(A/N:
Big thank you to Nikola_Radojevic_8215 for the power stones—I really appreciate.
Please enjoy the chapter and don't forget to leave a comment.)
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Chapter ten — First Hunger
Floating debris stretched endlessly across the void—shards of places, of ideas, of things not merely physical. These were the pulverized ruins of what had once been a thriving Omniversal domain of existence.
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 more microscopic than atoms.
Five silhouettes emerged from the blast, cloaked in storms of shifting energies that concealed their true forms— that, or perhaps 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 regarding each of them in turn, before finally speaking.
"%%#&&$#%#."
The words dissolved into static—heavy with emotion, yet utterly incomprehensible in meaning.
One thing, however, was certain.
The voice belonged to a man.
A distorted reply followed from one of the surrounding silhouettes—a female.
"%#%>^$&$&$%#."
Whatever she said made the central figure release a sound that might have been laughter… or despair. It was impossible to tell beneath the distortion.
He spoke again—and a weapon materialized in his hand.
It was a knife. It was a spear. It was a sword. Maybe a hammer.
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 itself, the central figure launched toward one of the encircling silhouettes, weapon raised—
The chosen figure did not hesitate.
A fist tore through the void and collided head-on with the weapon.
The impact sent jagged fractures racing outward, splintering existence itself—until suddenly—
The entire scene warped.
Collapsed.
Shattering like glass.
———
"Ha… ha… ha…"
Azeroth lurched awake, sweat clinging to his bare skin. His breath came in long, ragged pulls, chest heaving as though he'd just sprinted miles.
His eyes were unfocused, his mind replaying fragments of a dream that felt far too real.
Ever since the day he opened that mysterious gate, these visions had plagued him—without any pattern or warning.
The last one, in fact, had been barely three weeks ago.
He'd tried countless times to return to that
place, to reach 'it' again, but it was like chasing smoke. He could feel it inside him—right there—yet never quite grasp it.
Infuriating didn't even begin to describe it.
And the dreams themselves?
Always fragments. Each one differed from the next with seemingly no connection whatsoever.
He'd long since given up trying to decipher them, and this one was no different—or so he tried to convince himself.
And yet—
He couldn't quite forget the fact that, for a fleeting moment—less than a moment even, he felt them pause.
Turn.
Look towards a specific, empty point in the lightless void.
The exact place his dream-self had been observing from.
Azeroth could have sworn he felt their gaze lock onto him—in that moment he had nearly collapsed in dread.
Just another nightmare, he told himself.
Nothing to worry about.
Though his trembling hands—and the way his heart skipped beats every few seconds—told a different story.
He exhaled slowly, dragged himself off the bed, and made his way to the bathroom. Cold water splashed against his face.
When he lifted his gaze to the mirror, he blinked.
Then leaned closer.
"…What the hell?"
No. Nothing drastic had changed. His sharp features were the same. His dark eyes. His dark hair too.
Except—
A single strand of silverish-white hair stood out clearly against the rest.
His brows furrowed. It definitely hadn't been there yesterday.
Unable to find an explanation, he reached up and pulled it free.
It stung slightly.
But at least it was gone.
"Much better," he muttered, nodding at his reflection.
After dressing quickly, he stepped into the corridor, boots tapping softly against polished stone.
The Clinton estate stretched around him like a grand labyrinth. Murals of ancient wars lined the walls. Fossilized remains of monstrous beasts were mounted proudly—creatures whose dead forms still radiated menace.
He'd grown up with them.
Still, imagining those creatures alive always sent a faint shiver down his spine.
This—more than anything else—was why he'd introduced the idea of firearms to his father. Why he'd pushed for their creation in secret.
Even when it risked suspicion about the origin of the idea.
Thankfully, it never reached that point.
——————
Azeroth adjusted his sleeves and turned toward the private training room—which was in the opposite direction from the public.
Its been five days since his awakening and two since Bran left.
'He should be getting close to jayl by now' he mused.
As he had expected, eating food did not work. His sub-trait did not actually have anything to do with eating he concluded, —and believe him when he says: he tried.
Mostly because of the pleasant taste of the edible few, but he made sure to give each dish a try before calling it quits.
Still, with Bran away he had been left to his own devices.
He hadn't planned anything elaborate—just a routine session. Familiar movements. Something grounding.
But as he neared the eastern wing, something tugged at him.
Not physically.
Deeper.
His steps slowed without conscious thought.
He stopped.
At the end of the corridor stood a sealed display—one he'd walked past countless times without a second glance.
Inside rested a relic.
A dark-red, serrated dagger that gleamed with a thick, dull crimson sheen.
According to the plaque beneath it, it was made from the remnant core taken from a peak uncommon-ranked vampire. One of noble lineage.
For some reason, it was drawing him in now.
Almost hypnotic.
Merely looking at it made Azeroth feel… hungry.
Grrrr.
He placed a hand over his stomach as it rumbled.
His eyes narrowed.
"…That's new."
He stepped closer.
The moment his fingers brushed the glass, something responded.
From deep within him, an instinct burst forth, transforming into tidal wave of darkness—like night given form.
It surged forward, the display shattered instantly.
Invisible runes lit up for a moment only to fizzle out the moment they came in contact with the dark.
The darkness pulsed, coiling around the dagger for a moment—then it receded back into Azeroth's body, and the relic…
—was gone.
His heart stilled.
Skipped.
For a terrifying instant, panic clawed at him—
Then a gentle stream of information settled into his mind, smoothing the chaos, answering questions he hadn't yet formed.
"I see…" he muttered a second later,
While staring at his hands.