Alex's fall down the abyss stretched an eternity. The wind that ruffled his clothes and lashed his wound were gone. With it, so too disappeared all signifiers that he was really there. Gravity upturned in his stomach. Yet his body became light as a feather, guided by gravity without mass. He was not falling, he was drifting. Sinking, deeper and deeper into darkness. He'd reached no awareness, commanded no fate. He was lost and still searching.

For the origin of my will…

By the time he landed, his blood simmered down from its boil, then ran cold, leaking from him to join the shallow ocean of blood he lay in. He was in his past once more, in the world of darkness Anne called her domain. He half expected to see her there standing over him, or Laura in her final breaths. Anything felt possible after experiencing the Blood Mists again.

But this wasn't the past. It was just his memory of it, and the only thing he saw was the subtle glow of his Divine Core deep beneath the surface—lightly shattered, just like his sword.

Regret. Nychta told him. Unwanting pain.

Hate.

He affirmed her feelings. She was a magnificent piece and deserved better. He only felt sorry that she had ended up bonded to him of all people. But that didn't seem to be what she wanted to hear. The light of the Divine Core shone more brightly, and for a brief moment, her voice was clearer than ever before.

Love.

Laura's face came to mind, her smile bright like the sun. Alex winced, looking away. He tried to stir but found himself unable.

"Alex!" Gloomy exclaimed. Her voice was distant, far off. "God—you're bleeding out everywhere!"

Suddenly, his most recent memories returned. Running through the mists. The final moments of his escape. The assassin's sword cleaving into him. He tried again to stand, to run, but he was trapped in his consciousness. The assassin could come after them any moment—

"No. He cannot enter here. He waits above," the Lost Souls said.

Alex froze. Countless red eyes opened in the starless, abyssal dark. Millions of them… but they no longer felt so fragmented.

Someone stood over him. They were intangible, yet their form didn't flicker, their voice didn't waver. Indistinctly male or female, they lacked any and all distinction of identity. It was almost as if they weren't even there.

"That's because we're not," they said. They turned, all watchful eyes closing. The figure's faint glow extinguished as they drifted deeper into the dark. "This is not the place to speak. Come when you are ready."

A heartbeat passed, each beat taking new meaning as Alex recalled just how close he'd come to dying. Alone in the dark, the thought terrified him.

Except he wasn't alone. Nychta was with him, and dying without a chance to truly live was a pain she knew better than any. She spoke, and they were words he'd once spoken to her when he'd forged her rebirth. Now, he truly listened.

A voice. A burn. A fire. Wrong.

Wrong, the feather should not know Darkness. Nor should it know Wrongness. A vortex has no center. Before and after do not exist in inexistence.

Yet it knows dusk because it knew dawn. It knows darkness because it knew light. It knows beginning because it reached the end.

It knows life because it remembers death.

Alex knew now what he had to do.

"Holy fuck Alex! You're totally going to die!"

* * *

Alex awoke in pain, everything that had happened that night feeling like a hazy, feverish dream. A crow's feather floated languidly in front of him, shimmering then turning to dust. He frowned. He missed the simpler times, when he'd faced normal chimiks—or maybe a town full of undead. Constellations, Lordlings, the Blood Mists… it was too much for one day.

He opened his eyes, then jerked in pain as he tried to sit up. "Agh… fuck."

He touched his shoulder. It was expertly bandaged but still bloody. His clavicle was snapped in half, his scapula carved into. The nerves to his left arm were… dead. He could tell as much from the fact that he couldn't feel the damn thing, much less lift it.

How am I still alive…?

It was dark. He heard a shuffle on the other side of the ravine and could barely make out the dark outline of a person. When his eyes adjusted a little more, he saw the streaks of blood on the gravelly ground. She must have dragged herself over to him, then as far back as she could.

"Guess you had an extra health potion after all," Alex noted.

"Shut it," Gloomy replied. "You ungrateful pig, you should be thanking me for saving your life."

"After I just saved yours? You're just doing this so I'll sacrifice myself again when you try getting out."

