The Wight that had ruined and slain an entire continent of people millennia before Lucy arrived to the plane shard had revealed its true form before her, unable to contain its immeasurable wrath inside a mortal body.

And the true form of a Wight... was no less than a monstrosity.

A whirling cataclysm of tormented egos and minds preserved from long dead eras, their limited intelligences ground down until what sparse memories they inherited from their living selves had dispersed with the erosion of the ages. Flying above Lucille in the domed room was the tormented storm of a pinnacle-class evil spirit, streams of malicious intent-imbued soul energy spinning around a tightly bound prison of wailing egos. The imprints of wrathful and pained visages pushed up against the thin veil binding the souls in place, and they strained to break free to release their malice, but were bound by their own amalgamation.

The force of its wind-like spiritual power was so strong that the debris, rubble and shattered emblems of the walls were whisked up into its maelstrom, scratches and tears appearing in the stone and marble. The remains of Lucy's Grand Spell were sucked into the core of the Wight, ripped from her control, yet the Wight no longer controlled mana. Its abilities now lay in pure attacks on the soul, free of the physical world.

Lucille raised a hand to shield her eyes from the small shards of glass and mineral whizzing past her, the suction strength of the Wight growing stronger by the second as its form emerged from the Archwizard's frail body.

Lucille summoned all her mental defences, but she knew even that wouldn't be enough. She had her Celestial Dragon Aspect to maintain her mental stability and enhance its defence, but against something that didn't even have a proper motive, and was dangerous by the very fact it existed?

She quickly observed the situations of her companions in the spare time she had left.

Sound, dreamless sleep. Dreams could disturb their soul's equilibrium and attract attention, so it's good my curse is working as intended. If I told them the reason why I couldn't dream, would they be shocked?

The thought of their reactions was amusing, but Lucy knew she couldn't keep trying to distract herself from the task at hand. Steeling herself, she summoned her purest, densest soul power, and across the immaterial strata of the spiritual realm, she shot it at the mindless storm above her – a drop in an ocean for what it was.

It was all she could do to make it notice her before it rampaged freely.

And it worked.

It was as if she had gone deaf, when the raging storm of souls stilled as a response. The spiritual winds fell silent, a soft clatter of stones when they fell.

Then the raging storm descended on her mind, and her mind alone. Millions of voices and screams swept through Lucille's soul, stirring up and trying to absorb her into its chaos.

'Why me?!'

'I'll be damned if I go out like this!'

'What did I do to deserve this?!'

The fracturing memories and last thoughts of the victims echoed out, but by this point Lucille had already dropped to the floor. She didn't have the ability to control her body any longer – she was barely able to distinguish her ego from the millions of others crushing her will and individuality.

'-------! Where are you?!'

'Watchmen of Tartarus, hasten not our fate... Watchmen of-'

'It's okay, darling, shhhh, it'll be alright...'

'If only I hadn't-!'

This wasn't an attack. The Wight had no understanding of 'enemies' in its true form. This was a Wight's only form of communication – piercing into the minds of those around it.

Lucy was... struggling. Even with her understanding of its strength, she still underestimated it. Her original feeble attempts at cracking its own shield were ineffective – the Wight had no shield. Its minds were open for all to explore if they had the ability to. It was driven by pure rage for the living and existential dread. The minds within it could never comprehend their inexistence.

Her shields had been ripped apart with barely so much as a brush against the Wight's minds. All she could do now was try to repair the fraying strands of her mind even as the Wight tried its hardest to erase them of their purpose, assimilating her with it as one.

'My time-'

'I-'

'No-'

'Hell!'

'Arch...on?'

The Wight managed to latch its corrosive influence onto her soul constructs, cracking the immaterial mechanisms and ruining her mind's self-restorative properties. She switched to just attempting to pull back her fraying thought strands from the abomination's grasp, its all-consuming suction force gradually pulling her into its midst.

Her emotions and memories were in disarray. One moment she was in pure ecstasy and joy, yet in another she was reliving the darkest moments of her self-loathing and mistrust in everyone. Multiple times she was feeling everything at once in an unnatural state that made her feel... dirty.

But her most common emotion was nothing at all. Pure, white, absence. A clean slate, filled with careless yet indifferent stray thoughts on anything and everything. Not a void, because it wasn't due to anything missing in the first place – that was just who she was at the core of her being, once the Wight had managed to strip everything else away.

Lucille imagined that once her emotions were back, she would not appreciate the Wight for undoing all her hard work. She didn't have an opinion either way in her current state.

