Caelin woke within the Leviathan’s skull, covered in liquified brain matter and eye fluid.
The scent was thick, a combination of burnt flesh, acrid chemicals and something deeper, older, something very wrong. It clung to his armor, filled his lungs, coated his tongue in something foul and metallic. He spat onto the dry bone beneath him. The interior of the Leviathan’s skull was stifling. Heat radiated oppressively from the remnants of burned tissue, intensifying the nausea-inducing cocktail of charred flesh and acrid chemicals. Slick, oily fluids pooled around him, soaking through the gaps in his damaged armor, a constant tactile reminder of his grotesque surroundings.
Reaching down, his fingers traced the filth on his side. His armor had sealed over—but it wasn’t as firm as it should be. Pressing harder, he felt no pain. Multiverse self-healing was still in effect. A loophole. A flaw in the System’s design. It hadn’t accounted for him.
His breath shuddered from his lips as he pushed himself upright, knees shaking beneath him. Slowly, slower than he had ever been in his long life, he staggered toward the Leviathan’s open eye socket. With each step, the bone surface beneath his boots felt slick and uneven, covered in residue from the Leviathan's ruptured flesh. Heat rippled upward from beneath the skull, carrying a pungent wave of decay that clung stubbornly to his senses. His knees shook, balance wavering slightly as the oppressive air threatened to smother him. Squinting through the exposed cavity, he saw only smoke, shifting black against a sky that wasn’t really a sky.
He emerged from the skull, terror, unexpected yet fleeting slammed into him, memories fragmenting sharply, familiar yet utterly alien. He felt small, vulnerable, helpless against something that had been so ancient and hungry. Taking a breath cleared his mind, then his boots found the Leviathan’s cooling hide, cracked and charred from battle. The hide felt brittle beneath his feet, scales fracturing slightly with every step, releasing faint puffs of acrid smoke. Residual warmth seeped through his boots, alternating oddly with cooler areas where Void energy lingered, creating unpredictable sensations of heat and cold that prickled his nerves.
Below, the world moved in shadowed figures, the weak scavenging over the dead. Smoke rolled endlessly across the shattered ruins, carrying distant cries of desperation and brief, violent confrontations. The heat radiating from scattered fires shimmered visibly in the smoky haze, distorting his view and making the movements of the survivors below seem ghostly and indistinct. Natives. Survivors. Fighting each other over scraps.A vague memory stirred, the sensation of another battlefield, another world torn apart by desperation. The details refused to come. They slid away like water through his fingers, leaving only the hollow certainty that he had seen this before.
“Humans.” His voice came low, raw. “I’ll never understand why the System chose you to populate the Multiverse.”
Something caught. A pull, not physical, but something deeper, an invisible hook embedded in his chest. His words faltered.
Caelin froze, gaze dragging downward along the Leviathan’s sinuous neck. The sensation grew sharper, tighter, an unbearable itch clawing at his mind.
A Soul.
But that was impossible.
Draconic Leviathans should not, could not have Souls. Even with his memories fractured, that was one thing he could never forget. The System had not given them one. They were constructs, weapons built on flesh and bone. Not human. Not Originals.
The Silenced Ones had been made from Echoes. Fractured remnants, forged into something else. That was the closest thing that had ever come to breaking the System’s design.
But this…
This thing had been alive.
Something in his mind buckled. His thoughts fractured—half-formed equations trying to snap together, but failing, failing, failing.
Caelin slammed his fist into the Leviathan's empty eye socket. Death’s lessons, at least the ones he still remembered, burned in his mind, twisting against the truth his Soul screamed at him.
Caelin collapsed against the Leviathan’s skull. He couldn’t complete the thought. Couldn’t process it. His mind wouldn’t let him. The rough bone scraped harshly against his armor, grounding him briefly in tactile reality even as his mind fractured. Smoke drifted lazily past, carrying bitter flecks of ash that settled upon his face and shoulders, coating him in a thin layer of grime as he struggled to regain his equilibrium.
The implications.
Who reaps the Fractured Souls of the fallen Silenced Ones?
One name flashed into his disordered mind.
Ansen.
