[Back to Present]
The sound of hurried, pounding footsteps echoed through the night. The baron's son, eyes wild with fear, shot a glance toward the door before vanishing into the shadow, his breath ragged. But just as hope seemed to flicker for him, the world shattered.
BANG!
The shack's wall erupted in an explosion of splintered wood, rock, and dust. The sound was deafening, as though a giant had struck the earth itself. Chunks of debris rained down, the weight of the moment pressing on everything in its path. One jagged stone crashed into Wynn's jaw, sending a jolt of pain through his body. If it had been any other day, he would've cried out, scrambled to his feet, and rushed to the safety of Maris's arms.
But not today. No.
Not today.
Today, his heart was heavier than the rubble beneath him, because he wasn't fleeing. He was already cradling Maris's lifeless body in his arms, her delicate form cold and still, her spirit torn from this world far too soon.
A figure emerged from the wreckage, a silhouette shrouded in a billowing white cloak. A hippo mask, twisted and grotesque, obscured his face—mocking the very concept of humanity. In an instant, he moved, impossibly fast, as though time itself bent to his will. He was a blur of motion, his presence a living nightmare that clawed at the edges of reality.
He was fast
Too fast.
This man—this monster—wasn't like anything he had ever encountered. His speed defied reason. His strength was unnatural. The very air seemed to warp around him, as though the world itself feared to touch him.
And then it hit him. The brown tinge that coated the figure's limbs. The faint cracks and chips of stone that clung to his body.
Mana
The masked assassin tossed the baron's lifeless body aside with a flick of his wrist, the corpse flopping grotesquely, its limbs hanging limp. It was a marionette, no longer bound by strings. The cruel and final act.
"Target 1/33 killed."
The words sliced through the silence like a blade, cold and emotionless. No remorse. No hesitation. The signal that the massacre was far from over. That death had only just begun to show its face.
The masked figure turned his cold, unblinking gaze toward Fiona, locking eyes with her as though he had already decided her fate. The air thickened around them, pressing in from all sides, suffocating her, filling her lungs with dread. His presence was overwhelming, like the shadow of death itself, swallowing everything in its path.
Fiona's heart hammered in her chest, a primal panic flooding her veins. She had to escape. She had to survive. But the escape was already slipping through her fingers, a dream fading into a nightmare.
Her legs moved of their own accord, carrying her through the darkened halls with desperate speed. Every step seemed to echo, louder and louder, as though the very house was screaming for her to run. She didn't dare look back. She couldn't. Because if she did, she knew—it would be the last thing she ever saw.
Wynn's hands trembled as he gently unshielded Maris's body, his mind clawing for clarity amidst the chaotic torrent of emotions crashing through him. The numbness was lifting, but only to reveal an unbearable truth. In the silence that followed the storm of destruction, his eyes flickered toward the hallway, just in time to see Fiona's silhouette—faint, almost phantom-like—slip into the shadows. Her presence felt like a weight, her guilt thicker than the very blood still staining her hands.
At that moment, the world narrowed. There was only her. The one who had taken everything from him.
Without a second thought, without a single moment of doubt, Wynn surged forward, a primal fire igniting in his chest.
What was this feeling?
What was this flame surging from deep within him?
Adrenaline screamed through his veins, sharper than any blade, blurring the world around him. His heart thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but one truth.
No mercy. No hesitation.
Fiona would pay.
And she would pay dearly.
With a roar of defiance, he tore away the mattress, his body shaking with the force of his own rage. His hands found the familiar wooden sword, the one he had once wielded his entire life, now gripped with a fury that felt like it could break the world itself. He dashed outside, the door crashing open with the weight of his hatred, but he didn't look back—not even at the cloaked figure standing motionless in the center of the house. There was no room for anything but this singular, burning need for justice.
He ran.
He ran as if his very soul was on fire, pushing himself faster and faster through the darkened streets.
"FIONA, YOU BITCH! WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU?!"
The words tore from him, raw and guttural, but before they could even echo back,
something—something far greater than anything he could comprehend—gripped him.
A roar. A deafening, world-shattering roar.
The ground itself seemed to groan, trembling beneath his feet as if the earth itself was recoiling from the force of what had just been unleashed. His heart skipped a beat, then pounded wildly as his eyes jerked skyward, drawn to the source of the sound, to the heart of the explosion.
A pillar of fire erupted from the distant barony outskirt grounds, a beast unleashed upon the heavens. It twisted and roared, flames licking at the stars, a violent, otherworldly hunger. The heat from it scorched the very air, searing through him, even from a distance. The flames pulsed, an entity of destruction, a primal, unfathomable force that seemed to shake the heavens themselves.
