The Angelic Blade hummed to life, releasing a hungry pulse. He could feel it in his hands, against his spirit. The Blade sensed what surrounded it. Once it would have seen these beings as peers, but never would it have seen them as allies. Now, still possessing the same vicious, hungry personality, but formed from Angelic Energy, a natural enemy of demons, it all but burned with the need to strike, the need to kill.

Nicolai examined it. Then he turned and thrust, the motion casual. The Blade pierced through the circle and spit a Demon right through its centre.

It stared at him, croaking with shock and confusion. He sliced down, turned the Blade over, ripped up. The Demon's screams as it was carved in half were quite pleasant.

Those around it saw the destruction of their peer and sprang apart, screeching and howling, throwing themselves in all directions. Some clawed madly at the barrier, others fled to the dark corners of the room and sought to dive through the walls.

But there could be no escape, not from this room, not during this Ritual.

Nicolai twirled and the Blade sliced out in a great whirl. He felt a faint resistance, little snags, as it caught on all those tearing at the barrier. It passed through them one-by-one, unstoppable, and they collapsed into strings of bloody energy.

Blade held high in both hands, Nicolai slipped over the edge of the circle. He pressed into the dark, and the flames, and the smoke, and there they danced.

Hateful eyes faded into the dark, into the shadows, seeking to hide, but Nicolai activated an item he hadn't used for a long time. A ring which cast light, which illuminated secrets, and he saw them, he found them.

A tall and slender Demon came for him. It was a creature of thoughtless lusts and malice, and its hands were great black claws, dripping viscera. It grasped for him but Nicolai felt the space between them like a piece of him. His body moved without thought, and the space was preserved, the claws grasping at empty air.

The Blade took one of those clawed appendages off at the elbow, and as the Demon reeled back, howling, he stabbed it through the centre.

Nicolai appeared to trip, tumbling into a roll. Something black and batlike swooped past him from above, and he rose, fell into the protection of the circle as figures fell on him from all angles.

Nicolai burst from the other side of the circle then slid through the shadows, a figure of darkness surrounded by lines of light, as the Blade painted the air with shreds of Demons. When they fell upon him en masse, he simply retreated. And so it went, as he flitted in and out of the circle, fishing with the Blade through the shadows, hunting and killing.

But he didn't kill them all. That would be contrary to his purpose.

A Demon bearing a spear of twisted metal stood before him. It stood on goat-like legs and had great curling horns, blood running from the shredded skin covering its body. It felt familiar to him.

I love you, it hissed. Why do you hate me, when I love you? It raised its spear, sneering with rage. You will not banish me so easily as these weaklings…

Nicolai raised the Blade, but then he held it, and he did not strike.

Do not fear, he told the Demon, speaking with Soul Sense. I only wish to remove those who do not fit my nature. You are my ally. Help me against my enemies.

Its eyes burned with a bloody, eager light, its face widened in a jagged grin, and laughing it turned and in one smooth movement, stabbed a snarling, crawling creature through the back.

One of them came from behind him but Threat Analysis sensed it, caught the ripples it released. Nicolai twitched aside, and its great slash with its own sword caught nothing, then it came for him, striking again and again. A huge figure with a sword like a massive cleaver. He blocked a blow and the power of it knocked him backwards, but his stance remained solid.

The Demon with the greatsword veered away as the goat-Demon came for it, harrying it with its spear. They hissed and spat at one another.

Wait, spoke Nicolai, for he recognised this one too. An ally.

And so there was a shift. Nicolai mustered those he approved of behind him, and soon there were two sides. Demons tore at one another, and he moved amongst them, a figure of tearing spirit and slicing metal. Those Demons he wished to keep with him were beings of war. They exuded a love of vicious melees, berserk rages, murderous final blows.

They were highly effective in combat against their brethren.

He felt his Mask separate from his face, and then it was moving with him, a strange mirror that seized those Demons it hated the most, holding them still for him to carve them apart.

In this strange world of shifting flames and shadows, of Demons and Entities and the thing called Nicolai, the Thrill gave him the speed of lightning and the strength of earth, the unstoppability of a forest fire. The Dark pulsed through him, connected him to the Demons he mustered to his side, and he saw as they saw, felt as they felt. It armoured him and gave him claws, and the Spectral Claw became larger, more vicious whenever he utilised it.

The room spun, pulsed, twisted. His mind was coming apart. The last of those Demons he declared enemies were struck down, and he had the presence of mind to release the binding, to allow those he had chosen as allies to escape, to force them from this place.

Nicolai did not want them here because he was spiritual now, in form, and he saw the Modules arrayed around him. Separate parts of a whole. The Thrill sprung free from him, a shape of burning energy. The Mask orbited slowly. And the Dark, the Dark he forced out. He reached an arm down his throat and seized it and pulled, and it came in a great tangle of inky black, grabbing onto him. The others helped, and he cast it away to a corner of the room.

