The countdown on his stolen panel read 23:59:47. Liam stared at the skill he'd just ripped from a dead man's soul — [Death Transcript] — and wondered how long before the Library noticed.
[Death Transcript — Talent Active]
Skill copied: Fog Form (G-rank)
Source: Ink Beast (G-rank, Floor 1)
Effect: Partial corporeal dissolution, 3 sec, cooldown 45 sec
Timer: 23:59:46
Permanent Inscription Condition: Use this skill to kill a target ranked above G-rank
Inscription Slots: 0 / 3
Warning: Proceed to higher floors.
The G-rank Ink Beast's remains had already dissolved — a smear of black mist spreading thin across the stone floor, then nothing. He'd killed it with a rock. No technique. No inscription power. Just the rock, twice, aimed at the center mass where the mist ran thicker.
It had worked.
He crouched and picked up the stone, turned it over. Still wet with residue. He set it back down.
The panel timer ticked: 23:59:41. 23:59:40.
Three hours ago, a needle had touched the back of his hand and left behind a faded quill pen.
The Registration Hall had gone quiet when his inscription showed. Not the respectful quiet of something impressive — the other kind, where people decide how to react. Someone in the back row laughed. The whole room found permission to follow.
Scribe. F-rank Civil Class.
The registration official had already moved on to the next name. Liam stood at the ceremony table with his hand out, looking at the quill. Gray. Shallow-cut. Like the impression of a pen, not the pen itself.
His sister's inscription had been three words: Galerift Archer. A-rank. The whole hall had erupted when it appeared. She'd stood exactly as still as he was standing now, expression flat, like she'd already known.
That was three years ago. She'd gone into the Archive's deep floors fourteen months later.
She hadn't come out.
He pulled his hand back and walked to the self-service Registration Terminal at the end of the corridor.
The terminal had flickered when he pressed his hand to it.
Not the standard blue-white. Something else — a pulse between red and black, rhythmic, like something behind glass trying to be seen. The panel re-read.
[Awakened Panel]
Name: Liam Null
Class Inscription: Scribe (F-rank)
Inscription Slots: 3 / 3 (empty)
Hidden Talent: [Death Transcript]
He'd read it twice. Said the word hidden out loud, not for anyone, just to confirm the word was real.
The talent description opened on its own.
[Death Transcript — Talent Description]
On kill: copy one skill from target to Pages (random)
Copied skill expires in 24 hours (Ink Fade)
Permanent Inscription: within time window, use copied skill
to kill a target ranked higher than the source
→ skill becomes permanently inscribed
F-rank Inscription Slots: 3
Warning: No active copies. Enter The Archive.
Warning. Standard system prompts said note or reminder. This said warning, like it was a message, not a function description.
He'd read the last line three more times. Then he'd gone to The Archive.
Now he was here, and the rock had worked, and the timer was running.
The Archive's first floor stretched in every direction — rows of shelves taller than he could see the tops of, book spines glowing faint amber. G-rank Ink Beasts drifted between the rows, shapeless black mist thickening when it pooled, thinning when it spread. He'd watched three of them for four minutes before he threw the rock at the first one.
He needed an F-rank target to permanently inscribe Fog Form. F-rank beasts were deeper in.
He stood up and started walking.
The shelves closed in. He kept his panel minimized, one hand at his side. His Class Inscription hadn't done anything since the needle — no glow, no power. Just the faint gray quill pen sitting on the back of his hand like a mark that hadn't finished forming.
A group of three passed him heading for the exit. Combat Class inscriptions on their hands, fresh and bright — one Sword, one Hammer, one he didn't recognize. None of them looked at him. He counted six more G-rank beasts in the next row. Let them drift.
He'd memorized the Archive's floor layout from the public database two weeks ago. Habit. No particular reason at the time.
The F-rank section was in the east corridor.
He was three rows from the east section when the panel re-opened.
He hadn't touched it. The interface expanded on its own and a second row appeared beneath the main [Death Transcript] entry. Smaller text. A function that hadn't been in the original description.
[Death Transcript — Secondary Function]
[LOCKED]
Unlock Condition: 1 permanently inscribed skill
Effect: [REDACTED — insufficient rank]
Cost: Surrender of one autobiographical memory (irreversible)
WARNING: This action cannot be undone.
He stopped walking.
Surrender a memory. Not experience points, not resources. A memory. The system didn't specify which memory, or whether he'd know which one was gone afterward.
He read it twice more, then a fourth time. The words stayed the same.
The Archive shelves were quiet around him. He put his hand in his pocket and the panel minimized.
The timer carved itself into the corner of his eye: 23:46:02.
Twenty-three hours. One locked function. One condition he hadn't fulfilled yet.
He found the east section by sound before he found it by sight.
F-rank Ink Beasts moved differently than G-rank. G-rank drifted — passive, almost decorative. F-rank moved like things that had learned to want something. He heard the drag of dense mass against stone, the low pressure-shift of something large adjusting its weight.
He stopped at the entrance to the east corridor and let his eyes adjust.
Two F-rank Ink Beasts in the near section. A third further back, harder to see. These had shapes — not the abstract shapes of G-rank mist, but forms that had committed to something. The nearest one had a body like compressed ink, roughly humanoid from the waist up, trailing off below into a coil that scraped the floor when it moved.
He had Fog Form and a rock.
No weapon. No team. No rank to speak of.
He thought about how the G-rank had died. The center mass, where the mist ran thicker. The same principle should apply. F-rank cores would be denser, better protected. He'd need Fog Form to get close without being detected — three seconds of partial dissolution, enough to close the distance before it registered his approach.
He'd have to throw the rock from the inside.
It was a stupid plan.
He tested Fog Form first — one hand, no engagement. His right forearm dissolved at the wrist, three seconds of black mist where his hand had been, then it snapped back solid. The nearest beast's attention didn't shift. Fog Form wasn't a scent or a sound. It was simply absence.
He filed that away.
Then he picked up the stone he'd been carrying since the first kill, checked the weight, and walked toward the nearest F-rank beast.
He heard voices from the main corridor when he was four rows in.
"—east section's been picked through already—"
"Not all of it. There were three Thorncores last Tuesday, nobody—"
The voices moved away. Two more hunters heading for the exit, not interested in east section work.
Liam stood between two shelves and didn't move until the footsteps faded.
The F-rank beast had turned toward the sound. Now it was facing away.
He had Fog Form and twelve seconds before it turned back.
He activated the skill.
His left arm dissolved. He moved.
He was closer than he'd expected when the skill expired.
The mist-arm snapped back solid. The beast registered the weight change. Its core contracted — he felt the shift through his palm already pressed against it.
He had the stone in his other hand.
He brought it down.
Outside, the timer read 23:31:18.
He walked toward the main corridor with his hands in his pockets, trying not to flex his right hand. The knuckles had gone wrong somewhere during the last three hits — not broken, probably, but close enough.
The panel showed no new inscription. Fog Form's permanent condition required him to have used the skill to make the kill. He'd gotten close with it. He'd touched the core with a mist-arm. Whether that qualified as the technique delivering the killing blow was apparently a question the system had an opinion about.
It had not inscribed.
He walked to the nearest shelf support, leaned against it, and opened the rules again.
Use this skill to kill. Not be present when the kill occurs. The skill had to be the mechanism of death.
He looked at his stone.
He looked at his mist-capable left arm.
He had twenty-three hours and change to figure out how to kill something with the ability to temporarily stop existing.