Heir of the Fog

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX

Devour to Ascend

By the next morning, I was well prepared to leave District 99 behind. I gathered my belongings, securing my new containers, notes, and the last of the supplies I had purchased. My next goal was to secure one more ebony core and, at last, form my own core. I could hardly believe how far I had come in such a short time, yet I felt increasingly aware of my mortality. If I could achieve this qualitative transformation—gaining the ability to wield magic, truly harnessing mana—I might accomplish so much more.

I had collected nine ebony cores for the advancement ritual, hoping to replicate the natural process that Tier 2 beasts underwent. According to Kara, this was effectively a "mindless" progression for creatures in the fog: raw instinct, bloodshed, and the attention of forces from beyond this world.

Deep inside, I sensed that my heart, my manalytic channels, and every cell of my body were ready for this transformation. But to fully embrace a connection to the immaterial world, I needed outside help—help from beyond, from the same ancient forces that shaped the evolution of beasts in the fog.

Such beasts advanced through constant battle. Their entire existence revolved around carnage, feasting on the blood of countless others until the most ferocious Tier 1 specimens attained a primal threshold. Eventually, an ancient presence or natural law intervened, granting them the spark that pushed them into Tier 2. This was how the fog's ecosystem worked—at least as far as we understood it based on the knowledge acquired by Araksiun and stored within Kara.

Kara couldn't detail the exact mechanism, because no human had ever fully survived that process to describe it. "We are all connected to unspoken rules of the universe," she had said. But that was vague, and I struggled to grasp its meaning. Still, I believed forming a core would not only boost my abilities but also free me from the draining discomfort I had felt since I first unlocked my manalytic channels.

Leaving the D'Velmont estate at dawn, I found the mansion's halls surprisingly quiet. Most people remained asleep after the previous night's feast, no doubt dulled by wine. Yet Selene was up, waiting for me near the grand entryway. She escorted me all the way to the outskirts, along the route toward District 100. Of course, I had no intention of proceeding directly to District 100—I left that part unmentioned.

She spoke little that morning. Something in her demeanor felt guarded, as though she had locked away her true emotions. I recalled her comment the previous night about free will being a luxury for those in the outskirts. Perhaps she existed in a world where duty demanded she seal off any personal desires. Our acquaintance was too brief for me to probe further, and I doubted she wanted me to.

We arrived at the guard post where I would exit the ward. A small crowd had gathered, including other Chainrunners, a handful of curious guards, and some civilians who had heard I was departing. I registered my leave and stepped beyond the boundary, feeling the fog's warm embrace once more. My cloak, Hazeveil, fluttered, as though sharing in my anticipation.

That day, I devoted most of my time to stealth. Roaming deeper into the fog, I searched for an appropriate target. There were countless beasts scattered around, many of them with ebony cores, but these creatures also often hunted in large packs, making them extremely dangerous. At one point, I nearly stumbled upon two dozen hulking beasts, each the size of a diremaw. They trudged across a ruined street, their footsteps pounding the cracked pavement like drumbeats. My heart lurched, and I slipped into a collapsed building. As I hid, I quietly sketched them in my new bestiary, a new empty book I bought while in District 99.

My drawings, admittedly, were crude. Still, I insisted on recording everything I could—appearance, behavior, possible weaknesses. The Chainrunners might benefit from such observations. If my notes helped even one person survive in the fog, that would be enough.

Between sketches, I occasionally conferred with Kara, adding data she gleaned with her analytical abilities. We planned to build a sort of personal bestiary, combining official knowledge with my firsthand experiences, my strategies, and Kara's insight. Perhaps, in time, these notes could be shared with District 98's Chainrunners—maybe even beyond.

At one point, I discovered a tribe of small green beasts living not too far from the District 99 ward. They numbered in the hundreds, congregating around ruined structures and moving like a primitive society. I watched them from the safety of a crumbling rooftop, fascinated and slightly unnerved by their numbers. While I observed, a colossal beast at least five stories tall stomped into their territory. Intrigued by the potential clash, I stayed hidden and watched them fight.