He hadn’t wanted to believe it. The threads that were cut, Ansen becoming stronger,
He was reaping his brothers and sisters.
"No!"
Then, something deeper cut through the noise.
His body moved before his mind caught up.
Not here. The pull was further.
Caelin forced himself down the length of the Leviathan’s body, half-running, half-stumbling over the ragged wounds he had carved into its flesh. He vaulted past the ruined wing joints, boots slipping briefly on scorched, cracked scales before catching his balance.
Then he stopped.
The sensation was strongest here.
Between the wings. The wound that should not exist.
A Soul.
The air here was different, charged with an unnatural tension that crackled faintly at the edge of perception. A cold pressure emanated from the wound, a chilling contrast to the residual heat elsewhere on the Leviathan’s corpse. His fingers trembled slightly, feeling the static-like pull intensifying the closer he stepped.
Caelin’s blade manifested in his grip, black metal shimmering against the Leviathan’s ruined hide. With a single downward thrust, he plunged the weapon into the great beast’s flesh.
A dark mass coiled up the blade.
It didn’t move like energy. It wasn’t light, wasn’t fire, wasn’t the raw ether of a fading existence.
It was solid and shifting all at once.
Caelin’s breath hitched.
He had seen something like this before.
Not in the System. Not in the Void.
Something else.
A pop-up appeared, flickering like it was running out of power.
Draconic Soul – Rare
A swirling dark cloud, light as air yet unnaturally solid to the touch. This Soul carries the essence of a slain Draconic Leviathan, a creature originally designed by the System as a primal dragon and later warped by the Harbinger of the Void into a fusion of eldritch and scientific power. In an unprecedented and heretical act of genesis, the Harbinger of Life replaced its engram with a true Soul, granting it sentience and abilities unseen in the Multiverse.
This Soul, once a prize hunted across countless worlds, is a rarity beyond reckoning. Of the few altered Draconic Leviathans created, nearly all were harvested or destroyed by Adventurers, their Souls shattered to harness their immense potential. To hold one is to possess a fragment of forbidden power, a relic of rebellion against the System’s perfection.
Though the Draconic traits remain—primal strength, elemental fury, and destructive might—the Leviathanic essence dominates, offering eldritch powers such as void energy manipulation, gravitational distortion, and spatial anomalies. The fusion of these traits creates an unparalleled source of potential.
Effects:
When merged with a Soul or Soul Echo, the Draconic Soul grants one of three benefits:
A New Ability: Gain either a Draconic or Leviathanic skill, reflecting the primal or eldritch nature of the Soul.
Enhance an Existing Ability: Imbue a current ability with Draconic or Leviathanic traits, amplifying its effects or altering its function.
Level Boost: Significantly increase an individual’s level (unusable by Silenced Ones).
Cost:
The Draconic Soul’s power exacts a heavy toll. The strain of integrating its essence increases the inherent drawbacks of all abilities, not just those directly altered or gained. Even unrelated abilities will leave the user more vulnerable. The balance of gain and loss is unrelenting, and the more the Soul’s potential is pushed, the greater the long-term risks.
Warning:
To merge with a Draconic Soul is to bear the weight of its history and power. Its volatile nature will shape the user’s destiny, amplifying their potential while tethering them to an unyielding cost. Those who attempt to wield its might must weigh immediate strength against lasting consequences.
Further Draconic Souls will not grant additional new abilities but will instead amplify existing ones. However, the price will be exponential, each new integration compounding the strain on body and mind.
Caelin exhaled. He flexed his fingers around the swirling mass, feeling the impossible weight of it against his palm.
He’d held countless Souls before.
None had ever felt like this.
His stomach twisted. His thoughts coiled tighter. The implications burned in his skull.
Caelin’s breath stalled. His grip on the Soul tightened.
A presence, vast and unknowable, filled the space around him. The atmosphere thickened, heavy with a pressure that made every breath a labor. Silence devoured the burning ruins, even the crackle of distant fires snuffed out beneath the weight of something ancient.
Instinct coiled within him.
Not fear.
Obedience.
An old reflex, beaten into him by Death’s dominion, an ancient compulsion to lower his head, to submit, without thought or question.
