He was back in that realm which was unlike anything he had ever seen. The air was alive with movement, as if the very fabric of space was in a state of constant flux.
Stars whizzed by, some at blinding speeds, while others moved with a leisurely pace. The celestial bodies seemed to be connected by ethereal strings, which pulsed with an otherworldly energy. The strings appeared to be controlling the stars, guiding their paths through the cosmos.
He tried to look down at his chest but they wasn't any result, it was like he was paralyzed, his body was unresponsive. The Diary flipped open and begun to write some words.
[Prepare for your Trial]
[Welcome to your Trial: Aisle of Doom]
With a tug he lost awareness, when he gained awareness he subconsciously used his hand to rub his body, the air was biting cold and exhaling out he could see his breath, he removed his mind from the cold and he realized he was in a room.
The room was a small square, with only a single mattress made of clothes on which he sat on, on his right was a rake, that was the only two pieces of equipment or furniture he could find, in fact they was only one door, which he could discern lead outside unless the house was strangely built to keep the room in a straight line.
"Why am I so cold". He looked down on his body only to see that he was naked, the then ran rampant on the clothes looking for something suitable to wear, according to class he should look for something which wouldn't hold him back while he was fighting or fleeing. After a while he settled for a kind of thick clothing where it's handle is pined on his shoulders, but one of the hook was missing causing him to pin it over one shoulder, he wore faded white shirt he discerned was once red. Picking up the rake as a form of protection, he tiptoed to the door and tried to hear if anyone was behind it. After sometime in complete silence he twisted the door knob, but the door fell making a loud sound, he quickly dodged to hide behind the wall of the door. After sometime he came out of his hiding place his knuckles had gone white for gripping the handle of the rake too much, that was when he saw something strange.
A town stood still, caught in the breathless grip of abandonment. Narrow medieval houses, once crammed with life, now leaned over the cobbled street like mourners in a wake. Their warped beams and slanted roofs cast jagged shadows under a dim, gray sky. Doors hung open, swinging gently in the breeze, creaking like the last breath of a forgotten memory.
No voices. No footsteps. No laughter. Only silence—thick, absolute, and echoing between the walls.
A clay jug lay shattered near a well, its contents long since dried into the dust. A child's doll, face smudged, rested in the gutter beside a broken cartwheel. Weeds pressed through the cracks in the stones, reclaiming the roads inch by inch.
The houses lean in too close, as if still trying to listen. Doors hang open—not broken, not forced—just… left. As though their owners meant to return, but never did.
The silence was not peace. It was grief.
Here only dust speaks.
And the streets.
Not a single footprint mars the dust.
Weeds creep upward, curling around carts, lanterns, even the chapel's broken bell. Time didn't stop—it continued, but alone.
"What the hell happened here, was it plague? War? A curse? What am I thinking of cause it's those wretched Stains fault". Eclipse face was tense as he took in the sight of pure desolation.
"It's definitely those Stains, but where did they go to". It was strange the ground filled dust was supposed to leave traces of anything, but the ground was strangely steps free.
"There isn't even wind". Eclipse looked thoughtful for a moment before taking his first step out of the house and into the desolation. The atmosphere or Aether was particularly depressing, Eclipse felt his Aether reacting to the Aether in the air then his body began to slow down, blood moving in his veins slowed down as if in mourning. He walked slowly and surveyed his environment with a dispodent expression on his face.
He walked in between an aisle the only sound heard was the sound of the rugged boat he wore, his Coat has long been summoned by him. Although it couldn't help much it did save him from the cold.
'Damn it, why is everyone'. The environment been so quiet was beginning to rattle him, making him question if his was the only one who arrived there.
The silence stretched on until he got to the front of a chapel, the chapel was drowned in dust just like the rest of the town and in front of the chapel was a statue of a lady. One of the lady's hand was held up as if supporting the sky while the other hand rested on stomach, they was a veil covering her face, the statue was carved from black stones and it was towering.
How many days did it take to build this monstrosity, the resources must be staggering'. Eclipse thought in amazement as he stared at the statue. 'i wonder who she is'. He had many guesses on the Statue.
An idea came to his head, he looked around but didn't see anything considered alive.
"It's won't hurt anymore, an besides just a peek and I am off". He said, his low voice lit with excitement, he had at a point in time fell in love with reading, and discovering new knowledgeable. Then with silent steps he slipped into the chapel.
The heavy wooden doors creaked open at his touch, groaning like something disturbed from a long sleep. Eclipse paused, half-expecting the sound to awaken something—someone—but the stillness held. Dust motes floated lazily through the stale air as light filtered in behind him, slicing golden lines across the pews and cracked stone floor.
Inside, the chapel was even more silent than outside. Not abandoned—forgotten. Rows of benches stood like sentinels, warped with time. Cobwebs draped from ceiling beams like faded banners. At the far end, a shattered altar bore the remains of offerings long since decayed—candles melted into strange shapes, bones of small animals, a book turned to mold and ruin.
Eclipse's boots echoed faintly as he walked further in, each step sounding louder than the last in the vacuum of memory. He made his way to a side alcove where shelves leaned crookedly against the wall. Books, or what used to be books, lined them. Most were beyond saving—pages fused together or consumed by moisture—but one caught his eye.
A thin volume bound in cracked leather, its spine oddly untouched. He reached for it, brushing away layers of grime. The title was nearly illegible, but a single word remained clear: Sablith.
