And he waited, gaze locked, letting time pass, no hint of impatience on his face.
Seconds passed.
A full minute passed in absolute silence.
There was no answer. No voice from above. No “march to the red.” No bullshit.
Even now… they didn’t want to open the curtain. Or perhaps… they didn’t know what to do or say. Or maybe he was just… much less significant than he thought.
He knew those above had powers that transcended him. He had watched—very, very closely—as each body he killed was warped, the space around it stitched seamlessly to somewhere far off in the distance. He had watched the framework bend, the seams of space folding like cloth. And he had learned from it. Learned, and developed a lesser version of it for himself.
Each passing minute, he understood space better. What spacetime meant. How it felt. How it behaved. The laws that could be bent and those that could not. The limits, the possibilities… were endless.
And beyond those limits, on that far horizon—he glimpsed it.
The thing that held it all together.
And that lesser version… he had used. Without hesitation, without fear, just in front of the Tyrant’s blade.
And now… the System had recognized it too.
Active Skill Unlocked:
- Warp
??Warp (G) - [Discovered]
Why take a step, when the world can take it for you?
Discovered State – Passive Effects:
? 50% reduction in the mental strain caused by this skill.
? +500 Physis permanently.
? +100 Magia permanently.
Yet, he showed no excitement in his expression—even if he felt a bit of pride inside.
He just kept staring, face plain and cold.
He knew they could do whatever they wanted with him. A new skill, new gear… all of it meant nothing but toys in the face of real power.
But would he just give up? Play at their rhythm?
Let them decide when he runs, when he crawls, when he dies?
Even if it meant death… he wanted to feel it. That spark. That raw, foolish thing inside—defiance.
Childish? Pointless? Maybe.
But it was his.
Another minute passed.
Only then did he let go.
He let the wind carry him back down, pressing gravity harder and harder, accelerating his fall. He reduced the air friction around him, created a vortex, fed it into Air Gear, and pushed faster and faster.
He trailed through the winds, his body blurring through the sky toward the sea of lava below. The other side of the bridge lay ahead. He could ignore it all.
He could say: Fuck them and skip the fight.
Yet…
He gripped his spear tighter as his form pushed faster than it had ever moved before. His hair and coat trailed behind, the wind now so violent it was harder to mitigate.
Still, he kept pushing—gravity wound tighter around him, speed rising.
…he will play.
But not for them.
For himself.
Fate? Destiny? He had never cared about things like that. It had always been about what needed to be done to survive another day.
Hunt. Find water. Sleep. Hide.
He had done it, time and time again.
Even then… when all had died… when the ice took over the abandoned camp… he stood alone.
Day after day in solitude.
And now?
Now he had lived. For whatever reason, he was alive.
Alive inside a twisted game where he had become the main attraction.
He chuckled as the wind screamed past him.
He laughed at it all.
Do your worst, then. Try. Give it your best shot.
Break me.
Break me… if you can.
At the tip of his spear, air began to compress—forming a whirlpool that absorbed wind from the sky as he fell.
It tightened, pressure mounting, until space itself bent inward. He compressed the focal point to the smallest size possible.
Hope’s body blurred downward, a streak of force falling from the sky.
The Tyrant moved.
It was doing something. Oh… fire… a skill?
Yes. Eve had mentioned something like that.
Hope watched as what looked like a ball of fire formed above it. Was that it? Gonna send that to me?
Hope smiled.
Cute.
As he reached less than a dozen meters from it—his body moving so fast it was barely visible—the fireball was released.
He ignored it entirely as he warped the space around him.
And for an instant, a fraction of breath, even less… he appeared just where the armor made a gap in the Tyrant’s neck. And in that instant, under that speed, his spear pierced.
Without waiting for the recoil, Hope let go of the weapon and warped space again—his form shifting just a meter away. He sharply lightened gravity and used the accumulated pressure from Air Gear to cushion the descent, his body bending as he arced inches from the ground, his coat barely grazing the stone as he flew horizontal to it, slowing only near the start of the bridge.
He rotated midair and landed with a soft thud, back to the creature, staring at Eve as he smiled.
