The environment seemed to have been splashed by a bucket of black. Everything had begun to be covered by Ichor more weirdly, creating structures vaguely similar to nests.

The further they went, the more Spica could understand the horror of Ichor. It was as if someone had changed the characteristics of color for air, ground, even the void, and all the buildings of the interior circle. It was a true dyeing of space itself as if black recovered now all the area of a black mantel preventing any light from penetrating the ambient black color.

“Do you know the owner? If it’s a Soul, each Color should be unique?” inquired Spica, contemplating a big nest filled with sticky eggs the size of a baseball gathered in packets.

Map shook his black mantis head. “No, I’ve never seen or heard of this Color. But yes, each Soul is a Color and completely unique. Even if we’re not a lot.”

He said “We”… So he truly had or has a Soul.

“We aren’t a lot but still several dozens if not hundreds I don’t know. I don’t know them all.

Also, there must have been some new ones since my annihilation. And it’s even without speaking about the ones that I never meet or heard about, of those who reached the Soul meanwhile my sleep and all others possibility,” said Map.

“I didn’t expect you to be this strong,” admitted Spica. He kept moving and grimaced with disgust feeling the strong and awful pulse from his feet.

“Why does it look so alive?” he asked.

“The color seeps into things and modifies reality,” explained Map. After a short pause, he continued. “Every being that exceeds Embodiment rank becomes a Soul. The Soul can create spirits and living beings easily.”

“How did you become so weak if you had reached this rank?” asked suspiciously Spica.

“An error,” responded Map darkly. He took a happier tone. “It’s only temporary anyway.”

The two remained silent for a moment, observing with a morbid fascination the alteration of the landscape.

“This Color is awful and strange, I assume that it focuses on the extinction and fusion of spirits. If you look, it creates some giants nests where spirits are fragmented then fall into a kind of generalized spirit, a hive mind,” guessed Map.

Buildings also seem to be twisted and changed, almost undulating, after leaving the complex of buildings and returning to the stoniest area, Spica was inspired, the impression of inhaling ashes had left him since he exited the black zone.

They followed quickly the path, heading for the stairs that would take them closer to the exit.

“We really shouldn't stay any longer. I don’t know the rank of this being but believe me, if you don't get moving and he regains even a shred of consciousness, you'll be assimilated.”

“You say me… You can survive?” asked Spica.

“Yes this body will be assimilated with you, but I have many other lives ready for use,” Map said casually. “But I have an important objective and I wouldn’t like to lose more time.”

“If you are in such a hurry why you didn't go before?” frowned Spica.

As they approached the doors and staircase, the floor had turned black, and if not everything was completely covered in Ichor, the color black simply colored everything, even the emptiness around them was dyed in places with blackish lines, not floating, but the air and the place itself, the reality, that had been invaded by a triumphant black color.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“I woke up last year. However, I was too weak and I felt a presence that wasn't very pleasant, so I preferred to wait a while. I didn't exactly expect things to evolve like this, Well under the game of ladders and snakes or the fortune cookies, destiny is made of infinity paths.” explained Map.

Don't tell me their destiny is some kind of giant fortune cookie? He glanced at Map and for a brief moment was perplexed, this world is really interesting.

As they approached the two large doors above them, a slight uneasiness overcame him. The doorway was more than a thin line. Suddenly, it creaked and opened very slowly.

Then a noise froze him. It was a shrill and too long quack, sounding like a yellow bath duck being squashed.

Spica looked through the door, whose two wings were opening wider and wider, and met the gaze of a gigantic eye with eight black eyes forming a circle with a vertical green pupil in the center. At a low angle, the enormous eye dominated him with its imposing size.

The creature took a step backward, causing a small tremor in the surrounding area, and the young man heard the stairs groan, the earth and the Ichor beneath his feet shake and he could see it completely.

Spica stood there for a second, his mind modeling the creature, its vicious head like a deformed, whitish flamingo, its mouth lined with teeth with an extremely long, twitching forked tongue and its long, gigantic white feathers and black in some places.

He was sure, it was a bird that exceeded the size of a fishing ship for at least twelve people, It was huge and tall at least five or six meters. He watched his reflection take shape in the green glow of the creature's irises.

He took two steps closer and shuddered, for it was all the more intimidating that he could see his life-size reflection glinting in the giant eye.

Without waiting another second, Spica turned back and ran towards the buildings, not waiting for the creature's next move.

Behind him, the bird made the same strange, plastic duck-like noise over and over again, Spica knew from the shaking and thumping that the creature had gone over the doors and was chasing him.

He shouted to Map, who had meanwhile turned into a paper collar, “What do we do now?”

