The jungle air was thick with smoke and ozone.
The stench of roasted bug flesh lingered in the wind, and the crunch of insect chitin beneath boots echoed in grim rhythm as Elius and his group moved deeper into the dinsional rift.
Every few steps, another electric insect would leap from the leaves—sotis small beetle-sized pests discharging sparks from their wings, other tis thick-legged hornets buzzing with volatile thunder, like living storm-clouds with stingers.
But they were no longer afraid.
Clint, now affectionately dubbed "The Bullet," had honed his dual-handed shooting to the point where he could fire six simultaneous energy rounds, three from each hand, like a living revolver turret.
His movents were rapid and unpredictable, sliding between trees, ricocheting shots off surfaces, and striking bugs out of the air mid-flight.
Each shot rang out like a cannonball through the jungle.
Balkan, stoic and eerily calm, stood with his hands behind his back as his two Titan Dreadworms slithered beside him like ancient war beasts.
More had begun to follow—smaller dreadworms forming a second wave of reinforcents, answering to his presence.
Every ti Balkan closed his eyes and humd, the earth shook and another worm answered his call. He didn’t fight directly anymore. He didn’t need to. The jungle moved when he walked.
And Monkaar?
He had finally stabilized his levitation. His shadowy body now glided with deliberate grace, cloaked in translucent wings of spiritual force.
He could fly above the trees, unleashing ghostly kinetic blasts that crushed bugs like falling teors which surprised Elius for his evolving ability.
Every attack was followed by a haunting echo, as if the jungle itself whispered his na.
And yet—
Elius felt nothing but a slow, creeping sense of isolation.
He still fought. His five flying swords carved arcs of glowing death through the jungle, slicing through insect bodies with cold precision.
His mind was alert, his posture flawless. But in his chest... he felt the first pangs of separation.
They were changing.
And it wasn’t just power.
It was ambition.
They were no longer just surviving. They were dreaming.
"Oi, Balkan," Clint said during a lull between waves, as they stepped over the scorched remains of another swarm. "I was thinking... if we really make it out of here... if we really finish this dinsional rift... maybe I’ll apply for hero registration."
Balkan grinned. "Heh. Thinking of a na already?"
Clint laughed. "Maybe. What do you think about... Rapid Justice?"
Balkan made a face. "You sound like a toothpaste brand."
Monkaar, still hovering lazily above them, chid in, "What about ? Sothing with ’Specter’ in it. Like... Specter Gale. Or Nocturne Howl."
Clint chuckled. "Nocturne Howl? Sounds like a goth band."
"I am a floating ghost boy," Monkaar shot back.
Balkan rubbed his chin. "I’m thinking... Lord of the Deep Soil. Or maybe Dreadking Balkan. Or Earthworm Emperor?"
"...You do realize ’earthworm’ is the opposite of threatening, right?" Clint asked.
"They’re Titan Dreadworms, you disrespectful bullet."
They all burst into laughter. Even Monkaar’s echo reverberated like a playful bell across the branches.
Elius watched from the front.
He said nothing.
They’re dreaming already, he thought.
Clint, the once-shaky sidekick whose only talent was dodging and distracting, now saw himself as a registered superhero with a codena and combat style.
Balkan, whose hunched posture used to hide his embarrassnt of bugs, now summoned creatures that rivaled trained Espers.
Monkaar, once quiet and self-deprecating, was flying and laughing.
It was good.
It was human.
But Elius felt the threads fraying.
Once this group disbands... once we leave this dinsional rift... my spiritual buff to them will vanish.
That was the truth the others didn’t see.
Their powers—Clint’s guns, Balkan’s worms, Monkaar’s flight—were all bolstered by his system’s Cultivation Party chanic.
He was the core.
The pillar.
Their strength was doubled in his presence.
Once they left him, their gifts would halve, their skills would weaken, and their progress would stagnate.
And Elius?
He wouldn’t care.
Because they had served their purpose.
I don’t want followers. I want their Martial Skills. The powers the system made for them.
His eyes lingered on Balkan’s back.
The worms were evolving faster than logic allowed. That wasn’t just talent. That was the system’s tailoring by matching is Body and Qi Condensation stage.
Clint’s aim, Monkaar’s phantom core—crafted by the system to be given.
To him.
As long as they don’t take those Martial Skills, they can live.
His lips tightened into a thin line.
But if they do... if they bind the fragnts... if they claim those techniques as their own...
His fingers curled.
I will take their lives.
He didn’t even feel guilt. It was like choosing between crops and weeds. He was a cultivator. If they weren’t his tools, they were just obstacles in his path.
His thoughts shattered as he ca to a sudden halt.
There—nestled between tree roots and half-covered by moss—was a glow.
His heart skipped.
A sharp, unmistakable shimr.
Clint nearly bumped into him. "Whoa. What’s up?"
"What’s that?" Monkaar asked.
Elius didn’t respond at first. His eyes locked onto the faint pulsing light. Not a magic crystal. Not a soul fragnt.
He knew it.
A Fragnt of Martial Skill.
Shit.
He hadn’t expected them to see it too.
So it wasn’t just him. The system really had designed these Martial Skills for them.
Could any of them pick it up?
Would that make them the rightful owner?
His throat went dry.
He had to act fast.
"I’ll check it," Elius said quickly.
He stepped forward and placed his hand over the glowing shard. Instantly, a notification appeared before his eyes:
Ding!
[Fragnt of Martial Skill found!]
Martial Skill: Unknown
Type: Earth type.
Fragnts: ⅕.
Effect: Fragnt only. Collect remaining pieces to unlock full skill.
His breath caught.
So it really was the first. The first of many.
He muttered under his breath, "This is the first fragnt..."
"Huh?" Clint asked.
"What is it?" Balkan took a step closer.
Elius turned smoothly, hiding the glow in his palm. "Just another magic crystal. Not fully charged."
Clint blinked. "Really? Looked different."
"Yeah, like it was pulsing," Monkaar added.
But none pressed further. He was the superhero. He was the leader.
They followed his word.
He slipped the fragnt into his pouch, hand tightening around it. Mine.
And they moved on.
As they continued deeper into the dinsional rift, the trees grew thinner, the air heavier. But the conversations didn’t stop.
Clint walked side by side with Balkan now, comparing fighting styles and bullet trajectories. Monkaar floated above them, occasionally adding ideas for costu designs and logo ideas.
"I want red armor," Clint said. "Red and gold."
"Ew," Monkaar cringed. "Tacky."
"I want worms on my shoulder pads," Balkan declared proudly.
Elius didn’t speak.
He just listened.
He could feel their ambitions rising. Their personalities growing. Their confidence blooming.
And all of it...
Built on my foundation.
They wouldn’t have made it this far alone. They were still growing because of him. But they didn’t even know. They were living inside a dream he allowed them to see.
And when it ended...
So would they.
BOOM!
The jungle floor trembled.
A deafening buzz split the air.
Elius’s head snapped up.
A tidal wave of insects descended from the sky—this ti, larger, wilder, so of them with multiple wings, others with lightning rods embedded into their backs. Their bodies sparked with violent discharges, and their eyes glowed with coordinated hunger.
Thousands.
A wall of living electricity.
Clint raised his arms. "We’ve got another tide!"
Balkan’s eyes widened. "Worms—form the line!"
Monkaar began to glow. "We don’t have ti to rest!"
Elius narrowed his eyes, his swords flying from his side.
And quietly, he thought:
Good. More bugs ans more pieces.
More fragnts.
Reviews
All reviews (0)