The moment my consciousness slithered into the fourth dimension, that old electric thrill crackled through my scales. My eyes did their funky little strobe-light routine—flicker-flicker-whirr—and bam. Reality peeled back like cheap wallpaper, revealing the grimy underlayer where shadows put on suits and play at being solid. Everything from the boring 3D world clung to its doppelg?nger here as smoky afterimages, less objects and more… regrets made visible. Even the walls got performance anxiety, trembling into translucent veils I could sashay through like a phantom with too much confidence.

  Even Belle looked like she’d been dipped in smoke, her edges blurry, her presence less tangible. Couldn’t resist. A rogue tentacle sneak-attack booped her hazy flank. Her silhouette did an interpretive dance of outrage, all puffed-up smoke and silent screeches. I couldn’t hear her, but I’d wager my scaly tail she was letting loose a symphony of agitated squee!s. Worth it.

  Despite the humor, the absence of air struck me again. My Air Sense, usually a comforting stream of whispers feeding me details about my surroundings, fell silent here. Vulnerability pricked at me, like stepping into a room and realizing you’re blindfolded. But it wasn’t enough to deter me—this wasn’t a place to linger.

  Something dangerous stirred here in Varkaigrad’s shadowed reflection, and every fiber of my being screamed to avoid its notice.

  I unfurled my wings and launched myself forward, slipping through the smoky walls of my room. Outside, the world mirrored itself in ghostly hues. Towering trees stood like spectral sentinels, their forms smudged with that same tangible smoke, their trunks easy to phase through. The alchemy tower’s surrounding barrier shimmered ahead, a faintly glowing boundary. I didn’t stop. I breached it in a heartbeat, its resistance no more than a ripple.

  The upgrade to my dimensional lamina had been a game-changer. Four minutes—that’s how long I could cling to this eerie plane now before it spat me back into the third dimension. Four precious minutes before the cooldown kicked in. And yet, every second here felt stretched, weighed down by the oppressive fog that clung to everything like a second skin.

  The absence of air here felt thick, like moving through the collective sigh something ancient and forgotten. Tendrils of grey fog curled lazily around me, the ground below felt less like terrain and more like the idea of it. Above, no sky stretched out—just an endless, muted swirl of gray mist, shifting sluggishly. Buildings and people existed here, their silhouettes warped and half-dissolved, like memories decaying at the edges. It worked, though—this realm functioned, vital in some inexplicable way, likely propping up the third dimension like scaffolding for reality.

  As I drifted through, a low, eerie bassline thrummed through the fog. Not a bassline. My wings jackknifed shut as I dive-rolled behind a building that tasted like regret. Something slithered past, a shadow wearing too many teeth. My trailing tentacle brushed a 3D pedestrian. Whoops. Enjoy the spontaneous existential shivers, random citizen. Better your latte gets haunted than I become eldritch kibble.

  But it wasn’t the eerie beauty of this place that had my attention locked. No, my eyes narrowed sharply, tracing the source of that unearthly rumble. The sound... it wasn’t just one noise. It was a cacophony—a hundred voices whispering fractured emotions. The hiss of balloons popping, children laughing, adults laughing, the sigh of something ancient. The chirp of an owl melded with the soft rustle of a clown’s oversized shoes, the slap of a ball on the ground, the punchline of a jester’s joke, and the drunken crash of a tankard meeting a table.

  The discordant symphony clawed at my mind like the talons of some deranged maestro.

  It wasn’t sound. It was food poisoning for the soul.

  Nope. Nuh-uh. Not today, Satan’s mixtape. I slapped myself with a tentacle, the sting sharp enough to wrest me free from its pull. Sanity wavered but held, though my hazy form sprouted red, wound-like slashes across my scales in response. My gaze hardened, focusing upward, toward the upper district. That’s when I saw it.

  I clamped my hands over my ears, desperate to block out the rumble, because even that was dangerous. My instincts howled, but I couldn’t stop looking—not yet. Through the veiling fog, I made out a massive silhouette, its form impossible to define in normal terms. The thing was a nightmare birthed from the debris of a thousand circus troupes. Through the shifting haze, I caught jagged outlines—spine-like boxes stacked at crooked angles, limbs bending in grotesque ways that made a mockery of anatomy. Its edges bled into one another, more suggestion than shape, as if the idea of form itself found this thing offensive.

  And then there were its eyes. Two blazing red orbs burned through the fog, fixed in an eternal, unblinking glare. The mask of a jester stretched across its face—a leering grin carved into a void of meaning. It was always open. Always searching. Its rumble sounded again, twisting my thoughts with the same sick laughter that toyed with my grip on reality.

  Whatever this thing was… it reeked of power. The kind that doesn’t chase you because it doesn’t have to. It just is.

  This wasn’t predator and prey. This was a hurricane noticing your sandcastle.

  My gut churned, instinct screaming with the clarity of a survival mantra: Don’t let it see you.

  I tore my gaze away, resisting the morbid urge to study it further. Even looking at it, even focusing on the minutiae of its laughter-filled rumble, felt like dipping into a game of hide-and-seek with insanity. And let’s be clear, I had zero interest in being it.

