The second floor was a mausoleum of voices.
Unlike the fleshy jungle of the first level, the ground here was made of black stone—smooth as polished glass but stained with dried blood and etched with forgotten runes. The walls trembled from time to time, as if the prison was breathing. Every step Elian took echoed like a declaration.
[Alert: Fragmented presence detected within 300 meters.][Camouflage Incomplete. Residual aura of the Guardian still active.]
Elian mentally recited the concealment technique he'd memorized from the system's internal records—a kind of "spiritual shadow" woven from one's own life force, condensed and drawn inward to fool primitive detection.
It worked—partially. The sentries' visual radar lost his signature, but the curse sensors would still pick him up if he got too close.
"I need shelter. And information."
The staircase ended at a fork, marked by a half-broken metallic plaque. Elian knelt and read:
Sector 2A – Heretics' StorageSector 2B – Censored Archive Room
The second option caught his attention.
He advanced.
The Archive Room was protected by a living door — a giant face stitched from human flesh, silently weeping and moaning whenever someone approached.
Elian watched from a distance, hidden among broken columns and debris. Each time someone neared with a specific necklace — likely a magical seal of authorization — the door twisted, moaned louder... and opened.
"Without a seal, I'll have to use the fragment..."
But before he could make the decision, the system flashed:
[Residual Fragment Detected.][Reverse Channeling Permitted: Argat'hul — Sanctified Guardian of the First Layer][Channel his aura to open the door? Cost: 15% of current vitality.]
Elian hesitated. Then accepted.
The flesh of the door trembled at the fragment's presence. It began to scream, blood pouring from its eyes as a fissure split open across its skull. The sound of tearing meat echoed through the corridor.
"I'm sorry..." he thought, though he knew whatever entity had once lived there was long gone.
He stepped inside.
The archive was immense, composed of bone pillars turned into shelves. Manuscripts made of skin, blood, or solidified energy floated within magical circles. Spirits of dead scholars drifted along the edges, completely ignoring his presence.
Elian walked to the central terminal — a black altar upon which rested an obsidian sphere laced with glowing veins.
[Consult Censored Records?]
He took a deep breath. Touched the sphere.
It answered with a hiss… and then, images.
[Record of Chain VII – Secrecy Level: Forbidden]
"The Seventh Chain was not created… it was opened. A tear in reality, born from what we call the Divine Error — a collapse in the matrix of Primordial Aether. Of the Seven Ancient Gods, three went mad, two were devoured, one vanished, and only one remained sane: Hæron, the Bridge Judge."
"Hæron tried to seal Chain VII, but failed. In his final attempt, he split the Rift into 77 fragments. Each fragment held a portion of the corrupted essence of the Error… and a piece of Hæron's own curse."
"Those who touch these fragments… do not simply become hosts. They become pieces of the Grand Return."
"And the Throne... watches."
Elian shivered.
"I… am one of them. One of the Fragmented."
The system made a new sound—deeper, more... human.
[New Mission: Understand Your Origin.][Primary Objective: Locate the 7 Central Fragments of the Chain.][Initial Reward: Partial Unlock — Supreme Curse: ???]
He stepped back.
But as he turned to leave… someone was there.
A hooded figure, skin pale and marked by living black runes. A single eye gleamed in the center of their forehead.
— Elian Kael… you've awakened Argat'hul's Echo and touched the secrets of Hæron. You should not be alive.
Elian slowly raised his fists.His body was weak.But his mind was razor sharp.
— And you are?
— I am Sírhen. High Inquisitor of the Legion of the Fragmented.— And you, Elian… are officially condemned to incorporation.