Back inside the classroom, the air had changed.
It was no longer just stale—it watched them.
Clyde stood among overturned desks and scattered papers, his breathing shallow, uneven. The faint silver glow in his hollow eyes flickered like a dying flame. Each pulse of light was weaker than the last, drained by the reckless overuse of Lunar Ichor. His vision blurred at the edges, shadows stretching too long, too wrong.
Marlowe moved beside him, slower now, cautious. His voice cut through the silence in a low whisper."Wait… I sense a Howling around here."
Clyde didn't answer immediately.
His gaze swept the room—walls, corners, under desks, across the windows. Nothing. No red marks. No distortion. No sign.
Too clean.
Then—
drip.
A single droplet of water fell from above, striking the floor with a sound that echoed far louder than it should have.
Clyde's eyes narrowed.
Rain?
No.
That thought hit him like a blade.
We're inside.
Slowly—too slowly—both he and Marlowe tilted their heads upward.
The ceiling looked normal.
Plain. Unbroken. Silent.
But Clyde saw it.
A faint, pulsing purple aura, clinging to the surface like something breathing just beneath reality. His heart slammed against his ribs.
"Abo—"
Too late.
The ceiling ruptured.
A blur of motion tore downward—fast, violent, hungry.
The Howling lunged.
Instinct took over.
Clyde's body reacted before his mind could catch up. Lunar Ichor surged violently into his hollow eyes, flooding them with blinding brilliance. The dim silver exploded into a radiant glow, sharp and piercing—and suddenly—
He could see.
Not just the creature—
—but its structure.
A grotesque fusion of forms. A rat's elongated body, twitching and sinewy, but its limbs—no, its claws—were massive, curved like a tiger's, glinting with a wet, predatory sheen. Its skin pulsed faintly, veins glowing with corrupted ichor.
And then—
Afterimages.
Dozens of them.
Phantom movements layered over reality, showing every path it could take, every strike it would make.
Too fast.
Too many.
Clyde's breath hitched.
Move.
He forced Lunar Ichor down his arm, trying to focus it—trying to control it—but his fear shattered his precision. The flow was unstable, chaotic, his molecular alignment slipping.
Still—
He swung.
His fist collided with the Howling mid-lunge, the impact cracking through the classroom like thunder. The creature was sent flying, smashing into desks and chairs, wood splintering under its weight.
For a moment—
Silence.
Marlowe didn't hesitate.
"Moon Cage."
A pale, shimmering construct snapped into place around the creature, locking it in mid-motion. Without pause, Marlowe raised his weapon and fired.
A shot rang out.
The bullet struck the Howling directly in the chest.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Each hit echoed with lethal precision—
—but the creature didn't die.
It twitched.
Then it laughed—a low, distorted growl that vibrated through the floor.
Clyde's eyes widened.
"No… that means—"
"The organs are shifted?" Marlowe snapped, tension rising in his voice.
Clyde's glowing gaze sharpened, locking onto the creature.
"I can see it… The heart—it's not in the chest." His voice dropped, strained but certain."It's in the skull."
Marlowe froze for half a second.
"How do you know?"
Clyde's hollow eyes flickered again, dimming at the edges."These eyes… they show me."
No more questions.
Marlowe adjusted his aim, lifting the gun toward the Howling's head. The creature was still pinned, restrained—
Still.
Too still.
The air tightened.
A crack split through the silence.
The Moon Cage shattered.
"MOVE—!"
But it was already happening.
The Howling exploded forward, faster than before—faster than Clyde's afterimages could fully track. Its body twisted unnaturally mid-air, claws slicing through the space between them.
Marlowe tried to react—
Too slow.
A flash.
A tear.
A sharp, wet sound.
Marlowe staggered back, a gasp ripping from his throat as a deep cut split across his hand, blood spilling instantly, dripping onto the floor in thick, dark drops.
The Howling landed behind them, low to the ground, its claws scraping against the tiles.
The Howling growled, louder now, its voice dragging across the classroom like something alive. Without warning, it lunged again.
Clyde forced more Lunar Ichor into his hollow eyes, ignoring the sharp pain building behind them, and the world split into motion and possibility. He could see it—the path of the strike, the angle, the timing.
Acting quickly, he grabbed the Echo Gun and fired in rapid succession. One shot, then another, then another—four bullets, all missing as the Howling twisted mid-air in impossible ways. Only the final shot connected, striking directly against its skull.
For a brief second, it felt like enough.
Then the bullet bounced off.
Clyde froze as the metallic sound echoed. The Howling landed smoothly, completely unharmed, its body lowering into a predatory stance as if nothing had happened. A quiet realization settled in—this wasn't something they could win like this.
"Marlowe," Clyde said, his voice tight but steady, "take my weapon. It's in the training hall—the Hollow Edge."
Marlowe's expression hardened instantly. "What? No. If I go, you'll die."
Clyde let out a small breath, almost a laugh, though there was no humor in it. "It's fine," he replied, his dimming eyes fixed on the creature. "Because without that weapon… the outcome is still the same. It's suicide either way." He shifted his stance despite the fatigue creeping into his body. "So go. I'll make an opening."
He didn't wait for a response. Clyde moved forward, Lunar Ichor flowing into his arm—this time smoother, more controlled, as if desperation had forced his body to adapt. His fist collided with the Howling's stomach, the impact heavy enough to distort its form for a moment. But the effect didn't last. Its flesh rippled unnaturally, repairing itself almost instantly.
