The horizon of the void was a jagged smear of darkness and a heavy purple aura filling the pseudo-domain, the kind that burns in the mind long after it has been seen. Paulio's eyes flicked from the glint of his twin glass blades to the hulking silhouette that loomed before him—a humanoid monster whose very presence seemed to distort the air around it. The creature carried two tridents forged from the blackness of nothing, their tips dripping with a liquid darkness that swallowed light.
"I can't keep doing this," Paulio muttered under his breath, the words almost swallowed by the roar of the void. His aura—normally a steady blue pulse that steadied him in battle—shivered to a raging orange flare as he felt his power spiralling out of control. Each strike he landed on the beast's hide seemed to pull more of his inner strength into the fray, leaving him lighter and more vulnerable.
The monster raised one trident high. In a single motion that would have been impossible for a mortal eye, it swung the blade in a wide arc—an unearthly whiplash that sliced through the air with a sound like shattered glass. Paulio's heart hammered against his ribs; he lunged forward, swords flashing in the orange glow.
The moment the darkness touched his blades, a shockwave of cold metal rang through them. His eyes widened as the blade bent and twisted on its own, deflecting the trident to his right side with an almost deliberate grace. The beast recoiled, its belly thudding against the slick floor. A screech tore from its maw—an echo that seemed to split the very air.
In a blur, Paulio's foot connected with the creature's flank. The impact sent the monster flying backward in a violent arc until it crashed into the glossy dark domain of the void, splintering the surface beneath it like broken glass. He stared at his bruised arm as the realization sank in: had he not twisted his body to deflect, that same trident could have sliced his own flesh clean away.
The void was a place of raw terror—an endless blackened plain that thrummed with unseen power. Yet here it seemed alive, pulsing with a newborn menace that fed on the uncertainty of those who dared walk its floor. Paulio's left hand, still shaking from the last impact, began to crack and twist unnaturally before snapping back into place—a silent warning that his body was cracking under the strain.
The monster sensed his distress. It extended another arm—this time a darkened hand made of shadow—and summoned a second trident. The new weapon glowed with a sickly blackness, its tip dripping like liquid ink. The creature lowered itself onto all fours and vanished into the darkness as if it were nothing but smoke.
Paulio's breath caught. Slithering sounds skittered around him—low, wet noises that made his skin crawl. He gritted his teeth; his eyes flashed yellow, a warning flare in his own body. He raised his blades toward his right side, deflecting two swarms of dark tridents that hurtled at lightning speed.
The creature's movements were a blur. It appeared in front of him again, raising a single trident high before swinging it down in a wide, violent arc. Paulio leapt backward, tumbling into the void itself as if he had been swallowed by the darkness. The beast screeched in annoyance, its voice echoing off the black walls.
The impact of that swing was a force of pure kinetic energy—Paulio's body became a projectile, his ribs shattering against invisible barriers, lungs punctured with a sound like wet paper tearing. His mana reservoir drained to a low ebb, and he realized, with a cold certainty, that this might be the last defense left in him.
He dropped his glass blades to the floor, their hiss of breaking metal sounding like a dying sigh. "Fuck my luck," he muttered, the words raw and unfiltered. He felt a wave of panic wash over him as memories surged—flashbacks of a shadowy figure, a human silhouette, ten years old, who had called him "Papa." The image was hazy; she was no longer there, -- I am beginning to forget, huh --. Paulio thought as he couldn't remember the face and name behind the voice. At that moment, he realized that he was losing his strength, growing weaker, and even remembering details became taxing to him.
His eyes closed in an attempt to quiet the storm inside him. I can't remember her face… I might die here. I'm sorry, he whispered to the void that seemed to absorb every syllable.
The scene shifted abruptly. Paulio found himself in a cramped cabin, its walls lined with cracked wooden planks and bottles that rattled when the wind brushed through. A single dim lamp sputtered, throwing long, trembling shadows across the floor. An old man lay on a creaking couch, his face weathered by time and drink. The air smelled of stale whiskey and damp wood.
"Awakeners," the old, drunken voice rasped from the man's lips, "are different from normal strongmen. We surpass them by a huge margin. You are one of the weakest awakeners to ever exist—only able to move at the speed of sound."
Paulio's heart pounded in his ears. He could feel the weight of the old man's words like cold iron. The man's eyes flickered with an odd intensity, as if he were trying to pry through Paulio's thoughts.
"I will teach you a powerful technique," the old man croaked, "a theory that is dangerous but enough to catch up to your peers."
Paulio bowed his head in deference, though his legs trembled. The old man's fingers twitched with an almost mechanical rhythm as he spoke. "You have minor control over sound waves. If you can increase that control and compress all your years of awakened abilities into yourself…"
An orange pulse erupted from the void outside the cabin—a bright, humming orb of light that pulsed against the darkness. The old man's voice echoed in his ears like a drumbeat: "If you can do this, I'll give you the power to become untouchable."
The second pulse arrived faster than the first; it was accompanied by a glittering silver chain that wrapped around the orb and then snapped, shattering with an audible crack. The old man's laughter erupted—hysterical, ragged—and his eyes turned a pale white, flames of orange licking out from them.
"Your knight abilities will not reach their full potential," he warned, voice now barely more than a whisper. "But you'll have power beyond measure."
The void trembled in response, cracks spidering across the black floor like veins of light. The humanoid monster, sensing this upheaval, coiled around Paulio. Its two tridents arced toward him with a ferocious speed that made his vision flicker.
Paulio's mind was a storm of images—his bruised arm, the crack in his ribs, the flash of orange light, the old man's cracked voice. He felt the weight of each breath he took; it tasted metallic and sharp. His senses were on high alert—every creak of the cabin, every whisper of wind seemed to carry a warning.
He reached out instinctively for his glass blades, but they lay broken on the floor, shards glinting like tiny stars against the dim light. He stared at them as if they might give him some last spark of hope.
The creature's tridents moved in a terrifying ballet, each strike echoing with a low hum that vibrated through his bones. The old man's voice—once comforting, now cruel—echoed in his mind: "Use the sound waves, Paulio. Compress everything."
Paulio felt an overwhelming sense of doom settle over him like a heavy blanket. He knew that this was not just another battle; it was a fight for survival against something that had learned to manipulate the very fabric of reality. Every step forward felt like walking into a storm without a shield.
He clenched his fists, feeling the faint pulse of energy building inside him. The last thing he could see before everything went black was the orange orb—its glow pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat—and the old man's eyes burning white with flames. And then… nothing but an endless void that screamed at his very soul.