Chapter Nine — Testing devour.
Floating debris stretched endlessly across the void—shards of places, of ideas, of things not merely physical. They were the pulverized ruins of what had once been a thriving plane of reality.
Its final death cry still lingered in the colorless expanse, sharp and haunting, like the aftertaste of a chef's finest seasoning.
Suddenly—
BOOOOM!
A shockwave erupted from the heart of the devastation, vaporizing everything within reach into particles smaller than atoms.
Five silhouettes emerged from the blast, cloaked in storms of shifting energies that concealed their true forms—that, or they simply had none to begin with.
They hovered in the void: one at the center, four circling like phantoms.
The central figure tilted slightly, as though looking at each one in turn, before finally speaking.
"%%#&&$#%#."
The words were warped into static—heavy with emotion, yet incomprehensible.
One thing was certain though: the voice belonged to a man.
A distorted reply followed from one of the surrounding silhouettes—a woman.
"%#%>^$&$&$%#."
Whatever she said made the central figure release a sound that might have been laughter… or despair. Hard to tell beneath the distortion and the static.
He spoke again—and a weapon materialized in his hand—It was a knife. It was a spear. It was a sword.
Its length both impossibly short and infinitely long—a paradox shaped by will.
A contradiction bound by intent.
And its purpose—
Whissssssh!
With a speed that carved a visible wound through the fabric of space, the central figure launched toward one of the encircling silhouettes, weapon raised—
Just as they were about to clash, the entire space fractured like shattering glass and—
⸻
"Ha… ha… ha…"
Azeroth lurched awake, sweat clinging to his bare skin, breath dragging in long, ragged pulls as if he'd sprinted miles.
His eyes were glazed, his mind replaying the fragments of a dream that felt far too real.
Ever since he opened that mysterious gate, these visions had plagued him—no pattern, no warning.
In fact, the last one he had was four months ago.
He'd tried countless times to reach that place again, but it was like chasing smoke.
He could feel it inside him, but never quite grasp it.
Infuriating didn't even begin to describe it.
And the dreams themselves? Always fragments. Each one different from the last with seemingly no connection whatsoever.
He'd long given up trying to decipher them long ago and this one was no different—or so he tried to convince himself.
Because for a moment there he felt them pause and turn to look at a certain empty point. The same position he was observing from.
Azeroth could have sworn he felt their gaze directly on him and nearly collapsed in dread.
Still he chalked it up to another unexplainable phenomenon.
Nothing to worry about, just a nightmare. He told himself.
He exhaled slowly, pushed himself off the bed, and splashed cold water on his face.
When he lifted his gaze to the mirror, he blinked.
His hair—was black again. Its original color.
No wonder Mom didn't say anything, he thought with a quiet chuckle.
After dressing quickly, he stepped into the hallway, boots tapping softly against polished stone.
The Clinton estate stretched around him like a grand labyrinth—murals of ancient wars, heroic ancestors, and fossilized remains of monstrous beasts whose dead forms still radiated menace.
He had grown up seeing them, yet imagining those creatures alive still sent a quiet shiver down his spine.
Soon, he reached the private training grounds.
And as expected, it was empty.
Normally he trained at the main grounds, where Bran drilled the soldiers, but when the man was unavailable—or when Azeroth wanted to be alone—he came here.
Passing the familiar rack of weighted weapons, he stepped into the center of the field.
A few things were already waiting:
A small hill of shimmering monster cores.
Two carcasses of mid-tier beasts.
And finally, a single live creature inside a reinforced cage—a goat-horned rabbit the size of a dog, now fast asleep.
He wasn't surprised to see them as he had asked his father for these last night during the celebration.
These were everything he needed to test his sub-trait: Devour.
He needed to confirm whether it really did as he suspected.
As for his main trait, Absolute, that one he would have to test by reaching the limits of his rank.
Which for the Common Rank, was a hundred.
Each stat.
He approached the pile of cores first. And noticed that despite their similar auras, the cores differed in size—likely because they were from different species.
He picked one up, turning it between his fingers.
Funny enough, it did resemble the monster cores from the novels he used to read.
So much so that he briefly wondered if someone from this world had reincarnated on Earth.
That would've been hilarious.
He chuckled to himself, closed his eyes, and steadied his breathing—falling into that razor-sharp focus state he was famous for.
The core sat in his palm.
He reached inward—seeking the presence of his new sub-trait.
For nearly a minute, nothing happened.
Then—
A cloud of dark energy spilled from his body, silent and formless, sinking into the core like a living shadow.
And then—
Just as quickly as it appeared, it retreated back into him.
Azeroth's eyes snapped open.
His pupils looked the same.
And yet… not.
A shade darker. A shade deeper.
He looked down.
His palm was empty.
He had felt the change, but still to confirm, he summoned his panel.
———
[STATUS]
Name: ######
Race: ######
Age: 7
Rank: Common (Low)
Trait: ABSOLUTE
Sub-Trait: DEVOUR
———-
[STATS]
Physique: 0.2 → 0.4
Soul: 0.5 → 0.6
Azeroth's grin exploded across his face.
"Holy… shit."
He laughed—quiet at first, then louder.
"It worked.
It actually worked."
Turning to the rest of the pile, he wondered just how far he could reach with these lot.