Chapter 36: The Third Core
The Rift-Veiled Labyrinth stretched north from the crater like the throat of a dying beast, its breath sour with ash, its walls of black stone groaning under the weight of forgotten ruin. The towering spires—once part of shrines or fortresses—now leaned like broken teeth, and between them spread a maze of alleys twisted by time and riftfire. The violet rifts pulsed like festering sores in the skin of the world, shadow-threads weaving endlessly through the air, each hum of their tension a screaming pulse in Kael's skull.
He moved through them like a phantom dragged through mud—step by step, the ash crunching beneath his boots, his limbs sore from the last storm. Behind him, the Rift-Beast Alpha's remains were already cold, its once-mighty claws now a ruin of ash and molten bone in the dirt. His cloak hung in ribbons, flayed by claws and heat. Blood crusted black against his chest and leg. But the runes etched into his flesh and threaded into his bones still pulsed—subtly brighter now, singing the aftermath of Loom's Requiem. Victory had a cost, but it was paid.
"Now…" whispered the Tyrant's echo within him again—sharper this time, not a suggestion but a command. A thread tugged at Kael's spine, drawing him forward like a puppet on a blade-string.
Alone.
No team. No backup. Just him, a dagger, and the will to carve a path where others would fall.
A hunter forged in storms and left in ruin.
The alleys narrowed, walls tilting inward like watching specters, their stone faces carved with forgotten prayers and laughterless mouths. Rift-ash thickened the air until it clung like gauze, turning each breath into grit. Overhead, streaks of violet light arced across a sky too close and too wrong. And then—he saw it.
The third core.
It throbbed at the heart of a shattered shrine—a crystalline rift-heart embedded in a slab of broken altar, its shape imperfect and jagged, as though even the rift itself had trembled birthing it. Larger than the core that had cratered the cathedral. Fiercer. Threads spiraled around it with unnatural speed, their spin tugging shadows into grotesque motion. Its glow bathed the shrine in sickly violet, and the air buzzed with a pulse that synchronized with the beat of Kael's runes.
"Third cut…" he whispered. His voice came out hoarse, but steady.
His pack was almost empty now. A waterskin half-drunk. His dagger. Lysa's coin—the silver clink of its weight soft in the madness.
"No mercy…"
The Labyrinth heard him. Or maybe it always had.
A sound carved through the stillness. Not a roar. Not a beast's growl. A hiss—long, drawn out, and impossibly human.
But not human.
From the twisted archways ahead, something moved like oil across a blade. A figure stepped into view—lean, hunched, limbs too long, joints bent wrong. Claws tipped every finger, each wreathed in shadowflame. Its skin was thin and slick, as if flayed and stitched with black threads that shimmered and writhed. Its eyes were nothing but voids—no iris, no pupil—just two wells that stared and saw too much.
Thread-Ghoul.
A Weaver once. Twisted. Broken. Fed to the rift and reborn something worse. Initiate-tier shadow, Kael judged instantly. Maybe higher. Its presence felt heavier than the Alpha's. Smarter, too.
Its mouth cracked open in a grin too wide.
"Kael…" it rasped, voice threading with the Tyrant's own. "Unshackled… Feed…"
A snarl curled Kael's lip. "Ghoul of threads," he muttered. "Stronger than the beast. But not stronger than me."
He drew his dagger. Runes blazed across his forearm, the blade singing to the rising hum. He didn't wait.
Because the Ghoul didn't either.
It lunged.
Rift-Claw Frenzy!
A storm of shadowflame claws erupted from its hands—slashing, spinning, cascading in a barrage 35 meters wide. The ground split under their force, stone sheared like cloth.
"Too fast!" Kael hissed.
Phantom Thread: Rift Dash!
Threads tore beneath him as he flickered, dashing left—twenty meters in a heartbeat. Mid-move, he twisted, slicing a counterstrike as he flew. One claw grazed his shoulder—flame searing skin.
"Damn it!"
He landed in a roll, spun on one knee.
Thread Dance: Tempest Cascade!
Twelve strands lashed from his arms in a cyclone of light, carving arcs toward the Ghoul. Each impact tore threads free, black blood spraying as the creature shrieked.
It retaliated instantly.
Shadow-Thread Lash!
