Theo's eyes widened.
The insignia glimmered faintly in his trembling palm,
House Varkheil.
The truth struck him like a blade thrust through the ribs, sharp and merciless.
Why am I seeing this?
Just why?
His chest caved in as panic slithered coldly through the cracks of his heart. His lips trembled, words clawing their way out in broken whispers.
Are they safe?
The question echoed in his skull, hammering, relentless.
Are they safe? Are they safe? Are they safe?
Each repetition tore at his sanity until his breath came ragged and uneven.
And then the weight of another truth crushed him, heavier than the sky collapsing.
Theo's world crumbled, not from the shattered ruins around him nor the bloodied corpses that painted the ground, but from the revelation that hollowed him out from within.
No one would ever love him.
Not his Father.
Not his Mother.
Not his Brother.
Not even Cain, the only one he had dared to treat like family.
The insignia burned in his hand, and with it, fragments of another life bled into his mind. Bitter memories not his own clawed to the surface, memories of the old Theo.
Theo didn't just feel them. He saw them. A cascade of jagged images, moments that weren't his but cut him all the same.
The storm of emotions tore at his chest, unbearable. His consciousness wavered, and for an instant, death itself felt like a lullaby, gentle, sweet, inviting.
No… this is just a bad dream.
Just a dream…
His thoughts spun in frantic circles, his voice cracked as he tried to tether himself to reason, but rationality slipped away like sand through his fingers.
Theo had never known the warmth of another's embrace. Fifteen years of existence, and the only light he clung to was the faint notion of family.
Father.
Mother.
Brother.
He had read stories, devoured novels where the hero was surrounded by companions, where family meant shelter and support. Where love was not an illusion.
He had believed in those words, believed in the tales of cold fathers who, in the end, were revealed to love deeply, hiding their care behind harsh facades. He had wanted to believe his father was the same, that the cruelty was only a mask to forge him strong.
At eleven, Theo clung to that fragile hope. He trained, bled, and broke himself to prove he was not a failure. That he was worthy of the Varkheil name.
But here,
Now, that fragile hope splintered into ash.
What is happening to me?
A scream clawed up his throat.
AHHHHH…
This isn't me!
I didn't awaken!
Yes… I'm not an awakener. I must be cursed.
Yes, cursed,
He rasped, his voice cracking into laughter, the sound fraying into hysteria.
Hahaha… just a curse. That's all this is. Just a curse…
But the more he tried to deny, the deeper the truth carved itself into him. Tool. That's all he would ever be, no matter how much power he gained.
The dream of a warm meal at a table, laughter, and gentle words it shattered. Whether illusion or reality, it didn't matter. His mind was no longer his own, spinning, crushed beneath the surreal weight of the visions.
And then came another tide of emotion, alien yet searing, burning through him, the old Theo's rage. Rage for a boy named Reuel. A friend.
Theo had never heard that name before, but he felt the old Theo's grief strike deep, his fury rising like fire against the one responsible. Reuel, who had stayed, who hadn't treated him as a tool. The gratitude lodged like a lump in Theo's throat, painful, foreign.
The ground shuddered. Theo's head whipped around.
Red mist choked the air, but through it blazed a monstrous mass of bluish-purple flames that clawed at the darkness. The earth shook as blades of blood rained down upon the devouring black energy.
Theo's frantic thoughts screeched to a halt.
His heart froze. Fear seized his legs.
Run.
Run.
Run!
His mind trembled, every instinct screaming for escape. But beneath that fear, something else erupted, something dangerous.
Rage.
It exploded through him, surging like a storm as lightning coiled around his body. Bolts flared wild and furious, searing away the red mist in crackling arcs. His rage burned bright enough to blind.
"Fuck!" The word tore from him as power surged, alien and raw. Never had he seen such destruction, the black energy swallowing all in its path, an abyss that made even lightning feel small.
He didn't know if the storm the old Theo was feeling could stand against it. He only knew one thing:
He would not back down.
Not here.
Not now.
Not in any lifetime.
Never.
Through the haze, Theo felt the old Theo's deadly control, his breathing, his channeling, the rhythm of nexus energy woven into every move. Theo's senses tracked, desperate, memorizing details, storing them deep, no matter how little he understood.
Then, impact.
Three figures landed before him.
Dust and sparks flared, but none of them looked his way. Their battle raged on, relentless.
Theo's breath hitched.
William?
And beside him, a woman. And the thing they fought… a creature white- stoned and grotesque, alien.
So they were the reason for this ruin.
Anger flared, violent and alive, but his questions went unanswered, buried beneath the old Theo's singular focus - kill this fucking disgusting piece of a creature.
A voice cut through the chaos, a command laced with power.
[Threefold Heaven's Destroying Slash]
Theo's heart nearly stopped. Threefold blades, nexus blade, aura blades, and intent blades fused as one folded thrice. The sheer impossibility of it sent awe crashing over him.
He locked onto it, erased every distraction, and willed himself to absorb. To learn.
This wasn't training. This was something rawer, deeper. He wasn't just observing,
he felt it.
The old Theo's body, his movements, his skills, all pressed into him with suffocating clarity. He couldn't comprehend it all, but he could brand it into memory, stroke for stroke.
Just as he thought he had grasped the essence, the old Theo moved beyond, creating anew in the heart of battle.
A form born in blood and fury.
[Fivefold Heaven's destroyer ]
Theo's throat ran dry, his mind blanking under the weight of it. He couldn't seize the full technique, but he caught the bones of it, the key concepts buried in its flow.
When it ended, Theo's chest heaved.
[Reaper of Death]
Theo had realized what a boon this event was for him.
He didn't know whether this was even true or just his brain playing with him,
But today, before his Awakener's journey had even begun, he had claimed the impossible.
A grade one internal art.
A battle art beyond measure.
And more, he had borne witness to the clash of three Imprion rankers and a being from beyond.
A battle so great, words could never hold it.
But before he could feel the joy, he felt his life slip away.
'Damn it!'