A Waste of Time

Chapter 158: Grey Silence

Daemon remained seated in the dark, the foggy underground tunnel pressing in around him. Spirit-Pressure and Gravity-Suppression washed over his body in relentless waves, their intensities shifting like tides — one moment a crushing avalanche, the next a strangling current.

Whenever his frame endured long enough to no longer teeter on collapse, he would grit his teeth, drag himself upright, and force a step — sometimes two — forward. Each pace echoed faintly in the cavern before the weight broke him back down. He would sink to the cold stone once more, legs folding beneath him, arms resting against his knees in silent defiance.

His focus turned inward, the tunnel fading to nothing but a muted backdrop of fog and pressure. Within, his perception sank into the depths of his Grey-Palace. There, the ten-layered Formation below pulsed with subtle shifts — wheels within wheels, obscure and intricate, each layer moving like a hidden gear grinding against the marrow of his soul.

He watched, felt, listened — every quiver in his Palace, every flicker of light within its storm-grey walls — tracking how the dual forces pressing on him from outside echoed in this inner sanctum.

With both Ippo and Kai devouring food like ghouls, Daemon’s body brimmed with the stolen sustenance. Nutrition flowed into him in surging streams, quickly refined into Vitality that countered the oppressive wash of Spirit-Pressure and Gravity-Suppression. The balance was delicate, a thread stretched taut — yet it held. What would have been unbearable alone became endurable with the help of his two Clones.

For the first time, he could truly study the operation of the Formation and probe its link to the mysterious Grey-Palace, that lone bastion suspended in the void within his physique.

Signs emerged — faint at first, then sharper, like fragments of a language just beyond comprehension. Each of the ten layers whispered hints, their patterns erratic and bewildering. In the beginning it was chaos, a maddening maze that left him metaphorically scratching his head, grasping for reason in what seemed unreasonable.

But Daemon did not let go. Patient, steady, he watched, and the more he endured, the more pieces revealed themselves. Slowly, the puzzle took shape, and with it came a strange, exhilarating joy.

Yet the excitement was fragile. Each time his physique adapted to the crushing forces around him, the clues diminished, the trail grew faint. And whenever there is a need for the external pressure to surge anew, he was forced to break away — to haul himself upright, stagger forward a step or two, then collapse cross-legged once more. Only with his thoughts emptied of irritation, his mind cleared of every negative ripple, could he sink back into that thrilling current within.

Daemon soon realized that among the ten layers, the one he grasped the quickest pulsed with the rhythm of Lightning. It was sharp, direct, familiar — its patterns lit up in his mind as if they had always belonged to him. By contrast, the layer that resisted him the most was the one he was certain dealt with the Soul. Intricate Runes and Glyphs shimmered faintly there, their shapes resonating with the same sensation that stirred in him whenever he spoke with Ippo and Kai or replayed the memories they shared.

But then his progress met its first true barrier — a wall that cut short his exploration of the Body-Refining Path. Ippo and Kai were struggling to keep pace, their contributions flagging. Even Daemon’s own body was failing him, unable to convert the endless flood of nutrition into Vitality fast enough to fuel his advance toward the Verdant Trial Gate.

To continue further, he knew, he would have to sacrifice his own Vitality and Lifespan.

That was a price he had never once considered paying. Not here. Not for this.

Rising to his feet, Daemon dusted his clothes, the grit of stone and damp earth clinging to his palms. He faced the unseen gate, veiled now by fog, and cupped his fists before bowing low into the darkness.

“Senior Lotus. I bid thee farewell.” His voice was quiet, yet steady.

Then he turned and began walking back toward the place where he had first entered.

Each step away from the gate lightened him. The twin shackles of Spirit-Pressure and Gravity-Suppression loosened, their weight dropping away like chains falling from his shoulders. Breath by breath, he felt his body return — freer, sharper, alive.

It was then he realized his mistake. Those two forces had not only pressed on his flesh — they had sharpened his senses into a state of constant hypersensitivity.

Holy…

His eyes widened. Beyond their range, the fog no longer blinded him; instead, his gaze pierced through the heavy veil with ease. His ears caught every tremor in the soil, the faintest shift of crawling insects far beneath his feet. His mind-eye swept outward in arcs, tracing the world with clarity he had never known.Scents drifted toward him, and with them came an understanding of their movement — which creature had passed where, and when. The very air carried flavor on his tongue, threads of information unraveling into patterns he could piece together. Even the pores of his skin prickled, drawing signals from the fog itself, whispering of its composition, its numbing effect lessening the closer he came to the tunnel’s exit.

A deterrent. One of many layered here, all meant to prevent anyone from freeing Lady Lotus.

Daemon swallowed his awe, steadied his stride, and masked his reaction. His sharpened senses told him more than the fog should have allowed — including the truth that two figures were buried deep on either side of the tunnel wall, watching in silence, waiting.

Daemon retraced his steps toward the exit, his stride unhurried, almost casual. Though free of the suffocating pressure, another problem lingered — his hypersensitive senses still blazed at full force. Every sound struck too loud, every smell too sharp, every faint tremor underfoot flaring in his mind until it became a headache that threatened to split him open. What should have been a gift now pressed on him like a swarm of distractions, multiplying without end.

Still, this challenge was not like the colorful barrier he had wrestled with before. That had been a storm of Elements tangled into chaos — fire bleeding into water, lightning tangled with wind, earth grinding against all of them. To gain mastery over that, he had been forced to tear them apart one by one, separate each strand of energy, arrange them into order, and only then smother their light.

By contrast, this new state was simple. Crude, even. All he needed was control. Not over the whole, but over the pieces — to treat each sense on its own, to still one while allowing another to stir, to close his ears without dimming his sight, to still his nose without losing the tremor of touch. Piece by piece, sense by sense, he could learn to master the flood until silence returned at his command.

“What happened here?” Daemon muttered, halting at the tunnel’s mouth. Where he expected the dry lakebed, a shimmering veil of light rippled before him, holding back the mass of water beyond. The barrier quivered faintly, refracting the dim glow of the underground like liquid crystal, its surface humming with restrained force.

He didn’t linger. Stepping forward, Daemon passed through the light and slipped into the cool embrace of the water. His colorful barrier flared to life around him, casting shifting hues across the murky depths.

He was unafraid. His mind-eye had already swept the lake, cataloguing every living thing within range. None of them posed a greater danger than Mr. Pickle — troublesome, perhaps, but nothing that could threaten him here.

With a flick of his left hand, Daemon bent the water around him, shaping a current that coiled beneath his feet and surged upward. The force propelled him like an arrow loosed from the string, too fast for the sluggish creatures lurking in the depths to give chase.

Still, he allowed himself a moment of mischief. A crackle of Lightning danced from his fingertips, and two lake-dwellers convulsed before going limp, their scales gleaming faintly as they floated. With a thought, he swept them into his Inventory.

They looked delicious, after all.

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