Rebirth-Transcending All Beings-Chapter 23: Plan

Beneath the dying trees, where no light dared to reach, Morvax walked.

Each step left no footprint. The world itself recoiled from him.

He emerged into a small chamber soaked in death, a shrine carved from stone, crouched beneath twisted branches.

Around it, corpses were piled like offerings. Goblins, Scavengers, ogres. However, only bones remained, their blood slowly making its way. As if crawling to something.

At the shrine’s heart, then the altar vibrated.

It was veined with obsidian and etched with symbols of old–throbbing like a buried heart.

Black roots crawled up its sides like fingers trying to hold it shut.

Morvax stepped forward, holding a small red jade between two clawed fingers. It glowed faintly, hungrier now.

He lowered it toward the altar, and the blood in the dirt responded–rising in threads like smoke in reverse, spiralling into the jade. It pulsed once. Then again. Faster.

A thin smile cut across his face.

"So close," he breathed, voice low and inhuman. "It stirs now... the gate breathes beneath the stone."

He knelt before the altar, talons scraping ancient carvings.

"I’ve given it beasts. The wild. The broken."

The jade flickered red, then deeper, almost black.

"But it needs more."

His head tilted reverently. "So much more."

Without another word, he rose, before vanishing into the dark. What was left was a altar throbbing softly.

And below it–something exhaled.

Something waiting.

Something listening.

---

As the trees thinned before the two figures, they made their slow return. The orange-streaked sky casted long shadows behind them.

Each of Vergil’s steps were uneven as he dragged his body.

A stain of dried blood clung to the back of his scarred shirt, right where the pain flared with every breath.

Eleanor walked silently beside him, glancing at him every few minutes, but saying nothing.

That silence didn’t last.

[Looks like someone got their ass whopped.]

’Shut up.’

[What? I’m just saying. That thing ragdolled you like a drunk in a tavern brawl.]

’It caught me off guard. Once.’ Vergil stated.

[Once is all it takes when the enemy’s three times your size and twice as ugly.] The system mocked.

Vergil winced–not from the voice, but from the jolt in his back when his boot caught a root. He barely steadied himself before Eleanor’s hand shot out.

She caught his arm when he stumbled. "You’re hurt."

"I’ve walked worse," he muttered.

[Yeah, right. I saw your spine try to file for early retirement.]

He brushed off the voice, clenching his teeth together.

[You know... most people would’ve died from that hit.]

’Yeah, and yet here I am. Bleeding. Walking Alive to say the least!’

[You might as well be dead.]

"You’re hilarious."

[I know.]

A gust of cold air whispered through the trees. The adrenaline faded, replaced by ache–the slow, biting realisation of what happened.

The King is fleeing. That thing in the woods. Whatever it was, it hadn’t fought them.

It didn’t need to.

It had made a point by not attacking.

Vergil’s brow furrowed.

’Why didn’t it finish us off?’ He mused in his head.

[Maybe it’s saving you for later. Like leftovers.]

’You’re not helping.’

[I’m not trying to.]

They kept walking. The setting sun bled fire through the branches as the path twisted over gnarled roots and loose stones.

Every now and then Vergil’s breath grew ragged from a sharp step.

"You sure you’re fine?" Eleanor asked again, softer. "You’re limping."

"I can manage." Vergil repeated.

Eleanor sighed, muttering something under her breath. A shimmer radiated from her fingertips, but she didn’t cast it on him. Not yet.

[You should let her heal you. Pride’s great and all, but so is not being paralysed.]

"I’m not paralyzed."

[Give it couple hours.]

Vergil exhaled slowly. The pain was real, but the weight of that presence behind them was heavier. He could still feel it. Watching. Hunting. Waiting.

The village was maybe thirty minutes away. Close... but not close enough.

Vergil’s mind circled the creature in the woods–that monstrous shadow radiating pressure like a black hole.

’If he’s protecting something... I’ll make sure to fuck him over.’

She muttered again, concentrating as a green light danced on her fingertips, but withheld the spell.

[She’s trying to help, you know. Unlike you, she’s not allergic to common sense.]

"I don’t need help. I just need time."

[What you need is to stop pretending your spine isn’t halfway to retirement.]

Vergil let the system ramble on. His focus was elsewhere–in that clearing, on those eyes.

The village was close, yet safety remained just out of reach.

Eleanor finally spoke. "We need to tell someone. Report whatever that thing was."

Vergil shook his head. "No. Not yet."

"What? Are you serious?"

"I want to know what it is. Why did it just... let us go?"

She stared. "You’re not going back there."

"I am."

"Vergil–"

"He’s guarding something," Vergil muttered voice was low yet cold. "And when I find out what it is... I’ll make sure to fuck him over."

Behind them, the forest was deathly quiet, the air now thick with fog. The tbesuin lingered, invisible as it pressed against their backs.

Ther pace had slowed, more than before, Vergil’s thoughts twisted in grim silence.

’That thing... it had an Authority. Just like me.’

He gritted his teeth against the pain he had suffered.

’It was a good one–perfect for infiltration. It could mimic my movements, but not my skills. That’s the key. It can’t copy my abilities, so it’s possible to counter. I just need time.’

He glanced at Eleanor, silent but alert beside him.

’If I can push my stats into the 40s... and if Eleanor gets more control over her magic... we might stand a chance. One week. That’s all I need.’

His fingers curled.

’I’ll also need a passive skill for recovery. Something to fight through injuries like this. I can’t afford to be slowed down again–or I’ll bite off more than I can chew.’

A pulse rippled down his back as he walked.

[And maybe a new spine while you’re at it, champ.]

Vergil ignored the voice this time.

The sun dipped past the horizon. The village was near.

But for Vergil, the real fight hadn’t even begun.

---

In the thicket just beyond the village, something watched.

It stood unnaturally still–a silhouette half-hidden among the trees. At first glance, it might have passed for a traveler–dark-haired, cloaked, just another soul pausing at the woods.

But it wasn’t human.

Not really.

The puppet had worn his face–too tight. As if stitched onto the wrong skull. One eye had dropped lower, as the jaw fixed in a stitched half smile that never moved.

Its chest rose and fell to mimic its breath, though no air moved.

His arms dangled awkwardly, twitching as if searching for something to grasp.

It wore a tattered cloak like Vergil’s, edges soaked in something darker.

And still, it watched.

The inn sat quietly at the village edge. Smoke rose from the chimney, warm morning light pushing through shutters. Inside, the real one was waking. The real Vergil. The source.

It didn’t know what he was yet, not exactly. But it had felt something in him during that brief encounter. Not raw power. Not dominance.

Hunger.

Quiet, patient hunger–ambition, focused, simmering.

He had limits. Rules. Lines he didn’t cross.

But that could change.

The puppet tilted its head, limbs creaking as it shifted, face frozen in that unnatural smile.

The girl was with him now. Not a threat, not yet. But there was something in her eyes too–that cold determination of someone who lost everything and hadn’t let go of anger. But he wasn’t necessarily intrigued by her.

The puppet’s lip twitched.

They were growing stronger.

It needed to know how strong.

It leaned forward slightly... then froze.

Vergil stepped outside, gaze sharp and searching toward the trees.

He felt it somehow, and he knew.

A low breathless and guttural hiss slipped from it’s throat

It didn’t move.

Then, all at once, it collapsed–flesh sloughing from bone, limbs folding inward like a dying insect.

The face, that grotesque mockery, melted into the dirt, leaving behind only a stain and the faint scent of rot.

The woods fell silent again.

But the thing hadn’t gone far.

It had seen his face.

And next time, it might wear it better.