Weaver's Mask

Sunny looked at the black mask and the darkness hiding in its eyes. Its features were not as much contorted as fearsome by nature. It was simultaneously fearsome and somber, bestial and regal. As though existing at the border of all things.

But most of all, the striking mask radiated a sense of mystery.

The vicious fangs, the twisting horns, the black lacquered wood of it all… once again, his intuition was silent. There was nothing he felt toward the black mask, as though it didn't even exist.

'How strange.'

Sunny waited for a few moments, then picked up the mask and brought it to his face to take a closer look at it.

But just a moment after his fingers touched the sleek surface of the polished wood, the mask suddenly disintegrated into a swarm of countless white sparks. Acting like water, the stream of light flowed toward Sunny's chest and entered into his body, disappearing into the dark depths of his shadow core.