Chapter 66

Chapter 66: Apparition.

« Wait... seriously?! »

Gil stared at the ceiling, his mind reeling. Both he and Orphée, who already possessed a trick or two in their arsenals, were utterly shocked to hear this. All that effort, all those life-or-death moments where their abilities had manifested—and none of it even qualified as officially stepping onto a Path?

Even Orphée, usually immune to surprise, let out a rare, audible gasp through the link.

« No, » Hugo transmitted quickly, trying to soften the blow. « Don't be discouraged. It just means your foundations aren't bound yet. »

Gil swallowed his disbelief. For him, it simply meant the road to freedom was longer than he had anticipated.

But curiosity got the better of him, and he couldn't help but ask: « Then how do we know when we've officially set foot on a Path? »

« Ah, » Hugo replied, his mental voice adopting an annoying, mysterious tone. « You’ll just know when it happens. »

Gil, who despised cryptic nonsense, felt his pulse spike. Still lying on his side, he nearly snapped right then and there. His annoyance crackled through the mental link like static. « What the hell is that supposed to mean? »

Realizing he was treading on dangerous ground with Gil’s temper, Hugo immediately dropped the mysterious act. « Hey, don't blame me! Blame the elders who taught me! They gave me that exact same line. They told me I’d understand when I finally stepped onto the Path myself. So all I can do is keep training until I see what they meant... »

Toward the end, Hugo’s mental tone dipped, tinged with a quiet, lingering sadness.

Sensing that he had accidentally brushed against an old wound regarding the giant's lost home or masters, Gil fell silent, choosing not to push any further.

Orphée, having recovered from his initial shock, cleared his throat through the network and broke the heavy quiet.

« Well, » Orphée transmitted smoothly, his usual relaxed cadence returning. « Since none of us are officially tied down yet, that means there’s no risk in taking whatever free conditioning we can get. Big Guy... stop dropping cryptic elder quotes and show us this Corpus exercise already. »

« Hey, » Orphée interjected through the link, « don't you see? We can't do that here—not in the middle of the hall. It would be much better if we went back to the room we were assigned to today. That way, our movements will look completely natural to anyone watching. »

« Does it require a lot of moving around? » Kuro asked.

Hugo responded promptly: « Some exercises do, some don't. It really depends on how quickly you catch on to the mechanics. »

From that point on, Gil let their conversation drift into the background of his mind. It wasn't because he had lost interest, but because a lingering sensation had been gnawing at him for some time now—an impression that had only grown stronger.

It had started out faint, so subtle that he initially dismissed it as mere paranoia. But as the minutes ticked by, the feeling intensified, pricking at the nape of his neck. At first, he suspected Mao or one of the other broken captives was staring at him, but a quick sweep of his vision easily ruled them out. Next, he considered the guards watching over them, which was to be expected. Yet, he quickly discarded that lead too—the pressure felt far too close, far too insidious.

Where the hell is this coming from?

The constant, uncanny sensation of being watched was rapidly fraying his nerves. He hated feeling exposed.

Suddenly—drip, drip, drip.

The faint sound of liquid tapping against the cold stone floor echoed softly in his ears.

Did someone forget to shut off the tap in the washroom area? Gil thought, his brow furrowing as the rhythm continued.

Drip... drip... drip.

The incessant noise was becoming thoroughly infuriating. Annoyed, Gil decided to push himself up off the floor and go shut the damn thing off himself. But just as he began to shift his weight, he froze dead in his tracks.

Because his Sight was still active, Gil was able to see what was actually happening—and the sight sent an icy surge of horror straight down his spine.

What in hell is that...?

Up on the ceiling—a space he usually avoided looking at with his vision because it was continuously smeared with unsettling, slow-moving black stains—the dark corruption had converged. It was pooling directly above the center of the room where the captives rested, slowly dripping down into a small, dark puddle on the stone floor.

