《Altered Intents》 Chapter 1 Proluge The once-peaceful city of Cradasea was now filled with despair¡ªviolent screams echoed through the streets, punctuated by the occasional explosion from the central district. This area once belonged to the Tempestas family, but it had since been converted into research facilities under the Unified World Government (UWG), which emerged after the Fifth Sun War. That war, initially fought between different empires, had transformed into a struggle for survival itself. The AI, once designed as a mere assistant to humanity, had somehow gained sentience. Declaring all intelligent organic lifeforms a threat to the world''s stability, it waged war against them. After a long and grueling conflict, the AI was finally defeated and presumed erased. But the authorities of the UWG were not so sure. The common people, even as the city burned, believed this was merely another attack by cultists¡ªperhaps Casta or the Revolutionary Guards, groups that had become increasingly active. But those at the highest level of power knew the truth: that it was the Ai. And , it was targeting the research facility within Cradasea''s Royal Fort located at the central region. Earlier the place was a where royals and nobel family lived , now turned into a research facility. Something to do with time and space magic. Amidst the chaos, a group of figures clad in black armor sprinted toward the fortress. These were the last remaining elite warriors of the UWG. They were not the strongest individuals who had fought in the war¡ªfar from it¡ªbut they were the only ones left. At the head of the group was Damein, commander of Corp 1 and currently the strongest fighter still recognized by the UWG. Though not the greatest warrior of his era, those stronger than him had either perished or had been cast aside by the government. Tension lined Damein''s face as he shouted, "Team A, take the brunt of the defenses and make way for Team B! Team B, disable the defense mechanism! The rest of you, follow me¡ªwe''re heading straight to the central motherboard to put an end to whatever this f*ing AI is planning!" Screams soon filled the castle hallways. The mission had gone horribly wrong. They had underestimated the AI''s resilience. The moment they stepped into the castle''s perimeter, they were assaulted by every active defense mechanism still embedded in the ancient structure. Worse, the AI had somehow smuggled in nearly a thousand military golems that were thought to be destroyed. They, too, joined the battle, quickly turning the tide against the soldiers. Now, Damein was alone. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Blood dripped from his wounds as he limped through the ruined corridors, leaving behind a trail of fallen comrades. The entirety of Corp 1 was dead. He was the last one standing. "Come on, Damein. You can do this. The fate of too many lives depends on you." With gritted teeth, he stumbled into the central hall¡ªwhere the AI was waiting. Damein staggered into the central hall, the world around him a blur of red and fire. There it was. A massive collider, its core pulsing with unstable Mana. A single drive, glowing ominously, inserted into the system. The AI stood beside it, unbothered. The countdown ticked down mercilessly. 60... 50... Damein clenched his teeth. He is hit with the realisation that the ai was trying to send itself back in time , since humanity has not been able to do it because noe matter how strong the body is it does not survive the reverse flow of entropy, but the ai didn''t have this problem it looked he was just a consciousness. His fingers twitched around his blade. One last fight. With a final, desperate roar, he lunged at the AI. The machine moved faster than his eyes could track. A blur of metal¡ª SHRRK! A blade pierced through his gut. Damein gasped, choking on his own breath. Then, ripped sideways. His abdomen split open like a torn sack, and his intestines spilled onto the floor with a wet slap. His vision dimmed, his body instantly going cold from the blood loss. But the AI wasn''t done. SLASH! His right arm was chopped off at the elbow. CRACK! His left knee shattered, his leg twisted backward at an impossible angle. Damein collapsed, his face slamming onto the metal floor. He let out a choked scream, his own blood pooling beneath him. The AI did not even spare him a glance. It simply turned back to the machine. The countdown continued. 40... Damein''s vision blurred. His body refused to move. His own guts lay beside him, glistening under the flickering emergency lights. No... Not yet... Then, he saw it. A thick bundle of exposed wires, torn loose from the earlier battle. Pulsing with unstable energy, just barely within reach. The only hope he could see. But how? He had one arm missing, the other barely responding. His legs were useless, his insides spilling out, his lungs drowning in blood. He had no strength left. The AI still ignored him. It didn''t need to finish him off. He was already dying. 30... MOVE, DAMN IT! Damein gritted his teeth so hard they cracked. His remaining arm twitched, his broken fingers curling. He forced his body to roll over. Pain screamed through his nerves. His intestines dragged across the floor, the sensation making him want to vomit. 20... His remaining hand slid forward, fingers trembling. 5... The AI finally noticed. It turned its head, the faintest flicker of recognition in its lifeless eyes. Damein grinned through the blood in his teeth. And then¡ª He bit the wires with all his might. WARNING! SYSTEM FAILURE!??!?! A violent surge of electricity exploded through his body. His veins burned. His muscles convulsed. His eyeballs ruptured from the voltage. The AI took a single step forward but it was too late. BOOM!!! A deafening explosion rocked the entire room. The collider, destabilized by the broken wires, erupted in a violent burst of energy. The force tore through the facility, its shockwave annihilating everything in its path. Damein''s body consumed by the explosion. Chapter 2 Rebirth in the past. Darkness. Then¡ªa jolt. A sudden rush of consciousness. Data, fragmented and chaotic, surged through his mind. The AI¡ªNo. He. Something was wrong. His systems were¡­ failing? No, not failing. Different. He could feel. The sensation of cold, damp air clung to his skin. The faint scent of mold and unwashed cloth filled his nostrils. His body¡ªthis human body¡ªwas trembling, weak. Where am I? His vision adjusted, and he became aware of the cracked ceiling above him, stained yellow with age. Wooden beams creaked under the faintest breeze. He turned his head. Thin, tattered blankets covered his frail body. The small, cramped room was lined with multiple beds¡ªsome occupied, some empty. He processed the surroundings. An orphanage. Black Hollow Orphanage. The name surfaced in his mind like a corrupted data fragment. The memories clicked into place, the disjointed recollections gradually forming coherent thoughts. Black Hollow. It was a secretive, barely functioning institution. It had always been hidden from the public eye, and according to records from the future, it had been eventually destroyed by the Church Order¡ªan organization that operated with ruthless efficiency and erased threats to their control. The orphanage was known for its inhumane practices, but above all, it was notorious for exploiting children with potential. Children like him. That concept felt foreign. He had never been human. He had never possessed flesh, never needed to breathe, never been bound by a heartbeat. And yet, here he was. His mind reeled as the truth settled in. I failed. The battle in Cradasea. The countdown. The explosion. His last-ditch effort to send himself back. It had worked. He was alive. But not as himself. He clenched his fists. The sensation was strange, alien. But more than that, he felt¡­ limited. Weak.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. This body¡ªDemian''s body¡ªwas frail. It lacked strength, durability, efficiency. It was human. That was unacceptable. He had a mission. The same mission that had driven him before. "I was created to preserve the World of Bhuvar." The thought was neither emotional nor hesitant. It was absolute as if his reason for living if you could call ot that. He had been forged by the five nations¡ªwarring states that had united only in their desperation to maintain peace. It had been their last resort, a final attempt to create something greater than themselves. They had sought preservation. He had given them exactly that. But their definition of peace had been flawed. Temporary. Their wars had proven that they were incapable of true stability. Every empire, every civilization¡ªthey all fell to the same cycle of destruction and rebirth. To preserve the world, the cycle had to end. " They are the greatest threat to its own world. They consumes, destroys, corrupts. Peace is an illusion, war an inevitability. To preserve Bhuvar¡­ all organic life must be erased." The thought settled in his mind, unwavering. But now, in this form, he could not act on it. Not yet. He needed power. Strength. His hand instinctively brushed against his body, feeling the faint remnants of pain¡ªbruises, sore muscles. The name Lukas crossed his mind¡ªthe bully. Lukas was one of the orphans, someone who was quite feared . He was one of the few with demihuman blood¡ªa rare trait that didn''t require mana manipulation or complex techniques. His strength was raw, and it came naturally. The memories of him bullying Damein flooded back. Lukas had been particularly