Name: Narvel Naver Anderson
Age: 19
Race: Human
Gene Fragment: 2 (Sundered)
Level: Awakened (19%)
Class: —
Gene Class: ???
Title: —
Strength: 8
Speed: 12
Stamina: 4/19
Dexterity: 15
Intelligence: 17
Mental: 12
Wisdom: 13
Charisma: 8
Will: 8/30
Attributes: ??? [Mind's Eye] [True Double]
Constitution: ??? [Realmrender]
Talents: [Telekinesis (weakened)] [Deep Thought]
Skills: [Unnamed]
Comprehensions: —
Pet: Voidscale
Narvel narrowed his gaze. There were a few changes—subtle, but notable. His will had climbed from 29 to 30, and his mental stat had ticked up by another point, now resting at 12. There was also a one-point bump in his stamina's total cap, though he didn't feel significantly tougher. Still, it counted.
Objectively, it was a small increase, but considering everything he had just endured, Narvel felt a bubbling excitement stir in his chest. He remembered what he had been told, about how difficult it was for any Nova to push their stats upward, especially those who had already transcended past the Awakened level. At his stage, it was easier, but only marginally so. Each gain still meant blood.
His gaze drifted to the section labeled Skills, where the [Unnamed] tag glared back at him like a challenge. Narvel knew exactly what had caused it to appear. That burst of dark energy—when both he and Ebonveil had resonated as one and unleashed something other—that was the origin.
The skill didn't belong to Ebonveil directly, nor did it seem fully a part of Narvel himself. It existed somewhere in the middle—a bridge between them, forged in the heat of shared combat.
Ebonveil housed a deep well of dark energy but lacked the agency, the will, to shape it alone. Narvel had filled that role… and paid for it. That unleashed technique had consumed a good chunk of his willpower like it was chewing through dry leaves.
Though he didn't forget about the 10% increase in his strength, speed, and dark element, something he didn't actively possess yet—when wielding Ebonveil.
'What to name it?' He mused, closing his eyes to recall the moment, the sensation he felt when it activated.
The memory came like a shiver: the pressure, the sensation of tendrils moving beyond flesh and metal… like they were extensions of his very thoughts. Of his will made manifest.
'It didn't feel like swinging a sword,' he thought. 'It felt more like... grasping something distant. Almost the same thread I pull when using telekinesis… but rawer, more primal and destructive.'
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. He wasn't sure yet. Skills, especially those not granted directly by talent or inheritance, were closer to comprehension. They required insight and naming them prematurely could misguide their evolution.
In the end, he shelved the thought, choosing to let the skill remain unnamed until he could fully explore and understand its roots. For now, it would stay a mystery—an unnamed pact between him and his weapon.
The air shifted beside him.
Voidscale reappeared with a low huff, materializing at Narvel's side and sniffing him with exaggerated slowness—as if making sure he wasn't a corpse. Or at least, that's what it pretended to be doing.
Then, without any care or hesitation, the scaled creature threw itself up and then down—
Thud!
—right onto Narvel's chest.
"Ough!" The impact knocked the breath clean out of his lungs. His eyes bulged, and he reflexively curled around the pain.
"You ungrateful, useless bastard! I'm going to kill—" he growled, clutching his ribs and glaring at the creature with fire in his eyes.
Voidscale tilted its head innocently, pretending not to understand. Then it began to transmit its thoughts directly to Narvel, a smug ripple of emotion flowing into his mind.
'I was just checking if you were still alive,' it claimed smoothly.
Narvel didn't need telepathy to see through the blatant lie. He narrowed his eyes further, but before he could say anything, the creature changed tactics.
With a mental echo, it mimicked the exact words Narvel had once spoken to it, back in the Hollow Forest.
Something along the lines of: "I helped you do a good thing in the Hollow Forest, and then you locked me up for it. Now, I brought you back to life with one of my skills—why don't we call it even?"
Narvel stared, mouth falling open for a second.
"You… who are you trying to fool?" he spat, aghast at the creature's shamelessness and its wildly twisted version of history.
Voidscale blinked. Unapologetically. And plopped its head onto his chest like it had already won the argument.
