The moment her spine twisted, they knew it wasn't her anymore.
The village priestess—or whatever she had once been—stood draped in candlelight, limbs bending like wires beneath her flesh. Her mouth split too wide, and the humming returned—now sharp, wrong, vibrating like string pulled too tight.
Lumen felt the threads stir beneath his fingertips—Snareweave coiling in the dirt, ready to strike. Beside him, Rin's stance shifted low, her blade catching a faint glint in the chapel firelight, the edges of her boots shimmering with her signature—Blade Echo.
"Not human," Rin said tightly. "Not even close."
"And definitely not blessed," Lumen muttered.
The creature tilted its head. Strings poured from its open mouth—fine as spider silk—latching to the pews, the rafters, the walls. The air began to hum. Then it screeched.
Rin lunged forward first.
Her blade struck fast, three quick arcs in succession—one high, one low, one meant to stagger. But the creature was faster. Its limbs bent backward mid-motion, avoiding every strike with eerie precision. A clawed hand lashed out—caught her side—and flung her into the altar.
"Rin!"
Lumen raised his left hand. Threads surged—thick and knotted—and he snapped them toward the beast's arms. Snareweave coiled mid-air like a whip and dragged it half a step back, enough to give Rin time to recover.
"I'm fine," she gasped, blood trailing from her side. "Just need a minute."
"We don't have a minute."
The creature spun, loosing threads from its body like projectiles. They stabbed into walls, the ground, Lumen's coat. One embedded near his mask—but he rolled away, flinging a loop of glowing string behind him.
"Cover right!" he shouted.
"On it."
Rin burst through the side. Her Blade Echo split behind her—a ghost of motion—and caught the creature across the knee. It staggered, and Lumen darted in low.
He activated his second skill—Threadshot.
From the tips of his fingers, the threads coiled into a bullet-like bundle. He released it. The shot struck the thing's shoulder, snapping its head sideways and searing the skin with glowing thread-burn.
It shrieked again—but this time, not in control. The strings from its mouth twitched. Faltered.
"She's weakening it!" Rin shouted.
Lumen nodded, blood now on his arm. "Then let's break her."
They moved in sync. Rin's blade flicked upward. Lumen swept low, a fresh threadline anchored behind her.
"Trip it!" she yelled.
"Done."
The creature stepped—its leg caught the line—and Rin's blade slammed into its chest as it fell forward.
The string-puppet woman collapsed, her threads unraveling like breath from broken lungs.
They stood in the silence that followed. Rin leaned heavily against a beam, her side bleeding but controlled. Lumen sat, breath jagged, hands still trembling from holding too much thread at once.
"sigh,I hate children," Rin murmured.
"I think they hate us back."
They shared a broken laugh.
The chapel lights dimmed—then flared. A pulse rolled through the stone floor beneath them.
[System Sync Triggered]
→Entity Neutralized: Infected Host (Echo-Strain: Redroot)
–Reward Unlocked — Memory Reclamation: Grade B
Lumen blinked.
A sharp flash flooded his mind—
A dark room. A white ceiling.
He was strapped to a cold table.
Metal arms above him.
A voice speaking calmly:
"Subject designated with mild anomaly. Ranking: Uncommon.
Rejected for King's Guard. Move to containment."
Another voice:
"Still breathing. Tag it. Transfer to rural test site."
He fought. Screamed. Fell—
—and woke up in a field full of crows.
He gasped.
The world returned.
He was kneeling beside the creature's fading body. The chapel was dark again. The system text had vanished—but the weight in his chest had not.
"…Lumen?" Rin said quietly.
He nodded slowly. "I remember something."
Her hand touched his shoulder.
He didn't say more. Not yet.
Outside, the village had begun to stir. The fog of mindless control had lifted. People emerged slowly, dazed. A few wept. Children were found asleep in a barn, untouched but cold.
One little boy opened his eyes and whispered, "The scarecrow came."
Lumen turned away before anyone saw his expression.
That night, back at the house they had borrowed, he stared at the scarf folded on the window's edge.
The flame within him hadn't gone out.
It had shifted.
And the threads in his hand… now hummed with something deeper.
"Some threads don't just bind," he whispered, slipping the mask gently over his face.
"They remember."
[System Entry Updated]
→Memory Unlocked: Redacted Containment Facility (Origin Link: Possible)
→Thread Control Skills — Status: Tier I Complete
→ Fusion Eligibility: 2 Skills Compatible — Awaiting Catalyst
→ Next Objective: Uncover Origin of Threadbinder Sign
→ The puppet falls. The strings tremble. But the mask does not smile — yet. ░