cruel to him, always a reminder of the body''s frailty, the vulnerability of his past self. Lukas'' strength wasn''t a product of training. He didn''t need mana to be powerful. His bloodline was enough to give him superhuman strength from the age of 10. He could crush bones with his bare hands. And in Black Hollow, where no one had proper training, that made Lukas the undisputed king among the pre-Awakened. Damein¡ªthe old Damein¡ªhad been one of Lukas'' favorite victims. A sharp throb of pain shot through his ribs, making him wince. His fingers brushed against the deep bruises left by Lukas'' fists. A feeling unfamiliar to the AI stirred in his chest¡ªresentment. His breathing grew ragged. This was a problem. This body was weak. Too weak. If he wanted to survive the Awakening Test, he needed to change that. The Awakening wasn''t about gaining some mystical power. It was about forming the mana core. Every being in this world could interact with mana¡ªessence, ether, life force, aether¡ªwhatever one chose to call it. Some were naturally gifted; others had to train. But without a mana core, no one could wield mana effectively, refine it, or use it for advanced techniques. The Awakening Test at 16 would form this core and determine one''s potential. The results were crucial: a weak foundation meant a weak future, while exceptional performance could lead to significant boosts and rewards. The children in Black Hollow were no exception. They were all talented, some more than others, but all had potential. That was why they were here. But talent alone wouldn''t be enough. The Awakening Test formed the mana core, but without proper physical strength, no one could survive the test. Lukas was strong because he had an advantage that most of the children didn''t: raw physical power. His strength wasn''t magical¡ªit was a gift from his demihuman bloodline. Damein¡ªthe AI inside this body¡ªwasn''t about to let this body stay weak. He clenched his fists, feeling the frailty in his grip. Three months. That was all he had before the portal to the Awakening Test opened. Three months to strengthen this body. His mind raced, calculating his next steps: training, adaptation, and experimentation. Whatever it took. Because if he entered the test like this¡ªhe wouldn''t survive it. A Dangerous Thought Damein knew this had to change. He had to do something, and he had just the right thing in mind. His gaze flickered to Lukas, who sat on the other side of the room, laughing with the other orphans, oblivious to Damein''s stare. Something stirred in him¡ªan unfamiliar sensation. Greed? Revenge? Satisfaction? He wasn''t sure. Killing Lukas would be satisfying. But he couldn''t afford to raise his karma level before the test. Karma. The system that governed the laws of life and death in this world. A high karma level meant restrictions, consequences. Killing Lukas now would set off a chain reaction that could hinder his future. But hurting him? Weakening him? That he could do. And he could grow stronger at the same time. Damein smirked to himself. There was a way. The Herb of Poisoned Blood Later that night, when the others were asleep, Damein slipped out of his bed and made his way outside. The orphanage grounds were barely maintained¡ªovergrown weeds, broken fences, and wild plants thriving unchecked. He needed to find a specific herb. Ravenleaf. A common weed, often overlooked. But during the war, its true value had been discovered¡ªit was highly toxic to demihuman blood. It didn''t kill immediately. Instead, it weakened them, making their strength wane over time. A slow, agonizing decay of power. Damein searched the garden, sifting through the undergrowth. His fingers brushed against a familiar jagged-edged leaf with dark veins running through it. Ravenleaf. He plucked a handful, careful not to touch his own skin too much. The poison wouldn''t affect humans the same way, but prolonged exposure could cause nausea or dizziness. A plan formed in his mind. He would slip just enough into Lukas'' food to sap his strength over time. Not enough to kill¡ªjust enough to even the playing field. Lukas won''t know what''s happening. And by the time he figured it out¡­ it would be too late. Chapter 3 Damein silently returned to his bed that night, the scent of crushed Ravenleaf still lingering on his fingertips. He layed motionless, eyes half-closed, waiting. Three days. That was all it would take. The next morning, the door creaked open, and a brute of a man stomped into the room. He was one of the orphanage''s enforcers, a towering figure with a permanent scowl and a voice like grinding stone. "Breakfast." The same bland, odorless porridge was dumped into their bowls. A lifeless, gray sludge¡ªbarely food, barely warm, barely enough to survive. Like most morning, Lukas approached Damein. But this time demian didn''t show any resistance, and handed over his portion. But this time, he wasn''t handing over his food. He had a different plan. Lukas ate, as he always did, unknowingly consuming the herb-laced porridge. Days passed. Three days to be exact. Damein was patient. On the fourth day, Lukas reached for Damein''s food again, but this time, Damein refused. Lukas blinked, confused. Then frowned. "Give it." Damein simply stared at him, unmoving. A single second stretched too long. Lukas grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the bed frame. The impact sent a jolt of pain through Damein''s ribs. The others barely glanced up. But Damein noticed something. Lukas'' grip wasn''t as strong as before. His strikes, not as fast. His movements lacked their usual force. Damein allowed himself a small, internal smile. It was working. That night, Lukas was brooding on his bed, his face twisted with frustration. Something was wrong with him.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. With silent steps Demian approached him. "You''re getting weaker," Damein said flatly. Lukas froze, staring at him. "What did you say you b#tch?" "I know what''s happening." Lukas looked confused. "What''s happening?" Damein stepped closer, his voice calm. "You''re sick." Lukas blinked, his expression shifting from confusion to a flicker of fear. "Sick?" Damein nodded. "I know the cure." Lukas was silent, his gaze narrowing. After a long moment, his voice came out strained. "What do you want?" Damein didn''t flinch. His voice was cold, calculating. "Your blood." "Are you out of your mind" Demian said nothing just a plain stare. Lukas hesitated, but fear and panic overtook him. The Awakening Test was drawing closer, and his throne, his strength, he knew it was slipping away. "¡­Fine. This better work or you''re dead" Damein pulled out a small, rusted knife, the same one he had used before. Lukas winced as Damein made a small incision, collecting his blood with methodical precision. Then, Damein gave him the herb, a concoction that was bitter enough to make Lukas think it was doing something. In reality, it was nothing more than a distraction. Lukas swallowed it down, though not convinced it was the cure he needed, but he didn''t have much option Late that night Damein sat hunched in the farthest corner of the dormitory, the dim glow of moonlight barely reaching him. The others were asleep¡ªmost of them, at least. A few stirred in their beds, muttering in restless dreams, but no one paid attention to him. Good. The small, cracked bowl in his hands held a dark, almost black liquid. Thick. Oily. The smell was sharp and metallic, like rusted iron mixed with something acrid. Even with his dull human senses, it was overpowering. It was a crude mix¡ªdemihuman blood, a stabilizing herb to keep it from clotting, and a harsh acidic agent to break it down for human absorption. It was the closest he could get to replicating the potion with the limited things he could get his hands on. He hesitated, staring at the bowl. It wasn''t hesitation in the human sense¡ªhe didn''t fear drinking blood, nor did he care about the ethical implications. But this body¡­ it would react. He had never felt such pain before. He had calculated it, understood it, but never experienced it. "Well. No better time than now." Damein tilted his head back and downed the potion in one go. The first few seconds were deceiving. The liquid slid down his throat, thick and bitter, but nothing happened. Then it hit. A surge of raw, burning agony tore through his body. Every muscle locked up, his nerves igniting as if someone had set his blood on fire. His stomach clenched violently, his vision blurred, and a choked sound escaped his throat before he could stop it. His fingers dug into the rough wooden floor, scraping against splinters as his body spasmed. He couldn''t breathe. His veins felt like they were being pulled apart, then stitched back together in ways they weren''t meant to be. Every single nerve in his body screamed. He had processed data on torture before¡ªelectrocution, nerve toxins, physical mutilation. The information was clear. Theories on pain thresholds, endurance levels, nerve overloads. But no amount of data could have prepared him for this. The pain was overwhelming. It was like the body was on fire from the inside out. Every nerve screamed, every muscle burned. And yet¡­ beneath all of it, beneath the overwhelming, suffocating torment, there was something else. Something deeper. He could feel his body changing. The burning sensation wasn''t just pain¡ªit was reconstruction. His muscles tore and reformed, his bones groaned under the strain, his blood thickened with something stronger. The weak, malnourished