Joshua's consciousness floated in a haze, the overwhelming cacophony of sounds and sensations slowly coming into focus. His mind, still reeling from the abrupt transition into this new world, struggled to grasp the reality around him. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, but the chaotic scene before him remained a blur of motion and noise. The smell of blood and smoke filled the air, mingling with the harsh, guttural sounds of the Goliath language. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a rising panic as he tried to make sense of his surroundings.

"What the hell is going on?" Joshua thought, his mind racing to piece together the fragments of his memory. The last thing he remembered was the storm, the truck, and the voice promising him a second chance. Now, he was in the arms of a giant, monstrous woman who seemed more interested in inspecting him than showing any sign of maternal care.

From his vantage point, cradled in his mother’s powerful arms, Joshua observed the brutality unfolding around him. Goliaths were raiding the village with savage efficiency. Bodies lay strewn across the ground, the once peaceful village now a scene of carnage and destruction. He watched as the Goliaths tore through homes, their monstrous strength evident in every movement. They killed without hesitation, looted with impunity, and even engaged in the gruesome act of consuming their fallen enemies. The sight of it made his stomach churn, and he felt a cold dread settling over him.

"Is this real? Are they actually eating people?" Joshua's mind reeled, trying to process the horror. "This isn't just a nightmare. This is my new reality."

Joshua's mother, a fierce and imposing figure, held him in an uncomfortably tight grip, her eyes cold and calculating as she inspected him. He felt more like an object under scrutiny than a newborn child. Her hands were rough and unyielding, her touch devoid of any maternal warmth. Her piercing green eyes scanned his tiny form, searching for any sign of weakness or defect. He could feel her disdain, a palpable force that made his tiny body shudder involuntarily. She spoke in a harsh, guttural language, her voice carrying a tone of authority and severity.

"Why is she looking at me like that? What does she expect to find?" Joshua wondered, his anxiety growing with each passing moment. "I'm just a baby. But in her eyes, I'm something to be judged and possibly discarded."

As she conversed with a towering figure, whom Joshua assumed to be his father, he struggled to breathe under her unforgiving grasp. The words they exchanged were unintelligible to him, their language alien and rough. His mind raced, trying to process the flood of information. He wished he could understand what they were saying, to make sense of the chaos around him.

"Please, let me understand. I need to know what's happening," Joshua pleaded silently, his desperation mounting.

Suddenly, a beam of holy light enveloped him, startling his mother. She recoiled, dropping him instinctively. Joshua floated gently to the ground, unharmed. As he lay there, a notification appeared in his vision, informing him that he had gained the blessing of language. He stared at it in disbelief, unsure of how or why it had happened. The light faded, and as he looked up at his mother, he could now understand her words clearly.

"He must be some kind of demon," his mother hissed, her voice filled with contempt. She raised a hand, ready to strike him down, her face twisted in a mixture of fear and revulsion. Joshua's heart pounded in his chest, and he realized that his life was in immediate danger.

"Great, just what I needed. My new mother thinks I'm a demon. How the hell am I supposed to survive this?" Joshua thought, panic seizing him.

As Joshua processed the sudden shift in understanding, he felt a strange mix of relief and terror. The newfound ability to comprehend their language was both a blessing and a curse. He could now fully grasp the hostile intent in his mother's words and the murderous glint in her eyes. The reality of his situation crashed down on him like a tidal wave. He was in a world where mercy and compassion were scarce, and he would have to navigate this brutal existence with caution and cunning.

"Okay, think, Joshua. You've dealt with tough situations before. Just... not like this," he thought, trying to steady his racing mind. "If I can survive this, I can figure out what to do next."

His mother’s contempt was evident as she regarded him with a cold, calculating gaze. Her hand trembled slightly, betraying a hint of hesitation as she prepared to strike. Joshua's mind raced, searching for a way to survive this immediate threat. The holy light and the sudden acquisition of language hinted at powers beyond his understanding, and he clung to the hope that these gifts might save him.

"Maybe there's a way to show them I'm not a threat. Or at least, not a threat to them," he thought, his heart pounding in his chest.

The tension in the air was palpable as his mother hesitated, her eyes flicking between Joshua and the towering figure beside her. Joshua's newfound understanding of their language allowed him to catch snippets of their conversation. "He’s a curse," she spat, her voice trembling with anger. "No child should possess such unnatural abilities."