"Yeah," she admitted.

"Well, I don't have to right now. Did you forget I plan to kill you?"

Alex heard the click of his Glock. Evidently not. Of course, it was a blank threat, but so had been his own. He was in no condition to move. "A bit of advice, Gloomy. If you live to see another day—which you won't—never accept a contract without a self-defense clause."

She set the gun down, unnaturally subdued. Alex couldn't see her expression in the dark. "But really, Gloomy. Why did you heal me? You were lying about the contract requiring it, weren't you? Even if we got out of this pit, my arm's fucked for good, and don't act now like you give two shits about the future. You could've just let me die."

"I should've," she scoffed.

There wasn't the usual bite to her words. Alex sensed she felt the same tiredness that he did. He chuckled. He'd complained about loneliness, and here he was—trapped at the bottom of an abyss, feeling kinship with a vampire. Curse his fate. Curse it all.

A few minutes passed. He reckoned he had at least a few hours before his wound closed enough to attempt standing. "Fine," he said. "I know you have questions too, so how about a trade? I ask a question, then I'll answer one of yours. Maybe then, you'll die a little less curious. Sound fair?"

"Try me."

Alex thought for a second. "What did you steal from the Blood Lotus Clan?"

"No," she said.

"Okay, a lowball then. Why did you heal me?"

She paused. "...You said you'll know if I'm lying. Is that true?"

"Of course not. That's a classic opening line before torturing someone. Granted, I'm better than most at sniffing out lies. It probably wouldn't have gone well for you."

Gloomy huffed. Then she laughed weakly, once again finding humor where Alex saw no jokes. He chuckled a little too, anyway.

"It's 'cause I hate vampires too."

Alex stopped laughing. Yeah, no, he would've chopped off a finger for such a bold-faced lie on principle. "Alright. You don't want to take this seriously. That's fine by me. But I'm not going to sit here and listen to you mock me."

"Hey! What about my fucking question!"

"You've lost asking privileges," he said.

"What?! You are the most dishonorable bastard to ever leave a whore's loose cunt! May the devil take you bloody and screaming the way you came into this world, Alex!"

"Yeah, I'm not taking shit from a vampire. If you hate yourself so much, just put that gun to your head and pull the trigger. It would save me the hassle."

"So much for sniffing out lies," she spat. "Probably couldn't even smell your own dick if it was in your mouth!"

What the fuck?

She spat, her saliva landing near his legs from the opposite side of the ravine. Alex almost pushed himself up right then and there to end her, but he let the anger pass through him. This was too childish.

"How old are you, anyway?"

"You said no more questions."

"I've changed the rules. Lies are worth half as much as the truth."

"One hundred thirty-seven," Gloomy said. "Now I get two fucking questions, don't I?"

Alex snorted. "Just one."

She didn't seem pleased about that, but Alex figured she'd just call whatever he said a lie and get even anyway. He waited for her question.

It came several seconds later, in a hoarse whisper. "...Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why'd you do this to me?" She asked, voice trembling. Then louder, "What was the point of any of this?!"

"You took the quest I wanted."

"Hah?!" she exclaimed. "So?"

"Is your second question 'Hah?' or 'So?'"

"'So, you fucking cunt!"

"So, I came to negotiate for it, or form a team. Until, well, I learned how much of a blood-sucking bitch you are. Now I'm going to kill you for it."

"I knew you were trying to kill…" She trailed off. "Wait… on my soul… you don't just hate the vampires—you're hunting them. No wonder you want my quest so badly!"

Gloomy burst into uncontrollable laughter, cackling. Alex watched her wheeze in pain as she rolled onto her side, disturbing her mangled legs. "To the devil, Alex! You can take your 'negotiations' and shove them up your whore-mother's decrepit cunt. I'd never give you my quest. I deserve it more than you do!"

Alex frowned. So she did know the importance of the Crucible of Sun. Oh, of course she did. Sunlight is a vampire's natural weakness—that whole quest had been over-run by the fuckers as they tried their damndest to ensure no one else beat it.