Behind him, his spear had thrust deep—Point Implosion activating inside the Tyrant as its body bulged from within, meat shattered, and blood sprayed through the gaps in its armor like a shattered furnace.
Its eyes went red. Blood poured from its mouth, its neck, everywhere—half its inner organs destroyed from that single outburst.
It stumbled once. Twice. Then fell, a heavy thud on the bridge rattling the stone. The spear still locked in the gap as the light slowly faded from its eyes.
Hope calmly walked back, watching as the corpse vanished once again—warped away without a trace.
In its place, nothing but his spear remained.
No presents this time?
He mused to himself as he picked up the bloodied shaft of his spear, like nothing of consequence had happened.
Just another one.
He observed the prompts that appeared from the System.
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Level 81?83
Feat Achieved:
- Alpha Slayer
?? Alpha Slayer (G)
You brought down an Alpha-ranked threat without assistance.
? +100 Physis permanently.
? +20 Magia permanently.
He gave it a quick glance, and then stared up at the sky again.
Nothing.
His gaze lowered, several emotions flickering behind his eyes, letting the moment settle.
That was it then.
He walked toward Eve, who floated down, backpack in hand.
Her expression was heavy.
Disbelief. Surprise. Astonishment.
Her eyes didn’t blink. Her mouth was slightly open. Her hands had gone stiff, frozen mid-motion.
After landing, she didn’t speak. Didn’t move.
Just stared, as if seeing something that shouldn’t be—as if she wasn’t sure whether it was real or not.
Hope didn’t know the standards himself, but a simple comparison—his Air Magika had taken over two weeks to reach level 10. Spacetime had taken less than a day.
It would be obvious to everyone. Eve. The fuckers in the sky. Anyone else watching.
He wasn’t just a Supreme Genius.
Yet, he gave a literal fuck about it.
He took the pack from her shoulders.
“Let’s go.”
Eve said nothing.
She lingered there, eyes on the ground, lost in thought. A tangle of emotions flickering across her face, left unspoken.
It was only after several seconds that she started walking—quietly falling into step behind him.
The two silently traversed the natural bridge, as lava bubbled on both sides, the steam and stench of sulfur thick in the air.
Along the way, Hope passed the large pool of blood left by the fallen Tyrant, yet his steps didn’t flinch as he walked through it, the blood coating the soles of his boots as he kept going.
He didn’t rush.
Rather… he took it slow.
Gaze ahead, pace calm, as he observed the strange beauty of the divide.
Minutes passed as they made their way to the other side, where the land extended once more.
The terrain shifted. It seemed… greener now. No trees, just grass—thick, soft, and wild—sprawling over gentle hills but mostly flattening into wide, empty plains as far as he could see.
The change was so abrupt, so surreal, it gave the whole thing a dreamlike feel.
Like stepping from one world into another without warning.
Hope stared at it for a moment longer, then resumed walking, the grass brushing lightly against his boots.
A breeze met him head-on, cool and clean, a sharp contrast to the sulfur and heat behind.
Yet shortly after, in the endless stretch of plains, he saw her.
Standing alone in the middle of the open, untouched grass swaying around her feet, her dress catching the soft breeze—light fabric dancing, rising gently, then settling again.
A single figure against a canvas of green and blue.
She stood still, yet there was something alive in the way she held herself, calm yet aware. Her long, dark hair flowed like strands of silk down her back, catching the wind and light with every shift.
Her skin, just a shade deeper than his own, was smooth, unblemished. Her eyes—amber, vibrant, focused—locked onto his the moment he approached.
And her smile.
It was small. Gentle. Not seductive, not coy. Just… soft. Inviting, but distant.
It was, without question, the most beautiful face Hope had ever seen.
And yet.
He felt nothing.
No awe. No skip in his heartbeat. No pull.
Only the cold awareness in his chest that something was about to begin.
Was this another test? Another Hector? A pretty puppet sent by the fuckers in the sky to tug at his strings?
Was she their next bullshit move?
He stared back, flat and still, spear in hand.
Yet, for all there was… one thing pressed on him.
