reached out for him.
Noctis ducked, rolling under the grasp. He approached the creature from behind and attacked the back of its knee.
The Chainbound's leg buckled, and it fell.
Before it could get up, Noctis activated [Shadow Strike] again, and the mass of shadow pierced the back of its skull.
[You have killed a Corrupted Spawn, Chained]
The lifter had already retrieved another block of stone. He lifted it above his head and charged.
Noctis waited until the last moment and then stepped aside.
The momentum of the Chained One propelled him forward. He couldn't stop. The block of stone fell to the ground, shattering.
The creature remained there, arms still raised in a throwing position, confused by the lack of weight.
Noctis didn't give it time to adjust.
[Shadow Strike] struck its core from behind.
And the voice of the Abyss confirmed its death:
[You have killed a Corrupt Spawn, Chained]
[You have reached level 3.]
Noctis looked at the corpses of the Remnants and then examined the room more carefully.
On one wall, carved into the stone in desperate letters:
THEY MAKE US WORK EVEN AFTER DEATH.
THE GUARDIAN SAYS IT'S EFFICIENT.
THE WARDEN SAYS WE ARE SERVING OUR SENTENCES.
THE GUARDIAN DOESN'T UNDERSTAND THAT WE ARE NO LONGER ALIVE.
Then, in a deeper scratch and in the same handwriting:
Day 89 - Prisoner 2471 stopped breathing. We buried him. He returned three days later and resumed his work. He has been hammering the same wall for two weeks. It is now three meters deep. He has not stopped once.
Noctis's stomach churned.
The Chained were prisoners who had died and been reanimated, forced to continue their labor for eternity.