(Anastarka's POV)
"The time for training is over, Anastarka von Varkova."
Zeus's voice wasn't a roar anymore. It was a low, dangerous rumble, like thunder gathering just over the horizon. The words hung in the unnaturally still air of the Celestial Ascension Grounds, not as a suggestion, but as a judgment. A release.
For nine months, my world had been pain, sweat, and the endless, crushing pressure of my instructors' expectations. I had been broken down, my muscles torn and rebuilt, my mind scoured of weakness, my very soul reforged in a crucible of agony. The weeping Duchess, the broken wife, the helpless mother… they were all dead, burned away on the pyre of my training.
I looked from Zeus's stormy eyes, now filled with a terrifying, predatory approval, to Musashi's calm, analytical gaze. He gave a single, almost imperceptible nod. That was all the praise he would ever offer. It was more than enough.
My desperation, the panic that had ruled me for so long, was gone. In its place was a vast, cold emptiness. A stillness. And in the center of that stillness, a single, white-hot point of purpose: Kalyth.
"Okay," I breathed, the sound a wisp of steam in the cool air. My voice was different now. Deeper. Rougher. "Status Window."
A familiar, yet utterly alien, screen of golden light bloomed before my eyes. The last time I'd seen it, the numbers had been so pathetic I wanted to weep. Now… I just stared.
STATUS
Name: Anastarka von Varkova
Level: 25
Class: War-Storm Sovereign (Unique)
Race: Human (Varkova Bloodline - Awakened)
Title: The Forged, The Unbent, Child of the Trial
HP: 45,000/45,000
MP: 50,000/50,000
--ATTRIBUTES--
STR (Strength): 421
VIT (Vitality): 435
AGI (Agility): 418
INT (Intelligence): 480
WIS (Wisdom): 495
LCK (Luck): 5
--UNSEALED SKILLS & BLESSINGS--
[Varkova Bloodline] (Unique, Awakened): The ancient power of the warrior-mages flows through you. Grants immense aptitude for Aura and elemental magic. All elemental attacks gain the [Storm-Charged] property, adding lightning damage.
[Blessing of the War God, Ares] (Divine, Awakened): Grants unparalleled combat intuition (Battle Trance) and mastery over all conventional weaponry. Passively increases STR and AGI growth.
[Blessing of the Storm Lord, Zeus] (Divine, Awakened): Grants high-level affinity for Lightning and Wind magic. Unlocks [Aura of Command] to influence weaker minds and [Storm Lord's Mantle] for electrical resistance. Passively increases INT and WIS growth.
[Blessing of the Frost Heart, Boreas] (Divine, Awakened): Grants high-level affinity for Ice magic and extreme resilience to cold. Unlocks [Frost Armor] creation and [Winter's Bite] weapon enchantment. Passively increases VIT and MP regeneration.
[Chosen One] (Mythical, Awakened): Your destiny is intertwined with the fate of the world. All actions of great significance have a higher chance of success. Unlocks the potential to defy fate.
What… the hell?
I ran my calloused fingers over the hilt of the dark katana at my hip. The numbers were insane. All of them over four hundred. Before, I would have struggled to lift a heavy bucket. Now, the stats suggested I could punch through the wall of a castle. My Level was still 25, a lie that hid the monster I'd become, just as the grand System voice had promised. The forging strengthens the steel, not adds to its mass.
And my class… War-Storm Sovereign. It sounded like something out of one of the epic poems Kalyth loved. A name for a conqueror. A destroyer.
These were the numbers of a monster.
Good.
As if summoned by my thoughts, the choral voice of the System—the one that had offered me this trial—descended upon the dojo, filling the space with its immense, impersonal presence.
{THE FORGING IS COMPLETE.}
{THE BLADE MUST NOW BE TESTED.}
Zeus and Musashi both took a step back, their forms beginning to shimmer and fade.
"Go, mortal," Zeus grunted, a smirk finally cracking his stony face. "Show them the meaning of thunder. Make them regret the day they stole from a Varkova."
Musashi simply met my eyes. "The path is walked one step at a time. Let your first step shake the foundation."
