Chapter 70: Maw of Admiration (Rewritten)
In the place of the Architect of Lost Preservation was the shadow of a woman who seemed to be in her twenties.
Her form, outlined only by the faintest slivers of light, seemed carved from the absence of color itself. Her hair, though shaped by unseen movement, was a mass of darkness, blending seamlessly into the abyss that surrounded her. A single ornament rested against her head in the same muted nothingness that composed her being.
The sword she held was a sliver of midnight steel, its edge catching just enough light to exist, while the hilt coiled in shadow, its intricate design lost in the gloom. The cloth that draped her was no different, shifting like liquid darkness, flowing yet never revealing anything beyond itself.
Her face was a perfect mask of shadow, smooth and unbroken, yet hauntingly beautiful in its emptiness. The contours of her cheeks, the gentle slope of her nose, and the soft curve of her lips were all there, sculpted with a precision that made her seem almost real — almost alive. But there was no warmth in her features, no flicker of life behind the delicate lines.
Her skin, if it could be called that, was a pale void against the deeper darkness of her hair, an absence of light rather than a presence of color. Her lips, neither parted nor pressed into any expression, held the faintest suggestion of fullness, yet they did not breathe, did not move. And where her eyes should have been was only hollowness, deep and unfathomable, as if they had been painted onto the surface of something that was never meant to see.
She was beautiful, in the way that statues were beautiful, in the way that forgotten things still held traces of their former grace. But she was not alive. There was no tension in her brow, no flicker of thought behind her expression. She simply was — a face untouched by time, emotion, or the weight of existence.
And so, Sunny was naturally confused.
Where was the Architect of Lost Preservation? He had tried to make that particular shadow appear, and yet, he ended up with a human — which the Fallen Terror was obviously not.
Focusing, the woman disappeared as she joined the rest of the shadows. Calling upon the desired shadow once more, a figure rose again.
...It was the same woman.
Frowning, Sunny analyzed her exquisite form. He would have assumed that his Soul Sea might have been malfunctioning if it didn’t bring him the right shadow, but why did it bring him the same one twice?