The towering figure stepped forward, his imposing presence casting a shadow over both of them. He placed a hand on the woman’s arm, a silent command to stay her hand. "We do not know what he is," the figure said, his voice calm but firm. "But he is still our son. We will find out what this means before we decide his fate."

Joshua breathed a tentative sigh of relief, his heart still pounding in his chest. The immediate threat of death had been averted, but he knew that his struggle for survival was far from over. He would need to prove himself in this harsh new world, and the path ahead was fraught with danger and uncertainty.

"I've got a second chance at life," Joshua thought, determination hardening within him. "I just need to figure out how to stay alive long enough to make it count."

The charred remains of a village house came into view as Joshua’s father carried him into what once was a home. The structure was barely standing, with most of the wooden beams blackened and brittle from the fire. Ashes and burnt corpses littered the floor, a grim reminder of the raid’s ferocity. Joshua's mother followed closely, her eyes still clouded with a mix of anger and confusion.

Joshua’s father, a towering figure with an aura of command, set him down gently amidst the debris. The man’s rough, battle-hardened features contrasted sharply with the tender way he handled the baby. Joshua’s mother, fierce and imposing, stood over them both, her eyes scrutinizing every move. The dim light from the smoldering ruins cast long, ominous shadows across her face, highlighting the tension etched in her features.

The air was thick with the acrid smell of burnt wood and the metallic tang of blood. The once vibrant colors of the villagers' belongings were now reduced to shades of gray and black. A broken toy lay half-buried in the ash, a haunting reminder of the lives lost. The crackling of dying embers was the only sound, punctuated occasionally by the distant cries of the wounded.

"What kind of hell is this?" Joshua thought, his tiny body shivering not just from the cold, but from the sheer horror of it all. "These people...they treat this as normal."

His parents spoke in their rough, guttural language, the words now clear to Joshua but no less disconcerting. "It was a mistake to think I would produce anything besides an affront to our gods," his mother spat, her voice thick with frustration.

Joshua's father shook his head, his expression stern but not unkind. "He is not an affront. He is a gift, a wildcard that could change everything for us."

"A gift?" she echoed, her voice rising in pitch. "You see this...this demon as a gift? He will bring ruin upon us!"

"He will bring strength," his father countered, his voice calm but firm. "We do not understand his powers yet, but that does not mean they are a curse. They could be our greatest asset."

Her eyes narrowed, filled with a mix of anger and fear. "And if they are not? What if he brings the wrath of Rigisteel upon us? What if he destroys us from within?"

Joshua's father took a step closer to her, his gaze unwavering. "We take that risk with every child born. You know this as well as I do. But this one...he is special. I can feel it. We must give him a chance."

She looked away, her shoulders tense. "I do not like it. I do not trust it. But...if you believe he is worth the risk, then I will stay my hand. For now."

Joshua's father placed a hand on her shoulder, squeezing gently. "Thank you. Together, we will watch over him and see what fate has in store."

Her expression softened slightly, though the worry did not entirely leave her eyes. "Very well. But mark my words, if he shows any sign of being a true danger, I will not hesitate."

He nodded, understanding the gravity of her promise. "Agreed."

Joshua's father gently pushed his mother away and approached Joshua, his expression one of contemplation. He knelt down, bringing his face level with Joshua's. "What am I dealing with here?" he murmured, more to himself than to anyone else. Then, addressing Joshua directly, he asked, "What should you be named?"

Joshua's mind raced as he realized the significance of the moment. He looked around the destroyed home, searching for something that would symbolize his identity in this new world. His eyes fell on various objects scattered among the ruins. A half-burnt wooden toy lay nearby, its once bright colors now dulled by soot. A piece of broken pottery caught the dim light, reflecting a fragment of what it once was. Each item seemed to hold a piece of the past, a past that was no longer his.

"I need something meaningful, something that will connect me to who I was," Joshua thought, feeling the weight of the decision. "But what? What could possibly represent me in this place?"

As he scanned the area, his eyes finally settled on the ashes scattered across the floor. The sight of them brought a strange sense of familiarity and purpose. "Ashes," he mused internally. "It’s part of my old name. Maybe...maybe I can keep that part of myself. If nothing else, I’ll have that memory."

