"I won't make things difficult for you," Alice muttered, jaw tense. "If you praise the Sun, I might help you for free in the future."
"But only occasionally—I need to eat too."
Eli Walker, expression unreadable, scoffed.
"Hmph. You want me to betray the Evernight Goddess? Dream on."
He traced a scarlet moon across his chest—swift, precise, and defiant.
"I'm not asking you to renounce your faith. Just praise the Sun once, and I'll give you a bottle of Sun Holy Water—for free. Fair trade, no?"
Alice offered her terms with a lopsided grin.
"Heh. Praise the Goddess, and I'll give you 100 pounds."
Eli rolled his eyes with theatrical disdain.
Their gazes locked.
"You heretic."
"You heretic."
They spoke in unison.
Martin, ever the proper steward, stepped forward and bowed.
"Young Master, Miss Alice. I'll have the servants prepare supper."
He left promptly, boots clicking softly across the marble floor.
Eli raised an eyebrow at the Sun priestess still standing beside him. "Hungry before you head back?"
Alice, hands gently over her stomach, nodded. "The Sun will bless you."
She made a sign of reverence—ironically, it was the gesture used by Evernight's mendicant monks when showing gratitude.
"The Moon will also bless you."
Eli tapped his chest four times—Evernight's proper salute—and led her inside.
Martin had already ordered an emergency meal from the kitchen.
Eli finished a delicate sponge cake and stood.
Alice was still inhaling her second serving of fruit pudding.
"I'm heading to bed," Eli said. "You're a guest—no need for formalities."
He turned to Martin. "Don't overextend yourself. Just leave the night duty to a maid."
Alice chimed in before Martin could respond. "I wouldn't mind staying the night. This place is enormous—surely you have one spare guest room?"
Martin bowed slightly. "Certainly, Miss Alice. A maid will escort you shortly."
Though tired, he ensured protocol was followed before excusing himself.
Bedroom – Later that night
Eli sat before his mirror, eyes closed.
Within the serene silence of his Mind Island, he smiled as he observed the reflection—Wraith Steve trembling within the glass, trapped in spectral terror.
Baiting the battlefield had paid off.
The holy light invoked by Alice's presence created a natural deterrent for malicious spirit-world incursions. The impending arrival of the Machinery Hivemind had pressured the Wraith—summoned by the Libidinous Brothel—to act quickly and withdraw.
And so, Eli had merely positioned himself just outside their line of sight, within the protective radius of the holy light. He had waited, as was often required of one who communed with shadows.
History had repeatedly demonstrated: it was perilous for old monsters to try to possess Transmigrators.
"There's no need to panic," Eli told the shrieking Wraith in the mirror. "This is nothing difficult to understand."
"In fact, I'm on the conservative end of Secrets Supplicants."
He smiled lightly. "You didn't see the True Creator's projection. Only a mirror. Isn't that fortunate?"
The Wraith's spectral eyes flared, and its mouth opened to release a soul-rending shriek—
—but it was interrupted by a song.
"Spring and autumn turn, old friends are gone, the lonely tomb is cold.
High mountains and flowing water are only for you.
Lingering dreams revolve, the melody ends, never to be played again..."
The haunting elven tune echoed across the mirror world, overpowering the Wraith's keening. Eli, maintaining a cautious distance, layered his spiritual world with barrier after barrier, isolating the cries from his soul.
Gradually, the terror in the Wraith's gaze dulled to numbness.
The Spectator Pathway had its own cruelty—passive, quiet, and suffocating.
"And now, I have a Spirit World creature that can respond to me."
Eli nodded, pleased.
What Secrets Supplicants feared most wasn't failure—but disorder. A sacrifice without a recipient was meaningless.
While Wraiths, as Sequence 5, could not be relied upon for consistent prayers across great distances, a nearby anchor served the purpose.
"Is this the principle behind humanoid Sealed Artifacts?"
With a snap of his fingers, the mirror dissolved.
In its place was an altar, at its center a portrait of Wraith Steve.
Eli placed three sandalwood incense sticks in the censer, folded paper money and figurines, and lit them with pale spiritual flames. The burning offerings dissolved into luminescent motes, absorbed by the dreaming Wraith trapped within the illusion.
The ghost—once from the Libidinous Brothel—succumbed to mortal temptations and accepted the offerings.
Thus, a secret ritual was completed.
"Now then… should I 'invite the deity' to possess me?"
"You can't just accept offerings and slack off."
Eli looked at the rapidly burning incense. The Wraith apparently enjoyed the sandalwood.
He pointed at the portrait. His spiritual body shimmered, reshaping itself—
black tailcoat, dark crimson cloak, expressionless face.
A mirror of Wraith Steve.
In the Physical World
Eli opened his eyes. His corporeal form levitated slightly—his essence fading into shadow. His face changed to match the Wraith's, down to the smallest line of age and trace of madness.
He had become a vessel.
"Arrodes," he whispered, "create a mirror image of me sleeping in bed. Then locate the Libidinous Brothel's stronghold in Backlund."
He was eager. The first night as a Wraith demanded activity.
"Understood, Eli Walker."
The ancient enchanted mirror responded through spiritual revelation.
As a high-ranking mystical artifact, Arrodes linked Eli's bedroom mirror to a distant glass surface in East Borough.
The Werewolf and Zombie from the brothel had pitiful anti-divination capabilities—Arrodes bypassed them without effort.
With the mirror bridge complete, Eli stepped through the portal—like a whisper sliding between reflections.
East Borough, Abandoned Warehouse
The hideout was damp, dim, and reeked of blood.
"Living Corpse" Jason and "Werewolf" Thale were waiting in silence.
The Sequence 7 Werewolf, wounded in the shoulder, clenched his jaw as he tore the flesh apart to extract a bullet. His fingernails had elongated, claws drenched in corrupted blood.
Holy light clung faintly to the projectile—residue from Alice's Sun pathway—but the Darkness spells layered into Thale's body corroded it until the sanctified energy vanished.
In that moment, the cracked mirror in the corner shimmered—and from within stepped a shadow.
A man clad in darkness, tall and silent. A face once human, now a reflection of death.
Eli Walker had arrived.
*Thank you for the power stone*