The morning fog hung low over the city, heavy and damp. Even with Lumo's faint glow guiding me, the shadows felt thicker, darker, as though watching me more carefully than before. Yesterday's experiments had gone well, but I couldn't shake the uneasy feeling crawling along my spine.
I turned a corner into a narrow alley and froze.
A spirit larger than any I had seen before hovered in the mist. Its body was a twisted silhouette of human features, limbs stretching at impossible angles, its mouth a jagged line that seemed to whisper screams. Unlike the timid spirits I had trapped, this one radiated intelligence calculating, aware, and hungry.
I swallowed hard. Fear surged, as sharp and addictive as ever. My pulse quickened. Lumo hovered at my side, its glow pulsing rapidly.
"This one…" I murmured, "it's different."
The spirit's eyes locked onto me, dark pools that seemed to reach into my very soul. I could feel its energy radiating malice, and instinctively, my hands tingled with the raw power of fear absorption. I could fight it but it wasn't going to be easy.
"Let's see how you handle a real game," the spirit hissed, its voice like broken glass scraping stone.
I had no time to hesitate. Drawing on yesterday's lessons, I created illusions in the alley: shadows darted across walls, whispers echoed from unseen corners, and the mist twisted unnaturally. The spirit recoiled slightly, but not enough it had survived fear before, and it was learning quickly.
"Lumo," I whispered, "we need a plan. Don't let it adapt."
The little spirit darted forward, weaving between the creature's limbs, distracting it. I focused again, pulling fear from the air, from the spirit itself, shaping it into a sharp, tangible pulse. With a shout, I unleashed it.
The spirit screamed not a random shriek, but a howl of awareness, of intelligence realizing it had underestimated me. Its form shimmered and twisted, striking at illusions that weren't really there. The alley trembled under its wrath.
I gritted my teeth, absorbing the fear it radiated, feeding on it to strengthen myself. The sensation was overwhelming like standing in a storm of raw emotion, catching every gust, every bolt of lightning.
Minutes passed like hours. The spirit struck again and again, learning, adapting, but I adapted faster. I shaped fear into traps, illusions, and pulses, predicting its movements, bending its attacks back against it. Lumo assisted seamlessly, guiding the flow of energy, creating openings.
Finally, with a surge of concentrated fear energy, I forced the spirit to retreat into the mist, wounded and wary. It didn't vanish entirely it would return but I had survived. And for the first time, I felt something deeper than thrill: confidence.
"This… this is just the beginning," I murmured, watching the fog swallow the figure.
Lumo hovered closer, a soft pulse of light in the dark alley. For a moment, I allowed myself to smile. I wasn't just learning to survive—I was learning to dominate. And in a world where fear was power, dominance meant everything.
Night fell, heavier than before. Shadows stretched like claws across the rooftops. Somewhere, distant wails echoed. But I was ready. I had tasted true power, and I wouldn't run again.