Wynn stood there, paralyzed, staring up at the inferno, his breath stolen, his mind unravelling in disbelief. This wasn't fire. Not just fire. This was an apocalypse, a force too vast to understand, too furious to name.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
In the distance, the clashing of steel, the cries of battle began to rise, mingling with the roar of the fire.
It was war.
Zerith was trembling.
The very ground beneath Wynn's feet quaked, the world seemingly tearing itself apart at the seams
The world was burning.
And Wynn… Wynn would burn with it.
*********
In the Empire, power was not just in weapons, but in the very essence of existence. Each person, each being, had an inherent connection to a power source. But those who successfully underwent awakening developed cores, these cores where derived from the very soul of the person, categorizing them into 2 categories:
1.Warriors
2.Mages
Each core could level up in 7 stages, with the color of the core corresponding to its change (refer to auxiliary for core stages and colors)
**********
The Duke of Sorith was a man of immense pride, a boastful fool who reveled in his own arrogance. He didn't care for subtlety or manipulation—he was above such things. To him, strength was everything, and he flaunted his power without shame. He crushed those beneath him with the same ease one might crush a bug underfoot, and he took immense pleasure in doing so. He wore his position like a crown, strutting through his planet with the arrogance of a king, belittling anyone who dared to look him in the eye.
His strength was unmatched, at least in his own mind. Those who had dared challenge him in the past had been swiftly put in their place—he had no equal, no rival worth his time.
The only people who could ever stand against him were the most powerful figures in the Empire, and they could be counted on two hands.
And yet, tonight, something was different.
These stupid peasants—these pathetic rebels—had the audacity to attack him? To raise their hand against a Duke of the Empire?
The very thought boiled his blood.
His eyes narrowed as he watched the chaos unfold before him. The infamous rebel group Silent Dawn had teamed up with another rebel group, New Age and had launched a joint attack on The moonlit festival.
"Fools." He spat the word like a curse, his voice dripping with contempt. "Do they not know who I am?"
The Duke of Zerith, ever the sycophant, approached with a grin plastered on his face, his eyes glinting with amusement. "It seems, Your Grace, that even the lowest of the low have forgotten their place."
The Duke of Sorith sneered, his fists clenched tightly as he watched the chaos of the festival unfold around him. His flames crackled in the night air, a testament to the burning fury of his volcanic power. The very ground beneath his feet trembled with his presence, the air around him charged with the intense heat of his goliath core.
"These peasants... they dare?" he muttered, eyes narrowing with disgust. "Fools. They think they can stand against me? Against a Duke?"
The Duke of Zerith, standing beside him, couldn't help but chuckle darkly, his amusement almost palpable. His vortex stage mage core pulsed with power, the winds swirling around him as he leaned on his staff, a wicked grin spreading across his face. "Seems like they've forgotten their place, Your Grace. A shame."
The ground beneath them rumbled.
A figure cloaked in white emerged from the shadows, stepped forward with slow, deliberate confidence. The rebel, known only by his code name Specter, was a towering figure 7ft tall, his presence dominating the field of The Barony. His mask, shaped like a Minotaur, was adorned with cracks like the very earth itself, a symbol of his power. His movements were deliberate, calculated—like the steady, unstoppable advance of tectonic plates..
His core thrummed with the power of the monolith stage, the very ground beneath his feet responding to his command. Specter was as solid as the mountains themselves, his steps leaving fissures in the ground.
"Well now," Specter boomed, his voice hearty and loud, full of energy as if he was on a battlefield of his own making. "Look at this! The great Duke of Sorith, master of flame and fury, getting a little heated?!" His laughter echoed through the ground, shaking the very earth with the force of his joy.
The Duke of Sorith's eyes narrowed, stepping forward. His core flared, and the air around him became a blazing inferno. Flames leapt from his body, wrapping around him like a fiery cloak. He summoned a spear crafted from the volcanic flames embedded in his core and thrust the hilt to the ground giving rise to a massive column of flame that tore through the dark night sky.
Specter wasn't fazed. "Well, bring it on then!"
His fists clad in imposing stone gauntlets, flexed his hands, the earth trembling in response as he braced for impact. A monolithic core warrior, Specter's presence was like the mountain itself.
Without warning, Sorith charged, spear arcing with a vicious swing that split the air. Flames erupted from his weapon as he lunged at Specter, the spear slicing through stone as if it were paper. Specter met him with both fists forward, the earth beneath him rising in a colossal wave to shield him. The fiery spear clashed against the wall of stone, and the ground trembled with the strain, fissures snaking across the surface.