Summoning all the strength his tiny body could muster, Joshua reached out and grabbed a baby fistful of ashes from the ground. The fine, gray particles clung to his small fingers, the remnants of what once was, now symbolizing his new beginning. He held onto them tightly, as if they were the last link to his past life.

His father watched, his expression shifting from curiosity to approval. "Ashes," he said, his voice carrying a note of finality. "A powerful name, signifying the cycle of life and death."

Joshua's heart swelled with a mixture of relief and pride. "Ashes," he repeated in his mind. "I can work with that. It’s a start."

His father, his towering form casting a protective shadow, gently lifted him from the ground. The rough, calloused hands that had likely ended many lives were surprisingly gentle as they cradled him. "Your name is Ashes," he declared, his voice resonating with a sense of finality and pride. "You are my son, and you will be known as Ashes."

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As they began to walk, the ashen ground crunched beneath his father's heavy boots, and the dim light of the smoldering ruins cast long, flickering shadows around them. The air was thick with the acrid smell of smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Joshua's father held him with a protective grip, his eyes scanning the destruction with a mix of satisfaction and contemplation.

His father approached his mother, who still wore a cold expression, though her demeanor seemed to soften slightly in his father's presence. Her green eyes, fierce and unyielding, did not seem to soften as they landed on her child.

"This is Ashes," his father announced proudly, holding Joshua up for her to see. "Our son, strong and resilient."

Ashes, feeling a small spark of hope, reached out a tiny hand toward her. She looked at the hand with disdain and, without hesitation, swatted it away. The rejection stung, but Ashes kept his composure. "That's fair," he thought, understanding her wariness.

To his father, however, this reaction was a sign of strength. "Look at him," his father said, his voice swelling with pride. "He knows no tears. This one is strong. He will grow to be one of our fiercest warriors."

His mother, still skeptical, tried to downplay the moment. "He's just a baby," she muttered, her voice cold but with a hint of something else, perhaps a glimmer of pride hidden beneath her harsh exterior.

Undeterred, his father continued, his voice filled with conviction. "This child, our Ashes, will grow into his name. He will become a symbol of strength and resilience. I look forward to seeing you grow, little one. You have chosen a powerful name, and I believe you will make it meaningful and mighty."

His mother crossed her arms, her gaze shifting between Ashes and his father. "And what if he brings the wrath of Rigisteel upon us? What if he is a curse?"

His father met her gaze, unwavering. "We have faced curses before and turned them into blessings. Ashes is not a curse. He is a wildcard, yes, but one that can change our fate for the better."

Her eyes narrowed, but there was a subtle shift in her stance, a slight relaxation of her rigid posture. "I do not like it. But if you believe in him, I will give him a chance."

"Thank you," his father said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Together, we will watch over him and see what fate has in store."

She sighed, her fierce demeanor softening just a fraction. "Very well. But remember, I will not hesitate if he proves to be a danger."

His father nodded, understanding the gravity of her words. "Agreed. But I believe he will make us proud."

Ashes didn’t fully understand what his father meant by this, but he made a silent promise. "You made a good choice saving me," he thought, looking up at the man who held him. "I won't let you down."

As they continued to walk through the aftermath of the raid, Ashes saw more of the Goliath way of life. The strong dominated, the weak perished, and there was little room for mercy or hesitation. He saw other Goliaths dragging away spoils of their conquest, their faces devoid of remorse. It was a harsh reality, one he would have to adapt to if he wanted to survive.

"I need to learn their ways, understand their strengths and weaknesses," Ashes thought, his mind racing with strategies. "I may be small now, but I have my mind, and I will use it to my advantage. I'll grow into my name and become someone they respect and fear."

His father’s voice broke through his thoughts. "Ashes, you will be a warrior. You will carry our legacy and make your mark in this world. I believe in you, my son."

Chapter 2: Trial and Error

Ashes looked up at his father, seeing the hope and pride in his eyes. It was a daunting expectation, but also a source of motivation. “I’ll find a way to live up to this name,” he thought. “No matter what it takes.”

His father, standing tall and imposing, turned to address the gathered Goliaths. The light of the setting sun cast a fiery glow on the ashen landscape, highlighting the devastation around them. “A new son is born among us!” he declared, his voice booming with authority and excitement. “We must return to the mountain to celebrate!”