The tribe attacked with surprising coordination, swarming the giant creature from all sides, but the giant beast decimated half their ranks before finally succumbing. In turn, the tribe had lost so many that, by the end of the same day, another pack of beasts swooped in and wiped them out entirely. During that violent exchange, I witnessed a few members of the tribe undergo what looked like an evolution to Tier 2. Their bodies transformed, growing larger or denser in a few minutes, branching into new subspecies. I could barely wrap my head around such rapid metamorphosis.

All that mass—where did it come from? Was it summoned from raw mana? Did the ancient presences "reward" them by forging new flesh from ether? I imagined the same process might apply to all creatures in the fog.

For my own advancement ritual, I knew I could likely just ambush another pack of diremaws or pick a smaller Tier 1 beast for its ebony core. The weaker species might be safer. But deep down, I understood this was about more than simply collecting blood or cores. The brutality, the raw act of killing, and the consumption of essence would be the catalyst that would draw the attention of an Old One—these so-called rules of the universe.

That kind of notice wouldn't come from trivially slaughtering an easy target. Instinct told me I needed a real challenge, something fiercer than anything I had ever confronted. My blood hummed with anticipation at the thought. I found myself wanting a real fight, a chance to stand on the brink between life and death, to see if my ambition was enough to transcend human limits.

Through the dim haze, I recalled the image of one particular beast I had glimpsed earlier. It was larger, more intelligent in its movements than the typical fog-beasts. A creature that might challenge me fully.

My manalytic channels throbbed with the desire to evolve, to fuse with the immaterial realm that beasts tapped for power. If I was going to cross that threshold, I might as well do it against a beast worthy of the fight and the attention of the ancients.

Shoggoths. They hunted alone most of the time, each one a Tier 1 beast with an ebony core, but far stronger than any diremaw I had ever fought. An adult shoggoth often weighed around one hundred and eighty kilograms and could stretch up to three meters in length, perhaps more, depending on its growth. That statistic alone did not do justice to its truly horrifying nature.

Its pale, sinewy body was riddled with eyes—scores of them, in varying sizes—scattered across its flesh in a way that felt deeply wrong, as though each eye housed a separate presence. This unnatural creature lurked in the fog like a living nightmare, its circular maw ringed with row upon row of razor-sharp fangs, reminiscent of a worm's mouth but infinitely more grotesque.

And then there was its tongue, unnervingly long and prehensile, capable of extending far beyond what looked physically possible. I once watched a shoggoth use that tongue to yank a flying beast right out of the air and drag it, shrieking, into that endless pit of teeth. The recollection alone made my skin crawl.

Despite its monstrous appearance, it walked on four sturdy limbs, each heavily muscled and ready to launch a devastating strike. When it fed, a shoggoth seemed to revel in brutality, prolonging the kill with a hideous sort of pleasure. Blue veins bulged across its pale-white skin, pulsing visibly whenever it exerted its immense strength.

I had tried to count the eyes on a shoggoth I once observed, only to stop myself after reaching fifty. Each and every one appeared active, swiveling to scan the environment. That meant ambushing one from behind was nearly impossible. But that did not concern me, because my plan involved facing it head-on. If I wanted a beast to power the final brutality required for my ritual, a shoggoth offered the perfect choice.

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Of course, I knew the risks. If I lost, my death would be agonizing, as shoggoths delighted in tormenting their prey before finishing the meal. But the ritual I planned demanded precisely that sort of savage intensity. The way of the beasts—raw, violent, and soaked in blood.

There could be no stealthy approach. No matter how adept I was at hiding with Hazeveil, a shoggoth's countless eyes would find me. Over the span of a week, I trailed a few candidates to pick the most formidable one I could. Eventually, I found it: a shoggoth that even bested another of its own kind in a display of vicious strength. I suspected it was already on the verge of becoming Tier 2, perhaps only one push away from that evolutionary threshold.

