His mind raced, but no matter what thought tried to form, it failed to take root. Not because he didn’t understand what he was seeing—but because he did. And because he did, what stood before his eyes was simply… impossible.
It simply couldn’t be.
And yet… there he was.
Air Magika spiraled around Hope’s legs, a faint current holding him aloft, boots no longer touching the sand below.
Hope hovered, suspended in the silence. He stared at his hands—still stained with blood—and yet… the pain, the exhaustion, even the weight pressing down on him… all had lessened.
He actually felt pretty good.
He felt… free.
A slow smile crept across his face as he looked up and willed his body to rise.
And it did.
Strain pulsed at the edges of his mind, but he didn’t care. He flew higher, the desert falling away beneath him.
This feeling…
But then—his grip shifted.
His fingers still held the dagger.
And the memory returned.
Hope stopped.
Mid-air, his expression hardened. The smile vanished. His eyes dropped to the ground below.
Whatever this is, I’ll figure it out later.
Now—
He flew back down.
Air Magika tightened like a second skin around his legs, flowing with purpose. He descended smoothly, landing with a whisper of sand.
His feet touched the ground beside his bloodied spear, the Air Magika around him dissipating.
He crouched and picked it up.
He slowly rose, locking eyes… with him.
Hector looked like he was seeing a ghost, but Hope cared little for it.
He gripped his spear tight and felt it all—too raw, too real. For some reason… he was stronger now.
No, the reason was there… a bunch of new prompts had appeared at the edge of his screen. New upgrades and stuff, probably. He’d check it later. But whatever he had gained… had made him much, much stronger.
Hope threw the dagger high into the air above as he held the spear with both hands—and then, he focused.
He focused on that feeling, that sensation, exactly as it was. He let his instincts take hold. He no longer controlled the Air Magika—he treated it like… like wings.
He let his heartbeat fall into rhythm, slowly merging with the beat of the giant bird’s wings soaring in the sky above.
Whsssh.
His breath. His pulse. He synced it all, one after the next, as the Air Magika began to gather—and then—
Whsssh.
He rose, boots lifting from the ground, grains of sand falling like dust from the soles below.
He felt it. That feeling.
If not for the men before him, if not for all of this shit… he might’ve smiled again.
And yet—
Hope’s body blurred as a gust of wind exploded from where he stood, slamming into Hector’s frozen frame.
The wind tossed the Yvernis’ hair before settling, just as—
“AHHH!” Hector screamed as blood spilled from a hole in his right shoulder, his axe clattering to the sand.
Hope stood behind him, still gently floating inches above the ground, blood dripping from the tip of his spear, face cold and expressionless.
And then—he vanished again.
A second blur cracked through the air as he surged forward, Magika pushing his body to insane speeds. The moment passed in a blink—and with it, the spear drove clean through Hector’s other shoulder.
Another scream tore from Hector’s throat, jagged and raw.
But Hope wasn’t done.
Mid-air, he twisted, redirecting his momentum in a wide arc. The Air Magika gathered tight around his legs like a coiled spring. He spun and then slammed his boot into Hector’s back.
The vest crunched. Bone gave way with a dull crack.
Hope landed and vanished again.
He reappeared behind Hector in a flash and drove the butt of the spear into his ribs, knocking the air from the Yvernis’ lungs. Then he moved again—another blur, another gust.
A strike to the stomach. One to the chest. Then up—a savage blow to the jaw that snapped Hector’s head sideways.
And again. And again.
Flesh split. Nose crushed. Teeth broke and scattered across the sand.
Hope’s expression never changed. His face remained still, a hollow shell driven by the storm within.
By the time he stopped, Hector was kneeling in the sand, swaying like a drunk, face unrecognisable beneath layers of blood and swelling. His eyes blinked wide, dazed and confused, flickering with the first hints of fear.
Hope stood before him, chest heaving, his body drenched in blood—his and Hector’s both. His mind screamed from the strain of holding the current state, of moving that fast, that hard, that long. His vision throbbed, sweat burned into his wounds, and every part of him begged to collapse.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he reached out.
The air shimmered.
The dagger he had tossed earlier, trembled mid-air… then shot toward him. The handle landed clean in his hand.
