CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX

A Territory Claimed by Cold

From atop the ice wall, I looked down at the barricades below, the scene strange and disjointed. People milled inside the 10-meter enclosure I'd raised, some huddled in tight clusters, others pacing, their faces pinched with confusion. The walls circled them completely, smooth and sheer, no gates or gaps. Climbing wasn't an option—not for humans, anyway. The ice gleamed under the district's dim light, too slick, too cold for hands or boots to grip.

At first, I saw the panic flicker through them. A few flinched, eyes darting up, hands raised as if another beast had struck. I stayed still, letting them figure it out. More heads tilted upward, catching sight of me perched there, and the tension eased. Whispers spread—chainrunners pointing, civilians nodding. They realized it: these walls weren't a cage but a shield, holding back the chaos still prowling outside. Relief softened their stares, though the wariness didn't fully fade.

I understood that look now, better than before. The horrors they'd faced, the beasts and the breach, clung to them like damp rot. It wasn't just claws and teeth; it was the guile of it, the second rule I'd grasped fighting that crimson horror. Fear was a weapon, twisting minds as surely as brutality broke bodies. The fog wielded it out there, and these beasts had brought a taste of it inside the ward.

Getting up here had been simple. My tentacles unfurled from my back, thick and coiling, punching into the ice with sharp, deliberate cracks. I didn't need arms or legs, only those tentacles, pulling me up like a spider scaling a web. The wall shivered under each grip, but held. At the top, I straightened, taking in the view beyond. The crimson horror's explosion had left a scar: rubble strewn wide, buildings gutted, the ground blackened where its fire had burst free. Smoke still curled faintly from the mess.

I closed my eyes, letting my senses stretch outward. Mana hummed under my skin, sharper now, alive in a way it hadn't been before. I focused it, searching for subtle shifts—the pulse of life, the ripple of movement, anything out of place. The crimson core was my target, that beast's core, packed with power I could claim. My first real taste of this new power.

It didn't take long to find it, a faint thrum, buried in the wreckage ahead. My tentacles flexed, launching me off the wall in a smooth arc. I landed light, dust puffing around me, and plucked the core from the debris, a small, dense thing, glowing faintly in my palm.

I turned it over, feeling the mana pulse inside, steady and strong. No hesitation. I pressed it and consumed it. It cracked, a brittle snap, and the rush hit me. My own core tightened, then stretched, a firm pull against its edges as it grew to hold more. Mana flooded in, cold and heavy, pooling deep. The air around me thickened, pressure building, a chill settling in my bones. But my body took it without strain or ache. It was built for this now, remade by that ancient surge after the fight.

The beasts nearby weren't so lucky. I could sense them, hoarse breaths, shuffling claws, the sour stink of their fear. I'd been holding back the mist, my ice aura, to spare the people inside the walls. Now, perched beyond the walls, I let it go. It poured from me, a cold shroud spilling out, slow at first, then faster as I fed it mana. The air turned gray, dense with frost, icicles spiking where it brushed stone or steel. It spread wide, a plague I could touch, curling through the ruined streets. Behind the ice, the people remained untouched, protected by the barrier.

But that wasn't enough. I remembered the serpent from before—its heat aura, a heat that smothered a whole district. I wanted that reach, that weight, but with ice. I pushed more mana in, letting it run wild. The mist surged, thickening until the air felt solid, heavy enough to choke anything caught in it. Beasts nearby wheezed, their growls cut short, collapsing under the pressure. Most bolted, scrambling away, but I wasn't done.

I poured it out harder—a torrent now, gray and relentless, flooding the district. It seeped into cracked buildings, pooled in rubble, stayed low beneath the wall's height. Beasts froze mid-step, limbs stiffening as frost crept over them; others further out rasped, lungs failing, claws scraping uselessly. I kept going, feeling it stretch a mile, then two, then three. Every inch became mine, a territory I ruled without moving.

I settled near the wall's base, sitting cross-legged in the mist's thickest heart, eyes shut. The world faded, but I didn't need sight. Every ripple, every twitch in the shroud reached me, mana carrying the story of each beast's struggle. I willed it forward, conjuring ice blades and spears far off, their shapes forming in my mind before they struck. They flew fast, faster than I'd ever managed, slicing through the mist with a hiss. Growls turned to shrieks, then silence as the beasts fell, impaled, their movements stilled.

The mist kept growing, a hunting ground I claimed without a step. Ebony and onyx beasts didn't stand a chance. They ran, blind and choking, but I felt them all. Projectiles cost was low inside the mist, mana bending to my will as long as they were in my aura. Hidden in the densest gray, I sat, a shadow they couldn't find. To stop me, they'd have to dive deep, face the mist head-on. It struck me then, the irony of it—us humans fleeing the fog, forced to venture in to live, now them fleeing my mist, with no escape but through its core.

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The way I fought felt off—unfair, almost. Ice blades formed miles away, striking beasts from angles they couldn't predict, wearing them down with little effort. The mana cost was trivial, a flicker compared to what I held now, and the mist's harsh grip was cold, dense, suffocating, doing half the work for me.

