Two weeks flew by. Nico, within the outer settlement once more, was sitting peacefully on the road that led into the Dark City.
His new home was nestled away within one of the abandoned areas nearby. Only the foundations were built at the moment, but once he finished chiseling the remaining intact stones he'd collected then the next phase would begin.
There were other nice materials he had yet to use as well — the tattered shroud from the Blood Fiend, the plates of tough armor from the Bone Worm, and the large scales and hides from various other Awakened and Fallen monsters he had butchered.
Or, well, butchered after Shaman took hold of their mind. He hadn't really killed any of them himself. The only creature he had any part in hunting was the Fallen Monster last week. Even then, he was only a convenient distraction — his Echo took point, using a Fallen Beast and its clever mind to outsmart the Monster.
Many of his Echo's limitations were discovered with that hunt. For one, once a being was taken fully by Shaman, there was no hope of it ever escaping. Shaman's possession was absolute so long as it didn't leave its target.
It also didn't seem capable of controlling more than one host at a time. It's mind-attack still worked, and seemed even more powerful with a corporeal body to harness its gaze, but the same could not be said for it's possession.
And now that he was on the topic…
'I guess it's about time.'
Nico took a glance at his runes:
Soul Cores: [2/7].
Soul Shards: [403/2000].
Today was the day he'd be able to transform his Echo into a Specter. It was an event he wasn't exactly sure of just yet. If, in that process, it became visible — physical — he would lose a big part of his advantage in the Dark City.
'But can I afford to delay?'
It was a function of his Aspect. Any potential advantage he could have he needed to grasp, and since he had also hit a solid wall with soul essence maybe he could also get an idea from watching his Innate Ability in action.
Decidedly, Nico focused his mind and retreated within his Soul Sea.
A pleasant, warm wind ruffled Nico's hair. The drawl of lapsing waves replaced the whistling winds. He opened his eyes, and before him, a massive tree formed from ghostly veins — its bark suffused with soft light — towered far above him.
He walked forward, calling down his Echo from up above. A single glowing orb descended, stopped before him, and faded away into nothingness.
Nico extended a hand into the empty space.
The Spell spoke without delay:
[Transform Echo into a Specter?]
With hesitation or care in his voice, he answered:
"Yes."
Something imperceptible shifted in his Soul Sea. It was as if a vast pulse traveled through the interconnected web of roots beneath him, ushering a momentary, radiant glow into his Soul Tree. At the same time, a powerful gust rolled across the surface of the water. Fog scattered like dus, Nico's hair fluttered into a halo, and the bleached leaves danced.
The great tree began to shift. A long branch lowered, it's shaft bearing the weight of a single, pristine fruit — one so enchanting that it would enamor even the most skeptical of men.
Translucent, the pulpy flesh within seemed more liquid than solid. It swirled and sparkled. Pure soul essence — his lifeblood, empowered by the lineage of a god — emanated within.
And yet Nico felt that it was different from him — not in soul, not in form, but in something deeper. In something that was both profound and unseen.
It was… it had to be new. It had to be different, and that difference lied in what separated him from a being born by him.
It was a new spirit. A new consciousness.
Or perhaps an old one reborn.
Nico's eyes widened.
'The reason I could never transfer my soul essence must be because it still has my spirit tied to it…'
Despite the epiphany, his attention quickly shifted back towards the fruit, and then his Echo. The four flaming nodes still resided near him but were floating away — drawn in by the commands and guidance of the Spell towards his Soul Tree's creation.
Seconds later, when it finally connected with the amalgamation of essence and spirit, a brilliant radiance flared outwards, blinding Nico.
But, though his vision failed him, he felt it.
A calm tide. A soothing warmth. A gorgeous rebirth. The flaming nodes swelled, surging outwards with newfound energy. Then, reigned in, they swirled, again and again, until tiny, crystalized beads began to form like droplets of water in four separate nexuses.
Thousands of times they collided — bouncing off each other and slamming into the next — drawn by unseen force.
But when they reached a critical mass — when the growing speed and power overcame the pressure holding them together — they shattered and fused, causing a chain reaction that spread through the rest. More merged. Thousands of tiny beads turned to hundreds, then dozens, then tens, and, finally, four.
After the process was done, the light faded — rather, it felt like it was drawn in, absorbed into the creature. The true being. The Noble Beast. No longer a mere Echo but bearing a kind of live all its own.
And it stood changed.
Soul, spirit, and body were inseparable — and where flesh was absent, Nico's Soul Sea was substitute.