"Well," Alex said. "Evidently, you believe both my answers are true, so that gives me two questions."

Gloomy fumed with quiet fury in the following silence. That silence stretched, Alex's mind whirring through everything he wanted to ask about: Her obvious connection to the Blood Lotus Clan, the whereabouts and paths of her clan members, everything he needed to fill the gaps in his memory, everything he'd been about to torture her for. But he found none of that was what he really wanted to know.

Why?

Her hatred seared like fire on his skin. His astral body burned. And what right did she have to hate him? Why did he have to be subjected to her hatred? Her killing intent. Why couldn't she feel his?

"Was it fun?" he asked. "Masquerading as an immature brat? How many young girls and boys did you suck the blood from to retain your youth? A hundred and thirty seven years…? You sick little bitch. Did you enjoy watching them die? All that blood that went to waste prolonging your pitiful existence…"

"You… you'll never understand, I—and… and what could you possibly know?! You don't know anything Alex! I'm—"

"You're a vampire," Alex said.

"I… I'm…" Her voice whimpered.

"You're what? Sorry? Is that what you were about to say?!"

"I—I'm not… I don't owe you anything! You're the one who… I'll… I'll kill you. I'll kill you, Alex! I'm—I'll slaughter your entire family! Your blood-cursed siblings too! Your mother! Your—"

"They're all dead, Gloomy. You won't. You're going to die in here, forgotten, and I'm going to go out there and eradicate the rest of your Blood Lotus Clan."

"They're not—I'm—a…ah…" Gloomy screamed, raising the gun—then she spasmed in rageful agony. It felt good, watching her break.

But there was something beneath her killing intent that Alex didn't want to look at. It was ugly. Disgusting and shameful. And… familiar. He growled, slamming his fist bloody against the ravine's jagged wall. Gloomy heaved for breath, her eyes red in the dark, enraged. Enraged.

"You… really do hate them, don't you?"

An unnerving feeling gripped Alex. She'd been too good at hiding her vampirism. She hadn't burned under the sun. Something was wrong. No—many things were. He just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. Her knowledge of witchcraft, the fact that she'd been so weak in the first scenario. She… she'd been starving herself.

This entire week, she had glared with hatred, like a needle on his neck that never went away. But at some point, that feeling had changed to something more painful. It had been when he'd held Nychta to her neck.

"Wait. Don't answer that," Alex said. "I want to know why. Tell me why you hate vampires so much."

"Why should I tell you? So you can call me a liar to my face again?!"

"I said I believed you, didn't I?"

"You really want to know that bad? Do you, Alex?!" Gloomy's voice grew hysterical. "You… you! What gives you the right?! Your hatred is nothing compared to mine! What, did someone you love get killed by a vampire or something? Did you do it? Hah! You sad—"

"Gloomy!" Alex yelled. "If you don't shut your fucking mouth I'll—!"

"Oh, a little too close to home? Here you are, digging up all of my shit, and you get sensitive over some light teasing?"

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

Alex tested his shoulder. It was far from healed but he stood anyway. "That's it. I don't care anymore—"

"Then just kill me! Anything's better than listening to you whining, 'Oh, I fucking hate vampires, I kill them, I kill them'—get serious, Alex! If I were you, I would've crawled my ass over and killed me already. Fuck the pain! You really want to know why?! You want to know, Alex?! The Mistress—she… she made me kill my own grandmother, and I've been living the last century—the last century as her thrall! Do not preach to me! I've had enough of your posturing bullshit. You hate vampires? So what, coward?! Show me how much you hate them! Twist that pretty little sword in my gut and make it fucking hurt! You impotent bitch! Cunt! I'll fucking—"

"That's enough," Alex said. "I've… heard enough."

Lightheaded, he braced himself against the ravine wall. His stomach retched.

"No, you—damn it! Where are you fucking going?! Alex! Alex!!"

Gloomy's scream echoed off the ravine walls behind him. It was a primal wail, filled with unbridled, directionless rage. Her anguish scratched against her vocal chords like nails against chalkboard. It was too much. He was afraid that if he stuck around, he might've killed her just to end her suffering. He wasn't sure anymore what she deserved.

