Uriel's sea of souls stretched around him like an infinite ocean of pure darkness. A darkness so vast that he could see absolutely nothing through it, nor know what mysteries it concealed.
But now there was no time to contemplate the mysteries of his soul.
Uriel and Shade floated in the center of that inner space, their human forms surrounded by the seven supreme soul fragments they had extracted from the corpses of different great creatures. They spun slowly around them, each of considerable size, each glowing with that bluish light that seemed to contain centuries of accumulated will.
"Are you sure about this?" asked Shade, his red eyes reflecting the fragments' light. "We could save them for another moment. Use them to strengthen the domain. Create new memories."
Uriel shook his head, his black ponytail swaying slightly with the movement. "I need armor. Real armor. What I have now isn't enough for what's coming." He paused, his black eyes fixing on the fragments with an almost hypnotic intensity. "And this is the only way to get it."
Shade remained silent for a moment, then nodded. He didn't ask why Uriel was so sure that something was coming. They both knew. The world was a dangerous place, and dangers didn't stop lurking just because you had defeated one of them.
They decided to do it in the sea of souls. There, in that inner space where the laws of the outside world didn't fully apply, where their control over essence and will was strongest, they had the best chance of success.
Uriel extended his hands and began to create the threads.
Dark essence flowed from his fingers like water from a spring, forming ultra-fine but resistant filaments. They were so thin they could barely be seen with the naked eye, so strong they could hold the weight of a mountain without breaking. Shade imitated his movements, adding his own threads to the web that began to form between the fragments.
The goal was ambitious. They would use those seven supreme cores to create a new armor, a seventh-level memory that would surpass everything Uriel had possessed until then.
It wasn't just any armor.
It was the Dark Mantle.
Uriel remembered that garment with a clarity that hurt. It had been one of his most treasured memories, a memory woven with essence and will that had protected him through countless battles. The mantle possessed two enchantments that made it special, two properties that had turned it into an Awakened memory — something more than a simple magical object.
The first: shadows reacted to his will, defending him from surprise attacks even when his consciousness couldn't perceive the danger. It had been a knife in the darkness, an invisible barrier that had saved his life more times than he could remember.
The second: his presence was hidden in dark places, blurring among the shadows until he became almost undetectable. It wasn't invisibility, not exactly, but something more subtle. An absence of presence. A void where something should be.
But that mantle had been destroyed long ago, devoured by some battle that his memory had already begun to blur. And since then, Uriel had lacked the means to recreate it.
The reason was simple. The spell that governed memory creation had changed the rules. Uriel could neither interact with nor see the threads of memories created by the spell — those invisible patterns that determined the shape and function of each magical object. The spell controlled them, and Uriel was merely a spectator to his own power.
That was why he had created dark sorcery. That was why he had dedicated so much time to practicing, experimenting, failing again and again until his fingers learned what his eyes couldn't see. If he could create the threads himself, if he could interconnect the supreme fragments with his own essence, then there would be a chance that the spell would interfere in the creation of his memory and complete it. He only needed to call its attention. He only needed to show it what he wanted to create — so clearly, so perfectly — that the spell would have no choice but to recognize it and finish it.
After all, the spell was conscious.
Uriel didn't know what that consciousness was, nor how it had come to exist, nor what it wanted. But he knew it watched him. Always. In every memory creation, in every battle, in every moment of stillness.
Uriel sighed.
He let the air escape his lungs slowly, carrying away the accumulated tension. He closed his black eyes for an instant, searching within himself for the calm he needed for what he was about to do.
When he opened them again, his gaze was sharp as a blade.
He concentrated on the black threads that began to intertwine in the center of the space where the fragments floated. He had spoken with Shade before beginning, and they had both agreed on the seven enchantments that the seventh-level supreme memory would carry. They were not the original two from the Dark Mantle, but something more. Something new. Something they had designed together, combining all their knowledge and experiences.
Seven enchantments for seven supreme fragments. Each would enhance the other, creating a synergy that would multiply their power beyond the simple sum of their parts.
After mentally preparing himself, Uriel began to weave.
Threads of darkness sprouted from his fingers like strands of liquid shadow, moving with a precision that only years of practice could grant. He used the essence provided by his domain — that constant torrent of power flowing from the thousands of nightmare creatures that followed him. Each breath of his minions, each beat of their dark hearts, became essence that fed his creation.
It was immense power. And he would need all of it.
Uriel began moving his arms and fingers with a mastery that surprised even Shade. There was no hesitation in his movements, no doubt. Each gesture was fluid, precise, as if he had been weaving that web his entire life. He watched as the pattern of black thread began to form between the fragments, spreading at an ever-increasing speed.
It was a race against time.
They had no more chances. If they failed, the supreme fragments would be lost, their essence would dissipate, and all the power of the great tyrant would vanish into nothing. If the spell decided not to intervene, if they failed to call its attention, the memory would remain incomplete, useless — an empty shell without a soul.
So they worked as they had never worked before.
Shade wove the threads, his dark hands moving in perfect synchrony with Uriel's. He created the basic structure, the skeleton upon which everything else would be built. Uriel, for his part, polished each thread, smoothed every imperfection, created the nexuses that would connect the fragments to each other. He engraved the runes that would hold the dark fabric together — ancient symbols he had discovered on his travels, inscriptions that channeled essence and will to where they were most needed.
In the center of the weave, at the point where all the threads converged, Uriel engraved his true name.
It wasn't the name he used in the outside world. It was something deeper, more intimate — a chain of syllables that contained the very essence of his being. He engraved it in runes so small they could barely be seen, hidden among the complexity of the tapestry growing around him. And once engraved, the weave seemed to take on a life of its own, the black threads shining with a dark light that pulsed like a second heart.
The supreme soul fragments began to disappear, one by one.
