The spirit didn’t give him time to think, continuing the assault.

Its body bent forward unnaturally, arms dragging against the floor as the red cracks across its chest glowed. Then it lunged again, claws scraping across the desk before aiming the attack straight at his throat.

Deon ducked under and slashed upward. The blade caught in its torso and carved through from waist to shoulder, but the same thing occurred.

The ink tore apart before snapping back together, as if the wound had never existed in the first place.

"Yeah, great," Deon muttered, taking another step back. "Love enemies with no health bar. Love to see it."

The spirit’s claws stretched again as it delivered a sweeping attack that extended the entire room. Deon just barely managed to hop over the guest chair he had kicked aside, just as its hand ripped through the red fabric and spilled cotton everywhere.

Way too close...!

As Deon landed, his eyes managed to catch something. The entire room seemed to have frozen. Marcel was halfway from standing up from his desk, the fire had stopped swaying in the fireplace, and even the chair that had been ripped was now perfectly fine.

"...Ah."

So that was how it worked. The memory itself had paused the moment the ink thing formed, as if [Playback] couldn’t continue while this bastard was crawling around inside it.

"Which means you’re the loading error," Deon’s gaze snapped back to the monster. "But how do I get rid of you?"

This time, Deon took the initiative, kicking off the chair and using the momentum to slide across the side of the desk.

The spirit’s claw tore through the place he had been standing a second ago, carving deep lines into the polished wood. But even that didn’t stay as the scratches in the wood vanished.

Think Deon, cutting this thing obviously doesn’t work. There has to be some kind of gimmick here.

Though the spirit didn’t particularly care enough to let him find it. Ink poured from its claws before it froze, almost like a semi-solid. The creature swiped its arms, the now ink strings snapping towards Deon like a whip.

"Oh, come on—"

He threw himself sideways.

CRACK!

The first string carved through the edge of the guest chair, slicing the red fabric apart like it was paper. The second stuck the floor where his ankle had been a moment earlier, leaving a thin black line across the carpet before the memory quietly repaired it.

Deon landed hard on one shoulder, rolled, and came up with his katana already raised. But he couldn’t even get an attack back, as even more were coming towards him.

The creature swung its arms wildly, ink strings carving through the room from multiple directions. Deon ducked under one, stepped over another, then twisted his body as a third scraped across his side.

"Gghhk—!"

But just as he looked up, the monster was already just a few inches away from his face with its claws raised.

Deon’s pupil shrank as its shadow loomed over him. He forced his body to move, twisting his shoulder and swinging his katana upward at the same time.

He forced his body backward, but even he knew he was too late. But as he braced for impact, the spirit’s body suddenly jerked.

Its arms stopped mid-swing, claws trembling inches away from Deon’s face, as if something had grabbed it from behind at the last second and yanked with all its strength.

Deon stared at the claws. "What?"

The spirit tried to drag one foot forward, but its leg stretched unnaturally, black ink pulling thin around the ankle before snapping tight. The movement looked like a prisoner reaching the end of a chain.

Deon followed the chain, gaze moving along the floor until he found the source—the ink-stained sixth letter.

"So that’s the gimmick..." he muttered.

But before Deon was about to make a mad dash toward the desk, he was suddenly caught off-guard when the thing...spoke.

"...Next year..."

The voice sounded like ink bubbling when it was being boiled, layered with Marcel’s voice and shoved through some kind of demonic filter.

"I’ll...make it...up..."

The spirit dragged one claw against the floor, trying to pull itself forward again. The ink around its ankle stretched taut, snapping it back toward the desk like a chain.

"...I need more time..."

Deon’s eyes widened as he saw the opportunity while it was stunned and muttering things.

His shoes scraped hard against the carpet as he kicked off the floor, launching himself toward the desk. The spirit shrieked behind him, finally able to move again.

"...I don’t want to die...!"

Ink poured from its claws, freezing into semi-solid strings before the whips snapped toward him.

CRACK!

One tore past his shoulder and sliced through the edge of the desk. Another lashed toward his legs, forcing him to jump awkwardly over it. The attack managed to graze him but Deon forced his body forward.

"...Not yet..." the spirit’s voice scraped against his ear. "...I can still fix..."

It dragged itself forward again, running straight for the desk now that Deon was in range again.

"...I’ll make it up..."

"...I’ll make it up..."

"...I’ll make it up..."

The words repeated faster and faster, turning into a broken chant as more ink strings whipped through the room.

Deon just barely managed to dodge one of them as he reached the desk. The letter sat beneath what could only be described as a blackened heart made entirely of ink.

He turned the katana upside down and gripped it with both hands, pointing the tip just above the paper.

"You should’ve started earlier."

THUNK!

The blade pierced through the ink-stained page and bit into the polished wood beneath it. The tether that bound the spirit to the letter started reeling it toward Deon.

The creature shrieked loudly, clawing and grasping at the floor, but no matter how much it tried, the tether pulled and pulled until—

"...I need to live..."

Squelch...

It disappeared into the paper.

[Quest Complete.]

[Memetic Spirit — Spilled Regret eliminated.]

[Reward Received: 75 Points.]

[Current Points: 146.]

Another message appeared beneath it.

[GraveyardArchivist: The record has been corrected. Thank you]