He drained another bottle, savoring the gentle, numbing embrace of the alcohol. ‘Perhaps I shouldn't be drinking before I do this,’ he mused. A mischievous smile then danced on his lips. ‘Or perhaps, it's exactly what I need.’
He sprang to his feet, invigorated by the tantalizing possibilities that lay ahead, his feet tapping a lively rhythm across the room while drinking another bottle. Eventually, he made his way to his bed, settling himself in its center with a thoughtful air. His eyes fixed on the luminescent green core, and in a burst of impulsive bravery, he reached out and absorbed it.
Zeal fired through him like a comet blazing across the sky, violently colliding with his core. His entire body tingled with an unprecedented energy surge, more intense than anything he had ever experienced. It transcended his comprehension, becoming his alpha and omega, his everything. There was nothing beyond the raveging totality of this energy.
The clash within his core shattered its barriers, unleashing power like a thunderbolt, striking with sudden, fierce intensity. His body convulsed, caught in a paradox of simultaneous destruction and connection, an inferno within his being.
A distinct form emerged within his core, each pulse of energy revealing its features. Four long, scaled legs, each tipped with four formidable claws, materialized. His mind was then engulfed by an energy so radiant, it was like a sunburst, giving shape to a body cloaked in feathers, ending in a lengthy tail. Two majestic wings, adorned with white and golden feathers, etched themselves into his sides.
At last, the head took form—a regal, feathered mane flowing into two sharp, pointed ears. A beak emerged, accompanied by two large, golden eyes.
And then, as swiftly as it had begun, it ended.
Immanuel remained motionless on the bed, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings. He could feel the dampness of the sheets clinging to his skin. Taking a deep breath, he reopened his eyes to find it was night. A cold sweat coated his skin. Rising, he looked over the cityscape, summoning a drink which he quickly gulped down.
Closing his eyes, he sensed the presence within him, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Eyes reopening, he voraciously devoured everything edible still left over from his earlier meal. Then, stripping off all the bed sheets in a swift motion, he collapsed onto the bed, utterly exhausted.
---
He woke up hearing knocking on the door. ‘They never can let me sleep.’ He thought groggily.
“Yes.” The door opened and a servant boy stood there. “You are expected at the blue dome but before, the warehouse.” He said that last word so softly Immanuel didn't think he heard right.
“The warehouse?” He said coming up from the bed.
“Just, give me a moment.” He added.
Immanuel undressed and donned a fresh ninja fighting suit, storing the last two still hanging in his closet. Peering outside, he was unsure if it was still night or night again. His sense of time was blurred. His body felt like he ran a marathon. Dressed, he followed the boy taking the elevator down then up another flight of stairs to a part of the building Immanuel never went before.
This place served as a storage, bustling with servants. They entered a room filled with weaponry, where an older woman recorded details in a book. She bowed upon seeing Immanuel and retreated to the back. Following her, he was awestruck by a full-body armor on display. It had a Chinese vibe to it, ornately decorated with gems and mail, depicting regal beasts. Its craftsmanship was fit for an emperor, detailed and magnificent, complete with a helmet that fully covered the face, rounded with a sharp-edged aureole.
Approaching the armor, Immanuel marveled at its beauty, ‘I don’t think I can wear this in fucking battle, my God.’ He reached out, his fingers tracing the intricate details of the armor, ‘This is a treasure, are there skills for this? Magic skills? I wonder’. Gently lifting an arm of the armor, he noted how it moved seamlessly.
Alongside it was a similarly decorated halberd twice as long as him. "Your gift from Prima Danued of the Blue Dome," the woman informed him, watching from a distance..
"Leave me alone with it," he requested, and she promptly left. He lifted the armor and halberd, storing them, then grabbed five short swords from a nearby rack before returning to the boy.
"Thank you for safeguarding the gift. It's secure with me.” Then turning to the boy, “now, let's head to the blue dome.” Following the boy to the top floor with a belated realization that he could've navigated there on his own. Upon arrival, the boy respectfully bowed and departed in another elevator, leaving Immanuel to enter the top room.