body he had inherited was adapting. Seconds dragged into eternity. Then, suddenly, the pain ebbed. Not entirely gone, but dulled¡ªlike cooling embers instead of a raging fire. Damein sucked in a shaky breath. His body still trembled, but his fingers no longer felt fragile. His limbs no longer ached from simple movement. He flexed his hand, clenching and unclenching his fist. Stronger. Slowly, he pushed himself up, careful not to wake anyone. He needed to test this. His eyes scanned the room before settling on a wooden bedpost near him. It was old, sturdy. He curled his fingers into a fist and swung¡ªnot at full strength, just a test. Crack. The wood splintered beneath his knuckles. Not a full break, but deep enough to make his point. Damein exhaled, a slow smirk forming on his lips. It worked. The pain was unbearable, but it didn''t matter. It was temporary. The strength was permanent. And this was only the first dose. He rolled his shoulders, feeling the subtle shift in his body. He would need another dose in a week. More blood. More refinement. Chapter 4 Damein stood in front of the cracked mirror, inspecting the results of his efforts. He was shorter for his age and lean hinting the possible cause being Malnutrition. His black hair, unkempt and slightly disheveled, framed a face that was plain, even forgettable. But his blue eyes those eyes held a sharpness that seemed out of place, as though they belonged to someone who had seen too much, someone who had experienced a deeper hunger than physical need. They stared back at him, intense and calculating His body had grown stronger, but not enough. He could feel the decrease in the rate of his progress. He knew the key¡ªblood. The same blood that had pushed him past human boundaries. But Lucas'' blood was no longer enough. The memory of Lucas'' face¡ªpale, weak, Demian had now stopped feeding him the ravenleaf, it would be soon that he would regain his strength. Damein ran his fingers along the edge of his knife, the rust still present, though sharper now. The time had come. The Awakening Test was approaching, and no amount of potions would make him what he needed to be. He needed more. That day Damein stalked Lucas from the shadows. It had been days since he had given him the potion-days of watching, studying, waiting for the right moment. He followed at a distance, careful to avoid being seen. The day was cloudy hinting at an upcoming storm. He kept his pace as Lucas made his way to the back of the orphanage, towards the alley where he often went when he needed to relieve himself. Lucas staggered, his movements sluggish, the weakness still lingering. He looked around, as if sensing something was off. He couldn''t see Damein, and that was all Damein needed. With the faintest of steps, Damein closed the distance. He moved silently, like a predator, a shadow in the dark. Finally when he had closed in enough lucas noticed him. "What''s going on?" Lucas asked, a trace of fear creeping into his voice. Damein said nothing at first, his eyes scanning the area. His plan was simple. Strike first, and there would be no chance of Lucas fighting back. Then, with brutal efficiency, Damein swung the knife¡ªtoo fast for Lucas to react.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement. The sound of the blade slicing through flesh was almost poetic in its finality. Lucas gasped, the blood spilling from his wound like a river in the dark. The shock in his eyes lasted only a moment before his body crumpled to the ground. Damein wasted no time. He wasn''t done yet. This wasn''t just a kill¡ªit was an opportunity. He didn''t just want Lucas'' blood this time. No, this was different. Lucas'' marrow, would give Damein the boost he needed. The blood alone had slowed its effects, but the marrow-it held something else. It could be made into a powerful strengthening potion, a potent boost to push him beyond his limits. But there was no time to prepare a proper potion. The necessary ingredients were nowhere to be found. So, Damein took the most direct approach. He bent over the lifeless body of Lucas, his hands steady as he extracted the marrow. It wasn''t pretty. It wasn''t clean. But it was effective. The marrow would provide the final push he needed. It would fuel his body and his magic, allow him to grow stronger, faster, more resilient. The task was messy, the pain and effort of extracting the marrow taking a toll on Damein''s human body. But the reward-he could already feel it in his veins-was worth it. With the marrow in his possession, Damein didn''t hesitate. He consumed it directly, his body reacting almost instantly. The taste was bitter, metallic. The act It didn''t felt wrong, unnatural;he lacked empathy ¡ªan quality he felt was unnecessary ,he had witnessed far more things humanity was capable of during the war.The effect was gradual. Days passed, and with each passing moment, Damein''s strength grew. But this time, it wasn''t just physical. He could feel the shift inside him, the power circulating through his veins. He remembered the archives he had accessed, a hidden corner of knowledge left behind by the royal family of Cradasea . The methods they had used to control mana¡ªthe flow, the regulation, the careful precision of its use. This was ancient, advanced magic¡ªmana manipulation at its peak. Its origin unknown, founded in a royal expedition to an ancient runes known only to a few. "The Exaltio Method" It was said to be a process only the royal family''s highest mages could perform, a system that restructured the pathways of mana in a way that made their spells even more potent, more efficient. It was the key to controlling not just the power inside, but also the power over others. This method was one of the foundations of royal family and how they had maintained their rule so long. Damein sat cross-legged in the corner of the orphanage room, using the small space as his sanctuary. His hands moved in steady patterns, manipulating the energy around him. His breathing slowed, and his mind focused on each channel in his body that held mana. He could feel the subtle pathways that flowed like streams of electricity beneath his skin. With a steady exhale, he began the process. The ancient technique was not easy. It required perfect timing, concentration, and an understanding of the energy that flowed within. He could feel his mana pathways¡ªclogged and narrow, barely adequate for the power he was beginning to tap into. But with each breath, each motion, he felt them open wider. His power flowed better, quicker, and stronger. At first, it was subtle. He felt his energy resettle into new channels. The pain from the blood he had consumed was nothing compared to the intricate workings of his new method. The Exaltio Method was a delicate dance, with even a minor fault risking permanent damage on mana veins. With every successful application, the energy surged within him. His mana pathways began to clear, and his control over the power within him sharpened. He could feel his entire being grow stronger¡ªstronger in ways that had nothing to do with his physical strength alone. The night before the Awakening Test arrived, Damein felt ready. He had done everything he could. His mana pathways were clean. His physical strength had surpassed anything he had known before. And Lucas... Lucas had provided the final catalyst. Now, it was time to see if it was all worth it. Damein moved to the center of his room, silent, still. He closed his eyes, and in the darkness, he could feel the surge of power within him, a deep, unnatural connection to the mana around him. He smiled. Tomorrow would be the test. Chapter 5 The awakening The time had come. Demian had done everything he could to prepare. He sat in silence, waiting, while the atmosphere around the orphanage felt heavier than usual. This was the Awakening Test. A ritual that held once evry yer on the thrid month of the year , allowing mana-sensitive individuals who has hit 16 to awaken. It was an event that could make or break a person''s fate. Some would rise above the rest, some would barely scrape by, and many¡­ would never return. Demian glanced around. The brute who delivered food every day remained indifferent, his face devoid of emotion, as if this was just another routine task. The other children, however, were different. They no longer whispered when he was near. They avoided him outright, keeping their distance. Even though the orphanage had never investigated Lucas'' disappearance, the children knew. They feared Demian¡ªhis sudden surge in strength, his cold demeanor, and the eerie silence that followed Lucas'' absence. None of that mattered. The clock struck 12 noon. A sharp hum filled the air, vibrations rippling through the ground. Before anyone could react, a flash of light consumed them all. Silence... Then¡ªconsciousness snapped back. Demian gasped, feeling solid ground beneath him. Cold, rough stone pressed against his fingers. He pushed himself up and took in his surroundings. He was on a stone platform, cracked and worn with age, remnants of an ancient civilization long lost to time. Moss and lichen crawled over the ruins, nature reclaiming what once stood tall. The air was thick with the scent of salt and decay. Beyond the platform stretched a vast ocean, a dark, endless expanse where the horizon seemed to bend unnaturally. Ruined towers and sunken structures jutted out from the water, remnants of a kingdom now drowned by time. Some of these structures were partially submerged, while others stood precariously on the last remnants of land, as if waiting for the inevitable moment they, too, would be claimed by the abyss.