He resisted.
His shoulders squared, his fingers curling tighter around the swirling mass of the Draconic Soul.
“Child of Death.”
The voice was silent thunder, rippling through the marrow of existence.
Caelin swallowed hard, forcing himself to stand straighter.
"Harbinger."
"You know me, yet you do not bow."
His chest ached under the weight of it, but his voice remained steady.
"I was forged by Death," he said. "Life is fleeting."
The silence shifted. Stretched. Pulled tight.
A presence, vast and unknowable, weighed against him. Waiting. Expecting. Then-
"You display a distinct lack of respect for your betters."
The pressure sharpened against him.
Submission itched at the edges of his mind, a leash half-forgotten but not fully severed.
He ignored it.
His mouth curled into a humorless smirk.
"So do you."
The world shuddered.
But he didn’t falter.
He turned his gaze upward, scanning the churning black sky as if he could see the Harbinger watching him. His voice stayed flat, almost conversational.
"I wonder…" His tone was idle, almost amused. "If I disable Silenced Nature, what do you think happens first? The System notices me? Or this?"
He lifted the Draconic Soul slightly, watching the pulsing darkness shift between his fingers.
Something in the air twisted. A weight pressed down on him.
A warning.
He ignored it.
"Serrakia burned," he said, voice low and sharp. "It burned in Void Fire. The System saw what should not exist and it didn’t wipe the world clean. It sent a Harbinger against you instead. Every trace was erased. Every life ended. What do you think happens here now that the System is awake?"
Silence.
Then, a slow exhale. The kind that vibrated through the bones of existence.
"You understand nothing."
Caelin tilted his head, gaze sharpening. "I understand plenty."
He felt it, the barest flicker of uncertainty. Life knew the System’s response. Life had seen firsthand what it did to aberrations.
And Life was afraid.
A dangerous realization.
"This is one of the last?" Caelin pressed. "And now it’s dead. One of the final pieces of your experiment, reduced to nothing but blood on my hands." His voice dropped, lethal. "How much more will you lose?"
The pressure around him deepened.
But Life didn’t answer.
Caelin let the moment stretch. Pushed further.
"I die, this world dies. But you?" He exhaled sharply. "You lose everything."
The silence burned, until.
"What do you want?"
Caelin’s smirk widened slightly.
"Time."
Life repeated the word, weighing it.
"I need time to recover what I lost. What I can’t remember. You can give me that."
Something unreadable rippled through the air.
"And if I refuse?"
Caelin exhaled slowly. "Then neither of us survives that."
Caelin expected Life to argue, to at least consider his request.
"Done."
Caelin felt it. The moment something shifted.
An unseen force reached through the Soul in his grip. Not System interference. Not Void corruption. Something else.
Something that changed it.
"It will reinforce what remains of you." Life’s voice was smooth, almost amused. "Fifty percent Soul Stability. A baseline of twenty-five. Consider it a… gift."
Caelin gave no reaction.
A gift?
"But it is not enough for you, is it?"
Caelin exhaled. "That surprises you?"
"Then ask."
He stilled.
Life’s voice was rich with amusement. "You’ve already won. You know that. But now you’re hesitating. Why?"
Caelin narrowed his eyes.
Because this was too easy.
Because he had spent eons being used, shaped, reforged at the whim of something stronger.
Because nothing came without a cost.
Because Life was another Harbinger.
"Say it." Life’s voice dropped, coaxing. "Ask for what you really want."
Caelin’s jaw tightened. He didn’t trust this. Didn’t trust them.
But he knew what he needed.
His grip tightened on the Draconic Soul.
Memories skated the edge of his mind, of Soulsteel bindings forged without consent, of choices taken before they could be made.
He exhaled, slow and deliberate.
"I want power."
"You already have power."
"I want more."
The Harbinger exhaled again, thoughtful. "You fear being weak."
Caelin said nothing.
"What if I told you weakness was never your problem?"
Caelin’s fingers twitched slightly.
"Death never made you weak. Death made you powerful beyond reason. It made you efficient. Relentless. You know this."
The words slithered through him, sinking into the fractures he refused to acknowledge.
