Night fell heavier than usual over Virelia.
The wind carried no scent of rain, no whisper of storm—only tension. A stillness that pressed against the skin like invisible fingers.
Kaelen stood atop a quiet building overlooking the district where the disturbances had concentrated. Below, lights glowed warmly from homes. Families ate dinner. Children laughed. Windows flickered with television glow.
And somewhere among them…
A predator that learns.
His hand rested on the hilt of Axiomfall. The Hero's Stone at his chest hummed faintly, translating not language—but intent. There was something beneath the rhythm of the city. A pulse that didn't belong.
Behind him, far across the city, Tessandra stood on the balcony of the Liones estate.
Her Apex Martial Circuit was fully active.
Threads of perception extended from her like invisible silk, mapping the district in layered pulses. She wasn't interfering. Not yet.
She was watching Kaelen.
Testing him.
Trusting him.
Kaelen dropped from the rooftop.
He landed silently in the middle of a dimly lit street.
A lone man stood at the end of the road, back turned.
Same man from earlier.
Same face.
Same stolen humanity.
"Enough observing," Kaelen said calmly.
The man slowly turned.
For a moment, his expression was warm. Familiar. Perfectly human.
Then his smile stretched a little too wide.
"You have excellent perception," the Metamorph replied in the stolen voice. "Hero."
The Hero's Stone translated subtle inflections in its tone—multiple layers of thought overlapping.
It wasn't speaking from one mind.
It was speaking from many.
Kaelen stepped forward. "Leave this world."
The Metamorph tilted its head.
"Why would I? It is… fascinating."
Its body began to ripple.
Skin shifted like disturbed water.
Bones softened.
Veins darkened.
And then—
It collapsed inward.
The human shape dissolved into a mass of black liquid, thick as oil, pulsing like a heart. From the surface of the liquid, faces emerged and sank again—men, women, children.
Every person it had consumed.
"This is my true form," it said, voices layered together.
The black mass surged forward.
Kaelen drew Axiomfall in one smooth motion.
The blade sang.
He vanished.
Reappeared above the creature.
Gravity Fold.
The air compressed violently, slamming the liquid mass into the pavement.
Buildings shook.
Windows shattered.
The street cratered.
Kaelen descended with a downward slash—
The blade cleaved the mass in half.
Black fluid splattered across the street.
For half a second—
Silence.
Then both halves began crawling toward each other.
Rejoining.
Reforming.
The Metamorph rose again.
"Physical damage… insufficient."
Kaelen's eyes narrowed.
The creature erupted upward, tendrils whipping like spears. One pierced through Kaelen's shoulder before he could fully evade. Another wrapped around his leg.
The texture wasn't liquid.
It was muscular.
Alive.
It tightened.
Attempting to pull him inward.
Kaelen twisted, severing the tendril, but it regrew instantly.
The creature adapted mid-combat.
Its surface hardened.
Blades formed from blackened bone-like material.
It learned from each strike.
Kaelen moved faster.
Time and gravity layered over his movements.
He cut it into dozens of pieces.
Burned sections with frictional heat.
Crushed segments with gravitational implosion.
Each time—
It regenerated.
Faster.
Smarter.
The Metamorph changed strategy.
Instead of attacking—
It enveloped.
The street liquefied beneath Kaelen's feet as the creature spread outward in a thin membrane.
He leapt—
Too late.
The membrane snapped upward like a closing maw.
Blackness swallowed him whole.
Inside, it was suffocating.
Viscous.
Constricting.
Pressure closed around his chest.
It wasn't just trying to kill him.
It was trying to consume him.
To learn him.
To become him.
Voices echoed in the darkness.
Hero.
Dragon.
Memory.
Tendrils pierced into his armor.
Searching for neural access.
His vision dimmed.
For the first time since becoming humanity's hero—
Kaelen felt death approaching.
And then—
He made a decision.
The world snapped backward.
Sound reversed.
Debris flew upward.
The black liquid retracted.
Kaelen stood once more in the street—
Moments before the membrane trap closed.
His breathing was steady.
But his eyes had changed.
That future would not happen again.
"You adapt," he said quietly.
"So will I."
He closed his eyes.
Deep within his chest—
The Heart of Alyth, the primordial dragon, awakened.
Heat flooded his veins.
Not normal heat.
Ancient heat.
World-forging heat.
The Metamorph lunged again—
But this time, Kaelen didn't evade.
He stepped forward.
"John once taught me," he murmured,
"That breath is not just air… it is intent."
He inhaled.
The sky darkened.
Clouds spiraled above Virelia.
Dragon scales manifested faintly across his skin.
His pupils slit vertically.
Dragon Domain — Activated.
The world trembled.
Within the domain, reality recognized one sovereign presence.
Dragon.
The Metamorph hesitated.
For the first time—
It felt something it had never encountered.
True extinction.
Kaelen exhaled.
Not fire.
Not wind.
Not lightning.
A beam of concentrated primordial annihilation erupted forward—golden-white and edged with draconic sigils.
The breath technique John had refined—
Perfected—
Focused into a single, absolute strike.
The beam consumed the Metamorph entirely.
Not burned.
Not cut.
Erased.
Its regenerative matrix collapsed.
Its adaptive cells disintegrated.
Its memory cores vaporized.
The screams were not human.
They were layered.
Alien.
As if countless voices were being ripped from existence simultaneously.
The black liquid evaporated into nothing.
The street fell silent.
Kaelen stood there, smoke rising faintly from his body.
Dragon scales faded.
The domain collapsed.
He exhaled slowly.
"It's over."
Then—
He heard it.
Not from behind.
Not from the city.
From the distance.
A scream.
High-pitched.
Chittering.
Not human.
Not singular.
Many.
Tessandra's eyes widened from the estate balcony.
Her perception threads expanded.
North.
Industrial district.
Harbor.
Sewers.
Multiple signatures.
Black.
Liquid.
Alive.
Kaelen turned slowly.
From alleyways, rooftops, drainage systems—
They emerged.
Not one.
Not two.
Dozens.
All in their true forms.
Black masses writhing and shifting.
Larger than the first.
More stable.
More refined.
The Metamorph he erased—
Had not died alone.
Even in death—
It had reproduced.
Metamorphs did not require gender.
They were self-generative organisms.
A single mature specimen could fragment its essence—
Producing offspring.
The first invader had seeded Kael'Ar before confronting him.
This wasn't an invasion of one.
It was the beginning of a colony.
The creatures gathered in a semicircle before him.
Their surfaces rippled.
Faces emerged and dissolved.
All staring.
All calculating.
All learning from the erased one's combat data.
Kaelen could feel it.
They inherited its experience.
They knew about his rewind.
His breath.
His domain.
They began adjusting.
Optimizing.
Preparing.
Tessandra whispered under her breath,
"…He wasn't the scout. He was the incubator."
She did not intervene.
Not yet.
This was Kaelen's battlefield.
The streetlights flickered.
The air thickened.
Black liquid bodies rose higher, forming towering humanoid silhouettes.
Dozens of glowing, pupil-less eyes opened across their surfaces.
Kaelen wiped blood from the corner of his mouth.
Then he slowly lifted Axiomfall.
The blade reflected distorted shadows.
He pointed it forward.
A grin tugged at his lips.
"Come," he said.
His voice carried across the street like a challenge carved in steel.
"You imitation bastards."
The Metamorph colony screamed in unison.
And the night of Virelia shattered.