Chapter 116: Mind-Cephalon Finn nodded slowly as the pain finally subsided to a dull ache. He knew Osmund was right. The spell had saved him during the fight, but only because he’d subconsciously timed it perfectly. If his concentration had slipped even a fraction... "But," Osmund continued, and there was approval in his voice now, "your combat sense is excellent. To instinctively time that spell to phase through my strike, in the middle of a fight, under pressure — that shows strong fundamental instincts." "What you’re lacking is focus." Finn frowned. "Isn’t that what the spell incantation is for? To help focus the effect?" "There’s that," Osmund agreed. "But there’s also the fact that when you see a literal hand inside your body in any sane state, your mind wavers. Your focus breaks. It’s instinctive." He breathed out softly. "You need to train your mental discipline. Learn to stabilize your mind against the tiniest fluctuations. Against emotional reactions, shock, fear, surprise... Your thoughts must remain perfectly calm regardless of what you’re experiencing." "And for that," He raised a hand slowly and Finn watched with morbid fascination as a soul mass materialized from Osmund’s shadow in full. It was... grotesque. An octopus-like mass, small in size, with too many tentacles that ended in sucker-covered appendages. But the worst part was the black liquid constantly oozing from its body — a thick, gooey fluid that dripped to the platform but never quite seemed to pool. Like it was being absorbed back into Osmund’s shadow as fast as it emerged. The sight struck Finn as deeply wrong. Not because Osmund had a soul mass — he already knew the man was part Transcendent offspring, which implied Ossuarist capabilities. But seeing a member of the Anaelle race, someone with pointed ears and horns and white fur, summoning a soul mass... It looked wrong in a way Finn couldn’t articulate. Like two things that shouldn’t mix. "This," Osmund said, gesturing at the writhing mass, "is a Mind-Cephalon. A relatively weak species that should be extinct in the outside world, but should very well still be alive inside this world..." The creature’s tentacles quivered, sensing vibrations in the air. "It’s a parasite," Osmund continued. "It latches onto a prey’s head, senses their mental signals, then influences their dreams slowly over multiple nights. Eventually, the victim loses the desire to wake up entirely. That’s when the Mind-Cephalon feeds." Finn stared at Osmund like he’d lost his mind, already seeing where he was going. "There is no way I’m letting that thing attach to my head." "Stop being dramatic!" Osmund hissed in exasperation. "I wouldn’t have explained the full details if not for the contract terms requiring honesty about potential harm! Normally I would have just told you it’s specifically designed for practicing control of mental fluctuations and left it at that!" "And I wouldn’t have believed you," Finn shot back. "Look at it! It’s disgusting!" "Are you truly an Ossuarist?" Osmund snapped even further, as if he couldn’t believe Finn was calling out something he felt was minor. "You deal with chaotic soul masses constantly! Disgusting and uncanny should be things you’re numb to!" He took a breath, visibly calming himself. "The Mind-Cephalon is a soul mass now. Under my control. I can limit its influence to only affect dreams, not devour anything. And beyond its dream manipulation, it can also generate moderate electrical jolts — that’s how it evolved to influence brain signals in the first place." Osmund gestured at the creature with forced patience. "When it puts you in a dream state, every large fluctuation in your emotional state based on what you experience will trigger a jolt. That shock will wake you immediately. Over time, your mind learns to suppress those fluctuations to avoid the pain. It’s an accelerated training method for mental discipline." Finn remained skeptical, as he already thought of potential problems. What if it can decipher my dreams? What if I dream about being from Earth? About my title? About the adaptations? "Can you see what it sees?" Finn asked carefully. "When it’s attached to me?" Osmund’s expression shifted to something between exasperation and resignation. "Your distrust of me is truly remarkable," he said flatly. "Distrust and skepticism are valuable traits, especially as an Ossuarist. But based on what I felt during our soul handshake before the contract, your level of suspicion feels... excessive." Finn’s frown deepened at how accurately Osmund had read him. "Regardless," Osmund continued, "the Mind-Cephalon cannot see into anyone’s mind. Neither can I through it. The creature works purely on chemicals. It enhances activity in brain regions associated with specific emotions — fear, excitement, sorrow, whatever it wants to amplify in your dream. But ultimately, what you experience is your subconscious. Your fears, your memories, your secrets..." He met Finn’s eyes directly. "I swear on the contract terms regarding honesty and no deliberate harm: I am telling you the truth about the Mind-Cephalon’s capabilities and limitations. It cannot read thoughts, access memories, or share what it experiences with me." The words hung in the air for a few seconds as Finn waited for anything to happen. And after nothing did, he felt some of his tension ease. If Osmund had been lying, the contract would have reacted. Osmund looked a bit slighted but Finn was thick-skinned and said nothing. "You know," Osmund said eventually, "if we’re going to continue this teacher-student relationship, some level of trust needs to be in place..." Finn only grunted vaguely in response then proceeded to sit cross-legged on the platform, forcing his expression neutral as the Mind-Cephalon began to move towards him. Osmund shook his head, but Finn wasn’t paying him any mind. His attention was on the Mind-Cephalon as it squirmed closer leaving a trail of that shadowy black liquid that evaporated almost as soon as it touched the ground. Its tentacles reached the edge of Finn’s boot, then it began climbing. Urgh... Finn’s body shivered but he schooled his face. Kept his breathing steady. This was training, after all. If he couldn’t even handle letting a controlled soul mass touch him, how would he face actual combat horrors? The Mind-Cephalon climbed slowly up his leg, over his torso, moving with a squelching wetness. More of that black fluid oozed from its body, soaking into his clothes but somehow not quite touching his skin. Then it reached his neck. Paused. Seemed to taste the air around his head with those sucker-tipped tentacles. Finn’s breathing accelerated despite his efforts. His heart hammered against his ribs. I’m supposed to stay calm, he berated himself. I’m already failing the test and it hasn’t even started yet! The Mind-Cephalon settled onto his head. For a tense moment, Finn felt the weight of it. The cold, wet touch of its tentacles spreading across his scalp, wrapping around to his temples, his forehead, the back of his skull... Then the sensation faded. "That’s the anesthetic secretion," Osmund’s voice came from somewhere far away. "Makes the attachment process less distressing. Now just relax and let it—" Finn’s head began to droop. Heavy, irresistible sleep crashed over him like a wave. His eyes fluttered, fighting to stay open even as his consciousness dimmed. It’s kicked in already... Finn groggily realized. Then for a split second, darkness overtook him... And then his eyes opened abruptly.