The wind howled across the scorched stone plains as if the world itself had taken notice of what had been born in the crater.
Graxion stood at its center—barefoot, shirt torn, eyes glowing faintly with a violet-black sheen. His skin pulsed faintly, as though something moved just beneath its surface. A cold vapor clung to his body, wrapping him in a veil of living shadow.
He didn't know what he had become.
But he knew he was no longer powerless.
> "System… initializing."
A voice echoed in his mind—monotone, cold, and unfamiliar. But unlike the prayers and commands barked at him by villagers and priests, this voice held no judgment.
Only purpose.
> [Shadow System Activated]
Welcome, Graxion.
Designation: Null-Blood Host.
Status: Compatible.
New Title Acquired: Wielder of the Void.
He stumbled back, clutching his head as information poured into his mind—not like memories, but commands. Symbols, names, abilities… all tied to a force he'd never known existed.
The shadows around him moved with intent. Not chaotic, not wild—responsive.
He raised a trembling hand, and the shadows obeyed.
They slithered upward, forming a tendril that hovered just above his palm. A whispering tendril of inky blackness, like smoke made of oil.
> "What... are you?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
> "We are you," the shadows answered—not in sound, but in thought. "We are what they feared. What they denied. We are the unspoken power behind the light."
He clenched his fist, and the tendril snapped back into his skin.
Power surged through him—not just strength, but awareness. He could sense every flicker of light in the crater, every movement of the dust, every shift in the wind. The shadows let him see without seeing.
He turned toward the horizon, and something shifted inside him.
> Quest Initialized: Claim Vengeance.
Objective: Return to the Village of Draxen.
Sub-Objective: Let none raise blade against you again.
Reward: Shadow Skill – [Void Grasp]
Penalty for Failure: None.
(But they will never stop hunting you.)
He didn't need to think. The shadows had already decided for him.
---
The walk back to the village took only an hour—faster than it should have. The shadows propelled him, stepping with his feet, merging with the ground. He moved like mist in motion.
By the time he reached the outskirts of Draxen, the sun had started to set. Children played in the dirt. Mothers carried water. And above the temple, priests still chanted for protection against "the cursed one."
Too late.
As Graxion stepped into the village square, the torches flickered violently.
A priest saw him. His face twisted into rage and fear.
> "The Null-Blood returns! Kill it before it—"
He didn't finish the sentence.
A black spike shot from Graxion's palm and pierced the priest's throat. No noise. No flash. Just sudden death.
Panic erupted. The villagers scattered, but the shadows moved faster. They weaved through the crowd like a predator stalking its prey. One by one, the guards fell—not killed, but frozen, suspended in air, wrapped in shadow like silk cocoons.
Graxion walked calmly through the chaos, his feet never quite touching the ground.
> "You feared me," he said, voice echoing unnaturally. "But it wasn't me you should have feared."
He turned his gaze toward the temple—the place they barred him from, the place that cursed his name.
With a flick of his fingers, the structure collapsed. Not from fire. Not from impact.
From emptiness.
The shadows erased it.
---
When the silence finally returned to the village, only one soul remained standing—cloaked in mist, eyes glowing in the dark.
He turned away from the ruins, no satisfaction on his face—only hunger.
The shadow had fed for the first time.
And it would not forget the taste.