The door creaked open moments later as Damian emerged, fully dressed and relatively presentable despite the bandages wrapping his torso.
"You guys came?" He nodded casually, showing no signs of being an invalid.
"We heard your tall tales and had to see for ourselves," the female classmate said, eyeing his chest wound. "You okay?"
"Won't die." Damian waved dismissively. "You should've seen it—I was carrying groceries when this thief came barreling down—"
Rina rolled her eyes and headed out, pausing at the bathroom where piled laundry caught her attention.
"Damian, I'm hitting the store. These ruined clothes getting tossed?" she called.
"Sure, trash them." Damian continued his increasingly outrageous story without looking up. "Then eighty bandits charged from the woods—one slash each—"
A sudden realization struck. "Wait! My stuff's in those—"
Too late.
Rina's expression cycled through confusion, shock, then utter disbelief as she clutched a crushed cardboard box.
Silence.
After much cajoling (whether she bought his excuses remained unclear), he finally shooed all three visitors out—his dignity in tatters.
After briefly considering disposal, Damian pocketed the flattened box. Waste not.
House tidied, he centered himself in the living room.
"Voidpiercer Eye."
His pupils darkened, swirling with inky hues as the world gained a shadowy overlay within seconds.
"Shadow Form."
The whisper triggered his shadow to slither up his body, encasing him in living darkness.
Exhaling slowly, Damian flexed his fingers.
Shadow Layer's pollution typically exacted severe tolls—Watcher missions were strictly time-limited. Unprotected exposure brought agony, sensory failure, even physical mutations depending on duration and one's resilience.
But this...
"Unbelievable."
Not just comfortable—it felt like trading smog-choked cities for pristine grasslands. Every cell sang as shadow energy permeated his being. Homecoming.
Shadow Form's benefits exceeded the manual's claims. Beyond enhanced physique, even his wounds felt numb—barely registering pain when prodded.
At 60% HP after just one night's recovery, rest seemed unnecessary now.
Assuming a push-up position—hands aligned with ribs, body taut as a plank—he began.
This advanced variation demanded extreme core and arm strength. Normally, Damian could manage maybe a dozen. His shadow? Hundreds daily—relentless, inexhaustible.
Now, merged with it?
Precision machinery. Five-second intervals. Endless repetitions.
The combat log flooded:
[Shadow Form activated within Shadow Layer: Complete bodily liberation detected]
[Physical training initiated]
[Shadow Erosion active: Shadow energy assimilation detected. Slight AP/physique improvement]
Thirty minutes passed without fatigue.
Too confined indoors, Damian took the elevator down to the deserted courtyard gym equipment—parallel bars for arms, horizontal beams for abs.
Two thousand ab crunches sounded about right.
---
The Dawnhall buzzed with grim efficiency as Watchers hurried through corridors.
In the briefing room, Liam Carver massaged his temples while reviewing reports.
"Shadow Layer disturbances spanned multiple zones with abnormal pollution spikes," a junior Watcher recited. "Possible fissure traces detected in sectors B-3, B-7, A-2..."
The team tensed at "fissure."
Unlike routine Aberrant incursions, true fissures connected to the Abyss—where even the weakest entities dwarfed shadow-layer threats.
"Unconfirmed sightings only," interrupted a one-armed man from the corner. "We've trained for this."
Nods all around. The meeting concluded with contingency plans.
Alone in his office, Liam barely started on paperwork when a knock came.
"Sir, post-disturbance Aberrant catalog." The aide deposited a file.
Page three stopped him cold:
Designation: D2-9527
Codename: Saluting Shadow Calisthenics
Observer: XXX
Description:
1. Pitch-black humanoid entity first spotted at Stellar Gardens residential complex.
2. Exhibits obsessive fitness behavior using exercise equipment. Minimal aggression.
3. Upon detection, ceased workouts to perform Dawnhall salute.
4. Observation duration: 2 hours
Threat Assessment: Low
Conclusion: No termination recommended.
…
Liam Carver's usually restrained expression twitched with a hint of barely suppressed amusement.
This string of adjectives—if it hadn't come through official Watcher channels, he would've thought some bored netizen had photoshopped it for laughs.
Loves working out? Fine. But saluting people too? That's a new one.
After so many years as a Watcher, he'd seen all kinds of Aberrants. But this… this was something else entirely.
He glanced at the attached photo on the side—just a blurry lump of black.
Setting the file aside, Liam rubbed at his brow.
There were less than ten days until the New Year. Everyone wanted to celebrate, but of all times, the Shadow Layer had to start acting up now. No chance for a peaceful holiday.
Feeling a bit despondent, Liam put a cigarette in his mouth and walked over to the window to light it—wait, why was it sweet?
He bit down gently, and his expression immediately darkened.
Banana-flavored candy cigarette. Wonderful.
"I've got the real thing if you want one," came a voice from inside his office.
"You again. Can you knock next time?" Liam didn't even look surprised as he turned around, chewing the candy with visible resignation.