Even the tough ones buckled eventually. But wasn't that the same raw deal we'd always faced in the fog? Outmatched, hunted, whittled away? I pushed the thought aside, focusing on the strain. The mist stretched far, nearly three miles, and holding it taxed me, even with my core pumping mana like a flood. The cost climbed with every inch, but I willed it to hold, listening to the distant growls and screams fade as weaker beasts fell.

Some survived though, beasts like the frostshrikes, their icy hides shrugging off the aura's bite. I tracked them through the mist, faint ripples marking their paths as they moved. A thought, a flex of will, and ice spears lanced out, piercing their cores cleanly. They dropped, silent heaps in the gray. Easy enough. But I knew the real threats were coming: crimson beasts, drawn by the power pulsing in the mist, their hunger mirroring mine. My core thrummed, urging me to claim theirs, a pull sharpened by the second rule.

The first challenger entered slow, a shadow looming through the haze. Fifteen meters tall, it towered over the mist, a gaunt frame of ash-black flesh stretched tight over bones that looked ready to crack. Its legs, thin as poles, bent at odd angles, scraping the ground with each deliberate step. The arms caught me off guard, twice its body length, reed-slim, dragging behind with a low, rasping grind.

I sat still, near the ice wall's base, sensing it through the mist's ripples. A smaller beast darted past it, fleeing, and those arms snapped up faster than I could track, impaling it mid-run, a wet crunch echoing back. Blood pooled, then froze in the mist.

I squinted, piecing it together. The sluggish shuffle, the trailing limbs, it was a trick, shaped by guile just like me. Up close, its head tilted, an elongated oval with sunken amber eyes flickering like embers above a wide, lipless maw. That mouth quivered, leaking a soft, keening hum, a mournful dirge that drifted through the mist, sinking into my skull. I named it Dirgethinner, for that sound and the way it stripped prey bare.

It wasn't weak. I wouldn't fall for that. I pushed more mana out, thickening the mist around me, a cold shroud to drown its hum. But the sound grew, a low throb that pulsed against my senses, dulling my focus, planting a seed of fatigue. A sonic attack, I realized, its guile at work, seeping through my territory. Then, a shift; the hum sharpened, the air trembling faintly. Its arms whipped forward, tips vibrating with sonic force, slashing invisible waves my way. I felt them coming, a ripple cutting the mist, and my tentacles jerked me right, fast and instinctive. The lash sliced past, gouging the ice wall behind me, cracks spidering up its face.

I turned, mist swirling, and it was there—right behind me, a mile closed in seconds. How? Its frail look hid a speed that broke reason. Those arms lashed again, too fast to dodge. I flared my bracers, a shimmering barrier snapping up, and the sonic-edged strike crashed against it, jarring my bones. My frost-claws slid out—curved, translucent, dripping venom and I lunged, tentacles propelling me at its neck, aiming for the knobby spine.

The Dirgethinner twitched, unnaturally quick, ducking my claws. Its hum spiked, a piercing wail that stabbed deeper into my mind, slowing my thoughts. I grit my teeth, pushing through, but more ripples hit, other crimson horrors breaching the mist's edge, drawn to the clash. My tentacles moved before I could, yanking me left as an arm speared down, punching through stone like it was butter. That speed, that strength, it shouldn't have fit a frame so thin, but it didn't care.

This wasn't like the serpent, with its endless mana reserves. The Dirgethinner's core glowed dull red through its chest, pulsing with its hum, but it was finite and smaller, stretched thin by its constant sonic barrage. I could outlast it, wear it down. I flared my aura harder, mist surging thick and heavy, pressing against its territory claim. Its arms slashed again, sonic waves ripping through, and I ducked, tentacles coiling to spring me back. The ice wall shuddered as another lash missed, chunks crumbling free.

We traded moves, me darting, striking with claws and spears, it countering with speed and sound. Neither landed a solid hit. Its boom came next, mouth gaping wide, teeth glinting, a raw blast of pressure roaring out. I rolled aside, the cone shattering rubble behind me, the air ringing. My mist surging to choke its reach, its sonic blasts ripping holes in the mist I filled again.

Time was slipping. More crimson horrors would claw their way into my mist any moment and I could feel their ripples lurking beyond the shroud. I needed something, a way to turn my mana's vast tide against these beasts that mocked nature's rules, their biology twisted beyond sense. My mind raced, grasping at fragments of attacks I'd seen, beast tactics I'd survived, anything I could bend my ice into. What did I carry? What could I wield?

Then it hit me, sharp and clear. It wasn't just beasts I'd taken in. Humans lingered too, their lives woven into mine. Wulric, cut down at the barricades, his blood soaked into District 97's dirt. Their hearts had stopped, but that wasn't the end. The ouroboros whispered it: death was destruction, yes, but also renewal, a step toward eternity. Life cycled, unbroken, and they were part of me now.

I thrust my hands forward, mana surging cold and fierce. Ice coalesced around me, a tight orb at first, spinning fast, its edges glinting in the mist. I willed it larger, bigger than me, bigger than reason, until it loomed titan-sized, a frozen mass trembling with intent. It shifted, crude at first, like clay under unseen hands, taking form as my voice rose, steady and commanding. "Wulric, hear me. Thy life is not truly over. Thou stood with purpose, shielding the weak, though power slipped from thy grasp. Death was no end—merely a stone upon thy path. Answer my call, and I grant thee the strength thou once lacked in life. Let thy breath be renewed."

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