In order to follow such a creature, I stuck to the high ruins of the city, relying on the cloak's shadowy properties. More than once, I lost sight of the beast for days at a time. During those intervals, I hunted smaller monsters, gathering additional ebony cores and blood samples. I practiced my fighting drills, running simulations with Kara. We had limited data, though; all we truly knew was that shoggoths used their elongated tongue to grab victims and had a monstrous, maw-like mouth bristling with hundreds of teeth. Their limbs were more powerful than a diremaw's, each blow enough to shatter bones.

After two weeks, I had reached my limit. My manalitic channels felt like a void within me, a constant drain that reminded me of hunger. I needed to form my core soon, or the discomfort would drive me insane.

I readied myself with four spears strapped across my back, three daggers hidden beneath Hazeveil, and the simple leather armor I had bought in District 99. I doubted that armor would save me from the shoggoth's teeth or claws, but it was better than nothing. I also had the option to remove Hazeveil entirely if it interfered, though I suspected it might prove useful in controlling the flow of shadows, at least briefly.

It was nearing dusk when I moved in for the attack. We were about three kilometers from District 99's ward, in a region where collapsed buildings formed jagged hills of rubble—broken concrete and twisted metal. The dying light cast elongated shadows across the wreckage, turning each mound into a dark silhouette. I glimpsed the final sliver of the sun sliding below the horizon, its orange rays slipping between two massive skyscrapers in the distance. Somewhere among that rubble, my chosen shoggoth prowled, seeking smaller creatures to kill.

I tried to sneak closer one last time, letting Hazeveil swallow me in its shadowy folds. Those countless eyes might still sense me, but I hoped the shoggoth would not detect my approach until I was near enough to strike first. For several minutes, I crept behind fallen walls and piles of shattered debris, eyes peeled for the beast's pale hide. Finally, I saw it climbing over a collapsed roof, sniffing the air for prey.

Adrenaline pumped through me. I rushed forward, leaping from the ground to a slant of broken concrete, then to a steel girder. The shoggoth's mouth parted in a hideous, ululating cry. I realized it had already spotted me. A single look at that circular maw—infinite layers of rotating fangs—almost paralyzed me with fear. My mind library flared, trying to strip away the terror so I could fight.

I stumbled for a heartbeat, pulling back. My first spear throw went wide, partly because my hands trembled at the sight. The beast's tongue lashed out, catching the spear mid-flight and dragging it into that swirling mass of teeth. The shoggoth crunched the bone shaft as though mocking me, spitting chunks of splintered debris to the ground.

But I would not despair. My fear ebbed, replaced by the cold focus of a predator. The dozens of eyes on its hide zeroed in on me, bristling with hostility. Its maw opened again, that tongue whipping forward in an attempt to wrap around my torso. I ducked behind a slab of concrete, letting the tongue's tip strike stone instead, then rolled into the deeper shadows.

The location favored me more than it favored the shoggoth. Countless broken walls and jagged corners offered pockets of darkness for Hazeveil to exploit. Even so, a beast with so many eyes could still track me if I moved carelessly. Carefully, I ascended a heap of rubble, footfalls silent, until I stood on an elevated vantage point near the creature's back. Then I launched myself from a jagged metal beam, another spear in hand, letting gravity drive my momentum as I aimed straight at its spine.

The spear sank into the pale flesh with a nauseating squelch, but not deeply enough to kill. The shoggoth screeched, an ear-splitting sound that rattled my skull. Blue veins bulged along its back, throbbing as though fueling its anger.

I felt a stirring in Hazeveil. I had intended to cast the cloak aside for freedom of movement, but it clung to me, almost resisting my attempts to rip it off. My mind spun—did the cloak truly have a will of its own?

The shoggoth whirled, snapping at me with its mouth wide. I dropped my spear's haft and switched to daggers, slicing at the beast's upper lip even as it lunged. Blood spattered across my face and arms. A powerful wave of revulsion and excitement coursed through me. Then I darted away, pressing my back to the shadowed side of a toppled concrete pillar.

No respite. The shoggoth surged forward, howling, forcing me to leap again. I tried to land a spear thrust at its head from above, but it shoved a paw up at the last second. The spear drove into the paw instead, lodging in dense muscle. Another roar erupted, vibrating the ruin around us.

