Chapter 3
Dax stretched out his hand.
The black hole behind him compressed, shrinking until it rested obediently in his palm.
"I'm not sure your world understands this concept…" A cruel smile curled at his lips. "Let me show you."
He pressed the black sphere into his chest.
"Synthesis."
He struck his own sternum.
Power—raw, violent, unrestrained—erupted through his body.
_Master… you are insane._
Even Inerous couldn't hide the tremble in her voice.
Crack.
Crack.
Crack.
×900.
**Congratulations. You have broken 1000 layers of your shackles.**
**Commencing trait completion.**
**Insatiable Hunger → Origin Eater.**
**Race change commencing.**
"Ahhhhhh!"
Dax's scream tore across the plains of Vabos—like the death wail of a star collapsing.
---
### **Mount Gahena**
In a temple overlooking the plains, the Church of Light's First Ancestor—Lord Blink—prayed for the impossible.
Tears streamed down his aged face, though his posture remained dignified. Once, he had been the strongest human alive, the chosen champion of the God of Light, Sterion.
He had been everything humanity could aspire to be.
Yet now he wept, begging for a miracle far beyond his reach.
He knelt, bones brittle beneath the crushing weight of his golden armor.
"Hah…"
He raised his head—
Boom!
A divine backlash hurled him from the temple.
"Please… my Lord," he whispered, voice shaky. "I served you all my life… do not forsake me."
He lay on the stone ground, staring at the bright sky through blurred eyes.
"One thing… I begged for _one thing_."
His voice cracked.
"And you strip me of your grace."
"When I needed you most, you vanished—like smoke in the wind. How cruel."
"I gave you my soul. I brought honor to your name. I destroyed kingdoms that dared offend your shadow."
He laughed bitterly.
"So this is the truth… I was nothing to you."
Tears swelled—but he restrained them.
"All I asked… was for you to heal my granddaughter. To give her your blood."
The sky screamed.
An angel descended, a divine spear aimed directly at Blink's heart.
"Micah," the angel said—addressing him by his true name. "As your friend, I advise you to leave. I do not wish to kill you."
Their golden eyes met.
If Micah wore a mask, he would look no different from the angel himself.
"My friend," Micah said softly, "I cannot let her die. She is all I have left."
The angel sighed.
"I see you've made up your mind."
With a gesture, four more golden figures appeared—angels cloaked in terrible radiance. They surrounded Micah instantly.
Aron—the leading angel—drew a white bell from his robe, inscribed with sacred runes.
Bang.
The four angels charged their spears with the laws of creation.
"Darkness," Aron commanded.
Their golden light dimmed—turning black, heavy, suffocating.
"All this for an old man," Micah chuckled. "You honor me."
Then—
"Move forward, darling."
A gentle voice.
A familiar voice.
"Helga…"
A beautiful, translucent woman embraced him from behind.
Sob.
Sob.
"Helga… I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry I let you die."
His grief cracked the world.
Crack!
The ground in a fifty-meter radius shattered.
He vanished—moving faster than sound, his heavy armor clanking comically as he stepped through the air.
Aron froze mid-strike.
He saw her—Helga—holding Micah, guiding him.
Impossible. The dead could not cross the veil unaided.
"How…?"
Rain began to fall.
Pat.
Pat.
Pat.
Aron lifted his hand.
Scarlet drops stained his palm.
"No… this is blood."
"Excalibur."
A blade of ocean-blue steel manifested in Micah's grasp, radiating overwhelming glory.
"If you stay with your master, you will fall and become a demonic sword," Aron warned.
The rain grew heavier.
Silence stretched.
"Excalibur… he is right," Micah murmured.
But the sword spoke—with the innocent voice of a child.
"Even if I am destroyed… I will stay with Master. He saved me from my loneliness. I will never leave him."
Excalibur hummed softly in Micah's hand, the blade radiating an aura of divine authority. Its presence was undeniable, a bridge between worlds, a relic that remembered its master's touch.
"Even the gods fear its presence," Aron muttered under his breath, golden eyes narrowing. "Yet he wields it without hesitation."
Micah inhaled slowly, the weight of Helga's embrace steadying his resolve. His heart pounded with righteous fury and grief intertwined. Every step, every thought, was sharpened by the inevitability of justice.