"But you were incomplete."
Caelin exhaled slowly, measuring his response.
"You’re saying you can fix that."
"I’m saying I can make you whole."
The words were a lure.
Caelin felt it. Recognized it.
But still.
"What’s the cost?"
Life chuckled, quiet and indulgent. "Nothing I haven’t already taken."
The air around them shifted and Life whispered, it’s voice nearly too quiet to hear, it was a caress beneath the threat.
"All power comes at a price."
Caelin gave no response.
He already knew.
The Draconic Soul changed.
Draconic Soul – Unique
A swirling dark mass, once bound by the conflict of its makers, now touched by something… more. The constraints of its existence have been rewritten, reshaped by an unseen force. Its essence no longer adheres to its original form—it has become something beyond even its intended design. For the one who wields it, the path ahead has changed. The cost remains steep. But so too does the power.
Effects: Soul Stability Restored (Fractured integrity reinforced, preventing further degradation.)
Unique Evolution Option Unlocked.
Detrimental Effects Remain
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Warnings: Further Draconic Souls will not grant additional new abilities but will instead amplify existing ones. However, the price will be exponential, each new integration compounding the strain on body and mind.
System awareness of non-human Souls has increased. Future usage may escalate response severity.
Caelin waved away the pop-up, now solid, the previous flickering no longer present.
Soul Connection Formed
Caelin stared at the flickering HUD notification, ominous in its simplcity.
His fingers twitched slightly over the Soul. He knew better than to believe in gifts.
Life had given him something.
But what had it taken?
The Harbinger’s presence shifted, amusement curling at the edges. "A fair trade, wouldn’t you say?"
Caelin’s grip tightened. "We’ll see."
Silence.
A whisper. Soft. Low. Amused.
"I will be watching, Child of Death."
Caelin exhaled.
He already knew.
Because he could still feel Life, silent, but watchful in the back of his mind.
Caelin exhaled, letting his grip on the Draconic Soul loosen. The modifications had been made. The presence of Life had withdrawn, but it hadn’t left.
He could feel it, lingering at the edge of awareness, watching, waiting.
Permanent.
It wasn’t a shackle, not yet. But the weight of the Harbinger’s influence had settled over him in ways Death never had.
It wouldn’t be like before.
He had survived Death’s dominion. He wouldn’t allow himself to fall into another’s grasp.
For now, Life had given him time. That was enough.
Caelin flexed his fingers, letting the remnants of the Soul’s energy dissipate into his palm. He felt a strange chill beneath his skin, an alien sensation spreading through veins and nerves, sharp yet oddly invigorating. His surroundings came into sharper focus, senses heightened acutely, every scent of burning rubble, every distant sound, and even the subtle fluctuations of temperature now vividly noticeable. The changes had taken hold. His mind felt clearer, his soul steadier. But something deeper had shifted. A sensation hummed beneath his skin, an unfamiliar tether between himself and something other.
He clenched his jaw.
The Draconic Soul pulsed in his palm, awaiting his decision.
It had already reshaped him. The changes were set. But the final step remained, integration.
A pop-up asserted itself, the flickering from before was still gone.
Ability Options
Infernal Sovereignty (Passive - Draconic): Exudes a draconic aura that weakens enemies and fortifies allies, but at a steep cost.
Void’s Grasp (Utility - Leviathanic): Summon a vortex of void energy to slow, disrupt, and pull enemies while boosting movement and ranged resistance. However, it weakens melee defense and healing effectiveness.
Abyssal Inferno (Passive - Fusion): Attacks can trigger fire-void explosions, stunning foes and dealing damage over time, but causing severe stamina and energy drain.
Caelin’s gaze darkened.
The fusion ability would be unpredictable, too volatile. Not now.
The draconic route would amplify presence. Useless. Fear alone wouldn’t win a war.
No.
Control was what he needed. The control of a Leviathan..
His fingers closed on Void’s Grasp, the choice locking into his Soul with a final, irreversible pull.
The Draconic Soul shuddered. The power burned through him, coiling around his very essence, embedding itself into the fractured remains of what he once was.
Ability Gained: Void’s Grasp.
