On entering the house, something cold settles over me. It's not fear, but a warning danger…call it instinct if you want. The tiny hairs on my body rise upright, and I can’t resist the urge to swallow my saliva while I take each step.

  I can sense the ether around me clearly, though I am still facing overall rejection despite the fact that I am a silver child. It doesn’t feel as easy as it did when connected to the Nexus System. Think of it like pulling a rug while a heavy object sits on it. I can feel my reach, but I can’t exactly grab it.

  But anyway, there are other ways to kill these Doom Creatures. Fire is a weakness of a few, hence the can of paraffin strapped to my arm. To my advantage, I don’t think this creature has grown strong enough to actually fight off someone as familiar with it as I am.

  It's unaware of its weaknesses, unaware that I can wield the power to end it. I may be weaker in this body. But that doesn’t mean I can’t fight back. There are many ways to kill a monster. Humans used to hunt dragons with traps and poison. I can do that if time were on my side.

  'But it isn't.'

  There are lines of silver silk in the house. The stairs are stained with blood from dragging a corpse upwards. The wood has been damaged with large print holes, and a strong smell of ammonia stings my eyes.

  Carefully, I climb up. The boards sink a little with each step. There is no light, but the darkness somehow sharpens my other senses. After finishing the line of stairs, there is even more silk that stinks of actual ammonia. The upper floor is much warmer than below. There are also a few corpses attached to the ceiling by the same silver silk material.

  To make matters worse, I know the faces of the corpses attached to the ceiling. Three belong to the other silver blood children I was cloned with. And four belong to Sasha, Dan, Caleb, and Tessia. Each one of them lacks eyes, and blood slowly drips from the holes and lands onto the silk around me.

  ‘What a beautiful way to scar a child, Darkest Night.’ I continue cutting through the silver silk, which gets thicker the further I push. As I cut, I make sure to sprinkle fuel on the silk. The smell is immediately swallowed by the obvious ammonia stench.

  Soon, I make it to an area where the silk covers everything. In the silk, I notice multiple half-eaten corpses of children dressed in lab coats marked with the symbol of bloodhaul. This translates to the truth that the enemy has begun gaining access to my mind.

  I pour the remaining paraffin around and move forward with the sword ready. I inhale, focusing on the ether that has just entered my body. I don’t feel the power boost, but the static sensation shoots right through me as it rushes to my sword.

  At the same time, I sense a pair of eyes staring at me. My legs shake, but a smile grows on my face instead. I turn to its direction, its body blends well with the darkness, but its eyes stand out as six red lights that stare at me with curiosity. I think. It doesn’t move at all, nor does it attack. It only lets out a few growls to at least scare me.

  ‘I guess it is the silver hair.’ Ignoring what may happen, I step forward. The air thins in response. I continue with my sword in hand.

  [Why?]

  I stop when it speaks in a forced manner.

  “You speak?”

  [To my kind…I do. The mother connects us. She speaks through me]

  When it steps closer, I get to see what the rest of it looks like. Silver hair spills down its head in uneven sheets against the ruin of its body. It frames a face that might have been human once, with a sharp jaw, familiar symmetry, but the red eyes ruin any comfort that could have survived.

  The wrongness of its body frightens and fascinates me as it stands upright, shoulders squared. From its back rises a forest of eight black, jointed limbs, arched high and folded with horrifying patience. They flex independently, tapping lightly against the walls and ceiling, testing the space like fingers learning an instrument. Patches of its skin are smooth and pale, almost human, while other parts are plated in dark chitin.

  The silver hair trembles when I move. Not from the air. From awareness. It knows I shifted my weight. Is the silver silk an extension of its senses?

  “The Empress?”

  It nods. Where its neck meets its shoulders, the flesh looks stretched, as if something inside grew too large and had to tear its way out carefully.

  [She has told me not to eat you, despite the strong scent you produce]

  My breath hitches. “But this is an illusion…how does she have this much authority?”

  The spiderman opens its mouth and snaps it right away. It's fighting against its instinct to attack and the Empress’s voice.

  [You underestimate the power of those who weaved the rules of this reality. I have the urge to kill you, but…you…look…me]

  Saliva drips, and it takes a large step back.

  “What does she want me to know?”

  [That you belong to her, and she will protect you]

  Right there, I want to say that I belong to no one. That fuck the empress. However, if I speak now, the creature before me will end me instantly if she decides to cut her connection. The Doom Creatures, as called in the textbooks, have a subtle amount of pressure and ether that comes off them. It is for this core reason that humanity feared them.

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  These silk webs are all filled with Ether, and the creature's eyes are glowing with it as though it's as natural as breathing. How is it doing that without having to hold its breath?

  “She should free me then. The darkest night shouldn’t be out of her reach.” Though I speak my mind, the sword in my hand doesn’t falter. The grip on it stays strong while I stare directly at the beast that has left a trail of bodies in its wake.

  [This illusion is a test. The rules have been set, and her effect is weaker]

  ‘Interesting. Constellations can be held back by imposed or stated rules.’ I’ve never thought of it like that. This also means that the only way I can make it out of this is by killing this thing.

  Understanding that, I swing my sword quickly. A spark comes off it and instantly makes contact with the praffin-soaked silk.

  The creature reacts right away to the flames. Its red eyes lose the calmness, and it attempts to take them out in one swoop.

  However, seconds before it conjures some wind, I am already attacking with my sword first. I strike at one leg, and without Ether to make it sharper, I graze its skin. It's like striking concrete.

  Despite the small damage, the spider creature thing turns away from the flames and reverts its attention to me. Dying here means I lose--therefore, I only have one chance at fighting this thing.

  The moment its attention locks onto me, the pressure spikes. The room tightens. The silk I am standing on hums, and the ether vibrates through the webbing like a living nervous system.

