Date: Year 23,000 month 1 day 5 night
Location: camp
Pov of Leo
Within the forest of death, where monsters and mana beasts roamed, their power and destructive force were only surpassed by their lack of intelligence. A stark contrast defined these beings in this ominous wilderness.
In the heart of the forest, a camp emerged—home to students of the beast sect. Unlike conventional inner or outer disciples, these individuals earned the title of students due to the rigorous trials they faced at the tender age of 16. The looming trials were a precursor to the upcoming continental tournament of Bryne.
Amidst this wilderness, Leo found himself under the moonlight. Describing him in simple terms revealed a figure of striking handsomeness, adorned in elegant attire with smooth, unblemished skin.
Leo's black and blue hair cascaded, purposefully parted to reveal his enigmatic dark blue eyes. Behind those eyes lay secrets that delved into the depths of his soul. His face, however, remained an inscrutable canvas, reflecting none of the emotions that stirred within him. Leo, in his essence, emanated purity and an unwavering sense of self.
Seated before a tree, its trunk marred by a haunting hole oozing with dripping blood, Leo's hands were a gruesome testament to his unsuccessful attempts at channelling his strength into the unforgiving bark. He found himself questioning the wisdom of such endeavours.
The trees in the forest bore witness to the scattered bones of his hands, the echoes of his own screams, and those of his fellow sect mates.
Leo's life seemed a surreal tragedy, from the destruction of his kingdom's and the tragic demise of his father and stepmother. Helpless, he had witnessed the unfolding tragedy, uncertain about the fate of his siblings.
Lost in the aftermath, Leo somehow found solace within the confines of the beast sect, where he not only survived but excelled enough to secure a place in the rigorous training for the continental tournament of Bryce. It was as if the pieces fell into place after the ruin of his kingdom, leaving Leo torn between feeling cursed or blessed.
Shaking his head to dispel thoughts of the past, Leo grappled with a lingering sense that a mysterious force played a role in the events of his life. Despite a yearning to uncover the truth, a curious tranquility settled within him. There was an inexplicable assurance that he would emerge unscathed from the storm.
Since childhood, Leo had been attuned to voices resonating everywhere—conveying emotions ranging from love to pain, danger, and happiness. However, everything changed yesterday when those voices cried out in agony, leaving Leo bewildered. The experience mirrored the heart-wrenching separation of children from their mothers, touching Leo's soul with overwhelming intensity.
On that fateful day, his ears bled, and fear was etched across his face. The incident marked a turning point, setting Leo on a path shrouded in mystery and an undeniable sense of purpose.
In the wake of the voices' anguished cries, Leo found an unsettling resolve to punish those responsible for the pain he sensed. A connection formed, and on that day, he felt an affinity with the lightning Aaron wielded—an intense desire to be the punisher.
From that moment onward, Leo grappled with an unfamiliar motivation, a calling that seemed to lead him into uncharted territory. The desire to exact justice burned within him, driving his purpose in ways he had never experienced before.
Surveying his surroundings, Leo's gaze fell upon Maich, immersed in the healing pool. Maich, like other commoners, harbored deep resentment towards royalty. His full blue hair covering the scar above his right eyes marked him someone that was wrong. He was felt with hate beyond the simple justification of birth right.
And even thought Maich held such hatred, they were friends, simply base on their hair color.
Observing Maich tending to himself, Leo approached him and inquired, “Are you truly going to end her life tomorrow?”
Maich, without bothering to turn and identify Leo, responded with a resolute tone, “Yes, I will end her, even if it's the last thing I do. I swear upon mother Kana that I will kill her.”
Leo was taken aback. The gravity of Maich swearing upon their creator indicated the severity of his vow. It was an affirmation, a binding commitment that transcended ordinary promises. Names held meaning, and it was know to swear upon Mother Kana is a vow, and a vow cant be broken.
Before Leo could utter a word, Maich turned around, a somber expression clouding his features. "Are you going to stop me?" Maich's question hung heavy in the air, laden with the weight of impending decisions.
Leo, contemplating the implications of his friend's forthcoming actions, responded with a hint of resignation, "No, why would I interfere? Aren't we friends?" His hand ran through his hair, a gesture reflective of the internal turmoil he grappled with.
