Note: Hokkaido—also known as the Holy Graveyard—is the city built by the first Hero.
...
image [https://raw.githubusercontent.com/Chiruschka/Supersum/refs/heads/main/klepto_1.svg]
A shimmering rectangle materialized before Klepto, its edges pulsating like a heartbeat. Unlike the usual soothing pastel green he was accustomed to, this one glowed with an unsettling Bordeaux red. It hovered in the toxic mists of Kratikal, casting eerie shadows that danced across the jagged rocks and twisted vegetation surrounding him. The window hinted at an uncharted world waiting to be explored, a realm both enticing and foreboding.
"Fascinating," Klepto whispered, his voice barely audible over the distant wails carried by the wind. His eyes narrowed, a mixture of intrigue and confusion clouding his gaze. He racked his brain for answers, but even the myriad souls he had trapped—humans, djinns, angels, high-demons, dwarves, elementals, gnomes, giants, and countless others—offered no clues. Their collective memories were like a vast library at his disposal, yet none contained the knowledge he sought. He knew their [System Windows] inside out, but in truth, they all resembled that of the beast-kin, differing mainly in their types of [Divine Skills].
A chill ran down his spine, though not from fear. Only one answer remained. "Am I... a monster now?" he murmured, the realization dawning on him like the first light of dawn breaking through a storm. The thought was both surprising and strangely exhilarating. Becoming something other than a sapient being explained the anomaly before him. A sly smile spread across his face, his eyes gleaming with newfound excitement. "Not bad at all," he mused, savoring the unexpected delight in the notion.
He stood up slowly, his movements fluid yet predatory. Stepping over the pleading servant without a second glance, entirely consumed by the crimson glow of the [System Window]. The servant's desperate whispers faded into the background noise, as insignificant as the moving of the sand under his feet. This discovery would shock the world once it came out, but he knew, 'No one would believe me, though,' he thought with a hint of irony. Intelligent monsters did exist and posed significant threats, but they were often swiftly eliminated—driven by madness and an insatiable thirst for war and domination over sapient beings.
'I understand them now,' he realized, a flicker of empathy—or perhaps kinship—igniting within him. Monsters were often misunderstood, and sapient beings saw their actions as horrific. Yet here he was, crossing that very threshold, finding it quite acceptable—the lingering metallic taste reminded him of his recent deeds as he licked his lips. It was apparent that his new species viewed sapients as nothing more than cattle, and he found himself accepting that notion.
'The strong should always rule the weak,' lost in thoughts of newfound superiority, Klepto became acutely aware of his body. A surge of vigor coursed through his veins, filling him with unexpected joy. His senses sharpened; he could smell the sulfur in the air, hear the distant cracking of rocks, and feel the pulsating energy within the toxic mists—a place that would dissolve one's lungs swiftly and, if not, drive them into insanity.
"I see," he whispered, a grin spreading wider across his face. "exhilarating." He flexed his fingers, watching as tiny sparks of crimson energy danced between them. He had never felt such vitality, such raw power.
Klepto's mindset shifted dramatically; any lingering fear evaporated like morning mist under a rising sun. 'Doesn't this also mean...' His eyes widened with realization. 'Am I not immortal?!' The thought sent a thrill through him, bringing him ever so close to ecstasy. The idea of an endless existence, free from the constraints of mortality, was intoxicating.
Monsters were often considered immortal, not aging as sapient beings did. Records spoke of creatures over ten thousand years old, perishing only through misfortune or battle. 'William and me,' Klepto thought, his heart pounding with anticipation. He grabbed his arm, his nails digging into his flesh—not out of pain, but to anchor himself in this exhilarating reality. He imagined a life of endless love, an eternity spent with the one he cherished. Could there be anything better?
Suddenly, a new purpose ignited within him. 'Right! There's more to discover in the [System Window]!'
He turned back to the hovering rectangle, expecting to spend weeks deciphering its contents. Yet, as his gaze settled on the complex symbols and scripts, everything clicked with astonishing clarity. The symbols made perfect sense as if an ancient instinct had awakened within him, unlocking secrets he never knew he possessed. "So much better," he exclaimed, elation lighting up his features. As a lesser being, he had always had to guess the meanings behind [Skills] and [Mystic Skills]; now, they were as clear as day, each resonating with him on a primal level.
First and foremost, he adored his new title. "Klepto..." he murmured, savoring the sound. "The Love-Twisted Weaver." He enunciated each word with deliberate care, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. Despite everything, he genuinely wished to spread love—or at least his twisted version of it. The irony wasn't lost on him, weaving webs both literal and metaphorical, ensnaring hearts and souls alike.