Then they were gone. The golden light of the System intensified, swallowing the serene dawn of the Celestial Ascension Grounds.
{THE TRIAL RESUMES. THE SPIRE OF DESPAIR AWAITS ITS CHALLENGER.}
{RETURN.}
The world twisted. The feeling of open air and clean earth vanished, replaced by a sudden, suffocating pressure. The scent of dust, old blood, and damp stone filled my lungs. The brilliant light faded, plunging me back into the oppressive, familiar darkness of the dungeon cell.
It was exactly as I had left it nine months—one day—ago. The air was heavy, thick with misery. I could still feel the phantom chill of the stone floor against my skin, the ghost of my own tears.
But I was not the same woman.
I stood, my new body feeling impossibly light, impossibly powerful in the standard gravity. The darkness was no longer a suffocating blanket; my eyes, now accustomed to sensing intent and the flow of energy, pierced through it as if it were a sunny afternoon.
The memory of Kalyth's scream, the one that had been both my torment and my fuel, echoed in my mind. The taunting voice of the Demon King, Jath'lyn the Soul-Collector. The cold, dismissive face of my husband. The cruel, simpering smile of Liana.
They were all in this estate. They were all part of the Spire.
My path began here.
A cold fury, sharp and clean as a shard of ice, settled in my heart. Musashi's voice echoed in my mind. Let your first step shake the foundation.
I turned to the heavy, iron-banded wooden door that had once been my prison wall. Before, it was an insurmountable obstacle. Now? It was a nuisance.
I didn't bother with the lock. I didn't even bother with a proper punch.
I lifted a hand, my fingers curling into a loose fist. I could feel it now, the buzzing energy in my blood, the static crackle of a gathering storm. It wasn't just my mana; it was something more primal. The Aura of the Varkova bloodline, supercharged by the blessing of a goddamn thunder god.
Tiny blue sparks, like angry fireflies, danced between my knuckles. I didn't need an incantation. I didn't need a martial arts form. I just needed to will it.
I pushed my fist forward. It was a lazy, almost casual movement.
The air in front of my knuckles compressed. A blinding flash of blue-white light erupted from my fist, followed an instant later by a sound that was not a crack or a boom, but the very fabric of reality tearing.
KRA-KOOOOM!
The spell, a rudimentary bolt of lightning no bigger than my arm, struck the door.
It didn't splinter. It didn't break.
It vaporized.
The iron bands, the thick oak planks, the heavy bolt on the other side—all of it ceased to exist, turning into a cloud of superheated dust and lingering ozone. The stone archway around the door glowed cherry-red for a second before cracking and crumbling, the sound lost in the deafening roar of my attack.
A gaping, smoking hole now stood where the door had been. Through it, I could see the dimly lit stone hallway of the ducal dungeons.
I let my hand fall to my side, the blue sparks fizzling out.
My daughter was at the top of this tower. My jailers were within its walls.
I took my first step out of the cell.
And I was coming to collect.
(Kalyth's POV)
I let out a contented sigh, sinking deeper into the plush embrace of what was, without a doubt, the comfiest beanbag chair in the multiverse. The gigantic, reality-defying screen in front of me played the latest chapter of Nano Machine, and the floating tray to my right kept my glass of cola perpetually ice-cold and my bag of pizza-flavored chips magically full.
This. Was. The. Life.
'Man, Cheon Yeo-Woon is so freaking cool,' I thought, crunching on a chip. 'Getting OP with a futuristic AI system that feeds him info and training protocols... heh. Sounds familiar.'
It had been nine months. Nine glorious, uninterrupted months of pure, grade-A otaku bliss. While my mother was off getting tortured into a state of ultimate badassery, I had embarked on my own epic quest. A quest of consumption.
Let's see... the backlog check.
One Piece? All 1000+ episodes and the latest manga chapters. Done. I now knew the true meaning of freedom and friendship.
Naruto and Shippuden? Watched it, read it, even suffered through the god-awful filler arcs. Believe it!
Bleach? From Soul Society to the Thousand-Year Blood War. Bankai!