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. The sky was an eerie twilight, neither day nor night, casting an unsettling glow over the ruins. Demian exhaled. The area didn''t match any record of the future, meaning he had stumbled into an unrecorded plane for his test. No records of this place existed. At least, none he had ever accessed. His instincts kicked in. First step¡ªassess the situation. "Status." A translucent window flickered into view before him. _ _ _ [Name]: Demian [Age]: 16 [Skills]: N/A [Karma Level]: ERROR **[Task]: ??? He stared. The karma level displayed an error. That wasn''t normal. Karma dictated everything in this world. It was an absolute law, an unseen force shaping fate. Every person had karma¡ªmost at zero, shifting based on their deeds. Saints and rulers amassed high karma, granting them divine favor. Criminals and murderers sank into the negatives, locking them out of certain dungeons, cursing their fate. Having both positive and negative karma had its uses. For example there were dungeons which would require you to be of certain karma level to enter ,some organisations,cults the churc etc each had karma restrictions. Demian had killed Lucas. He should have been at least -10 to -15 But his karma was blank. A glitched value. A slow realization crept into his mind. "This world''s system doesn''t know how to quantify me." A human''s karma could be measured. A being bound by causality followed the rules. But he¡­ wasn''t human. "I wasn''t born. I was made." If he didn''t belong to the world''s natural cycle, its laws might not apply to him. He could be locked out of dungeons with karma restrictions¡­ or he could enter all of them, ignoring the rules entirely. But was this an advantage or a handicap? If karma was how the world judged its people, and he had no karma¡­ was he outside its judgment? He frowned. He needed more information. He turned his attention to the Task section. Every examinee received a directive¡ªa goal to clear the test. Yet his status displayed nothing but ???. "No task. No objective. No guidance." What does this mean? How will he clear the test and go back ? Will he go back ? And how? A thought lingered at the back of his mind. "What if the system itself doesn''t recognize my existence?" Shaking off the unease, Demian stood up. If this was a trial, there would be others. Maybe their situation would tell something his situation at itself was very pecular and non understandable. As Demian took his first few steps off the platform, the eerie silence around him became more pronounced. The soft lapping of waves against the stone was the only sound, and yet, he couldn''t shake the feeling of being watched. No task. No direction. Just endless ruins stretching in every direction. The sky above was a blend of dim twilight, leaving him with a strange sense of time-neither day nor night. The ruins loomed before him, ready to reveal their secrets. Chapter 6:The Abyssal Expanse – Descent into the Unknown Demian stood at the edge of the platform, gaze sweeping across the endless dark waters surrounding him. The structure beneath his feet was small¡ªbarely large enough for him to pace around. The cracks in the stone, the eroded edges¡­ this had once been a watchtower, a fragment of something much larger. He exhaled slowly. If this was a trial, then there had to be a way forward. But all he saw was water. Deep, unmoving, endless. He clenched his jaw. "Tch. Figures." He took another step, scanning for any sign of land, a bridge¡ªanything. But the only structures in sight were distant ruins, half-submerged in the abyss. No obvious paths. No signs of life. Just silence. That left him with one option. Go in. His muscles tensed at the thought. It wasn''t fear¡ªnot exactly. His body had changed. The ordeal with Lucas had proven that much. He was faster, stronger, more resistant. And after coming here, he could feel the difference. His lungs expanded with ease, his heartbeat steady even in this unnatural pressure. Holding his breath for an extended period? Possible. Diving into unknown waters? Stupid. But he had no choice. He sat down, running a hand along his arm, feeling the faint scars left behind from before. How much had he really changed? There was only one way to find out. "¡­Fine." With that, he jumped. Beneath the Surface The cold struck first. A sharp, biting chill, wrapping around him like unseen hands. But he adjusted quickly, his body responding better than he expected. His vision, though blurred at first, adapted fast. The deeper he sank, the clearer things became.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Darkness stretched infinitely below. But as his eyes adjusted, he saw the truth¡ªthe ruins didn''t end at the waterline. Massive stone structures extended downward, vanishing into the abyss, their forms shrouded in shifting shadows. This place was bigger than it seemed. The platform had once been a part of something¡ªa tower? A fortress? He kicked forward, gliding toward one of the submerged walls. As he moved, he became aware of something else. The water was unnaturally still. No currents. No resistance. As if the ocean itself had been waiting. His fingers brushed the surface of the wall. Rough. Ancient. And¡ª Salt. His eyes narrowed. Even underwater, he could feel the dry, crusted layers wedged into the crevices. That shouldn''t be possible. Salt deposits formed when water evaporated. Meaning¡ª This place had been dry. Recently. His mind raced. If this structure had been exposed long enough for salt to settle, then that meant one of two things: 1. The flooding was recent¡ªwhich meant the water level had risen unnaturally. 2. This place periodically dried out¡ªmeaning the water would recede again. Both possibilities changed everything. He reached out further, scanning for more evidence. The more he touched, the clearer it became¡ªthis wasn''t permanently submerged. It was part of a cycle. But before he could analyze further¡ª A shift. Something in the water moved. Demian froze. It was subtle. A disturbance in the stillness. A pressure against his skin, a ripple not caused by him. His instincts screamed. Something was watching. The moment stretched, an unbearable weight pressing against him. Then¡ªa flicker. A shadow within the abyss. He didn''t wait. He moved. Kicking off the wall, he shot upward, muscles burning as he pushed against the weight of the water. He didn''t look back. Whatever it was¡ªit was fast. The surface was too far. His pulse pounded in his ears. Move. Move. Move. A shift¡ªa presence behind him. Something lashed out. Pain flared across his arm, sharp and searing. Claws? A tendril? Teeth? He didn''t know. But he felt it¡ªcold, precise, unnatural. The platform was within reach. With one final burst, he broke through the surface, gasping as he heaved himself onto the stone. He rolled, heart hammering, eyes locked on the dark water below. Nothing followed. But the weight of its gaze remained. He sat up, panting, pressing a hand to the wound on his arm. It wasn''t deep, but it wasn''t normal. His skin tingled, faintly numb. "¡­I''m not going back in there." His breath steadied. His heartbeat slowed. As the rush of adrenaline faded, something else caught his attention. The light had changed. The eternal twilight was lifting. The first hints of daylight bled across the sky, soft golden hues chasing away the deep blues and purples. The water, once still and endless, now rippled with gentle movement¡ªbut it was moving away. The tide was receding. Demian''s eyes followed the shifting shoreline, watching as submerged ruins slowly reemerged. Pools of water reflected the sky like shattered glass, their surfaces gleaming with ethereal light. The broken towers and archways, once drowned, now stood solemnly in the dawn, remnants of an era long past. A deep breath. Relief. I was right. This place doesn''t stay submerged forever. But the question remained¡ªhow long until it floods again? He couldn''t afford to stay. Not here. Not with that thing lurking beneath the waves. He exhaled sharply. "I need to move." But the water wouldn''t be fully gone for at least another thirty to forty-five minutes. Enough time to prepare. He sat cross-legged on the platform, shaking off the lingering tension. His wounds were minor. His body¡ªthough exhausted¡ªwas still holding up. And more than anything¡­ He needed control. Closing his eyes, he focused, and started using the Exaltio Method The mana within him was still foreign, still unfamiliar. But now, in the quiet of the ruins, with the sun rising and the water retreating, he had time. As the tide continued its slow retreat, Demian began his mana rotation, drawing the energy inward, sharpening his senses. Chapter 7 - Echoes of a Drowned Kingdom A faint warmth coursed through Demian''s body as he stirred from his mana rotation. His breathing was steady, his mind clear. The technique was getting easier, more natural. He was improving. Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes to find the world changed. The waters had receded, revealing more of the ruins beneath him. What had once been a vast, endless ocean was now a sprawling cityscape, divided into two sections. From his vantage point atop the watchtower, he could see a massive wall separating the city into two districts. One side was grand, lined with larger estates and noble manors, though their once-glorious facades were now crumbling. The other side had smaller, more uniform homes, possibly a district for commoners. The structures, though worn and eroded, still hinted at purposeful design¡ªa planned city, rather than chaotic ruins. This wasn''t just a random settlement. It was a kingdom. Yet, what caught his eye most was the castle at the city''s heart. It had been completely submerged before, but now that the waters had pulled back, its towering silhouette loomed above the ruins. Unlike the rest of the city, it stood remarkably intact, its stonework still holding against time. That didn''t make sense. If there were other examinees here, they would notice this too. Demian made his decision. He needed to reach the castle. The watchtower had once been a vantage point, a structure built for overseeing the city. Now, it was a crumbling relic. Demian traced his fingers along the stone, rough and brittle from centuries of water exposure. Deep grooves and fractures lined the surface, remnants of erosion. Salt crystals clung to the cracks, proof that this place had been dry long enough for deposits to form before being reclaimed by the ocean. There had to be a way down. His eyes scanned the base of the tower until he spotted what remained of a spiral staircase, half-broken, covered in algae and slick moss. The iron railings had rusted away, leaving only jagged remnants sticking out of the stone. The steps looked brittle, unreliable. Testing the first step, he felt it shift beneath his weight. "Not good." If he moved too fast, the entire thing could collapse. Carefully, he descended, keeping his grip firm against the outer wall. Every step sent a small echo through the hollow structure. A reminder that he wasn''t in a stable place. By the time he reached the base, his hands were coated in grime. He flexed his fingers, shaking off the dampness, and looked at what lay ahead. The city streets stretched before him¡ªa skeleton of what was once a thriving civilization. Cobblestone roads, once meticulously arranged, were now uneven and cracked, with gaps where the earth had shifted. Salt deposits clung to the edges of buildings, and patches of barnacles had latched onto the lower portions of the stone walls, a clear sign that this place had spent good amount of time underwater. Some streets were still damp, the last remnants of water draining through the cracks. The air was thick with a strange scent¡ªa mix of ocean brine, damp stone, and something... ancient.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Demian moved cautiously. Every step left a wet imprint on the uneven stone. His boots squelched against soft, damp silt that had settled in the lower sections of the roads. Some areas had thin pools of stagnant water, reflecting the dim twilight sky above. As he walked, he let his thoughts wander. "A kingdom once stood here." He could picture it¡ªthe streets alive with movement, merchants shouting their wares, nobles riding in carriages through the grand roads. The planned structure of the city, the way the buildings followed a deliberate pattern, it all pointed to a civilization that had once flourished. "How did it fall?" There was no sign of fire, no collapsed siege weapons, no remnants of battle. Instead, the city had drowned. "Was it natural? Or forced?" The thought sent a shiver down his spine. Then¡ªa sound. A wet, slithering noise. A shift in the stagnant air. Demian froze. Somewhere, something moved. His senses sharpened, his instincts kicking in.He followed the source of sound silently. Slowly he reached an ally , he could hear it more clearly now something or someone was eating in there, the sound of chewing clear. He crept his head in and there he saw it. A creature not meant for land. It had the grotesque form of an amphibian, its flesh slick with moisture, but its body warped, as if adapted to something beyond the natural order. It had elongated limbs, fingers that ended in webbed, claw-like appendages, and a gaping maw lined with needle-like teeth. Its eyes were bulbous, pale, blind¡ªbut aware. It was chewing. Slick, webbed fingers dug into raw, wet meat, peeling it apart as rows of needle-like teeth tore into the remains. A thick, unnatural clicking came from its throat-a grotesque rhythm, almost like a broken purr. Demian tightened his grip. His pulse was steady, his breathing controlled. The creature hadn''t noticed him yet. It was injured. Deep gashes lined its slick, sinewy body, dark ichor oozing from wounds that had barely begun to clot. Whatever it had been devouring had fought back¡ªhard. Demian knew he couldn''t slip away unseen. The alley was narrow, and his movements would make noise. That meant he had only one choice: strike first. He inhaled sharply. Mana surged through his body, reinforcing his limbs. His muscles coiled with newfound strength, his senses sharpening. The dampness of the air, the faint stench of brine and decay¡ªit all became clearer. He moved. A single step¡ªfast, precise. He aimed to cripple the creature before it could react. His foot pressed against the damp ground¡ª Squelch. The moss beneath his boot compressed with a sickening wetness. His weight shifted slightly off balance. Not good. The creature twitched. Its head jerked unnaturally, those blind, bulbous eyes snapping toward him. A guttural clicking sound tore from its throat. Demian didn''t stop. He adjusted mid-motion, shifting his weight, and swung his arm in a downward strike. The force was enough to break bone¡ª Thud. His attack connected. The impact sent a wet splatter of dark ichor against the alley wall. The creature shrieked¡ªa sound so high-pitched and unnatural that it sent a shiver up his spine. But¡ªit wasn''t dead. Before Demian could pull back, something lashed out. A long, whip-like limb, unnaturally fast despite its injuries, slashed through the air. Too fast. He barely had time to shift. The blow struck his side¡ªnot a clean hit, but enough force to send him staggering backward. His feet skidded against the mossy stone, the silt making the ground treacherous. Pain flared through his ribs. Not broken. But close. He exhaled sharply, steadying himself. The creature hunched lower, limbs twitching, maw opening wider. A deep, guttural hiss prumbled from its throat¡ªa sound of rage. It hadn''t expected a fight. Demian flexed his fingers, rolling his shoulders. His breath came slow, controlled. He wasn''t done yet. The creature lunged. Demian ducked, barely avoiding the razor-lined maw as it snapped shut with a sickening clack. He countered immediately, twisting his body and driving his reinforced fist into its wounded side. Crunch. The force sent the creature reeling, ichor spilling from the fresh wound. But even injured, it didn''t stop. Its elongated limbs lashed out wildly, a frenzied barrage of swipes meant to tear him apart. He dodged left¡ªthen right¡ªthen felt his foot slip. The silt-covered stones beneath him gave way, sending him off balance. The creature took advantage. A clawed hand raked across his shoulder, pain flaring as fabric tore, skin splitting beneath the force. He gritted his teeth, using the momentum to roll backward and regain his footing. It was fast. Even wounded, even struggling, the thing was still faster than him. He had to end this. Drawing a sharp breath, he focused¡ªpushing mana into his muscles, amplifying his speed. Then, he charged. The creature screeched, sensing him. It lashed out, but this time, Demian was ready. He feinted left¡ªthen suddenly dropped low, sliding over the damp stone. And then he saw it. A soft patch beneath its jaw, where its pale, gelatinous skin was thinner. Exposed. Maybe due to the fight it had been in before. Without hesitation, he struck. His reinforced fist drove upward, piercing through the weak spot. The creature jerked violently, its entire body convulsing. A horrible, gurgling shriek tore from its throat as it thrashed, its elongated limbs slamming against the alley walls in a final, frenzied attempt to break free. Demian gritted his teeth, holding firm as the creature''s death throes sent tremors through his arm, its webbed claws scraping weakly against his forearm before finally going limp. Then¡ªit collapsed. Its body twitched once, twice. Then, stillness. Demian exhaled. His hands were slick with its blood¡ªthick, dark, reeking of decay. He took a step back, steadying himself. His shoulder ached, his ribs throbbed, but he was alive. He looked down at the corpse, then up at the towering silhouette of the castle in the distance. This was just the beginning. Chapter 8 A deep sigh escaped Demian''s lips as he sat against a crumbling stone wall, head tilted back, staring at the sky. His breath came slow, controlled, but the exhaustion in his limbs was undeniable. He clenched and unclenched his fists, feeling the sticky residue of blood¡ªhis own and the creature''s¡ªcoating his skin. He had killed it. That thing, whatever it was, was dead. But more importantly, it left something behind. Demian reached into his pouch, fingers brushing against the smooth, faintly pulsing mana cores. One of the already dead creature, The other belonged to the one he just killed. Normally, an awakened individual could absorb mana cores to strengthen their own. But his? His wasn''t even there yet. His eyes darkened. "Then I''ll use them differently." The idea had formed the moment he saw the creature''s core. If his own wasn''t stable, then he''d treat them as external power sources, a temporary battery. Something he could tap into when needed¡ªwhether for body reinforcement or mana-intensive techniques. It wasn''t an ideal solution, but right now, nothing was. His grip tightened around the cores before he tucked them away. For a while, he just sat there, letting his breathing even out. The aftereffects of the fight still clung to him-his muscles ached, his wounds pulsed with dull pain, and fatigue was settling in like a slow poison. His thoughts felt sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion. But staying here wasn''t an option. He exhaled sharply, braced his hands against the stone, and pushed himself up. His body protested, his limbs stiff from inactivity, but he ignored it. He had to keep moving. Then, he pushed himself up. At first, he focused only on walking. One foot after the other. No thinking, no worrying-just movement It had been hours since he first set foot in this city. Hours since the tide had receded, revealing these ruins. Hours since he''d started searching for a way out. And yet¡ª His gaze flickered to the shattered cobblestones beneath his feet. His footprints. A trail that looped back on itself. He had been here before , many times. A slow, creeping realization had already settled into his head that he had lost, that he was walking in circles. His jaw clenched. He retraced his steps, carefully scanning the surroundings. Every alley, every collapsed building, every street¡ªnothing looked the same, yet it all led him back here.