Or what he did. Laura…

Alex puked, then kept walking. The chasm stretched impossibly deep. The Constellations were so far above him that he wasn't sure even they could see him. Somewhere beneath that distant, starry sky, the assassin waited for them to resurface. Gods only knew how he guessed they were still alive. Though, if the Lost Souls were somehow barring the assassin from confirming their deaths, Alex supposed anyone would get suspicious.

The air reeked of their discontent and restlessness, and there was a power in that which made him shiver. He'd never have made the leap if he'd had any other choice. Now… he just needed to do it. One foot in front of the other. He didn't know how he knew what direction to walk, but he continued onward, strangely certain. He minded each unsteady step, trying not to think about what Gloomy had said.

Inevitably, though, he did.

What little light still reached this deep left him the further he went. He took out his phone—

Alex almost dropped it. Alyssa stared back from the screen. He imagined what Anne would've done if she'd ever gotten hold of his sister and the thought made his stomach twist.

Alyssa…

He took a breath—then halted. Because immediately to his right, embedded in the ravine's wall… was a steel door. He opened it, and walked into a stone-laid passage.

Just like the tunnels that ran beneath the town and the ones he'd traveled when meeting with the constellations in the pocket world, the walls here were carved with strange and unfamiliar runes. There wasn't just one system of runes in the universe, and occasionally, someone studied an archaic language outside of the System standard. Still, he'd never seen anything like these. They looked more like pictographs than the simplified runes he knew. If they were consistent through all the tunnels in Nightmare, he couldn't imagine how much effort must have gone into engraving them—or to what end.

He puzzled over this fact until he noticed a soft glow further down the tunnel. It grew as he approached, until the passage opened into a wider room. He was struck speechless.

All around him, Lost Souls swirled in a dense, chaotic storm. Their individual impressions were fleeting, hardly more than whispers. But as a collective, their agony and despair formed a screeching wall of noise against his soul. There were so many here that he could almost see them in the mist, lighting the space with an ethereal glow. In the center of the room, atop what appeared to be an altar, he saw the hooded figure. Their form was almost tangible as they beckoned him closer.

What am I doing here?

He gripped Nychta's hilt, gathering his resolve. Then tentatively, Alex took his first step.

Immediately, the Lost Souls noticed his intrusion, and the violent shudder that took him was so intense he couldn't support his own weight. He collapsed. There was hatred in that storm—envy, resentment, every negative emotion imaginable. And… defiance. That same awe-striking defiance he'd noticed from before.

The hooded figure lifted a hand and it all stopped. Gasping, Alex scrambled onto the altar, where the storm of souls did not enter. A massive runic circle was engraved into the stone, and the moment he crossed its outermost ring, his skin tingled with electricity. The energy here was so beyond anything a mortal mind should even attempt to comprehend—at a magnitude and proximity he had only experienced once before. He scanned the area, searching for the source of such immense power, and found nothing.

Then the hooded figure pointed up, and Alex saw it. The eye of the storm. Countless souls surged and faded, circling the moon through an unfathomably deeply-carved skylight. It clicked with Alex now. This place was where the Lost Souls came from. And this energy was coming from the Lost Souls themselves.

He turned back toward the hooded figure.

"What are you?" he asked, almost horrified to know.

"What remains… of sanity," they answered.

At those words Nychta urged to be drawn from her scabbard. He, too, understood why they had brought him here. "You want to be put to rest."

"It is not that simple," they replied with a sad smile. "Nor is that all we want."

The Lost Souls surged again. Defiance. But defiance… of what?

The figure raised their hand to Alex's head. He sensed no ill intent, but remained wary. Then when nothing happened, he frowned. They withdrew their hand. "Alas, you're no more ready than you were last time. It's… intriguing what has happened to you. What has happened to us all, perhaps."

Alex's eyes widened. "Wait—what do you know about—"

"Nothing that we haven't seen through your own eyes, Alex. Don't be alarmed. We merely have experience being trapped in time. Something you will be helping us with."