  Instead, I turned to the second-most pressing priority: food. Been a while since I ate something good. And oh, the shadowed dimension of this sprawling city was crawling with critters, each one practically begging to be added to the menu. If I was lucky, I could snag a quick snack before this realm spat me back into the third dimension.

  The fog hung in the air. Curling and twisting like ghostly fingers over the cobbled street. I cast a wary glance around; hunger was no excuse for recklessness. The entities prowling these parts weren’t some everyday nuisances—they were dangerous in ways that defied flesh and blood, their attacks as intangible as a bad memory. Lucky for me, I’d discovered a rather tidy method to dispatch them.

  Slipping through the smoky walls of a nearby house, I let my misty form meld seamlessly with the ether. The residents shuddered as I passed, their senses recoiling instinctively from my touch. But I wasn’t here for them. I glided and darted through walls and halls, half-running, half-hovering, my gaze sharp and searching. It didn’t take long to spot it.

  A high wraith.

  Two elongated claws gleamed in the dim haze, its crimson eyes smouldering like embers in a pit of shadow. The thing’s form was draped in a black, smoke-like shroud that rippled unnaturally, as if it were less cloth and more the absence of light itself. It hung over a man’s silhouette lying limp on a bed, tendrils of shadow spiralling from the figure’s head into the wraith’s gaping maw, feeding its spectral hunger.

  Wraiths, now these bastards were proper nightmares, predator in this grim little ghost dimension. They thrived in pits of despair, feasting on memories, guzzling down dreams, and leaving poor sods as hollowed-out husks. And the worst bit? They could do all this from the 4th dimension, untouchable and smug about it. But what truly put the fear of God, or whatever deity you fancied, into you is their knack for body-jacking. One moment you're chatting with a mate, next thing you know, you're dealing with a wraith in a borrowed meat suit.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Thank the Thalador, Varkaigrad had the Iron Pact’s specialist hunters. In Auralia? That job’s for the church’s ghost hunters, trained in their flashy and secret light magic pathways.

  Further adding to that, while in 4th dimension, they were intangible to nearly all forms of magic. Nearly. Except light obviously, but it’s akin to throwing darts blindfolded—one lucky hit in a sea of misses. There were whispers of specialised spells that could track or even yank them back into our plane, but such knowledge was locked behind layers of secrecy and traditions. Useful? Sure. Accessible? Not for me.

  Fortunately, I didn’t need fancy spells to deal with this shadowy glutton.

  Mana surged within me, a tempest alive and crackling through my veins. My tentacles twisted and lashed like serpents, taut as whipcords, their tips aglow with shimmering matrices, poised for devastation. Claws flexed, one weaving the intricate lattice of a Hex Hand, the other sparking with jagged arcs of a lightning bolt matrix. Around me, four smaller matrices blinked into existence along my tentacles, each spinning up miniature lightning bolt arrays, courtesy of my Refined Neural Pathways upgrade for these tentacles. Six spells on the trot? A mere flicker of effort. While others might crumple under the strain of juggling two spells, I barely felt more than a pleasant hum tickling the back of my mind. Ah, the sweet spoils of hard-earned intelligence.

  The wraith’s hellfire eyes flared—oh, it noticed the mana swell. It unleashed a shriek that could curdle sanity. Imagine a symphony of dentist drills, broken glass, and seagulls arguing over a chip. Poor soul, wasting precious seconds on theatrics. By the time it started its ghostly racket, my first spell was already prepped to launch.

  Hex Hand.

  The name echoed through my thoughts, though I stifled the urge to shout it aloud—my mouth had other business to attend to. The mental trigger fired, and above the wraith, a massive runic circle snapped into place. From its centre, a claw of churning shadow burst forth, descending with all the subtlety of a cathedral collapsing in on itself. The wraith’s screech twisted into a guttural roar, an unholy din that rattled through my skull. I winced as red gashes tore across my spectral form, a rather grim reminder of what proximity to its fury could cost.

  No matter. The remaining five spells hummed, their matrices alight with gathered mana. A flicker of focus, and the first spell surged forth.

  Lightning Bolt!

  There was no time for finesse, no luxury to overcharge the attacks. The wraith was already too lethal to risk delay. Lightning flared as my claw and tentacles discharged in unison, bolts streaking through the air in rapid succession. The first strike hit home, carving through the wraith’s smoky shroud with a sharp crack. The rest followed in milliseconds, a relentless barrage that tore a jagged hole in its amorphous chest. The creature writhed, shadow-stuff spilling like smoke from a punctured cauldron. But wraiths don’t die; they just get pissy.

  Survival had sharpened them, too.

  A ripple of force erupted from the wraith, a pulse of raw, alien energy rippling from the depths of the 4th dimension. My Hex Hand shattered as the pulse hit, its intricate runes crumbling to spectral dust. The backlash struck my mind like a smith’s hammer, a skull-splitting migraine that blurred my vision and set my claws twitching.

  The wraith wasted no time. It screeched again and lunged, claws outstretched, moving faster than I’d reckoned. Its jagged talons cut through the air, aimed squarely at my centre.

  No time to dodge.

