The light interface shimmered as three words cycled rapidly before settling: Human, Divine, Aberrant.
The display paused on Aberrant before expanding:
Name: Drifting Wraith
Attributes: Shadow, Specter
Rank: Mid-Tier One
Description: An inferior abyssal Aberrant possessing shadow and specter attributes. Exhibits enhanced power within darkness. If targeted... watch your back.
Note: This Aberrant appears atypical.
Slaying Cost: Arm fracture
Shadow Erosion Gain: Acquired ability Shadow Strike. Ability points increased.
Aberrant cataloged. Cost exempted.
Too many questions surfaced. This marked only the second entity recorded in the manual besides himself. Did registration require merely killing the target, or must Shadow Erosion follow?
Minor questions could wait.
Focusing his will, Damian examined the new ability:
Shadow Strike: When attacking from unseen shadows, you'll more easily identify vulnerabilities. The initial strike inflicts catastrophic damage.
He tested it immediately by standing in a corner, eyes closed, attuning to darkness.
"Nothing's happening."
After five minutes of awkward lurking, he stormed out muttering curses. The entire exercise felt ridiculous.
"Perhaps... it requires a target?"
Setting that aside, he navigated to the Human section:
Name: Damian Vale
Attributes: Shadow Element
Ability Points: 14/14
Existence Tier: Stalker (Unlockable)
Abilities: Shadow Erosion, Voidpiercer Eye, Shadow Form
Stalker: A natural assassin of shadows. While concealed, you stalk darkness, hunt within gloom.
"Shouldn't that say 'hunt within light'?"
Damian's expression darkened. Was this system really quoting game dialogue at him?
Shadow Form: Your shadow has evolved. You may merge with it, entering a unique state.
Effects:
1. No vital organs: Even decapitation only reduces HP by 99% rather than causing instant death.
2. Enhanced stealth: Perfect shadow integration. Physical capabilities and regeneration drastically improved.
3. Training bonus: Unexpected gains when exercising in this form.
4. Zero energy cost in Shadow Layer. Consumes ability points in reality.
"Damn!"
The "no vital organs" description initially thrilled him until the fine print about 99% HP loss nearly made him laugh bitterly.
Mockery aside, the ability proved formidable.
Damian summoned his shadow. As their index fingers touched, the shadow liquefied, coating him like second skin - cool, breathable, and perfectly form-fitting. No fabric compared.
This feels... suspiciously comfortable.
His reflection showed an ink-black silhouette, eyes merely darker smudges.
As ability points drained, he dismissed the form.
Next: Unlockable.
The description read:
Unlockable: You possess partial authority over this Existence Tier without full awakening. Proceeding will:
- Permanently awaken it
- Lock all derivative abilities exclusively to you
- Involve certain risks
Note: Risks may transform into opportunities.
Yes/No
The crimson-highlighted "certain risks" gave pause.
After five minutes of deliberation, Damian inhaled sharply. His gaze flicked to No... then Yes.
The latter began flashing. Warmth flooded his veins.
"Wait, I didn't fully select—Damn it!"
The interface stabilized:
Slayer: Hunt or be hunted. As a natural predator, your attacks always deal damage.
Notes:
1. Excludes external weapons (guns, arrows, poison)
2. Applicable even to deities
3. Notoriety enhances capabilities proportionally to your mystique
Execute: When prey's HP reaches a threshold (determined by relative strength/abilities), a crimson weak point appears. Striking it triggers instant annihilation.
Damian's pulse quickened. Any instant-kill ability was inherently overpowered.
His 14 ability points now—6 more than pre-wraith—functioned as both energy and progression metrics.
The new Existence Tier's value was undeniable. "Damage even deities" alone justified the risk.
But where was the actual risk?
After fruitless searching, he gave up.
Itching wounds drew his attention. Peeling back bandages revealed freshly healed skin—no scars, not even under magnification. A minor cut that should've taken a day to scab had vanished after seconds in Shadow Form.
The abdominal gash—nearly deep enough for that wraith to perform an impromptu cesarean—would be the real test.
Meanwhile...
"Rina, what actually happened to Damian yesterday?"
"His post said he fought a mugger—took 88 stab wounds without blinking."
"Wait, he told me it was human traffickers! Claimed he cleared the block with a machete."
The classmates' debate continued in the elevator.
Rina massaged her temples. "He got chased by a dog."
The elevator dinged.
Keys jingled as they approached Damian's door.
"Whoa, why do you have his key?" a chubby student leered.
"From his uncle."
"Ooooh."
The lock turned.
"GAAAH—!"
A bloodcurdling scream greeted them.
Inside, shirtless Damian clawed at his bleeding abdomen, face contorted in agony.
The chubby student's eyes widened. Yeah. I'd believe this guy went on a machete rampage.
…
"Damian... are those abs even real?"
"Not some drug-induced illusion?"
The bespectacled girl with twin tails eyed Damian's abdominal muscles with undisguised fascination, fingers twitching as if ready to poke.
"Out, both of you." Rina shoved the two visitors through the doorway before turning with narrowed eyes. "What's wrong with you, tearing open wounds in broad daylight?"
"I needed to check the healing progress."
Damian dabbed antiseptic onto a cotton swab, wincing as it touched raw flesh.
"Tssk—hurts like hell."
Once they left, he'd dive straight into the Shadow Layer and soak in Shadow Form until fully recovered.
"Clumsy oaf. Give it here."
Rina smacked his hand away.
"Fine, you do it." Damian dropped the swab and leaned back against the couch.
"Did a donkey kick your brain? Perfectly good scabs just had to be picked at."
"Tssk—ow!"
"Quit whining. This antiseptic doesn't even sting." She kicked his shin.
Her ankle socks—white with blue wave patterns at the cuffs—framed petite feet barely larger than palms. Ten faintly outlined toes led to delicate, milk-white ankles so slender they seemed breakable...
Probably prettier without the socks.
"Eyes to yourself!"
Rina tucked her legs away. "Disgusting at your age. Maybe I should call them back to tend you."
"No! They'd bungle it worse." His Adam's apple bobbed.
"Uncle Dave hasn't disciplined you enough lately."
*Wouldn't matter if he did,* Damian added silently.
As Rina reapplied antiseptic, she abruptly demanded: "Truth this time. No more mugger fairy tales."
Damian's half-formed lie died on his tongue.
"It was... civil service?" The weak excuse hung lamely between them.
"Pathetic." Her cotton swab jabbed deeper. "Lies come too easily to you."
*Right. Because 'I killed an Aberrant and chatted philosophy with a dying Watcher' sounds so believable.*
"What time did Uncle Liam get home last night?" Deflection tactic engaged.
"Didn't." Rina's eyes sharpened. "Why?"
"Just thinking... Watchers have it rough. Double shifts, high-risk work..."
Beneath the world's calm surface lurked horrors most would never witness.
Rina's lips pressed thin.
"High-risk" barely scratched it. From joining The Dawnhall to shadow layer ops, wilderness patrols—how many combat-track personnel retired unscathed? Even desk jobs carried danger.
One-armed Uncle Dave. Alex dead in his twenties. Liam Carver's career-stunting injuries beneath that composed exterior...
"If you pass Combat Exams, will you join The Dawnhall?"
"Unsure." Damian hesitated. "Are there... many pretty colleagues there?"
"I'm done here." Rina's temple vein throbbed visibly.