Why didn’t she have a prompt?
According to Eve, unless someone was protected by a higher existence, a special artefact, a spirit, or whatever other crazy thing he barely remembered… there was only one other case:
She wasn’t Tier 1.
Entities of lower tier couldn’t see the name and level of those above them—barring a few exceptions.
Hope smiled.
Couldn’t find anything on Tier 1? Were they that out of options? Pathetic.
“Hope,” she said again, the syllable wrapped in wind and silk, “a name that clings to bloodied earth, yet dreams among the stars.”
She stepped forward, slowly, as if each movement were drawn from a page—measured, meant, and weightless.
“Was it given to you in kindness? Or cursed upon your crib?”
She smiled, faintly, like she already knew the answer.
“No matter. You wear it like a blade at the hip. Sharpened with sorrow. Tempered with rage.”
The grass bent beneath her feet but did not break.
“I come not to judge, nor to wear a crown,
No chain to raise, no hand to drown.
A whisper sent from thread and line,
To speak what waits by fate’s design.
From mud and rust, from blood and smoke,
No gilded name, no god’s soft cloak—
And still…”
Her amber gaze caught fire in the light.
“…you chose to walk, and dared what’s right.”
Hope watched in silence. His grip on the spear remained steady. His eyes, dull. Suspicious. Cold.
But she kept speaking.
“You, who shattered the sky in silence.
You, who pulled light from cracks in ruin.
You, who slaughtered beasts meant for armies,
With no banner, no trumpet, no faith.”
Her voice gained rhythm, soft as it was.
“They spoke of you in hushed, trembling tones—
The boy with no name, who carried one still.
The child with no path, who carved it in flame.
The ghost with no future, who claimed it by will.”
Her hand rose slightly, palm up, as if presenting something unseen.
“They watched you fall,
And rise again,
And fall once more,
And break—and still walk.”
A soft pause, then:
“To slay an Alpha, ranked so high,
Alone, unloved, unseen, unheard—
They watched him kill, then watched him sigh,
And found no name to match that word.”
The wind moved again, brushing her long hair across her shoulder.
“Spacetime curled where your feet chose to tread,
Fields unfolded, the fabric bled.
No book, no rite, no master's mark—
You found the path through pain and spark.
You moved through rifts the wise can't chart,
By breath alone, by fractured heart.
A step, a slip—then space would snap,
And from the break, you pulled out Warp.”
She smiled again—wistful, almost tender.
“I’ve seen thousands born with light in their bones,
Raised in palaces built on the bones of the poor.
But none of them stepped where you have stepped.
None of them burned like you burn.”
Another step closer. She stood less than ten paces now.
“He said he was a Supreme Genius.
He lied.
Even that fell short of flame—
No name could cage what he became.
No measure could bind what he would break,
No law could hold the path he'd take.
Born of nothing, carved by strife,
Not kissed by fate, but cut by life.
Not favoured by stars, nor heaven’s cry,
But forged where ashes learn to fly.
Where others reached, he ripped straight through,
Where dreamers stopped, he made dreams true.
Where time rebelled, he held command—
And bent its thread with open hand.
The threads obeyed. The rift made way.
The void itself began to sway.
The peak of all that skill could form—
A Magus… has been born.”
Hope finally spoke, voice quiet, firm.
“You talk too much.”
She let out a soft breath—half-laugh, half-sigh. Not offended. Not surprised.
“I was told you might say that.”
Another pause.
“But say what you will… this is truly your stage.
Even stars have begun to realign in their cage.”
She stepped to the side, slowly, letting the full plain stretch behind her once more.
“They want to see what you’ll do.
Not just them above… but those below.
The damned, the chained, the ones left out.”
She locked eyes with him.
“They whisper your name now,
Not as a plea,
But as a promise.”
He didn’t move.
She lowered her head slightly, her voice softening.
“You are the edge of all that nears,
A blade long lost through blood and years.
Held by the hand the stars revoke,
Now aimed where heaven’s breath may choke…
You are—Hope.”
Hope stared at her, empty.
“Finished with your bullshit?”