The core didn't feel right, and the more Arin paid attention to it, the more obvious that became.
It wasn't just unstable or irregular in its energy output; it felt aware in a way that cores weren't supposed to be, as if something inside it had not fully died when the monster had collapsed. As he walked slowly through the dimly lit street, the glow from the surrounding city reflecting faintly across its cracked surface, he rotated it between his fingers and watched the way the light pulsed unevenly, like a heartbeat that refused to settle into a consistent rhythm.
"…You're still active," he muttered under his breath, more to confirm the thought than out of surprise.
For a brief moment, the core responded.
Not violently.
Not visibly enough for anyone else to notice.
But enough.
Echo Sense reacted immediately, and this time the sensation didn't spread outward like it usually did when detecting threats—it collapsed inward, focusing entirely on the object in his hand.
Arin stopped walking.
His expression remained calm, but his attention sharpened instantly.
"…That's new."
The pressure wasn't coming from the environment, and it wasn't coming from a hidden presence nearby either; it was coming directly from the core itself, as if something inside it was shifting, testing, or perhaps even observing him in return.
He closed his hand around it, tightening his grip slightly.
"…Yeah. That's definitely not normal."
The air around him shifted subtly, not enough for ordinary people to notice, but more than enough for him. Echo Sense flared again, sharper this time, almost aggressive, and Arin slowly lifted his gaze, scanning the street with a growing sense of irritation rather than fear.
"…You've got to be kidding me."
The distortion wasn't forming ahead of him, and it wasn't behind him either; instead, it was forming around him, folding reality inward rather than tearing it open like a normal Gate would.
The street flickered once, like a broken signal.
Then again.
Then the world snapped.
The city vanished without warning, replaced by something that resembled it but felt fundamentally wrong. The proportions were slightly off, the angles too sharp in some places and too soft in others, and the air itself felt heavier, as if the space had been artificially compressed.
Arin stood still for a moment, taking it in.
"…You're not supposed to do that," he said quietly, his tone flat but his focus absolute.
The core in his hand pulsed again.
This time, it cracked.
A thin fracture spread across its surface, and faint light leaked through the split before something began to emerge—not bursting out like a normal monster, not crawling or forcing its way into existence, but forming slowly and deliberately, as if it were assembling itself piece by piece.
The shape that appeared was humanoid, but incomplete, its body flickering between something solid and something closer to raw energy, its outline unstable as if it hadn't fully decided what it wanted to be yet.
It looked at him.
Arin stared back for a second, then exhaled softly.
"…Yeah, I don't like you."
The creature tilted its head slightly, then moved.
Too fast.
Arin reacted instantly, shifting his position just as its strike cut through the space where he had been standing a fraction of a second earlier, the air behind him splitting apart from the force of it.
"…That's fast," he muttered, more analytical than surprised.
This time, he stepped forward.
The dagger appeared in his hand and cut cleanly across the creature's torso in a precise, controlled strike—but the blade passed through it without resistance, as if the thing wasn't fully anchored in reality.
Arin clicked his tongue.
"…That's worse."
The creature attacked again, faster this time, its movements more controlled, more deliberate. Arin raised his arm and blocked, but only barely, the force of the impact pushing him back several steps as his boots scraped across the distorted ground beneath him.
"…Alright," he exhaled slowly, steadying himself, "…now I'm interested."
Abby's Seal activated immediately, and gravity twisted violently around the creature, compressing the space beneath it and forcing its movement downward. For a brief moment, it worked—the creature's form distorted under the pressure, its movement slowing.
Then it resisted.
Not completely, but enough to matter.
Arin's eyes narrowed slightly as he adjusted his stance.
"…You're adapting."
The creature moved again, this time avoiding the center of the pressure field and instead skirting its edge, learning in real time how to move within the constraints of his ability.
It closed the distance.
Fast.
Arin barely avoided the next strike, but the edge of the attack grazed his side, and blood followed immediately.
He glanced down briefly.
"…That's twice today."
The creature didn't hesitate. It pressed forward relentlessly, each movement sharper, more efficient than the last, as if every exchange was making it stronger.
Arin stepped back once more.
Then stopped.
"…Alright," he said quietly, his tone flattening again, "…my turn."
The core in his hand pulsed again, the fracture widening slightly as if reacting to the exchange. Arin's gaze sharpened as he watched it.
"…So that's how you work."
He moved.
Not faster.
Better.
When the creature attacked again, Arin didn't dodge this time; instead, he stepped directly into its range, allowing the strike to come just close enough to matter before activating Abby's Seal again—this time not as a wide field, but as a focused point.
Gravity didn't crush the creature.
It pinned it.
Just for a fraction of a second.
But that was enough.
Arin's dagger drove straight into the center of its chest, and this time the blade connected, anchoring into something real.
The creature froze.
The space around it fractured, thin cracks spreading through the air like broken glass, before everything collapsed inward in a single, silent implosion.
Then—
nothing.
The distorted space disappeared, and the street returned exactly as it had been before, the city lights flickering back into place as if nothing had happened.
Arin stood where he had been.
Alone.
He exhaled slowly and looked down at the core in his hand. It was different now—still cracked, but stable, as if the fight had forced it into a new state.
"…So you evolve," he said quietly.
He slipped it into his coat.
"…Good."
Because that only meant one thing.
"…You're worth more."
Far away, something shifted.
Not in the street.
Not in the city.
But somewhere deeper.
And for the first time—
it noticed him.