The first page bore an illustration: the same statue from outside, rendered in dark ink. Beneath it, a single line written in a jagged hand: in the old Language.
[She holds the sky so it may not fall upon us. She hides her face so the world does not burn, like all Gods do]. He tensely translated the text on the page
A chill licked his spine. He flipped the page.
Then came the sound.
Not loud, but unmistakable—a footstep, deliberate and close.
He froze, the book still open in his hands.
He was no longer alone, with a single thought.
He turned sharply, the book clutched against his chest.
At first, he saw nothing. The chapel remained still, the dust hanging undisturbed in the amber light. But then—a movement near the altar. Something rising. No... someone.
A figure unfolded from behind a crumbled column, as if peeled from the very shadows. Eclipse's breath caught in his throat.
It was a man—or had been.
His face was a ruin of melted flesh. The skin where his eyelids should have been was melted, fused into the sockets, his nose was gone, a sunken pit of scarred tissue in its place. His lips to melted into his head if not for the situation he would have crowned it the king of baldness.
The thing sniffed the air, or tried to—more out of instinct than need—and tilted its head at Eclipse, twitching.
Then it charged.
Eclipse barely had time to leap aside, the creature's clawed hands slashing at the air where his throat had been a second ago. It let out a guttural noise—not a scream, not a growl, but something wet and strangled, like air forced through broken pipes.
The book flew from Eclipse's hands as he rolled, hitting the floor and skidding beneath a pew.
His hands closed around the rake. Rusted, half-rotted, its wooden handle split in places and the metal teeth bent like broken fingers.
The beast twisted around, Its chest heaved with rasping breaths that sounded like wet leaves being crushed. It turned its ruined face toward him again, and Eclipse felt bile rise in his throat.
He gritted his teeth and gripped the rake.
"Come on, then," he muttered.
It came.
A blur of limbs, bones popping, feet dragging—fast. The Aether in Eclipse body reacted pumpling through his blood faster causing heat as his Aether was like liquid fire, Eclipse swung the rake wide in a desperate arc. The rusted teeth ripped across the thing's face, digging into what might've been skin. A horrible sound escaped the creature, more fury than pain. It clawed at him, caught his shoulder, and they both went down hard.
Now it was on top of him.
Eclipse strained, arms shaking, keeping the thing just inches from his face as its breath poured over him—hot, sour, rotting. One hand groped around blindly for the rake, the other pushing against the thing's chest, which was slick with black blood and some other oozing fluid. One of the Stain claws left a single swipe of pain on his face, scaring him
Then his fingers brushed the rake's handle, it's body broken away a long time ago.
With a shout, he grabbed it and jammed the rusted prongs into the creature's neck. It let out a gargling cry, thrashing violently. He drove it in deeper, twisting, until something gave way with a crunch.
The beast jerked once. Twice.
Then went still.
Eclipse lay there for a moment, chest heaving, rake still clutched in trembling hands.
Blood—its blood—dripped down his face.
He shoved the body away, and awkwardly crawled away
Coughing out the stence, for a moment he just sat they in silence his mind running over the scene, after sometime he moved.
He wiped his hands on what clean fabric remained of his coat—though it did little good—and crawled toward the book, something on the book felt new. The chapel was silent again, but not in the same way as before. Now it felt watchful, like something had awakened and was just… waiting.
The book was warm.
Not with life—with memory. It pulsed faintly in his grip, as if the creature's blood had seeped into its pages and fed it. Eclipse hesitated, then opened it again, past the illustration of the veiled lady. The ink had begun to bleed, forming new shapes over the old text.
More writing had appeared.
He blinked. As he translated.
[Those who gaze too long without fear forget what it means to see. The Eyes are taken first. Then the Shape. Then the Name.]
Beneath the words, a rough sketch formed. A man—head bowed, hands outstretched—transforming. Skin sliding down like wax, features erasing. And in the margins, scratched so hard the paper was nearly torn, a single phrase repeated over and over:
[Forgive us, Mother. Forgive us, Mother. Forgive us…]
Eclipse's pulse quickened. He flipped further through the book, desperate now, for more knowledge his desire of finishing what he started took over.
Another passage, half-decayed:
[The sky fell once, and She caught it. We owed her everything. But we built nothing. We prayed too late. Now the veil is stained, and She cannot see us. So She sends what remains of her children... blind.]
He looked to the entrance. The statue still stood, hand raised to the sky, face hidden behind the veil.
His heart dropped.
The creature… it wasn't just some mindless beast. It had been one of Her children, one of the original inhabitant of this land.
His heart dropped. But before he could do anything, from the injury on his face a single drop of blood slid down and touched the book, then the ink began to shift and turn.
[Born of two worlds. Cast from both. Marked to walk where even the gods fear to tread.]
[You are not the first to descend, Nephilim. But you may be the first to choose.]
And then—a whisper.
Soft. Gentle.
"Return it."
Eclipse froze.
He looked around. No one. Nothing. But the voice… it came from inside the chapel. Or maybe the book. Or maybe—him.
Something moved at the edge of his vision. A flicker in the corner. A shape behind the pews.
Eclipse gripped the rake tighter.
'How the hell did I become so stupid, damn it'. Maybe he was always stupid he just didn't realize it, the reason for the cursing was that the diary had not announced the results of his his kill but he went and let his guard down. Typical newbie Excorsist mistake but his was going to cost him.
His eyes drifted to the corpse.
It was gone.
Only black blood remained on the floor where it had died.
Then came the whisper again, closer this time.
"Return it, Marked."