Inside, Prima Danued, Meyong, and several familiar faces he recognized from the celebration awaited. Prima offered a warrior's salute, which Immanuel mirrored. "Stage 4, with a speed akin to the revered Ancestor Mansta Morlo," Prima Danued declared. "Indeed, your skills as a trainer are unparalleled," he remarked, his gaze fixed on Meyong.
Immanuel's frustration simmered beneath the surface, he inhaled deeply.
"I envision a future where the city is ours, the sects vanished, and the streets brimming with celebration!" He looked at those present then gestured decisively, "Go now, with purpose and resolve." The others gave a salute and left, walking past Immanuel.
Immanuel advanced and surveyed the expansive table. Miniature icons depicted the sects nestled in a forest, surrounded by several strategically placed puppets. Additional icons were scattered across a representation of the city.
"You arrive as we conclude our meeting. Your recent ascension must have been exhausting?" The inquiry carried no hint of censure, only genuine curiosity. 'I rushed here the moment the servant woke me,' Immanuel thought to himself.
"My apologies." He answered.
"No need." came the swift reply.
"Your progress is commendable. Meyong, our finest trainer, honed your skills in the venerable style of Elder Massan, a formidable leader of the Blue Dome."
"Meyong imparted much wisdom to me," Immanuel responded. Internally he felt conflicted. It was indeed true but, it was also a kind of torture.
He then turned fully towards Immanuel, creating an entrancing effect that drew Immanuel's focus entirely onto him.
"You must acknowledge that your rise in power is due to the Blue Dome, and to my endowment," he stated.
"It is true," Immanuel answered. Again, a small part of him recoiled at being invaded in such a way. To be robbed of his rational faculties. Not being able to think before talking, not being able to weigh his words, to deceive and to manipulate. What? No! He is the one holding all the power, he is forcing me!
While he was struggling with the effects of Prima’s presence the man went on, "Good. A warrior must not be humble, yet at the same time always acknowledge the truth of his strength." He then pivoted to face the table. "Every core that amplifies your power is derived from a creature more powerful than you. Accepting the superiority of others is the essence of growth. But when you have its core in your hands, consider what truly granted you victory. It wasn't merely your own strength. What then, was it?"
Immanuel found himself at a loss for words. Was it cooperation? Ingenuity? Perhaps luck? He stood there in silence, awaiting an answer. Eventually, Prima provided it: "It is the family. The Blue Dome. Me."
Without a clear idea of what to say, Immanuel executed a warrior's salute. Seeing Prima's lack of response he said, “I will fight with everything I have.”
“You will,” he acknowledged simply. Then, with a wave of the hand he was dismissed.
---
Uncertain about his next destination, he descended to the lobby. Fortuitously, there he spotted one of the attendees from the meeting.
“Do you-” Immanuel began tentatively.
“Come,” the man responded briskly. Clad in heavy plate armor and carrying a massive double-headed hammer on his back, he towered over Immanuel, standing more than a head taller.
As Immanuel fell into step beside him, the man told him. “A ship is waiting for us. We are one of the last teams being deployed.” They navigated a labyrinth of hallways, eventually arriving at a communal area where the others from the meeting were gathered, except for Meyong.
“I have him,” the armored man declared. The group promptly rose and exited through the rear. Their destination was a ship moored in the river, distinguished by its two sails. They approached in a small boat, the gentle lapping of water against its hull creating a rhythmic, calming sound. Upon reaching the larger vessel, they were greeted by a sturdy rope ladder dangling over the side. They ascended, hand over hand, climbing up to the ship's deck. The wooden planks creaked under their weight as they stepped onto the ship, they immediately descended into the hull.
The man in armor took charge. “Immanuel, you missed the briefings, but I’m aware Meyong Dal was training you. Congratulations on your rapid progression to stage 4. I'm Celtic,” he introduced himself. Gesturing to a woman in leather armor adorned with several swords on her back and hip, he continued, “This is Tistan.” And that is Mulla Nas, he pointed to a figure in a black robe whose presence sent a chill down Immanuel's spine. Mulla Nas's face was round, marked by a nose that had clearly been broken multiple times.
