CHAPTER 31: END OF THE FIRST DREAM I

The wind was silent tonight.

No stars or moon was out only the low, only the whistling of the air and the wind.

"I thought you said these flames where common!?" Beatrice shouted, she has been walking for hours, however she had yet to find one of these mournful fires.

Meanwhile Dante replied back to her. "They are, your not looking hard enough, they will most likely be active in more Mundus infested places, this place doesn’t have any Mundus right, it’s clear it’s a safe zone of some kind."

"A safe Zone you say?" Beatrice stepped through the broken streets, her boots crushing fragments of scorched glass. Their was a crimson mist that hung above the ruin. And currently minus the voice in his head, he was alone...or, at least, she appeared to be.

"Alright." She muttered, glancing at the sky above. "You said the flame should appear in old ruins, right?"

From the other side of the screen, Dante’s voice echoed in her head, calm, detached, but never unkind. "Correct... Munduses, are usually more deep, this place seems almost untouched although a lot of blight has infested this area."

Beatrice’s lips curved slightly. "Then this city inner part must have a lot of them."

"Typically yes." Dante replied, making Beatrice nod her head in agreement as she responded back with. "Alright let’s go." She then moved deeper into the ruins. The air grew colder, as the night goes on. Till eventually, the environment started to change. A faint crimson shimmer began to glow through the cracks of the earth. Following it, she descended a slope of broken mental, as she entered an abandoned building, the remnants of a old church it would seem.

The place had a lot of moss, alongside thick carcasses of raw black meat that wrap and spread from the ground to the walls, but why this built caught her attention is because of the light source itself. And as she went further, that when she saw it. At the center of the altar a fire burned as Beatrice eye open and said. "Is that a Flame of Mourn?"

It wasn’t like ordinary fire. The flame was dense, heavy, black smoke rising from its embers. It coiled around a mound of petrified roots and blackened bones clearly burning away at body, its color deep and unnatural, like a ruby as it flickered, the beat intense.

Beatrice stopped at the edge of its glow. Her reflection shimmered within it, distorted and red.

"So this is it..." she whispered. "The Flame of Mourn." She glanced upward. "You sure about this, D? You really want me to burn myself alive for a save point?"

"Don’t dramatize it," Dante’s voice came, half amused. "It won’t kill you. It’ll just... rewrite your tether. Think of it as syncing your soul to the nearest checkpoint, and Saving it in time itself."

She sighed. "You make self-immolation sound like something good."

"Technically, it is."

"Fine." She muttered, shaking her head with a small grin. "If this kills me permanently, I’m haunting you after this." Beatrice stepped forward. The air around the flame grew electric, the scent of iron filling her nose. Her armor began to vibrate faintly as her feet crossed the glowing threshold.

Then the fire reached her. There was no pain, thankfully, only warmth. A deep, consuming warmth that filled her lungs and spine. Her body burned, yet not a single piece of her flesh was harmed.

But then as she heat up more and more, her body dissolved in a single burst of red light, scattering like glass dust into the wind.

And when the light faded, she was standing again, at the same spot, perfectly whole. The flame pulsed once, brighter than before, before settling into a steady glow.

Dante’s voice came through again, quieter this time. "See, was that so hard. You’ve created your Mournfield, Beako, how does it feel, good right!?" Beatrice flexed her fingers, eyes wide with awe. "So this... is what it feels like."

"You’ve anchored yourself," Dante explained. "If you die now, the world will pull you back here. Simple as that."

Beatrice smirked. "Guess that means I’m immortal for a while."

"That depends on how long you live." She laughed under her breath. "You’re terrible at reassurance, you know that?" Before Dante could reply, the ground trembled. A deep, wet rumble rolled across the ruins, followed by the sharp snap of bone.

Beatrice’s expression hardened instantly. She drew her Mother Fang the jagged edge shining under the light of the fire.

"What now she muttered, looking toward the shaking rubble.

From the darkness beyond the flame’s circle, something massive began to emerge. A twisted silhouette crawled on all fours, long arms ending in clawed hands that dragged through the dirt, leaving deep trails of ash. Its face was a hollow mask, smooth and eyeless, with veins of glowing red pulsing beneath its flesh.

"A Mundus?" Beatrice hissed. Dante’s voice sharpened. "No. That’s something a bit more... and a bit different... that thing is a Reclaimer. They guard places tied to the old world, usually like Munduses they have a taste for these fire. And I guess you step on it turf."

The creature let out a guttural, wet roar. The red flame around Beatrice flared violently in response, like two predators recognizing each other.

Beatrice took a stance. "Guess I’ll test that save point theory then." Without saying anything else she charged forward. The Reclaimer moved with impossible speed, its claws slicing through the air in arcs that split the ground open. Beatrice met the blow mid-swing, her cleave catching the strike with a ringing spark. The sheer force sent her sliding back several meters, boots digging into the charred stone.

She countered immediately, twisting her blade and slashing upward, her strike cutting through the creature’s shoulder. Black liquid sprayed, hissing as it hit the ground. The Reclaimer shrieked, the sound like breaking glass. "Fast recovery," Dante noted. "But aim for its core. That’s where the Residue collected that keeps it whole."

"Little busy!" Beatrice grunted, dodging another claw that tore through the air just inches from her face. She spun low, slicing through its leg and driving her heel into its gut. The creature stumbled, but not for long. Its severed limb regenerated almost instantly, threads of red sinew pulling the wound shut.

"Persistent bastard." She darted forward again, her movements fluid and deliberate. Each strike came with purpose, slashes aimed at tendons, joints, weak points. The Reclaimer’s claws caught her arm once, tearing a shallow gash across her armor. Sparks burst from the harden fur, but she ignored it.

Then the creature lunged again, mouth opening wide enough to swallow her whole.

Beatrice’s eyes flashed violet. "Not this time." Her blade flared crimson, absorbing some of the Mournfire’s residue still clinging to her. In a single spinning motion, she drove the sword straight into the Reclaimer’s throat. The explosion was silent but brilliant, red light blooming from within the monster’s body.

Its scream rattled the ruins. And then, it collapsed, melting into a pool of black liquid that slowly faded into the soil. Beatrice lowered her sword, breathing heavily. "...Strange why don’t I see any levels on these things, why do they differ from Munduses!?"