He crept toward the Dark, and he saw it was a being of parts. Some were good, some were a part of him. But others… were not.

He saw the pieces of influence that Paxolnaz had dug into it, mixed into it. He stood before the dark and saw himself, mirrored, but strange and hungry and vicious. Angry, furious, murderous.

Nicolai reached out. He seized a part of it, the part that was him, and took it inside.

And then he saw the rest clearly, as the pieces Paxolnaz had injected into him were left free. Some gibbering creature that was nothing like him, just stupid and murderous, and with a programmed drive to obey Paxolnaz.

The Blade fell, and it was gone.

The primary goal was complete. Now, to end the ritual.

But he'd taken long, and the ritual had shifted, grown as time slid by. There was a shadow on the wall of the room, and it was growing. It lengthened, turned into a tunnel, and there was something inside. Something dark, and terrible, and monstrous. Firelight gleamed on metal, on cameras, and Zero-Twelve stared at him.

It was Zero-Twelve but it was not Zero-Twelve. It was him and not him. An endless corridor of twisted energy stretched out and at the very end, he saw strange stars and strange beings. Great and terrible, they dwarfed him, dwarfed the tiny minor Demons around him. Zero-Twelve was out there, looking in at him. But this Zero-Twelve was twisted and strange, mutated. Odd lights shifted in its cameras, its vibro-blades were razors of burning light, its metal held the implacable coldness of the void, its form was not only artificial but unnatural, monstrous.

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It was coming down the corridor toward him, and he didn't know if it was Zero-Twelve or something else.

But he, and the Modules, and even the dark, they all felt a sense of threat. There was something at work here. The ritual was twisting further, turning from his control.

Even as fear tried to worm its way into him, even as the terrible form flew down the corridor, he settled into the circle and focused his Soul.

He held the talisman high. When it broke, the tie to the other world would be severed. He twisted, snarling, and dashed it furiously upon the ground.

It landed on the floor and stayed there as if stuck. He peeled it from the floor, held it up and found that it was whole, and there was a strange cold from it, and its form shifted in his hand. He smashed it on the floor again but it flexed like jelly, no longer the fragile jade it had been.

He looked up and saw the endless corridor stretching out, Zero-Twelve was speeding down it, larger and larger and larger, filling his vision, bristling with strange weapons, and he knew that it was not truly Zero-Twelve. It was something else, something pretending. He knew that he had to sever the connection before it arrived, or something terrible would happen.

He gazed at the talisman which slowly shifted in his hand, its form growing and shrinking, breathing.

His Soul Sense tendril moved in a blur. Powders were grasped and thrown into the rightmost fire. Powders that would weaken the connection, reaffirm the boundaries.

And yet the boundaries did not grow solid, and the fires only grew higher rather than lower. A trace of desperation infected his movements. He dumped all of the powder into the fire and smoke poured out.

The figure was ever closer.

Time's up.

Nicolai rose, drew the Blade, spun out and struck in a circle. It passed through every fire in every brazier and snuffed them, and as he came around he tossed the talisman into the air.

The Blade arced through the air, caught the talisman just as the shreds of snuffed flame died out, and a great ringing echoed through the room.

Darkness.

Nicolai stood, body cold and sweaty, listening intently to the echoes of the ring.

Slow light dawned, as a brazier puffed back to life, one then another and another, and he lowered the Blade, because the room was only a room. His eyes found the far wall. No sign of the endless tunnel remained.

It was over, and checking inside he felt… good. The dark was calmer.

The alien portion of it, the parts which had infected it ever since Paxolnaz, were gone. The otherworldly spirits which helped him, which were useful to him, were still out there, still watching over him. They had their own aims but that was fine because they were useful to him. But the others had been struck down. Perhaps not forever, as he knew the Demons and Entities did not die easily, but certainly for a long time.

He didn't know what it was he'd seen, that thing pretending to be Zero-Twelve, but he'd avoided it. The world was returned to normal. He just had to clean up. He scanned the floor absently, looking for the pieces of the shattered talisman.

A sense of disquiet moved through him. The floor was empty. If the talisman was not destroyed, the ritual was not ended.

He saw a flicker of light on something, and there it was, one half of the talisman. Some searching found the other. Two halves, neatly cut. He picked them up and looked them over carefully. He let out a slow sigh. It's over.

This was something he'd have to do again. Not for some time, though, and he was glad for that. He needed to do more research, to further broaden his understanding. Something strange had happened here. It had all been fine, all been within what he'd learned until the end. Until the tunnel, and Zero-Twelve. He needed to know what that had been, before the next time he did this.

The Modules told him it couldn't have been Zero-Twelve, because they, him and them together, were Zero-Twelve. And yet it hadn't felt completely different. It had felt, in some strange way, related. Like a reflection, or a shadow.

