When a fragment hunts, it searches for a soul passage that has ripened, a point of weakness ready to be pierced. Once such a passage is found, the fragment initiates its devouring. The prey's eyes are drawn into alignment with the fragment's hollow vacuums, where faint violet light seeps forth—slivers of the fragment's own soul, cast as a bridge. This bridge forces the prey's gaze to lock in place, if only for a heartbeat, and in that instant the passage is sealed. The prey's body falls rigid, trapped within its own vessel.
What follows is the inducing. The fragment has only as long as its soul reserves allow, and the span varies with its size and strength. In this narrow window, it must coax, persuade, or bend the prey's soul into leaving its body.
If the soul yields, the fragment severs the vessel, dismembering flesh from spirit until the two can no longer cling to one another. The freed soul is left exposed, ready to be consumed.
But if the fragment fails, the cost is dire. Closing an open passage drains vast portions of its essence. Should its reserves run dry, the cloak collapses into a lifeless black stone, and the fragment's remains are sealed inside. Sometimes, a portion of the prey's own soul lingers in that husk, inhabiting the rock as a diminished echo.
Once a passage has been forced open, it cannot be closed without a soul to anchor it. If a prey is torn away mid-inducing, the fragment's passage bleeds itself out, emptying its existence until nothing remains but a hollow black stone.
For the prey, survival is no triumph. A body left behind with an open passage suffers the slow leakage of its soul, dwindling until either all memory has fled or the vessel is destroyed—unless the soul had been spared significant injury in the struggle. Even then, the wound never fully heals.