The dark forests surrounding Thousand Blade City were silent, the usual chorus of night insects stilled by the oppressive aura of the figure standing before Blake. The man's face, etched with glowing blue runes that pulsed in time with his shallow breathing, seemed to hold the weight of centuries. Behind Blake, the Divine Reaper hovered, its emerald eyes flickering as if recognizing a kindred spirit in the stranger.
Blake stood his ground, his new Void-Refined muscles coiled like springs. Though he had just decimated the Sterling high balcony, he felt no exhaustion. The Blood System had already processed Silas Sterling's stolen essence, knitting Blake's injuries and solidifying his 2nd-layer foundation.
"A friend of my ancestors?" Blake asked, his voice echoing in the clearing. "My father died thinking we were alone. He died in a cage while the people he served treated him like cattle."
The man stepped forward, the runes on his skin brightening. "Your father was a man of the Sterling world, Blake. He tried to suppress the Void-Seed, to cage the storm. He thought that by being small, he could survive. But the Harrison blood was never meant to be small."
The stranger reached out a hand, and for a moment, the space between them seemed to warp. "My name is Malachi. I am a Warden of the Veiled Path. I have waited fifteen years for the Harrison blood to boil over. Tonight, you didn't just survive; you awakened. But don't let your little victory against those city-dwelling gnats go to your head. You are a 2nd-layer novice holding a Divine-tier weapon you don't understand."
[System Notification: Unknown Entity detected.]
[Warning: Power level cannot be scanned. High-tier concealment active.]
Blake ignored the system's warning. He looked at Malachi, then at his own hands. "I don't care about understanding the weapon. I care about the harvest. I promised Jazmin I would tear her world down. If you're here to stop me, move aside."
Malachi let out a dry, rasping chuckle. "Stop you? Boy, I want to sharpen you. You think the Sterling Clan is the world? They are a pond. Beyond these mountains, there are sects that consume cities like yours for breakfast. There are emperors who command the very stars you saw in your Spirit Gate. If you go back now, you'll be hunted down by the City Lord's combined forces. You'll be a very fast, very angry corpse."
Malachi's gaze shifted to the Divine Reaper behind Blake. "That Battle Spirit... the Divine Reaper... it is a King among spirits. It can swallow everything, but if you don't master the Reaper's Heart, it will eventually swallow you too."
Blake felt the Truth in the man's words. The hunger in his chest—the Void-Seed—was constant now. It wasn't just a power source; it was a demand. It wanted more essence, more blood, more souls.
"How do I master it?" Blake asked.
"By leaving," Malachi said, pointing toward the northern peaks where the clouds were thick and permanent. "The Shadow-Wrought Valley. It is a place where the sun never touches the ground. The beasts there are not like the wolves of the Jade-Leaf. They are born of the same Void as you. We will go there. You will train until your scythe can cut through the fabric of the realms, or you will die in the dark."
Blake looked back one last time at the distant lights of Thousand Blade City. Somewhere in that sprawl, Jazmin was likely weeping over the shriveled husk of her grandfather, and the Hawthorne Clan was scrambling to pick up the pieces of their broken 'Iron Son.'
"Let's go," Blake said.
They moved through the forest with a speed that defied logic. Malachi didn't run; he seemed to simply be elsewhere every time Blake's eyes blinked. Blake pushed his 2nd-layer strength to the limit to keep up, his feet barely touching the forest floor.
[Strength +0.1. Agility +0.1. Void-Sync: 12%...]
As they climbed higher into the mountains, the temperature plummeted. The trees became gnarled, their leaves black and jagged like obsidian. By the time the first light of dawn should have appeared, there was only a deepening, violet gloom. They had entered the Shadow-Wrought Valley.
"Stop," Malachi commanded.
They stood at the edge of a ravine that looked like a scar on the earth. Below, a thick, purple mist swirled, concealing the valley floor.