The crowd erupted in a cacophony of cheers and war cries, their voices echoing through the ruins and causing Ashes’ sensitive ears to ring painfully. He winced, the noise almost overwhelming, but he understood that this was their way of celebrating life amidst the brutality. “These people, they’re savage, but they cherish their victories,” he thought, trying to reconcile the chaos with the sense of community it represented.

As the Goliaths began to pack up, Ashes observed the scene with wide eyes. The landscape was a stark contrast of beauty and brutality. The village, now reduced to smoldering ruins, lay beneath the towering peaks of the mountains and the dense, ancient forests. Goliaths moved with efficient precision, gathering their spoils of war—food, weapons, and captives destined for slavery. They hauled their loot with practiced ease, their massive frames moving with a grace that belied their size. The captives, bound and frightened, were herded like livestock, their fates uncertain.

Among the chaos, his mother approached, securing him in a sling that wrapped around her chest. The fabric was rough against his skin, but it provided the necessary support for the long journey ahead. The sling allowed him access to her exposed breast for feeding, while her hands remained free to carry supplies and navigate the rugged terrain. The practical design spoke volumes about the harsh realities of their life.

As they began their trek back to the mountain, his mother’s voice cut through the noise, low and urgent. “Listen to me, Ashes. You must not betray us. I carry the sin of my injury, the stab I took during a raid. It was through my abdomen, and many thought I would not survive, let alone bear children. I was disgraced for being wounded like that.”

Her words were a stark reminder of her own vulnerability and the burden she bore. “She’s not just cruel,” Ashes thought. “She’s scared. She’s trying to protect her people and me in the only way she knows how.”

She continued, her voice tinged with a rare softness. “The gods may have cursed me with this wound, but I will not let them curse you. If you are not a demon, do not become a curse. You must survive and thrive, Ashes. You must be better than I ever was. Please, do not let my sins ruin the safety of our people.”

Her plea was heartfelt, a desperate hope for redemption through her child. As they walked, she whispered prayers to the gods. “Rigisteel, I pray you do not forsake us. Let my son bring strength and honor to our tribe. Do not let my failures doom us all.”

The sincerity in her voice struck a chord with Ashes. She was not just a fierce warrior, but a mother struggling with her own fears and regrets. This realization humanized her in his eyes, painting her as a tragic figure rather than a mere antagonist.

Their march was interrupted by another wife of his father, a woman with an air of self-importance and a sharp tongue. She approached with a swagger, her tone dripping with condescension. “Well, well, it seems you finally succeeded in making a baby, Adara. Must have been in bed with demons for a miracle like that to happen.”

It was clear she was trying to provoke a reaction, but Adara remained composed. “Believe what you will, Jara,” she replied calmly, her voice steady. “My son is strong, and that is all that matters.”

Jara sneered, clearly unsatisfied with Adara’s lack of reaction. “We’ll see how long that lasts,” she muttered before moving away, her presence a lingering annoyance.

As Jara turned to leave, Ashes noticed a baby girl, slightly older than him, secured in a sling around Jara’s chest. The girl seemed physically stronger, her gaze sharp and observant even at such a young age. Ashes wondered how he and this girl were different and what skills she might possess.

“Who is she?” he thought, focusing intently. To his surprise, a list of her skills appeared in his vision: Hyper Intelligence (A) and Telepathy (C). “So that’s how it works,” he realized. “I can see their abilities. This could be useful.”

Curious, he scanned his mother and the others in his field of vision. Most of the Goliaths had skills ranging from F to D, only a few having anything at C or above. This revelation helped him quantify how strong he was compared to others. “These skills must be growth rates,” he surmised. “They don’t have their full powers yet, just like me.”

This newfound ability to see skills gave Ashes a deeper understanding of his parents. His father had an intimidating presence and very above average luck, skills that explained his command over the tribe. His mother, with her own set of skills, was not just a fierce warrior but also a woman burdened by her past and driven by a need for redemption.

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As they approached the village, Ashes got his first chance to take in the scene. He had expected dirt homes and poor living conditions, but what he saw was an actual town. The village had sturdy stone structures, walls built for their immense size, and a layout that suggested careful planning and robust construction. Banners fluttered in the cool mountain breeze, and fires burned in large pits, casting a warm, welcoming glow across the settlement.

Despite its similarities to a human town, there were stark differences. The atmosphere was harsher, more primal. Goliaths moved with purpose, their expressions hard and unyielding. Ashes noticed several violent interactions treated as normal—disputes settled with fists and dominance established through physical prowess. Yet, there was also a sense of community, a rough camaraderie among them.