He closed his fingers around it.
Then, slowly, he walked forward, finally deactivating the special state.
He grabbed Hector by the hair—ripping the blood-matted strands upward with no care—and yanked him to his feet.
Hector groaned weakly, barely able to lift his head, breath hissing through cracked lips.
Hope didn’t speak.
He turned him around and forced him back, step by step, dragging him like a puppet through the sand until the bloodied face pointed skyward—toward the open sky above.
Hope lifted his eyes and stared at the sky too.
He opened his mouth slowly.
“I hate you.”
And then, he slid the dagger across Hector’s throat.
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Blood spilled in an arc, lit by the ever-present light, before mixing with the sand below. Hector’s body followed after with a soft thud.
Hope stood still, dropping the dagger beside the corpse.
He waited… and yet nothing happened.
They didn’t take him away? No more torture images, either?
Moments later, he felt something shift. A coin and a strange ring dropped onto Hector’s bloodied back.
Before Hope could analyze it, the coin sprang toward him, merging with the one in his bag. The number shifted once more.
‘495’
Hope stared at the coin for a long moment.
So that’s it?
He looked up. More than a thousand Crawlers died, several were tortured. A Citizen was dead.
And yet… the show continues?
He chuckled at the absurdity of it all.
He packed the coin and crouched to pick up the black ring.
Gentle Breeze
Rank 1 Accessory (Grade: D)
Requirements: Air Handling (Level 5), Magia 240
Effect: +30 Magia, +2 Air Handling
He put it on without much thought, feeling the strain in his mind ease just a little. The world turned a bit sharper and clearer.
So this is it?
This the prize for the little dancing champion? The fuckin’ reward to the rat that lived?
He didn’t die like they wanted him to, but he’d made a damn good show of it, huh?
Was that it?
Hope let out a slow, hollow laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.
He stood tall, spine straight, face crusted in blood and spit and sweat, arms burning, ribs screaming, shoulder stinging like a bitch where Hector’s axe had nicked him.
His breath came rough, chopped up by the ache in his chest.
His vision blurred for a second, just long enough to remind him the headache was still there—pressing and clawing at him.
And yet, somehow, he stood.
He tilted his head back and stared at the pale sky.
Silent.
Still.
The kind of silence that stretched for too damn long. The kind that made your thoughts get loud.
He thought of the bastards above. Those freaks with their twisted trials. Their sick fuck version of justice. Testing like this was just some grand game. Torturing Crawlers for the sake of entertainment alone.
He remembered the faces—every single one of those kids. Their screams. Their eyes begging for it to stop. Burned into his head like scars he’d never get rid of.
His teeth clenched tight. He wanted to spit on the sky. To grab that faceless fuck running the show and shove this spear through their throat and twist till it cracked…
But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
He was still just one more rat in their maze, no matter how high he flew.
His hands curled into fists, sticky with blood. His arms trembled from the weight of everything.
He’d remember this.
Every word. Every face. Every moment.
He’d remember it all.
And one day… he’d shove it back.
His breath hitched again.
The desert heat pressed against his skin like a slow roast, and the wind carried the stench of metal and ash and dried blood. It tugged at his skin. Whispered through the still air around the corpse at his feet.
He didn’t blink. He just stood there—dripping, burning, cold all at once.
Seconds passed before he slowly snapped his head to the side.
Eve was there. Quiet, as if waiting for him to have his moment in silence.
There was a mess of emotions on her face—guilt, worry, something else. Hard to read.
Hope forced a smile.
“Sorry ’bout that,” he muttered.
“Sorry?” she shook her head. “No, please. I… I’m the one who’s sorry, Hope. All this… it’s because of—”
But his hand rose and gently pressed against her mouth, stopping her in place.
“All this shit, Eve… it’s ‘cause of those bastards up there in the sky. They’d have found a way to screw us Crawlers whether you were here or not. This whole show’s just… some twisted excuse for entertainment or somethin’. That Hector guy? Just a disposable jester to keep the crowd laughin’.”
He exhaled, dropping his hand.
“So don’t go breakin’ yourself over it.”
Eve stood frozen, mouth half open, unsure what to say.