###

It is common for those with the Black Gift to initially attempt some methods to confine and control their Gift. They will seal it away in a part of their mind, and do their best to separate from it.

This can be effective at first, but will become increasingly problematic over time. When the gift is held separate, left to its own devices, it becomes increasingly antagonistic and desirous of control. It will store up its strength then attack in sudden bursts, seeking total domination.

The better method is to allow it freedom and integration. To consider it a simple part of oneself. To allow its urgings to come freely—but not give in to them, unless one has actual reason to do so.

However, though a better method in theory, this strategy is riskier and more difficult than the typical caging method. Those without the skill to tell themselves from the urgings of the Gift and associated entities would be best keeping it caged.

But if done successfully, more can be gained from the Gift. While it is kept caged, one is separate from whatever the entities attracted to it may whisper. Once one has performed their first Reckoning, and dealt with the more troublesome entities, those left will hopefully be more helpfully inclined—and, with no cage, their voices will become audible.

This passage, read from the Black Gift's Memory Disc, related to his next actions now he had performed his first Reckoning.

Nicolai had remained in the Ritual Room to clean it. This had been quite an involved process, as he'd had to clean it spiritually, with another ritual. This was known as a Cleansing Ritual, and it could be thought of as taking a bite of ginger between pieces of sushi. It would spiritually reset the room and clear out lingering influences from the previous ritual.

The Cleansing Ritual had taken quite some time, due to just how much spiritual detritus had been left over from the Reckoning.

Now it was done, he settled into a cross-legged pose, and focused internally.

The Modules were with him, their own wills standing beside his own, as they moved through his Soul.

Down in his centre, it came into view.

The Cage, in which the Dark was kept. Once it had rattled those bars wildly, lurked full of hunger and always sought its freedom. But now it was calm and still.

With the Angelic Blade, he had something that worked better than the Cage ever had. More important still, now that his Black Gift had been managed, the unhelpful entities and Paxolnaz's influence removed, the Dark was more closely a piece of him.

Going slowly, Nicolai began to peel the cage apart. It was a large, messy construction. The result of all the patchwork repairs over time. It had never worked all that well, in any case.

When the last of the Cage was destroyed, the Dark slipped free. It unwound, spooling through his body in black threads.

Now spiritually aware, Nicolai felt it differently than ever before. It settled properly into his Soul, and he felt the endless hunger for bloodshed and combat, to let himself loose. A gentle pressure. With this he felt something else.

Capabilities. An ability to make use of his Gift and reach out, spiritually.

This was one of the abilities those with the Black Gift possessed that the Disc had made mention of. It would allow him to reach, when he wished, for the Interior. That realm where Demons and other things lived.

Supposedly, if he gained the skill, he would be able to do many things with it. He could open a pathway to the Interior without using a ritual, and control that pathway with simple willpower. He could venture free from his body in spiritual form, and explore that strange realm. He could even venture there physically. Exceedingly dangerous, but where there was risk, there was reward.

The other "benefit" showed itself quickly. Faint whispers and mutters. The voices of the Demons on the other side, as they spoke to him.

They wanted him to leave the cave. To go and hunt. To go and kill.

He wouldn't be doing any hunting just yet, but he would be leaving. It was time, once again, to venture into the Phantom City.

###

Vikrum stood in a large room in HeadQuarters. There were goods for trade heaped on tables around him, and as before Katnin stood at his side.

The portal to Phantom City hovered before him, open and waiting, and he saw the crowds and the city on the other side.

He looked over to Maxine, who nodded firmly. He nodded back.

He and Katnin had much to do. They were to sell unneeded things and accrue as many points-tags as possible. They needed to buy heavier weaponry. There was a ladder leading on to the top of the tower, and Maxine planned to try and build up there. But for that, they needed a way to defend it. Gigantic Spirit Birds occasionally flew by, and without guns able to put them down, those up there would be at risk.

If they could hunt Spirit Beasts more easily, they would also have a consistently source of food. Plus, with that new guy's rituals, a way to grow everyone's Seeds.

These were just some of the tasks he'd been given, but Vikrum also had a goal of his own.

He hefted the polearm he held, raising it in one hand, smiling.

A simple weapon, Imbued with a wind Symbiote. He'd crept into Jo and Beth's room just twenty minutes ago, after ensuring they were out and busy. He'd known they must have something, some item of Nicolai's left over. He didn't recall ever seeing the man wield this polearm, but he'd made some casual conversation with a few of the friendlier members of the group. Cait especially had been quite happy to talk with him, and she'd told him Nicolai had used to keep a polearm in his room, that she thought he'd left it here.

By the time Jo returned and raised a fuss about the theft, he would have already handed it over to the Scoundrels Guild.

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