As they entered the village, Ashes was brought before the other six wives of his father. Each woman carried a child, save for one whose child, appearing around three or four years old, stood on its own. The women gathered around, their expressions a mix of curiosity and skepticism.

“So, Adara finally managed to have a baby,” Laulo remarked, her tone a blend of disbelief and amusement. Laulo was tall, with a muscular build and long, braided hair that shimmered like spun gold. Her skill, Elemental Resistance (C), made her impervious to many natural dangers. Ashes could see a hint of surprise and begrudging respect in her eyes.

“Who would have thought? We all assumed it was impossible,” Navu added, shaking her head in amazement. Navu had dark, curly hair and sharp features, her piercing blue eyes always on the lookout. Her skill, Enhanced Vision (D), allowed her to see far and wide, a trait valuable for a hunter. Ashes felt an odd mixture of comfort and wariness around her, noting her constant vigilance.

“Look at him,” Gauthe said, peering closely at Ashes. “He doesn’t look like a demon, does he?” Gauthe had a more delicate frame but carried herself with a regal air. Her skill, Healing Touch (C), made her a crucial figure in the village, often tending to the wounded. Her curiosity seemed genuine, though there was an underlying skepticism in her tone.

“He’s small, but there’s something about him,” Olarea observed, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. Olarea had dark skin and a powerful build, with scars marking her experience in battles. Her skill, Enhanced Strength (D), was evident in her every move. Ashes could sense both strength and an underlying challenge in her gaze.

The conversations buzzed around Ashes, each woman offering her own opinion. It was clear that none of them had expected Adara’s pregnancy to be successful. Their surprise and the way they spoke made Ashes realize just how uncertain his birth had been.

“Guess luck was on your side, Adara,” Gevea said with a wry smile. “Rigisteel must have had a hand in this.” Gevea was slender and agile, with quick, darting eyes that missed nothing. Her skill, Stealth (D), made her an effective scout. There was a mix of amusement and grudging respect in her tone, making Ashes feel a strange connection with her.

Adara held her head high, a mix of pride and defiance in her eyes. “He is strong, and he will grow even stronger. This is just the beginning.”

The women continued to talk, their voices overlapping. Some were genuinely impressed, while others seemed to be making light of the situation. Ashes listened intently, trying to understand the dynamics at play. It became evident that his birth was indeed seen as a stroke of luck, a rare and unexpected event that had caught everyone off guard.

Zaugea, her voice dripping with disdain, took the comments too far. “It’s a wonder he survived at all, given his mother’s disgrace. Maybe he should have been left to die like the rest of her mistakes.” Zaugea, with her fiery red hair and intense gaze, had the skill of Fire Manipulation (C). Her words were sharp, clearly meant to cut deep.

In an instant, Adara’s demeanor changed. She drew a weapon, her eyes blazing with fury. “Say that again, and it will be the last thing you ever say,” she hissed, her voice low and deadly.

The other wives froze, tension crackling in the air. They were like hyenas circling a tiger, unsure of how to proceed. Ashes watched in awe and fear as his mother stood her ground, fierce and ready to kill for his sake.

The standoff was broken by his father’s commanding voice. “Enough,” he said, and the tension dissipated as the wives dropped to one knee almost in unison. “You must be my children since you are acting like it,” he continued, his tone both stern and amused. This defused most of the tension, as none of the wives wanted to be seen as lesser in his eyes. Except for Adara, who remained unyielding, her pride and strength undiminished.

He looked at Ashes with a hint of a smile. “I am happy to have another son to add to the list.”

Turning to address all of them, he said, “Remember how important you are for our kingdom and my plans. Each of you has a role to play, and together we will achieve greatness.”

There was an underlying current in his words, something Ashes was still too uninformed to fully grasp. But he understood that his father had grand ambitions and that each of his children was a part of that vision. The scene ended with his father’s speech, a powerful reminder of their purpose and the future he envisioned for them.

As Ashes took in his surroundings, he felt a mix of determination and trepidation. The journey ahead would be challenging, but he was ready to face it head-on. He had to grow into his new name, to become the warrior his father believed he could be. And with his newfound abilities, he was determined to find his place in this harsh, unforgiving world.