“And finally, Bera,” he concluded, indicating another figure in a black robe, resembling a female version of Mulla Nas but with an intact nose. “Bera and Mulla Nas are our scouts.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Celtic's eyes turned back to Immanuel. “Listen, we’re joining the 'Red Strike' attack team and targeting what we believe is a backdoor entrance to the Veilborn sect. At dawn, Meyong Dal and Valas Neer will lead two Skyships in an aerial assault.”
"As we arrive, stay close to me until we're in position," Celtic instructed. “Your role is to eliminate anyone with ranged powers or weapons using your ability to flash in and out. We'll handle the rest. Unfortunately, there's no time for further coordination, but I’m glad you're part of our team." He concluded with a warrior's salute, which the others, including Immanuel, reciprocated.
The team delved into discussing tactics and positioning, but Immanuel struggled to grasp the nuances of their strategy, his attention drifting as nervousness crept in. 'I can do this,' he reassured himself internally. 'Just flip the switch and go berserk. I've got this.'
His thoughts continued to whirl. ‘I wish I’d had more time to practise my transformation. Maybe I should just take off... But no, Elio, Jager, and Val are probably somewhere in the fight. I can’t just abandon them. Can I?’
Breaking his reverie, Immanuel asked, “Is there food here?” Bera responded, pointing him towards the backside. “Thanks,” he replied and headed in that direction. There, he discovered an array of meats and nuts. He began to stockpile some for later in his storage and ate others, fueling up for the impending mission.
Startled, Immanuel whirled around at the sound of his name. Mulla Nas had approached silently. "Oh wow, I didn't hear you coming," he admitted, surprised by the scout's stealth.
"I am a scout," Mulla Nas stated dryly. He casually picked up some meat and walked away. Immanuel decided to follow, observing the others scattered around the area. Tristan was meticulously cleaning one of her swords.
Finding a spot for himself, Immanuel settled down and began to eat. Once finished, he shifted his focus inward, starting to meditate. He concentrated on the new form that seemed to burn within his core, preparing himself mentally and physically for what was to come.
---
Celtic's commanding voice broke through the silence. "Get ready."
They ascended to the deck, where a small speedboat awaited at the ship's side. Without hesitation, they all leaped into the vessel, with Celtic seizing the rudder. The boat surged forward, cutting through the waters towards the forest.
Navigating expertly, Celtic steered them through a network of narrow rivers within the forest. At a seemingly arbitrary location, he abruptly halted the boat and leapt out. The team, with Immanuel following last, disembarked swiftly. Mulla Nas quickly secured the boat to a root.
Dressed in black, Mulla and Bera blended seamlessly into the shadows of the forest, becoming nearly invisible even when nearby. ‘Must be a skill they possess?’ With the stealth and silence of owls, the two scouts darted away, leading the group deeper into the forest.
As they advanced, the forest around Celtic, Tristan, and Immanuel was eerily quiet. Immanuel glanced upwards, noting the absence of moonlight through the dense canopy overhead. They continued their silent march until Mulla suddenly materialized from the shadows, whispering something inaudible into Celtic's ear. Subsequently, the group changed course, moving even more cautiously in a slightly altered direction.
Eventually, they halted, and Celtic crouched beside Immanuel. In a hushed tone, he instructed, “Stay here. When the attack begins, move between those two trees,” he pointed out specific landmarks, “that’s the entry to the sect base. Align with Bera on your right; you’ll be our left flank. Avoid engagement if possible, stay hidden until the fight erupts, unless there’s an opportunity for a clean kill. If you're not directly targeted, keep an eye out for ranged enemies and use your flash ability to intervene.”
After issuing these instructions, Celtic paused, then looked back at Immanuel with a reassuring grin. “I trust you. May the warriors walk with you,” he said, offering a salute. Then, joining the others, he disappeared into the forest, leaving Immanuel to prepare for the impending battle.
