Chapter Seven — Monster
The estate grounds were quiet when Azeroth stepped out of his room—clean, dressed, and smelling significantly less like a child who had almost detonated a training hall earlier that day..
Fresh clothes, clean skin, toweled hair… and a mind that wouldn't stop spiraling. Jumping from one unfinished thought to another.
He exhaled slowly, squared his shoulders, and pulled open his door.
Bran was waiting exactly where he promised, arms crossed, spine stiff, and an expression caught somewhere between pride and raw impatience. Pride at the prodigy he'd raised. Impatience because said prodigy was taking too long to get ready.
The moment the door creaked open, Bran clicked his tongue.
"Tch. Took you long enough." He turned, already marching. "Come on. Let's inform your parents so we can finally get to celebrating."
Azeroth blinked. "Hey—I didn't spend that long."
"You spent twenty minutes."
"I was… just… thinking."
"Thinking? About what?" Bran scoffed. "Ridiculous. Hurry up. I'm planning to drink myself senseless tonight."
Azeroth couldn't stop the helpless chuckle that escaped him. He jogged a step to fall into stride beside the giant of a man, his own small frame swallowed in Bran's shadow.
As they walked, the estate corridors curved like a maze. Murals of ancient battles, heroic ancestors, and of course the monstrous beasts heads lined the hallways. Polished floors reflected the warm light from the essence lamps.
Everywhere they passed servants whispered. Guards murmured. Every maid that passed gave Azeroth a double-take — just subtle enough to pretend it wasn't obvious.
News traveled fast it seems, faster than he could bathe.
But the look in their eyes wasn't surprise, or awe. It was something stranger — a feeling resignation wrapped in expectations.
They weren't really shocked that he'd become an evolver at seven.
No. They were used to him doing the impossible.
He was after all, the kid who began walking when other babies still couldn't sit straight.
At one, he stared down a warhound until it backed away whimpering.
At age two, he topped a training dummy four times his weight.
The four-year-old who memorized an entire military formation after watching it once.
People didn't know how to react to him anymore.
So they'd found the simplest solution:
Label it an "Azeroth-thing," shrug it off, and move on with their lives.
Honestly? It was better that way.
As the turned a Conner, Azeroth overheard Bran muttering under his breath, "A seven-year-old evolver… HA. I can brag about this for the rest of my damn life."
Azeroth watched his dignified mentor transform into an overexcited child and felt his respect crack in real time.
They reached the estate's grand double doors. Two armored knights stood guard, weapons crossed. One brightened immediately.
"Young master. Congratulations on your evolution."
Azeroth dipped his head politely. "Thank you."
The knight beside him muttered, almost too quietly:
"…Monster."
His partner elbowed him sharply.
Azeroth pretended he didn't hear—already used to such labels.
Bran shoved the doors open with both hands, the metal creaking.
Inside, his parents waited.
Lady Seraphina Clinton looked every bit the noble she was — silver hair cascading elegantly, posture regal yet soft. Her gaze warmed the moment she saw him.
Lord Darius Clinton stood beside her, broad-shouldered and imposing even while relaxed. His stern features eased, just slightly, as Azeroth entered.
Bran bowed deeply. "Your majesties." His earlier playfulness vanished, replaced by the disciplined vice commander.
"You may rise, Bran," Seraphina said, voice gentle.
"Thank you, your majesty." He straightened, pride swelling in his chest. "The boy broke through today your highness, Seven years old and already an evolver."
Then added with a sign and a touch of nostalgia. "I still remember how long it took me."
The room went still.
Then Darius's face brightened, voice booming, "Marvelous! Truly marvelous."
Seraphina moved first, sweeping Azeroth into a warm embrace.
"I'm proud of you," she whispered into his hair.
Darius laid a massive hand on his son's shoulder. "Well done, son. This calls for a celebration."
Bran grinned, exactly as he'd anticipated this moment. He took a polite step back. "I'll excuse myself then."
Seraphina was too focused on her son to respond, but Darius waved Bran off with a grateful nod. The vice commander left briskly — likely already imagining his first drink.
After the happy moment faded, Darius inevitable asked the dreaded question.
"So… what trait did you receive?"
Azeroth kept his expression smooth. "It's called Devour." He replied with the same lie he told Bran earlier.
The lie slipped out effortlessly.
Darius hummed. Falling into thought for a moment. "Devour, hm? I've heard of similar traits among demons or vampires but not among humans. Have you read its description? What does it say?"
Azeroth froze.
Right.
He could do that.
To be fair, he'd forgotten. And Bran hadn't asked either.
Mentally, he summoned the panel.
[STATUS]
Name: ######
Race: ######
Age: 7
Rank: Common (Low)
Trait: ABSOLUTE
Sub-Trait: DEVOUR
⸻
[STATS]
Physique: 0.2
Soul: 0.5
He focused on the words — and the descriptions unfolded.
Trait: ABSOLUTE
Description: in a ##### of shifting paradoxes and endless possibilities, you alone are absolute.
Effect: you are limitless.
———-
Sub-Trait: DEVOUR
Description: you have awakened the embodiment of consumption.
Effect: you are what you consume.
————
Azeroth stared—really stared.
And his brain short-circuited.
His first coherent thought was:
"What the f—?"