The darkness swallowed everything.
Not a whisper of moonlight remained, no shape, no edge, no sound but the hammering of Gray's own heartbeat pounding through the void. The sudden, absolute absence of light was suffocating, as though the air itself had turned solid.
Something shifted ahead of him.
Then it came—fast, silent, a flicker of movement that his eyes couldn't trace. Gray barely turned before a sharp impact exploded across his ribs. The air ripped out of his lungs as he was sent sprawling, crashing against a nearby shelf. Books tumbled like dead leaves. He coughed, tasting copper, his vision swimming.
"Wha—" he gasped, but his voice vanished into the dark.
Another strike came from behind. This one raked across his back like a blade wrapped in cloth. He spun instinctively, summoning Vyre —black, liquid mist spilling from his hands and curling into a thin defensive layer. But the blow tore straight through it. His shield broke like fragile glass, the force lifting him off his feet and hurling him into another row of shelves. Wood cracked. Dust filled the air.
"Too slow," a voice murmured. The same one as before—calm, sharp, almost amused.
Gray's mind screamed at him to run, but his legs trembled. His instincts, those primal whispers of survival, drowned beneath a deeper, unnatural dread. Whoever—whatever—this person was, they weren't fighting with human limitations.
Something cold and metallic pressed against his neck.
Gray reacted on instinct, rolling sideways and clutching the dagger embedded in the fallen book. It came free with a wet sound, the faint blue reflection of the blade gleaming in the black. The instant he turned, a second strike came—a sweeping slash. He parried, but the impact jolted through his wrist, nearly breaking it. Sparks flew as the daggers clashed, steel on steel, each movement a blur.
'What the hell is this guys deal! Why does he want me dead so much!'
Gray swung back, slashing wildly. Nothing connected. The figure had already melted into the dark again.
The silence that followed was worse than the noise.
He spun around, every nerve raw. The library was a maze of collapsing shelves, drifting dust, and faint breaths that weren't his own. Sweat slid down his jaw.
Then—a whisper of air.
He ducked. The next strike grazed his shoulder, slicing clean through fabric and flesh. Heat flooded down his arm. The dagger clattered from his hand as pain flared white-hot.
"Show yourself!" he shouted, voice breaking.
The reply came from everywhere at once.
"I would ask for you to come quietly but I know it's useless."
A boot struck Gray's side. He hit the ground, gasping, ribs flaring in pain. Another hit followed, then another. The blows came with surgical precision, each one knocking the breath from his lungs, driving him deeper into the ground. His vision blurred red.
The assailant fought like a shadow given form—silent, merciless, and fast beyond comprehension. Gray barely raised his arms in defense before a fist connected with his jaw, sending his head snapping to the side. Blood sprayed across the floor.
He coughed, gagging. The world rang.
The man—or whatever he was, didn't pause. He seized Gray by the collar, lifting him effortlessly off the floor. Their faces were close now, only inches apart. In the dim light leaking through cracks in the dome above, Gray caught a glimpse, a single, fleeting detail.
On the side of the attacker's hooded face, beneath the faint shimmer of the cloth, something glowed faintly. A symbol, etched into flesh, a circle, intersected by three downward lines, the center bleeding with dark light.
It pulsed once, and Gray's corruption mark burned in answer.
The man's tone changed, loud and mad.
"Your scent reeks of corruption. Tell me… did it whisper to you? Did you hear it's teachings? Do you understand it?!"
'This bastard—what the hell is he talking about." Gray didn't answer. His hand shot up, gripping the dagger's hilt still slick with blood. With a raw, desperate shout, he drove the blade forward.
It struck true, but not the way it should have.
The blade sank into something soft and wet. Not flesh. Not fabric. Something alive. It pulsed around the metal like a living thing, gripping it. Gray froze, his breath catching in horror.
"What… what are you—"
A shriek tore through the dark, not human. The figure's hand lashed out, slamming into his chest. The impact hurled him backward into a shelf, splintering it. Books and dust rained down.
Gray groaned, rolling onto his side, clutching his chest. His ribs screamed. Every breath came as a shallow gasp. His dagger lay somewhere in the dark.
He reached for Vyre again, drawing in the air, forcing the energy through his veins. The Wither strain responded sluggishly, rippling faint tendrils of black energy through his arms. The darkness itself bent to his call, the shadows deepened, thickened. He could feel them moving, swirling around him.
He focused. Use the dark. Hide. Like before.
