The absorption finished rather quickly.

Nero opened his eyes and stood, feeling the Ein Sof settle into his reserves. He slowly licked his lips and opened his eyes. The golden glow in them faded as he stared at his fingers then flexed them.

***

{Seals of Sin: 403/1000}.

***

'This is good.'

The Seals were a welcome benefit, but what he was more focused on was the Ein Sof he had just absorbed. The Mourning Hollow was a grade C Abomination. A freshly killed one at that.

Although his efficiency in absorbing without consumption was low, it was still more than enough for him to get a decent chunk, at least to covered almost a dozen Shadow Shift uses. If he stretched it and used it to maintain his Yin form, it would last at least three days.

He stared at the bloodied form of the creature beneath him, gently prodding it with his toe.

He sniffled then turned away.

All of a sudden, the silence in the chapel turned heavy.

Nero frowned.

He turned toward the doorway leading back to the main corridor and froze.

There were eyes watching him from the darkness beyond the threshold. Dozens of them, clustered at different heights, reflecting the faint light filtering through the collapsed ceiling.

The shapes behind those eyes began to emerge from shadow. Bodies elongated and twisted, with dark rotted fleshy forms, moving with that same terrible subtlety he had witnessed in the first Hollow. They entered the chapel methodically, fanning out to cut off escape routes, some climbing the walls on all fours.

Nero quickly counted about fifteen. More were still moving in the corridor beyond, their chitin scraping against stone.

'Crap.'

His eyes widened in horror as his grip tightened on the knife handle, the blade was slick with black ichor from the previous fight.

Fighting one Grade C Abomination was manageable. Fighting three dozen of them at once was nothing short of offering his life on a silver platter.

'Crap! Damn it!'

The bloodlust pressed against him from all directions now, a crushing weight that made his skull ache. The Hollows were not attacking yet. They were positioning themselves, coordinating with an intelligence that turned his stomach. These were not mindless beasts. They hunted together.

Nero's mind worked furiously. The doorway was blocked. The windows were too high and webbed shut. The only other exit was the stairwell leading down, but that path would trap him in tighter spaces where numbers mattered even more.

He looked at the knife in his hand. The damn thing was laughably inadequate for what he was about to face.

He huffed, 'I don't have any other choice.'

His left hand moved to touch the Mark of Mephistopheles on the back of his palm. The crimson inverted cross pulsed faintly beneath his skin, responding to his intent.

Gungnir.

He had avoided summoning it until now, fearful of revealing his capabilities to whatever eyes Lyon might have watching. But that consideration meant nothing if he died here.

The Mark flared with crimson light.

Reality twisted slightly, space folding inward as the spear materialized in his grip. Silver shaft gleaming with crimson and gold accents, perfectly balanced despite its size. The weapon seemed to thrum with barely contained eagerness, although Nero wasn't quite sure of that since spears should not feel excitement.

Nero let out a soft groan. The feeling of resonance with the spear was nearly intoxicating.

The Mourning Hollows seemed to react to the surge of Ein Sof that came from Gungnir's summoning. Their movements became agitated and aggressive.

Terrifying shrieks made the stone walls trembled as they charged at him.

Nero huffed. His vision sharpened as he tightened his grip on the weapon.

The first Hollow lunged at him from the right. Nero pivoted and drove Gungnir straight through its torso, the Blessing of Piercing enchantment punching through chitin as though it were wet parchment. He twisted and ripped the spear free in a spray of black ichor, using the momentum to sweep the blade sideways into a second Hollow's legs. The creature toppled, shrieking, and Nero stamped down on its skull with enough force to crack stone beneath.

Viscous grey matter and stringy blood squelched out, coating his feet and the floor.

Three more lunged at him from different angles. Nero spun Gungnir overhead and released it with a roar.

The spear flew true, impaling two Hollows simultaneously before embedding itself in the far wall.

Nero's hand stretched out as he broke into a sprint.

Gungnir tore free from the flesh and stone, flying back to his hand in a streak of silver light, carving through another Hollow's abdomen on the return path, painting the air all shade of black and crimson.

The chapel erupted into chaos.

Silken jets lashed from every direction. Claws raked at him from the sides. Bodies crashed into each other in their frenzy to reach him. Nero felt his fear fade into the madness of battle as he moved through the press of bodies with brutal efficiency, Gungnir becoming an extension of his will. The spear's weight shifted unpredictably in his grip, forcing constant adjustment, but that same quality made his strikes impossible to predict. Every thrust came from an unexpected angle and every sweep sent a head spinning into the air.

A Hollow dropped from the ceiling directly above him. Nero looked up and hurled Gungnir straight upward. The spear punched through the creature's chest and continued into the stone ceiling beyond. Nero grabbed the shaft as it fell back down, using the weight of the impaled Hollow to smash two more to the ground.

Blood created paintings of macabre flowers.

Death was heavy in the air.

Bodies littered the floor now, twitching or still. The rest had begun to scramble oward doorways and windows, desperate to escape.

Nero was not keen on letting them.

He threw Gungnir again, the spear flying through three Hollows before returning to his hand. He charged after the stragglers, cutting them down before they could regroup.

Mercy was not a consideration.

The last Hollow died with Gungnir through its throat, pinned against the stone platform at the front of the chapel.

Nero stood alone among the carnage, his chest heaving. Blood dripped from dozens of small wounds covering his body. Nothing immediately fatal, but the cumulative damage was significant. Vineheart pulsed steadily in his chest, already working to close the worst injuries, but it would take time.

The ruins were not silent anymore.

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