New attributes surfaced, the numbers transforming into symbols that pulsed with meaning. [Stamina] appeared—a rarity that usually required an extraordinary [Divinity Line] to replace mana, but he had both. Other bizarre [Attributes] manifested: [Resistances], [Fate], [Morals]—all aligning with his new [Class], something typically exclusive to humans. "The Unending Web of Sacrifice," he mused, letting the name roll off his tongue like fine wine. It sounded poetic, almost romantic in a dark sort of way.
This [Class] came with unique [Traits]: immense regeneration, the power to manipulate and mold servants to his will, and the ability to control them as the lesser beings they were. The possibilities seemed endless, each more enticing than the last.
'What a beautiful web,' he thought, his gaze instinctively drifting to an intricate net that seemed to materialize within his mind's eye. An insect was trapped inside, its tiny legs flailing as it struggled futilely. A sadistic glint sparked in his eyes. "[Sacrificial Regeneration]," he whispered, the words slipping off his tongue like a secret incantation.
A swirling [Energy] coalesced in his palm, crimson and wrathful like a raging beast. It crackled and hissed, casting a blood-red glow on his face. He hurled it at the struggling djinn behind him with a swift, almost dismissive, motion. The creature's body dissolved instantly; their ethereal screams and anguished cries echoed briefly in Klepto's mind before fading into oblivion.
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'Cute,' a tiny fly emerged from the remnants, darker than any black he had ever seen. It fluttered toward him, its wings beating soundlessly. Landing gently on his shoulder, it dissolved into ash that seeped into his skin like whispering shadows—a surge of vitality coursed through him; not only had his body regenerated, but he felt stronger than ever before. The sensation was intoxicating.
image [https://raw.githubusercontent.com/Chiruschka/Supersum/refs/heads/main/klepto_2.svg]
"Leveling up is so much easier now," Klepto mused aloud, a hint of amusement in his voice. He examined the updated [System Window], noting the enhancements with satisfaction. He flexed his newly transformed body, clenching and unclenching his fists, rolling his shoulders to savor the newfound strength. Every movement felt effortless, his body a finely tuned instrument.
'Different,' he thought, marveling at the clarity of his mind. Even the cacophony of voices that once tormented him had diminished to mere whispers—annoyances rather than the debilitating distractions they had been. His form was stronger and more resilient, and only now did he grasp the magnitude of his transformation into something greater. 'William could be the same... we all could be the same,' he pondered, excitement tinging his thoughts. The idea of sharing this power, this eternal existence, with others he deemed worthy was appealing.
Eager to experiment further, [Energy] surged in his hand once more, this time feeling oddly familiar. "Wild Demonic Energy... but different?" he wondered aloud. It was rougher, infused with something he found himself admiring deeply. "It's... like... divinity."
The experience was surreal. The [Energy] he wielded was indeed tinged with divinity, yet a soul within him—a former human priest—screamed in blasphemous agony. "Why does it feel so strange?" he questioned, tilting his head as if listening to an inner dialogue.
He recognized the [Wild Demonic Energy], a force he had encountered countless times at the Leonandra estate. But now, it was laced with something... designed. True demonic energy carried a different sensation—a raw, unfiltered sapience untainted by personal quirks, altering one's very being. It corroded body, mind, and soul, striving relentlessly to reshape one into a truer version of oneself. In contrast, the holiness he sensed now elevated the soul beyond mere sapience, pushing the boundaries of existence.
He glanced back at the [System Window], noting that his [Attribute] [Divinity] was the only one shrouded in mystery. He couldn't discern its purpose or origin, yet it pulsed with significance. Then he noticed a note at the bottom of the [System Window], a cryptic message that seemed both familiar and enigmatic.
"The Divine Blacksmith? I know of him," he recalled, sifting through the memories borrowed from his trapped souls. Legends spoke of when the first human Hero emerged, facing an ancient demon that wrought chaos and destruction in Kratikal, scheming to conquer Orbis.
To defeat this menace, an unnamed dwarven blacksmith emerged—a master craftsman whose works transcended time. They crafted the legendary Holy Weapons: a sword for the human Hero, a staff for the elven Sage, a bow for the gnomish Marksman, a shield for the dwarven Tank, an orb for the angelic Saint, daggers for the trollish Fool, and finally, an axe for the orcish Juggernaut—the champions of their respective races and the First Servants.