“Don't talk anymore, just run and let him catch up part of the way once we get close to the buildings, you manage to avoid him,” Map demanded, speaking strangely again.

Running quickly, Spica soon made out the carcass of the buildings, which resembled that of an animal whose black protruding ribs would have been licked by the flames until they carbonized.

Buildings were beginning to collapse, and the Ichor was merging with them in a mixture that formed rotting muddy masses. The city itself was becoming a swamp.

Ichor's vast interlacing network and the area now entirely colored black gave the impression of entering in another dimension, a dark place, abandoned by this world, as if the sun shone black rays on the interior circle.

Behind Spica, the beast continued to quack, its talons clacking on the rock, a clear warning of the calamity that awaited him if he failed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the bird's movements slowly coming closer, and as he approaching the hole riddled buildings, he turned around.

The bird seemed knitted with its legs, clumsily trying to pursue him, struggling to put one foot after the other, if he was very fast his clumsy strides made him a little ridiculous especially with his huge beak shaped like a very thin and long sword.

Yet Spica was in no mood for laughter, as the ridiculous deaths and weird situations he'd been in, had instilled in him the importance of taking even the most ridiculous enemies seriously.

The bird approached piteously at a run, his eyes fixed coldly on Spica, his long legs trembling and erratic, like an old man too drunk to walk.

Finally, as he approached Spica, surprised by his movement, he widened his eyes, then instinctively flapped his wings, leaning on his legs, and after a powerful impulse, his high-pitched cries echoed through the air as he darted straight as a spear, his beak aimed right at Spica.

He threw himself aside under Map's impulse and felt gusts of windfall on his face, along with the smell of blood and ashes.

The young man let out a groan of pain, feeling one of the creature's talons tear his robe and scrape his leg.

He stood up, holding his leg and breathing heavily as a loud crash and shrill yelp sounded behind him.

hissed Map.

“We didn't have to roll to kill murlocs, so excuse me if I never trained,” whispered Spica, clicking his tongue as he saw the long, spreading trail down his leg.

“Make sure no color gets in or you'll turn into a pretty egg,” Map teased.

Spica nodded and quickly inspected himself. The soles of his shoes were completely blackened, as was part of his robe, but the pocket inside was still intact, and the Ichor inside remained immobile.

“Should I get rid of it?” he asked, the packet in his hands.

Map regained his mantis form and shook his head. “I think it'll have a certain utility, and if my guesses are right, the Ichor won’t have any effect on you. Even other colors of low ranks. But it's still not an excuse to let some into you. Who knows if it won't make your spirit suddenly explode.”

He continued thoughtfully. “I saw the grimoire months ago, which is partly why I wanted to stay. I was thinking of relieving your previous body of such a dangerous object...”

“The grimoire is useful, if I end up to be killed, make sure you use it.”

Spica entered the winding streets without a backward glance, a sort of long, painful plastic duck moan accompanying his hobbling steps.

“Do you have a plan?” The young man turned off once he had entered the building complex and concealed himself in the darkness.

They were stuck in an area roughly the size of a small town with less than fifty buildings to hide them, all surrounded by barren rock and with no way of reaching the bottom other than by the stairs.

However, Map should have a way to survive. If he can transform himself into an insect, why not into a flying insect, a plane, or a parachute or whatever else. If he didn’t use this escape, Spica mused, it must be too dangerous for him or he want something more than he fears danger.

His thoughts were interrupted by a deep, mumbling voice. “We must illuminate him. If he gets lost and becomes a Phantasm, believe me, it'll be worse. Also, it might save us a fight.”

After a few brief moments of reflection, Map continued. “He's very weak, so we should be able to get him to leave without too much persuasion. Normally he dives from the skies, but in this case he didn't dare fly because of the Ichor”.

”Besides, it's a good thing he's probably got wounds on his mind because he fails to stab you, it might also force him to flee once he's awake,” said Map.

Spica continued to move and after a glance in the direction of the vague figure in the distance who was still struggling to get to his feet they set off again.

“Do you really think he'll leave us behind?” asked Spica doubtfully.

“He's a white rapier flamingo, he feeds by piercing beings with his rapier beak. As long as we arrive to use the Shining on him, he should stop coming towards us. There are enough trees around for him to enjoy himself,” Map explained.

“It seems to me that there's a big dispute between birds and humans all over the Swordfeather. Are you sure he won’t plot against us?”

“No,” Map refuted. “He's just obsessed with stabbing anything, moving things just attracts him more. As long as we keep him awake, he should calm down and go pierce other things. He can't evaluate our ranks so bluffing him is also possible.”

“As for the conflict, that won't concern him,” Map concluded.