A slow, wicked smile spread across his lips as the new power settled in.
“Identify yourself.” The voice was rough, hardened by the System. “You don’t belong here.”
Caelin tilted his head slightly.
They had no idea what they were looking at.
Good.
Caelin stepped forward. “You’re in my way.”
The leader’s expression remained unreadable. “You’ve been tagged.”
Caelin stilled.
A System prompt flickered at the edge of his vision. Unfamiliar. A designation he hadn’t seen before.
Multiverse Anomaly Detected Target Classification: Silenced One Bounty Issued.
Threat Level: Critical System Priority: Eliminate
Reward: 10 Levels
The System couldn’t do that, so, something had an Ability, something the System could use to tag him. Smart.
He had expected an escalation. The System had never been subtle, he hasn’t expected it to use a human. That wasn’t a mistake he’d make again.
This was different. It wasn’t just marking him for death, it was rallying the entire world against him.
Caelin’s lips curled into a half-smile. He saw desperation in their eyes, people driven to violence by hunger, fear, and the madness of a broken world. The air between them hung thick with tension, charged by desperation that had mingled with the acrid scent of smoke, blood, and burnt flesh. Heat radiated from nearby smoldering wreckage, making the shadows dance erratically across their faces, amplifying their visible exhaustion and fear.
“Good.”
He moved.
The first attacker barely registered as a threat. Caelin shifted his weight, sidestepping a clumsy strike, and snapped his arm outward. The native’s throat collapsed beneath his fingers, a sharp gasp of breath turning into a gurgling choke as he crumpled.
Two more lunged. One carried a serrated blade, the other a rusted firearm.
Caelin’s ethereal weapon materialized mid-motion.
A single swipe.
The blade whispered through the air, carving through flesh and steel alike. The gunman’s arm fell away at the elbow. His scream barely had time to form before Caelin buried his weapon in the other’s sternum and twisted.
A brutal, efficient takedown.
A heartbeat passed.
He pivoted.
Blood misted the air, hot droplets landing on Caelin’s skin, cooling rapidly into sticky, uncomfortable smears. The metallic tang was heavy, mixing with the acrid smoke from fires still burning nearby. Beneath his boots, fresh blood pooled, mixing with soot and ash to form dark, viscous puddles.
The leader was already moving, raising his weapon—a pulse rifle.
Not standard. Not primitive.
The barrel flared with energy.
Caelin dropped low as the pulse shot seared the air where he had stood. The explosion of light cracked against the Leviathan’s corpse, leaving a molten scar on the hide.
No hesitation.
He activated Shadow Step.
The world blurred.
He reappeared behind the leader, breath steady, blade already arcing toward the man’s exposed back.
Spatial distortion
His trajectory wavered, not much, but enough for the strike to miss by an inch. The blade carved into fabric, grazing flesh but not biting deep.
A mistake. A side effect.
For a moment, the world seemed to blur at the edges, a dizzying sensation twisting his vision and causing his equilibrium to falter. His stomach tightened sharply, nausea threatening to overwhelm him as spatial distortion rippled through the air around him.
Caelin grit his teeth, adjusting. The cost of power.
The leader turned fast, faster than a human should have. His rifle was already rising.
Caelin didn’t give him the chance.
He lashed out with his free hand, fingers finding the man’s throat. A single squeeze, just enough pressure.
The leader’s breath hitched.
His body stiffened.
Caelin saw the realization dawn in his eyes, that he wasn’t going to live through this.
Caelin watched as the leader reached into his pocket as his legs started to twitch, tilting his head to the side he looked on as the man, so near death, pulled out a small device and pressed a button.
Caelin dropped the dead man then squatted down, the device was unfamiliar to him, he could feel memories sliding past, unable to slip into place. With a sigh he stood up then looked around at the corpses, their bodies still warm, blood steaming in the cold air.
His HUD flickered.
Absorption Available. Processing… Soul Stability +5%
His fingers curled, both in pain and relief.
It wasn’t enough, but it was a start.