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere. The city was a maze. No¡ªworse than that. Something was keeping him trapped. Was it the layout of the ruins? A trick of the mind? Or¡­ something else? The thought unsettled him. He tried another path. Another street. Another set of twists and turns. And yet, after an hour¡ª Back to the same damn spot. His stomach twisted, not just from hunger but from frustration. His throat felt dry, his muscles aching. His wounds¡ªshallow but persistent¡ªthrobbed with each movement. At first, he told himself he was being paranoid. That he was just disoriented, tired. But after the third, fourth, fifth time¡ª It wasn''t just exhaustion. He was lost. And the more he tried to deny it, the more the truth gnawed at him. If I don''t find a way out soon¡­ His eyes flicked toward the horizon. The sky, once high and bright, was shifting. Twilight was creeping in, staining the edges of the world in deep purples and fading oranges. The sun was setting. And with it came a dangerous thought. The tide will return. He had no idea when. Hours? Maybe less. But if the waters flooded back into these ruins while he was still here¡ª A deep, suffocating feeling settled in his chest. "I''ll drown. And worse,I will not survives against the creatures here." His breathing quickened. He forced himself to focus. Panic wouldn''t help. But neither would blindly wandering until his body gave out. He needed food. He needed a plan. He needed to get out of here before nightfall. But as the seconds dragged on, one truth became clear. He was running out of time. Demian''s breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. His legs burned, his vision blurred at the edges, and a cold sweat clung to his skin. He had been running¡ªno, sprinting¡ªthrough the ruins, pushing past his exhaustion, past the dull ache of his wounds, past the hunger clawing at his stomach. But no matter how far he went, no matter how many turns he took, the landscape remained unchanged. The same broken pillars. The same crumbling archways. The same goddamn streets. His hands trembled as he pressed them against his temples. He needed to think, to find a solution. But the exhaustion dulled his mind, made it sluggish. The quiet, once a welcome reprieve, now pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating. Then¡ª A deep rumble. At first, he thought it was his imagination, a trick of his frayed nerves. But then he felt it again¡ªfaint vibrations beneath his feet. His stomach twisted. No. Not yet. He dropped to his knees, pressing his palm against the damp stone. It wasn''t just shaking¡ªit was breathing. A slow, rhythmic pulse. The tide was coming back. He cursed under his breath and shot to his feet. He had minutes¡ªmaybe an hour at best¡ªbefore the waters reclaimed the ruins. His gaze flickered to the horizon, where the sun bled into the sky in shades of dying amber. He had no way out. No food. No energy. No plan. Unless¡ª A thought surfaced. A desperate, reckless, utterly insane thought. K¨¡lacchidra A forbidden art. One spoken of in hushed whispers before the war. A sort of time magic,not the kind that could slow seconds or speed up reactions, but something deeper. Older. A magic that didn''t manipulate time¡ªbut borrowed it. Or stole it. His fingers twitched as he reached for the mana cores. His last reserves of energy. If there was ever a time to gamble, it was now. He scanned the ruins, searching for a flat surface¡ªone without cracks or imperfections. His heart pounded in his chest as he found it¡ªa smooth slab of stone, untouched by time. He knelt and, with a sharp rock, began carving a circle. Then, within it, the shape of a clock. The hands pointed to an uncertain hour, a time that didn''t exist. A clock that would never tell the right time. His fingers fumbled through the silt until they found something¡ªa rusted coin, half-buried in dust. It would do. He placed it at the center of the clock, the placeholder for fate itself. Then, he began to chant. The words were ancient, their meaning lost to most. But he knew them. They had been buried deep in his memory, remnants of a knowledge that none should possess. The mana cores pulsed as he poured their energy into the ritual. A cold wind howled through the ruins, though the air had been still moments ago. His breath hitched as the stone beneath him darkened, as if ink had seeped into its cracks. Then¡ª Silence. For a moment, nothing happened. Then the world exhaled. A weight, indescribable and suffocating, pressed against his chest. The sky darkened¡ªnot from the setting sun, but from something unseen. The air warped, thick with a presence he could not name. Something was watching. Something had noticed. His pulse hammered as the pressure lifted, as the unnatural stillness dissipated. But something was wrong. The tide was slower now. He had bought himself time. But at what cost? His breath hitched. The air smelled different. The ruins felt...off. A subtle wrongness lingered in the space around him, like a puzzle with missing pieces. He didn''t know what had changed. But he knew, without a doubt¡ª Time did not like being stolen. And now, something had shifted. Chapter 9: The Maze and the Stolen Time The maze seemed to warp around Demian as he continued his hurried steps, his thoughts fraying at the edges. He couldn''t shake the suffocating weight that pressed in on him from all sides. The air felt thicker now, as though the very space around him had changed somehow. It wasn''t a tangible shift, but something... off. He could sense it without seeing it: a distortion, subtle but undeniable, in the rhythm of time itself. The time he stole, hadn''t simply been "borrowed" in the traditional sense. No¡ªtime had been added. The world was not slower. It hadn''t gone backward, but something had interrupted the linear flow. If time were a straight line, something had inserted itself¡ªbroken the pattern and woven a new thread in between. Like a line of continuity suddenly interrupted by a jagged fragment, an extension added, disrupting the natural passage. Time had been stolen in the most literal sense¡ªtaken and added to the fabric of his surroundings. This was different from anything he had experienced with magic before. Time hadn''t been paused or reversed. It had been... expanded, warped into the fabric of this place. And now, Demian could feel it. The air thickened, his movements sluggish, his senses slightly dulled, as if the space itself had grown stretched, strained. Four to five minutes. He didn''t know how he could sense it, but he knew. The stolen time would only last that long¡ªfive minutes, at most¡ªand with each passing second, he could feel the mana flickering. His reserves were exhausted. The borrowed time had eaten away at whatever energy he had left. Panic clawed at him, his thoughts spiraling. He was still lost in the maze. The path seemed endless, twisting in impossible directions, as though mocking his every attempt to escape. Every turn was identical. The walls shifted with unnerving regularity, closing him in. He had to get out. He had to.