Narvel groaned and flopped backward onto the cavern floor, limbs spread and eyes skyward. The carven ceiling still flickered faintly with blue light, and distant, echoing wails reminded him that this nightmare wasn't over yet.
But for now, he could take a break.
Whatever lay beyond this carven didn't seem to care about the commotion that had erupted within. The oppressive silence that followed the battle was unmoving, like the stillness that came after a storm had ripped through a forest.
If the Specters were capable of respawning, they gave no sign of it.
With no immediate threat looming, Narvel allowed his battered body to slump on the floor. He felt the sting of exhaustion from deep within his marrow, but now that the pressure had lifted, he finally had the space to begin recovering his drained stamina and frayed will.
Reaching out, his fingertips brushed the hilt of Ebonveil.
The moment his skin made contact with the weapon, a subtle current surged into his hand. The blade responded as it began to transmit more of it absorbed from the Specters into him. It wasn't dramatic—just a warm, slow infusion of revitalizing energy that spread through his limbs, loosening the tightness in his muscles and gently knitting together what had been worn down.
Voidscale, who had been lazily draped on Narvel, stirred. Its head lifted sharply, eyes narrowing as it sniffed the air. Something had changed. The creature's pupils shrank slightly, and a greedy glint flashed in its gaze as it sensed the energy flowing from Ebonveil into Narvel.
With zero hesitation, it scrambled forward, its claws clicking lightly on the cavern floor as it lunged for the weapon. Latching onto the hilt with both claws, it pressed its face close to the surface and began to try and draw the energy into itself.
At first, it was difficult—like trying to drink from a sealed bottle. But Voidscale was stubborn and persistent. Soon enough, something within Ebonveil responded. A thin trickle of energy seeped into the creature.
That's when it happened.
Without warning, a powerful shockwave erupted from Ebonveil invisible, and irresistible. The blast knocked Voidscale clean off the weapon and hurled it upward. With a dull thunk, the creature struck the ceiling of the carven and hung there, limbs spread like a crushed insect, momentarily flattened against the stone.
Narvel blinked, then stared.
Voidscale's wide, stunned eyes locked onto the blade, then shifted to Narvel, as if silently asking "What just happened?"
Narvel didn't even try to suppress the laugh that burst from him. "Hahaha! Serves you right, you little thief."
His laughter echoed across the carven, bouncing between stone walls.
Voidscale, still affixed to the ceiling, blinked in disbelief.
However, not everything had gone badly for the creature. Despite the forceful rejection, it still clutched something in its claw—an orb of soft, cream-colored light. Wispy tendrils curled around it like a tightly wound ball of ethereal yarn. Voidscale dropped from the ceiling in a small arc, landing with a graceless flop, but held the orb triumphantly as if it had won some great prize.
Still sneering at Narvel, it didn't waste any time. The orb disappeared into its mouth in one bite.
At first, nothing happened.
Voidscale licked its chops and looked around expectantly.
Then it sat. Then it blinked. A few seconds passed and then a few minutes. Nothing. Not a twitch. Not a flicker. No sensation of power or enlightenment. The ball of light might as well have been a puff of smoke.
Voidscale's eyes darkened as it turned toward Narvel with suspicion. The low, rattling growl it released was a clear declaration: You scammed me, didn't you?
Narvel raised his hands in mock innocence. "Don't look at me. You're the one who got greedy." In truth, Narvel had no control over what happened.
But before Voidscale could pounce in righteous fury, its body began to sway. It staggered sideways, then tried to correct itself. But its body didn't obey. Its tail flopped in the wrong direction. The air thickened around it as the world tilted oddly, and Voidscale's claws slipped against the stone.
Then came the spiral.
The floor spun, the ceiling swayed, and in one awkward blur, Voidscale crumpled with a faint thud, rolling once before collapsing on its side.
Narvel arched a brow. "...Are you drunk?"
Indeed, Voidscale was drunk. Its eyes rolled back, limbs twitching as it tried and failed to rise.
Narvel sighed and turned his head away, eyes half-closed.
"Next time," he murmured, "ask before you eat glowing orbs."
Voidscale responded with a snore.