Vikram blinked, looked around the bathroom, and wondered if he sniffed something wrong.
"What the hell are you looking for?" It was the guy who had raised his hands in question towards Kayala, who Vikram later knew as Ram. As he looked at Vikram as though he owned him his entire family, Vikram just sighed inwardly.
Vikram paused, shook his head, and thought that he was training too hard, and entered the bathroom and pissed.
'Green shit, huh,' Vikram frowned. That was not a nice image, so he shook his head, finished his work, and returned to his room.
[Do you wish to enter the Game?]
Vikram opened his eyes, finding himself inside the cave. With determination, Vikram rushed to the village, cutting down anything that stood in his way. Reaching the heart of the village, he found himself surrounded by a throng of Neu, Zombies, and Mages. They encircled him slowly, their eyes fixed on him with a mix of hunger and malice.
He looked down at his waist, where a gourd like object seemed to hang loosely. It seemed as though it would block smooth combat, but the moment he started to fight, the gourd would become as though it was an illusion.
'A Divine Artifact indeed...'
A swing forward, wind stirred, and the metal slashed the infant body into two. The Axe didn't stop, and followed an sturdy momentum like iron as it slashed and disected anything that came close to him.
With his Axe Art reaching Major Accomplishment, Vikram was no longer some fumbling amateur. His movements had grown fluid and instinctive. The axes moved where he willed, cutting down anything in front of him with practiced ease. It wasn't just about strength anymore; there was rhythm in how he fought, a steady, relentless pace that made it hard for enemies to get close.
It almost felt like nothing could stop him.
Until something did.
The Newts, clever little things, didn't play fair. They weren't trying to overpower him directly. Instead, they used tricks—especially those weird glass lamps that acted like makeshift grenades. One exploded too close, and Vikram felt hot shards tear into his side. Another burst near his back, the heat and sharp edges sending him stumbling.
He winced, breathing hard, then reached instinctively for the gourd at his waist. The artifact, usually ghost-like, became solid in his grip. He pulled it free and drank without hesitation.
The liquid went down fast, tasting bizarrely like cola—cold, fizzy, and weirdly satisfying. Internet jokes about soda being divine suddenly didn't seem too far off. Five gulps, and the gourd was empty. He tossed it aside.
It vanished mid-air, reappearing at his waist like it had never left.
Stardust flared around him. In just a few seconds, his wounds were gone. No blood, no pain, nothing. Just the same old body, good as new.
He didn't wait.
Back into the mess of enemies he went, and this time, something inside him stirred. Maybe it was the cycle of fighting and dying. Maybe it was just timing. Either way, Vikram felt it—the ball of Embryonic Primal Blood nestled near the back of his neck began to move.
Until now, it had been passive. Like a weight. But as he focused, something shifted. The sphere of crimson began to turn, slowly, responding to his thoughts. It wasn't draining him anymore. It was aligning.
A low hum filled his body. Not real sound, just a sensation. Power building from within.
The enemies closed in again. Zombies, Neus, the lot. But then they stopped. Not completely, but enough for Vikram to notice.
He opened his eyes.
A faint red light pulsed in them.
Even these instinct-driven things seemed to hesitate, just slightly. As if they sensed something different.
Vikram rolled his shoulders, flicked his axes into a ready grip, and leapt forward.
The first Neu fell with a clean slash. Another one right behind it. He spun and brought both axes down, dropping three more in a blur of motion. The way he fought had changed—less mechanical, more raw. Looser, even. But that looseness made him harder to read. Harder to predict.
Stronger.
But not invincible.
Dizziness caught up to him. The kind that comes after burning too hot for too long. His feet wobbled. His vision blurred.
A Neu lunged.
Something stabbed into his skull.
Pain. Flash. Darkness.
[You have been slain.]
Vikram opened his eyes in the cave. Back again.
He stretched his neck and gave a quiet laugh.
Something had responded to him. A flame that hadn't gone out even in death.
He couldn't explain it yet, but he knew one thing.
He was getting closer.
Something inside him was beginning to burn. Not pain. Not exhaustion. But something deeper. Wilder. A pressure building within his body, as if something ancient and dangerous was stirring just beneath the surface.
Something supernatural.
By the time he reached the inner village, Vikram barely paused. The Imps swarmed like insects, but he tore into them without hesitation. Axes in hand, he moved with ruthless efficiency, his every step guided by instinct honed through death after death. But this time, he wasn't just surviving. He was hunting.
He drew his focus inward.
That pressure—the stirring in his blood—it wasn't random. It was real. He could feel it now, clearer than ever. And with it came the same dizziness as before, rushing into his skull like vertigo. But Vikram was ready for it. This time, he welcomed it.
His muscles tensed, locked in place for a moment, then uncoiled with force. Bones popped. Joints cracked. Something inside him clicked into alignment, and the blood in his veins surged.
It was like breathing in fire and exhaling lightning.
Every movement became sharper. His body lighter. His focus, razor-thin. There was no fatigue. No hesitation. The Primal Blood had stopped being a dormant trait and had started becoming a living force inside him.
And it was accelerating.
He swept through the village like a force of nature. Imps fell before him, cut down before their claws could so much as graze his skin. His axes moved faster than thought, each strike precise and brutal. He no longer needed to think about the next move—his body simply knew.
And with every swing, he could feel something primal rising from deep within.
His aura thickened, warped by something more bestial. Less human. The presence it gave off was not just power, but hunger. A low, simmering will that did not belong entirely to him.
Vikram leapt forward, slashing through a Neu that had barely turned its head. The wind from the blow alone shredded through the second one behind it, and the lingering pressure crushed a zombie that had been lurking behind them.
The way he fought had changed.
Once, he had relied on clean technique and careful control. But now? His style was shifting. Still precise, still deadly, but less rigid. More unrestrained. Like something inside him had let go of the rules and was replacing them with instinct.
Raw, untamed instinct.
And it was making him faster.
Stronger.
Deadlier.