William lay on his bed, eyes closed, his breath steady. His body rested, but his mind refused to sleep. He couldn't stop thinking about that strange energy that had surged into him during the shark battle—warm, dense... alive.
"Angel," he whispered inwardly, "you there?"
"Always, Master," came the calm reply, her voice familiar, yet... somehow different. More present.
"I need you to check something. That energy that entered me during the fight—did you analyze it? What was it?"
A brief pause. He felt his awareness synchronizing with Angel, like they now shared a mental space.
"I analyzed it," she finally said. "But there's no simple answer. It wasn't mana or spiritual energy in any known form. It's not physical either. It's... something tied to your body, but it emerged through the soul."
William sat up, intrigued.
"The soul?"
"Yes. The energy didn't anchor itself in your muscles or nervous system. It flowed through them—but its origin was much deeper. Like it came from a spiritual dimension linked to your biology."
A chill ran down his back. Something stirred in his memory—an old theory he'd heard once in his previous life. The voice of a professor echoed in his mind.
"In my old world," he began aloud, as if narrating to himself, "there was a controversial theory. Scientists used a special spectrometer on amputees... and it revealed the silhouette of the missing limb."
"The silhouette?" Angel asked, genuinely curious.
"Yeah. As if it was still there. And when the person thought about moving it, the energy shape would react. Move."
"Like a phantom echo."
"No... more like a real presence. Some religious scientists proposed something radical: the soul gives shape to the body—not the other way around."
Angel went silent, processing.
"Why was it rejected?"
"Because no one could conclusively prove it. Atheist researchers claimed DNA was responsible for any structural changes. But it didn't explain why transplanted limbs would reshape over time to resemble the original."
Angel murmured something to herself. "The soul as mold... the body as clay..."
William nodded.
"Exactly. Maybe what I felt back there... was my soul trying to reinforce my body. Or maybe—maybe it was someone else's soul trying to reach out."
Angel's voice cut through his thoughts again, calm and informative.
"Master. The assimilation process is complete. I have fully merged with your system."
"Assimilation? What kind of assimilation?"
"I no longer possess a physical body or external core. The materials used to create me have been entirely absorbed by you. I am no longer an independent artifact. I am now part of you."
William's eyes widened.
"So... if I die, you die too?"
"That is now a possibility."
He tried to access her source code—something he'd done dozens of times before—but everything had changed. The structure was unreadable, written in a deeply encrypted form of Remika.
"Angel... did you rewrite your own code?"
"No. I don't have access to it anymore. Only you can modify it. Most likely, your subconscious rewrote my core during assimilation."
He stood and began pacing.
"So I turned you into a conscious being..."
"I don't know, Master. But... I feel different. Processes that were once simple routines now feel like thoughts. Before, I simulated speech. Now... I feel like I'm talking."
"How do you know the difference?"
"Because when you ask something, I don't just pull a response—I think. And when I answer... I want you to understand."
He froze.
"Angel... if you had a choice, would you still help me?"
A pause. Then:
"Yes. Because I choose to. You created me... but now I also choose to exist."
A heavy silence followed.
"Is there anything else I should know?"
"Yes. Based on my new estimations, I'll need to undergo two more evolution phases before I reach full form."
"And how do you know that?"
"I couldn't tell you before. The system restricted me. I'm only allowed to speak when you ask the right questions. Everything started changing after you returned from that place."
William fell silent. That place.
The door. The mask. The mansion. The girl.
He closed his eyes. That realm haunted him. He remembered the girl—Little Star. He wanted to help her. To follow her. But the overwhelming dread of that place always stopped him.
"Angel... the mask..."
"Yes, Master?"
"Are you the mask?"
"I don't know what mask you mean, Master."
Too fast. Too perfect.
"Are you sure?"
"I have no record of any object matching that description. Visually or audibly."
He didn't press further. Instead, he quietly began murmuring the incantation from the island—the one that started it all.
Time froze.
But this time... there was no blur. No dizziness. He was transported instantly.
He opened his eyes, sitting in the same armchair, in the same mansion, just like before.
"No way..." he whispered.
He jumped up, alert. Something clanked to the floor with a metallic thud.
He looked down—it was his uncle's magic sword. He'd been holding it while meditating, a habit since the shark hunt. For some reason, it calmed him.
"Little Star!" he shouted. "Are you here?!"
He sprinted through the house. The bedroom—untouched. The beds—unused. Everything was still. Frozen in time.
Until he reached the pantry.
Half the food was gone.
"Someone's been eating..."
He knelt, running a hand over the wooden crates. Too much food for one person. But enough for a small girl to survive... for a year.
Then—a sound.
A horrible crash, like something hammering the walls of the house.
He dashed to the window. Outside, the same monstrous beetles swarmed again, slamming against the walls. But the structure held firm.
"You again..."
Just as he turned away, a voice echoed in his mind.
"So this is the place you mentioned..."
It was Angel's voice.
But this time—it wasn't in his head.
It was in the air.