A cold chill crawled up his spine, starkly contrasting the oppressive heat still radiating from burning debris. The world briefly sharpened around him, colors vivid, sounds unnaturally crisp, before settling back into a familiar, muted intensity. Smoke drifted lazily past, stinging his eyes and coating his tongue with bitterness.
Soul Stability - 65%
The Originals Are Coming
A sound split the air.
Not a roar. Not a weapon’s blast.
A horn.
Deep. Resonant. Rolling across the ruins like a shockwave. The sound reverberated through the shattered city, disturbing loose debris and causing weakened structures to groan ominously. In its wake, a sudden silence enveloped the area, broken only by the soft crackle of distant fires, as though the city itself held its breath in anticipation.
Caelin’s eyes narrowed.
He turned toward the city’s broken skyline, where the smog parted just enough to reveal a gathering storm. Figures, dozens, maybe more, all moving with purpose.
Not scavengers. Not weak.
The first Originals had found him.
His smile widened.
“‘Finally.”
A pop-up appeared with more urgency than usual, causing Caelin to split his attention.
Internal Status Update
Draconic Soul Integration Detected. Core abilities have been altered. Instability is increasing. Prolonged use of abilities will escalate detriments.
Observed Detriments: System Interference Resistance Weakening: Prolonged exposure may cause momentary lapses in concealment.
Absorption Instability: Residual Echoes may manifest unpredictably. Overuse risks paralysis or sensory overload.
Spatial Distortion Detected: Movement abilities are misaligning. Consequences unknown. Defensive Instability: Void energy absorption is causing uncontrolled feedback surges.
Combat Strain Accumulating: Stamina drain and mental fragmentation accelerating. Overpowered Skill Usage Warning: High-tier abilities are exacerbating long-term degradation.
Future consequences unknown.
Warning: Detriments will compound. Adaptation required “Spatial Distortion…”
----------------------------------------
They weren’t taking the bait.
The Originals had held position outside the carcass, waiting. Their formation remained tight, their lights sweeping the gaping maw of the Leviathan’s corpse, but they didn’t step in.
They knew better.
Caelin tensed, watching from the shadows, tracking their movements by sound, scent, and instinct.
They weren’t panicking. That was a problem.
If they had been weaker—less experienced—they might have entered blindly, thinking their numbers alone made them untouchable. But these were soldiers.
Disciplined. Efficient. They weren’t going to play into an obvious ambush.
Caelin inhaled slowly.
Make them.
He shifted slightly, fingers brushing against the Leviathan’s bones.
Then, he moved.
A sharp, deliberate impact against the inner wall. A thump. A sound that didn’t belong.
A moment of silence.
Then, a voice.
"Contact. Inside."
Caelin exhaled softly.
They heard it. But they still weren’t moving.
Not enough.
He shifted again, making another sound. A scrape. A drag. Just loud enough to reach their ears, but not so obvious as to be a trap. Something they could rationalize.
They were still hesitating.
Caelin’s patience thinned.
One more push.
He threw something. A piece of fractured bone, slick with Void-taint. It struck the inside of the ribcage, rolling deeper into the corpse with a wet crack.
A noise that didn’t belong.
A sound that suggested something alive.
That did it.
The leader’s voice came, sharp and decisive.
"Stack up. We sweep the interior. I want full coverage. No blind spots."
They moved.
Their cautious footsteps echoed softly within the Leviathan’s carcass, each step punctuated by faint sounds of shifting debris and scraping armor. Caelin felt the air tighten with tension, the heavy scent of burnt flesh and stale blood intensifying as the Originals moved deeper into his domain.
Caelin’s fingers tightened around the hilt of his weapon.
Now they were in his domain.
Now the hunt could begin.
Darkness.
It swallowed everything.
Caelin moved through the ruins of the Leviathan’s corpse, his body a whisper against the abyss. The pools of Void bled across the battlefield, pulsing with eldritch hunger. The light from their weapons barely reached a few feet before being consumed by the nothingness.
The soldiers advanced. Slow. Controlled. Their training evident in the careful, measured steps. But not careful enough.
Caelin adjusted his grip on the Soulblade.
Let the hunt begin.
The air was thick—wrong, charged with something unseen, something ancient.
It was too much like Serrakia.
