A crisp notification window blinked into existence before Michael's eyes.
[Black Essence Absorption Completed.]
He exhaled sharply, wiping a line of blood from his cheek with the back of his hand.
"Finally."
At his command, the translucent panel shifted.
"Status"
Core Combat Stats
Strength: 55
Agility: 51
Endurance: 52
Vitality: 49
Offensive Power
Base Attack Power: 110
Ability Amplification: 106%
Elemental Affinity (Black Essence): 24.5%
Critical Force: 53.0
Effective Damage (per strike): 253.55
Defensive Power
Damage Resistance: 36.2%
Corruption Resistance: 15.6%
Mental Fortitude: 15.6%
Regeneration Rate: 9.8%
HP: 490
Essence & Ability Growth
Black Essence Capacity: 6000 / 8000
Essence Absorption Rate: 32 BEU/sec
Lotus Synchronization: 8.33%
Petal Stage: 2 / 24
It had been five days since he was publicly announced as Adhitya Vellory—a lie he played to perfection. He had repeated Vashir's words exactly as instructed, and the reactions from Rajendra and Arjun had told him one thing:
Whatever he said had stabbed straight into something they didn't want exposed.
While the Vellory stronghold reeled from that, Michael didn't waste a single moment.
Every day he entered E-rank and D-rank Interstellar habitats.
Every day he hunted, bled, limped, killed.
Every day he forced his stats inch by inch upward.
Now, one question remained.
When did the next petal stage unlock?
[Next Petal Stage: 119:26:48…47…46…]
Five more days. And the cost?
[Next Petal Stage Requirement: 8000 BEUs]
As always—consistent, predictable, frustrating.
It took him roughly three minutes and eight seconds to absorb 6000 BEUs, yet his absorption rate stubbornly refused to increase even after he dumped points into Strength, Agility, and Endurance.
Which left only one variable.
Vitality.
He split his BEUs cleanly:
3000 into Vitality (+6)
3000 into Strength
The window shifted again.
" Status"
Core Combat Stats
Strength: 61
Agility: 51
Endurance: 52
Vitality: 55
Offensive Power
Base Attack Power: 122
Ability Amplification: 112%
Elemental Affinity (Black Essence): 27.5%
Critical Force: 56.0
Effective Damage (per strike): 272.95
Defensive Power
Damage Resistance: 36.4%
Corruption Resistance: 15.6%
Mental Fortitude: 15.6%
Regeneration Rate: 11.0%
HP: 550
Essence & Ability Growth
Black Essence Capacity: 0 / 8000
Essence Absorption Rate: 56 BEU/sec
Lotus Synchronization: 8.33%
Petal Stage: 2 / 24
As suspected—Vitality boosted absorption speed directly.
Another rule carved into his mind:
Every stat point mattered, and reckless distribution was a luxury he couldn't afford.
He would not upgrade again until the next petal stage.
For the next five days, it was pure harvesting.
A metallic scent suddenly drifted across his senses.
Blood.
Of course—the Gnarlfang corpse.
The D-Rank wolf-like Interstellar he'd decapitated earlier.
He flicked his fingers.
The massive body skidded across the cave floor toward him.
"Inventory."
A ripple of black swallowed the corpse whole.
Vashir would handle everything else—the stripping, the carving, the market logistics.
Michael wasn't one to refuse free money, heir or not.
A list appeared.
Inventory
30× Copper Horn Boar Meat
1× Ironhide
5× Ironhide Copper Horn Meat
6× Gnarlfang Corpses
Not a bad haul.
He turned toward the cavern exit and moved deeper through the tunnel. After a minute of quiet steps, a shimmering distortion grew before him—the portal out.
Michael stepped through. Light hit him instantly.
He emerged into a vast field where spatial tears shimmered like fractured glass, arranged in rings that stretched across the facility.
Dozens of portals pulsed in rhythmic waves, forming a colossal Interstellar transport hub.
These portals connected directly to multiple Interstellar habitats—each habitat categorized and ranked. They existed for one purpose:
To shorten the distance between soldiers and the monsters they farmed.
Humanity used these habitats to breed Interstellars, to nurture them like livestock.
And on harvest days, soldiers of C.O.S.M.O.S. entered and slaughtered the creatures for raw resources—materials later sold to weapons manufacturers and countless corporations that thrived on Interstellar biology.
Of course, when the system said "humanity," it never meant everyone.
It meant the families of the Order of Hammers, the ruling elite of Indravana.
Outcasts like Michael—frauds, orphans, discarded ones—meant nothing.
