Smoke still curled in lazy spirals from the collapsed walls of the training yard as Asura wiped his damp forehead with the back of his hand. His small chest rose and fell, heart still hammering from the storm of destruction he had unleashed.
His golden eyes flicked around nervously. The yard was silent now, but it wouldn't stay that way. Guards would come. Servants would gossip. His grandfather would hear.
"Okay," he muttered under his breath, clutching his wooden katana tight, "time to get out of here before someone asks awkward questions."
He extended his free hand, fingers spread wide. Mana surged to his palm like obedient flame.
"Teleport."
The world snapped.
A violent rush of wind tore through his hair. His vision blurred, the ruined yard dissolving into streaks of light and shadow. For one weightless heartbeat, he floated between places—neither here nor there. Then, with a faint pop, the ground slammed solid beneath his feet once more.
The acrid stink of smoke was gone.
In its place was the cold, metallic tang of mana-soaked air.
He opened his eyes.
Towering trees rose in every direction, their bark twisted and black, veins of glowing crimson running through them like molten scars. Their canopies blotted out most of the sky, though occasional beams of red light pierced through, bathing the forest floor in eerie illumination. The air buzzed with unseen energy, the hum of mana seeping from root and soil.
Shadows shifted between the trunks. Too fast. Too fluid. The low growl of unseen beasts carried through the air, mingling with strange clicks and screeches that no human forest would ever know.
It was a place that could devour ordinary men.
And Asura's heart raced with excitement.
"Perfect," he whispered, lips curling into a grin. "No witnesses. Time for round two."
He lifted his wooden katana, golden eyes glinting with childlike mischief and dangerous resolve.
The forest stirred in answer.
✦ The Hidden Clearing
Asura pushed deeper into the forest, the wooden katana resting across his shoulders.
The further he walked, the stranger the world became.
The trees weren't normal—not anymore. Their trunks swelled with twisted muscle-like wood, glowing cracks running down their bark like veins filled with molten blood. Leaves shimmered faintly with mana, releasing sparks into the air that drifted lazily before fading away. Roots rose and fell beneath the soil like the ridges of great serpents.
Every few steps, the forest reminded him that he didn't belong. A branch groaned overhead with a sound like a sigh. A bush twitched as though something had slithered beneath it, though no creature emerged. From deep in the distance came guttural cries—half growl, half screech—that made even the crimson-lit air vibrate.
And yet, none of the beasts emerged.
Asura could feel them watching. Golden eyes glinting faintly between the trees, hungry breath steaming in the dark. But when his aura flickered, when his golden eyes swept toward them, they fell silent, retreating deeper into shadow.
"Even monsters know when to back off," he muttered with a smirk.
He pushed on, following instinct more than path. The mana in the air grew denser with every step, pressing down on his shoulders, filling his lungs until breathing felt like drinking fire. His small body shivered—not from fear, but from the thrill coursing through him.
Finally, the trees broke.
And he stepped into a place that felt carved out of myth.
The clearing was vast, a perfect circle cut into the dense woods. Moonlight poured freely through a jagged hole in the canopy, falling in thick silver streams that drenched the cracked earth below. The soil looked scorched, black and gray, as though a great battle had once been fought here. Shattered stone fragments jutted out like broken bones, and deep fissures laced the ground.
The cracks pulsed.
Red light bled faintly through them, a glow that throbbed in time with his heartbeat. The ground seemed alive, veins of mana stretching out like a web beneath his feet. The hum in the air was louder here, constant, as though the clearing itself remembered every spell, every strike, every drop of blood spilled upon it.
Asura stepped into the center, the silver glow of the moon catching in his horns, shimmering in his white hair.
"…Perfect," he whispered.
His voice sounded too loud in the silence. The forest had gone still. No growls. No whispers. Not even the faint clicking of insects. It was as if the world was holding its breath, waiting to see what the child would do.
He tilted his head back, letting the moonlight wash over him. It stung his skin, but it also fed him, filling him with a strange exhilaration. His chest swelled. His aura stirred.
The wooden katana felt alive in his hands, warm against his palms, vibrating faintly as though eager to be tested again.
For the first time since arriving in this world, Asura felt something dangerous—something intoxicating.
Not just freedom.
Belonging.
"Okay…" he murmured, the thrill curling into his grin, "…let's see how much more I can grow."
