The stench of ozone and damp earth clung to Toma as he stood before Ignac Vran, the Guildmaster’s face a mask of furious indignation. Polished silver armor gleamed cold against the dim flagstones of the Guild Hall’s interrogation chamber. Reporters, kept at a distance by burly guards, still managed to shout questions, their camera flashes stabbing the gloom. “A cursed artifact,” Ignac sneered, his voice carrying just enough to reach the microphones. “That’s what this *scribe* used. A forbidden relic from the vaults, no doubt, to steal my kill. To undermine our company's sacred duty!” He gestured dramatically at Toma’s right hand, which now resembled a gnarled branch, the skin parchment-thin, crackling with every slight movement. The pain was a dull throb, a constant companion. “I used nothing,” Toma said, his voice quiet, hoarse. “The Gallows Protocol spoke to me.” Ignac laughed, a dry bark. “The rites choose *heroes*, Mirkovic. Not glorified dust-collectors who hide amongst dead parchments. You’re a liability, a disgrace. Get him out of my sight. Back to your rat-hole beneath the city. And don’t you dare resurface until I say so. You’re confined.” The guards, massive figures with scowls etched onto their faces, wasted no time. Toma was manhandled, shoved through the jeering crowd, the photographers’ lenses glinting like hungry eyes. The descent down the spiral stairs was familiar, but the iron rungs bit cold through his boot soles. The volcanic-glass gates groaned shut behind him, sealing him in. The air down here was perpetually cold, thick with the scent of ancient paper, dried ink, and a faint, metallic tang that made the roots of his molars ache. Towering shelves, carved from the same dark stone as the walls, stretched into the gloom, vanishing into the unreachable ceiling. Forbidden bestiaries, tomes on forgotten rituals, and scrolls detailing monstrosities long thought extinct lined the shelves, gathering a fine, almost crystalline dust. His decaying hand twinged. Seventy-two hours remained on the clock. He ran his withered fingers along the spine of a massive, leather-bound book, the title embossed in tarnished silver: *The Chronology of the Vorlag Depths*. As he did, a faint, almost imperceptible hum resonated through the stone. He focused, his eyes tracing the intricate patterns of the archways, the meticulously carved runes adorning the pillars. [Librarian (Anomalous) – Class Rank: 1 (Initiate)] [Active Anomaly: Pyromantic Immolation (Infinite)] [Passive Skill: Architectural Read – Level 1] The text of `Architectural Read` glowed, and a new prompt appeared: *Activate?* Toma nodded, a silent command. His vision sharpened. The subterranean halls shimmered with faint, pulsing lines of energy. He saw conduits running through the rock, converging in specific points like a vast lattice of nerves. His gaze followed one thick vein down, deeper than any mapped catacomb, to a chamber known only through fragmentary folios: the Vault of Cores. The chamber below was no mere storage cellar; it was an anchor. Dozens of dormant dungeon cores, each pulsing with a muted, hungry light, lay embedded in the bedrock. The great repository was not merely built *over* them, but mortared *through* them. It was a lock, a cage, and a beacon all at once. He stood at the focal point of the settlement's secret ruin. A clatter echoed from the main entrance, startling him. He turned to see Bojan Dragar, his best friend, struggling with two large sacks. Bojan had hauled down two heavy grain sacks, as he always did whenever Ignac found an excuse to banish Toma underground. Bojan’s usually ruddy face was pale, glistening with sweat despite the cold. Dark purple crescents stained the hollows beneath his eyes. “Toma! They practically threw me down the steps, swore you were a… a ‘blight on Krag’s honor’,” Bojan wheezed, dropping the sacks with a hollow thud. His shoulders hunched, and he pressed a hand to his chest. “Nonsense, I told them. Ignac’s just a pompous windbag.” Toma rushed forward. “Bojan, you look terrible. What is it?” Bojan waved a dismissive hand, but a violent cough seized him, wracking his lean frame. Blood flecked his lips, shining crimson against his pallid skin. He slumped against an oak shelf, sucking shallow rasps, terror stark in his dilated pupils. “It’s… nothing. Just a bad cough,” Bojan gasped, his voice raspy. He tried to straighten, but his legs buckled. A thin rattle shook Bojan's ribcage; this was no chill from the damp. He reached out, his decaying hand hovering over Bojan’s chest. The translucent interface flickered, prompted by his touch: [Librarian (Anomalous) – Class Rank: 1 (Initiate)] [Active Anomaly: Pyromantic Immolation (Infinite)] [Passive Skill: Architectural Read – Level 1] [New Passive Skill: Catalog (Targeted Appraisal) – Level 1] *Activate Catalog?* Toma activated it without hesitation. His vision sharpened again, but this time, it focused solely on Bojan. The man's entire biological structure glowed, then specific points within his body. His lungs, inflamed. His heart, however, pulsed with an alien, emerald light. [Target: Bojan Dragar (Human)] [Status: Critical – Parasitic Entwined Core (Larval Stage)] [Description: A nascent Veridian Bloom Core, symbiotically integrated into cardiac tissue. Weeks from full maturation. Upon hatching, will consume host’s heart and burst forth. Rapid decay of host’s vitals progressing.] [Prognosis: Fatal within 4-6 weeks without intervention.] [Cure: Abyssal Bloom, extracted directly from a Veridian Bloom Core at gestational maturity. Location: Lower levels of the S-Rank Tears Chasm. Surgical extraction required.] Abyssal Bloom. Tears Chasm. The grim rift outside the walls, plunged into black ice. Ignac had led his elite cohort there this morning for a televised clear, parading for the network drones. “Bojan,” Toma whispered, gripping the boy's coat. “We move now.” Bojan looked up, his eyes glazed with pain and confusion. “Go? Where?” “To the chasm,” Toma said, setting his jaw as the stone hummed through his boots. “To cut that thing out of you before Ignac's vanity feeds the pit.”

The Obsidian Nexus