The system had handed Adrian Cursed Energy Manipulation like a high-tech tool with the instruction manual ripped out.
[Active] Cursed Energy Manipulation (Lv. 1)
The fundamental ability to control and weaponize negative energy. Reinforces physical strikes and drastically reduces incoming damage.
That was it. No tutorial pop-up. No skill tree diagram. Just a vague promise that he could hit harder, take less damage, and figure out the rest on his own.
Up until now, he'd been coasting on instinct—shoving energy into his fist, a metal pipe, or whatever was about to hit something else. It worked, but it was ugly. Flooring the gas and praying you didn't crash wasn't a combat strategy.
Time to turn luck into a skill.
Tuesday morning. A narrow strip of floor in his apartment. Hand pressed flat against the wall plaster.
Reinforcement first. Defense before offense.
Adrian funneled a thread of cursed energy down his arm. A crackling, heavy warmth gathered in his palm. He drove his open hand straight into the wall.
Crack!
Plaster dust rained down. Pain bloomed across his knuckles—a dull, heavy throb—but nothing broke. His skin was red and tender, but intact.
Baseline set. Full reinforcement turned a bone-breaking hit into a mild bruise. Useful.
He pulled the energy back, letting only a thin trickle flow this time, and struck again. The impact bit deeper. The shield gave way.
It's not an on-off switch, he realized, eyes narrowing. It's a dial.
By the fifth strike, sweat dripped from his chin. The system text hadn't mentioned the most important part: reinforcement was all about timing. The energy had to condense at the exact microsecond of impact—not a moment early, not a moment late.
Todo's muscle memory gave him the raw physical form, but mastering the pulse of cursed energy was entirely on him.
By his ninth strike, plaster was crumbling and blood smudged his knuckles.
Knock. Knock.
"You're about three hits away from breaking into the Petrovas' living room," Sophia's voice sounded through the wooden door, bone-dry. "And I really don't want to explain why there's a fist-shaped crater in their wallpaper."
Adrian glanced down. A distinct, fist-sized indent stared back at him.
"Just training," he called back.
"You're demolishing our deposit," she replied. "Breakfast is cold. I have a shift in thirty minutes, so unless you want to eat cold eggs with bloody knuckles like a budget Fight Club reject, open up."
He wrapped his hand in a dish towel and pulled the door open.
Over eggs and toast, Sophia talked. Really talked.
She rattled off stories about an absurdly generous customer, her manager's horrific playlist, and the mundane drama of normal people trying to live normal lives in a city still recovering from chaos. The sharp, permanent tension behind her eyes had finally eased.
Keep this, Adrian thought, watching her gesture wildly with a piece of toast. No matter how deep I get into this, keep this part of her life untouched.
"You're staring," Sophia noted, not even looking up.
"Just glad you had a good shift."
"Don't get weird on me, Hayes." She smirked, taking a bite.
Twenty minutes later, she was out the door.
Adrian spent the rest of the morning breaking junk in nearby alleys—wooden pallets, an abandoned metal car door. With every strike, the timing clicked better. The energy flow shifted from a forced breath to a natural heartbeat.
By early afternoon, restless and itching for a target that could hit back, he went hunting.
He found it inside a crumbling parking garage two blocks from the ruined church.
It hung upside down from a cracked support beam—a warped, humanoid shape with limbs bent at unnatural, broken angles. Its face was a smooth, pale mask split by a single vertical seam. When it registered Adrian's presence, the seam peeled open into a mouth lined with translucent, glass-like teeth.
Through Six Eyes, Adrian saw the cursed energy coiling within it. Dense. Aggressive.
Not a Special Grade, but vastly superior to the brainless mist-mobs he'd been farming.
Test drive time.
The spirit dropped in a silent, fluid blur, launching forward on all fours.
Adrian planted his heels. Cursed energy condensed at his left forearm in a precise, razor-thin burst—right at the millisecond of contact.
BLAM!
The creature's heavy claw slammed into his arm. Shockwaves rattled up to his shoulder, but the bone held. No deep tears. Just a shallow scratch.
The dial works.
Before the spirit could recoil, Adrian stepped into its guard, channeling a concentrated surge of energy into his right fist.
BANG!
He drove a reinforced strike straight into the monster's open seam. Glassy teeth shattered. The spirit screeched—a wet, ear-splitting sound—and lashed out blindly.
A razor-sharp claw slashed across Adrian's ribs before he could fully reinforce the area.
Pain exploded across his torso. His vision flickered; the cursed energy under his skin sputtered like a dying lightbulb.
Miscalculated the recovery speed!
He gritted his teeth, forced the energy back into a tight focus, and planted a heavy backhand right through its cracked jaw.
The creature convulsed violently, dissolving into a cloud of disintegrating black mist.
[ +23 EXP ]
Adrian leaned against a concrete pillar, breathing heavily, hand pressed against his aching side. Bruised ribs. Maybe a hairline fracture.
Painful, but valuable.
If it comes too easy, I'll get arrogant. Arrogance gets you killed.
He opened his interface on the walk home, watching his EXP bar creep toward Level 3. New rewards, higher Grades, and more power were waiting. But he forced his pacing down. Fast was reckless. Survival meant precision.
He didn't notice the sleek black sedan parked down the block until he reached his front steps.
It wasn't the suits from two days ago. Different guy inside. Same dead-eyed stare, same heavy, unnerving stillness.
The agent didn't even pretend to hide it. He sat in the driver's seat, watching Adrian with cold calculation.
They aren't laying low anymore, Adrian thought, keeping his face entirely blank as he unlocked the door. Either they think I'm blind, or they want me to know I'm being watched.
Across town, in a sterile federal facility, a heavy paper folder lay open on a steel desk.
A grainy photograph captured a hooded figure moving near a hazard zone perimeter. Below the image, bold black ink marked the header:
SUBJECT: UNKNOWN
DESIGNATION: "BLUE-EYED VIGILANTE"
STATUS: ACTIVE MONITORING
Adrian stepped inside, locked the door, and leaned back against the wood, listening to his heartbeat slow down.
The monsters were evolving. He was getting stronger.
And the government was finally putting together a file.