We started picking through the aftermath, a grim but necessary harvest.
We ignored the shattered remains of the Stone Saints for now; their value was already secured. Instead, we focused on the glittering crystal shards of the Fallen Terror and the smaller, dimmer soul shards from the metallic bears and centipedes. I pocketed the smaller ones, feeling their familiar warmth seep into my palm as I absorbed their essence, a trickle of power refilling my own reserves.
I was kneeling, prying a particularly large crystal shard from the ground, when Sasrir suddenly went still. He'd been quietly absorbing shards himself, but now he stopped and looked directly at me. His usual calm demeanor was replaced by a focused intensity.
"I've nearly filled my Core," he stated, his voice low and serious. "These last few should do it." He held up the final, faintly glowing shards in his hand. "We need to stop. Let's find a place to hunker down, somewhere defensible."
The meaning of his words hit me a moment later. My eyes widened slightly. "Right. Now?" I asked, a flutter of nervousness in my stomach. "You're going to… become a Monster."
He gave a single, sharp nod. "The transformation isn't instantaneous, and I'll be vulnerable. We can't be out in the open when it happens." He looked around the ruined square, at the countless points of entry. "This is too exposed."
"Okay," I said, my mind already shifting from scavenger to protector. "Okay, we need a bunker. Something with one way in, one way out." I scanned the perimeter of the square, my gaze settling on a half-collapsed building on the far side. It looked like an old guard post, its front wall mostly intact with a single, narrow doorway.
"That one," I pointed. "We can barricade the door from the inside. It's the best we're going to get."
Without another word, we moved. We gathered our remaining loot quickly, stuffing the unabsorbed shards into our packs. The short sprint across the square felt longer than the entire fight, every shadow feeling like a potential threat. We slipped into the dark, cramped interior of the guard post. True to my guess, it was a single room with no other exits, littered with dust and rubble.
Together, we shoved a heavy, rusted cabinet in front of the doorway, creating a crude but effective barricade. It wouldn't stop a determined assault, but it would give us warning. Sasrir immediately settled into the farthest corner, his back to the wall. He took a deep, steadying breath and finally absorbed the last few soul shards he held.
A visible tremor ran through him. "It's starting," he said, his voice already sounding strained. "The process… it's not pleasant. Don't be alarmed."
I drew the Unshadowed Crucifix, its warm, steady glow pushing back the oppressive darkness of the small room. I positioned myself between him and the barricaded door, my heart thumping a steady, determined rhythm. "I've got the door," I said, my voice firm. "You just focus on… on whatever you need to focus on. I've got your back."
He didn't answer. A low groan escaped his lips as he curled in on himself, the shadows around him beginning to churn and writhe as if alive. The air in the room grew cold, and I tightened my grip on the Crucifix.
The choked grunts from Sasrir's corner quickly escalated into ragged, muffled screams of pure agony. He was trying to stifle them, but the pain was too much. The shadows in the room, once still, were now alive. They danced and contorted, twisting in ways that defied physics, slithering up the walls like black oil.
Directly behind him, cast onto the rough stone by the Crucifix's light, his own shadow began to warp. It ballooned in size, its edges becoming a seething, unstable mess. The human silhouette lost all form, shifting and bubbling like a bundle of frenzied worms. It was a horrifying, abstract depiction of his internal torment.
Then, the shadow sprouted heads. Four of them, erupting from a single, distended neck on the wall. They were malformed and grotesque, their features indistinct but undeniably monstrous. I felt a sudden, psychic pressure, a sensation of being watched by a multitude of hostile, unseen eyes. The gaze felt like it was drilling into my back, cold and alien.
Despite myself, I swallowed deeply, my throat suddenly dry. My knuckles were white where I clenched the Crucifix. I'd been unconscious for my own Soul Core formation, blissfully unaware of the process. Seeing this raw, unfiltered display made me dread the day I would have to advance to Devil. This was a glimpse into a suffering I had narrowly avoided.
The air grew thick with the scent of ozone and something else, something ancient and rotten—the smell of degeneration. The writhing shadows seemed to suck the warmth and life from the room, leaving a spiritual chill that seeped into my bones. This was the true face of the Hanged Man Pathway, a power born from depravity and self-mutilation.
Sasrir's physical form was now obscured by a churning vortex of darkness. I could hear the wet, tearing sounds of transformation, the crack of bones realigning under duress. The four shadow-heads on the wall thrashed and snapped soundlessly, a silent chorus to his very vocal suffering. It was a battle not just of power, but of will, a fight to remain himself as his very essence was remade into something more removed from human. As Sunny had once said, Humanity was not meant to possess more than one Soul Core-that was the domain of the Mystical.
After several more minutes of wet, tearing noises and choked gasps that belonged in a horror movie, the chaotic energy in the room finally began to recede. The twitching, multi-headed shadow on the wall collapsed in on itself, the separate forms melting back into a single, cohesive silhouette. The seething tendrils of darkness withdrew from the corners of the room, flowing back toward the center like a reverse tide.
They coalesced, clumping together to slowly reform Sasrir's familiar shape. He was kneeling on the floor, head bowed, his chest heaving as he drew in ragged, deep breaths. His skin, what little was visible at his neck and hands, glistened with a cold sweat and seemed even paler than before, almost translucent.
He slowly lifted his head, the shadows that perpetually clung to his features seeming darker and more substantial. He looked exhausted, utterly drained by the ordeal. Yet, his presence in the small room wasn't reduced in the slightest. If anything, it was significantly improved. It felt deeper, more layered, like a well that had just been dug past a new, unexplored aquifer. There was a new, intriguing depth to his silence, and a noticeably sharper, more potent threat radiated from him. This was the qualitative change the novel described, the stark difference between a sole-Core Beast and a dual-Core Monster. He had crossed the threshold.
"How d you feel?" I asked tentatively, stepping closer. He took another few deep breaths before answering, his tone back to its usual flatness. "I feel...like I've significantly digested my Secrets Suppliant and Listener Potion...like a weight has been taken off my chest." He looked up at me.
"It seems there was an aspect of our progression we didn't consider. Apart from the bottleneck of our current Rank, our Tiers also determine our upper limit. Becoming a Monster gave me the same power boost as assimilating the Potion, so it seems we have an easier method of increasing strength."
"So even if we the Acting Method down, we still need a certain number of Soul Cores to properly digest the Potion?" I muttered to myself.
"But we probably don't need to digest it to advance: I could have become a Rose Bishop even as a Beast, but my foundation would have been weaker. It seems in this world, sanity isn't effected, but your power will still lag behind, just like in Lord of the Mysteries."
It was a strange system put in place, but at least we had discovered it now. And Sasrir had become a Monster, making him a far greater foe. At this rate, he might still be able to contend against Nephis despite his terrible compatibility against her flames. And that was important, because Autistic Star definitely wouldn't like what I have planned for the Forgotten Shore.
"Alright, let's head back then."