Wallace woke to the sound of water moving around him.
His eyes opened slowly as a weak light flickered somewhere overhead, illuminating the dungeon in brief, uneven flashes.
Black water covered the floor up to his ankles, rippling whenever he moved.
The cell door stood wide open, and everything surrounding him was made from the same crimson material that formed the rest of the Black Ocean.
The walls, the bed, even the bars of the cell had been shaped from those unnatural red bricks.
Wallace pushed himself upright and immediately checked his left wrist.
A clock rested against his skin.
9:36.
His expression darkened.
“Damn it.”
He stared at the reading for several seconds before running a hand through his hair.
“I really should’ve purified myself after the Alice mission.” Wallace sighed.
“Didn’t think that girl would cost me fifty percent.”
He glanced around the flooded cell.
“Then again, I also didn’t expect to end up in a fucking Devil’s Footprint tonight.”
His face became noticeably more serious.
“Alright. Eighty percent corruption. That’s… bad.”
Very bad.
He stood and quickly checked his pockets.
A pistol remained tucked into the left side of his coat.
He pulled it free, inspected it, then checked the other pocket.
Empty.
Wallace sighed.
“Of course.”
At least he still had something.
A faint golden glow began spreading across his body, bright enough to push back some of the darkness surrounding him.
With the corridor now visible, Wallace stepped through the open cell door and into the flooded dungeon.
None of the other cells appeared to be locked.
That immediately bothered him.
Wallace continued forward, pistol held loosely at his side as the black water shifted around his legs.
The farther he went, the more corpses he found scattered throughout the flooded corridor.
Then he heard a scream.
Wallace’s head snapped toward the sound.
He ran.
Water splashed violently around his legs as he rushed toward the entrance of the dungeon, but by the time he arrived, he was already too late.
A woman hung impaled upon the end of a massive trident.
Wallace stopped.
The creature holding the weapon was tall and unnaturally thin, its entire body pitch-black except for a smooth, pale face.
It possessed no visible eyes, yet Wallace could feel it staring directly at him.
With a casual motion, the creature flicked the woman’s corpse from its trident and allowed her body to collapse into the water.
Then it turned toward him.
Its white face began to split open.
Wallace raised his pistol.
Blonde hair spilled from the opening first.
Then came pale skin.
Freckles.
Blue eyes.
A familiar face emerged from inside the monster, wearing the appearance of a kind-looking woman with a single bullet hole buried in her forehead.
Wallace froze.
“M-Maria…?”
For only a second, his weapon lowered.
Then his expression twisted with fury.
“No.”
He raised the gun again.
“You’re not real.”
The creature wearing Maria’s face smiled.
Wallace’s finger tightened around the trigger.
“Don’t you dare use the face of my dead friend, you fucking monster.”
Bang.
Bang.
Two rounds tore through its legs.
The creature staggered, and Wallace fired again, forcing it off balance before placing another bullet directly through its neck.
It collapsed into the flooded corridor with a splash.
Wallace didn’t stop.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He continued until seven additional bullets had torn apart the face pretending to be Maria’s.
Only then did he lower the weapon.
The dungeon became silent again.
Wallace stared down at the ruined corpse for several seconds, breathing heavily.
His pistol wasn’t an ordinary firearm.
A man-made Artifact had been installed within it, allowing the weapon to continuously replenish its ammunition.
Wallace could keep firing until his hand gave out before ever needing to worry about running dry.
Right now, he was particularly grateful for that.
Unfortunately, the gunfire had attracted attention.
Wallace heard movement against the walls before he saw anything.
Long black limbs crawled across the crimson bricks, more of the trident-wielding guards pouring into the corridor from every direction.
Some clung to the walls while others dragged themselves across the ceiling, twisting their bodies at impossible angles as they surrounded him.
Then their faces began splitting open.
One after another, blonde hair spilled from beneath the pale masks.
Maria.
Every single one of them wore Maria’s face.
They began crying in unison.
Wallace’s expression darkened.
“Don’t.”
The guards lunged.
Small angelic wings appeared around Wallace’s feet as his Curse activated, and his speed immediately increased.
He slipped between the incoming tridents with ease, weaving around each strike despite the black water dragging against his legs.
The Curse of the Hateful Saint was one of the most versatile Curses Wallace knew of.
Healing wounds, strengthening the body, increasing speed, reinforcing others—if the effect could reasonably be considered an act of benevolence, there was a good chance his Curse could provide it.
