Medici leaned against the cold wall, watching Amon scratch runes into the stone. His expression twisted with a mix of weariness and exasperation. His friend was at it again… doing stupid shit.

With a sigh, he yawned and dropped onto the floor, too tired to care. After navigating blind through endless darkness, he needed at least this much of a break.

Amon, meanwhile, had already snatched the Dawn Shard from the First Lord's corpse. The idiot had been so gleeful he'd nearly passed out. And now, he was scrawling nonsense into stone like some lunatic… or fraud.

Medici rubbed his eyes, then looked up. The runes read:

"The Trojan Horse of Fate,

The Slug of Time, The Loopholes in Rules,

The Manifestation of All Errors."

Medici blinked. Then he closed his eyes. Then opened them again, just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

"…Bruh. What are you doing? For real?"

Amon finished scratching the last jagged line into the wall, grinning ear to ear. The ominous script glared back at them:

"The Blasphemer is the God of Trickery, the God of Mischief, and the light at the dawn of the apocalypse."

Medici just stared. His lips twitched, halfway between disbelief and laughter.

"…Seriously? That's what you're doing right now?"

Amon dusted his hands and sat back with a smug, satisfied smile, like an artist admiring his masterpiece. He'd even scraped the words here and there, making them look older, cryptic, and menacing.

"Well," he said cheerfully, "remember what I told you back at the academy? That I'd reveal my True Name in an elegant way? Voilà."

Medici's face went blank. Then he snorted.

"So let me get this straight. You're… making fake ancient lore about yourself? Pretending to be some god, when in reality you're just…" he waved vaguely at Amon, "a random bum?"

Amon leaned back smugly. "Not pretending. It's foreshadowing. There's a big difference."

Well, Amon was bored. He needed something to keep himself entertained. That's why he was doing all of this.

When Sunny and the others arrived in a few months, they'd stumble across this little masterpiece and his plan would be set into motion.

But this wasn't just for shits and giggles.

Amon would swindle Sunny. If he remembered right, that guy always wrote exploration reports to rack up contribution points. No way Sunny would ignore an ominous title or symbolic crow references hidden in mysticism.

With just that, Amon would become some kind of secret existence without lifting a finger. Sunny would think he was making a clever choice that benefited him when in reality, everything would go as Amon wished. Which, technically, made it swindling.

He laughed, unable to contain himself. Wait, I'm not just trolling Sunny… I'm trolling the entire world… well, that's cool.

What Amon didn't know was that pretending to be a god was considered blasphemy against the six gods. Not that it mattered, the gods were long dead.

After Amon finished his grand work of satisfying his delusions, the two of them… or rather, it was really Medici who insisted, turned their attention to the Spire Messenger. Amon, for his part, didn't exactly want to fight it. But Medici was adamant that they could accomplish it. Arrogant? Maybe. Amon couldn't tell whether it was simple pride or just the instincts of a Hunter.

Still, he owed Medici plenty, so they agreed. They would take down the Spire Messenger and claim another Shard Memory.

As they walked, Amon recounted what he remembered from the novel. He didn't remember the battle clearly, but that didn't matter. They didn't need to replicate the Cohort's actions and even if they tried, they couldn't.

Head-on battles weren't Amon's style anyway. He preferred to achieve his goals through trickery and cunning. Now, it was time to make a plan that would guarantee their victory... and, of course, to consider his future schemes and how he would use the Shards.

Eventually, they arrived at a vast cavern deep within the Draconian Mountains, a space so immense it could easily contain an entire castle.

The floor was coated in black sand, and the walls shimmered like polished obsidian. At the center of the cavern rose a colossal pillar of dark stone, surrounded by massive scaffolds that, despite their size, looked insignificant against its sheer scale.

Carved from the pillar was the silhouette of an unfinished statue. Its upper torso was nearly complete, while the lower half remained encased in raw stone, hinting at the unknown sculptor's immense ambition and perhaps, the impossibility of finishing it.

Amon knew the Spire Messenger was inside and waiting for challengers. That was why Medici had chosen to act as bait, to hold the creature back for as long as possible.

He planted the Flag of Life into the ground, its power bolstering his strength and hastening his recovery. Then, he dug a wide pit and lined it with jagged bones sharp enough to impale anything below Ascended rank. Afterward, he strung wires across the cavern floor, coating them in venom, every line a hidden snare. When his preparations were complete, he gave Amon a brief nod.

Snuffing out his flames so as not to betray his presence, Medici draped himself in the cured hides of nightmare creatures from Fraud's Bag, masking any stray glimmer of light.

Only then did he unleash his assault. Instead of hurling fire forward, he spread it outward in a vast ring, his control so fine that he could detonate it exactly where he willed.

BOOM!

Flame surged like crashing waves, devouring the cavern in sudden brilliance. Everything flammable within reach ignited, forcing light and shadow to dance violently across the stone. Medici had sacrificed stealth, but in return, he gained sight which was far better than fumbling blindly against a foe whose senses dwarfed his own.

Normally, he would stand no chance against a being of the Messenger's rank. But Amon had already told him everything he remembered of the creature, and Medici had prepared accordingly.

He didn't need to fight as an equal.

He was the hunter... and the vile bird was prey.

Than Medici's instincts screamed a warning. Something stirred in the suffocating dark; wrong, vile and heavy with killing intent.

From the shadows, it emerged. A monstrous abomination, half raven, half lion, dragging its nightmarish body into the light. Its pale flesh gleamed like a corpse's, muscles shifting beneath the skin like coiled steel cables. Feathers as black as midnight cloaked its chest and head, framing the jagged beak that gnashed with hunger.