At first, it took his brain a few terrifying seconds to process the grotesque reality of what he was staring at. Then, raw, cold fear supplanted his shock.

He remembered vividly where that ceiling led, and what lurked above them in the dark depths of the arena—whether it was those lethal red specters or the monstrous entity lingering within the blood sea itself, none of it boded well. He had foolishly assumed that as long as he stayed out of the pit, he was safe from its influence. He had set every memory of that place aside, believing he had bought himself time.

He was dead wrong. Even if he didn't go back to the blood sea... it seemed the blood sea was coming to him.

The droplets continued to fall, pooling steadily into a dark, stagnant stain on the cold stone. The only saving grace—if it could even be called that—was that the fluid was dripping into an open area, away from the sleeping or huddled captives nearby.

Still, that brought Gil zero comfort. His heart hammered against his ribs as he stared at the growing pool through his Sight.

Why? the thought burned through his mind, colder than the sweat dripping down his temple.

Why was It there?

And that wasn't all.

Now that he thought about it, ever since he had stepped foot into the arena, he had felt that something was downright strange.

While most of the others perhaps just felt uncomfortable—maybe from the attention the organization's people were paying them or from malicious glares—he had been struck by something else, long before even entering the arena itself.

Namely, the smell of blood that he seemed to be the only one able to smell, or the voices—the hundreds of voices he could hear before going inside.

All of it, all these anomalies originated from the arena, or rather, from the blood sea.

And that wasn't all. He thought, his thoughts becoming increasingly frantic as he watched the puddle gradually widen. He had—he had—he was still wondering why he seemed to be the only one affected by the blood sea. The others were walking and could move normally, as if on flat ground. But him—him, now that he was remembering the trial in the arena...

Apart from the initial discomfort felt by them all, it was the moment he activated his sight that things seemed to shift.

Yes, Gil thought. That was the exact moment when whatever influence the blood sea had seemed to start affecting me too. I remember now. I had written it off as anxiety, but I felt heavier, as if I were wading through a swamp with every step.

And that wasn't all. After that feeling of unease, what followed was ....

Gil thought of something, and his expression couldn't help but change drastically. Setting aside every other thought for later, he transmitted through their network as fast as he could:

« Everyone get back against the wall as fast as possible! »

The others were startled and shaken by the urgency in Gil's voice. Only Greg reacted instinctively, executing the order right away. A second later, the others obeyed as well, staring unblinkingly in the direction Gil was watching—yet they saw nothing, absolutely nothing at all.

Gil didn't have the time to answer their questions with words—not even through thought. His full, undivided attention was completely locked onto the ceiling and the puddle forming beneath it.

Little by little, the sensation of being watched he had felt earlier kept growing stronger, until he could almost feel the raw emotions behind that gaze.

And that wasn't all.

Drip, drip, drip, drip.

The rhythm of the droplets falling from the ceiling and accumulating in the puddle was accelerating... until finally, they stopped abruptly.

Far from being relieved, Gil's expression turned far more grim.

For long, heavy seconds, Gil stared fixedly at the floor, refusing to blink, his eyes locked on the blood-red puddle that had appeared in the hall.

Seconds ticked by, and the puddle seemed to remain completely still. If not for the fact that he had watched it drip down from the ceiling himself and knew where it came from, one might have mistaken it for an ordinary puddle of dirty water, especially under the dim lighting of the room.

But he knew it harbored something far more dangerous, though he hoped he was wrong.

Please let me be wrong, he thought.

Seconds passed without any further movement from the puddle. Then, suddenly, it began to churn.

With a sound he couldn't quite describe, a hand slowly stretched out from the puddle, slamming against the floor to support a dark, shadowy red, phantom-like body—the exact same color as the pool—hauling itself out from the very center of it.

After several long, intense seconds during which he stood tense his teeth clenched, a specter stood right in front of him: the exact same species of entity he had encountered back in the arena, and later in his sanctuary.