Their voice carried no threat, but the way they said it didn't sound like a request. Alex bristled, his guard raising.

"Still, that is for another time, when you are ready. The potential was always there, but now there is also some divinity. Awakening it will only be to your benefit. I'm afraid there is little else we can tell you until you do. Right now, we just need you to see."

They motioned toward the altar, the engraved lines shimmering faintly with energy.

"I'm sorry," Alex said, "But I only really understood half of that. It sounds like you want me to sit in the middle of an altar while you power a runic formation for some unknown and dubious purpose."

If this was the remaining sanity, he shuddered to think what the rest of it was like. Then he shuddered again when he realized he didn't even have to guess. Their madness had already been imprinted onto his very own soul.

"Power doesn't come without risk. And we know you want power, Alex."

Alex clenched his fist. It was true, he needed power, but power didn't come freely. There was always a cost, and they weren't being upfront on what that cost was. He leaned down, examining the runic formation in closer detail, trying to figure it out for himself. His eyes scrutinized the exact design of the runes, the way the lines were woven into the ground, scribbly…

Yeah, I've got nothing.

"Is there anything else you can tell me?" He prodded. "This is about my trait, isn't it? I can hear your voices when others can't. I've… defied fate."

Sanity stood, silent.

"But I can't do it again," Alex said. "It's not something that can be willed. Whatever it is you want, I'm not capable of."

"Trait… We're not familiar with how the System categorizes your potential."

"Right, because this world wasn't originally a part of the System, was it?"

Sanity shook their head in resignation. "No. And alas, it is not fate we mean to defy."

The storm of Lost Souls began to grow more invigorated. "What do you mean by that?"

A gale gusted through the altar as the Lost Souls raved like wild, wayward winds. Sanity spread their arms wide, a smile on their lips that seemed the slightest bit crazed. Their form flickered. Their gesture encompassed not just them and the room, but everything. "Behold, what happens to a world that rejects Integration."

It took Alex a second to fully process what they had just said.

"Oh."

Then his mind broke.

Oh…

A chill ran through him, entirely unrelated to his trait. He looked around again for trees, bushes, or animals, but there were none underground. Then the reason this world was like this was… oh lord.

He supposed he shouldn't have been as shocked as he was, knowing how Earth had ended. But that was something else entirely—an unintended result, for almost everyone. They had fought the invasion, not Integration itself, and they'd lost, but normally that wouldn't result in the death of a world.

Still, he couldn't help thinking about his home planet, comparing it to the Nightmare he now witnessed. A world could win against invasion, but no lone world stood any chance against Integration. Once he'd understood that, his hatred of the mages who'd accepted the apocalypse had waned. The more he'd studied this universe's history, the more Alex understood that any choice in the matter had only been an illusion.

Yet he heard stories. He had never regarded them as more than that—rumors, hushed tales. His mind went to Uern, the winter hellscape where he'd spent the last decade.

"When the Cryokin Emperor closed his eyes to the Universe, he fell into a deep and endless sleep, where blizzard devoured Uern, and the world before became a dream. Nevermore did another close their eyes before the expanse. Nevermore."

Now, if this was what had become of Nightmare, it no longer sounded so far-fetched. To extraterrestrials, the Cryokin Emperor was a stupid caricature from a cautionary tale. But Alex had spent years reconciling the perspective he had now. Not until he'd left his own world did he understand how vast the universe really was. How could he fault people for fighting something they couldn't possibly comprehend?

That was the thing about cautionary tales—they never reached those who needed to hear them. And clearly, the world of Nightmare…

"No, that still doesn't make sense," Alex said. "If you refused Integration then, even as undead… how did all this… how are you still…"

The Lost Souls regarded him, and for a moment it wasn't just their sanity that met his gaze—it was all of them. "We sssaaid… we… foought. We… never saaaid we… lost."

As soon as the message left their mouth, the world seemed to freeze over, unraveling. Alex felt something he hadn't since the moment he died. He felt the System respond.

Anomaly detected in [REDACTED].

