[Formless] had always been Northern's strongest attribute. It was an ability rooted in neither conventional existence nor known fraworks—but in the state of his own soul and the anomaly that he was.
Because of this, Northern had chosen to relegate it to the background—not because he couldn't build upon it, but because he intended it as a last resort.
Even if he had never actively sought to shape his path around it, the thought had crossed his mind nurous tis—what would happen if Nexus returned? If Chaos and Void tried to consu him? What if the fragile balance holding him together snapped?
[Formless] and [Naless] were his anchors.
Since his very progress—his every achievent—was bound to the system, Northern had avoided relying on them.
Because should he lose everything…
He had no doubt that these two would remain.
And if he had built himself once, he could do it again.
They were his blank slate. His foundation and tandem of limitless possibilities.
[Formless] had two abilities—one passive, one active.
The passive one earned him the title [Demon of Change].
Northern didn't fully understand what that ant—but he suspected it had shaped his very being. His ever-evolving body. His insatiable hunger to grow. The relentless drive to beco more.
Of course, experience played a part—two lifetis of struggle—but deep down, sothing in him thrived on it.
Rather than relying on wit and cunning to win, he preferred brute strength. He welcod defeat, even sought it—because he believed that every loss was a step toward greater change.
It was an unnatural philosophy for soone who once clung to life with desperation.
Surely, [Demon of Change] was at work.
The active ability was [Demon of Emulation].
He had used it twice in the Dark Continent.
Once against Hao.
And once against his forr tenant in the Mansion—the Devilish Corpse Eater who had since risen to beco a commander among his soul summons.
Yet despite its power, Northern had deliberately held himself back from using it.
Because he feared that the ability would lead him toward breakthroughs the system would recognize.
And that was precisely what he was trying to avoid.
But even as he ignored them, the system itself seed determined to weave [Formless] and [Naless] deeper into his being—evolving them, embedding them into his very progression.
One such instance was Formless' infusion into his Heritage ability.
And him absorbing true nas of so monsters even though he did not expect too.
For this reason he stopped trying to dig deeper into the essence of his true na.
He felt that unlocking it would beco an anchor—a foundation so strong that it could propel him toward a new level of existence.
All of these things—his abilities, his evolution—Northern would only begin exploring when he deed it safe enough, or if he encountered threats beyond his current and future repertoire of talents.
But ever since that strange encounter with Josie, everything had shifted.
Both [Formless] and [Naless] had ascended to new heights.
Now, he could assu other people's nas. And Formless had evolved into Omniform.
anwhile, [Demon of Emulation], which once rely allowed him to mirror anything as long as he perceived its true essence, had grown into sothing far more profound.
Now, perceiving the true essence of things was as effortless as breathing.
All he had to do was focus.
Which ant—
It was now possible for Northern to mirror any combat style. And perhaps, in the future, even abilities—without needing to copy them.
Yet the idea of achieving this without the system seed almost nonexistent.
Perhaps, even if it was possible, he might not retain those abilities permanently.
Either way, this new heightened perception was why Northern had suddenly beco so adept at unraveling combat styles—their form, their philosophy, their underlying intent.
The brute warrior wasn't just relying on raw strength.
His movents—though appearing straightforward—were layered with calculated precision.
Every swing of his axe wasn't simply ant to overpower his opponent.
It was designed to control space—to dictate the flow of battle like a tsunami. A force that built gradually, rising in stages, before ultimately crashing down with undeniable force.
But for now, he was still at the stage of a juvenile wave, his force not yet fully matured.
Northern sensed that this was because of his current experience level.
Even so—
The subtle shifts of his feet before each strike. The precise tension in his muscles, betraying years of brutal training hidden beneath the façade of brute strength.
He had endured excruciating drills, honed himself into a combatant beyond his years, achieving a mastery that most warriors would take a lifeti to attain.
Yet, Northern had done the sa.
Only, his battlefield had been different.
He had forged himself alone, in the depths of monster-infested lands, with nothing but his mind and raw willpower—a razor-sharp determination to survive.
Through [Demon of Emulation], Northern didn't just see the surface.
He perceived the philosophy behind every movent.
The brute warrior's belief in offense as the best defense—a doctrine where true strength wasn't asured in individual powerful strikes, but in the creation of an unrelenting rhythm.
A force so absolute, it left opponents with no choice but to follow its tempo.
And then there was the ghost-like fighter—
A stark contrast.
His movents weren't about evasion for evasion's sake.
Every dodge was a calculation.
Every retreat was a lure.
He fought like a ghost moving through water, slipping between gaps, flowing around obstacles—not rely avoiding strikes, but eroding his opponent's very foundation.
With [Omniform], Northern could have perfectly replicated either combat style.
But that wasn't the point.
The true value lay not in mimicry, but in understanding—in seeing how different fighters had found their own answers to the eternal questions of combat.
A ghostly water against a mighty wave—
On the surface, the wave was bound to crush the water beneath its sheer force.
But the water had a chance of winning.
'If he's cunning enough.'
Because, in the end—
The wave itself was water.
It had simply adopted a destructive nature rather than an elusive one.
And in its overwhelming advantage of might, it was also blind to certain truths.
In Northern's opinion, the elusive fighter had one clear path to victory—
He needed to create traps.
Not just one.
But an intricate web of traps, layering them upon one another.
At first, it might appear that he was simply luring the brute into a predictable sequence of maneuvers.
But the true purpose would be to overexert him.
The brute's sharp intuition—the sa instinct that allowed him to react at impossible speeds—would be forced into overdrive, pushing beyond its natural limits.
The sudden shifts in combat. The constant micro-adjustnts. The burden on his mind, body, and essence—
It would all begin to take its toll.
And Northern knew—
He didn't even need to be completely worn out.
He just needed to be worn down enough to make one mistake.
And one mistake—
That was all it would take.
At least, that was Northern's thought.
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