Alex's eyes darted across the page, re-reading the lines until the truth was undeniable. In his hands, he held a legitimate Beast Art—and an ancient one at that.
His mind raced through the history every schoolchild learned. Beast Arts were humanity's desperate answer to the Walkers, creatures that had first emerged through an interdimensional gate decades ago.
They were forces of nature, capable of leveling cities with contemptuous ease.
The world's governments had thrown nuclear weapons at the problem, but that only bought time. The true salvation came from a world-renowned biologist, Simon Frier.
With his assistant and son, David Frier, he dissected the circulatory system of a fallen Walker and discovered a bizarre, complex energy pattern.
They theorized that if a human could simulate this pattern internally using their own energy, they could unlock a fraction of the same power.
Thus, the first Beast Art was born, giving humanity a fighting chance. For sixty years, this had been the pattern: new Walkers appeared, and new Beast Arts were developed to counter them.
The manual in Alex's hands, with its faded cover and archaic script, had to be from that first generation. A relic.
"But why is it in a different language?" he muttered, the question a pinprick of caution in his bubbling excitement.
He forced himself to look around, scanning the trees and the roadside for hidden cameras.
The last time he'd stumbled upon something valuable—a hundred-dollar bill—it had been a prank that landed him all over GrouTube, mocked in a video with over a million views. This felt different, but he couldn't be too careful.
Seeing nothing, his paranoia was overruled by sheer, desperate opportunity. He shoved the book deep into his backpack and ran, not stopping until the worn-out silhouette of his bungalow was in sight.
He burst into his room, the curtain-door flapping behind him, and slid to the floor, his back against the door.
"I don't know how long I have before the IOA traces this," he whispered, pulling the book out with reverent care. "I need to learn whatever I can, now."
He opened it to the first chapter: Step 1: Form Your Core.
Alex stopped, his eyebrow rising in suspicion. This was backwards. Every modern resource he'd ever devoured stated that a core was the result of practicing a Beast Art—the final reward for years of grueling work. This ancient text demanded it as the very first step.
His curiosity, now a raging fire, drove him to bury his nose in the book, devouring the instructions for the core formation process. For an hour, he read and re-read, tracing the diagrams with his finger until the sequence was burned into his mind.
Confident he had memorized it, he closed his eyes, settling into a lotus position. He focused on his breathing, drawing air in and letting it out in slow, measured intervals.
His fingers twisted through a series of intricate, unfamiliar symbols as he breathed.
This wasn't about focusing on the world around him. The instructions were clear: he had to reach for what was outside of it.
At first, there was only the darkness behind his eyelids. Then, he felt it—a prickle against his senses.
Pinpricks of pure, pitch-black energy began to seep through the very fabric of reality, drawn by his ritual.
They passed through his skin not as an invasion, but like water through a sieve, meeting no resistance.
Encouraged, he quickened his breathing and the movements of his hands. The trickle became a stream, then a river of void-black energy pouring into him from a place that should not exist.
Guiding the torrent was like trying to steer a hurricane, but he wrestled it down, funneling it into his lower abdomen. He forced it to spin, compressing it, adding more and more energy until the swirling mass could no longer sustain its own density.
With a silent, internal crunch, it collapsed.
In an instant, the struggle vanished. The core was now self-sustaining, a miniature vortex that began pulling the foreign energy into itself without his conscious effort.
More energy piled on, layer upon layer, until the chaotic vortex solidified into a perfect, black sphere. It hovered in his center of gravity, a new organ of power, occasionally lashing out with a silent flare of dark energy.
Alex's eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat.
He had done it. He had formed his core.