The battlefield was a living hell. Screams of beasts echoed through the crimson forest, and the ground drowned in a sea of blood. The scarlet sky above seemed to revel in the massacre, watching in demonic silence as chaos unfolded beneath its dying light.
Amidst this madness, Louskas was locked in brutal combat with two enemies—an emerald-skinned beast and a black-feathered bird, both in the second tier. It was as if fate had conspired to pit them against him—a mere child still in the first stage.
A first-stage child against two second-tier beasts should've been suicide. But this child—this demon—had already made madness a reality. Behind him lay the corpses of countless monsters, some from the second tier, many from the first. His path was painted in blood, his blade sharpened by survival alone.
This world had shaped him. Weeks spent in its cruel, unforgiving depths had taught him a single truth: kill, or be killed. There was no room for hesitation, no place for weakness. First-tier monsters no longer posed a threat—except for the rare few. And even second-tier foes he faced without fear. Such was his sword style: kill, and kill again.
The bird wielded a shard that granted it near-invisible speed through its wings. The green beast fired electric-blue lightning from the grotesque mouth embedded in its forehead.
Louskas hadn't used his shard once since the battle began. He had grown too reliant on it lately—and he hated that. He never wanted to depend on a single power, not even his own. His path was to refine his technique, to carve his own bloody art. To become sharper, faster, deadlier.
Eldron's style was brilliant, designed to exploit weaknesses with graceful precision. But Louskas—his art was chaos. A beast dancing through carnage, painted in blood.
The bird struck first, vanishing and reappearing in front of him in a blur.
Louskas raised his violet blade without emotion. The bird's metallic beak slammed into the sword, and sparks screamed through the air. The impact hurled Louskas back, bones rattling from the blow.
He gritted his teeth and slashed for the neck—but the bird flapped its wings, generating a brutal wind that flung him upward.
Then, midair—helpless—the green beast opened the mouth on its forehead and unleashed a bolt of lightning.
No way to dodge. No ground to anchor. Only death, waiting.
But Louskas… smiled.
"Even if I die… I won't use it."
Madness.
And yet, truth.
He raised his sword and met the lightning head-on. The explosion blasted him across the battlefield, his hands scorched, the blade glowing red-hot in his grip.
Still, he stood.
Smiling.
"I survived… without it."
He forced his body upright and looked beyond the chaos—toward the real battle.
The two chieftains. The titans of their kind.
The black-feathered chieftain—fierce and fast—had suffered dozens of wounds. His wings barely moved, and his footing faltered. Meanwhile, the green beast's leader, wreathed in flames, stood with minimal injuries. Dozens of bodies lay around them, victims of stray attacks and overwhelming force.
Their battle was on another level entirely.
Louskas narrowed his eyes.
"Enough playing."
The bird rushed him again—furious, fast.
Louskas vanished.
He reappeared beside the green beast, who hadn't even noticed him. Still fixated on the space where Louskas had stood.
A hand touched his side.
The beast froze.
He looked down—and saw a bloodstained boy with black hair drifting in the wind and a cold, emotionless smile.
Then came the pain.
Louskas began draining the shard. The beast tried to resist, but it was too late.
Louskas was in danger—and that triggered something in his main shard. The absorption surged faster than it had with Kailos.
But something was different this time. A strange pull in his chest. A whisper he didn't understand.
He ignored it.
Focused on the shard. On the power.
The beast shriveled, just like Kailos—skin turning to ash, soul extinguished.
Then silence.
Louskas raised his hand and activated the newly absorbed shard. Blue lightning crackled over his burned skin, coiling around his arm like a living serpent. Sparks hissed from his fingertips, but the sensation that surged through him wasn't what he expected.
He furrowed his brows.
The energy felt… muted.
"Weaker," he muttered, frowning.
This wasn't the same storm he had witnessed just moments ago. The green chieftain's lightning had torn through the battlefield like a wrathful god. But now? It was little more than a flicker, a watered-down echo of the power it once held.
He already knew why.
Because of his shard [___].
Its power was unique… but it came at a price.
He could steal any shard from any being—no matter the tier or origin. He could absorb their essence, pull their gifts into his body, and bend them to his will.
But no matter how powerful the original was…
They would always be pulled down to his level.
That was the curse.
He was in the first stage—the very beginning of a long and cruel path. And the moment a shard became his, it conformed to that reality. It shed its previous might, its experience, its raw destructive force… and collapsed into something smaller, something incomplete. As if forced to forget what it once was.
Even the most godlike ability, once stolen, would become no stronger than what a first-stage child could handle.
The power was his—but never in full.
He clenched his hand, the lightning dissipating with a faint hiss. It was still usable, still a weapon… but not the storm he had hoped to wield.
"Just a spark," he whispered.
His face was calm, but beneath the surface, frustration simmered.
To take the power of giants and be forced to wear it like a child's toy—it was both a gift and a chain.
[___] gave him endless potential… but kept him caged by his current weakness.
Not forever.
One day, when he reached the second stage, then the third, the fourth—
Then every shard he'd stolen would rise with him.