Leo had previously cautioned Maich about the consequences of his intended course of action and had even offered alternative paths. Yet, it seemed like his words had fallen on deaf ears, dissipating into the air without making an impact. The realization hit Leo that letting go was a challenge for many, a truth he deemed humanity's greatest sin.
In that moment, the complexity of friendship, moral choices, and the harsh realities of human nature converged, leaving Leo to confront the unsettling truth that sometimes, despite the bonds of camaraderie, individuals must tread their own paths, no matter how fraught with consequence.
—--------------
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Under the watchful gaze of the nine moons, Luther stood in his tent, shirtless, his body adorned with scars that still measured two to three inches in length. As his fingers traced a slash from neck to hip, Luther chuckled and then smiled. Luther didn’t know why he was alive but he was going to get his venge.
The visible damage, however, only scratched the surface; the true torment he endured extended beyond his physical form.
The body, a mirror of the soul, bore the weight of his frequent torments and internal demons. The laughter and smiles belied the depth of his pain, a pain mortal minds struggled to comprehend.
Attempting to describe the pain Luther experienced was likened to someone thrusting a knife through the head. The persistent headache, a constant companion, was but a manifestation of the soul collapse he had undergone. Luther's soul was broken, and the damage inflicted seemed irreparable. Soul collapse, the precursor to soul death, was a testament to the immense toll exacted on his being.
In the hierarchical structure of the Beast sect, killing an inner student was deemed a death crime. However, Luther had miraculously escaped such a fate.
In a daze, Luther stood, pushing down his memories, attempting to piece together the fragments of his shattered soul. The process of pushing one's soul together required immense willpower.
Each attempt brought forth the searing pain of using spiritual energy—a product of the soul—and the resistance of the soul itself. The soul, a conservative energy, resisted change, striving to maintain a form that represented the person. The daunting task of soul recovery was underscored by its perceived impossibility, with a staggering nine out of ten patients succumbing to the consequences of a soul death.
Continuing on his introspective journey, Luther turned his attention to his core. It gleamed like a newborn star, pristine and pure, its surface adorned with the ebb and flow of liquid and gaseous mana. Luther observed a gradual transformation unfolding within him, a process where his body was fortifying itself by enveloping his cells in mana.
Within the intricate balance of his being, three distinct energies coexisted. Spiritual energy, an emanation of the soul, was conservative, resisting change and manifesting as unique spiritual signatures and killing intent.
In the early stages of cultivation, mana wasn't naturally produced by the body; instead, it was absorbed from mana stones. Mana, true to its nature, sought harmony and unity with the elements around it.
The third energy was essence, a force generated by the human heart. This energy, the most malleable of the three, possessed the remarkable ability to perform any desired task without a predetermined will. Essence embodied the will of life itself.
However, within Luther's body, these three energies waged a silent war. His spiritual energy fought against itself, a consequence of his soul being fragmented. The battleground extended to his mana and essence, each vying for dominance. Mana sought to make itself whole by reinforcing the body, spreading, and seizing control.
On the other hand, essence, while malleable, resisted the intrusion, believing that mana had no right to fortify the body. Instead, essence aspired to utilize mana to strengthen the heart, setting the stage for an internal conflict of profound significance. Luther found himself caught in the intricate dance of these energies, each vying for supremacy within his once delicate ecosystem in chaos.
Luther opened his eyes to find his brother Aaron wearing his usual smile, yet there was an unspoken question in his expression.
"Why are you so mad, brother?" Aaron inquired, his gaze examining Luther's wounds.
Luther remained silent for a moment, allowing Aaron to finish his observation before responding but Aaron beat him to it.
"What changed you, a man who stood for a reason, the one-man army, the protector of the weak, the one who showed love for humanity—where is that person?" Aaron questioned.
Aaron's words resonated with undeniable truth. Luther had indeed been a guardian of humanity, a defender, a beacon of hope. The question hung in the air, forcing Luther to confront the transformation that had taken hold within him, casting a shadow over the virtues and principles he had once staunchly upheld.