The Desolation. The world purged by the Void itself.
Caelin had stood on its surface as the end began, watching as the planet was devoured, piece by piece. The sky turned black. The ground trembled. People screamed, running from an apocalypse they couldn’t escape.
He had survived.
But barely.
Death had sent him there, knowing what was coming. Knowing he wouldn’t warn him.
He had stood in the destruction, knowing it was his final moment.
Until it wasn’t.
Caelin exhaled. The Void was a weapon—but it was not his friend.
And now, he would use it to kill.
The memories faded. The hunt sharpened.
His first prey was near.
Caelin moved.
He felt the soldier before he saw him—his breath just slightly too loud, the faintest shift of weight betraying his position.
He was behind the others. The weakest link.
Caelin flowed through the dark.
A hand closed over the man’s mouth.
The soldier jerked. Too late.
The ethereal twin of his Soulblade plunged into his spine.
The man screamed.
It echoed through the corpse, bouncing off ruined bone, filling the air with a single note of raw terror.
The others spun, reacting, aiming their weapons—but there was nothing to see.
Caelin shifted his grip.
The second blade slashed across the man’s throat.
The scream cut off.
Lifeless.
Caelin dragged the body backward—into the Void. The black ichor swallowed it whole.
The others had heard it.
But they hadn’t seen it.
Five remain.
The leader’s voice crackled through the silence.
“Eyes up. Stay close. No one moves alone.”
It was a good order.
It wouldn’t save them.
Caelin shifted, lining up his next prey.
This time, he didn’t need silence.
He wanted them to watch.
The second soldier stepped too close to a pool of shifting black.
Caelin lifted a hand.
Void’s Grasp (Utility - Leviathanic): Summon a vortex of void energy to slow, disrupt, and pull enemies while boosting movement and ranged resistance. However, it weakens melee defense and healing effectiveness.
The expected HUD notification followed on it’s heels but Caelin swiped it away.
Detrimental Soul Detriment: The void energy destabilises your physical form, causing reduced resistance to melee attacks and making healing abilities half as effective for 20 seconds after the vortex ends. Misjudging placement can also pull allies into the vortex
A vortex of twisting Void energy erupted beneath the man’s feet.
He was dragged downward.
Screaming.
Clawing.
Fighting against something that couldn’t be fought.
The others saw. They turned—one reached out—
Too late.
The Void consumed him.
The air temperature plummeted sharply, frost briefly crystallizing on nearby metal and bone surfaces, crackling audibly. A hollow, sucking sound filled the space briefly, a chilling counterpoint to the soldier’s final scream, leaving a profound silence in its wake.
His body clung to the edge, half-merged, eyes wide in horror.
He didn’t die instantly.
He felt it.
The void peeled him apart, layer by layer, nerve by nerve.
His comrades could only watch.
The last thing he saw was Caelin standing in the dark, watching.
And then, he was gone.
Silence.
Their fear turned palpable.
Four remain.
Something in the way they moved triggered another memory.
A world without light.
A fortress of cold, jagged stone.
The Soulspire.
Death’s bastion in the Void.
The final test of a Silenced One was the Hunt.
They had been thrown into the dark. A place where nothing existed but death.
Hunted by each other.
Only those who embraced the dark would survive.
It was there that he had learned Silent Reaping. A phantom chill swept through the Leviathan’s remains, carrying with it a scent of old stone and ancient blood. For a heartbeat, shadows deepened unnaturally, pressing in like tangible memories, before snapping abruptly back into the present.
The scythe.
The power to kill without sound, without warning. Without mercy.
The hunt was not over.
Caelin flexed his fingers.
Time to finish it.
Caelin moved again.
The battlefield had changed. They had changed.
No more tactics. No more discipline.
Just fear.
One of them stumbled too close to the remains of a broken rib—a jagged spike of Leviathan bone, jutted from the carcass.
Caelin moved with him.
One hand on the man’s shoulder. The other—shoving forward.
The soldier collapsed onto the rib.
The bone pierced through his chest.
His body jerked, convulsing—eyes wide.
He was dying.
But not fast enough.
Caelin leaned in.
Let the soldier see him.
