Buzz Windbreaker's consciousness bobbed like a shattered leaf upon a merciless storm tide, his thoughts battered by forces far beyond his comprehension. The air was shivering with divine wrath. A roar, not a sound but a heavenly proclamation, torn the heavens like a thunderbolt, and cleft the clouds in twain. An invisible pressure swept behind it, a blast like a hurricane, that bowed the forest canopy as though in an attempt to kneel in homage or terror.
Living things, that had been animated, fell in hideous concert. Their shapes quivered, their lips gave off pale tendrils of soul-white smoke that hissed like fading spirits. Even Buzz, with his new-found strength of frame, was shaken beneath the great pressure, his crystal wings fluttering out of tune, his sight breaking up into a disturbing wave of pulsing distortion.
Shall I turn it on? Should I burn the forbidden lifespan burner?
His contemplations were interrupted by another pressure wave which smacked his feeble body down, his whole body being pinned like a cosmic nail had been hammered into him by some invisible blacksmith of heaven.
"No, I refuse to die buried in tree mulch and spirit fog," he shrieked within his spiraling thoughts.
The final thing he saw before his mind gave up to unconsciousness was not survival or escape, but a scorching sun falling down the heavens like a judgmental god. It fell on the ground as a punishment of God.
Then: nothing. Darkness. A black hole of dreamless forgetting.
—
Buzz woke to the smell of metal and burned flesh and burned magic that hung in the air like incense in a cathedral of a dead god. The bodies of animals lay everywhere in the forest, twitching with the last residue of dying vitality.
But Buzz was not alone.
The hunger was primal, coiling, in his thorax. It was not instinct any more--it was an invitation to rise.
The feast began.
—
With each insertion of his evolved proboscis into still-warm flesh, vibrant streams of soul-light flowed into him like sacred nectar stolen from dying stars:
[+6 Hours of Lifespan Absorbed.]
[+1.5 Hours of Lifespan Absorbed.]
He glided through the shadows of broken trees and twisted vines, draining the fallen like a whispering reaper of time. Every drop of stolen essence flooded his limbs with warmth, his wings humming with vitality. The more he consumed, the clearer the haze within his mind became. He was no longer tethered to panic or desperation. He was planning.
By the time his hunger eased into stillness, his internal window updated:
[Status Window – Stage 1, Rank 2]
[Name: Buzz Windbreaker]
[Bloodline: None – Genomic Potential Gathering in Progress]
[Lifespan: 100 Days]
[Rank: Stage 1 - Rank 2]
[Evolution Progress: 69%]
[Spiritual Force: 0.004]
But here, progress stalled. A metaphysical wall loomed in his spirit. Something was wrong. His instincts whispered that passive feeding from the weak had reached its limit. Stronger prey meant purer lifeblood, richer essence, deeper evolution.
The feast of prey was over. Now, the hunt must begin.
Buzz's laughter was a high-pitched chitter that echoed in the underbrush. Not of madness, but ambition.
"If only... I could take it faster. If only there were no resistance..."
He turned his multi-faceted gaze back toward the wreckage—and paused.
The pressure that had pinned him hours earlier had lifted.
Whatever god or demon had walked this part of the forest had vanished, leaving behind only scorched air and ash-coated silence.
But the world was waking.
Predators prowled once more.
It was time to leave.
—
Buzz moved not toward safety, but toward resonance. Toward the echoing pull of spiritual pressure that vibrated in the fabric of the atmosphere like an orchestra of gods breathing in unison.
The deeper he flew into the forest, the denser the pressure became. Mana threads clung to the air, thick and heavy, brushing against his wings like fog spun from the breath of ancient spirits. A strange force tangled around him—not just air but something conscious, something hungry.
Buzz shivered.
Was this fear? Or exhilaration?
He didn't know.
But he did not stop.
Then, as though reality folded outward like a page torn from a living scripture, the dense forest gave way to a circular grove—no, a courtyard, ancient and sacred. It was chiseled into the earth with precision, bordered by obsidian runes that pulsed with latent, decaying arcana.
At the grove's center stood a tree. No ordinary arboreal being, but a monolith. A tower of shadow-wood so black it reflected no light, its bark smooth as voidglass. Its gnarled limbs bore crimson orbs, thick and glistening, as though birthed from bleeding stars. Each fruit pulsed like a heartbeat.
Buzz's wings trembled uncontrollably.
He knew. This was it.
The source of the fruit. The source of spiritual force.
He moved instinctively.
But as he neared, silence crashed into him like a suffocating wall.
There were no insects. No birdsong. No chirps of frogs. No leaves rustling without wind. Not even the hum of background mana flow.
The world here had halted.
Buzz's mind screamed in alarm.
He scanned the courtyard.
And then he saw it.
At the base of the sacred tree, a figure lay.
A man.
Or something that used to be.
His robes were burned and ruined, scorched runes barely visible across his smoldering garments. His blood spread beneath him in curling trails that shimmered like spilled starlight. Yet the space around him trembled. Reality refused to cling to him, bending, folding, reshaping like clay around his presence.
Buzz was unable to turn his eyes away. No kinship. No desire to make contact with a human being.
One question only:
"What in the hells are you?"
He was afraid to come near.
Rather, he looked up at the fruit above--until his compound eye saw movement.
—
It watched, half-veiled in webbing and silence, upon the highest bough.
The spider.
It was void-polish black in carapace, and all its limbs terminated in points like blades. No soul, no mercy, was reflected in its eight glassy eyes. It drew the heat out of the grove.
It was not in motion. It was not breathing.
But it did see him.
And that was sufficient.
The instincts of Buzz went off.
Run.
Flee.
Now.
[Stage One Being Detected.]
Buzz did not require any additional verification.
He recoiled. Inch by inch, lest he should twitch his wings.
It was not until he had gone around the outer glyph circle that the gaze was finally relenting.
The spider did not go. It did not need to.
It was not a carnivore. It was a watchdog.
Buzz gasped.
Another warning flared in his sight.
[Status Window]
[Species]: Nether Swan Spider – Stage 1, Rank 3
[Bloodline]: Spiritual Fruit
[Lifespan]: 100 Years
[Abilities]: Nether Thread (E Rank), Fruit Cultivator (EE Rank), Guardian Instinct (FF Rank)
Buzz looked at the system readout, line after line a hammer against his chest.
The difference was inexplicable. Not only in stats, but in essence.
It was not the power of Tenebrisilk that shook him most, however.
It was the words:
[Bloodline: Spiritual Fruit]
Buzz slowly turned his head.
To the balls.
He knew.
This was not blood anymore.
It was transcendence.
And he desired it.