  I twisted just enough to shift my torso, letting the wraith’s claws rake across one of my wings instead. Pain erupted, a searing, white-hot fire as the edges of its shadowy talons sliced clean through, leaving part of my wing disintegrated in their wake. My jaw clenched, the tentacles snapping back defensively, already reforming their matrices as my mind raced to process the situation.

  Would’ve been far simpler to let my fire gland loose and torch its miserable, incorporeal form into oblivion. But no, not today.

  With a mental flick, I activated the lightning bolt matrix in my right claw. This wasn’t just a quick spark—an additional rune flared to life, its lines glowing as I channeled raw power into the spell. Arcs of lightning danced wildly, brightening and crackling louder with every passing moment. The wraith hesitated, its hazy crimson eyes narrowing, clearly aware that this wasn’t a normal bolt.

  That’s right. Watch carefully.

  It lunged—slower now, wounded arrogance dragging its shadow-ass. Mistake. My claw carved a vicious arc, unleashing the Lightning Slash. The spell erupted like a cleaver of pure energy, carving through the wraith’s midsection.

  It howled, the sound raw and grating as its form split in two, only to snap back together moments later. But the damage was done. Its movements turned sluggish, erratic. Tendrils of shadow oozed from the gaping wound, curling thickly into the air, while its crimson eyes dimmed to sad campfire embers.

  Time to press the advantage.

  My tentacles darted forward, two snapping into place as I cast Snare Bind, a dark mana spell meant for immobilization. Glowing chains of energy burst from the runes, coiling around the wraith’s limbs and torso. The remaining tentacles followed suit, constricting its thrashing form further as they plunged into the wraith, releasing the disruptive charge of residual 4th-dimensional energy stored within them.

  That’s the beauty of the upgrade, now they didn’t just bind; they corrupted, disrupting foreign mana at its core. Disruption mode: engaged. Mana corruption so vile, it’d make a demon blush. The wraith thrashed in agony, its screeches devolving into guttural wails as the invasive energy tore through it.

  But it wasn’t done yet.

  With a desperate lash, its remaining claw slashed at the bindings. The first chain shattered, then the second. I felt a sharp pang in my tentacles as the claws gnashed against them, and I instinctively pulled them back, grimacing. Not wasting a second, I lashed out with brute force, slamming the wraith hard enough to fling it across the chamber.

  The bindings were breaking. Desperation radiated from it like a blistering heatwave. It was preparing something—something big.

  Not that I was about to let it.

  My left claw flared with the formation of a new matrix. A Lightning Bolt, this time overcharged to its limit. The wraith was drained now, its movements sluggish and its power waning. This time, I’d see it through.

  The matrix crackled, arcs of energy condensing as the spell roared to life.

  It lunged again, coiling itself into a single, desperate strike—a spear of pure darkness hurtling my way. A last-ditch gambit, either to finish me off or carve itself an escape.

  Perfect.

  Instead of dodging, I stepped into its trajectory, meeting it head-on. My tentacle slammed squarely into its center mass with a satisfying THWACK, hurling it back like a discarded rag doll.

  Showtime.

  My claws crackled, the familiar burn of an overcharged spell igniting once more. I aimed carefully, the energy surging up my arm, and—BOOM!

  LIGHTNING BOLT!

  The explosion ripped through the wraith’s form, light searing through its shadowy sinews and burning it alive from the inside out. It screamed—oh, did it scream—a symphony of dying darkness, twisting and writhing before collapsing in on itself like smoke sucked into a vacuum. When the light faded, only a charred, brittle husk remained.

  The smell hit my nostrils, and I couldn’t stop my mouth from watering.

  “Mmm… extra crispy.”

  Dinner was served.

  [You have slain a Level 16 Tenebris High Wraith (IV).]

  [Experience Points acquired.]

  But as I took a step back, I staggered. My chest heaved, each breath scraping against the edges of exhaustion. Hah… that little dance had drained more mana than I’d anticipated. My wings—still smarting from their earlier tears—throbbed in phantom pain, but it was worth it. The fight was over.

  I glanced at the man slumped on the bed, his limp form rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. He was awake, sort of, but frozen. The wraith’s work hadn’t quite finished before I’d interrupted. Lucky bastard.

  Before I could stew on it, the system chimed again.

  [Alignment activities detected! Experience Points acquired!]

  [Level increased: 18 → 19.]

  [Strength +6, Durability +3, Intelligence +6, Willpower +3.]

  Wait. What? Saving this guy counted as an “alignment activity”? Did frying a wraith while he wheezed in bed count as me passing judgment? What’s next, community service credits for stabbing cultists?

  I mean, hey, if the system said so, who was I to argue? My grin stretched wide enough to split my face.

  Still, no time to dawdle. The dimensional lamina was thinning, its fatigue tugging at me. Any second now, it’d hurl me back into the 3D world like a guard fed up with my nonsense. The fight had taken longer than expected—I’d nearly lost track of time.

  My claw pulsed with a dark mana matrix as I materialized behind the panicked man. A quick sleep spell—simple, neat, effective. He crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut, snoring before he even hit the mattress. Now, finally, it was feast time!

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