Unfortunately, kindness came with a price.
Every act of benevolence increased his corruption.
And Wallace really didn’t want to deal with what happened when that number reached one hundred percent.
He raised his pistol.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
The first guard lost both knees before Wallace put another round through its throat.
The next received a bullet through the ankle, another through the thigh, and finally one directly into the skull.
Wallace continued moving through the dungeon as more creatures descended from the walls and ceiling.
His aim remained frighteningly precise, each shot chosen deliberately rather than fired in panic.
Legs first.
Disable movement.
Then kill.
It was a habit he’d developed through years of hunting supernatural creatures.
Far too many monsters had an unpleasant tendency to become stronger after dying once.
So Wallace had adopted a simple rule.
Cripple them first.
That way, if they did come back, hopefully they’d come back crippled.
Another guard collapsed into the water as Wallace put a final round through its head.
Then he noticed something changing.
The corpses.
Their bodies were becoming more human.
Wallace narrowed his eyes.
‘They’re sharing information.’
The creatures weren’t simply copying his memories individually.
They were learning together, each new body improving upon the mistakes of the last.
A new guard crawled into the corridor.
Its upper body already resembled Maria almost perfectly, but now its lower half had begun taking the shape of an adult woman as well.
The creature stepped into the room fully upright, no longer possessing the lanky proportions of the earlier guards.
It was completely naked, though its imitation remained incomplete enough that it lacked any distinctly gendered features.
Apparently, they’d figured out Maria’s body before they’d figured out clothing.
Wallace stared at it.
“Gross.”
The creature moved.
Wallace immediately fired.
It dodged.
His eyes widened slightly.
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The closer they came to resembling Maria, the more capable they became.
Their bodies were smaller now, more balanced, and much harder to hit than the original forms.
Wallace glanced down at the clock on his wrist.
90%.
His jaw tightened.
A.E.G.I.S regulations were clear.
Wallace was not permitted to willingly exceed ninety-five percent corruption unless facing extreme circumstances.
He had five percent left.
Wallace looked back toward the growing number of Maria-shaped creatures crawling into the corridor.
“If they figure out her Curse too…”
He raised his pistol.
“I’m screwed.”
Another pair of wings flickered around his feet.
Wallace sighed.
“Guess I better finish this quickly.”
Then he smiled.
An idea had occurred to him.
He glanced around the flooded dungeon, taking in the crimson walls, the bodies scattered through the water, and the growing number of creatures still wearing Maria’s face.
“I’m completely alone down here,” Wallace said, almost cheerfully.
“No civilians. No teammates. No chance of collateral damage.”
He looked toward the nearest imitation.
“And since this is a Devil’s Footprint, there’s probably not going to be much evidence left afterward either.”
Wallace chuckled.
“Which means no one has to report my little violation.”
He casually dropped his pistol into the black water.
The weapon landed with a splash.
Several of the creatures hesitated.
Wallace noticed.
“Oh?” His smile widened.
“If you’ve really been digging through my memories, then you should already know what happens when I clock out.”
He slowly removed his gloves.
The creatures immediately began moving.
Wallace ignored them.
The gloves weren’t ordinary clothing.
They were specially designed Artifacts, restraints created for one very specific purpose.
Once Wallace’s corruption reached 95%, they prevented him from using his Curse any further.
A safety measure.
For everyone around him.
Wallace tossed the gloves aside.
“Curse of the Hateful Saint.”
Golden light erupted around his body.
“Bless me before the massacre.”
The final blessing took hold.
His physical abilities surged as radiant light wrapped around him, strengthening his muscles and sharpening every sense.
Massive angelic wings formed behind his back, projected entirely from golden light as the flooded dungeon became almost painfully bright.
The approaching creatures stopped.
Wallace looked down at his wrist.
The clock had reached its limit.
95%.
He stared at it for a moment.
Then smiled.
“Well.”
His voice became quieter.
“It’s almost midnight.”
The golden light surrounding him began to flicker.
Wallace closed his eyes.
“So I’m clocking out.”
The creatures wearing Maria’s face began backing away.
“You’ll be dealing with the other guy now.”
His hair slowly lost its color.
Blonde became pale.
Pale became white.
The golden wings behind him vanished.
And somewhere beneath Wallace Valentine’s skin, someone else began to wake up.