BORN OF DOOM

Chapter 7: DETERMINATION

Behind the veil of closed doors, Vondrel's facade crumbled, revealing a shattered soul. He slumped against the wall, his eyes vacant, his face ashen. The maniacal laughter that had echoed through the Evercoast awakening association's halls now reduced to mere whispers of despair.

His body trembled, as if the weight of his failure threatened to consume him whole. He buried his face in his hands, his fingers digging deep into his scalp, as if trying to erase the memories of his inadequacy.

Tears, once held back by pride, now streamed down his face, a river of sorrow and regret. His eyes, once bright with hope, now dimmed, like embers extinguished by the harsh winds of reality.

He whispered to himself, "What's wrong with me??"

The words echoed through the silence, a haunting reminder of his inadequacy. In this moment, Vondrel was lost, a stranger to himself, a shadow of the confident awakened he once aspired to be.

As the tears continued to fall, Vondrel's body shook with convulsive sobs, his mind racing with self-doubt and recrimination. He felt like a failure, a pretender who had fooled himself into believing he had what it took to be a true awakened. The closed doors seemed to mock him, a constant reminder that he was now an outcast, a reject from the very world he had once hoped to join.

He slid down the wall, his legs unable to support him, and sat amidst the wreckage of his shattered dreams. His eyes wandered to a corner of his room, forming the imagery of the crystal that had refused to awaken to his touch. He felt a wave of anger wash over him, and with a snarl, he ran across the room and swung his feet through the air against the imagery of the dormant crystal, sending it crashing to the side of the wall.

The sound of the shattering imaginary crystal seemed to echo through his very being, a stark reminder of his inadequacy. Vondrel buried his face in his hands once more, his body wracked with sobs, as the darkness closed in around him.

In this abyss of despair, he saw the faces of his peers, their eyes filled with pity and contempt, their whispers of "failure" and "weakling" echoing through his mind. He saw his mother's tears, her disappointment and sorrow, and felt the weight of his failure bearing down upon him like a physical force.

As the hours passed, Vondrel's sobs slowly subsided, replaced by a numb, hollow feeling, a sense of detachment from the world around him. He rose to his feet, his movements mechanical, and began to pace back and forth across the room, his mind trapped in a cycle of self-recrimination and doubt.

In this darkest of moments, Vondrel wondered if he would ever find the strength to face the world again, or if he would remain forever lost, a shadow of the man he once aspired to be. The closed doors seemed to loom over him, a constant reminder of his exile, a barrier between him and the world he once knew.

'Damn this is too much for me '

As the night wore on, Vondrel's pacing slowed, his mind exhausted from the relentless barrage of self-doubt. He collapsed onto his bed, his body spent, his eyes dry from the tears he had shed. The silence of the room was oppressive, punctuated only by the occasional creak of the old wooden floorboards.

In the darkness, Bright's thoughts turned to his mother, her face etched with worry and disappointment. He knew she had always believed in him, always thought he had the potential to be a great awakened. But now, he wondered if she too would turn away from him, ashamed of his failure.

The thought sent a fresh wave of despair washing over him, and Vondrel rolled onto his side, his body curling into a fetal position. He felt like a child again, lost and alone, unable to find his place in the world.

As the hours ticked by, the silence began to recede, replaced by the sound of his own ragged breathing. Vondrel's mind began to wander, his thoughts drifting to the imaginary crystal, still shattered on the floor. He wondered if he would ever be able to pick up the pieces, to rebuild his shattered dreams.

The first light of dawn crept into the room, casting a pale glow over the wreckage of Vondrel's life. He stirred, his body stiff from the night spent on the bed. Slowly, he sat up, his eyes scanning the room, taking in the destruction he had wrought.

The crystal, once a symbol of hope, now lay in shards on the floor, a reminder of his failure. Vondrel's gaze fell upon it, and he felt a pang of sorrow, a sense of loss. He knew he had to find a way to move forward, to pick up the pieces and rebuild.

With a heavy heart, Vondrel swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet dangling in the air. He took a deep breath, the cool morning air filling his lungs, and began to stand, his body trembling with the effort. The road ahead would be long and difficult, but he knew he had to take the first step.

