First, I examined my arm.

The bite mark was deep—ripped flesh and crimson soaking through the cloth wrap I hastily applied. It throbbed with every heartbeat, a raw wound made worse by the salt in the air and the foulness of what bit me.

But I wasn't just bleeding.

I was worried.

Not about pain. I could grit my teeth through that.

No… what concerned me was contagion.

Did the Flayed condition spread through transmission? Or was it a curse? Something arcane? Alchemical? Did it only affect the dead—or the dying?

I forced my aura through the wound. No change. No corruption. No hunger. It didn't feel cursed. But I wasn't about to assume.

"Lumivis," I said, exasperated, still panting as my eyes scanned the horizon for more movement. "What the hell was that?"

In a ripple of stars and glimmering light, Lumivis dropped the appearance of the Chancellor Machina. His current form—the dignified figure of a man woven from liquid starlight—stood beside me with his usual serene grace. He bowed his head slightly before responding.

"A Hollow," he said calmly. "A lesser demon species, but one of growing concern across the realms of Gluttony, and more broadly, anywhere afflicted with a Hunger alignment. Especially where mana decay and soul instability converge."

He didn't even look at the corpse. His gaze remained fixed on the wound.

"Before you ask," he continued, "no, you're not a loose soul, so even if it had eaten more than your shoulder, it wouldn't turn you into one of them. You're anchored. You're a Walker. That gives you protections others don't have. But I still wouldn't recommend being bitten again."

"Well, thanks," I muttered, peeling off a section of my sleeve to reinforce the dressing. "That was very comforting."

I glanced back at him, eyes narrowing.

"Why didn't you do anything? During the fight, I mean."

"I couldn't," Lumivis replied with a sigh, folding his starlight arms. "Hollows are spirits. Bound by rules older than most realize. The Spirit Sovereign does not permit open warfare between our kind in any realm. It's one of the few universal pacts still honored. No violence. Not between true spirits."

I let out a bitter laugh.

"So if I get eaten, your hands are tied?"

"You didn't get eaten," he said, raising an eyebrow of shimmering light. "And trust me, I'd have broken the rules if it meant you'd perish. I simply would have paid dearly for it."

"Right," I muttered. "Because Everything has a Price."

He smiled faintly. "You're learning."

I looked down at the still-smoldering ruin where the Flayed Goblin amalgam had collapsed. The blood had been absorbed by the salt. The sand was already beginning to bury what was left.

"So the smaller ones," I said, jerking my chin at the surrounding corpses, "you can help with?"

"Yes," Lumivis nodded. "Those weren't spirits. They were Flayed Bodies—corrupted dead. Physical servants of the Hollow. Necromantic constructs. If you die to a Hollow, that's what you become. That's how their numbers grow."

"Fantastic."

I kicked some sand over one of the twitching corpses, making sure it didn't move again.

Lumivis continued. "There's a reason Hollows are sometimes called 'Necropolis.' Their strength isn't just in themselves—it's in what they carry. They are walking graveyards. For every body they absorb, every soul they devour, they gain structure. Skill. Memory. And hunger."

I swallowed, my eyes flicking back to the duelist.

"But this one… wasn't strong," I said.

"No," Lumivis agreed. "It was weak. Starved. Limited to one type corpse—that of the initial Flayed, no doubt a prisoner who died in close proximity to the gate who got lucky killing a few goblins. It didn't have the mass or memories to become truly dangerous. It mimicked skill, but only at surface level."

I shook my head. "It still managed to cut me. Bite me. That felt pretty dangerous."

"Then take it as a warning," Lumivis said, his voice darkening slightly. "This realm doesn't just drain your stamina—it eats at your mind. Your will. The longer you remain here, the easier it will be for Hollows to form again. Your kills feed them. Even if you burn the bodies."

My grip tightened around the hilt of my odachi.

"So what do you suggest?" I asked, my tone sharp. "Turn back? Call in a team? Report it to the Crown Prince?"

Lumivis looked at me carefully. "You're not going to do any of those things."

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"…No. I'm not."

"Then move quickly. Trust your instincts, but don't rely on them alone. Hunger realms twist what you feel—what you want. Even your fear becomes a seasoning."

"Noted."

My shoulder burned. My leg ached. My blood still trickled out in slow, spiteful lines.

But I was alive.

And there was still more walking to do.

***

My first Otherrealm?

Dull. Sandy. Salty. And now, apparently, saturated with the looming possibility of a warrior leading an army of—what? Undead?

"Lumivis," I asked, already knowing the answer but needing to hear it aloud, "are the Flayed undead?"

"No," he replied smoothly. "They're constructs. Animated corpses, yes, but they don't rise on their own. The Hollow makes them. They aren't undead in the classic sense—they're closer to puppets carved from grief and flesh."

Great. So the longer I linger here, the more chances I provide for a Hollow to add to its arsenal.