The land lay still for a breath, as if bracing itself, before the sound of a faint, cold wind began to creep across the battlefield. The sky dimmed, its stars swallowed by the spreading shadows that coiled like tendrils of smoke. From the darkness, a figure appeared, her form barely more than a wisp of night herself, but her presence unmistakably powerful. She was known only as Nite, a name whispered in fear and reverence. Draped in shadow a dark elemental mage of the Iclipse stage, her aura pulsed with an unnatural chill, leeching warmth from the air around her, and for a moment, even the stars seemed to dim as she stepped forward.
At her side, Specter's laughter boomed through the chaos, echoing off the jagged cliffs and charred ground. He glanced at Nite, a knowing gleam in his eye.
"PERFECT TIMING NITE!" his voice boomed with vigour.
Nite offered a slight nod, but her gaze hidden behind her raven mask was already fixed on her prey: the Duke of Zerith.
With a sneer, he raised his arms, summoning a gale that roared across the field, ripping branches from trees and scattering debris. The air grew wild around him, a howling vortex that matched the defiance in his eyes. But Nite was unfazed. Slowly, she raised her own hand, shadows crawling from her fingers and forming razor-edged tendrils that hovered like serpents, each coiled in a deadly promise. She stretched them forward, meeting Zerith's gales with her darkness, and the shadows held steady against the raging wind, absorbing it, swallowing it.
The collision sent a blast through the field, tearing at the ground, flinging rock and dust into the air. Zerith's wind was relentless, yet Nite's darkness only grew deeper, thicker, an endless well of shadows pushing back against his elemental force. Her shadows pulsed and writhed, gathering strength, as if the very earth itself fed her darkness.
On the other side of the battlefield, Sorith's fiery spear slashed, his voice thundered as he lunged toward Specter, the blade of his spear gleaming with molten energy. Specter met him with unyielding strength, each clash of his earth-shaking fists against the Duke's spear like a mountain breaking against a wave. Sparks flew, molten stone and fire mixing with raw earth as their powers met in fierce fury, leaving scorch marks and craters in their wake.
Specter drove his fist into the ground, summoning pillars of rock that erupted around Sorith, attempting to cage him within an earthen tomb. But Sorith's flames flared brighter, scorching through the stone with ease.
Meanwhile, Nite's shadows grew sharper, twisting into jagged spikes that darted forward, striking at Zerith from all angles. Zerith, surrounded by his winds, spun and deflected the attacks, his wind barriers thickening, but every time he repelled the darkness, it only coiled back stronger, as if her shadows fed on his defiance.
Then, with a faint flick of her wrist, Nite's shadows erupted, crashing against Zerith's wind in a tidal wave of pure black. The gust howled, scattering, its fury smothered under her relentless power. Nite's aura shimmered, She tilted her head,the look in her eyes as piercing as her shadows.
The earth shook beneath them, as if the land itself feared their presence, the clash of elements resounded like the cries of a dying world.
Specter, his fists glowing red from the heat of Sorith's flames, brought his hands together and erected a massive wall of stone that hurtled toward Sorith. Sorith, grinning with savage delight, spun his spear, unleashing a wave of fire that melted through the rock. But Specter was unrelenting, charging forward, each step shaking the earth as he met the Duke's spear head-on, the explosion of power illuminating the battlefield in flashes of flame and stone.
As the two fights raged on, each clash seemed to leave scars upon the land that would never heal. The ground was littered with shattered rock and charred soil, marked by deep fissures that snaked across the battlefield. Flames, shadows, wind, and earth collided in a storm of unrestrained might, each attack reverberating through the ground with a sound that seemed to echo in the bones of all who bore witness.
Nite and Specter held their ground, but exhaustion began to set in. Nite deflected a final gust of wind from Zerith, who sneered, sensing her energy ebbing. Specter, his movements slightly slower, met Sorith's spear with fists that now trembled from the strain. Their breaths were heavy, their bodies battered, and yet, they stood defiantly, refusing to yield.
Nite reached up to a hidden device at her ear, her voice calm but edged with urgency. "Nite to base. Status report. We can't hold these two off much longer."
Specter grunted, blocking a brutal swing from Sorith. "Echo that. We're at our limit. Tell me this is over."
The earpiece crackled, and a voice cut through the static, cold and emotionless amidst the chaos.
"Mission accomplished. All 33 Targets have been successfully neutralised"
A hint of relief washed over Nite's face behind the mask, but before she could speak, another voice came through the line, tentative yet laced with an urgency that set her on edge.
"Whale to base. Reporting… there's something else. Something… unexpected."
A brief silence hung in the air as the speaker seemed to search for words.
"There's a certain boy… with white hair. He's awakened on his own. And… it's….
It's.....a unique element."