-- Greensea Grassland, Easpring 17, 1566 NC. --
Six days had passed. Since Spark Nighthawk and Lilith Lunaire ventured into the Greensea Grassland.
The trip wasn't a desperate hunt for survival or coin. It was a calculated training exercise. A journey into the wild under controlled, and even luxurious, conditions.
They spent their days tracking and engaging monsters. The first and second-tier monsters that roamed the vast green expanse. Testing Spark's skills that were rapidly improving.
The nights were reserved for their private camp. Enclosed within a high-level protective array that shimmered with captured moonlight.
Inside, away from prying eyes and predatory beasts, the atmosphere shifted. From professional to intensely personal. A blend of relaxation, physical exercise, and carnal intimacy. The kind that only absolute trust and dominance could forge.
The cost of this 'training trip' was staggering. The custom-built, rune-infused camping gear. The high-efficiency rations. The maintenance of their rhino-horse mounts. And the sheer luxury of the setup.
Those things would bankrupt any group of average adventurers. The monster parts they collected, even the valuable cores, wouldn't cover a tenth of the expenditure.
But, for Spark, profit wasn't the goal. Growth was.
This particular day started like any other.
Spark sat cross-legged. His imposing figure centered beside his Power Rifle. The weapon wasn't just metal and runes. It possessed a gearcore. A nascent consciousness tied to the Technomind power system.
Spark withdrew a small pouch filled with copper coins. Mundane currency in Anearth. But nourishment for this specific core.
He tilted the pouch. Letting the coins tumble into a slot on the rifle's stock. Each coin vanished with a faint hum. Absorbed by the hungry core.
Seven coins fed it before the slot sealed itself. Signaling its daily limit was met. Spark felt the familiar surge of progress feedback. Through his mental link.
He didn't need to open his 'Ego Appraisal Grimoire' to confirm the numbers. He knew that it had increased by 7%.
The Power Rifle's gearcore should now be at 98% progression, towards breaking into the second tier. Tomorrow, the gearcore would be maxed out. Ready for the tier-up advancement.
It was the fastest of his three power systems to advance. The Technomind's gearcore was quite straightforward. Very easy to advance. His Soulcraft fairy, Honey, was not as fast. She had just reached 85% progression. But it was not the worst.
His Framepath system was the most demanding. Although he had adjust his diet to be consuming Wild Red Meat a lot every day, his current 'monster adaptation' progression had just stood at 77%.
Compared to the other awakened people, his progression speed was extremely high though. It hadn't even reached a month after his awakening. And he had already reached that much progression.
...
Lilith approached the camp. Her movements was silent, efficient. She moved with the predatory grace of the assassin she once was. Right now, she was reporting as a scout.
"Master!" She said. Her voice was low and precise. "I have confirmed tracks. A sizable group of humans. Hell Crow Organization."
Spark's attention sharpened. Hell Crow. A criminal syndicate known for smuggling, human trafficking, and unrestrained slavery. They had caused headaches for some of his quieter "business interests" in the region. A nuisance.
"Details." Spark rumbled. His voice was now deep and serious. Lacking the easygoing tone he used to have.
"Twelve individuals. All awakened, Master. Framepath practitioners. Three were enhanced, tier two. And two seemed to be fortified, tier three. They're escorting a prison carriage. Twenty-eight captives confirmed. Mostly human. Only a few were demi-human."
Lilith laid out a map sketch on a nearby flat rock. "Their route takes them through the Shadowfen Pass. I've mapped the probable timeline. They'll reach the western approach by late afternoon, earliest."
Spark leaned back. Considering. He had fought monsters, beasts, creatures twisted by magic and environment. But he hadn't killed a human in this world yet. Not directly. Not intentionally for combat.
It was a necessary step. The world was brutal. Sooner or later, he would face human opponents. He needed to push past the ingrained inhibition. The hesitation of taking sentient life.
Killing these slavers wasn't just convenient practice. It aligned with his 'bottom line', not harming innocents. Slavers were not innocents. And punishing Hell Crow was a bonus.
"Good work, Lilith." He said. "We'll intercept them. Set an ambush at the pass entrance. I want them coming through a choke point."
Lilith nodded. Already moving to execute the command. Her loyalty was absolute. Her efficiency flawless.
Hours later... The sun dipped towards the horizon. Casting long, distorted shadows across the entrance of the Shadowfen Pass.
Spark positioned himself high on the rocky slope. Concealed by ancient, gnarled trees. And carefully placed rune-infused camouflage netting.
Lilith was somewhere out of sight. A shadow within shadows. Ready for her assigned task. Below, the narrow path snaked into the pass.
A low rumbling approached. The creak of heavy wheels. The jingle of harnesses. The low murmur of voices.
A large, reinforced prison carriage, came into view. It was drawn by two massive, lumbering beasts of burden. The Hillbulls. It was flanked and followed by armed figures. The slavers.
Spark scanned them with his [Appraisal Goggles]. Lilith was right. Two third-tier and three second-tier individuals.
Spark took off his goggles and raised his Power Rifle. The gearcore hummed softly. The aim settled on a towering figure near the front. A man with a thick, dark mustache. One of the third tier targets.
Spark exhaled slowly. The sound was lost in the wind. This was it.
He squeezed the trigger.
The rifle barked. A sharp, concussive crack that shattered the twilight peace. A bead of metal, covered with concentrated arcane energy, empowered by the gearcore, streaked across the distance.