The air rippled outward from him in waves. Dust lifted from the ground, rising lazily before scattering in the moonlight like sparks from a fire. The glowing fissures beneath him pulsed brighter, the crimson light climbing his legs like the forest itself was answering his call.
And somewhere, just beyond the edge of the clearing, unseen eyes opened wide.
✦ More Techniques
The moonlight painted him in silver, his shadow stretching across the cracked clearing. Asura licked his lips, his small hands tightening around the wooden katana.
The memory of his old world's anime heroes filled his mind—names, techniques, flashes of battles that had once been fiction. Here, in this world, they were more than fantasy. They were his arsenal.
He raised the blade high, its wooden edge humming faintly with mana.
"Moon Fang—Heavenly Arc!"
The name tore from his throat like a war cry.
The blade came down, and with it, a black crescent of energy roared outward. The arc sliced through the clearing, a shadow of death in moonlight, tearing open a trench deep enough to swallow him whole. The shockwave blasted dust and stones into the air, rattling the trees at the edge of the circle. Birds exploded from the canopy in a panicked flurry, their cries sharp and frantic as they fled into the night.
The sound echoed like thunder, rolling deep into the forest.
Asura's eyes widened. The trench glowed faintly at the edges, steaming where the earth had been seared away. He laughed, breathless and wild.
"Yes… YES! That's exactly how it looked in the show!"
The thrill buzzed through him, and he spun on his heel, planting his feet firmly into the cracked ground. He thrust out his free hand, fingers stiff as the memory of another move surged through him.
"Spirit Pistol!"
A spark ignited at his fingertip—small, no bigger than a bead. It glowed pale blue, trembling as it condensed into a perfect orb. He clenched his teeth as mana funneled into it, the air buzzing sharply.
Then—snap!
The orb shot forward like lightning. It struck a boulder at the edge of the clearing, and for a single breath, nothing happened.
Then the rock disintegrated.
Not cracked. Not shattered. It simply ceased to exist—a cloud of fine dust scattering into the wind, glowing faintly before vanishing into nothing.
Asura's jaw dropped. His heart skipped. And then he broke into a manic laugh.
"Ohhh, that's even better than watching the anime version!" he shouted, his voice bouncing against the ruined walls of trees. "I could spam this all day!"
But the thrill didn't let him stop. His blood pounded, his lungs burned, but it wasn't enough. He wanted more. Needed more.
He stabbed the wooden katana into the earth beside him, freeing both hands. Energy surged into his palms, golden light sparking violently between his fingers. It hissed, condensed, swelled, until it roared like the sun caged in a child's hands.
The light burned so bright it seared his vision white. The air screamed, mana twisting and convulsing in the space between his palms.
"Final… Flare!"
He thrust his arms forward.
The golden beam detonated into the night.
It wasn't a spell—it was annihilation.
The blast ripped across the clearing, tearing open the ground, scorching everything in its path. Half the forest ignited in an instant, trees bursting into flame, trunks collapsing under the shockwave. The sky lit up like dawn had come early, golden fire washing over the black canopy.
The clearing shook. The ground cracked wider, molten light bleeding from the fissures as the land itself seemed to writhe in pain.
When the light finally faded, silence fell.
Asura staggered, his knees buckling. He dropped down, catching himself on one hand, his chest heaving as sweat streamed down his face. The golden afterglow flickered out between his fingers, leaving only the reek of smoke and the roar of flames devouring what remained of the forest's edge.
His golden eyes reflected the inferno. His lips split into a grin, wider, sharper, more dangerous than before.
"…I really am unstoppable."
Ding! Ding! Ding!
The system bombarded him with notifications:
[Unique Skill Acquired – Heavenly Arc]
[Unique Skill Acquired – Spirit Bolt]
[Unique Skill Acquired – Solar Flare Cannon]
[Warning: Techniques exceed known magic classifications.]
[Adaptive Sword Style: Resonance Path Unlocked]
[Title Earned: One Who Shakes the Heavens]
[Growth Rate Multiplier Increased by 5x]
The notifications scrolled endlessly, blinding him with their sheer volume. Every line screamed that he wasn't just ahead—he was beyond.
Asura's grin twisted. He clutched his chest, feeling his small heart hammering against his ribs like a drum of war.
"…This power. This system. This world… It's mine."
