The ruins did not collapse.
That alone told Voryn everything.
A presence that powerful, one that made even the shadows recoil, should have torn reality apart simply by manifesting. Yet the stones remained intact. The air stabilized. The pressure faded like a breath deliberately held… and then released.
It wasn't here to fight, Voryn realized.
It was here to measure.
The silhouette dissolved without sound, without retreat. No explosion. No retreating footsteps. Just absence.
Silence returned.
Voryn exhaled slowly, only now realizing how tightly his lungs had been locked. His shadows loosened, though they did not fully withdraw. They never did anymore. Trust was a luxury he could no longer afford, even with himself.
"You're really bad at goodbyes," he muttered into the dark.
The Black Oath did not respond.
That worried him more than any whisper ever could.
Observation Phase
Voryn didn't chase the presence.
That would've been emotional. Stupid. Fatal.
Instead, he did what he always did after surviving something he shouldn't have.
He analyzed.
He replayed every sensation frame by frame:
– The pressure spike
– The way shadows reacted before his conscious mind did
– The absence of killing intent
It could've erased me, he concluded calmly. But chose not to.
Which meant one thing.
I'm not prey. Yet.
He straightened and scanned the horizon. Far beyond the ruins, faint lights glimmered in the distance. Guild territory.
And suddenly, everything clicked.
Stage 3 awakened hadn't been random.
The watcher hadn't been curious.
And the battlefield hadn't been accidental.
Someone orchestrated this.
Someone with the authority to let monsters roam, awakeners clash, and observers beyond humanity intervene without consequence.
Voryn smiled faintly.
"Found you."
The Minor Guild
Three hours later, he stood across from it.
On the surface, the guild looked… unimpressive.
Stone walls reinforced with modern alloy plating. Dim sigils carved more for intimidation than function. Guards stationed lazily at the gate awakened, but low-tier. Stage 1, maybe early Stage 2 at best.
A minor guild.
Which was exactly why it was perfect.
Major guilds didn't get their hands dirty. They outsourced. Controlled from shadows. Let smaller factions manage logistics, scouting, and most importantly, information flow.
Voryn lowered his hood slightly, letting shadows distort his outline just enough to appear forgettable.
Rule one of infiltration, he thought dryly. Never look interesting.
He approached openly.
The guards glanced at him, bored.
"State your business," one said.
Voryn handed over a forged guild slip, ink still faintly warm from shadow replication.
"Courier," he said. "Internal delivery."
The guard barely checked it.
That was the first red flag.
No verification protocol. No identity scan. Either they're incompetent… or they don't expect outsiders to survive long enough to matter.
The gates opened.
Inside the Machine
The moment Voryn crossed the threshold, he felt it.
Not hostility.
Control.
The air inside the guild complex was subtly regulated, infused with layered suppression arrays. Not strong enough to cripple awakeners, but enough to monitor them.
So this is how they track progress, Voryn realized. Not just ranks. Behavior.
He walked through corridors lined with notice boards, ranking displays, and mission postings.
And there it was.
The hierarchy.
Not rumors. Not speculation.
Confirmed structure.
– Unranked – Disposable
– Stage 1–2 – Assets
– Stage 3 – Tools
– Stage 4 – Weapons
– Above Stage 4 – Property
Voryn stopped walking.
His shadows rippled faintly.
Property.
Not allies. Not protectors. Property.
That explained everything.
Why were they "regulated."
Why sudden breakthroughs attracted "support."
Why those who advanced too fast… disappeared.
The system wasn't about protecting humanity.
It was about owning power.
Dark Humor, Bitter Truths
Voryn suppressed a laugh.
"So that's it," he murmured. "All this mystery, all this suffering… and it's just bureaucracy."
The shadows twitched in agreement.
He moved deeper, letting them slip into walls, floors, ceilings, and listening.
Fragments of conversation reached him.
"…another spontaneous awakening outside control…"
"…Stage 3 casualties acceptable…"
"…if he reaches Stage 4 unsupervised, initiate containment…"
Voryn's jaw tightened.
Containment.
Not negotiation.
Not recruitment.
Containment.
They're not afraid of monsters, he realized. They're afraid of variables.
And Voryn was the biggest variable they'd never authorized.
The Cost of Knowing
He reached the lower archive chamber, which was poorly guarded.
Classic mistake.
Voryn slipped inside, shadows sealing the door silently behind him.
Rows of crystal data slabs pulsed softly. Awakener profiles. Bloodline tracking. Growth projections.
And then...
His own.
Not by name.
By pattern.
Unknown Variable – Shadow Affinity – Unregistered
Threat Projection: Escalating
Recommended Action:
Observe → Isolate → Eliminate (if uncontrollable)
Voryn stared at it.
For a long moment, he felt something dangerously human rise in his chest.
Anger.
Not explosive. Not reckless.
Cold.
Controlled.
"They already decided," he whispered. "Before I even chose."
The Black Oath stirred faintly, as if acknowledging the truth.
Knowledge had a cost.
And he had just paid for it.
The Trigger
The floor clicked.
Voryn froze.
Too late.
The archive chamber shuddered as a circular sigil beneath his feet ignited. Chains of light snapped upward not to bind him, but to lock the room itself.
"Trapdoor," Voryn muttered. "Of course."
The floor split open.
Not a pit.
A mouth.
A vertical shaft plunged into darkness below, and from it surged sound screeching, chittering, wet and furious.
Voryn stepped back as the first claw slammed against the edge.
Then another.
Then dozens.
Underground containment.
They didn't just store information here, he realized grimly. They stored mistakes.
Monsters poured upward, twisted, fused, failed awakenings warped by experimentation. Shadow-reactive. Hungry.
The door behind him sealed completely.
No escape route.
No retreat.
Just him…
…and a swarm engineered specifically to kill things like him.
Strategic Shift
Voryn's mind snapped into motion.
Environment: enclosed.
Enemy count: unknown, rapidly increasing.
Shadow density: high.
Perfect.
He smiled with a thin, dangerous expression.
"Alright," he said softly, shadows rising around him like a living tide. "Let's see what you learned from watching me."
The first monster lunged.
Voryn didn't dodge.
He repositioned using shadows to alter momentum, slamming the creature into three others mid-air. Bone shattered. Flesh burst.
But more came.
Claws. Teeth. Distorted abilities.
Each kill cost him. Each shadow extension burned. The Oath pulsed, demanding payment.
Sweat ran down his spine.
His breath grew ragged.
This wasn't a battle.
It was a test of endurance.
As Voryn fought, bleeding, calculating, adapting
The walls began to change.
Runes activated.
Observation arrays.
They weren't watching from above anymore.
They were watching from within.
And then...
A calm voice echoed through the chamber, amplified, amused.
"Fascinating," it said. "You exceeded projections."
Voryn froze mid-strike.
The monsters paused.
The voice continued.
"We were going to erase you quietly… but now?"
A pause.
"We'd like to make you an offer."
The floor beneath Voryn dropped completely, plunging him and the entire monster swarm into a deeper abyss.
The last thing he heard before darkness swallowed him was:
"Welcome to the real hierarchy, Voryn."