It hit the mustachioed slaver squarely in the head. The man didn't even jerk. He simply crumpled. A lifeless weight dropping to the ground as his skull disintegrated internally. One bullet. Headshot.
Chaos erupted below. Shouts, startled cries. The other fortified slaver, a masked woman with swift, alert movements, scanned the slopes wildly.
Seeing her companion drop and the source of the attack, she didn't charge. Instead, she turned and fled back the way they came with surprising speed.
Spark noticed that Lilith was already moving. A misty shadow in the grass. Giving chase to the fleeing Tier Three. Her skills were perfectly suited for doing so.
Ignoring that, Spark shifted his aim. An enhanced slaver raising a shield rune. Headshot. The rune flickered uselessly as the round punched through and pulped the man's brain. Dead.
An awakened slaver drawing a clumsy bow. Headshot. Dead.
Three down. Quick, clean, efficient. The Power Rifle was a brutal tool for ranged elimination. But this was supposed to be practice.
Eight figures remained. All were Framepath practitioners. Their faces were contorted by fear and rage. They saw their companions fall. They saw the threat on the slope.
However, instead of retreating, they charged. Roaring challenges. Good. Spark grinned internally. This was the close combat he needed.
A spatial crack appeared. The home for gearcore objects. Casually, he stored the Power Rifle within.
As the eight slavers sprinted towards the slope, their forms began to blur, shift, and twist. Fusion transformations. They weren't just humans anymore. Bone expanded, muscle coiled, fur and hide erupted.
Three became hulking werewolves. Snarling and swift. Two swelled into brutish wereboars. Tusks gleaming. One contorted into a squat, hideous weretoad. Its skin slick and toxic-looking.
And then, there was this massive werehorse. Its hooved legs pounding the earth. The last, fastest and smallest, shifted into a wiry wererat. His eyes were burning with malice.
Eight angry werebeasts were charging at him.
Spark met them halfway. He didn't need a full transformation. Not yet.
With a controlled surge of Framepath energy, his head elongated. His jaw widened. And a thick mane of black fur erupted around his neck. Merging with his black hair.
His feline eyes glowed with fierce intensity. His already massive arms bulged, covered in coarse, black fur. Ending in powerful, clawed hands.
A partial werelion transformation. Just enough to augment his strength. And give him access to claws. But not bulky enough to rip the expensive, rune-woven fabric of his clothes. He'd learned that trick during his monster hunts.
The first werewolf launched itself at him. Claws extended. Spark didn't dodge. He met the attack head-on. His clawed hand was enveloped in shimmering, faintly glowing energy.
Arcane Coating. Another trick he had learned during the hunts. Using both Framepath and Soulcraft together.
He hardened the coating. Turning his hand into a blunt hammer. He swung. The impact cracked the opponent's skull. And sent the werewolf tumbling back. Howling in pain.
Another werewolf and a wereboar attacked from the sides. The werewolf lunged for his throat. The wereboar aimed its tusks at his gut.
Spark roared. A sound that was more lion than human. He turned. His Arcane Coated hand sharpened into a razor-edged blade.
He slashed horizontally. The bladed coating slicing through the werewolf's chest fur and into flesh. With the other arm, he shifted the coating to be penetrating. Like a spear point. Thrusting it directly at the charging wereboar's thick skull.
The energy punched through hide and bone. Ending the charge instantly. Spark had mastered his Arcane Coating transformation. Blade, spike, blunt force. Simple. Effective.
The remaining five werebeasts swarmed him. The weretoad spat a glob of acid. Which Spark easily avoided with a quick sidestep.
The werehorse tried to trample him. Its hooves struck sparks off the rocks. The wererat darted low, aiming for his legs. The two remaining werewolves circled. Coordinating their moves.
Spark became a whirlwind of furred limbs and arcane energy. He used his superior strength and speed. Enhanced by the partial transformation. To keep them off balance.
His Arcane Coated paws blurred. Sometimes striking like hammers. Sometimes slicing like blades. Sometimes jabbing like spears. He wasn't graceful. He was brutally effective.
A werewolf leaped onto his back. Spark twisted. Slamming his back against a rock face. Crushing the beast between his massive form and the stone.
He spun. Batting away the wererat. Making it squeaked as it was sent flying. Crashing into another huge rocks. Bones snapping.
The weretoad lunged, its sticky tongue shooting out. Spark parried it with an Arcane Coated arm. The energy neutralized the corrosive slime.
He grabbed the tongue. Yanked. And sent the weretoad flying into the charging werehorse. The collision was messy and fatal for both.
He charged and finished them with his blade coated claws.
Only the last werewolf remained. Its eyes went wide with dawning terror.
Spark advanced. Arcane Coating flaring around his claws. Sharp as swords. He didn't speak. He didn't need to. He closed the distance in a few powerful strides.
The werewolf lunged in a final, desperate attack. Spark met it with a slashing arc of energy-enhanced claws. The werewolf was cut in two, dying mid-howl.
Silence returned to the pass entrance. Broken only by the sounds of ragged breathing. Spark stood amidst the carnage. His own breathing was heavy. His partially transformed form was steaming slightly in the cooling air.
Blood splattered the ground. None of it was his. He checked himself. A few deep scratches from claws that didn't quite pierce his hardened skin. A light bruise here and there. Light wounds.
The fight was over. He had killed eight humans. It felt... pragmatic. Like culling dangerous animals.
The expected internal conflict or psychological trauma wasn't there. Or perhaps it was buried too deep under layers of his new reality. Either way, it was done. He could kill humans when necessary.