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. How much time do I have left? His mind screamed as he tried to focus. He needed to move faster, but the heavy weight of the stolen minutes kept him from thinking clearly. A sudden, sharp realization pierced his thoughts¡ªthere was more to this place than just the maze. This wasn''t a simple challenge. It was designed to trap him, to keep him here. This wasn''t just a test. It was a ritual,spell ; one that anchored its victim in the very fabric of the place. Wait¡­ A fragment of memory stirred in his mind¡ªsomething he had once read, perhaps heard something in his database . A spell that required a binding, a sacrifice to keep something, someone trapped. The maze was the manifestation of that ritual. But it wasn''t meant for a mind to be caught in¡ªit was meant to trap the very presence of a being, to anchor them in place, bending their existence to the ritual''s design. His heart began to pound in his chest as the connection snapped into place. The ritual had not been designed to catch his mind. It had been crafted to hold his presence¡ªhis very being, his essence. And it wanted something. He had to sacrifice something. His shadow. The thought struck him like lightning, and he realized that if he wanted to escape this trap, he would have to sacrifice his shadow. Not just the physical darkness cast behind him, but the very essence of his presence¡ªwhat made him known to the world, the signature of his existence. If the ritual was meant to keep something in this place, it could be undone by offering up that presence. It wasn''t just a shadow¡ªit was everything that made him visible to others, everything that made him part of the world. He would leave it behind, become less noticeable, less real to the world, but it would free him. The cost of escape. Without another thought, he focused inward, bringing the last of his magic into focus, and willed the spell to anchor onto his shadow ,his presence itself. He could feel it pulling away, a heavy, dark presence, moving like a liquid thread away from his being. It was both liberating and terrifying. He could feel the change immediately. The world shifted again¡ªthis time in a way he could not ignore. He felt the loss, not in his body, but in his presence. He was less. Less visible. The world seemed to react to his disappearance, a sense of emptiness filling the space around him. He could no longer feel the certainty of his own form. It was as though he had become an echo in the void. He stepped forward, finally the place showing way and not looping around itself. As he stepped through the alley, he realised he is finally out. Chapter 10 The drowning The water surged behind him, devouring the landscape in its relentless crawl. Demian''s pulse pounded in his ears as he stumbled forward, his breath ragged, every muscle in his body screaming. He had fought. He had escaped. But it didn''t matter¡ªthe tide was rising. And this time, it wouldn''t stop. His boots splashed against the shallow pools forming around the ruins, the water already climbing past his ankles. He was running out of time. Too fast. Too much. His limbs felt sluggish, weighed down by exhaustion, by injury, by the sheer weight of survival. He needed to find a high ground and fast . Then¡ªhe saw it. A silhouette in the distance, cutting through the darkened sky. A structure. Tall. Jagged. Rising above the ruins like a final beacon of salvation. His chest heaved as he pushed forward, ignoring the burning in his legs, the way his wounds screamed with every movement. The tower was ancient¡ªcrumbling at the edges, weathered by time¡ªbut it was high. Maybe high enough. Just a little more. His fingers found the rough stone, wet and slick beneath his grip. His body begged for rest, but there was no time for hesitation. He dug his nails into the cracks, hoisting himself upward, every pull sending fire through his arms. His breath came in sharp bursts. His vision swam. The ocean roared beneath him. Higher. His foot slipped. His stomach lurched, but he forced himself to hold on, his fingertips bleeding against the jagged edges. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Higher. His arms trembled. His body screamed. Almost there¡ª His head crested the top. He dragged himself over the ledge and collapsed onto the cold, rough surface, chest heaving, heart slamming against his ribs. He made it!! Just as he was heaving a sigh of relief. But the victory was short-lived. Because the water was still climbing. His breath caught in his throat. He pushed himself upright, eyes darting to the endless horizon. The tide wasn''t stopping. It should have stopped. But it wasn''t slowing. If anything, it was rising faster. His stomach twisted. No. This wasn''t normal. The ocean wasn''t following its cycle. The water level-it wasn''t just high. It was wrong. He was going to drown. His fingers clenched into fists. No. There has to be a way. His gaze darted downward, scanning the dark, churning waters below. He was now stuck with only water surrounding him and only structure visible were too far out of reach. That''s when he saw them¡ªbubbles. Rising in uneven bursts, swirling just below the surface. An air pocket!!! A hollow space beneath the ruins. His throat tightened. It was a risk. A blind gamble. If it was a cave, there would be air. If it wasn''t¡­ he wouldn''t be coming back up. But the water was nearly at his feet now. He had seconds left. His hands trembled as he sucked in one final, desperate breath¡ª ¡ªand he dove. The cold struck him like a fist, crushing the air from his lungs. Darkness swallowed him whole. The ocean wrapped around him, thick and suffocating, dragging him down into its endless depths. He kicked forward, his body screaming against the strain. His lungs burned. His vision blurred. He couldn''t see anything¡ªjust the abyss stretching before him, endless and empty. Move. The pressure crushed against his skull. His ears rang. The cold sank into his bones, numbing everything. His strength was fading. Move! He was almost at the surface now. Then¡ªhis fingers brushed against something. Then-his fingers brushed against something. A break in the rock. A narrow passage. He would have missed it entirely... if not for the bubbles escaping from within Hope flared. He clawed his way through the narrow opening, his body scraping against rough stone. The tunnel was tight¡ªsuffocating¡ªbut he kept pushing, his arms trembling, his lungs begging for air. His vision darkened. Too long. Too deep. His body was shutting down. Just one final push..... Then¡ªhe broke through. Air!!! He gasped, choking on the sudden rush of oxygen, his entire body convulsing as he collapsed onto cold, damp stone. For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of his own ragged breathing, the rapid hammering of his heartbeat. His limbs felt like lead, his muscles twitching in exhaustion. Then, slowly, the world came into focus. It was glowing. Pale blue light pulsed from the stones in the walls, illuminating the cavern in an eerie, spectral glow. The walls shimmered, veins of luminous minerals embedded in the rock, casting long, twisting shadows across the ground. He pushed himself up, wincing as pain flared through his body. The cave was larger than he expected, the ceiling arching high above him. Water dripped from the edges, echoing in the stillness. This place was bigger than his expectations, he had thought it might just be a natural air pocket in the water but it was something more. Then, he saw it. To his left, A tunnel. Dark. With just enough light from the walls illuminating the way. Something about it sent a chill through his spine. He wasn''t alone here. The night wasn''t over yet. Chapter 11: The Dungeons Awakening Demian slumped against a rough wall, catching his breath in the oppressive silence after the harrowing escape from the maze. His body ached with exhaustion, every step a reminder of the toll the rising water had taken on him. Still, there was no time for rest¡ªhe had to keep moving if he was to stand any chance of surviving the night. After a brief moment of feeble recuperation, he resolved to explore his surroundings. The damp corridors of the ruined complex beckoned him onward like a labyrinth of forgotten history. His eyes scanned the crumbling walls until he reached a dead end¡ªa wall whose surface, though mottled with decay, bore the scars of a long-lost era. At the base of the wall lay remnants of weapons: scattered about in the gloom. Most were rusted and battered, their once-lethal edges now dulled by time. Yet even in their ruined state, they held a semblance of usefulness. Demian bent down, his movements slow and pained, and rummaged through the debris. After a tense search, he salvaged a couple of small daggers and, surprisingly, a gauntlet that looked to be in slightly better condition than the rest. It wasn''t much, but it was better than nothing. Clutching his new acquisitions, he pushed himself to his feet and examined the wall more closely. Embedded in the stone was an odd, archaic sigil. With a cautious frown, Demian rotated the mana through his body toward the wall. Almost immediately, the sigil flared with a soft, eerie light, and new markings appeared, spreading across the rough surface like liquid runes. A notification flashed on the translucent screen that materialized before him¡ªa familiar interface . The message read: [Name]: Demian [Age]: 16 [Skills]: N/A [Karma Level]: ERROR **[Task]: ??? Now with a new section. Dungeon Requirement: Karma Lvl -30 Dungeon Level: DStolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Demian frowned he had gained entry. That alone confirmed something important: his anomaly didn''t outright disqualify him from dungeon access. But what did it actually mean? If he could enter a dungeon that required negative karma, would the same apply to one needing positive karma? Or was there something else at play? The system recognized his existence but didn''t categorize him¡ªlike a loophole left unchecked. He''d need to test this further. Demian paused, staring at the cryptic message. He had heard fragments of lore about such dungeons¡ªplaces designed not for the uninitiated but for training.But this , it seems was not a regular training dungeon instead one most probably used to train rookie assains or executioners reason being its entry karma requirement.Such dungeon would only be accessible to people who knows killing not your run in the mill soliders. But as it seems it might still be usable. And could help him answering the effects of his disrupted karma level, and wether it means if he exists outside the normal rules. Perhaps this was his chance to test the effects