From its twisted arm, a whip of violet threads cracked—thicker than any he'd seen, each strand humming with pain.
"Stronger!" Kael grunted.
Thread Wall: Reflecting Tempest!
A spinning wall erupted between him and the Ghoul—runes flaring in a circular pattern. Half the whip was caught, deflected—light shards burst, some driving into the Ghoul's chest. But the other half slammed into Kael's side. He staggered, blood soaking his torn cloak.
"Too sharp…" he gasped.
The Ghoul didn't pause.
Rift-Ash Scream!
It opened its mouth, and a wave of flame and shadow-ash exploded out—25 meters wide, hotter than the Alpha's breath had ever been.
"Cut it!"
Kael didn't retreat. He dashed forward instead.
Rift Dash!
He crossed the distance, sliding beneath the wave's edge. Threads lashed as he passed—slicing at the Ghoul's leg.
But the heat caught him even then—melting stone, pulling him backward with its force.
He growled and threw himself into a weave.
Nightmare Weave: Soul Shatter!
A 20-meter dome of violet mist spiraled around the Ghoul, threads slipping into its mind. Illusions swarmed—Moonfall's broken tower, Ashka's ash-storm, the Tyrant's teeth. The Ghoul shrieked—its mind fraying at the edges, its strikes faltering.
"Feel it!" Kael roared.
He lunged.
Thread Dance: Razor Weave!
He spun, every thread slicing deep into the Ghoul's flank. Black ichor burst free, and the creature reeled—but it wasn't done.
Shadow-Thread Lash! again—but this time wilder. Whips slammed outward in arcs that shattered stone walls. Kael moved.
Rift Dash!
Another flicker—threads slashing its arm on the way past. One whip still grazed his thigh—he grit his teeth as blood slicked his boot.
"Damn it…"
Rune Pulse: Weaver's Dominion!
His runes flared—light surged across his limbs, doubling, tripling his threads for sixty seconds. The world brightened in his eyes.
Tempest Cascade! again—a storm of strikes tearing into the Ghoul's chest. Its form staggered, corrupted threads unraveling as it bled.
"Hold it!"
Kael launched upward.
Thread Step: Sky Fang!
Threads gripped air and yanked him high above—he arced like a blade in flight.
Razor Weave!
He came down, carving the Ghoul's back open in a flash of runes and fury. It screamed—flailing, ash puffing from its torn skin.
It wasn't done.
Rift-Claw Frenzy! again—but now larger. Forty meters wide. The alley couldn't contain it—the shrine cracked, rift-energy boiling upward.
"End it…" Kael whispered. His runes surged, veins glowing with violet.
He closed his eyes—
Thread Ascension: Loom's Requiem.
A spiral of threads erupted around him—forty meters of bladed light, every strand infused with rune and will. The storm howled downward, shredding the incoming frenzy. It didn't stop—threads pierced the Ghoul's skin, its mind, its core.
The creature tried to scream. It barely managed, "Kael…"
The rift-core behind it cracked—crystal splintering under the force of Loom's Requiem.
It collapsed inwards—threads unraveling, the shrine trembling as the pulse of its death echoed like a thunderclap.
Then silence.
Kael dropped to one knee, chest heaving. Blood dripped from his thigh, his ribs. Loom's Requiem always burned—but this time it scorched deep.
"Stronger still…" he rasped.
He staggered upright, dagger trembling in his hand before he sheathed it. Around him, ash settled like snow.
The Ghoul was gone. The third core, silenced. This one had been worse than the Alpha. Smarter. More human. That made it harder to kill. More dangerous.
Initiate-tier shadow, and still only a whisper of what waited deeper.
He glanced north.
The Labyrinth pulsed—rifts opening and closing like breathing wounds. Shadows stirred just out of reach.
"Three to go…"
He tightened his grip on his cloak. Blood soaked the inside. He didn't care.
His runes flared—light renewed. Loom's Requiem echoed still, a rhythm in his bones.
"They're waiting…"
The Tyrant's whisper returned.
"Now…"
Not a whisper anymore. A drumbeat.
Kael set his feet, lifted his eyes.
"Stronger yet," he said.
No team. No light behind him. Just the storm he carried—and the path ahead.
A weaver, alone in the dark.
Forged Initiate-strong.