Each fragment connected to the web as a nexus, a node of power that assumed a specific function within the whole. The first would govern passive defense — the shadows that reacted to surprise attacks. The second would handle concealment — the blurring of presence in dark places. The remaining five were assigned to new enchantments, abilities that Uriel and Shade had designed during those days of rest and practice.
Each thread had a clear direction and purpose. There was no room for ambiguity in that creation. Each strand of darkness knew exactly what it had to do and where it had to go.
From the outside, from the perspective of someone watching without understanding, Uriel and Shade were a blur of movement in the empty air. Their hands seemed to multiply, creating threads, weaving them, cutting them and reweaving them with a speed that defied comprehension. Their faces — identical except for the color of their eyes — were bathed in absolute concentration.
Neither spoke. There was no need.
The tapestry became vaster and more complex with each second. What had begun as a few loose strands became an intricate web — a labyrinth of black threads that crossed and recrossed, forming patterns within patterns, structures within structures.
The effort was such that Uriel felt his brain burning.
It wasn't a metaphor. It was a physical, real sensation, as if an invisible flame were consuming his neurons one by one. The pain was sharp, stabbing — a constant hammering at his temples that threatened to break his concentration.
A thread of blood came from his nose, sliding down his upper lip until it fell onto the tapestry he was weaving. The red drop contrasted violently with the darkness of the threads — a reminder that even the most powerful beings had limits.
But Uriel didn't stop.
His eyes followed every thread, every crossing, every intersection where strands met and separated. He saw every rune he engraved, every nexus he connected, every fragment integrated into the whole. The blood continued flowing from his nose, staining his clothes and hands, but he didn't care.
Nothing mattered except finishing.
Shade, beside him, also showed signs of exhaustion. His red eyes, once bright with intensity, were now dull, tired. His movements became slower, heavier, as if his dark hands weighed tons.
Uriel made a decision.
He created more arms. Not arms of flesh and bone, but limbs of darkness that sprouted from his shoulders and back, multiplying his capacity to weave. Eight, twelve, sixteen shadow hands working in unison, each performing a different task, each contributing to the whole.
Shade, understanding Uriel's intention, slowly let his companion replace him. He withdrew from the main weave, conserving his strength for what would come later, watching with tired eyes as Uriel became a creation machine.
And then, Uriel did something Shade didn't expect.
He summoned the black mantle.
The original — or what remained of it. The remains of that memory he had kept for so long, waiting for the right moment to use them. The mantle emerged from his dark storage, floating before him, its golden threads barely visible in the midst of the darkness.
Uriel held the memory between his shadow hands and created new black threads. Threads that connected the old memory with the new weave he was creating. The connection was perfect, as if the golden threads and the black threads had been destined to meet from the beginning.
The original mantle disintegrated.
Its golden threads were freed from the structure that had contained them for so long and began to flow toward the new weave. They intertwined with the black threads, mixing, fusing, creating something that was not only new but also ancient. A memory that contained memories of memories, layers of meaning that extended backward in time.
Uriel smiled in victory as he saw it.
The smile was brief — only an instant — but it was enough. Because in that instant, the spell finally intervened.
The voice didn't speak, not at first. Instead, Uriel felt a conscious presence descend upon his creation, examining it with an attention that was almost uncomfortable. The spell observed the weave of black and golden threads, the runes Uriel had engraved, the nexuses he had connected, the true name he had hidden at the center.
And then it began to polish.
The speed was terrifying. What Uriel had taken hours to weave, the spell reorganized in seconds. The threads reordered, repositioned, became even more perfect than they already were. The runes Uriel had engraved with such care were refined, optimized, connected to each other in ways that had never occurred to him.
Uriel watched, fascinated and terrified in equal measure, as his creation was taken and transformed by that superior consciousness. He didn't resist. He couldn't resist. He only watched, like a craftsman delivering his work to a master and awaiting the verdict.
The spell worked for long seconds — reorganizing, polishing, perfecting. The golden threads spread throughout the immense web, connecting every node, every nexus, every fragment. Where there had been emptiness, now there was structure. Where there had been imperfection, now there was harmony.
Finally, it was all over.
The spell's voice resonated in his mind, as clear and cold as ever.
[Your memory has been destroyed.]
Uriel held his breath. For a moment, his entire being filled with cold terror. Had he failed? Had all that effort been in vain?
[You have obtained a memory.]
The new memory appeared before him, floating in the air like a flower of shadows. It was a mantle — black as the deepest night, but speckled with small golden dots that shone like stars. The seven enchantments they had designed were there, perfectly integrated, waiting to be activated. The original mantle, its two abilities — everything had been preserved and enhanced.
Uriel had no time to celebrate.
The exhaustion he had been holding back throughout the creation hit him like a giant wave. His brain, which had been burning for hours, finally said enough. His multiple shadow arms faded away. His human form began to tremble.
Beside him, Shade was in no better state. He had been watching in silence, conserving his strength, but even those reserves were depleted. His red eyes blinked slowly, as if each blink required superhuman effort.
They looked at each other.
No words were needed.
Their bodies collapsed in the sea of souls — exhausted, empty, but victorious. For a moment, they floated in that ocean of stars and shadows, their consciousness brushing the edge of unconsciousness.
Then, they were expelled.
The sea of souls spat them back to the outside world with the same violence with which the divine entity had expelled Uriel days before. Their human forms appeared on the deck of the small sailboat, falling heavily against the wood.
Uriel landed on his back, his black eyes looking at the sky beginning to tint with the colors of dusk. The new mantle — the supreme memory — fell onto his chest like a caress of shadows.
Shade landed beside him, his human body folded in an uncomfortable position, his red eyes closed.
Before Uriel could say anything, the spell's voice resonated once more.
[You have obtained a new Attribute.]