Blood bathed me as I struck down the last spawn in front of me. It felt... refreshing, in the most twisted way.
The hex echoed:
[You have slain Twilight Demon: Obsidian Clawer]
[You have slain Twilight Devil: Moonlight Stalker]
[Your flame grows stronger]
[Your perception of Light has increased greatly]
[You have received a Chronicle]
[Effects of the Elixir are over]
[Temporary Trait: Frenzy has been dissolved]
I let out a slow breath. A bit disappointed that the boost was gone, sure—but I couldn't deny it had been a good hunt. A damn good one.
I smiled, tired but satisfied, and summoned the description of the new chronicle.
[Obsidian Silk]
Enchantment: [sharp edge]
Rank: Awakened
Tier: IV
Type: Consumable
I squinted. That was too simple. I knew there was something more hidden beneath its surface. Only one way to find out.
[Divine Light]
My body responded, glowing faintly. I focused the light and peered deeper into the runes engraved into the silk's texture.
Nothing changed. No effect. I let out a breath of irritation.
But then—
[Divine Light is reacting with Night Pierce]
[True abilities of Night Pierce are blossoming]
[You do not possess the Dark attribute]
[Blossoming has failed]
[Night Pierce has been slightly enhanced]
A dull ache formed at the edge of my skull. Was it the strain of trying to blossom a trait without the right attribute?
But something had shifted. My vision sharpened—subtle, but real.
I returned my gaze to the chronicle, and smiled at what had changed:
Rank: Awakened
Tier: IV
Type: Consumable
Hidden Enchantment: A hidden trait shall be obtained by consuming the silk into a similar chronicle.
It was clear now. This wasn't meant to be used alone.
It was a piece—waiting to merge.
And I had a feeling I knew exactly what I needed to do next.
Obsidian Silk
A small, thin thread appeared in my palm.
Dark—almost invisible—yet it pulsed.
A soft shimmer, silver and cold, ran through it like breath trapped in shadow.
Not just thread—a vein of something alive.
Then the runes unfolded before me:
[Do you wish to consume Obsidian Silk into an existing Chronicle?]
The answer didn't need thought. It was already inside me.
Yes.
The thread twisted like smoke and sank into the Dark Shroud.
And it began.
A ripple—like water splitting. Like skin peeling from old wounds.
The shroud shifted, trembled… and tore.
It unraveled like something shedding its past, stitching itself again strand by strand.
Each thread fused to my body, not just around me—but into me. Like it knew every inch of me before I ever did.
It wasn't armor.
It wasn't cloth.
It was a second skin—but with its own heart.
The hex echoed:
[Hidden Conditions have been met]
[You have obtained a Hidden Trait]
[Puppeteer's Fingers]
The new cloak clung to my frame like breath held too long.
It draped to my calves—sleek, silent, and sharp in its presence.
The outer layer shimmered black, but beneath the surface ran veins of soft violet. Like moonlight drowning in ink. Like a bruise just before it fades.
The inner lining was pale—bone-silver. Smooth. Clean. Cold.
It whispered when I moved. But not a single sound escaped.
The collar rose high, curved just enough to shield my throat—yet never choked.
Slim cords crossed my chest, threading through ghost-fastenings that looked like they shouldn't hold—and yet held tighter than steel.
No buttons. No armor plates.
No metal to catch the light.
No weaknesses.
The sleeves extended to my fingertips, tapering to fine precision. And somehow… they listened.
They moved not with me, but for me—loose in stillness, tightening when I needed to move fast.
Like tendrils of thought.
Like memory given form.
It was not just mine.
It was me.
And it fit better than anything ever had.
The runes shifted again:
[Puppeteer's Fingers] – You possess the ability to control items that possess enough willpower. Your will sync with them , which is what truly makes a true puppeteer.
And this cloak—
This shroud reborn—
Had more than enough.