The fire spread, smoke curling high into the sky like a beacon. The once-silent forest was now alive with chaos—beasts shrieking in terror, wings beating frantically as they fled the inferno. The ground trembled faintly, as if something massive had stirred in response to the mana storm.
And in the shadows beyond the flames, dozens of eyes gleamed. Predators. Hunters. Things that had survived for centuries in these woods, now roused by the boy who had declared war on the night.
Asura didn't notice them yet.
He was still grinning at the ruins, his small chest heaving, his golden eyes shining like a demon star.
The clearing was gone. In its place lay a battlefield scorched into legend.
And in the heart of it, stood the anomaly who had made it so.
✦ The Encounter
The night air stank of smoke and scorched earth, the clearing still trembling from the aftermath of Asura's last spell. Ash drifted lazily in the moonlight, glowing like embers before fading into the dark.
And then—silence.
Not the natural kind. No rustle of leaves. No chirp of insects. No distant cries of beasts. Only a suffocating stillness that pressed against his ears until even his heartbeat felt too loud.
Asura straightened slowly, golden eyes narrowing. His hand tightened around the wooden katana, every sense straining.
Something was wrong.
The forest breathed with him.
Then the growl came.
Low. Heavy. It rolled through the trees like thunder crawling along the earth. Another followed. Then another. Soon the growls layered over one another, forming a chorus of hunger that vibrated through his bones.
The treeline came alive with eyes.
Red, glowing, dozens of them. They blinked into existence one pair at a time—far to the left, then high in a tree, then low to the right. Dozens of points of crimson, circling him like a constellation of predators.
Asura's grip tightened. His small chest rose and fell sharply, but his grin spread anyway.
The shapes emerged.
The Infernal Direwolves stepped into the moonlight, and the clearing shrank around him.
Each beast was massive, larger than a horse, their shoulders rolling with muscle beneath fur as black as midnight. But this was no normal fur—lines of molten red pulsed faintly through it, glowing veins that traced across their bodies in wicked patterns. Their hides were thick, armored, jagged like plates of obsidian hammered into flesh.
Their skulls bore horns—some twisted upward like corkscrews, others jagged and branching like shattered spears. Their jaws opened to reveal fangs longer than daggers, slick with drool that steamed as it hit the ground.
Their breaths came in ragged hisses, each exhale glowing faintly red, heat warping the air around them. The stench of sulfur and burning flesh spread across the clearing as the wolves padded forward, paws sinking into the cracked soil, claws scraping sparks from stone.
The system chimed.
Ding!
[Name: Infernal Direwolf]
[Level: 120–150]
[Rank: A]
[Element: Fire]
[Special Traits: Pack Instinct, Infernal Hide, Mana-Infused Fangs, Infernal Roar]
[Warning: Threat Level — Catastrophic]
[Survival Chance: <1%]
Asura blinked. Then let out a sharp whistle. "…Oh crap."
For a heartbeat, instinct seized him. His tiny body shook, knees threatening to buckle, every nerve screaming at him to run. He was four years old. Surrounded. Outnumbered. The odds the system spat in his face were lower than death itself.
Escape now, the primal voice in his mind urged. Live to fight another day.
But the other voice—the one that remembered another life, another world—rose louder.
The voice that had dreamed of magic and swords. The voice that had longed for adventure. The voice that, even now, as the wolves circled him with murder in their eyes… was laughing.
His lips stretched into a grin, fangs flashing in the moonlight.
"…This is perfect."
The wolves slowed, forming a ring. Their growls rose higher, vibrating through the clearing until the cracked ground itself seemed to hum with it. One snapped its jaws, teeth clashing like steel. Another pawed the ground, gouging trenches in the stone. The heat of their collective breaths shimmered in the air, bending the light around them.
Asura rose to his full height—small, childlike, ridiculous in comparison to the monsters surrounding him. And yet, when his golden eyes blazed, when his aura pulsed outward in a suffocating wave, the wolves faltered for a breath.
He lifted the wooden katana.
"Test subjects."
The air grew heavier, darker, trembling under the weight of his aura. The fissures in the ground pulsed brighter, as if the earth itself responded to his will. The wolves lowered themselves, muscles coiled, ready to strike.
The standoff stretched.
The clearing held its breath.
And in that moment, the world seemed to whisper:
The boy was no prey.
He was the storm.