Minutes ticked by, and the once-crowded chamber had thinned considerably. Narvel had culled down the Specters' numbers, whittling them into wisps of fading grey mist. Yet despite his effort to avoid contact, even his best couldn't keep him untouched. Several of the translucent entities had phased through him undeniably draining and siphoning bits of his strength as they passed.
Fortunately, Ebonveil had been working in his favor.
The weapon pulsed with each kill, feeding back energy to his body, and replenishing what was lost. It had become both shield and sustenance in this prolonged confrontation.
On the far end of the chamber, Voidscale darted across the floor like a creature possessed. Its claws slashed in erratic patterns, tearing into the weaker Specters with gleeful brutality. Though its attacks lacked the devastating efficiency of Ebonveil and it couldn't absorb the misty remnants of its foes, Voidscale took pleasure in bullying the lowest among them.
It wasn't about sustenance for the little beast—it was sport.
Each kill required multiple swipes, and even then, the damage was meager. But Voidscale's slippery, unpredictable movements allowed it to weave through the Specters' attempts to grab it. It became a blur of movement, diving, ducking, spinning, and clawing away at the Specters.
Soon, however, the creamy glow coating its claws began to dim, flickering like a dying ember. And as the glow faded, so did its impact. Even against the weakest Specters, Voidscale was barely leaving scratches.
Realizing the tide was turning, Voidscale did what any smart creature would: it turned tail and scampered to safety, skittering along the edge of the chamber with eyes glinting as it watched for an opportunity to dash toward Ebonveil and steal another charge of energy from its master's kills.
But Narvel was beginning to face his own complications.
Unlike earlier, the energy Ebonveil channeled into him no longer produced the same surge of clarity and strength. Though it still refilled what had been taken—his willpower and stamina—it no longer provided that rush of exhilaration, the sense of growing stronger with each kill. The invigoration was waning. His mind which was once sharp and bright under the influence of the weapon, was now dulling slightly.
The thrill of the hunt faded. The Specters now felt like obstacles that simply refused to vanish. But they kept coming, unwilling to let him rest. So he fought on, driven by necessity rather than excitement at this point.
At this point, he'd slaughtered hundreds of them, both in this chamber and the one before. The total number had already surpassed three hundred. And yet, for all that carnage, the progress in his abilities seemed disproportionate.
Common Specters killed – 312.
And yet, his growth was modest.
His Mental stat had climbed just 4 points, from 8 to 12 points. His Will and Stamina had only nudged upward by a single point each.
It was then that a thought struck him: maybe the growth in Will and Stamina wasn't direct. Maybe those improvements were indirect, like side effects of his Mental stat increasing. In other words, Ebonveil's energy didn't target Will or Stamina directly but rather enhanced Mental capabilities, which in turn influenced the others over time.
Even that progression, however, was slowing. The energy from Ebonveil began to feel heavy, as though he'd eaten too much of the same food. His appetite for it was waning.
Finally, with one last slash, the last Common Specter fell and dissipated into vapor. The chamber was quiet once more. He staggered slightly, catching his breath. His stamina and will hadn't dropped as sharply as they did in his first encounter, but at the same time, in this chamber, he hadn't used his attribute or his unnamed skill.
He took a glance at his current stats:
Strength: 8.8
Speed: 13.2
Stamina: 9/19
Dexterity: 15
Intelligence: 17
Mental: 12
Wisdom: 13
Charisma: 8
Will: 21/30
Thanks to Ebonveil, his stamina and will began recovering quickly again.
Voidscale appeared beside him, clinging to the base of Ebonveil like a child hugging a favored toy, clearly eager to drain more of the energy it couldn't harvest on its own, forgetting how it was thrown away by the weapon the first time.
Narvel let it be. He was more preoccupied with something else now.
Something unsettling.
He glanced up at the statue looming in front of him—one he'd passed earlier—and frowned deeply.
That statue was facing the other way before…
He was sure of it. His mind wasn't clouded, nor was he hallucinating. He remembered it clearly. The new orientation of the statue chilled him to the core.
It towered nine feet high and was twice as wide as any ordinary man. Its face, chiseled from stone, wore an expression of wrath, pure, cold fury. And its eyes… they weren't just facing Narvel now—they were glaring, as if accusing him of something. As if Narvel was the reason for its anger.
Instinct took over. Narvel snapped Ebonveil into position before him.
Bang!
The sound exploded through the chamber as a massive staff, forged entirely from stone, slammed into the hilt of Ebonveil with a crushing force. The impact hurled Narvel through the air like a ragdoll, until his body crashed hard into the chamber wall. The air was knocked from his lungs, his consciousness reeled, and blood exploded from his mouth in a thick gush.