As soon as Michael stepped out of the portal, the first thing he saw was the Interstellar Retrieval Unit—IRU.
C.O.S.M.O.S.'s elite scavengers.
The ones who slipped in after the slaughter, collected every Interstellar corpse, tagged it, sealed it, and shipped it straight to the IPU—the Interstellar Processing Unit, where those bodies would be ripped apart, analyzed, sold, or weaponized.
They worked with an almost religious sincerity.
Michael watched them quietly as they moved in and out of portals—hauling corpses, scanning remains, dragging carcasses across the floor. Every portal he could see had an IRU team diving in and dragging something out.
Except his.
The IRU assigned to Michael's portal marched in with steady discipline.
Ten seconds later, they stumbled back out—
not with bodies,
not with crates,
but with panic and confusion tightening their postures.
Their helmets scanned the area.
Their comm-lines buzzed with clipped, tense whispers.
There were no bodies.
No Gnarlfang remains.
Nothing.
A D-Rank habitat cleared… and wiped clean.
They immediately began searching for the one person who could explain it.
Adhitya Vellory.
Or at least… the one wearing his face.
Michael was already walking away from the portal, unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world. One of the IRU troopers spotted him, and his voice thundered across the portal field like a shockwave:
"ADHITYA VELLORY!"
The shout halted movement across the entire zone. Even other portal squads turned their heads.
Michael stopped.
Inside C.O.S.M.O.S. territory, even wearing the skin of Adhitya Vellory meant nothing.
Every soldier—no matter their bloodline—was reduced to one thing:
Property.
Every kill belonged to C.O.S.M.O.S.
Every corpse belonged to C.O.S.M.O.S.
Every answer had to be given when demanded.
The uniform defined ownership—
not the person.
Michael turned slowly, expression unreadable, as the IRU squad approached him with firm, rigid steps.
The lead officer halted in front of him.
"According to the portal records," he said, voice sharp through the helmet's modulation,
"you entered a D-Rank Interstellar Habitat—Gnarlfang class and remained engaged for nearly ten minutes. But our sweep team found no corpses inside."
His visor angled closer.
"Report. What happened in there?"
Michael didn't even blink.
With a slight lift of his chin and a thread of ego lacing his voice, he answered calmly,
"Well, there was no Interstellar inside that allotted area.
I searched the whole place.
Nothing.
So that's my report."
The IRU officer stiffened.
"But the scene tells a different story," he pressed. "There are clear signs of combat inside."
Michael shrugged with irritating confidence.
"Then good luck finding whatever story you think is hiding in there."
And just like that, he turned his back on them and began walking away.
That was the final straw.
The IRU squad exchanged looks—professional discipline cracking under suspicion—and two of them moved quickly, boots striking against the metal floor. One reached out, grabbing Michael's arm from behind.
The moment that gloved hand touched him—
Michael stopped.
Slowly, very slowly, he turned his head.
His eyes were cold.
Chilling.
A warning sharp enough to cut bone.
"I hope," Michael said quietly,
"you know exactly what you're doing right now."
The soldier's grip broke instantly.
He stepped back as if burned.
"Tch—what the hell…?" the man muttered under his breath.
"I thought he was just a D-Rank soldier… but the pressure he's giving off… that's no D-Rank. He feels like a C-Rank monster."
Another trooper whispered sharply, grabbing the shaken man by the shoulder.
"Back off. It's against protocol to initiate infighting. We don't know his chakra type. Picking a fight here isn't a wise option."
Before Michael could respond, a sudden wave of cold washed through the entire portal bay.
A chill that crawled up the spine.
That crushed lungs.
That made seasoned soldiers stiffen like prey sensing a predator.
Everyone recognized what that aura meant.
Everyone except Michael.
Around him, dozens of IRU personnel ,the Executioners, , the Field Divisions dropped to their knees in perfect synchronization—heads down, backs rigid, terrified to even breathe loudly.
Michael narrowed his eyes and slowly turned around.
A man approached, footsteps silent, aura suffocating enough to drown the entire chamber in pressure.
Silver-white coat.
Emblem of absolute authority.
Piercing, unreadable eyes.
Vyaan Sahay.
Head of C.O.S.M.O.S.
The man who commanded the Executioners, the Retrieval Units, the Field Divisions—every soldier under the C.O.S.M.O.S. banner.
Michael let out a low whistle.
"Whoa… so this is my first time seeing you in person, huh?"
His lips curled into a half-smirk.
"Head of C.O.S.M.O.S… Vyaan Sahay."