The beast loomed, supported by two powerful hind legs, with six more limbs jutting grotesquely from its chest, each ending in claws sharp enough to tear stone apart.

Medici and the Messenger locked eyes.

For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then, the fight began...

As the monster lunged, the flames cloaking Medici suddenly erupted outward. The explosion blasted the Messenger back, scorching its feathers and blackening its corpse-pale skin.

The beast let out a vile shriek, shaking off the fire in a storm of ash and sparks. Medici only grinned as its talons slashed down. He rolled across the black sand, narrowly avoiding the deadly strikes.

He compressed a fireball and hurled it into the creature's head, drawing another furious cry. The fight was less a clash and more a game now; hit and run, hit and run. Learn its rhythm, break its rhythm. Each movement brought him closer to a style meant to kill it.

The Flag of Life worked tirelessly, mending his lesser wounds while slowly restoring his stamina. Even so, the Messenger's assault was relentless. Medici met one talon with his mace, Armour Breaker, flames bursting along the weapon's steel. The strike scorched flesh and left the beast writhing in pain.

A few days ago, such a feat would have been impossible. But Amon had given him all the soul shards, half-saturating his core. Coupled with his enhanced strength, Medici could now stand toe-to-toe with the Messenger.

Of course, his physical prowess could never match the sheer, brute strength of the Messenger. But Medici carried the mind of a hunter; sharp, calculating and merciless. That was enough to grant him an edge against a mindless beast.

He retreated in short bursts, leaping back again and again, ducking under the bird's talons, swaying aside from the snap of its monstrous beak. Each strike came with the weight to kill, yet none found purchase. His movements weren't fueled by panic, but by cold instinct, honed down to a single thought: kill or be killed.

His eyes glimmered with a murderous light, his focus sharpening until nothing else existed but predator and prey. The cavern's entrance loomed behind him, and blood ran down his battered frame. For a moment, instincts threatened to consume him entirely until a recognition flashed in his gaze. He tore himself free of the haze of bloodlust, recalling Amon's plan at the last possible moment.

The Spire Messenger emerged from the inferno behind him, its feathers smoldering, its wings scorched but unbowed. Flames danced along its body as madness and fury twisted in its gaze, locking onto the frail mortal standing before it.

Medici's lungs burned, his body trembling on the edge of collapse but his lips stretched into a feral grin. He had bought enough time.

"You're cooked, chicken." His voice was hoarse, hint of anger noticeable in his tone.

The Messenger lunged, talons slicing the air with killing intent. Medici slid low across the scorched sand, sparks flaring as its claws grazed his chest. Before the beast could pivot, he seized its wing in both hands, muscles screaming as he clung on.

The Messenger shrieked, it was a sound like steel tearing bone, and wrenched him high into the air. Its claws raked across his side, hot blood spraying but Medici only gritted his teeth in anger, enduring the pain. He let go, dropped, and landed hard on its back like a leech.

He pressed both burning palms against its skull. Essence flared... And then exploded.

The creature's eyes burst like overripe fruit, spraying Medici with a rain of blood, vitreous fluid, and molten gore. A steaming gush coated his face, running down his jaw in crimson rivulets. He gagged once, then screamed out in pain, his teeth glowing yellow in the firelight.

The Messenger screamed and thrashed blindly, its madness only growing. But Medici didn't relent. His own body was torn and broken, yet his eyes gleamed with unnatural rage.

He hurled himself down its wing, searing his essence into the flesh as he went. Fire roared from his body, devouring feather and muscle alike. The stench of charred meat flooded the cavern. Flesh cracked and split open, spraying sizzling blood onto his bare skin.

The flames licked his own flesh too, peeling strips of burned skin from his arms, but Medici only pressed harder, dragging the inferno with him.

The Messenger convulsed, shrieking, its wing torn forward under his brutal grip. Bone cracked. Ash and gore rained around them as man and monster writhed together in the furnace of their own making.

But soon, Medici's flames began to wane, their destructive brilliance dimming with every passing breath. His raging body grew heavy and sluggish, wounds piling upon wounds. The Flag of Life struggled to mend him, but it was too slow, far too slow while his flaw fanned the fire of his anger, twisting it into desperation, dragging him toward the edge of madness.

The Spire Messenger, though scorched and broken, rose once more. Its feathers were charred, its form twisted and blackened, yet it still lived. And it still had the strength to kill him.

But none of that mattered anymore.

Because in that moment, a sharp twang cut through the roar of battle, the sound of a wire snapping free. One after another, the wires Medici had laid in secret tightened and broke loose, each lashing around the abomination. First its legs, then its head, then its wings and six elongated limbs. The more it struggled, the deeper the wires bit into its flesh, carving and tearing as poison seeped into the wounds, weakening it further.

Then, another wire was cut, this one releasing the final piece of the trap. The Messenger's bound form was hurled forward, crashing into the sand. The ground gave way beneath it, the grains sliding down into a gaping pit. The monster fell, its massive body impaled on the jagged bones that jutted upward like the fangs of some ancient predator.

From the shadows, Amon stepped into view, his pleasant smile never wavering. With a theatrical bow, he spoke like a gentleman at court:

"Everything went exactly as I envisioned. Tell me, don't I make daddy dearest proud? Well… whatever. It worked. Not that I'm surprised. After all, such results are only natural, as expected of myself."

[You have slain a Fallen Monster, Cursed Herald.]

[…You have received a Memory.]