Voidscale hadn't been spared either. The force of the attack hit it as well, sending it skidding and spinning, bleeding from its tiny nostrils and ears.
Narvel slid down the wall, groaning. The world spun in uneven circles, his vision blurring and unsteady. Pain throbbed through every limb, and even breathing felt like a chore.
A quick glance inward revealed the cost:
Stamina: 3/19.
He was barely clinging to life. His bones cracked. His ribs shifted out of place and he could feel the wrongness inside his chest and legs. Every inch of his body screamed. But then, a sudden pulse.
Ebonveil responded.
The weapon sensed his broken state and surged with renewed energy. Warmth bloomed from his hand, flowing up his arm, wrapping around his chest and legs, weaving into every muscle. It didn't heal—but it dulled the pain.
The agony receded just enough to keep him conscious. His mind slowly steadied and adrenaline surged, giving his limbs just enough fire to move again.
His stamina slowly ticked upward, but the injuries he sustained from the attack remained.
Not given the time to catch his breath, the statue had appeared in front of him again… It wasn't done yet.
Gathering everything he had left in him, Narvel activated both his [True Double] and [Mind's Eye] attributes. The moment he did, the world slowed—crawling before his eyes like molasses dripping down a slope.
Dust hung in the air, suspended mid-fall as each grain became somewhat visible. The tremors in the stone floor became sluggish pulses beneath his boots. Yet, despite this shift in perception, the fear in his chest didn't waver.
The statue's stone staff was still descending toward him—its movement not slow, not crawling, but alarmingly swift, even within his slowed reality.
It was terrifying.
For a split second, Narvel genuinely feared he wouldn't be able to move fast enough to dodge it. He poured everything his [True Double] had to offer into his Speed stat, pushing it from a steady 13.2 points all the way to a staggering 39.6.
With a soundless burst, he vanished from his spot, leaving behind a ghostly blur of his form, a faint afterimage that the staff passed straight through.
Boom!
The massive staff struck the wall behind him with a crushing force, sending a quake through the chamber. Chunks of stone exploded outward, and a thick cloud of debris spread from the point of impact. The staff's lower end embedded itself deep into the wall.
Now standing several meters away from the creature, Narvel's breathing was shallow and uneven. His vision flickered at the edges.
His mind had kicked into overdrive, but it came at a cost. The pressure from using both attributes simultaneously was crushing. The strain from [Mind's Eye], in particular, felt like someone had stuck hot needles into his temples and kept twisting.
Still, he forced himself to think.
What in the world is that thing? And why the hell is it so fast?
His eyes darted toward the nearest exit which was the same pathway he had come through. The idea of turning back gripped him momentarily. The alternative route, located on the opposite end of the chamber, led through the dense field of other statues, all standing like silent sentinels. There were hundreds of them, motionless yet ominous.
If they all came to life, it would be suicidal.
But then again… only this one had attacked so far.
Why? Why just this one? If they were all like it, why wouldn't they move together?
His thoughts were interrupted by a hum—Ebonveil vibrated in his hands, more intensely than it ever had since he came in contact with it. It shook with a kind of dark anticipation, resonating with eagerness.
'Is this creature something it wants to absorb? Something… worth it?'
If that was the case, then perhaps it was worth the risk.
The statue moved again. This time, Narvel was ready.
Though it charged at him like a collapsing tower of stone, this time Narvel could see it clearly. It was no longer a blur and no longer an overwhelming force of speed. His [Mind's Eye] attribute adjusted to its motion, processing the movement in sharp, calculable detail. The statue's massive legs pounded the chamber floor, sending vibrations into the earth. Its bulk figure moved with unnatural agility for something its size, and it wielded its staff with practiced violence.
Narvel's grip on Ebonveil tightened. He steadied his breath, narrowed his eyes, and charged.
The two clashed within seconds, both now within striking range.
The statue raised its staff again and swung wide and brutally—aimed to slap Narvel off the ground like a fly. The wind from the swing alone could be felt as a physical force, a gust that could knock a man off balance.
But Narvel didn't flinch.
As if he had predicted it all along, he shifted slightly, just a clean side step, dodging the massive arc of the staff by inches. With Ebonveil raised, he slashed at the statue's thigh, putting every ounce of power and force into the motion.
Clang!
The sound rang out, echoing through the chamber. But it wasn't the hollow clang of steel on stone. It was sharper like stone being cut. Ebonveil sank into the statue's thigh, slicing through it effortlessly—like a hot blade through softened butter.
Both combatants paused. For a moment, as though they both held their breaths.
Narvel blinked and the statue didn't move.
They stood in silence as if both were stunned—one by the realization that the statue could be cut so easily, and the other, perhaps, by the pain of being wounded for the first time in centuries.