He watched — oddly feeling something else's awe — as the powerful feeling he had always merely sensed became visible. The shaman's four flames, now complete cores, flickered into existence, radiant as the sun and blue as his azure eyes.
It truly was his essence.
And guided by it, it became the shaman. Not the giant desiccated monster, but the spirit of the reborn wraith.
So, instead of creating a vessel of flesh and bone, it drew upon the veil of fog that ebbed and flowed above the water's surface. After consuming a vast swathe around the Soul Tree, it condensed, forming into a shape that resembled a slender, human figure.
Nico stared at the being without reproach. His eyes were drinking in every detail, in every rough feature, and in every ounce of presence it's soul exuded.
Sensing the gaze, its wispy head turned to look at him with uncanny sentience.
Crimson flames ignited on its formless face.
The Spell whispered:
[You have created a Specter Devil: [Barrow Wraith Shaman.]
***
Nico took a breath as he stared at the creature.
Was it actually alive?
There had never been any real creatures untainted by the corruption that spread unbidden in the Dream Realm. Everything humans encountered was either reduced to ruin or perverted in some unnatural way. A hint of long-forgotten civilizations remained, but their ruins were reduced to little more than rubble by the passage of time.
Nothing remained except the Nightmare Creatures.
But everyone knew there must've been life before them; before they all turned into abominations. There must've beings with a Soul Core like humans that weren't corrupted.
Was he looking at one right now?
Sensations of awe, curiosity, wariness, and confusion muddled his mind, and though he tried to deny it, Shaman's powers were no longer active during its rebirth.
Then, as the confusion cleared, there was a sense of gratefulness, and Nico finally realized that it was the result of the creature before him.
Before Nico could question it he felt himself forcibly ejected from his Soul Sea.
Startled, he blinked a couple times, reorienting himself back in the real world — the Dream Realm, really.
'What the—'
Before he could finish his thought, a horrible pain — beyond word or description — bloomed in the center of his chest and abdomen.
His entire body crumpled like a puppet cut from its strings. A broken, breathless gasp tore from his throat as he tried, and failed, to scream. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. It was sudden, torturous, and insidiously deep, burning into both his body, soul, and spirit like a branding iron.
Some things simply weren't meant for Dormant creatures to do, and it seemed that the act of Nico creating a new living thing had dangerously toed the line between deadly and death.
He writhed on the ground, his muscles spasming like broken gears, each straining in unnatural ways to bear the agony. One hand desperately clutched the fabric over his chest. His eyes shut as tightly as they could. His jaw clenched so hard his teeth might shatter.
More than a few cramps added to the pain, and after that, the crippling weakness.
Like a beast withered from hunger, he suddenly felt infirm — noticeably unraveled.
The pain of four hundred lost fragments shattered his already fragile mental state further.
He sucked in a strained breath, then wheezed the next moment, the mere action burning white-hot pain into his chest.
Like a cascade failure, the spreading weakness only worsened his ailment. They fed off each other like plagued beasts — both destined to die, condition worsened by proximity. His face contorted into an inhuman expression.
Something snapped inside his head.
'Am I... going to die?'
The thought made him wheeze, then weep, ugly tears muddying his face and mixing with the dirt and grime he'd smeared on himself after collapsing. A broken sob escaped him despite the situation, and a painful lump lodged in his throat, his whole body shaking even more unnaturally.
'No... this, this isn't fair! Why am I here?!'
Pain. Pain. More pain.
Every muscle had been overtaxed, burned, then ripped from his body and sewn back together. Or so it seemed.
'I want to go home!'
And he couldn't even think straight.
'Harus, you bastard!'
Not for the life of him.
'I... I can't go back to the slums again!'
Like a doll cycling through prerecorded responses, or a parrot stuck mimicking its owner, his sense of self drowned in the emotions of the Sleepers around him. Their fear. Their regret. Their spite. All of it was his, and every bit of it, too.
'Ah, I'm so hungry...'
Until eventually he couldn't tell the difference.
'It's been three years, haven't I suffered enough?'
Until eventually he wasn't Nico.
'Those bastards in the castle!'
Until...
'No.'
No, he was Eternal Dawn. That was his True Name. His self. Nothing, not even this, could take that from him.
Like an anchor, it stilled his mind. He felt himself pulled back to reality, and before the harrowing pain consumed him again, he desperately ordered his new Specter to help him.
'Please…'
And it answered.
A fog — this one visible, ethereal, flowed out from him, coalescing into no particular shape and enveloping him instead. It took root in his mind. The foreign emotion slowly dissipated.
And, dragged away from the pain, he let his head fall back onto the stones, numb once again.