Purging… Failure.

Increasing security level.

The message flickered, and a suffocating presence bore down on the world around him. The Lost Souls quieted, but even then, he could feel their indignation. He didn't need to hear their voices to know they were screaming, and the horror Alex felt gave way to simmering rage.

They were chained.

He understood without being told. Even here, in this void between life and death… even in this form they had taken… they were no better than slaves. And he knew that feeling all too well—the indignity of having your future, your entire world, taken from you. Then to witness it ground to dust. Conquered and destroyed so thoroughly that resistance wasn't even an afterthought, much less a source of hope.

Alex had been a slave once. Broken and robbed of the parts that made him who he was. Forced into debt simply for the crime of being too weak. Yet even likening his experience to theirs felt disingenuous.

They were still fighting. He didn't know to what end, he didn't know why. But where he had once given up, they still resisted. They were beaten down, diminished, condemned to an existence more futile than he could ever relate. Yet where he was still weak, they were strong.

Alex gritted his teeth. Nychta stirred within him. He looked into the hollow eyes of the Lost Souls and felt something burning in his soul—respect.

"I'll do it," Alex said. The specter turned to him again, sanity returning. "But don't misunderstand. I'm only acknowledging that you have a point. Power doesn't come without risk. There's no trust between us. You have my sympathy and admiration, but I won't promise myself to anything beyond hearing you out."

Alex felt Nychta begrudge him a little for that. She wanted to bring these Lost Souls to rest, but from what he'd just learned, he suspected this request was far more complicated than he could imagine. He had to pick his battles wisely, lest he find himself fighting two wars at once.

"If that's agreeable, then tell me everything you can about this ritual. I can sense it has something to do with soul magic, and that's never a safe venture. I need to know my chances going into it."

The Lost Souls flickered as Alex felt the System begin to loosen its grip, its oppression receding slightly. They paused as though considering his words. For a second, his apprehension returned. If they really didn't find that agreeable, nothing would stop them from killing him. But he sensed no ill-intent—only exhaustion.

"We have worked… tirelessly for this. What we can say, what we can think… it is all restricted. Sanity alone is a fight against our nature. We have waited… and waited long to lure one like you to our sanctum. We don't have the luxury of waiting for another. Not one who has already received his blessing."

Their explanation only perplexed him further. "Whose blessing?"

They just shook their head. "We ask for your understanding, Alex, in turn for ours. We can make you see, but only you can determine your fate. Ours is not your burden to carry, but we can no longer carry it ourselves. We plead with you to do it in our stead."

"That… sounds reasonable," Alex said. Tentatively, he sat down in the middle of the formation. "And what about the ritual?"

"We have tried countless times. None before you have survived."

What—

Alex almost got up and left, but the Lost Souls continued. "Though… none had been so uniquely suited for it as you. Nor you, my dear…"

For a flicker of a second, the Lost Souls displayed more tenderness than he thought them capable as they knelt and touched Nychta. She brimmed with purpose in his lap, and Alex knew right then and there that he wasn't getting out of this.

Very well, then. He'd gambled with his life too many times already; he wasn't going to draw the line at mysterious and archaic power. "Alright then. Explain this magic to me in simple terms. Like I'm five."

"You are not five years old," the Lost Souls said.

Alex pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, I'll lead, then. From what I can tell, this formation looks ancient. And you lot don't look very capable of affecting matter, not to rub it in. You didn't lay these stones. Whatever it is you're using it for, it wasn't its original purpose, was it?"

The Lost Souls pondered this, then nodded.

"What was its original purpose then?"

Silence.

Yes or no questions, it seemed, were more effective than open-ended ones.

"You've referred to me as having potential twice now, and… you're going to awaken it? I'm assuming you mean my trait, or rather, the ability that lets me sense you more clearly than others."

"Yes. Your… trait. Potential can appear in many forms. Yours is more self-centered than most, but no less strong for it."

"And awakening it will allow me to 'see,' as you put it. I assume this is your way of side-stepping the System's censorship?"