It was healing.
Behind him, Marlowe spoke through clenched teeth, clutching his injured arm. "Howlings… their cells can undergo rapid proliferation. Mitosis at an abnormal rate. They can regenerate."
Clyde clicked his tongue softly. "Then we don't have time." He raised his hand again, focusing what little control he had left. "Moon Cage."
This time the construct that formed was stable—denser, reinforced, far stronger than before. The Howling slammed against it immediately, claws screeching against the barrier, but it held.
"Go!" Clyde shouted.
Marlowe hesitated for only a moment before turning and running, his hand pressed against his wound as blood continued to seep through his fingers. Each step looked heavier, but he didn't stop.
A sharp crack echoed behind him.
Clyde's eyes narrowed as thin fractures spread across the Moon Cage. "Already…?" he muttered. He gathered more Lunar Ichor into his fist and charged, striking the Howling again, then again, but every blow was meaningless. The damage never lasted. Its body kept repairing itself faster than he could break it.
His vision began to flicker.
The glow in his hollow eyes intensified as he forced more Lunar Ichor into them, pushing beyond his limits. The world grew brighter, unstable, until suddenly everything gave out.
Clyde collapsed.
The ground rushed up to meet him, and for a moment, there was nothing.
Then—
He opened his eyes.
The world had changed.
Everything was filled with drifting ash that fell endlessly from a sky that no longer existed. In front of him stood an altar with thirty-five card slots, all empty except for one. At the center rested a single card, clear and radiant, unlike the others. Its symbol was unmistakable.
The Mutated Hollow Star Ichor.
Clyde slowly rose, his body feeling distant, as if he were moving through something thicker than air. He stepped toward the altar, drawn to it without understanding why. Before he could reach it, a book fell from above, landing softly in front of him. Its cover read
The Guide of Fate.
He picked it up, flipping through its pages until he found a section describing the Hollow Star. But something felt wrong. The descriptions didn't match what he had. This was for the regular Hollow Star, not his—not the mutated one. With a quiet exhale, he let the book fall from his hand.
"Useless…"
The pages flipped on their own.
Clyde froze.
The image that appeared matched perfectly—his astral card, Hollow Severance. A mutated Hollow Star, but altered. The text beneath it was fragmented, incomplete, as if something had been erased or rewritten. It mentioned that such mutations could occur when one lacks will… or when one has gazed upon the gods.
Clyde's breath caught.
Noxella.
The memory surfaced instantly—that moment.
"…So that's what triggered it…"
Slowly, he picked the book back up and continued reading. The lines were distorted, some words replaced with incomprehensible symbols. "This ichor governs—" and then nothing but broken scribbles. Only the final line remained clear:
Collect all 35 Astral Cards, and you will have the power to stop the upcoming Cataclysm.
Before Clyde could process it fully, something else drew his attention. A luminous pool shimmered nearby, its surface glowing softly. He stepped closer and reached out, letting his fingers touch the water.
"It's… soothing…"
The moment he made contact, his Hollow Severance card reacted, vibrating faintly. A thought surfaced—no, a whisper.
The firmament.
Then again.
The firmament… the firmament… the firmament…
The voices grew louder, overlapping, unbearable. Clyde winced, clutching his head, until he remembered the calm he felt from the water. Without thinking further, he stepped forward and plunged in.
Silence.
Absolute silence.
No sound. No weight. No fear.
His astral card pulsed again, stronger this time, as if guiding him. Clyde looked upward and saw the moon—completely dark.
A new moon.
"…Ascension…"
The word came naturally.
The water around him didn't behave like normal liquid. It felt different—like a medium, a field. It carried no frequency, no amplitude. It was still, like the origin point of a wave. Clyde focused inward, guiding his Lunar Ichor, then his Divine Ichor, attempting to harmonize them.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
It failed.
Again.
Again.
Again.
By the ninth attempt—
It worked.
The two flows aligned, merging into something new. A key formed within his grasp, faintly glowing. In front of him, a door appeared. Clyde didn't hesitate. He inserted the key and turned it.
The space cracked open.
Words surrounded him, drifting like fragments of reality itself.
The Probabilistic Nature.
Then—
He was back.
Clyde's eyes snapped open as he resurfaced from the fountain, though his body was completely dry, untouched by water. There was no time to question it. The Howling was already moving, lunging toward him in a distorted, unpredictable pattern.
But this time—
Clyde could see it.
Not just the movement.
The possibility.
An arrow formed in his vision.
98% — forward lunge.
"…I see it now."
He gathered Lunar Ichor into his fist—denser than before, heavier, more refined—and struck the Howling directly in the face. The impact sent a shock through its entire body, damaging it enough that its regeneration lagged, unable to keep up instantly.
At that exact moment, the door burst open.
Marlowe returned, throwing Clyde's weapon toward him.
Clyde caught the Hollow Edge mid-air.
Without hesitation, he poured his refined Lunar Ichor into the blade. The color shifted—no longer violet, but a deeper, richer purple.
Then—
One thrust.
Straight through the skull.
The Howling convulsed violently, its body trembling before collapsing in on itself, destabilizing from within. A low, distorted sound escaped it as it began to self-destruct, its form breaking apart into fragments of corrupted ichor.
Silence followed.
Clyde stood still, breathing heavily, before quietly reaching forward.
And taking the Astral Card from what remained.