The one-armed man from the meeting room earlier was now seated on his office couch.
He had a cigarette in his mouth and tossed over the pack. "Try this."
Liam instinctively caught it, hesitated for a second, then sighed and set it down. "Forget it. I don't want lung cancer."
"You? Worried about that?"
"Just tell me why you're here." Liam brushed off the jab.
The one-armed man took a slow drag from his cigarette, his expression sobering. "Orders from the top again."
Liam blinked. "What kind of orders?"
"Combat Evaluation Test," the man replied, exhaling smoke. "Moved up again."
"Moved up?" Liam's face shifted, brows furrowing. "That's reckless."
"You probably got the notice in your inbox too," the man reminded him.
Liam quickly sat back down and opened his inbox to check the newly received document.
[Combat Evaluation Notice]
Increased recruitment, early Combat Evaluation, and Aptitude Assessment…
Scanning through each line, Liam let out a long sigh.
Both the aptitude assessment and the Combat Evaluation had been rescheduled ahead of time.
After the New Year, everything would be in full swing.
"Have you decided what track your daughter's going into?" the man asked. "Martial Studies, or Transcendent Humanities?"
Transcendent—Tier Two and above. Unless under special circumstances, direct descendants had to enroll in a transcendent-related major after the aptitude test.
For someone like Liam, a Tier Four powerhouse with excellent genes, there was no way his kid's potential would be anything less than impressive.
"Haven't decided yet," Liam said after a pause. "We'll see after the test. Don't just ask me—what about your kid? He doesn't seem like the type to stay quiet. Going for Spirit Techniques? Transcendent Physiology?"
"Neither," the man said as he exhaled.
Liam blinked. "Wait… don't tell me you're putting him in Transcendent Humanities?"
Another shake of the head. The man finally replied, "He's going for General Humanities."
"You're kidding me." Liam almost thought he'd misheard.
"He hasn't even taken the aptitude test yet."
"Not taking it," the man said with a small smile, standing up. "You get back to your paperwork. I'm going to take a break."
"Hey, say that again!"
…
"We've got a spider in front of us."
"Spider meat contains loads of protein—several times more than rice by weight."
"It's tender, juicy, and if you use a blowtorch to burn off the hairs, it's easy to prep."
"Take a bite and you'll find it doesn't taste like beef, or lamb. What does it taste like? Like spider."
None of that's true, by the way. Don't try it—unless you're ready to meet God.
Deep in the Shadow Layer, Damian had a voice mic clipped to his collar and his phone raised in one hand, filming ahead.
Roughly twenty meters away, a massive form lay sprawled on the ground. Eight legs like steel beams, and two eyes staring directly at Damian. He could see its oval-shaped abdomen.
The Aberrant seemed to be asleep. It wasn't moving at all. If not for the glaring "64%" health bar hovering above its head, Damian would've thought it was dead.
Its body alone was about the size of a compact car.
Lately, for some reason, video sites had been flooded with Shadow Layer footage.
According to Rina, uploading such content had previously been banned. But lately, it seemed The Dawnhall was deliberately allowing it to circulate—perhaps to raise awareness.
Damian had recently created a new account and tried uploading a few scenic clips of the Shadow Layer. To his surprise, they passed review and even racked up a few hundred likes.
He instantly sensed this might be an opportunity.
Of course, that wasn't the main reason.
The real reason…
Name: Damian Vale
Element: Shadow
Existence Tier: Stalker, Slayer
Remaining Lifespan: 100h
Slayer: Either you explode in the hunt, or you die in it. No hunt, no life. Upon awakening this Existence Tier, joy overwhelmed you. You knew: only through endless slaughter can you prolong your life. Go. Embrace the hunt. Become the predator all others fear—until your next evolution.
(1. Slayer is a special Existence Tier—even if the physical body perishes, it will persist in another form.)
(2. Life and death belong to the Slayer. Perhaps you will find immortality in the endless bloodshed… or perhaps…)
What the fuck…
That's what they call "some risk"?
When he first awakened his Existence Tier, Damian hadn't noticed anything unusual. But the next day, when he opened his system panel, a glaring countdown was right there.
Only seven or eight days of life left nearly made him pass out on the spot.
That whole "joyfully awakened your Existence Tier" thing? What a joke. Who's happy to find out they've got a week to live?
After scrambling for three days, he was now down to just 100 hours. If he didn't successfully kill an Aberrant soon, he'd have to…
Ask Uncle Dave for help.
After all, Uncle Dave already hoarded real estate, booze, cigarettes, and money at The Dawnhall. What's a few more Aberrants?
So yes, Damian was panicking—but not that much.
He had a fallback plan.
The only mildly comforting part was what was written in those brackets.
Bold red text. Unmissable.
The gist? You die—but maybe not entirely.
Sounds insane. What, he's supposed to become a ghost now?
If he had a choice, he'd still rather stay human.
Staring at the words for a few seconds, Damian couldn't be sure what they truly meant.
Forget it. He'd deal with that later.