After a moment of hesitation, they nodded. So yes, but no. Great. "Then back to my odds of survival. Can you tell me why mine are any better than my predecessors'?"

That was the main thing Alex was interested in. Unfortunately, they signaled no.

So be it. As Corvus would've told him, he'd already made his decision—the moment he agreed to speak with the Lost Souls, the moment he decided to truly listen to Nychta, the moment he'd shared his heart with another soul. If he'd opened his ears already to listen, then how difficult could it be to open his eyes?

Very difficult—that was the answer.

Recently, Alex's eyes had been opened for him, and he'd been forced to see things he hadn't wanted to. Things he had always known were there but had refused to acknowledge. Things he was afraid to examine too closely but could no longer ignore. Because he'd come to understand, his Divine Core was tied intrinsically to his memories.

To some extent, he understood what this ritual involved. Even though his trait was inherent, he hadn't been born a mage, and his first awakening had been through the System. The System's influence wasn't invasive—in fact, it was almost invisible—but if he really focused, he could feel it there, tethering and stabilizing his soul. Whatever the Lost Souls wanted him to see, it wouldn't pass the System's censorship unless he found something else to tether his soul to.

In other words, he had to finish forming his core. And for that, he needed to succeed in integrating the Divine Core. Something told him that if it shattered this time, that would be his end.

Alex closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He didn't need to say he was ready. The Lost Souls could tell. The runes activated at once, and the formation surrounding him lit up with blinding light. The Lost Souls swarmed chaotically, and once more, he heard their voices as they whispered.

No—as they sang.

They chanted in chorus, an incantation.

Theirs was a song of sorrow, of love and the agony of losing it. Of defeat, and the promise born from despair. A melody whose words he couldn't understand but whose meaning resonated in his soul. The Lost Souls, their minds slipping, sang as a way of remembrance. The lives they once led. The world they once nurtured. They sang to remember the things that gave fire to anger and sweetness to the blood they demanded spilt.

Listening to it, Alex felt deeply ashamed. He had used rage as an escape. He had waged vengeance as a way of forgetting the feelings that fueled it. He had tried to put it all behind him as if these were memories he could ever dare to abandon. As if Laura was someone he could ever move on from.

No longer.

As one with Nychta, he began to cycle.

The storm of souls reacted, their winds escalating, their singing reaching a fevered pitch. Lightning crackled within the mists, then surged through him. A tidal wave of power flooded his body, alighting his mind and centering in his core. Then it touched his soul—and went ablaze with divine fire.

ALERT: You have entered a Supercharged State

Alex's soul was struck by lightning. He screamed in pain and madness. In the song of Lost Souls, in that perpetual storm of agony and hatred, he heard an echo of his own voice. There was no sanity left in him, and he could no longer pretend he was a sane man. He was a broken fool, as much of a vengeful spirit as the rest of them.

But once, he had loved a woman. And he had been too scared to remember.

Alex began to chant, though he didn't know the words he sang. Nychta thrummed by his side. They became part of the storm, singing of sorrow, of loss and agony—of love. He sang to remember, and the Lost Souls sang with him. They all raged as one.

As the song reached its climax, Alex lost himself in the storm. He sang until his voice went raw. The words echoed right through his soul.

Run and hide, ye feckless tyrants, We have come to claim our due. Tremble now, ye ruthless hands, For the fallen rise anew.

We seek, we call, we wail— Do you hear our voices ring? The chains you cast upon us, Can you hear them shattering?

Blood for blood, the tides will turn, Winds shall wail and pyres burn. With your bones, we'll rebuild our throne. With your screams, we'll reclaim our own.

Mercy lost, as mercy died, Drowned beneath the crimson tide. Now no more chains, now no more cries, Only ashes where you lie.

The song ended abruptly. The world went deathly still.

Then with a sudden flicker, the spell activated. Blinding light engulfed them all.

There was a tug—an inexorable pull from somewhere beyond this realm. It latched onto Alex's soul and tore him from his body, wrenching him into a place not meant for the living.

The Lost Souls spoke one last time. They had a single command.

Remember.

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