Then it struck back. Razor-sharp claws raked my chest, tearing through Hazeveil and slicing into my flesh. Pain flared, red-hot, as the cloak shredded. A searing wave of something like grief emanated from the torn garment—my mind registered it as if the cloak itself felt pain. With a gasp, I tumbled off the rubble. Blood drenched my torso, and my vision blurred.

The beast did not relent. I sensed it rearing up, jaws snapping. In desperation, I hefted my last spear, jamming it upward as the shoggoth tried to clamp its maw around my head. The tip punched into the roof of its mouth, impaling part of its skull, but not quite reaching a vital point. It staggered, momentarily dazed, gore dripping from its circular maw.

Without hesitation, I dropped the ruined shaft and slammed my daggers into the creature's chest, slashing brutally. Flaps of pale flesh peeled away, revealing muscle, and a rancid stench assaulted my nostrils. The beast howled again, thrashing me aside. My body smashed against a broken metal beam. Dizzy, I saw it lunge in a blur of white and blue veins.

Then the shoggoth bit down. For one surreal instant, I noticed my left arm dangling from its teeth. No agony registered—just a distant awareness that I no longer had that limb. My mind library muffled any sense of panic, coldly analyzing the damage, but I knew I was in dire trouble.

My weapons lay scattered in the rubble, broken or lodged in the beast's flesh. Gripped by a mad resolve, I grabbed at the shoggoth's chest with my bare hand, nails scrabbling to rip or tear anything I could. I used my teeth to bite into the ragged wound I had made, hoping to reach something vital. I tasted blood—foul, metallic, and nauseating—splattering across my face. My jaws strained as I bit down on sinew, half my teeth cracking under the pressure. The creature's shrieks filled the air, deafening.

In turn, the monster chewed at my shoulder, gnawing me apart. My vision collapsed into shadows of red, the stench of carnage drowning my senses. So much of my body was simply gone. I felt my other arm vanish into that mouth, leaving behind phantom limbs that my mind library tried futilely to reconcile.

In a final, desperate motion, I tried to bite deeper. I felt my half-broken teeth sink into something tough—maybe bone, maybe an organ. Blood poured over my face and chest. The shoggoth screeched in pain, thrashing. For a heartbeat, neither of us let go, locked in a nightmarish dance of mutual destruction.

Then darkness enveloped me. My remaining senses faded. I realized I was almost dead—but also, not quite gone. I sensed the presence of the ebony cores I had carried, as well as the vials of blood I had meticulously collected and stored nearby before the fight. They ruptured around me, spattering across the uneven floor. Liquid splashed in a grisly pool, merging with the gore that already drenched everything.

An unimaginable force seemed to press at the edges of my awareness, the immaterial link I had tried so hard to forge. Ancient, alien, and brimming with raw power—it reached for me, or perhaps I reached for it. I saw, or felt, that the shoggoth was also evolving. My lethal dance with it had apparently summoned the attention of an ancient, just as I had hoped.

The vials containing extra blood from different beasts burst, shards tinkling across the concrete. Red fluid arced through the air, drawn by an unseen will, and joined the already soaking ground in a nightmarish swirl of liquid.

I slumped, or what remained of me did, into the congealing pond of blood and viscera. The connection burrowed deeper, my vitality slipping away as the formation of my core began. Terror loomed, so profound that even my mind library couldn't mask it entirely. Would this ancient reshape me into a mindless horror? Would I become something no longer human?

Those thoughts clung to me in my final moments of awareness, as my broken body lay in the fog-swept ruin, side by side with the monstrous shoggoth. We had devoured each other until both were left unrecognizable, yet in that gruesome interplay, we had accomplished what I set out to do: we had forced the notice of the unspoken rules of this world—summoned the cosmic presence that would change us.

But at what cost?

I wondered, in that dimming fraction of consciousness, if everything I had been would vanish in the transformation.

And then there was only the cold hush of oblivion as the long sleep embraced me once again.