Though hailed as the mightiest group on Orbis, they perished in Kratikal. Their epic battle shattered the land, creating the sea separating Kratikal from the Free Cities—a tale woven with fact and myth, the truth lost to the sands of time.
Yet, the Divine Blacksmith had apparently crafted his [System Window] and bestowed upon him the [Divinity] he now possessed. 'Fascinating,' he thought, a mix of admiration and curiosity filling his mind.
Something—or someone—wanted him alive for reasons beyond his comprehension. 'Should I go to Hokkaido?' Klepto pondered, considering seeking out a Church to sow death and destruction. The prospect of gaining even more [Divinity], further altering his body, was tempting. But as his thoughts crystallized, a searing pain intensified, like relentless clanging inside his skull. "Argh! Damn it!" he shouted, clutching his head.
The clamor grew unbearable, blood trickling from his eyes and ears, even seeping through his pores. It felt as though his very essence was being torn apart. "Stop... sToP!" he screamed, his voice echoing into the void. Suddenly, the pain ceased, leaving his mind eerily blank. For minutes, Klepto stood motionless, the world around him fading into obscurity.
Then, like a spark igniting dry tinder, his genuine desire resurfaced. "Right, William is waiting!" he exclaimed, a newfound determination blazing in his eyes.
He glanced upward as one of his appendages extended swiftly, snatching a bird from the sky with lightning speed. Without a second thought, he crushed it against the ground, its feathers scattering like ashes in the wind. 'Time to visit those little nobles and make them my dear servants,' he thought with a wicked grin. "And you will become my carriage of love! But before that, you need a new face." The bird, though half-dead, shivered violently as if sensing the dreadful fate that awaited it.
...
Months had passed—after a whirlwind of calculated encounters and manipulations—Now, a headless body stood in the room where a fierce battle had raged between an abomination and Louis, the jaguar-kin boy. Ethereal laughter lingered in the air as Louis fled, the sound chilling enough to haunt even the bravest of souls.
Klepto began to reassemble his body, sacrificing a captured soul in the process. As sinew and bone knit themselves back together, he sensed footsteps approaching—beings of power he couldn't hope to confront in his current state. "Still too weak," he muttered, frustration tinging his voice. The defeat at Louis's hands had been an unexpected setback.
It didn't matter to him, though. 'Time to go back,' he thought, his resolve unwavering. His smile widened, a faint blush tinting his cheeks as his form pieced itself together in an improvised manner within the dimly lit room.
Once he regained mobility, he wasted no time. Without hesitation, he fled swiftly, moving like a shadow through the alleys. 'This was the last one,' he reminded himself, blushing at the thought that he could now proceed with his grand plan. "William!" His scream echoed through the bustle of the city, though few paid it any mind in the chaos that had become their daily lives.
A shadow darted through the streets of Wolfsteeth, racing toward the port. His mind was laser-focused, every fiber attuned to his goal. 'I kept my promise,' he thought with satisfaction, recalling the vows he had made.
He had visited dozens of nobles' offspring and other influential individuals—those who craved more, who desired as he did. Whether they accepted his proposal willingly or not mattered little to him. They became his servants, granted a power born from the deaths of hundreds and the ingestion of countless corpse gems. Klepto had ascended, becoming a deity—a divinity in its infancy—yet still unable to summon enough power to vanquish all who opposed him.
'More, more, more,' he chanted internally, the hunger for power insatiable. He relished every moment, the abilities he wielded surpassing his wildest dreams—a might inaccessible to the masses.
'But who cares?' he thought dismissively, brushing aside any lingering doubts. He sped past hundreds, perhaps thousands, arriving at a shady alley near the bustling port. The scent of saltwater mingled with the odors of the city, creating a pungent aroma.
"Hmm, Dog-Pudding Island it is," he decided with a smirk, recalling the island's name. But before that, he opened his [System Window], still feeling the remnants of exhaustion from his confrontation with Louis.
image [https://raw.githubusercontent.com/Chiruschka/Supersum/refs/heads/main/klepto_3.svg]
Klepto frowned, his gaze fixated on the incomplete web displayed before him. He had expended too much energy against Louis; the boy had proven to be unexpectedly strong and creatively adept in combat. 'Darn it,' he thought, irritation gnawing at him.
Just then, he heard the soft footsteps of a family approaching, their laughter and casual conversation drifting through the alleyway. He licked his lips, a predatory gleam in his eyes. 'Oh, my dinner, I guess!' he mused, a dark humor coloring his thoughts. The prospect of a meal—and perhaps new servants—was too enticing to pass up.