The two days that followed were a testament to the strange, symbiotic bond forming between Anthony and Riley. In that short span, she absorbed his grim lessons with a fierce, almost desperate hunger. He taught her to hunt with a ruthless efficiency he himself was still coming to terms with. She learned to cook the meager catches, her hands no longer soft, her expression no longer one of naive wonder but of grim, focused determination.
Most importantly, he taught her a rudimentary form of his barrier magic. She learned the chants, her voice a stark contrast to his low growl, but the results were the same: a shimmering dome of protection. Together, their combined energy created a fragile sanctuary against the spreading chaos, a small, safe pocket in a world teetering on the brink.
On the third night, a strange omen occurred. Riley went hunting alone, moving through the moonlit forest with a newfound confidence. She found a rabbit, but it was not twitching with fear. It was still, almost sick. Curiosity, a dangerous trait in this new world, compelled her to investigate. As she leaned in, a thick, viscous substance shot from the rabbit's eyes, splattering her face and entering her own. She brushed it off, a dismissive flick of her hand. Mutant rabbits, she knew from Anthony's grim lessons, often had strange defenses. She continued her hunt, a small, disquieting detail in her mind, and returned to the camp the next day, her expression betraying nothing.
During that same time, while Riley was out, Anthony was approached by a Saint. The holy man, his robes tattered and his face a mask of exhaustion and hope, recognized Anthony from the chaos at the cave entrance. He had seen the power of his barriers, the ferocity of his flight. He saw a weapon.
"Young man," the Saint began, his voice hoarse, "the Church is in desperate need. The Father's Light has failed us. We need to rebuild our defenses, but the monsters... they are too many. We need your help. We saw what you did at the cave. You are a miracle."
Anthony's face was a stone mask. He was not a miracle. He was a ticking bomb. He listened to the man's pleas, to his desperate promises. He saw an opportunity. He agreed to help, but only for a price. A deal was struck, and the terms, though unsaid, were clear: his power in exchange for the Church's resources and secrets.
He and Riley made their way to the Holy Empire. The city, once a bastion of faith, was now a tinderbox of fear. People cowered in the streets, their prayers a weak, terrified murmur.
The air grew heavy with a new kind of dread. A figure, swathed in shadow, moved with inhuman speed through the outskirts of the city. It was Utan, who had arrived ahead of the White Demon, driven by a more immediate, personal agenda. She moved like a phantom, bypassing the city's meager defenses with a sneer of contempt. She was a hurricane of ice and steel, tearing through the city's perimeter, leaving a trail of frozen, shattered bodies.
Adventurers, desperate and outmatched, charged her. A- as potent as a low tier monster and C- as potent and a mutant these highly ranked knights, their swords humming with magic, were cut down with effortless grace. Then, a voice, filled with an impossible arrogance, bellowed from the city gates. An S- as potent as a greater monster . one high ranked warrior, his armor clad in steel and gold, his sword crackling with energy and light, stood beside three female helpers and a male magician. "you are one hell of a beast!, not as potent as i am" he bellowed. "Witness greatness"
He lunged forward, a beam of pure light erupting from his sword. Utan simply met the attack with her dagger, and the beam dispersed into a harmless cascade of light. The S-ranked warrior's face, his bravado gone, was a canvas of pure terror. He turned to run, but Utan was faster. She spoke a single, chilling phrase in Greek: "Ατέλειωτη παγίδα." (Endless trap.) A barrier of unseen force slammed into the warrior, pushing him back, imprisoning him. He was a caged animal, and Utan was the hunter.
With a single, fluid motion, she slashed his throat. His blood, a vibrant red, erupted onto the cobblestones. Utan, her face calm, turned to see Anthony, her eyes glinting with a strange mix of recognition and amusement.
she lunged kicked him in the guts and spoke, "I won't kill you," she said, her voice a soft, delicate tease. "I can only thank you for freeing our king."
She turned, her movements an enigma of silence and speed, disappearing into the city's shadows. She had come for something, but it was not the S-rank adventurer. A moment later, a deep, earth-shattering tremor shook the city. It was the White Demon's coming.
Anthony, his mind a cauldron of emotions, knew what he had to do. He had to get stronger. The fleeting encounter with Utan had shown him the vast gulf between his power and hers. He needed more. He needed to evolve. He left the ruined city behind and made his way towards a distant dungeon, his mind set on one goal: raw, unfiltered power.
He was approached by an old man, his face a road map of time and suffering. The man offered him a small, worn leather bag with a curious blue glow emanating from within. "Deliver this to the settlement," the man said, his eyes wise and weary. Anthony agreed, taking the bag with him, a small, insignificant errand in the face of his grand quest for power.
Suddenly, an explosion rocked the world. The ground beneath him shuddered, and a storm of crackling electricity ripped through the air. Buildings crumbled. People, their bodies seared and fried, lay scattered in the street.
He walked through the devastation, a ghost in a sea of misery, the glowing bag in his hand. He found a treatment area and collapsed, exhausted. He slept for three days.
When he woke, he was a different person. His right arm, the one that felt alien, was now a conduit of raw power. It pulsed with electricity, a constant, low thrum of energy. His vision had changed. He saw the world in jagged, glowing lines, seeing through flesh and bone, seeing the organs, the sinew, the beating hearts of those around him. The magic in the air, a faint, almost imperceptible hum to others, was now a powerful, undeniable force, pulling at his very being.
He stumbled out of the treatment area, but instead of the respectful awe he had received before, he was met with wide, terrified eyes. They saw not a hero, but a freak. He was a monster, a walking paradox of flesh and raw power. He knew where he belonged now. Not among people, but among the untamed.
He went to the forest, the place where he was the most alive. He was hunting, his spear a familiar extension of his will, when a surge of electricity from his arm, a new, uncontrollable power, fried it. He stared at the useless, charred stick in his hand.
He found a metal rod, a twisted piece of wreckage from the ruins of the city, and began to work. He focused his energy, his will, on the metal. The rod began to glow, turning a vibrant red, sparking with electricity. He worked at it with a rock, shaping it, sharpening it, forging a new weapon from the raw, elemental power within him. He was a living forge.
The destruction was immaculate. The spear, an extension of his power, tore through a tree, cutting, burning, and frying its trunk in a single, devastating motion. He was lighter, stronger, faster. The output of his power was greater. He knew now that this weapon, a symbol of his transformation, was going to be a lot better.
As more and more enemies would appear, he knew for a fact that the White Demon was going to be one of them.