Paradoxically, now that she didn't have enough emotion to feel anything for the egos trapped in the form of the Wight, she was the best suited person to maintain her own ego. No sympathy or empathy, pity or irritation could change her mental state. The storm of the Wight was now ineffective – it was brushing against the mind of someone who practically blended in with the spiritual realm itself.

I wonder if it would be easier for me to just... fade away like this. Even the Hero couldn't resurrect me if my soul has left the realms...

...Hero? Did I know someone like that?

I don't recall. Or maybe I can't be bothered to.

Time barely felt like it was passing – or maybe it was passing. It didn't matter either way.

Something sparked slightly in her empty mind. Was it the strange, rhythmic pulsing that drummed against the outside of her soul, as if it wanted to tell her something? That wasn't it.

The corner of her soul that led elsewhere though... intertwined and intermingled in an unnatural fashion to create a channel to another being, that was different. As were the two smaller ones next to it. She didn't know what to describe it as. They were irregularly shape... the ripples of their minds subtle, but distinct from hers. They weren't white. They had tinges, colours that made her think of some things, but not others.

Lucy knew they were different to her. Too different. Yet they had something she didn't.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

So she wanted to copy it for herself.

Then a distant signal reached her, echoing something she faintly recognised as her name as a prelude to what needed to happen.

And the one core thought she had maintained in the centre regardless of what happened activated. Her last spiritual link to the speck of dark mana settled in the marble below them was severed, and the stone broke. Then everything went black.

...

...only for her to reawaken exactly 0.02 milliseconds afterwards, her mind, soul constructs and mental processes fully restored. Lucille sat bolt upright and looked up, feeling relieved.

It's done. Jasten activated it.

The impact of her Grand Spell's true purpose revealed itself. The others, who had the curse purified, opened their eyes but widened them in shock as the entire facility began to rumble.

A cascade of pulverised stone and mineral showered down as the uncannily exact and specific erosions of the Dearth of Darkness has dematerialised cornerstones of each level, directing all destruction to a central point in the centre of the domed room's ceiling. The small hole that appeared grew wider and consumed more and more of the ceiling, creating an ever-growing gaping hole that tripled in size in less than a blink.

Natural light finally spilled through the hole, making them squint, and when they looked up, they saw a rift in the sky above the two centre figures – one distant figure in golden armour, two metallic gilded feather wings flickering with violet energies sprouting from his back – and the colossal manifestation that nearly blotted out the sky peering down the hole.

Six wings of light mana drifted behind a 300-metre tall titan of gold, a featureless white face topped in an angular crested helm facing them. It slowly raised the three arms gripping an ornate spear, and...

"Divine Theurgical Descension – Judgement of Primarchal Light," Sir Albrecht roared.

The spear of light screamed through the air as it shot past multiple floors. The Wight screeched as it sensed the strangely slow-moving attack, but it was futile – the spear pierced through its grey veil of a body, the horrific visages pushing at the veil retracting in faces frozen in extreme pain. The storm of spiritual energies whirled faster and faster around the tip of the spear, then it plunged into the marble floor. It sunk through the stone as if it were mud, skewering the Wight and pining it to the ground.

It wailed, shrieked, and sobbed, as one by one massive tears formed in the veil of its form, the tormented minds streaming through the gaps to disappear forever in the aura of the spear.

In the span of half a minute, the wailing winds halted, the fierce visages faded, and the pool of malicious intent all but disappeared completely. One final, softly crying entity remained pinned by the spear – the evil spirit responsible for the past and present disaster.

Jasten teleported down in a flash of light, and lifted his visor as he reached down an picked up the sobbing evil spirit, a disembodied, ghostly sphere. He gritted his teeth... and quashed within his armoured fist. "Return to the wretched realm whence you came, being of blight!"

Fragments of grey light drifted from his hand, and then they too disappeared. The manifestation of Escalon had long since evaporated, the metaphysical spear of light melting away into a pile of gold sand.

The perpetual rumbling of the Institute had never ceased, though. Sir Albrecht looked up and then exchanged looks with Lucille. In a mere instant, his form flickered with gold and violet mana, and flashes of what appeared to be lightning appeared next to them all. In the blink of an eye they all found themselves planted on soft grass under shade of trees – the hill where they first were.

Jasten Albrecht teleported everyone in Lucy's group out – even the last living light wizards – just in time before an earth shaking boom sounded from below.

The torn sky pulsed with searing orange light and then it was gone. Not only light, but the entire facility. Only an enormous crater the depth and width of the former Institute for Nomological Augmentation and valley remained.

