Today's class was all about the difference between Devils and Demons-despite their similar names in demonology, there were a fair few: Demons had childlike intelligence but were capable of learning, while Devils unlocked their own version of Aspects that were usually stronger than a Human of the same Rank. Some other details about how their shape and aura evolves, as well as the types of Memories or Echoes you might receive, were all discussed. Granted a lot was theoretical and based on assumption, but I found it interesting still.
After that was a class on Leadership and Teambuilding. It was a very handy skill to have, and a fair few Legacies attended as well. The cliques were well formed now, and I fit in between as a distant member of the lower-middle one. Enough to be listed as a member but vague even to the others. Getting too involved with others was against the Acting Method: while I may have already left Spectator behind, that was a core theme of the entire Pathway. I had gotten ahead of myself in the First Nightmare and pushed myself too far to the forefront, but managed to offset this with Theron's help.
Ah, Theron...What came of you in the end? Did you detonate the Radiance as you planned, sacrificing yourself to buy time for others to flee? Well, I doubt I would ever know. In the Human World a Saint was the equivalent of a demigod, yet in the Dream Realm such a position was considered a Bishop only. I didn't expect to find any murals describing his life...or his death.
The leadership lecture had been… interesting. The instructor, a stern-faced Awakened from the Legacy clan, drilled into us the importance of trust, clear roles, and playing to each other's strengths. It was all standard corporate teamwork stuff, but hearing it in this context, where the stakes were life and death, gave it a sharper edge. My Spectator abilities passively dissected every example, every case study, filing away the successful strategies and the fatal flaws.
I walked back to my room, the concepts turning over in my head. Trust. Reliance. A team as a single unit. It was a nice idea, but my Flaw, Justice, coldly assessed it. A team was only as strong as its weakest link, and in a true crisis, that link would need to be severed for the greater good. I couldn't build a team on something as flimsy as hope. I needed something absolute. Something that was, by its very nature, a part of me.
I closed the door to my room, the silence a stark contrast to the lecture hall. I sat on the edge of my bed, the instructor's words about "unified purpose" and "synergy" still echoing. And then, it hit me. A sudden, crystalline insight that felt less like a thought and more like a memory unlocking.
Envisioning.
The ability to create a being with its own Essence, one that would persist even if I fell. A being whose understanding and power were tied to my own. The lecture had been about building trust with others. But why build what I could simply create?
I didn't need a teammate. I needed an extension of my own will. A second self.
And I knew exactly who that should be.
Once I was alone, I descended into my Soul Sea, the barren and serene Corpse Cathedral. I took a deep breath as I prepared for what was to come, nervousness and doubt swirling around in my heart. What I was about to do made sense symbolically, and the requirements were all met, but I didn't know how my mere Dormant strength would make things turn out. Pushing away my hesitation with another exhale, I sat cross-legged on the floor, closed my eyes, and sank deep once again, only not into my Soul Sea this time. Down past the rational mind, past the practiced politeness, down into the subconscious murk where every repressed impulse, every dark desire, and every shred of my depraved, selfish humanity swirled in a chaotic current.
It was a torrent of raw id. The petty jealousy I felt watching other Sleepers laugh easily with friends. The cold satisfaction of assessing someone as 'useful' or 'expendable'. The sheer, screaming frustration of having to play this long, careful game when power was within my grasp. I didn't fight it. I let it flow around me, feeling its texture—slippery, hot, and viciously alive.
This was the raw material.
With the precision of a surgeon guided by the Visionary's innate discernment, I began to work. I didn't suppress these emotions; I gathered them. I guided streams of resentment and threads of arrogance, weaving them together. I snipped away the attachments to my core consciousness, the parts that still felt guilt or hesitation, leaving only the pure, unadulterated negative. It was a grueling, terrifying process, a self-lobotomy of the soul. I was consciously carving out a part of my own humanity and giving it independent life.
Then came the cost.
A searing pain erupted from my chest as my Soul Cores responded. All three of them—the vast reservoirs of power I'd earned in the First Nightmare—emptied in a single, violent rush. It was like having my veins pulled out through my sternum. Every drop of Essence I possessed, every ounce of potential power, was siphoned away in an instant to fuel the abomination I was weaving into existence. The room around me ceased to exist. There was only the void of my mind and the terrifying vortex of power I was pouring into a new consciousness.
The torrent stopped as suddenly as it began. A profound emptiness echoed within me. I was drained, hollowed out, my cores utterly barren.
I took a shaky breath and slowly opened my eyes.
He was there.
Kneeling before me, head bowed with his back to the cross that was now tainted black and red around the edges and base, was the tool I had chosen to accompany me to the Dream Realm. A man with jet black hair falling just past his shoulders, in a black robe with silver embellishments and patterns sewn into it, creating a noble and glorious appearance.
Then he looked up.
His eyes two pits of inky black, and shadows descended from his fringe to cover the restof his face, leaving only a vague outline. There was no emotion in those eyes—just a chilling, patient depravity. His face was expressionless apart from that small glimmer and I was forced to avert my gaze.
He stood up, the silk of his robe rustling against itself as he did so. Once he stodd fully, two pairs of black feathered wings-one from the shoulders, one from the waist-spread out behind him. On the cross, a twisting and writhing figure with five heads appeared, bound and chained to the cross. A silent scream of agony seemed to be coming from the face, but it was impossible to see it clearly. And only a second later, everything returned to normal
As I looked at him, I knew he was no Echo. This was my shadow given form. My negative aspect incarnate. The Eve to my Adam, the person I could feel intimately even now after separating.
With myself as the price, I had Envisioned Sasrir.
...
Checkout more novel on P@teron : [email protected]/Innercircle03
"Please support me on Patreon if you can,
for more good novels and faster releases. 🫡🫡 And so many good translation in future.