Hope stared over her shoulder and noticed a big red beam rising far in the horizon. Was that the next target?
Were there even any Crawlers left out there? Or were Citizens his opponents now?
“Hope, that… when did you… when did you learn an Active Skill?”
Her voice brought him back.
“Huh? Active Skill? What’s that—oh, the Air Magika state?”
Eve nodded.
“I got no damn clue,” Hope said.
He paused for a second. Based on what Hector had said back then, it was clear those above were always listening. And while he kinda trusted Eve… he didn’t want them hearing about that strange vision of his.
“I just… kinda got it, I guess?”
“You… so you knew nothing about it before? That… that means you gained a Discovered Active Skill!”
Hope blinked. “A what?”
“You discovered an Active Skill on your own!” Eve’s eyes lit up, voice rising in disbelief.
“Okay but… you gotta help me here, Eve. What the hell’s an Active Skill?” He raised both hands, shrugging. “All I know is what you have told me so far.”
Eve shook her head slowly, eyes wide. “But… you’ve only been in the System for what… four, five days? How could you possibly—”
Hope shrugged again. “Guess I’m just built different?”
But yeah… the way she looked at him, it was clear this wasn’t normal. That skill thing? Felt damn good, no lie. He’d use it again, right now, if his brain didn’t still feel like it got headbutted by a crowbar.
“Well,” he said, stretching with a grin, “what can I say, Eve? I’m a Magika Prodigy.”
Eve blinked. “Hope… there are countless Magika Prodigies out there. But Tier 1 Discoverers… those are rarer. And this fast and without any pre-System training? Hope, you’re… you’re amazing!”
“Huh?” Hope stared at her. “Wait—did you just say that out loud?”
She smiled, cheeks slightly pink. “Yes. I did.”
“O-kay…” he muttered, scratching the back of his head. “Well, damn. I guess that’s good?”
Eve laughed, light and genuine.
“You really are interesting.”
“Am I?” he muttered, a little off-balance now. The compliment felt… weird. Nice, but weird. And that smile?
Yeah. That smile hit different.
Hope exhaled and muttered to himself.
“Guess I should check what all those pop-ups were then…”
??Air Handling (Level 6 ? 7 + 2)
You feel the pressure in motion—the shift before the gust—and how to guide its path.
? 45% reduction in mental strain when manipulating Air Magika.
? +9% to Magia while in the presence of Air Magika (only the highest applicable Magika Handling effect applies at once)
??Magika Sensing (Level 4 ? 5)
Magika leaves fingerprints on the world. You’ve learned to spot the smudges.
? 25% increase in Magika perception.
? +20 Magia permanently.
Active Skill Unlocked:
- Air Gear
Feat Achieved:
- First Active Skill
- Discoverer
??Air Gear (G) - [Discovered]
The wind does not carry you. You become the wind.
Discovered State – Passive Effects:
? 50% reduction in the mental strain caused by this skill.
? +500 Physis permanently.
? +100 Magia permanently.
?? First Active Skill
Every journey begins with a trigger.
? +200 Physis permanently.
? +40 Magia permanently.
?? Discoverer
No one showed you the path—you carved it yourself.
? +10% to Physis permanently.
? +10% to Magia permanently.
There were words Hope didn’t understand, but the numbers and effects—those he sure did.
And while he’d expected quite the haul… this was just—ridiculous.
And that last feat… Discoverer—was that the one Eve just mentioned? It actually gave bonuses in percentage? Wasn’t that only for the core Handling skills?
In any case, numbers didn’t lie.
Physis: 2861 (+475) [+340]
Magia: 430 (+86)[+30]
He’d gone up. Way up.
Good.
He nodded. As much as the turn of events left a horrible taste in his mouth, power was power. And power was the only thing that might, one day, buy him a glimpse of that freedom he so much desired.
So he’d take what he could.
No—he’d take everything.
Those bastards in the sky, showering him with blood-stained gifts? Fine. He’d take them.
These weird-ass visions that led to power-ups? He’d take a couple more of those too, if he could.
He’d take it all.
And one day… one day he’d rise above.
For all the wicked, the twisted, the sick bastards—he’d be fear.
And for all the broken. For all the damned.
He would be…
Hope.