Inhaling deeply, Luther gazed at Aaron with a sorrowful expression and uttered slowly, "A long time ago, I needed somebody, and somebody wasn't there, so I decided I don't need you, I don't need anybody." The room tensed with the weight of Luther's words until Aaron broke the silence, asserting,
"That's the wrong way to see life, brother. You need help, you need me."
"But you weren't there when I needed you," Luther fired back sharply.
"Yes, I wasn't there, but now I am," Aaron admitted, attempting to convey his acknowledgment of past shortcomings.
Luther, however, unleashed a torrent of grievances, "How can I think when I hear voices in my head? How can I forgive when he killed my lover? How can I forgive when my own blood left me for three years? How can I forgive when they plotted against me? I did whatever they asked of me, but when it came down to it, they threw me away like trash."
"I'm sorry, brother," Aaron murmured, head bowed in shame.
"Your sorry means nothing. Just understand this, there will be a massacre," Luther vowed. "If there's anything I know in this fake and cruel world, it's that I will have my vengeance."
On the 23,000th year, month 1, day 5, Luther made a solemn vow that would plunge the continent of Bryce into war and bloodshed. Innocent lives would be lost due to his actions. Luther Bryne, a man of once great important, and man who enjoy the trill of combat, is no more but a vengeful soul.
---------------- (Note Clark is black)
A Figure emerged in the darkness, his skin seemingly blending with the shadows. Standing close to 6 inches tall, he had an afro of hair and big brown eyes. It was Clark. His hands gripped his sword as he faced a 5-feet wolf, its fur drenched in blood.
"So, this is the wolf that killed my sect mates. He's quite big," Clark remarked, raising his sword horizontally in front of his face.
With a clang, the sword and wolf claws collided. Clark leaped toward the wolf with a vertical hit, drawing blood, a shallow wound. The battle was far from over. The wolf willed essence, increasing its speed and creating an aura around it, making it faster and harder to track.
Struggling to keep up, Clark closed his eyes, relying on his heightened sense of hearing. The wolf slashed at Clark, leaving deep cuts and warm blood splattering on the grass. Yet, Clark stood steadfast, making the wolf impatient.
The wolf charged toward Clark's sword, but he bent his knees, lining his sword beneath the wolf's belly. The sword passed through the wolf, ending its life and spilling its intestines on the ground.
"Well done, Clark," Clive clapped, approaching the exhausted and bloodied warrior.
"That was impressive but foolish. Now you are injured, and that will cause you a lot more harm than good," Clive cautioned, eyeing Clark's injuries.
"So, you were here all along," Clark said, sheathing his sword.
"Yes, I couldn't help with that wolf, because luther would kill me. But I can give you some advice," Clive offered.
"What kind of advice?" Clark inquired, wiping blood off his face.
"It's foolish to take on everything by yourself, but it's also brave to stand your ground. The path to power is not a solitary one. Yes, people can be disappointing and unreliable, but you won't make it far if you have no one. Cultivation is a lonely and dangerous road, so go make some friends before it's too late," Clive advised, reflecting on his own experiences.
Clark, fueled by rage, dismissed the idea of forming bonds, stating, "What do you know? They aren't like me. All they do is talk and relax. The commoners and royalty, none of them have any true will."
Clive responded, "We lost 6 our sect mates, and all they did was talk about how unfortunate it was."
As Clive walked back to his tent, he continued, "Kids are so stubborn. They just don't listen. It's whatever. I'm sure Luther and Aaron felt my intervention. They wouldn't want a prodigy to die, so I am sure I'm fine."
"Shut up, loudmouth," David retorted from his tent, eating and laughing.
"You shut up, nosy brat. And how's your cultivation going? I don't see you doing anything. Looks like I need to report to the master," Clive responded as he entered the tent.
"Come on, that's no fun. I'm also close to the core realm. It's quite hard to control different types of mana in a stable shape, you know that," David explained, putting away his snacks.
"Then shut up and work on it. All you do is eat and chat," Clive retorted from inside his sleeping bag.
"Good night, by the way," Clive added, closing his eyes.
"Good night, loudmouth," David replied with a smile on his face while filling his stomach.