That night, Nyxarion retired to a quiet corner of the inn, exhausted from his first day in the bustling town. He had just begun to drift into sleep when a sudden commotion jolted him awake. Shadows moved across the room, and before he could react, several rough-looking men cornered him.
"They're selling that armor," one sneered, eyes glinting with greed. "And maybe the boy inside it, too."
Nyxarion froze, unsure what to make of their words. At first, he thought it was some kind of cruel joke. But when he glimpsed the armed men behind them, faces twisted with menace, he realized they were deadly serious.
A cold shiver ran down his spine. He had no idea how to respond, unaware that his own strength far surpassed theirs by countless measures. His body trembled—not from fear of them, but from the unfamiliarity of human threats and the raw, untapped power that lay coiled within him.
One of the thugs lunged at him with a sword, murder in his eyes. In that instant, the Aegis of the Bound seemed to come alive, moving as if it were part of him. Nyxarion's body reacted instinctively—dodging, weaving, and spinning with unnatural speed, each movement fluid and precise.
The thugs pressed in from all sides, but no matter how they attacked, he seemed always one step ahead. Cornered against the far wall, he grabbed the incoming sword with one hand. With a subtle twist and a surge of force, a shockwave erupted from the impact. The force was so immense that the thug's head was severed cleanly, and the others were thrown back, their weapons clattering uselessly to the floor.
Silence fell. Nyxarion stood alone, the black armor pulsing faintly as if satisfied, while the stunned onlookers could only gape at the boy who had just displayed a power far beyond human comprehension.
The remaining thugs stared in horror at the carnage before them, unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed. "A monster… he's a monster… we shouldn't have—" one gasped, but the words barely left his lips before the armor reacted again. In an instant, their heads were gone, leaving nothing but silence and disbelief in its wake.
Nyxarion stood amidst the aftermath, shivering, his heart racing. He had not intended this. He didn't understand the full extent of what had just happened—his own strength and the armor's power had combined in ways he could not control. His mind felt shattered, twisted with guilt and fear.
Unable to bear the weight of what he had done, he fled the inn, stumbling into the empty streets. For the rest of the night, sleep eluded him; every shadow, every whisper of the wind seemed to remind him of the horror he had unwittingly unleashed.