He advanced, each footstep shaking the shattered terrain. The four angels, now tainted in darkness, braced themselves. Their spears, charged with the very laws of the world, cut through the rain like golden lightning, arcs of raw energy trailing behind.
"Excalibur… show them your wrath," Micah whispered.
The sword's steel flared, glowing brighter than the storm above. Lightning-like arcs of holy energy pulsed along its edge.
Bang!
He swung. A torrent of radiant light erupted, tearing through the blackened auras surrounding the angels. Two of them were flung backward, their divine forms burning with blackened corruption as the energy met their shields.
"Impossible…" Aron gasped, stepping forward to protect the remaining two.
Micah's movements were fluid yet devastating. Every strike of Excalibur cleaved not just flesh, but the very laws that governed the angels' presence. The rain of blood mingled with raindrops, forming streaks of crimson across the battlefield.
Helga remained at his back, silent yet vital, her ethereal hands glowing faintly as if reinforcing Micah's aura. The barrier she created was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it shielded him from direct assault.
"Your master has given you power beyond comprehension," Aron said grimly. "But that does not excuse your interference, Helga."
The moment of hesitation was all Micah needed. In a flash, he closed the distance between himself and the two remaining angels, striking with precision that could only be born from centuries of mastery.
Crack!
Boom!
One angel's spear shattered, the other's arm severed at the elbow, their screams drowned by the roar of the storm and the clashing energy.
"Falma," Micah called, his voice carrying a weight of authority few could match.
The golden angels recoiled slightly, recognizing the word. It was a command—a name of power that could bend even the divine to will.
Helga's presence strengthened. The air around them thickened, suffused with energy both holy and corrupted, forming a swirling vortex. The four fallen angels staggered, unable to maintain their formation against the combined force of master, sword, and spectral ally.
"Even now…" Aron growled, anger and fear mixing. "He fights not for vengeance, but for restoration. Such power… is not human."
Micah's eyes, glowing with a mixture of gold and silver fire, fixed on the angel. "I fight for her. And for all who were taken from me."
The rain intensified. Crimson droplets fell faster now, soaking the battlefield, each drop a reflection of Micah's resolve.
Excalibur's voice whispered again, calm yet fierce:
_Master, do not falter. They cannot comprehend our bond. They will break before your will._
A low hum reverberated through the plains. The blade's aura began to ripple, extending outward in concentric waves that warped reality itself. Trees splintered, rocks shattered, and the ground cracked, forming a labyrinth of chaos around the combatants.
Aron's eyes widened in realization. "This is… not mere skill. This is essence manipulation… spiritual resonance… and it bends the laws of this world!"
"Enough!" Micah roared. He surged forward, steps impossibly fast, a blur that shattered sound itself. Excalibur's glow intensified to near-blinding brilliance. The angels tried to counter, but the combined onslaught of steel and divine energy was overwhelming.
Crack! Crack! Crack!
One by one, their forms were torn apart, fractured by strikes that cut beyond the physical. The blackened auras collapsed inward, leaving nothing but smoldering fragments where once divine beings had stood.
The storm began to recede, leaving only the faint sound of rain dripping on shattered earth. Crimson and silver mingled on the ground like molten metal, reflecting the last rays of dying light.
Micah lowered Excalibur. His chest rose and fell with deliberate rhythm. Helga's form slowly faded, her task complete, leaving behind a gentle warmth that eased the sting of exhaustion.
Aron, battered and broken, fell to his knees. His golden eyes, dimmed and bloodied, met Micah's. "You… are no mere human. You wield forces… that should not exist."
"I am what remains," Micah said softly. "And I will not let her die again."
The wind carried a whisper—Helga's voice, soft and ethereal. "Master, our journey is far from over. But today… today, we have begun to reclaim what was stolen."
The plains of Vabos were silent once more. The blood and rain had washed into the fractured earth, leaving an eerie calm.
Above, dark clouds swirled, as though the heavens themselves had witnessed a force beyond reckoning.
And in the distance, Dax observed, silent and calculating. The storm of the battlefield had done more than test his disciple—it had prepared the canvas for the true reckoning yet to come.