  The eight limbs slam into the floor in unison. The impact cracks the boards beneath my feet, throwing splinters into the air. I stumble back, barely keeping my balance as one limb spears past my head and buries itself in the wall behind me.

  The Doom creature is too fast. Too strong.

  I twist sideways as another limb sweeps low, tearing through the space where my legs were a heartbeat ago. The wind of it alone knocks the breath from my lungs. I hit the floor hard.

  ‘If this is where you expect me to beg, Empress. The joke's on you!’ I roll just as the ceiling above me collapses inward. The silk rains down and sticks to my arms, my hair, and my face. The ammonia stings my ordinary eyes. Burns my non-enhanced lungs. I gag, rip the strands away, and force myself back to my feet.

  I am relieved to smell the strong smoke, though. The flames are spreading. The patches of paraffin catch so fast. The orange vines grow so quickly that the heat surges through the upper floor.

  The creature shrieks in rage. There are no gods in this illusion. Only myself and the creature meant to bring my death. It is a silverblood, a purer one than I am.

  I am a clone. A copy of what this Doom Creature was before the calamity of this first day. To me, this fantasy is better than the life I was born into. I would rather live part of life and turn into a monster than grow up wondering what I am.

  I stagger. This body is weak. I’ve only breathed smoke for less than two minutes, and I feel like I am choking. The shortsword nearly drops out of my hand, but my unfinished dreams force me to hold it tight and face the creature.

  In Bloodhaul, they tell us about heroes. They tell us that heroes face evil because they’re selfless. In their nature, they call it. I saw how he looked at Tessia. How they looked at her group. The bloodydam heroics. I also saw how they look at me. How hopeless they look because I am nothing to them.

  I do not care. All I care for is freedom.

  The illusions deepen. The corpses on the burning ceiling twitch. Their mouths open. Blood pours faster, splattering against my skin. I recognize the voice as they cry out my name. This is Ivy’s voice. The Darkest Night has gone deeper.

  I almost stop. The pain in her voice strikes at me. ‘Astrid…Astrid…Astrid please. I am burning, help me. It hurts so much, Astrid. Help me!’

  The spider thing advances through the fire like it barely matters. Its chitin blackens, cracks, but does not break. One of its limbs burns away at the joint, collapsing into ash, and instead of screaming, it lets out a very human laugh.

  I know that laugh. It's Adams. This creature still thinks so little of me.

  As it gets closer, I draw back to my training with Tessia. Even with the burn in my lungs, I suck in the smoke and hold my breath one more time. It's painful, but endure long enough for the static in my veins to surge. My sword then hums, vibrating so violently that my bones ache.

  “If I am to die here. I will take you down with me first.” I whisper. I charge. Not because I think I can win. Because I want to be free.

  I duck under a swinging limb, slash upward at the joint where flesh meets chitin. With a little ether, it bites deeper this time. Still not enough, but enough to make it recoil into the flames. Its black blood splatters across, sizzling as it hits the flames.

  The sound of its cries soothes my soul. I pivot, dragging the blade, burning silk, coating it in fire. The heat licks along the edge. Its heat burns my hands to the point where I can see the flesh under my skin.

  The spider creature shoots at me with more limbs. I sidestep, narrowly dodging the limbs that fall like divine spears meant to bring my demise.

  As the flames spread even more, its black chitin starts to resemble a demon bathed in tar. Like a shadow. It stands before me for a moment before it breaks into a lunge.

  I don’t react. I calculate and let it come. At the last second, I leap forward instead of back. The flames touch my skin. They burn me so quickly you might think I’m doused in fuel or even made of paper. The pain is excruciating. The smell of burning meat is often something that makes my mouth water. However, smelling it now just reminds me of my mortality and vulnerability.

  I plunge straight beneath its towering form. The world narrows to heat and motion as I gather more strength and drive my blade upward into its torso, right where the human shape still exists beneath the monster.

  It screams. Not like before. This scream is fractured, layered with other voices, other thoughts. These were the voices of the minds the Darkest Night has taken for itself. I don’t hear Nico’s. I guess that is a relief.

  As the screams continue, the flames crawl higher—licking the walls, swallowing oxygen, turning the air into a furnace. The creature panics. Its limbs thrash wildly, unpredictably, a storm of claws and bone.

  I’m the first thing it hits. Its massive limb slams into my side, and my small body is flung across the room like a dead weight. I crash into a wall hard enough to hear my spine break. The sound is louder than the fire. Louder than the creature’s inhuman screeching.

  FUCK. FUCK. I can’t move. I can’t fucking move.

  So this is it. Again. Another pathetic death meant for someone like me. A death that feels rehearsed at this point.

  The spider-thing slows, its frantic movements weakening as fire clings to it like hungry ghosts. Its flesh melts, its limbs buckle. It looks even more pathetic than I do. And in its last desperate attempt to live, it leaps—blindly, stupidly—trying to escape the inferno.

  But fate is cruel today. The ceiling collapses. Thick beams and slabs of concrete crash down, shaking the entire building. Smoke surges in a suffocating wave.

  The monster shrieks one final, broken cry as it plummets through the weakened floors and into its own nest of burning silk.

  It burns. And I burn too. My skin cooks slowly, painfully—a long, dragging agony. The fire crawls over me like something sentient, peeling me open. And still, I don’t scream. I don’t cry. I just let it happen. Like this pain belongs to me. Like it always has.

  Then…Everything goes black. The heat snuffs out. The pain is erased. Darkness swallows me whole. And somewhere far beyond the illusion, in a place the flames can’t reach, a monotone voice flickers awake like a dying machine returning to life:

  [The Blessing of Fire is active]