"In the Sterling Clan, you practiced the Gale," Malachi said, turning to face Blake. "Forget it. The Gale is about movement. The Reaper is about End."
Malachi suddenly moved—a blur of runic light. He struck Blake in the chest with his palm. It wasn't a killing blow, but it sent Blake spiraling over the edge of the ravine.
"SURVIVE!" Malachi's voice boomed from above. "Eat the shadows, or let them eat you!"
Blake crashed through the canopy of black trees, his 2nd-layer resilience the only thing keeping his bones from shattering. He hit the ground hard, rolling through a bed of freezing, needle-like grass. He scrambled to his feet, the Divine Reaper manifesting instantly behind him, its scythe glowing with a protective emerald light.
From the purple mist, eyes began to open. Dozens of them. They were glowing, yellow orbs filled with a mindless, predatory hunger.
[Threat Detected: Shadow-Lurkers (Rank 1 Beasts).]
[Quantity: 42.]
[Recommendation: Immediate Devouring.]
"Shadow-Lurkers," Blake whispered, his fingers curling into claws. "Malachi wants to see if I can eat? Fine."
The first beast lunged—a mass of oily black fur and elongated limbs. Blake didn't wait. He met the beast mid-air. He didn't use a technique. He simply grabbed the creature by its head and channeled the Reaper's power through his fingers.
CRACK.
The beast's skull caved in, but its body didn't fall. It dissolved into a stream of dark energy that flowed directly into Blake's chest.
[Host has consumed Shadow-Lurker Essence.]
[Soul Power +2. Strength +0.3.]
The other forty-one beasts shrieked and charged at once.
In the Sterling manor, Blake had been a genius of form. Here, in the dark, he became a butcher. He moved through the mist like a phantom, the Divine Reaper's scythe sweeping in wide, lethal arcs. Every strike was an "End." There were no wounds, only erasures. Each beast he touched vanished, their power fueling his own.
The more he killed, the more the runes on his own soul seemed to pulse. He felt his 2nd-layer foundation expanding, the Void-Blood in his veins singing a song of destruction.
Strength. I need more.
He spent the next three days in the valley, a relentless cycle of hunting and being hunted. He didn't sleep. The Blood System kept his body in a state of hyper-awareness, feeding off the essence of the Lurkers.
On the fourth morning, Blake stood in a clearing filled with the dissipating mist of a hundred slain beasts. His tattered robes were gone, replaced by a simple, dark tunic he had scavenged from a long-dead traveler. His hair was longer, his eyes sharper.
[Breakthrough! Host has reached the 3rd Layer of Flesh Tempering (Steel-Skin Variant).]
"Not bad," a voice said from the shadows.
Malachi stepped into the clearing. He looked at the carnage around Blake and nodded slowly. "You've stopped fighting like a Sterling. You're starting to fight like a Reaper. But the Lurkers were just the appetizer."
Malachi threw a small, heavy object at Blake. Blake caught it—it was a black iron ring engraved with a single, weeping eye.
"This is a Gravity Seal," Malachi explained. "Put it on. It will triple the weight of your own blood. Your 3rd-layer 'Steel Skin' needs to be tempered from the inside out. While you wear it, your speed will drop by half, and your internal energy will be under constant pressure."
Blake slipped the ring onto his finger.
THUD.
He was nearly driven to his knees. His blood felt like molten lead, his heart struggling to pump the thickened fluid through his veins. Every breath felt like lifting a boulder.
"Now," Malachi said, a cruel glint in his runic eyes. "We find a Rank 2 beast. A Shadow-Drake. And you're going to kill it while wearing that ring."
Blake looked up, sweat already pouring down his face, his vision swimming under the gravitational pressure. He bared his teeth, the Divine Reaper manifesting behind him, struggling under the same weight.
"Lead the way," Blake hissed.
He was no longer the boy who wanted a seat at the Sterling table. He was a predator in training,