The body of the Shriek Hound crumpled beneath you, its skeletal limbs twitching in the final throes of death. The warmth of its blood pulsed through your own veins, its essence coursing within you like a dark, intoxicating river. You could feel it—a deep, unsettling power, a surge that filled your body and mind, making you whole, yet fragmenting you all at once.
The Fracture—that gnawing, cosmic wound—pressed in on you. The hunger inside you was far from sated, but you knew, deep within, that this was a turning point. Each creature consumed, each victory, would bring more strength, more understanding. But there was a price, and it was never a price you could easily pay.
You felt the Corruption crawling at the edges of your awareness, like a whispering parasite, urging you onward. But now you also felt something else: clarity. A shuddering realization. The Rites, the system that governed this twisted world, could be manipulated. There was more to this than just survival.
Your gaze swept over the wasteland. The Corpse-Sea stretched out in every direction, its horizon consumed by the dark light of dying stars. Even now, in the depths of this twisted world, you could feel its pull—the Script, waiting for you to discover its true meaning. Its threads bound all things, and it was only through those threads that you could rise. Ascend.
The shrill cry of another creature reached your ears, snapping you out of your thoughts. You weren't alone. Never alone. This place was full of life—life that had learned to adapt, to evolve. There would always be something stronger. Something worse.
The air around you shifted, darkening. The weight of the Fracture thickened. Something was drawing near.
A low growl rumbled from the ground beneath you. A ripple, then another. Then—silence.
From the ruins of a titanic creature, a Shadow-Wretch emerged. It slithered like a serpent, its body composed of inky tendrils that coiled and twisted, writhing with unnatural speed. Its eyes gleamed like twin points of fire in the endless dark, a malicious intelligence behind them.
It was a creature of nightmare, born from the deepest, most perverse recesses of the Fracture. It hunted in darkness, stalking those who ventured too far into the realms of corruption.
It wasn't like the Hound. It wasn't just a mindless beast. This was a creature born from the Rites, a guardian of sorts, sent to test those who dared to evolve.
Your pulse quickened as you faced it. The Shadow-Wretch hissed, its tendrils reaching out like whips, snapping toward you with deadly precision. You instinctively raised your arms, but you were still too slow. One of its tendrils lashed across your chest, searing into your flesh with an agonizing burn.
Pain.
The sensation was overwhelming. It was unlike anything you had ever felt before, a sharp, physical reminder that you were not invincible. Your body had just started to understand the nature of the Fracture, but it was still weak, still prone to damage.
You staggered back, the Corruption inside you pulsing in response. Power, yes—but also vulnerability. This was the price of pushing too far, of evolving too fast.
The creature advanced again, its tendrils lashing out, trying to engulf you in their darkness. You had to survive. You had to evolve.
The Script pulsed in your mind.
Adapt. Overcome.
The words were simple. Consume. Survive.
Your mind flared with the need to act. The Flesh Weeper ability, a gift from the Hound's essence, surged within you. You could feel the pull, the need to drain—to take.
With a scream that reverberated through the decaying sky, you launched yourself forward, your body now more agile, more responsive. You reached for the Shadow-Wretch, your hands outstretched, and for the first time, you felt control.
You pressed your hands to its inky, pulsating form, and the Flesh Weeper ability activated. The Shadow-Wretch screeched, its form flickering as the life force was drained from it, transferred into your own being. The tendrils writhed, trying to pull away, but it was already too late. You had already begun to consume.
The dark energy tasted like nightmares, bitter and sharp, but it was power. It filled you—like the blood of the Hound had, but this time, it was pure corruption, drawn directly from the heart of the Fracture itself.
And with the draining came evolution.
Ritual Codex Update:
New Evolution: Nightmare-Touched – You have gained resistance to mind-affecting abilities.
New Trait: Fractured Resilience – Damage taken from creatures of the Fracture is halved.
New Mutation: Increased Tendril Control – Your form can now extend tendrils to attack or ensnare enemies.
New Ability: Consume Essence – Drain the life force of a creature within your grasp to regain health or power.
The Shadow-Wretch faltered, its dark form collapsing into the very Fracture from which it had spawned, disintegrating into ash and smoke. The surge of power, the feeling of the Fracture itself bleeding into you, made your mind swim. Power. But at what cost?
The Fracture whispered louder now. It spoke not in words, but in feelings, in images, in visions of things older than time itself. It offered you glimpses of things that you could not fully comprehend—twisted gods, crumbling realms, and the endless darkness that awaited those who rose too high.
You staggered, your body still adjusting to the flow of power. The Corruption was alive within you, whispering at the edges of your mind, threatening to consume you.
But you were no longer the same. You had evolved. You had ascended to something other. And you could feel it in the air—the next step would be even greater.
There was more to the Fracture. More to the Script. And if you wanted to survive, to ascend to your true form, you would have to dive deeper.
But the deeper you went, the more it would cost.
And the Fracture was waiting.