The battlefield was a graveyard of gods, strewn with ash and the stench of burnt blood. Atlas Von Roxweld crouched by the pit where he’d torn Number Nine to shreds, his hands still tingling with the mory of bone cracking under his fists. The air was thick, heavy with the hum of mana and the faint glitter of fairy core dust, like stars mocking the dead.
His Truth Eyes burned, piercing the invisibility spell cloaking the empire’s floating craft high above. A mage of that caliber—mana nerves pulsing like a storm—ant trouble. Trouble he couldn’t touch, not with his body nerfed to hell by that cursed virus.
[System Status]
Na: Atlas Von Roxweld
Age: 14 (32) [Slow Aging: Active]
Race: Human (High-Human)
Evolution Tier: Eligible
Body Grade: S (Weakened)
Level: 41
Laws (Unlocked): None (Dormant Law Fragnts Detected)
Life Seed: 41%... (Host: Atlas Isabella)
BODY STATS:
Bone: 190 > 120 (temporary)
Muscle: 220 > 110 (temporary)
Organs: 156 > 80 (temporary)
Skin: 260 > 160 (temporary)
Brain: 60 > 65.. (Virus Mutation)
Heart: 60 → 999
Blood: 670 (Draconic Serpent Infused)
Mana Nerves: 999 → 340 (Overflow Locked)
Healing: 0.9%....
SKILLS:
World Understanding: SS
Observer Perspective: S
Enhanced Strength: S
Voice Control: C
Prince’s Aura: A
Truth Eyes: A (Evolved from B)
Death Decay: B
Sharpness: C
Nerve Enhancent: A
Iron Skin: B
Supersonic: A
Earth Manipulation: A
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.
.
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Points: 359
Ego Points: 0]
"Oh, Jesus, oh Lord," Atlas muttered, his voice a low rasp, like gravel grinding in his throat. "I really did get nerfed." His stats flickered in his mind’s eye: Bone down to 120, Muscle a pathetic 110, Mana Nerves locked at 340. All his grinding, his blood-soaked climb to power, chewed up by so microscopic bastard. The Life Seed—36%, tied to him and Isabella—gnawed at his gut like a parasite. "Thanks, Yggdrasil," he sneered, "saving my ass while screwing my head."
The ga’s tiline was fucked. The plague wasn’t supposed to hit until the fifth arc, but here it was, birthed in the empire’s shadow, creeping toward Lara. And now, three Pris—knights of the empire—had crossed his path. One was dead, but the others? They were watching.
"You know I can handle this alone, right?" Atlas said, glancing at Claire. Her red hair caught the dying light, a firebrand in the gloom. "In all truthfulness, you’re a liability."
Slap!
Claire’s hand cracked against his shoulder, the sting sharp but familiar, like a sister’s scolding. "Oh, fuck off," she snapped, her voice a blade dipped in pride. "You couldn’t even walk properly before. Shut the fuck up. I’m not so princess you need to coddle—I’ve got my own ans." Her eyes, green as venom, dared him to argue. She flexed her fingers, mana crackling faintly at her knuckles, a reminder of the spells she wielded like a street fighter’s brass knuckles.
Atlas snorted, turning to the healer at his right. She stood serene, her nun’s robes stark white against the battlefield’s filth, staff in hand like a shepherd’s crook for lost souls. "And you," he said, voice dripping with irritation. "Why the hell are you here?"
The healer’s yellow eyes glinted, curious as a cat’s. "Just wanted to see how long you’d last," she said, her voice soft but laced with sothing sharp, like a needle hidden in silk. "Call it... curiosity." Her lips twitched, a smile that didn’t reach her eyes, and Atlas wondered what gods she prayed to in that so-called kingdom of divinity. Not his problem. Not today.
He straightened, his gaze flicking to the pit. The ground was scorched, a crater of burned blood and shattered bone where Number Nine had fallen. Atlas’s handiwork. His Truth Eyes humd, locking onto the cloaked airship above, its invisibility spell shimring like heat off pavent. A mage that strong was rare—mana reserves deep as an ocean, power to rival a pri. Should I attack? he thought. No. Weakened like this, I’d be a fool. His stats were a shadow of what they’d been, his body a traitor. For now, the craft was a ghost he’d let haunt.
.
.
High above, in the belly of the airship, Number Seven stared, her eyes hollow pits of rage. Her brother, Number Nine, lay below in the crater—a carcass, unrecognizable, torn to pieces like a doll in a dog’s jaws. Her hands shook, nails biting into her palms until blood welled, hot and sticky. Her rage was a furnace, burning hotter with every breath, threatening to consu her.
"Goddamn," Number Ten muttered, scratching his brown hair, his voice tight as he stared at the wreckage of Nine’s body. "We left the place for good, I think. This... this is fucking horrendous." His eyes lingered on the legless corpse, and he stepped back, as if the sight could infect him.
Seven’s glare snapped to him, a blade of pure venom. He flinched, retreating a step. Then her eyes swung to Number Five, his golden hair catching the dim light of the airship’s control room as he sipped tea, calm as a monk.
"I thought you were strong," she spat, her voice low, trembling with fury.
"What the fuck did you say?" Five asked, his tone ice, his eyes narrowing to slits.
She didn’t blink. "Haa... who knew the bottom of the top five, the revered ones, would be such a pussy." Her words were a lash, each syllable dripping with contempt.
Number Ten lunged, clamping a hand over her mouth, but she bit down hard, drawing blood. He yelped, stumbling back, and her shouts grew louder, a banshee’s wail. "You’re no pri....!"
"Enemy detected," the pilot’s voice cut through, chanical and cold.
Seven’s head whipped to the window. Below, three figures stood near the pit. One was a man, crouched by her brother’s remains, his presence a spark to her tinder. "Him..." she growled, her voice a guttural promise of violence.
"Seven," Five said, his voice a quiet blade, sharp enough to draw blood. "Disobey my orders, and there’ll be hell to pay."
She didn’t answer. Her middle finger shot up, a defiant salute, and she kicked the airship’s hatch open. Wind roared in, a howling beast that tore through the cabin, papers and tools skittering across the floor. Her armor glead, lesser than Five’s but pulsing with her own mana. She didn’t look back. She jumped.
The air scread past her, clawing at her face, her heart a drumbeat of vengeance. The ground rushed up, a blur of ash and blood, and her brother’s broken body was all she saw. Her mana flared, a cot’s tail of fury, as she plumted toward the man who’d dared to touch her kin. The world was a furnace, and she was its fla, ready to burn it all to cinders.
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