The huge wave of energy from the Awakenings finally died off. It left behind this weird, anxious quiet as the last of the aspirants disappeared into the strange wilds.
Daniel's crew, though, wasn't freaking out. They were moving like a tight, calm core, stepping with a purpose that felt strangely focused compared to the mess they'd just seen. *** moving with a calm that felt totally unnatural after all that screaming.
They walked away from the faint yelling and sounds of fighting. Their boots made soft thuds on the glowing, silver grass, which moved with a mesmerizing, silent sway.
Above, the two suns—one super bright white, the other a deep, blood-red—cast long, stretched-out shadows ahead of them, looking like judgment.
Ragnar was basically a human tank, leading the way. His massive body moved with total confidence, and his new Stoneskin Talent had him practically itching for a fight.
Sophie stayed a little bit off to the side, her movements smooth and easy. She wasn't missing anything, her eyes constantly sweeping, checking out every odd plant and rock they passed.
Bran, holding his sore arm, stuck close to Ragnar. His fear was obvious, a heavy cloud that Daniel felt anyone could have picked up on.
Daniel brought up the rear, his mind a total whirlwind hidden behind a perfectly calm face.
The huge lie he'd told his teammates felt like a stone, cold and heavy, in his stomach. He was practically a god walking among normal people. Every step he took was a deception.
"Over here," Sophie's voice cut through his thoughts, sharp and clear. She pointed to a dense tree line in the distance.
"The trees are thicker there. Better place to hide. And the ground slopes down. Maybe we'll find water."
Ragnar gave a solid grunt. "Sounds good, Eyes. The sooner we find a spot to stop, the better."
As they walked, Daniel deliberately slowed his steps, letting a few yards open up between him and the group.
"Hold up a second," he called out, his voice steady.
Ragnar stopped and turned, a flash of impatience on his face. "What is it now, Daniel? Did you step on a pebble?"
Daniel ignored the dig, pretending to focus deeply as he looked around. "Just getting my bearings. This place… it feels off. I need a second to adjust."
It was a simple, easy-to-understand excuse. Sophie shot him a quick, analytical look but then just nodded, getting that he might need a moment to process things. Ragnar simply shrugged and turned away, giving Daniel the space he needed.
He closed his eyes, ignoring the strange world outside to focus on the terrifying power that had just woken up inside him. He reached inward, past the fear and the lies, and probed the huge, sleeping power of his real Talent: Soul Assimilation.
It wasn't a neat file on a system screen. It felt like standing at the edge of a massive, dark ocean. The brief description he'd read was just the tiniest ripple hinting at the unfathomable depths beneath.
He felt the information surge into him, not as words, but as pure, raw instinct. The main functions were suddenly as clear and basic as breathing. He could take the very essence of his enemies, their souls, and make their strength his. He could devour the energy in objects, enhancing them with the ghosts of the dead. He could absorb the abilities of other Awakened—not just copy them, but truly make them his own.
His thoughts raced, mapping the rules of this terrifying power. The mention of Assimilation Charges now made perfect, grim sense. It was a limit, a cap to keep him from consuming the world too fast. He focused, and the rules of his power burned themselves into his mind.
Assimilation Charges: 10 charges available from Level 0 to 2. A seriously limited resource.
The charges would increase as he leveled up: 20 for Levels 3–6, 30 for Levels 7–10, and so on. The most important detail made his heart slam: the charges would completely refill to their maximum every time he leveled up. It was a clear, brutal cycle of consuming things and then being rewarded.
Next, the route to power: Experience.
Experience Progression:
* Level 0 \rightarrow Level 1: 50 EXP
* Level 1 \rightarrow Level 2: 250 EXP
* Level 2 \rightarrow Level 3: 600 EXP
* Level 3 \rightarrow Level 4: 1100 EXP
The numbers were so simple it was almost mocking. His whole life was now a score, and the scorekeeper was death.
Experience from Kills:
* Level 1 Creature: 12 EXP
* Level 2 Creature: 20 EXP
* Level 3 Creature: 50 EXP
* Level 4 Creature: 100 EXP
* Level 5 Creature: 180 EXP
He did a fast, cold calculation. He only needed five Level 1 kills to hit the next level. Five lives to end, just to refill his power and get stronger.
Then he saw the small print—the modifiers. Killing things at his own level was the baseline. But there was a bonus for bravery: taking down an enemy two or three levels higher would give him a fifty percent bonus. This place didn't just reward strength; it rewarded guts. If he preyed on the weak, his gains would be cut by half or more. The system basically forced him to keep pushing forward into more and more danger.
He felt a massive rush of something—part excitement, part sheer dread. The Talent's description had hinted at more, at things he couldn't grasp yet, unlocked through 'exploration, application, and understanding.' His mind, now unbound, exploded with ideas. Could he enhance living things, not just objects? Could he channel his power into Bran, somehow making his friend's own developing talent stronger?
The possibilities seemed endless. He was standing on the edge, unsure if he'd soar like a bird or just fall forever.
"You done sightseeing?" Ragnar's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.
He opened his eyes. The world looked brighter, the colors sharper. He could sense the fragile life-force of his teammates, three small, faint lights against the massive energy of the land.
He looked at them. At Ragnar, whose simple trust could be used against him. At Bran, whose fear made him a loose cannon. At Sophie, whose sharp mind was already looking for holes in his story.
The lie felt heavier than a building. He had the kind of power that could turn him into a god, the strength to crush anyone and get his family back. But to survive long enough to do that, he had to act like the nobody he pretended to be. He had to play the role of the lucky D-Grader, the brain who had to lead because his powers were supposedly so weak.
He took a deep, steadying breath, the strange, sweet air filling his lungs. "Yeah," he said, his voice completely calm. "I'm good. Let's move."
He fell back into the group, the god inside him awake, quietly running through the rules of its new existence. He was a secret, a weapon hiding in plain view. For now, he'd be their muscle, their planner, their friend. He would let them think he was the weakest. But as they stepped into the shadows of the looming forest, Daniel knew the truth. Finding his family was still everything, but another, far more dangerous quest had just begun: the quest to figure out the limits of the monster sleeping inside his soul. And to keep it going, he was going to need blood.