How was I supposed to keep every wit sharp when at any moment, one of these damned creatures could coalesce out of blood and memory? My mission was clear: investigate the anomaly. Which anomaly? No one knew. The only one who had made it through the gate was Ten, and she couldn't join me without destabilizing the entire portal. Which meant it was just me. Me, and whatever hunger-soaked monstrosities waited beyond the dunes.

Then I heard it.

Bang.

A sharp sound cracked the air, followed by a puff of sand exploding just inches from my boot.

A moment later—bang—another shot. Closer.

Reacting on instinct, I threw out a wave of paper from my coat, converting it into a wall midair. My fingers twisted a fold, and the wall thickened into laminated layers, hard as micarta—an improvised, impact-resistant shield.

"Guns?" I hissed.

Lumivis nodded once. "Crude ones. Ballistic. Nothing arcane."

So… someone intelligent. Or semi-intelligent. Most stable Otherrealms had at least one dominant species. Some had three. This was no longer just a cursed wasteland. There was society here. Culture. Technology.

"I'm a Visitor!" I yelled past the barrier. "I come under Walker Provisions! Others have breached the gate! I'm investigating!"

My only reply was another shot. This one hit the wall directly in front of where I shouted. A precise warning—or a narrow miss.

"I tried reasoning," I muttered. "Do I assume hostile?"

"Sire," Lumivis said diplomatically, "they clearly shot at you. Twice. The first may have been a warning. This one was a correction."

"Can you tell me what is shooting me?"

"No," he replied with infuriating calm. "You'll figure it out."

Fine.

I inhaled slowly and spread my aura wide—deeper, sharper, farther than I ever had. It flooded through the salty air like an invisible tide, covering the arid dunes and valleys beyond. My range had grown. Somewhere around forty-five meters now—about one hundred fifty feet, give or take.

Within that radius I sensed it: bodies—compact, fast-moving. No fur. No feathers. Scales. Their rifles were primitive. No runes. No spell-threading in the stock. Just forged metal and trigger springs.

The mana around them was stagnant. Stillborn. They weren't drawing from ambient channels. These were native creatures of this realm. Not visitors. Not summoners.

"Otherrealm spawn," I whispered.

Lumivis confirmed it with a low murmur. "Welcome to your first realm that doesn't want you here. These would be the goblin type for this region."

Another bullet slammed into the wall, sending a vibration through my knees.

They were triangulating me.

Not by sight—by sound.

The micarta wall was obscuring me visually, but their aim was improving with every word I said. Every movement. Every breath.

I ground my teeth. If Gin hadn't forced me to sacrifice my pit-creation ability during that last accursed contract ritual, this would be over already. One fold. One deep descent. A swift, quiet kill.

But no. I'd eaten that power. Consumed it for versatility. Regret tastes like ash in your mouth when you're being shot at.

I sighed. Unfortunately, out loud.

Bang.

A higher-caliber round cracked into the micarta and pierced it—ripping a jagged hole straight through the layered wall, barely missing my cheek and clipping through my robe.

"Damn it—!"

I rolled sideways into the sand, biting back a curse as grains filled my collar and stung the open wound on my arm. The paper I had stored in my sleeves flared to life, fluttering out like startled birds.

Time to stop playing nice.

"Lumivis," I muttered.

"Here."

"Origami Sequence Gamma-Three."

Lumivis snapped his fingers, and the scattered paper folded midair. Dozens of shapes bloomed into insectoid drones—sharp-winged wasps, thin-legged locusts, and burrowing silverworms. I sent them out in wide formation, each one armed with barbs of starlit ink and psychic string.

As they spread, I focused on the aura pulses.

Four goblins. One prone. Three circling wide. All of them spread thin, using shallow sand dunes for cover. They weren't professionals, but they weren't amateurs either. One of them was trying to flank.

My fingers found a fresh sheet from my sash. I folded quickly—two creases, a snap fold, and a slash.

The paper became a dart, and the dart became a razor.

I sent it flying—guided by my aura. It hit something. A shriek confirmed the kill.

That got their attention.

The remaining goblins started firing wildly, revealing their positions.

"Now."

My wasps dove in.

In moments, all hell broke loose—tiny, paper-thin insects piercing eyes, ears, and throats. Each detonation released ink that exploded into smokescreens, buying me time to move.

I rose, unsheathing my odachi, the long blade glowing faintly with residual mana from the realm. It wasn't meant for this close-quarters, but I didn't have a choice.

The goblins were down. One staggered back up—covered in stingers and ink, blood streaming from both eyes. I charged.

The blade cut clean. From clavicle to hip.

It was done.

But the realm wasn't quiet.

Not anymore.

I could feel the next threat rising. The sound of wind over a cliff. The feel of the ground shifting under salt-hardened boots.

The anomaly wasn't the Hollow.

It was still ahead.

And I was still alone.

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