The pain was nameless. It crawled from Azril's stomach, searing every inch of his veins with a cold, silver fire. The flesh of the ancient fledgling he had devoured in the cave was no mere nourishment for a mortal; it was a surge of raw energy that forced his small body to either evolve or crumble into cosmic dust.
Azril, only four years old, collapsed onto the Sanctuary's white sands, which were as cold as ice. He clawed at the ground with fingers that now emitted wisps of silver vapor. Fine cracks appeared along his arms, as if his skin were porcelain being forced to contain an ocean of magma. Within him, his bones shattered into powder with a sickening crunch, only to reforge with a density that defied human logic.
"Mother... Father..." Azril rasped.
His voice was nearly gone, strangled by the wild energy tearing through his throat. Through a vision blurred by tears and silver blood, he saw the phantom of Lana standing in the distance. His mother was smiling, stretching out her arms as if to embrace him and end this torment. Azril crawled forward with the last of his consciousness, but the moment his fingers brushed against the fabric of her dress, Lana's figure disintegrated into silver dust, carried away by the wind.
He was truly alone. Amidst the indifferent silence of the Sanctuary, Azril realized a bitter truth: Crying would not bring help. Weeping would only waste the dregs of his life. His grief slowly froze, hardening into a cold ember of rage within his chest.
Suddenly, a violent thud echoed in his chest. The wild energy that had been torturing him finally merged with his silver blood. Azril looked up, his once innocent round eyes now flashing with a sharp silver glint, devoid of any childhood spark.
"AAAAAAAAA!"
A pillar of silver light erupted from his small frame, soaring high and piercing through the Sanctuary's nebula clouds. The explosion was so powerful that it leveled the sand in a hundred-meter radius. In that instant, Azril transcended the limits of mortality. He broke through to the Mid-Stage of the Star-Crust Veins. The hunger, thirst, and exhaustion that had tormented him for days vanished, replaced by a cold, pulsing power. His body now felt as solid as a newborn planet.
However, that light was a death knell. In the Sanctuary, power was an invitation to predators.
The ground shook violently. From beyond the dark horizon, over a thousand pitch-black monstrosities emerged. They stood as tall as grown men but possessed two horrific heads—one of a vulture and one of a ram with jagged horns. They were low-level scavengers that relied on sheer force and horns to pulverize their prey.
Azril's gaze was now empty. He felt no fear. He stood in the middle of the desert, surrounded by a thousand pairs of hungry red eyes. With his right hand, he gripped the claw of the fledgling he had killed earlier—his only makeshift weapon.
Without a sound, Azril lunged.
CRAAAK! SPLASH!
The black blood of the monsters sprayed, drenching Azril's small face. He moved not like a child, but like a shadow of death. He slashed, tore, and struck without pause. When the claw in his hand finally shattered from the sheer force of the impact, Azril did not stop. He used his bare fists, now enveloped in the silver aura of the Star-Crust Veins.
BOOM!
A single strike of his fist into the ground created a shockwave that pulverized dozens of monsters into a meat slurry instantly. Azril fought with pure instinct. He grabbed the corpse of a fallen monster, using the hundred-kilogram body as a mace to shatter the ranks of enemies before him. It was a gruesome sight—a toddler drenched in black blood, swinging a monster's carcass to slaughter thousands more.
Yet, their numbers seemed endless. Azril's stamina began to drain; his lungs felt like they were burning in the thin oxygen. Silver blood leaked from new wounds on his back.
In the midst of the final circle of monsters, with death only an inch away, Azril's predatory instinct reached its zenith. He no longer fought at random. He ran, luring the remaining beasts into a single straight line behind him.
When the distance was perfect, Azril spun around. He focused every drop of silver essence in his veins into his left shoulder. Memories of his father prostrating in the dust flashed—not as a sign of weakness, but as a symbol of power that he transformed into destruction.
The purple mist on his shoulder suddenly solidified with lightning speed, forming a transparent yet incredibly dense Titanic Nebula Fist.
"VANISH!"
SHRRRIIIIKKKK!
The giant fist surged forward at the speed of sound, obliterating the remnants of the monsters until nothing was left but drifting black dust. Silence once again blanketed the Sanctuary.
Azril gasped for air, his body trembling violently before he finally collapsed among the pile of his enemies' corpses. Atop the heap of carcasses, he fell into a death-like sleep. That day, beneath the indifferent nebula, a human child was lost forever, and the Predator of the Starry Altar had just finished his first feast.