On a street in Lagos, a young man at the age of 18 was walking mindlessly with a lifeless look in his eyes, he held a bottle of strong alcohol, taking constant gulps without mindling the irritated glances directed towards him. Been born an orphan with no one to call family, that was just a scratch to his thoughts, the worst part is been born in a country where education is everything and he couldn't afford it...he has been living on the street since he was eight and has done many odd job and terrible things to survive.As if life still felt he haven't had enough.....he was dragged in a mob group where stealing and killing are the order of the day, the rich use them for their dirty jobs and dumb them when they are done...with the statement "it's strictly business nothing personal ".From a timid 8 years boy, pushing through hardship, loneliness, pain, suffering, hunger, sorrow. Having to either steal from neighbors....ahh, he doesn't even have one. Having to go steal from people walkin
As Noah pressed on, the oppressive heat of the volcanic terrain began to shift. The air grew cooler, and a sharp, cutting wind howled through the landscape. The ground beneath him was now a mix of hardened lava and jagged stone, and his fire magic felt sluggish, the gusts sapping the energy from his flames. "Perfect," Noah muttered, wrapping his arms around himself against the biting wind. He pressed forward cautiously, his eyes scanning for any sign of danger. It wasn’t long before the sky above darkened, and the shrill cries of creatures pierced the air. Four massive sparrows, each the size of a small house, descended from the turbulent sky. Their feathers shimmered like polished obsidian, and their beaks glowed faintly with fiery embers. The sparrows circled him like vultures, their keen eyes locking onto him as they dove in turns. Noah barely managed to dodge the first strike, the force of the bird's claws gouging deep trenches into the ground. He retaliated with a blast o
The Shifting Inferno Noah’s boots crunched against the rocky terrain as he stepped into the ominous expanse of The Shifting Inferno. The air was heavy with ash and heat, the sky an eerie crimson streaked with black clouds. The ground beneath him radiated warmth, a forewarning of the volatile nature of the terrain. A faint rumble echoed through the ground, a precursor of what lay ahead. "This place feels alive," Noah muttered under his breath, his voice laced with unease. Despite his nerves, his determination remained steadfast. He clenched his fists, the faint warmth of his own fire sparking in his palms. The landscape before him was ever-changing. Magma Rivers snaked unpredictably across the ground, forming natural obstacles. Occasionally, the land would tremble violently, splitting apart to reveal glowing fissures that belched smoke and flames. Noah quickly realized that standing still was not an option. As he moved forward, he began to map the patterns in the shifting terra
In a dimly lit room, four figures stood at attention, their postures tense and their gazes fixed on the dominatingly beautiful woman seated before them. She radiated an aura of authority, her piercing eyes scanning each of them in turn. Her voice, calm yet commanding, broke the silence. “I have a mission for the four of you,” she began, her words deliberate. She paused, her gaze flickering across their uncertain faces. “You will receive no heads-up about the mission. No details. Just know this: the outcome is entirely up to you.” The group exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared speak. “Abbie,” a deep voice interrupted. The speaker was Stelio, with his mechanical arm that gleamed in the dim light. He stood beside her, his expression stern. “Don’t you think you should at least brief them? Give them some kind of hint?” Abbie turned her head slightly, one elegant eyebrow arched. “Anything, Stelio?” “I’m just saying,” he replied evenly, “sending them in blind feels reckless. At
Miss Abbie leaned back in her chair, her sharp gaze fixed on the four young men standing before her. Their account of their mission had been detailed, recounting their encounter with a raccoon-type beast at the Hyper tier and a snail beast at the Sidon tier. The crystals harvested from the creatures now lay on the table, their faint glow casting eerie reflections on the walls of the dimly lit room. “So,” she began, her voice calm but with an edge of coldness, “you claim to have successfully taken down a Sidon-tier beast.” “Yes, ma’am,” one of the young men replied, his voice steady, though a flicker of unease crossed his face. Miss Abbie’s lips pressed into a thin line. Her gaze swept over them, sharp enough to cut through steel. “Impressive. I hope you understand what such accomplishments mean—and what they demand from you moving forward.” Stelio, sitting nearby with his arms crossed, offered a wide grin. “They’ve grown a lot, Abbie. Look at them—young, capable, and now stron