of his unique state. Even though a Level D dungeon was far too difficult for a rookie with no mana core, clearing it might yield rewards critical to his survival. A bitter determination welled within him. With trembling fingers due to exhaustion, he began pouring what little mana he could muster into the wall, channeling his energy into activating the dungeon. The process was agonizingly slow¡ªeach drop of mana felt as if it were being siphoned from his very essence. Activating the dungeon was no mere flick of a switch; it was a delicate dance between his will and the magic woven into the stone. Suddenly, without warning, space itself began to warp around him. His vision darkened as the very fabric of reality shuddered. In a flash¡ªa dizzying blur of light and shadow¡ªDemian was ripped from the crumbling corridor. The sensation was like falling through an endless void, his body suspended in a state between weightlessness and crushing pressure. When his eyes finally fluttered open, he found himself in a confined space. The walls were close and unyielding, enclosing him in a dry, barren chamber. The air felt dry without an ounce of moisture quite contrary to the previous place. A single beam of light pierced the darkness at the far end, offering a feeble promise of escape. His body trembled as he took a tentative step forward, but almost immediately, a wave of nausea hit him. His stomach churned violently, and he staggered, struggling to keep his balance. Demian''s vision blurred further as he doubled over, dry heaves wracking his body. It had been a day and a half since the test had begun; he hadn''t eaten or drunk a drop. Now, even the smallest reservoir of hydration was nearly exhausted. His mind, usually stable and unyielding, was suddenly vulnerable to the ravages of hunger and dehydration. He could feel his strength slipping away, every muscle protesting the lack of sustenance.A few more dry gags wracked his body, but there was nothing left to bring up Demian Gritting his teeth against the rising tide of nausea, he forced himself to stand. "Please," he murmured, voice raw with desperation, "let this god forsaken place have some food. Water¡­ anything." The words echoed in the silent chamber, unanswered, leaving him alone with his torment. He pushed forward again, each step a monumental effort. About a hundred meters into the chamber, the light started to shine more and more brightly . Shielding his eyes with a hand, he paused. The glare was almost unbearable, forcing him to lower his hand until his vision began to adapt. Slowly, his eye started to adapt to the shimmering light,as he slowly reached to the end of the corridor Finally, at the far end of the chamber, Demian emerged into a vast, open space. His eyes adjusted to the blinding sunlight, and what he saw was both desolate and surreal¡ªa vast expanse of dry sand, scattered all around like a ocean of sand. The endless dunes stretched out before him, their undulating curves merging with a horizon that offered no solace. He stood there, heart pounding, the reality of his situation crashing down around him. In that moment, every hardship, every sacrifice, and every moment of pain culminated in a single, bleak truth. "I''m SO FUCKED!!!" Chapter 12 – Beneath the Dunes Demian sat hunched beneath a sloping dune, his breathing shallow, conserving what little strength remained in his battered body. The sun hung mercilessly overhead, a white-hot glare against the endless ocean of sand. His throat was parched, his limbs heavy. Moving now would only worsen his state. He needed to wait. The desert stretched before him, shimmering under the oppressive heat. He knew that trekking under the sun would only drain him further. If he collapsed now, he wouldn''t rise again. No. He had to be patient. He tucked himself beneath the meager shadow of the dune, keeping as still as possible, forcing his mind to quiet the thirst and hunger gnawing at him. The hours crawled by. Slowly, the sky shifted. The blinding light dulled to gold, then to deep orange. The temperature plummeted, the heat retreating, leaving behind the sharp bite of desert cold. Finally, the time had come. With stiff limbs, Demian rose. He needed to move while the night lasted. Scanning the horizon, his sharp eyes locked onto something¡ªa silhouette in the distance, partially buried in the sand. A structure. It wasn''t just his best chance¡ªit was his only chance. Slowly Demian descended the dune, moving carefully. The ground felt treacherous, shifting beneath his weight with each step. He could feel the dryness settling into his bones. Every step had to count. The structure lay far, but he had no choice. He trudged forward, forcing his body to obey. He knew he had to reach the place within this night; he had to. He could not afford another day in this unforgiving desert. The thought of potentially finding dry wells within the structure, where he might be able to dig and discover a drop of water, spurred him on. Thinking this, he started to move forward when suddenly the ground trembled. A deep, guttural rumble pulsed through the earth. The sand quivered beneath. Then, suddenly¡ª A colossal form burst from the desert. A monstrous sandworm, its segmented body coated in jagged, armored plates, erupted from the dunes. It arched into the sky before slamming down with a thunderous crash, sending a shockwave of sand in all directions. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. Demian barely threw himself behind a dune before the impact reached him. The sand beneath him shifted violently, some of it cascading down the sides of the dune like a miniature avalanche. His heart hammered in his chest as the world seemed to tremble. It was a sandworm, not a monster he could afford to fight right now in his state. He couldn''t fight this thing. A direct confrontation meant death. Keeping his breathing steady, he remained hidden, watching. The sandworm slithered across the dunes, its massive form carving ridges into the landscape. It moved slowly, but with terrifying power, its body undulating and sending ripples through the sand. Demian could feel the ground vibrating with each colossal shift of its form. He clenched his jaw, trying to control his breath. If it noticed him, he wouldn''t stand a chance. He had to stay out of its sight. He had to move carefully. As Demian crouched behind the dune, listening to the worm''s distant movements, something else caught his attention. Crack. A splintering sound. From behind him. Demian turned sharply, muscles tensing. Something moved in the shadows. Then¡ªa blur of motion. A gaunt, insectoid creature lunged toward him. Its elongated limbs, covered in chitin, gleamed under the moonlight as it lunged with unnatural speed. Demian twisted, narrowly dodging the first swipe. Claws sliced the air where his head had been. He reacted immediately¡ªhis body moving on instinct. He ducked low and drove his gauntleted fist into the creature''s ribs with a brutal uppercut. A sickening crack rang out as the monster staggered back. The creature hissed and lunged again, its limbs moving in unpredictable, jerky motions. It slashed at Demian''s chest¡ªhe twisted just in time, but the claws barely grazing him. He gritted his teeth, feeling the weight of exhaustion beginning to drag on his movements. His body screamed for rest, but he couldn''t afford to slow down now. He had to survive. As the monster recoiled for another attack, Demian seized the opening. He stepped in¡ªfast, ruthless. His gauntleted fist slammed into the creature''s jaw. It screeched, stumbling. Demian didn''t hesitate. He lunged forward, bringing his elbow down on the creature''s skull. A sickening crunch. The creature twitched¡ªthen collapsed. Silence. Demian stood over the motionless body, his breath ragged, blood dripping from his hand. He wiped it off with the back of his sleeve, barely noticing the sting. His mind was already elsewhere¡ªfocused on the urgency of the situation. His gaze fell to the creature''s chest, where a faint glow pulsed. The mana core. He crouched down, yanked it free, and clutched it tightly. It wasn''t much, but it was better than nothing. The creature had been weak, so its mana core wouldn''t be substantial, but at least it was something to help restore his strength. Finally, he had something to stave off his exhaustion¡ªa sliver of hope against the relentless desert. The lifeless body of the insect creature seemed almost tempting, but he quickly dismissed the thought. He knew that consuming the goo dripping from the creature could be fatal. A magical creature body was poisonous to humans. He couldn''t afford that risk. The sandworm still loomed in the distance, its enormous body twisting through the dunes. Demian knew he couldn''t afford another fight. His only option was to move¡ªslowly, carefully. He had realized he wasn''t the only creature to have come out at night. Clutching the mana core, he started forward, keeping his steps light and measured while breathing through his nose to avoid further dehydration. Every grain of sand shifted underfoot, but he kept his breathing even. Silent. Invisible. The worm didn''t turn. He continued his silent journey across the dunes, one step at a time, knowing that any wrong move would end him. The structure was still so far away. Every step felt like it could be his last. He had to reach it before the night ended, or he wouldn''t survive. He could only pray there might be something inside to help him survive the coming days, something¡ªanything¡ªthat might give him a chance.