'Sigh'

As Vondrel stood up, his eyes fixed on the shattered crystal, a spark of determination ignited within him. He knew he couldn't change the past, but he could shape the future. With a newfound sense of purpose, he began to pick up the pieces of the broken imaginary crystal, his hands moving with a sense of reverence.

As he gathered the shards, Vondrel felt a sense of resolve hardening within him. He would not let his failure define him. Instead, he would use it as fuel to drive him forward. He would train harder, push himself to the limits of his endurance, and beyond.

Coming to his senses, he stared at his empty hands for a long time, he then turned his attention to his training. Walking out to meet the new day, he threw himself into his routine with a ferocity that bordered on obsession. His days blended together in a blur of sweat, toil, and exhaustion.

He practiced his spells until his hands trembled with fatigue, his mind reeling from the sheer effort. He ran until his lungs burned, his legs aching with a fire that seemed to consume him whole.

Vondrel's determination became all-consuming, driving him to push himself to the very edge of his limits. He barely slept, barely ate, his focus solely on his training.

His mother watched with a mixture of concern and awe as her son transformed before her eyes. She saw the fire in his belly, the unyielding resolve that seemed to burn brighter with each passing day, she tried to stop him but was stopped by Mark who seems to understand the kid.

As the weeks turned into months, Vondrel's hard work began to bear fruit. His skills grew stronger, his control more precise. His physical endurance increased, his body honed to a fine edge.

But with each step forward, Vondrel knew he was taking a risk. He was training dangerously harder than before, pushing himself to the limits of human endurance. One misstep, one miscalculation, could spell disaster.

Yet, he couldn't stop. He was driven by a fierce determination, a refusal to accept defeat. Vondrel knew that if he wanted to succeed, he had to be willing to risk everything.

And so, he continued to train, his body screaming in protest, his mind burning with an unyielding resolve. He was no longer just training to become an awaken; he was training to prove to himself that he was more than just a failure.

'ahh, so tiring '

Vondrel's training regime expanded to include the mastery of different weapons and techniques. He spent hours each day honing his skills with the sword, his movements swift and deadly. He practiced with the staff, his blows precise and powerful. He even trained with his bare hands, his fists flying in a blur of motion.

He sought out skilled warriors in the little cohort of his father, begging them to teach him their secrets. He trained with the bow, his arrows flying straight and true. He learned the art of stealth, moving unseen and unheard.

Vondrel's days blended together in a blur of sweat, toil, and exhaustion. He barely slept, barely ate, his every waking moment devoted to his training.

His body began to change, his muscles growing stronger, his reflexes faster. He became a whirlwind of motion, his weapons an extension of his body.

But Vondrel didn't stop there. He sought out the wisdom of ancient books his father was able to get with the little wealth he acquires from both his income as an adventurer, delving deep into the mysteries of battle techniques and combat. He studied the arcane, his mind expanding with the secrets of the universe.

He learned to harness the essence of the world, he was able to unlock and control a rare form of life energy called the ATP which is the final form of the Qi formation, to wield it with precision and power. He combined the slow mastery of ATP with his mastery of weapons, becoming a formidable opponent.

Note: Qi is not an energy that can be harnessed by all awakened, very few people can harness it and few can control it, it's the powerful who are able to use it with their awakened ability.

Mark seeing his son harness a different form of energy contrary, more vast and eerily similar to the Qi he tried teaching him was dumbstruck. After witnessing the power of the energy compared to Qi, he decided to keep it a secret and informed his son to minimize the use of it publicly.

And yet, despite his growing mastery, Vondrel knew he was far from perfect. He continued to train, to push himself to the limits of human endurance. He knew that complacency was the path to defeat, and he refused to rest on his laurels.

His father and his cohort of awakened adventurer were astoned when they witnessed him defeating a peak level ranker beast with minimal scratch. That was him limiting the use of ATP in the presence of his father's cohort.

Thinking that everything was going to revolve around his adventure with his father and his cohort and also his settlement, unknowingly to him, his father had other plans for him.