When Lucille saw that, she gained a satisfied smile and stood up from the grass to dust her palms – her body and mind fully restored through Jasten summoning a fragment of the Primarch. "And that, my friends, is what happens when the Grand Spell: The Dearth of Darkness finally releases all of its absorbed mana after its completion. Because it has to be released somehow."

Sedric, Marellen, Roa, Scytale, Vincent, Garthe, Larena, and Raegan turned to stare at her, as if awoken from a stupor.

Annaliese, who had been teleported out too, punched the sky. "Yay! We won!"

"So... the Wight is gone? For good?" Sedric pressed.

"It's been returned to Tartarus and is no longer a Wight but the lowest tier of evil spirit," Lucy explained cheerfully, sheathing her two weapons for the first time in a while. "It will probably wander aimlessly among the billions of mindless undead, waiting for when another breach in the fabric of the realm via summoning or similar occurs, where it will enter the Mystical Realm and gravitate towards places of lingering malice and death. Then the cycle repeats."

"I-it-" Marellen stopped to cough before continuing, "It's not even fully dead?"

"It's an undead," she replied wryly. "It already is 'fully dead'." She turned back to the view of the devastation. "There's not much we can do at this point. How do you expect to find the same evil spirit responsible for this mayhem in Tartarus among all the evil spirits that exist?"

Lucius would be capable of that though.

She looked over her shoulder at the unconscious wizards. "They'll be amnesiac and it'll likely be permanent after their interaction with the Wight. You're all only safe because I was protecting your souls." Lucy spun to face Albrecht. "So then. What about the body of the Archwizard?"

Jasten frowned. "Archwizard's body?"

She gave him a dismissive wave, still smiling. "His corpse, the one the Wight puppeteered to fight us. I'm worried about what the Athenaeum will do if they find the Archwizard's body."

The Paladin in front of her crossed his arms, looking solemn. "Count Goldcroft, there was no body, or corpse."

"That-" Her response faded and she stared at him. "No... body?"

"Of course there was no body. I'm not dead yet, after all," an upbeat voice sounded behind them all.

They all spun, weapons ready, to see the perfectly unharmed figure of the Dark Tower's Archwizard floating in the air above them, hands held behind his back.

Everyone warily stepped back as he stepped onto the grass with casual confidence, his presence near invisible yet there he was, right before them.

"Count Goldcroft was it?"

Lucille watched him expressionlessly as he walked towards her. Then he dipped his head in a bow.

"I owe you a debt of gratitude, Count Goldcroft. It is only thanks to you that I managed to survive the Wight, unscathed. Only..." He straightened up, his smile fading. "That's not quite how it happened."

Then he disappeared. Everyone spun around, looking for the Archwizard of the Dark Tower, until Annaliese gasped and pointed at Lucy... and the individual that had plunged an immaterial, faded shadow of an outstretched hand through her chest, a benign smile on his face as he regarded the young woman he held hostage.

"Nobody move, or this Count of yours will have her heart crushed in a mere moment's time... as soon as I turn my arm physical again," he announced lightly.

Annaliese gulped and covered her mouth with her hands, fearful eyes fixated on Lucy.

Lucille was the first to speak. "....Archwizard Peros, was it?" Her breath hitched as the ice cold ghostly hand within her chest made her body shudder.

The bearded wizard raised an eyebrow as he regarded her. "Oh? Do you believe you have the time for introductions right now?"

"I think we can make time." Lucy coughed to clear her throat. "You must be well aware that it was this Paladin here that dealt the Wight the final blow, however, due to his organization and... ah... wards I believe you'll ensure they're free to go?"

Peros studied the Prophetess, Sir Albrecht, and Raegan, then nodded. "Yes, I suppose so."

He smiled at them as Lucille gave Sir Albrecht a look, and he sighed. He took hold of both of his wards and teleported away, somewhere out of view.

"Now... care to explain your hostility, Sir Peros?" Lucille began politely.

"Why, I suppose I can. I have time, after all. Hmmm..." The man with dark hair looked at the crater and smirked. "You see, as you might expect, I never intended to come to this side of the continent. Yet I happened to find clues to a valuable... book of sorts, and believed I had what it takes to become its new master. The Wight was an element of my plan to obtain this."

A black mist descended on his other hand for a moment, his staff tucked in the crook of his arm... and then he revealed a pitch black book with silver borders open in his palm.

"A... grimoire?" Marellen murmured.

"No..." Roa whispered. "A Necronomicon."

"A gate to my own miniature underworld realm," Archwizard Peros informed them with a smile, acting as if they were all having an intelligent, academic conversation. "With this, I could wield an undead army placed within its confines... including the Wight. If... it were still alive."