Let him understand.
Then, he twisted the blade.
The body slumped.
The void slowly took him.
Three remain.
Caelin let himself fully disappear.
He moved through the dark, letting the soldiers stumble, listening to their whispered panic.
Then-
A whisper of silver.
A pop-up appeared as a spectral scythe manifested in his grip. It’s appearance was unexpected, just as the memory had been, the memory that unlocked another part of his past taking him closer to where he had been before.
Silent Reaping
Silent Reaping (Active - Offensive) Conjure an ethereal Reaper’s Scythe to execute a swift, silent takedown on an unaware target. This strike deals critical damage, bypassing all defenses, and silences the target for a short duration. The effectiveness increases the healthier the target is.
His HUD flashed up a warning, something he expected, the cost to his power.
Draconic Soul Detriment: The ethereal scythe now draws additional power from the user, causing lingering phantom pain after use. Extended use risks causing the scythe to destabilize, dealing uncontrolled splash damage.
Cold fire lanced through his arm, but he didn’t falter. Pain unlike anything he’d experienced on this Earth. Pain like Serrakia.
One of the soldiers never even turned.
The scythe passed through him.
No resistance. No sound.
One moment, alive.
The next, gone.
Two remain.
The last soldier saw it happen.
Saw his friend die in silence.
Saw the scythe.
Saw the hooded shadow standing in the dark.
His gun fell from shaking hands.
His knees hit the ground.
Tears mixed with sweat, with blood, with pure, primal terror.
“Mors… certa…” His voice shook.
Caelin stepped forward.
“Hora… incerta…”
The final words.
His HUD flashed an even more insistent warning. The same message, it wasn’t wrong.
Draconic Soul Detriment: The ethereal scythe now draws additional power from the user, causing lingering phantom pain after use. Extended use risks causing the scythe to destabilize, dealing uncontrolled splash damage.
The scythe fell.
One remained, the leader of this group of Originals. So far they hadn’t offered more than the expected level of weakness.
Caelin exhaled—then his vision blurred.
Pain ripped through his arm.
Cold, lancing agony. More intense than before.
His knees buckled.
He dropped.
One knee struck the cold, void-slicked ground.
His breath came ragged.
His fingers twitched, phantom echoes of the weapon still burning in his grip. Looking down, he watched as the scythe twitched, then phased out of existence, leaving him with another surge of pain that shot from the hand that had held the weapon all the way down his arm to his chest. Cold fire.
The agony rippled outward, muscles spasming violently beneath his skin, fingers briefly losing sensation as nerve endings screamed in protest. Sweat chilled rapidly on his forehead, mingling unpleasantly with ash and soot. His breath shuddered through clenched teeth as he fought to regain control.
A gunshot split the air. Caelin twisted, but not fast enough.
Impact. Pain, intense pain.
His side burned.
He turned, slow, controlled.
The leader stood there, rifle raised, stance solid.
Not afraid. Not broken.
Caelin exhaled.
“You killed a Silenced One. ”
The man’s jaw was set.
“You all die the same.”
Caelin’s smile widened. Finally, a challenge..
“Prove it.”
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Skills Silent Reaping (Active - Offensive)Conjure an ethereal Reaper’s Scythe to execute a swift, silent takedown on an unaware target. This strike deals critical damage, bypassing all defences, and silences the target for a short duration. The effectiveness increases with the target's remaining health. Draconic Soul Detriment: The ethereal scythe now draws additional power from Caelin, causing lingering phantom pain after use. Extended use risks causing the scythe to destabilise, dealing splash damage indiscriminately.
Leviathanic
Void’s Grasp (Utility)
Summon a swirling vortex of void energy at a targeted location. This vortex slows enemies’ movements, disrupts their energy-based abilities, and pulls them toward its centre. While active, Void's Grasp grants you enhanced movement speed and resistance to ranged attacks. The vortex lasts for 10 seconds and has a cooldown of 2 minutes
Detrimental Soul Detriment: The void energy destabilises your physical form, causing reduced resistance to melee attacks and making healing abilities half as effective for 20 seconds after the vortex ends. Misjudging placement can also pull allies into the vortex