The beautiful woman gazed at Vondrel with an enigmatic smile, her delicate hand extended toward him. "Let me have your blades," she said, her voice calm but carrying an undertone of authority. Vondrel hesitated but eventually complied with the woman's request. These twin blades were his most trusted companions, their power familiar yet mysterious. He couldn’t help but feel wary, but the lack of hostility in her aura made him reconsider. Finally, he nodded, summoning the Kyokai into his hands. The moment they appeared, the air grew heavy with their presence, the sharp hum of latent energy filling the space, the blades shimmered faintly, their edges pulsating with an enigmatic light.. He handed the blades over, watching as she grasped them with an almost reverent touch. “These are extraordinary,” she murmured, her delicate fingers brushing the hilts of the twin swords. Her touch seemed to awaken something within the weapons, as subtle ripples of energy coursed along their length. Ho
After narrating the origins of the Gohu race to Vondrel, the woman clasped her slender hands together, her bright smile radiating warmth and confidence. “Now that you know a part of our history, it’s time to make you the perfect ruler of the entire race,” she declared. “I still don’t understand,” Vondrel muttered, his tone a mix of hesitation and doubt. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze gentle yet questioning. “What is it that you don’t understand?” she asked. Vondrel sighed and continued. “If I were to piece this together, it’s clear there are others more suitable than me. Surely, you have candidates within your race who would be better choices.” He turned to face her fully, his tone firmer. “Besides, I’m not even one of you. I come from another race entirely.” Her smile softened, though her gaze remained unwavering. “You’re not wrong. There have been other candidates, and perhaps there are still others more suitable out there,” she admitted. Then, stepping closer to him, he
“Drink,” she offered, raising her own cup. Vondrel hesitated, watching as she took a long, deliberate sip. Then, cautiously, he brought the cup to his lips. The moment the liquid touched his tongue, his senses lit up. The initial taste was a harmonious blend of sweet and tangy, reminiscent of the juiciest summer fruit. A warmth followed, spreading through his body like liquid sunlight, soothing his battered muscles and clearing his mind. Beneath the sweetness was a subtle, smoky complexity, paired with a cooling herbal finish that lingered on his palate. It wasn’t just a drink; it was an experience. “What is this?” he asked, his voice almost reverent. “A gift of the ancients,” she replied, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “An elixir crafted from celestial fruits and the purest springs of the earth. It revitalizes the body and mind, a rare treasure.” Vondrel took another sip, savoring the taste. For a moment, he forgot his fatigue, lost in the drink’s unparalleled flavor. “This i
As Vondrel was whisked away from the suffocating darkness, a refreshing sensation coursed through his body, leaving him standing in an ancient throne room that seemed untouched by time. The space exuded a sense of grandeur and authority, the kind that demanded reverence from anyone who dared enter. Intricate patterns and carvings adorned the walls, depicting swirling wyverns and fierce battles from eras long past. The air itself felt heavy with power, carrying a faint, almost melodic hum that resonated through the chamber. The centerpiece of the room was an imposing throne set upon a raised dais, commanding attention as if it were the heart of the realm. The throne was carved from a shimmering obsidian-like stone, its surface interwoven with veins of glowing blue that pulsed faintly, reminiscent of a heartbeat. Its design was both elegant and brutal, with sharp edges and fluid curves blending seamlessly. Behind the throne loomed a towering wyvern carved from the same stone, its wings
Lucin’s unconscious body was encased in a floating, translucent sphere, suspended in stasis. Meanwhile, Vondrel found himself plunged into an endlessly warping dark void. The shifting space felt strangely familiar, triggering an unsettling sense of déjà vu. “Just show yourself already,” Vondrel growled, his voice heavy with irritation. “I don’t have time for this.” He waited, standing in the disorienting expanse, his patience wearing thin. Despite his heightened senses, there was no response—no movement, no energy signature, just the ceaseless warping of space. Vondrel clenched his fists, frustration bubbling within him. Is this some kind of endurance test? he wondered, his thoughts brimming with exasperation. Why does this feel exactly like the chaos I experienced during my transmigration? Can't they give me a break? Glancing down at his bruised, battered body, Vondrel grimaced. His usually rapid healing had slowed, his strength visibly waning. He heaved a weary sigh, realizi