Pain.
Not the kind that could be endured, not the kind that dulled over ti. This was sothing else—as if his very essence was being ripped apart from the inside out. A scorching, twisting agony that burrowed into his being like serrated hooks, digging deep, pulling, unraveling him thread by thread. His Ka flared in protest, thrashing wildly against the force that seized it, but it was useless—there was no fighting this. There was no escape.
Velren tried to scream, but no sound ca out. His throat clenched, strangled by the sheer force of the suffering that wracked his body. His vision blurred, twisting and contorting as the world around him wavered. His limbs felt distant, unreal, as if they no longer belonged to him, flickering between presence and absence. One mont, he could feel the solid ground beneath his feet, the weight of his body, the cold steel in his grip—then in the next, it was gone, replaced by an overwhelming emptiness that swallowed him whole.
A sickening sensation coursed through him, as if sothing was trying to peel him away from reality itself. His fingers twitched, his muscles spasd, and his body trembled violently under the sheer force of the unknown power gripping him. He was being stretched thin, dispersed like mist caught in the wind, scattered between existence and nonexistence. The edges of his form shimred erratically, as though he were nothing more than a ghost failing to take shape, a fleeting mirage on the brink of dissolving.
His Ka was in chaos. No, it wasn’t just that. It was being consud. Stripped away, piece by agonizing piece, devoured by the very blade he had sought to wield. The wakizashi, still clutched in his trembling grip, pulsed with an eerie resonance, as if it were feeding on him, drinking in his presence like a predator savoring its prey.
Dark spots danced at the edges of his vision, his mind screaming for relief, for release. But the pain did not stop. It did not relent. It only deepened, sharp and rciless, twisting through his veins, clawing at his core, threatening to unmake him entirely.
And then—
A snap. A rupture. A shattering inside of him.
With sheer instinct, Velren wrenched his hand away from the wakizashi. The blade clattered to the ground, but the tornt did not cease imdiately. He crumpled to his knees, gasping, his breath coming in ragged, uneven gulps as he clutched at his chest. Every nerve scread, his limbs trembled, and for a horrifying mont, he wasn’t entirely sure he was still there. His hands road over his form—his arms, his torso, his legs—checking, confirming, desperate to ensure that he was still whole, that he hadn’t flickered into nothingness entirely.
And then, just as the pain began to subside into a dull, lingering ache, a faint chi echoed in his mind.
His Codex materialized before him:
[User Status: [??????]—V3rificat10n Failed]
[V1tal 3cho 0bta1ned: Soul-Severance]
"Wh—what... the hell?"
Velren barely had ti to catch his breath before the sudden interface flared before his eyes. He was still sprawled on the ground, his body trembling, and his very existence still feeling... off.
His fingers twitched as he forced himself upright, fixating his gaze on the first ssage.
"Verification... failed?"
His Ka had never faltered before, and his Codex had always registered him without issue. So why now? Why this? What the hell did failed even an?
But before he could dwell on the implications, his eyes flicked to the next notification.
"A new... Vital Echo..."
Just like that. No warning, no ritual, no gradual awakening—just pain, then an imdiate result. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or unsettled, especially considering the circumstances...
Hesitantly, he clicked on it.
And then—
[V1tal Ech0: Soul-Reverance]
"Man1festat10n born fr0m User unn4tural exist3nce, an ech0 that sh0uld not be, yet pers1sts. Birthed fr0m the wak1zashi’s hung3r and User own inst1nct to r3sist er4sure. With each str1ke, it pulls th3 ess3nce of th0se it t0uches, unr4veling the thr34ds of the s3lf. t1pped toward entropy. Pr0longed us3 r3nders User fractur3d. [W4rn1ng: C0nsumpt10n 1s 1nev1t4ble. R3c0very 1s n0t.]
[SkillAbility]
Each str1ke s1phons Ka fr0m b0th User and targ3t, w3ak3ning ab1lit1es and d1srupt1ng energy fl0w. Pr0l0nged us3 r1sks c0mplete deplet10n.
Velren’s gaze lingered on the distorted text, his mind grasping at the aning beneath its fragnted display. He could more or less understand what it was saying. Or... could he?
That wasn’t the point.
His eyes narrowed at a particular line, one that unsettled him in a way the rest didn’t.
[W4rn1ng: C0nsumpt10n 1s 1nev1t4ble. R3c0very 1s n0t.]
A warning.
Not an observation, not a re descriptor of the Echo’s nature—an outright warning. This was the first ti the Codex had ever presented sothing like this after an Echo’s manifestation. That alone was enough to make his stomach churn.
What did it an by consumption? And recovery is not... not what? Not guaranteed? Not possible?
His fingers tensed slightly as he reread the ability’s description. Prolonged use risks complete depletion. Of what? Ka? Himself?
A slow breath left him. He wasn’t sure if he should use this Echo at all.
Velren then drifted his eyes downward, onto the wakizashi where it lay on the ground. A cold shiver ran through him. His hands, still trembling slightly, clenched at his sides as his breath ca slower, shallower. His body rembered—the searing, excruciating pain that had torn through him like his very existence was being unraveled thread by thread. And then, the Codex. The distorted text. The new Echo.
It had all begun the mont he let his Ka flow into the blade.
A tight knot coiled in his stomach.
He swallowed, and took a slow, hesitant step forward. His muscles tensed, every instinct screaming at him to leave it where it was, to not risk whatever that had been happening again. But he couldn’t just leave it there. It was his weapon now, whether he wanted it or not.
His fingers twitched at his side. His mind raced through possibilities—if he picked it up, would it happen again? Would he feel himself flicker out of existence? The thought alone made his pulse hamr against his ribs. But there was only one way to find out.
He crouched down, hovering his hand just above the hilt.
’Just grab it. Quick! No hesitation!’
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to close his fingers around the grip.
A beat passed. Then another.
...Nothing.
No searing pain. No sickening rupture inside of him. Just the cool weight of the wakizashi resting in his palm, still and quiet.
He let out a sharp breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Not wasting another second, he imdiately slid the blade into its scabbard, securing it at his waist before his mind could play any more tricks on him.
The training ground was silent. A stillness had settled over him, but his pulse still thrumd too fast, too uneven. He exhaled, pressing a hand against his forehead.
A nervous chuckle left him—shaky, barely audible.
"What the hell did I just get myself into?"
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