They all went silent. Lucille narrowed her eyes at him. "A Wight can only possess a corpse or undead being. You shouldn't be alive. How did you do it?"

"How?" The Archwizard blinked. Then he began to chuckle. Then he let out a deep belly roar. "How, you ask?! Why, the same way you did, young lady! I found it quite marvellous, that a mere youth of 250 had achieved what I managed to with the Wight – using death mana to mask myself as one of the unliving to fool such a being!"

His spectral hand twitched slightly. "If we met in different circumstances, then I may have even wished to take you on as an apprentice..." he mentioned quietly. "Yet it is not to be so. Still, you have shown me a great many alternative paths to take my undeath illusion along – I must never forget that I may learn new things from all sorts of people." He dipped his head in mocking thanks. "However..."

The Necronomicon disappeared instantly and a dark aura of mana shrouded him. "The Athenaeum has ways of learning things, and if my rivals discover this new weapon of mine... they may just report it to the Archivers and request it for study," he explained casually, holding his staff out. "Astrologers will certainly suspect things, and if I leave witnesses alive who can report the existence of the Wight, and how it possessed Sindelar Peros who miraculously survived... they'll question it."

Archwizard Peros smiled. "So then, everyone. Be glad that I'll only erase all of your memories. But Count Goldcroft here..." His expression went cold. "Her mind will be razed and she will become an undead. That's the most certain way of erasing enemies when the System has resurrections."

He beamed at them all, ignoring their pale faces. "Goodbye everyone. It was enjoyable chatting to you all-"

He went to squeeze his spectral hand but-

"The Ancient Dungeon of Synadis," Lucille blurted out.

Archwizard Peros paused and tilted his head. "You've piqued my curiosity. Why speak of this newly discovered Dungeon now?"

"I own it. It needs someone powerful to oversee the Black Order and Dark Tower members who will be stationed there," she continued curtly. "I'll make this offer to you. Few Archwizards without a position as a Seat get to be in charge of Ancient Dungeons. But if you kill me and erase my friends' memories, this offer will never come to pass."

"You would trade this for your life?" he replied with mild amusement. "Well, what can I expect of a mere merchant after all? The Athenaeum could position me there regardless."

"No they can't, because I was the discoverer of the Dungeon, and I own the land it resides on," Lucille stated bluntly, ignoring the stares of the others. "Therefore I have all authority over it. Any matter of requests regarding the Dungeon and your Tower there can be made to me, and I will accept."

"Hmmm.... tempting." The Archwizard went silent for a minute. The air was tense, as none of the others knew whether they should make a move or not. Larena and Garthe glanced at Lucy, and she very slightly shook her head.

"Well then." Lucille gasped as the icy spectral hand was finally pulled out of her, and then she was shoved forward onto the grass. She turned around and lay there, leaning on her arms as she watched the Archwizard pace.

"Tell me... why would you believe I'd accept this offer?" Archwizard Peros asked curiously.

"Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and all that." Lucille let out a bitter chuckle but grimaced as she felt the internal influence of his cold death mana grate within her. "Besides... Dungeon Guardianship of at least Epic Dungeon level is a prerequisite to be eligible for joining the Athenaeum as a Ranked Seat."

The Archwizard paused, then watched her for a long while. Then he gained a vicious grin. "You, Count Lucille Goldcroft, are very dangerous. Fine then." He offered her his hand. "Then a truce, for now. I'll preserve the lives and memories of you and your friends as long as all of you hold your tongues. As for the Ancient Dungeon... we will negotiate the terms about that on a separate occasion. How does that sound, hm?"

She studied his hand, then grasped it. "Thank you for your grace, Archwizard Sindelar Peros." Lucille flinched back when the felt a bone-aching chill emanating from his hand and looked down to see a big black blot on her palm. She glanced at the bearded wizard before her.

"Just a small parting gift. If you're as capable as I believe, then I'm sure you'll resolve it on your own." He turned around and waved at them over his shoulder. "So long, Head of the Aurelian Commission. I do hope we meet again soon."

Lucille glanced at her hand once more, and clicked her tongue. Then she fixed a smile on her face and turned to face the rest of them. "How about we get off this accursed plane now?"

They remained in wary shock for a few moments more, before she received awkward, slow notes. She hummed light-heartedly with her hands behind her back as they all descended the hill, her in the lead.

Raegan squinted at Lucille. "She's... acting weird." He nudged Scytale beside him. "What's going on with her? Is she okay?"

"Uh... probably not, but..." Scytale hesitated, and let out a sigh. "She'll be fine. She always sorts this out... eventually."

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