Immanuel wrestled with his thoughts, standing alone amidst the forest's eerie stillness. 'This is insane. I'm about to strike against an evil sect. I could just leave now, vanish. Wouldn't that be the perfect escape? But fleeing now... that would be cowardice. Yet, why should I stay? What do I owe them? Will they even allow me to leave in the future? What do I owe them?' He looked around the forest 'where would I even go?’ He sighed.
Immanuel used the gradually lightening sky as a measure of time, waiting in the increasingly misty forest. With each passing moment, dawn crept closer, bringing with it the inevitable onset of battle.
Immanuel rested his hand on the tree beside him, feeling its rough bark. Silently, he mused, 'How many years have you witnessed, old giant?' His eyes caught a glimpse of an insect, its carapace shimmering with a vibrant green fluorescence, as it ventured towards his hand. 'Will you bite, little creature?' he wondered. A flicker of curiosity crossed his mind about the resilience of his Stage 4 body against such a small thing.
As Immanuel's eyes swept across the silent woods, he was acutely aware of the weight of his sword and the Haiken Claws on his wrist. He regretted not donning a more formidable armour.
A subtle noise ahead jolted him from his thoughts. 'Concentrate. Breathe,' he silently coached himself. The sky gradually lightened, casting a soft glow through the mist that was now weaving its way between the trees.
In that tranquil dawn, almost too softly to be noticed, the echoes of the battle could be heard in the distance..
---
A sudden high-pitched yell and the howling of beasts pierced the quiet of the forest, heightening Immanuel's alertness. He scanned the area but saw nothing. The distant rumble of explosions reached his ears, and he began to advance cautiously. Then, the clear sound of Celtic's voice, issuing orders, spurred him into a quicker pace.
As he hastened, a massive shape hurtled towards him with alarming speed. Reacting instantly, Immanuel drew his sword, turning to face a gigantic beast that was a terrifying hybrid of man and wolf. Towering over him, at least three times his size and walking on its hind legs, it roared ferociously.
'Lycan,' Immanuel identified in his mind as the beast lunged. In a flash, he moved, skillfully using the creature's momentum to his advantage. He landed atop its neck as it snapped its jaws shut on empty air. Gripping his sword with both hands and channeling a surge of power, he brought the blade down in a swift, decisive strike, cleaving into the Lycan's neck.
As Immanuel's sword cut into the beast, it emitted a pained sound, unmistakably akin to a wounded dog's yelp, and flung him off. Immanuel's agility kicked in; he leapt gracefully, landing on a high branch and swiftly pulling out a throwing knife. As the beast looked up, bleeding profusely, Immanuel threw the knife. Remarkably, the Lycan knocked it out of the air with a menacing glare.
In a blur of motion, the Lycan charged, leaping at the branch. Immanuel reacted instantly, somersaulting over the beast's head and stabbing it in the back, leaving a deep gash, before landing nimbly on the ground. He didn't pause, sprinting away as the chase ensued.
Celtic's distant shouts were audible again as Immanuel evaded a swipe of the beast's claw and rolled under a fallen tree. The Lycan, relentless, crashed through the obstruction. Immanuel spun, his momentum causing him to slide, and he faced the beast once more, engaging in a rapid exchange of ferocious blows.
The Lycan's assaults were savage, utilizing its claws for powerful downward strikes and interspersing them with vicious bites. Clearly in a state of rage, the beast was a formidable opponent.
Immanuel found himself gradually being pushed back. In response, he activated his claw, predicting an incoming slash and stabbing straight through the beast's paw. The Lycan howled, its neck arching in pain. Seizing this moment, Immanuel pulled back and leaped, striking up. However, the beast, with extraordinary speed, snapped its jaws shut. Immanuel, using his flash ability, moved right through the bite and, in a fluid motion, slashed downward, severing the top of the Lycan's snout.