Gray stepped backward, melding with the shadows. For a moment, the world seemed to obey him. The air cooled, his outline vanishing from sight.
Then, pain. Blinding, searing pain.
The darkness convulsed. The enemy's Vyre, cold, silvery, and violent erupted outward, shredding his concealment like mist. Gray's form flickered into view.
'H—how?' Gray's expression changed to horror.
The man appeared before him in an instant, eyes like twin knives beneath the hood. His blade sliced a narrow line across Gray's cheek, so shallow it barely drew blood, a warning.
"Tricks like that," the man said softly, "don't work on me."
Gray's breath hitched. He lunged forward, feinting left, then right, trying to create distance. But the man moved faster. A knee slammed into his gut. He doubled over, gagging, only to be grabbed by the neck and flung upward. His body struck the ceiling with a crack, then plummeted down, slamming into the marble.
Something broke. He didn't know what.
Gray's head lolled. His hearing faded into a dull buzz. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
The world spun.
'Move…' he told himself. 'Move, damn it!'
He pushed himself up on trembling arms. His eyes burned. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, the Wither strain howling in agony beneath his skin.
The man advanced, slow, deliberate, dagger in hand.
Gray could barely stand. The shelves around him looked like collapsing walls. He stumbled backward, groping blindly for anything, his fingers brushing the cold edge of a fallen book, the one he'd dropped earlier. The Silent Hymn of Vh'laen.
But the attacker was already there. The dagger flashed.
Gray turned too late.
The blade buried itself just below his ribs. The force drove the air from his lungs in a wet gasp. Heat blossomed outward, spreading, burning.
He stared down, vision dimming, seeing the black handle protruding from his side.
The man leaned closer, his breath cold against Gray's ear.
"I will teach you, child of dawn." he whispered. "Some knowledge must never surface."
Gray's body shook violently. The pain was blinding. His Vyre surged uncontrollably.
"Severing… Bloom!" he gasped.
The corruption mark along his chest ignited. The air cracked, rippling outward in a violent wave.
The man staggered back—not far, but enough. Gray ripped the dagger free from his side, ignoring the flare of agony, and lunged. The blade cut through air—then through something thicker, colder.
A sound—wet, unnatural.
For a heartbeat, the world went still. Gray could feel the dagger lodged in something that wasn't human. The texture was slick, almost gelatinous, writhing faintly around the metal.
The man hissed, his form flickering like a distorted reflection. "You shouldn't have done that…"
A burst of force struck Gray like a hurricane. He flew backward, smashing through another row of shelves. Wood splintered. Dust filled the air in choking clouds.
He landed hard, vision dimming to a tunnel. Every breath hurt. His limbs refused to move. He could hear the man's footsteps approaching again, slow and deliberate.
Gray's eyes darted across the chaos, and froze.
The book. The Silent Hymn of Vh'laen. It was glowing again, faint blue light pulsing between the rubble, like a heartbeat.
He crawled, dragging himself across broken wood and torn pages. Every movement was agony. His blood smeared across the floor in dark streaks. The light from the book grew brighter the closer he came, humming softly, beckoning him.
Behind him, the assassin's pace quickened. "Futile," he said, his voice echoing strangely, distorted by the dark. "Do you think that book will save you? Just give upand come with me."
Gray ignored him. His fingers brushed the book's cover, freezing cold, yet burning beneath his touch. He flipped it open, his hand trembling, finding the same page that had glowed before. The words writhed faintly, whispering.
The footsteps halted.
"Just follow me and I will make this as painless—" The man's words stopped.
Gray turned, half-kneeling, blood running down his chin. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated, breath uneven.
He held the open book out before him, facing the figure. The blue light intensified, pouring outward like liquid fire, illuminating the aisle. For the first time, the assassin's form was fully visible, a tall silhouette cloaked in black, the hood deep, the symbol on his face glowing crimson now in the light's reflection.
The man froze mid-step.
His dagger slipped from his fingers, clattering onto the marble. His hand twitched violently, as though resisting an invisible force.
"What—what have you done?" he hissed.
Gray didn't answer. The whispers surged again, the same haunting chant, but now it filled the air, spilling from the book in a thousand overlapping voices.
"Vh'laen… dosk thrynn… ashaar…"
The light expanded, washing over the shelves, over Gray, over everything.
The man took one step back, shielding his face, too late. His body convulsed, the symbol on his cheek burning brighter, cracking, bleeding light.
Then, silence.