Dragon Ball, Z, Super? Done, done, and done. I could probably even feel out ki now if I tried hard enough.
Hunter x Hunter? Finished the anime, caught up on the manga, and now I'm part of the eternal waiting game with the rest of the fandom. Pain.
You name it, I binged it. All the shonen epics, all the isekai, from the trashiest power fantasies to the most thought-provoking deconstructions. All the rom-coms, from the sickeningly sweet to the hilariously chaotic. I was a connoisseur now. A master of tropes. A walking encyclopedia of narrative structure.
It was all... research, of course. For my own masterpiece: "Project: My Mom is a God-Tier Avenger and I'm the Producer."
Just as I was about to dive into the next chapter, a familiar, serene blue window materialized in front of the manhwa panel, politely pausing my entertainment.
[Master, your presence is requested.] Akira's synthesized voice echoed in my mind. [The nine-month training regimen for Subject Anastarka, also known as "Project Apotheosis," is complete. The subject has been returned to the Spire of Despair to initiate the trial.]
I sat up, the beanbag rustling. A wide, excited grin spread across my face.
"Showtime," I whispered, rubbing my hands together with glee. "Alright, Akira, hit me with it. How did she turn out? I need the 'after' picture. The character reveal splash page. Gimme the goods."
[As you wish, Master. Displaying current visual data for Subject Anastarka.]
The manhwa screen vanished, replaced by a still, high-resolution image. It was a live feed, seemingly from a disembodied camera, looking at my mother as she stood in the ruins of her former cell.
My jaw dropped. The half-eaten chip fell from my fingers, forgotten.
Oh... oh, holy fuck.
The woman on the screen was my mother, but at the same time, she absolutely was not. The soft, gentle Duchess I remembered was gone, replaced by... this.
Her midnight blue hair was cut short, practical, tied back to reveal the sharp, determined line of her jaw. Her skin, once pale and delicate, was now tanned and weathered, crisscrossed with a faint web of silvery-white scars that weren't ugly, but... telling. They were a story written on her skin.
And her body... good lord.
She wasn't bulky like a bodybuilder. She was lean, wiry, and absolutely, terrifyingly defined. The simple, dark training gi she wore couldn't hide the coiled ropes of muscle in her arms, the hard plate of her stomach, the powerful lines of her legs. The abs... holy shit, Mom had abs you could grate cheese on. She looked like she'd been carved from stone and sinew by a god who specialized in making living weapons.
But the eyes... the eyes were the scariest and coolest part.
They weren't sad anymore. They weren't broken. They weren't even angry. They were just... empty. A vast, calm, golden void. An emptiness that promised nothing but violence. They were the eyes of a predator that had finished sizing up its prey and was about to begin the hunt. A dark katana with a simple, practical hilt rested at her hip, seeming to drink the very light around it.
She wasn't a duchess anymore. She was a final boss.
My inner otaku, the Miku part of my soul, was screaming in sheer, unadulterated hype.
"Ohh, holy fuck," I breathed, my eyes wide as dinner plates. "Mama got RIPPED. She looks... she looks intimidating and scary cool as FUCK!"
This was better than I ever could have imagined. This wasn't just a woman who could fight. This was a walking disaster. A storm given human form. My father wanted to break her? He had no idea what he'd just unleashed. He hadn't just caged a bird. He'd put a nuke in a shoebox and shaken it for twenty years.
A manic, delighted cackle escaped my lips. This was my creation. My story. And it was about to get so, so good.
"AKIRA YOU MAGNIFICENT BASTARD!" I shouted, pumping my fist in the air. "You beautiful, beautiful supercomputer! You've outdone yourself! Now, I am NOT missing a single second of this."
I leaned forward, my face alight with feverish excitement.
"Activate Spectator Mode. Full sensory link if you can manage it, but keep me safe. I want a front-row seat to the premiere."
[Acknowledged, Master. Engaging Spectator Mode.]
The image on the screen flickered, and then it moved. The world lurched as my perspective zoomed forward, following just behind my mother as she took her first, purposeful step into the dark hallway.
I sank back into my beanbag, grabbing a fresh handful of chips.
The show was about to begin.