Shaw is dead.
That was his first clear thought upon opening his eyes. Not to the familiar ceiling of his room in the noble mansion, nor to the night sky of the underground forest. Instead, he found himself on an endless plateau beneath a firmament of frozen stars. The air had no scent, no weight—as if breathing were just a useless habit his body insisted on maintaining. The ground beneath his feet was covered in a layer of metallic dust, mixed with fragments of ancient bones and weapons corroded by time. Nothing here was recent. Nothing here decayed.
"A place between places," he murmured, his voice echoing distortedly, as if the very space resisted sound.
He needed no explanation to understand. The knowledge came to him in flashes, as if the Battlefield whispered fundamental rules to him:
Dying in any dimension would bring him here.
Sleeping would drag him here involuntarily.
Having his core destroyed meant absolute annihilation.
(Note: By meditating and gathering Origin energy at a focal point, a core forms. Shaw, being a fragment, is already born with one. Killing a person awakens them to the perception of Origin energy, enabling the formation of a core.)
Shaw felt no fear. Only a cold calculator activated in his mind, assessing risks and opportunities. If this was a place connecting all realities, then it was also a tool. And tools existed to be used.
His first test was simple. He raised his hand and tried to conjure something—anything—from nothing. Nothing happened. Then he remembered what he had learned from the Origin energy manual: power came from understanding, not desire.
He closed his eyes and imagined the rough grip of his makeshift spear, the weight of the stone tied to its tip. When he opened his eyes, the weapon was there—but different, almost translucent, like a reflection in murky water. Touching it, he felt a strange resistance, as if trying to grasp smoke.
"Fragmentation," he concluded. "Imperfect memory."
He would need something more solid.
Then, he heard the creaking.
Turning, he saw a skeletal figure dragging itself toward him. Its bones were not white but stained black, as if charred. In its hands, it clutched two daggers dripping with a purple liquid.
Shaw didn't wait. He struck first.
And died.
He woke again on the same plateau, unharmed, painless. Only the vivid memory of blades piercing his throat remained.
This time, when the creature appeared, he retreated, observing. Its movements were precise but repetitive—as if replaying a technique it had used thousands of times. Shaw counted its steps, memorized its attack angles.
On the third attempt, he dodged.
On the fourth, he blocked.
On the fifth, he stabbed the creature through the skull.
The skeleton disintegrated into dust, but something remained—a bluish glow hovering in the air. Without hesitation, Shaw seized it.
The fragment burned in his palm before dissolving. Suddenly, he understood.
Molecular Manipulation (Basic Level).
The knowledge came like a manual seared into his mind. How to bend light around his body. How to muffle the sound of his footsteps. Rudimentary techniques, but functional.
Yet there was a cost.
Attempting to use the power felt like his veins were filled with ground glass. Blood trickled from his nose. His body in the real world would suffer the same consequences.
"Fair," he muttered, wiping the blood with the back of his hand.
The portal appeared without warning—a mirror of mercury suspended in the air, reflecting the noble city. Shaw didn't know if it was a reward for his first death or just another trap.
It didn't matter. He stepped through.
And woke up.
Not in his bed, but before—five minutes before his death. His body was intact, but his mind retained every second of the future he had already lived.
The carriage was still rolling down the road. The guards were still chatting, relaxed. The noble was still gazing out the window, oblivious.
And the assassins were already moving.
Shaw could have warned them. Could have saved everyone.
Instead, he smiled.
Seizing the chaos of the attack—just like last time—he used his new ability. The pain was instant but bearable. His hand vanished for a second, turning invisible as he stole a small crystal from a fallen assassin's pouch.
When the blade pierced his chest again, he was already falling on purpose, concealing the artifact in his clothes.
This time, death was just another step in the plan.
The crystal was cold to the touch, engraved with a winged serpent identical to the one on the contract he'd signed.
"Interesting," Shaw murmured, tucking it under his tongue before the surviving guards could search him.
Somewhere—or somewhen—on the Battlefield, something laughed, a sound echoing across dimensions.
"Finally," whispered a voice only he could hear "a predator."