The two powerful souls let out silent howls. The sound waves they generated were enough to shatter a mortal's soul, but within this completely sealed space, the howls could only echo through their own consciousness.
Wu Heng opened his eyes.
Deep within his pupils, a black and a white glimmer flashed.
He withdrew his hand.
The Puppet Wraith's tentacles retracted at the same time.
Inside the cage, the two points of light had shrunk to four-fifths of their original size. Their glow was faint, and they spun slowly like dying candles in the wind.
But they were still alive.
Wu Heng had not completely devoured them. That would have been too risky, possibly triggering a backlash from the rules—and it would have been far too wasteful. A delicacy had to be savored slowly.
He had merely extracted enough, like drawing a bucket of water from a reservoir. The reservoir was still there; its water level had simply fallen.
And this water was enough.
Enough for him to understand their essence, enough to use their abilities, enough for him to... impersonate them when necessary.
Wu Heng turned and walked toward the room's exit.
The Puppet Wraith followed behind him, its tentacles retracting as it condensed once more into a humanoid outline.
Before stepping out of the room, Wu Heng looked back at the cage.
The two points of light were still turning slowly, as if nothing had happened.
But he knew that everything had changed.
Three hours later, Demon Hunter Guild, third underground level, armory.
Fluorescent tubes gave off a steady hum, illuminating rows of gun racks, weapon racks, and potion cabinets. The air carried the mingled scent of gun oil, metal, and disinfectant.
Dean stood before a workbench, wiping down the demon-hunting blade Grayson had forged. The blade had been