The room was silent when Aeron returned.
He stood there for a long moment, unmoving, as the echo of the arena faded from his body. The faint stench of ozone and blood clung to him, and the air around him still shimmered faintly with remnants of his Death and Poison auras.
When he finally exhaled, the shadows seemed to stir.
He moved to the table and set down his scythe, its edge still faintly corroded from the fusion of powers he'd unleashed. The wood beneath it hissed, faint green tendrils of smoke curling upward before dissipating into the dim air.
The book appeared then, unbidden, hovering before him. Its dark surface pulsed once, as though it, too, had felt what he'd done.
He sat down slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing but the ache deep in his chest refusing to fade. The Death Law whispered at the edges of his consciousness, cold and hungry, while the Poison Law slithered through his veins, restless and alive.
They were opposites—one absolute, the other lingering. Death ended. Poison endured.
And yet, when they met, something else had emerged.
He closed his eyes, letting his awareness sink inward. The faint hum of energy within him grew louder, clearer, until he could almost see it—two distinct currents flowing through his body.
Death was black and still, like ink suspended in water.
Poison was viridian and alive, coiling and writhing like smoke.
The moment they touched, the air inside his mind seemed to shatter.
His body jerked once, his breath catching as pain lanced through him. His heart stuttered, his vision flashing white. The Death Law resisted the Poison, consuming it; the Poison retaliated, corroding death's stillness into movement. They clashed within him like storms colliding, each trying to dominate.
The book's voice echoed faintly in his thoughts.
"Do not resist. Observe."
Aeron gritted his teeth, forcing himself to remain still. The pain was unbearable—a sensation of his veins turning to ash and his blood to venom—but beneath it was… harmony.
Death and Poison were not enemies. They were stages.
Death was the end; Poison was the road toward it.
Decay was the bridge between them.
His breathing steadied. The two forces began to spiral together, intertwining instead of colliding. The black and green merged into a deep, dark hue—something ancient, foul, and yet strangely calm.
The air in the room thickened. The candle's flame bent inward, as if afraid.
A soft whisper filled his mind—not from the book this time, but from something deeper, something born within him.
"You have birthed a new concept."
The world around him dissolved.
He was standing once again in a boundless void, half-light, half-shadow. The air vibrated with power, and beneath his feet, veins of black and green light pulsed like the heartbeat of some sleeping god.
A figure stood before him—his reflection, but not entirely human. Its skin was cracked obsidian, faint green light seeping from the fractures. Its eyes were twin voids, endless and calm.
Aeron felt no fear. Only understanding.
"What are you?" he asked quietly.
The reflection tilted its head. "You," it said simply, "after the rot sets in."
The words reverberated through the space, and a system-like whisper followed:
---
New Fusion Skill Unlocked: Plague of Decay
Description:
The union of Death and Poison—an entropy without mercy. This aura corrodes life at its root, accelerating death while spreading toxic corruption. Those caught within its reach do not die instantly—they wither.
Effects:
Corrosive Aura: Drains vitality and erodes physical matter over time.
Decay Spread: Each death within the aura strengthens it temporarily.
Withering Touch: Attacks inflict a stacking rot that ignores most resistances.
Passive: Enemies slain by Plague of Decay do not leave corpses—they dissolve into black mist, feeding Aeron's power.
Warning:
The Plague consumes indiscriminately. Prolonged use may erode the user's body and soul.
---
Aeron stared at the text, the words sinking into him like a revelation. He could feel it—this wasn't just another skill. It was alive, breathing through him, pulsing with both death's stillness and poison's persistence.
The reflection smiled faintly, a cold mirror of his own expression. "Every death needs a disease," it said. "Now, you are both."
The world snapped back into focus.
He gasped, his body trembling as he collapsed to his knees. Black mist seeped from his pores, curling upward before fading into nothing. His veins glowed faintly green beneath his skin, and for a terrifying instant, he felt as though he might dissolve entirely.
Then, just as quickly, the sensation vanished.
He raised his head slowly. The candlelight had gone out, and the room was drowned in shadow. Only his eyes glowed faintly—pale and sharp, reflecting both life and decay.
The book hovered nearby, silent for once.
Finally, it spoke. "You have taken your first step toward transcendence."
Aeron's voice was a whisper, rough and low. "What is it?"
"Decay," the book replied simply. "The fusion of cessation and corruption. The Law that bridges life and death."
He stared at his hands again. The power within them no longer frightened him. It simply was.
The book closed softly, its final words echoing in his mind.
"Remember this, Aeron—everything that lives will rot. The question is only when… and by whose hand."
The silence that followed was absolute.
And in that silence, Aeron smiled.