The beast recoiled. Immanuel, seizing the opportunity, flashed to a nearby tree, pushed off, he flew back and plunged his weapon through the Lycan's neck once more. The beast responded with a wild, frenzied onslaught, slashing in every direction. One of its claws caught Immanuel, ripping open his abdomen from belly to chest. Wounded and reeling from the impact, Immanuel fell and rolled over, trying to regain his bearings in the midst of the chaotic battle.
The Lycan, although wounded, was far from defeated. It had descended into a feral state, seemingly searching for the part of its snout that Immanuel had severed. Immanuel, seizing the moment, lunged forward, parried a claw, and leapt onto the beast's back, driving his own claw deep into its flesh. The Lycan began to thrash wildly in response.
Immanuel was slammed against a tree, the impact knocking the wind out of him. As the Lycan reared back, Immanuel attempted to flash away, but to his horror, he found he couldn't activate the ability. Again, the beast slammed him against the tree, and this time he lost his grip on his sword.
Desperate, Immanuel grabbed a handful of the Lycan's fur, pulling out his Claw, and began to punch the beast relentlessly. Each strike, fueled by his Stage 4-enhanced strength, landed with devastating force. The beast howled in agony as Immanuel continued his assault while he was being smashed against the three, finally, the Lycan collapsed and shuddered one last time before lying still.
Catching his breath, Immanuel retrieved his sword and noticed that, despite the intensity of the fight, he still had ample energy left, a testament to his new power. His clothes were shredded, but his wounds were healing. Realizing he was disoriented and unsure of his location, he paused to listen.
Hearing distant sounds of battle, Immanuel decided to head in that direction, hoping to rejoin the team and continue the fight.
---
Navigating through the forest, Immanuel noticed the distant sounds of battle fading away. He started to crouch through the undergrowth, eventually stumbling upon a clearing. Across this open space, a cave mouth opened leading to darkness. His attention was drawn to a figure on the ground – it was Celtic, lifeless. Someone was examining his body. Immanuel froze, trying to remain undetected.
Suddenly, a Lycan, larger than the one he had just battled, emerged from the forest into the clearing. It paused, sniffing the air, then locked its gaze directly on Immanuel. Without hesitation, Immanuel bolted, leaping into the trees in an attempt to escape.
The Lycan was astonishingly fast. Immanuel watched from above as it moved with powerful strides on all fours, its eyes tracking him. Then, with an alarming burst of speed, the beast anticipated his next landing spot. It leaped up, its massive form soaring through the air, and snatched Immanuel out of his arboreal refuge, pulling him down to the ground.
Immanuel hit the ground with a heavy thud, the force of the impact jarring his entire body. The Lycan's foot pinned him firmly in place, its looming presence casting a shadow over him. Desperately, he tried to activate his flash ability, but all he managed was a faint glow, trapped under the beast's weight. The Lycan's jaws opened wide, poised to strike.
In a last-ditch effort, Immanuel yelled out, "Stop! Stop, I surrender. I am not one of them! I surrender." The beast paused, growling menacingly, its teeth inches away from Immanuel.
Then, a female voice commanded, "Hold!" The Lycan hesitated, its deadly jaws frozen mid-air.
Immanuel, still pinned, couldn't see the speaker, but he seized the opportunity. "I'm not with them," he insisted. "They captured me, forced me to fight."
The Lycan on top of him let out a long complicated growl, its heavy foot still pressing down on Immanuel.
Immanuel's mind raced as he assessed his precarious situation. "I'm not from the city, no. I was captured and forced to fight," he repeated
The beast pinning him growled again.
"He says you killed Anns," she stated.
"Uhm, the large wolf, bipedal, with yellow eyes? That might be possible," Immanuel replied hastily.
The woman stepped into view, her appearance startling. She was extremely thin, her skin pallid, almost ghostly. Her small face and black eyes gave her an eerie, inhuman look. 'Damn,' Immanuel thought ´this sure does look like fucking evil sect.´
"You might be useful to us," she said, a slight smile revealing two sharp teeth. 'A vampire?' Immanuel thought, just moments before a sudden blow knocked him into unconsciousness, engulfing him in darkness.